#clinging

Across the table, Seungcheol was locked in a deep conversation with DK, his hands gesturing emphatically. Yet, you felt the gravity of his attention. Every time you glanced up, you caught him watching—not hovering, not interfering, just observing. There was a subtle tightness around his eyes, a flicker of something guarded that he usually reserved for his responsibilities as a leader.

He trusted Jeonghan. He trusted you. But you knew the look; it was the quiet, possessive prickle of irritation that surfaced whenever the ghost of your past occupied the same space as his present.

As Mingyu stood up to excuse himself toward the restroom, a gap opened up on your other side. Before the seat could even cool, you felt a shadow fall over you. Seungcheol had moved with the swiftness of a predator, abandoning his spot to slide into the space right beside you.

You turned, surprised, but your expression softened into a smile as you met his gaze. "Everything okay?" you asked, your voice barely rising above the din of the table.

He didn't answer with words. Instead, he wrapped his arm firmly around your shoulders, drawing you flush against his side. The gesture was possessive, a silent declaration of territory that felt both grounding and undeniably warm. You leaned into him, feeling the solid heat of his chest against your arm.

From your other side, a soft, dry chuckle escaped Jeonghan. He caught Seungcheol’s eye, his lips curving into that characteristic, teasing smirk. He knew exactly what this was—a territorial display wrapped in a lover’s embrace. Jeonghan didn’t flinch; he just sipped his drink, his eyes dancing with amusement, completely unfazed by the obvious posturing.

Seungcheol ignored the smirk entirely, his attention fixed solely on you. "I'm fine," he murmured, his voice dropping into that deep, gravelly register that always made your heart skip a beat.

Without breaking eye contact, he leaned down and pressed a lingering, deliberate kiss to your temple, then brushed his lips against your cheek. It was a claim, simple and effective. He didn't pull away, his arm remaining locked around you, his fingers tracing small, soothing patterns against your shoulder while he kept you pulled tight against his side.

He looked back at the table then, his expression neutral, but his grip remained steadfast. He had reclaimed his space, and as he shifted to engage in the conversation again, you felt the tension in his frame slowly bleed away. He was still watching, still listening, but as he rested his chin lightly against the top of your head, you knew the irritation had subsided, replaced by the quiet comfort of having you exactly where he wanted you—right beside him, completely his.

Jeonghan

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains of the bedroom, casting golden stripes across the duvet. You were tangled in the sheets, your head resting comfortably on Jeonghan’s chest as his fingers absentmindedly traced patterns over your arm. It was one of those slow, lingering mornings where the rest of the world felt miles away.

"We could just stay here," you murmured, stretching languidly against him, your eyes fluttering shut again. "Order room service, watch movies until we lose track of time. It sounds perfect, doesn't it?"

Jeonghan chuckled, the vibration rumbling through his chest beneath your ear. He shifted, pulling the duvet tighter around your shoulders before pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. "As tempting as that sounds, we’ve been hermits for far too long, love. I was thinking we could head into the city. There’s that new gallery exhibit, or maybe we could hike the trail out by the valley and grab dinner at that little bistro overlooking the river."

Your eyes snapped open, a genuine spark of excitement lighting up your face. "Oh, I’ve heard of both! They sound amazing." You sat up slightly, propping your chin on your hand, your smile widening. "Actually, Joshua took me to that bistro once a few years back, and we checked out that gallery when it first opened. He really does have a talent for finding the best spots in the city."

The movement of his fingers on your arm stopped abruptly. Jeonghan didn’t speak, his expression shifting into a neutral mask as he raised a single eyebrow. He stared at the ceiling for a long beat, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly before he let out a slow, steadying breath.

"Right," he said, his voice clipped but controlled. "Well, since those are already checked off your list, let’s try something else. How about we go to the botanical gardens and then hit that hidden jazz club in the basement of the old bookstore?" He turned his head to look at you, his gaze sharp. "Or did Joshua take you there too?"

You laughed, sensing the sudden shift in the atmosphere, and reached out to poke him firmly in his side. "Why the sudden attitude, Jeonghan? It’s not like it’s a competition."

He huffed, pulling away slightly and crossing his arms over his chest, his gaze drifting to the window. "I don’t have an attitude. I’m just being practical," he retorted, though the slight furrow in his brow betrayed him. He let out a short, scoffing laugh. "I honestly didn't know Joshua had that kind of taste when it came to dating spots. I’m genuinely surprised."

You couldn't help but chuckle at the pettiness of it all. You leaned over and pressed a lingering, affectionate kiss to his cheek, your hand lingering on his jaw. "You are so cute when you’re jealous, you know that?"

Jeonghan rolled his eyes, turning his head so he wouldn't have to look at your amused expression. "You’re hallucinating," he grumbled, though he made no move to pull away from your touch. "I’m not jealous. I just think we deserve a weekend that’s entirely ours, without any accidental ghosts of the past tagging along."

You bit your lip to hide your smile, softening your voice to a playful hum. "So, have you made your decision, Mr. Grumpy? Where are we going today?"

He finally turned back to look at you, his eyes narrowing into a smirk that was equal parts smug and determined. He reached out, pulling you firmly back down into his arms until you were pressed against him again.

"We are going to find places where he never took you," he stated, his tone flat and utterly serious, though a glimmer of playfulness danced in his dark eyes. "I’m going to have to raise your standards all over again, aren't I?"

Joshua

The post-concert adrenaline had finally begun to mellow into a comfortable, hazy contentment. A few days after the chaos of their massive show, the group had gathered for a celebratory round of drinks. You were tucked into a booth between Joshua and a few other members, the atmosphere buzzing with lingering stories from the stage.

The highlight, undoubtedly, had been Jun bringing Jackie Chan out to join them. You were still riding the high of it, your eyes bright and animated as you leaned toward Jun. You couldn't help yourself; you were a massive, long-time fan. "Jun, seriously, what was he like backstage? Did you actually get to talk to him on set? What was the first thing you said?" You peppered him with questions, your enthusiasm bubbling over.

Joshua watched you from the corner of his eye, a soft, indulgent smile playing on his lips. He found the way your entire face lit up when you talked about your interests genuinely endearing. He didn't mind the questions; in fact, he enjoyed seeing this side of you—unfiltered and blissfully excited.

Jun was equally animated, leaning in to answer every one of your queries with a grin. "He was the coolest," Jun explained, gesturing with his glass. "He even asked about how the choreography was coming along. I honestly thought I was dreaming the whole time."

Then, Jun’s expression shifted, turning slightly mysterious. "Oh, wait. I almost forgot."

He reached down to the floor, rummaging through his bag for a moment before pulling out a crisp, official-looking document. With a flourish, he placed it on the table. It was an authentic autograph, a bold, sweeping signature dedicated specifically to you.

You let out a genuine, high-pitched shriek of delight, your hands flying to your mouth. "No way! Jun, you didn't!"

Before you could stop yourself, you grabbed the paper and thrust it toward Joshua, your eyes wide with pure, unadulterated joy. "Look, Josh! Look who it's for! I can't believe this!"

Joshua leaned in, his smile still pleasant, though his expression froze just for a fraction of a second as he processed the intensity of your reaction. He took in the autograph, his gaze flicking from the paper to your beaming face. He stayed perfectly calm, nodding with measured approval, even as the cheering and teasing from the other members began to swell around the table.

Without waiting for his next words, you jumped up from the booth and lunged at Jun, wrapping your arms around him in a tight, exuberant hug. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" you squealed, vibrating with happiness.

Joshua watched the display, his posture remaining upright, though he shifted slightly, his drink resting untouched on the table. The silence between him and the rest of the table seemed to stretch for a heartbeat.

When you finally slid back into your seat next to him, your heart still racing, you were practically glowing. Joshua cleared his throat, a smooth, deliberate sound. He looked at you, his eyes unreadable for a moment before he offered a dry, composed smile. "That’s quite the souvenir," he remarked, his voice steady. "Just so you know, I have plenty of famous friends too, you know. I could probably get you an autograph if you asked nicely."

You burst out laughing, leaning your head against his shoulder. You could sense the subtle prickle of his pride, that elegant, gentle competitiveness that always peeked through when he felt like he wasn't the sole source of your excitement.

You didn't hesitate, turning to look at him directly. You leaned in and pressed a deliberate, lingering kiss to his cheek, your hand resting warmly on his chest to soothe the mild annoyance he was projecting. "I know you do, Josh," you murmured softly, smiling at him. "But I don't need an autograph to want to jump you like that."

Joshua’s composure broke, a slow, smug smirk spreading across his face. He leaned down, his fingers giving your side a firm, playful pinch that made you gasp, before he pulled you firmly against his side, tucking you under his arm. "Good to know," he whispered, his eyes dancing. "But try to keep the lunging to a minimum when I'm around, yeah?"

Jun

The dim light of the living room was perfectly suited for the movie you and Jun were watching, though neither of you had been paying much attention to the screen for the last twenty minutes. You were curled into the corner of the sofa, Jun’s body draped over yours, his hands mapping the curve of your waist. The atmosphere was thick with a lazy, intoxicating warmth, and when his lips pressed against yours, the rest of the world felt delightfully insignificant.

His hand had just begun a slow, daring exploration beneath the hem of your shirt, his thumb grazing your skin, when the sudden, harsh click of a light switch being flipped interrupted the mood.

"Oh, hey! What are you guys watching?"

Jun’s entire body went rigid. He didn’t pull away immediately, but his eyes snapped toward the doorway with a lethal, narrow-eyed intensity that could have withered a plant. Hoshi stood there, looking utterly oblivious to the romantic interference, his shoulders slumped and his expression carrying the weary, hollow look of someone who had just ended a talking stage.

You, however, felt a pang of sympathy. You knew Hoshi had been hurting lately, and seeing him look so lost made your heart ache. You gently pushed against Jun’s chest, signaling him to ease up, and offered a soft, welcoming smile to the newcomer.

"We’re watching that thriller you mentioned the other day, Hoshi," you said, ignoring the way Jun’s jaw was visibly clenching. "Come on, sit. You can watch it with us."

Jun’s gaze swung toward you, his eyes wide with genuine horror. You caught his look and offered a pleading, soft-eyed expression, biting your lip slightly. He let out a long, dramatic sigh—the kind that vibrated through the couch—and finally retracted his hand from beneath your shirt, crossing his arms over his chest like a disgruntled cat.

Hoshi didn’t need to be told twice. He collapsed onto the other end of the sofa, and for the next hour, he and you were locked in a constant stream of commentary. You talked about the cinematography, the plot holes, and life in general, your voices humming in the quiet space. From your peripheral vision, you could see Jun staring straight ahead at the TV, his expression stone-faced. Every time you laughed at something Hoshi said or leaned slightly toward him to make a point, Jun’s posture tightened just a fraction more.

As the credits finally rolled, Jun didn’t wait for the pleasantries. He stood up abruptly, muttered a brief, clipped goodnight, and vanished into his bedroom without a backward glance.

You excused yourself from Hoshi and followed him, slipping into his room and closing the door softly behind you. You found him standing by the window, his shoulders still radiating irritation. You walked up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your cheek against his back.

"Thank you," you whispered against his shirt, your voice teasing. "For being so sweet. And for, you know, not strangling Hoshi."

Jun let out a short, sharp chuckle, the tension in his shoulders finally beginning to ebb. He turned within your arms, looking down at you with a mix of lingering annoyance and genuine affection. "You’re lucky I love you," he muttered, shaking his head. "If it had been anyone else, I would have thrown them out of the window."

You smirked, enjoying the way his frustration was giving way to something much more intense. You took his hands and turned him around fully until he was facing you, stepping into his personal space until there was no room left between you. "Forget about him," you said, your voice dropping to a low, confident hum. "You have me all to yourself now."

Jun’s eyes darkened instantly, his playfulness replaced by a sharp, predatory focus. He raised one eyebrow, a slow, dangerous smirk spreading across his face as he reached out to pull you closer, his hand finding the small of your back.

"Is that so?" he murmured, his voice a low, raspy velvet that sent shivers down your spine. He leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from yours. "In that case, you’d better go lock the door."

Hoshi

The practice room was thick with the scent of floor wax and the lingering heat of an intense afternoon session. Music still pulsed softly through the speakers, a casual R&B track that had prompted the group to break into a relaxed, improvisational jam. For you, this was home. Having been a background dancer for the group long before you and Hoshi had made your relationship official, you knew exactly how to navigate this space and these people.

You were laughing at something DK had said, swaying to the beat, when you felt a familiar presence move in sync with yours. Wonwoo had drifted over, his movements fluid and lazy, matching your rhythm. You two had always had a natural chemistry on the dance floor—a professional camaraderie that had once blossomed into a quiet, tentative crush on his part years ago. He had long since moved past it, and he and Hoshi had had the "talk," with Wonwoo offering a solemn, albeit slightly dry, assurance that you were Hoshi’s and he respected that.

Still, seeing you and Wonwoo laughing, your movements fluidly mirroring one another as you turned in a small circle, made the air around the periphery of the room feel a bit tighter.

Hoshi stood by the water bottles, a towel draped over his neck, his sharp eyes tracking the pair of you. He knew Wonwoo meant no harm. He trusted Wonwoo. But the sight of you so effortlessly in tune with someone else—someone who had once looked at you the way he currently did—struck a very specific, competitive chord in him.

With a sudden, feline grace, Hoshi pushed off the wall. He moved toward the center of the floor, his face arranged into a lighthearted, playful mask. Just as you and Wonwoo were about to pivot for another turn, Hoshi seamlessly slid into the space between you. He didn't break stride, his hands immediately finding your waist. He spun you around toward him, effectively cutting off your line of sight to Wonwoo, while his shoulder gave a deliberate, firm bump against Wonwoo’s chest.

"Mind if I cut in?" Hoshi asked, his voice bright, though his eyes remained intensely focused on you.

You laughed, surprised by his sudden intervention, but your hands moved instinctively to his shoulders. "You're a bit late, don't you think?"

"Never too late," he murmured, his grin widening as he pulled you closer, his movements becoming more rhythmic and commanding.

The playful atmosphere shifted into something more intimate. Without a second thought, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down to bridge the final gap between you. You kissed him, a sweet, lingering press of lips that turned slightly deeper as he took control of the rhythm.

Hoshi didn't close his eyes. Instead, he kept them locked on the space behind your shoulder, his gaze shifting to find Wonwoo. It was a calculated, triumphant look—a silent, unspoken boundary being redrawn in the middle of a dance.

Wonwoo stood there for a beat, watching the display with a look of feigned annoyance. He rolled his eyes, a clear sign of his exasperation, but a small, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He gave a single, dismissive wave of his hand and turned away, sauntering back toward the others as if he hadn't a care in the world.

Hoshi finally broke the kiss, his breath hitching slightly against your cheek. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he tightened his hold on your waist, pulling you flush against him so there was no mistaking who you belonged to.

"Better," he whispered, his voice vibrating with a sudden, possessive edge.

You chuckled, leaning back to look at his face. He was still wearing that smirk, the one that said he had successfully reclaimed his territory. You reached up, smoothing his hair back, and felt his hand move to the small of your back, his thumb tracing a slow, possessive line against your spine, refusing to let go even as the music continued to play.

Wonwoo

The afternoon sun cast long, amber shadows through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the café as you sat at a small, circular table. You had been waiting for Wonwoo for nearly twenty minutes, though you didn't mind much; the atmosphere was quiet, and you were happily scrolling through your phone. You were surprised when Woozi wandered in, looking for a quick caffeine fix before his next session. When he spotted you, his face brightened, and he’d pulled up a chair to keep you company.

You were deep in a conversation about a new film recommendation when the bell above the café door chimed. You looked up to see Wonwoo walking in, his coat slightly rumpled from his rush. His eyes scanned the room, his expression neutral until they landed on your table. His gaze flickered for a split second, a subtle tension tightening the corner of his eyes the moment he realized you were sitting across from Woozi.

He approached the table with his usual calm, composed demeanor, though you knew that look—the slight narrowing of his eyes that suggested he was already calculating the situation.

"Hey," Wonwoo said, his voice smooth as he leaned down to press a quick, possessive kiss to your temple. He straightened up, turning his attention to Woozi with a look of feigned, polite surprise. "Oh, hey Jihoon-ah. I didn’t expect to see you here. What are you doing out?"

You reached out, catching Wonwoo’s hand and pulling him toward the empty chair next to you. "I'm so glad you're here! I was just waiting, and Woozi happened to stop by. He’s been keeping me company so I wouldn't get bored."

Wonwoo slid into the chair, his hand remaining firmly linked with yours on the table. He gave a single, slow nod, his gaze flicking between the two of you. "I see. Well, thanks for looking after her, Jihoon." He paused, his tone dropping just a notch, thick with an underlying suggestion. "Though I’m here now, and I’m sure you have a mountain of music production to get back to, right? You’re usually buried in the studio this time of day."

Woozi, never one to be easily ruffled, simply chuckled. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head with a relaxed smirk. "Actually, I finished everything early. I’m completely free for the rest of the day. I was thinking about hanging out here for a while longer."

Wonwoo tilted his head, his dark eyes fixed on Woozi with a sharp, piercing focus. A ghost of a smile touched his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Is that so?" He gestured vaguely toward the door with his free hand. "That’s generous of you, but I’d hate to keep you from more productive uses of your time. I’m sure you’ve got something better to do than sitting here third-wheeling while we try to have a date."

The air at the table grew noticeably heavier. You frowned, looking between the two of them, slightly confused by the sudden shift in the conversation. You opened your mouth to interject, but Woozi just laughed, standing up as he caught the unmistakable edge in Wonwoo’s voice.

"Right," Woozi said, his eyes glinting with amusement as he recognized the boundary being firmly drawn. "You're right. I actually just remembered I needed to get to the gym. It’s been a while."

"Good choice," Wonwoo replied, his tone polite but final.

After a quick, easy goodbye, Woozi walked out, leaving the two of you alone in the sudden quiet of the café. You turned to Wonwoo, raising an eyebrow. "What was that? You were a little harsh, don't you think? He was just being nice."

Wonwoo sighed, his expression softening instantly as he turned to face you. He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, and he leaned in to press a lingering, gentle kiss to your lips.

"It's just a guy thing," he murmured against your mouth, his voice a low, teasing rasp that made your heart stutter. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze filled with a quiet, undeniable depth. "Consider it my way of making sure you stay focused on the person you came here to see."

Woozi

The quiet corner of the practice room was usually your sanctuary, but today, it felt charged with a different kind of tension. You were sitting on the floor with your back against the mirror, and Woozi was tucked between your legs, his head resting against your chest as you ran your fingers through his hair.

"They’re going to love you, Jihoon," you whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Stop overthinking it. It’s just dinner."

Woozi let out a long, heavy exhale, his shoulders slumped. "It’s not just dinner. It’s meeting your parents. I have to be… presentable. Polite. Charming." He groaned, burying his face deeper into your sweater. "I’m not exactly known for my social graces outside of the studio."

"You’re charming enough for me," you teased, tracing the line of his jaw.

Suddenly, a bright, booming laugh erupted from the doorway. You both jumped, looking up to see DK leaning against the doorframe, a bottle of water in his hand and a mischievous glint in his eyes. He had clearly heard every word.

"Is the great producer worried about meeting the in-laws?" DK chirped, stepping into the room with a playful skip in his step. "Don't tell me you're sweating, Jihoon-ah!"

You let out a soft, exasperated chuckle, giving DK a stern look. "Stop it, Seokmin. Don't be mean."

DK held up his hands in surrender, though his grin never faltered. He walked over, sitting a comfortable distance away. "I’m not being mean! I’m being supportive." He turned his focus to Woozi, his tone shifting to something more earnest. "Seriously though, Jihoon, you’ll be fine. Her family is incredible. They’re so warm—they’ll probably try to feed you until you can’t move, but that’s the best part."

He looked at you then, his eyes softening as he started to reminisce. "Remember that time your dad tried to teach me how to grill, and I accidentally scorched the apron? Your mom didn't even yell, she just laughed for ten minutes straight."

You smiled, the memory warming you. "God, I forgot about that. He’s still convinced you did it on purpose just to see if he’d get mad."

You and DK fell into a comfortable, easy rhythm, sharing small anecdotes about your family. It was a testament to how far you had come—the history you shared as exes had smoothed out into a genuine, platonic friendship that never felt forced.

However, you noticed the sudden, icy stillness radiating from the person between your legs. Woozi wasn’t moving anymore. His jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle jumped in his cheek, and his eyes were fixed on DK with a sharp, burning intensity. He didn't look like he was worried about your parents anymore; he looked like he was about to combust.

The air grew heavy. You felt the shift in mood and went to speak, but Woozi beat you to it.

He pushed himself up, standing with a sudden, jerky movement that surprised you. He didn't look at you, his gaze locked firmly on DK. "I’m hungry," he said, his voice flat and devoid of its usual warmth. "I’m going to get a snack."

You blinked, caught off guard. "Oh, okay. Do you want me to—"

"yeah let's go," he interrupted, extending a hand to pull you up before you could finish your sentence.

He didn't spare another glance for DK. He kept his hand firmly clasped around yours, his grip almost bruising, as he led you toward the door. The tension radiating off him was palpable, a wall of irritation that filled the space between you.

Just as you reached the threshold, Woozi paused for a fraction of a second. He glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing into slits as he looked directly at DK. With cold, deliberate precision, he mouthed the words: Fuck off.

He then pulled you out into the hallway, walking at a brisk, unrelenting pace, leaving a bewildered DK behind in the practice room.

Seokmin

The early morning light was still a dusty blue, filtering through the kitchen windows as you shuffled in, still wearing one of DK’s oversized hoodies. You were famished, the kind of hunger that only a midnight—or rather, pre-dawn—snack could satisfy. You didn’t expect to find the kitchen occupied, but there stood Mingyu, shirtless and wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, skillfully maneuvering a spatula over the stove.

He jumped slightly when he heard your footsteps, a faint flush creeping up his neck as he realized his state of undress. He quickly turned his back, trying to act casual. You leaned against the counter, crossing your arms. "You’re up early. And you’re…a stripper."

He let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just couldn't sleep. Wanted some protein." He gestured toward the pan with his head. "There’s nothing here you haven’t seen before anyway, right?"

"Technically," you said, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips. You stepped closer to the stove, peering at the eggs he was frying. "Wait, I thought you were allergic to eggs? Or did that suddenly change?"

Mingyu shrugged, his eyes crinkling as he focused on the pan. "Yeah. I guess I’m just feeling rebellious this morning."

You chuckled, leaning against the counter to watch him. The two of you fell into an easy, low-voiced conversation about the upcoming schedule, the memory of your past one-night stand lingering as a non-issue—just a chapter that had closed long ago. It was comfortable, domestic, and completely innocent.

That was, until the sound of heavy footsteps signaled DK’s arrival.

He walked into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes, only to stop dead in his tracks. He took in the scene: you, standing inches from a shirtless Mingyu, who was actively cooking breakfast for you. DK’s breath hitched. He let out a loud, forced-sounding laugh that bordered on a nervous chirp. "Good morning! Early birds, huh?"

His eyes darted to Mingyu’s bare torso, then to your face, his brows knitting together. "Mingyu-ya," he said, his voice dropping an octave as he gestured vaguely to the other man’s chest. "Where exactly is your shirt? It’s a little chilly for that, don't you think?"

Mingyu didn't miss a beat, sliding a plate of eggs onto the counter with a smirk. "Y/n was hungry, so I whipped her up some eggs. You know how it is."

DK’s jaw went slack. He looked at the plate, then back at Mingyu, his expression hardening into something incredulous. "Listen," DK said, his voice tight and vibrating with a strange, possessive energy, "I really, really don't want to hear the words 'Y/n' and 'Mingyu’s eggs' in the same sentence ever again."

You sighed, stepping toward DK and reaching up to smooth the tension from his forehead. You pressed a soft, placating kiss to his lips. "Seokmin, relax. It’s just eggs. We were just talking."

He pulled back, his laugh coming out sharp and slightly bitter. He didn't look at you, but instead reached out and snatched the plate Mingyu had just prepared. "Yeah, I’m sure." He turned on his heel, his movements clipped. "Change of plans. I’m in the mood for breakfast in bed, far, far away from the Korean Jamie Oliver."

Mingyu erupted into a deep, booming laugh, clearly finding the display hilarious. You rolled your eyes, a fond, exasperated smile tugging at your mouth as you looked at the tall, sulking man in front of you.

"You’re ridiculous," you murmured, following him out of the kitchen as he marched toward the bedroom, clutching the plate as if it were a shield. You knew exactly what he was doing, and despite the pettiness of it, you couldn't help but find his brand of jealousy undeniably endearing.

Mingyu

The soft chime of your FaceTime call echoed through your room as Mingyu’s face filled the screen. He was lounging in his own dorm, looking effortless even through the camera, but his expression lit up the moment he saw you. You had spent the afternoon trying on a haul of new dresses, eager for his opinion.

"Okay, first one," you said, stepping back to let him see the full silhouette.

Mingyu’s eyes widened, his handsome features softening into a look of genuine adoration. "Wow," he breathed, his voice dropping into that deep, appreciative register that always made your heart flutter. "You look incredible. It fits you perfectly, baby."

You modeled three more, and each time, Mingyu was your biggest fan. You were in the middle of zipping up a fifth option when a shadow fell across Mingyu’s screen. Minghao wandered into the frame behind him, holding a snack and looking for a place to sit.

"Oh, is that y/n?" Minghao asked, leaning over Mingyu’s shoulder to peer at the phone. He waved at you, grinning. "Hey! Are those the dresses you were talking about?"

"Yeah!" you said, pausing to wave back. You were currently in your undergarments, preparing for the next change. You didn't think twice about it, given your close friendship with Minghao, but the atmosphere in Mingyu’s room shifted instantly.

Mingyu’s jaw tightened. His eyes flickered from the screen to his roommate, his expression darkening with a sudden, sharp territoriality. "Minghao," he said, his voice clipped and strained. "Maybe go eat that in the kitchen, yeah?"

Minghao, oblivious to the sudden friction, just chuckled and nudged Mingyu aside. "Relax, it’s just a FaceTime. Let me see the options."

Mingyu stiffened, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his phone. He clearly hated that Minghao was getting such an unrestricted view of you in your lingerie, and the fact that you weren't scrambling to cover up only seemed to make him more agitated.

"What do you think, Hao?" you asked, completely missing the tension. "Which one for the dinner?"

Minghao studied them with the sharp, artistic eye he was known for. He pointed to a sleek, emerald-green midi dress. "That one. The cut is much more sophisticated, and it’ll complement your skin tone way better."

"Nuh uh," Mingyu interjected immediately, his voice bordering on a growl as he pulled the phone back toward his own face, physically shielding the screen from Minghao. "The blue one is better. It’s more fun, and it stands out."

Minghao frowned at the screen, leaning back into the frame. "The blue one is basic, Mingyu. The green is an investment piece."

You hesitated, looking between the two options. Honestly, Minghao was right. You had been leaning toward the green one since you pulled it out of the box. "I don't know, Mingyu… I think Hao might be right. The green one is actually really beautiful."

Mingyu’s lower lip jutted out, but it wasn't playful anymore—it was frustration. He looked at you, his eyes narrowed, clearly bothered by the fact that you were taking fashion advice from the guy currently invading his space. "No, he has zero fashion sense. He just wants you to be boring. Trust me, the blue one."

Minghao scoffed, irritated by the obvious hostility. "I have more style in my pinky finger than you do in your whole body. Don't listen to him, he’s just being a brat."

You sighed, feeling the heat of the bickering rising. You looked at Mingyu, who was now giving you a look of intense, pouting demand. He wasn't just arguing about the dress; he was marking his territory. You softened, letting out a breath. "Okay, okay. Fine. You win. I’ll go with the blue one."

Minghao grimaced, clearly annoyed at your capitulation. He reached out and gave Mingyu’s arm a sharp, stinging pinch. "You're such a child," Minghao muttered, turning around and walking out of the room to go find his own peace.

The room fell silent once he was gone. Mingyu’s posture slumped, but the sharp tension in his face didn't vanish immediately. He stared at the spot where Minghao had been standing, then finally looked back at you.

"Happy now?" you asked, noting how he still looked a little ruffled.

Mingyu let out a shaky breath, his expression softening as he finally regained his composure. He leaned closer to the phone, a triumphant, slightly possessive smirk replacing his frown. "Very," he murmured, his gaze traveling over you with renewed intensity. "See? I told you. Now, put it on again... and maybe zip the top up a little higher this time, yeah?"

Minghao

The living room was thick with the scent of cheap beer and the frantic energy of a weekend game night. Seventeen’s dorms were rarely quiet, but tonight, the competitive stakes of beer pong had pushed the volume to an entirely new level.

Minghao stood beside you, his arm draped possessively over your shoulders. He leaned down, pressing a lingering, deliberate kiss to your temple, his lips brushing against your skin just long enough to make his claim. "You’re on my team, obviously," he murmured, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. He pulled you toward the table, his hand firm on your waist.

"Seokmin-ah, get ready to lose," he challenged, already reaching for the plastic cups.

"Not so fast!" Seungkwan’s voice boomed from across the room, cutting through the chatter. He marched over, effectively wedging himself between Minghao and you. "Absolutely not! Get your hands off my secret weapon. Y/n, get your ass over here, we’re crushing these guys!"

Minghao stiffened, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at his best friend. Seungkwan didn't even flinch; he just shrugged, his expression utterly nonchalant as he flashed a cheeky grin. "Dibs, Minghao. Fair is fair."

You looked up at Minghao, sensing the sudden spike in tension. You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "It’s just a game, Hao. It’s fine, really. I’ll make sure to go easy on you," you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Minghao didn't look convinced. He watched, jaw tight, as you moved to the other side of the table.

The game began, and it quickly became apparent that your synergy with Seungkwan was undeniable. You moved in a rhythm that felt almost telepathic, high-fiving every time a ball landed with a satisfying thwack into the red plastic. With every win, Seungkwan grew louder, his mock-triumphant cheers echoing off the walls. He wasn't just celebrating the victory; he was intentionally prodding the bear.

"Oh, look at that! Sorry, Minghao, maybe try aiming next time?" Seungkwan jeered, puffing out his chest. "Face it, she’s better with me!"

Minghao stood on the other side of the table, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His expression was stony, his eyes tracking every movement you made. He wasn't laughing, and he certainly wasn't enjoying the spectacle. His gaze was fixed on Seungkwan with a cold, calculated intensity that made the air around him feel significantly colder.

The next round started, and the atmosphere was suffocating. Minghao stepped up to the table, his movements precise and eerily calm. He picked up the ping-pong ball, rolling it between his fingers. He locked eyes with Seungkwan for a second, a flicker of something volatile crossing his features.

He pulled his arm back, his form perfect, but instead of arching the ball toward the cluster of cups, he whipped his wrist forward with a dangerous amount of force. The ball whistled through the air, aimed directly at Seungkwan’s head.

Seungkwan yelped, jerking his head to the side at the last possible millisecond. The ball narrowly missed his ear, ricocheting off the wall behind him with a sharp clack.

Silence descended on the room. Seungkwan’s face turned bright red, his eyes bulging as he glared across the table. "Are you serious, Hao? That was an inch away from my temple!"

You didn't wait for Minghao to respond. You saw the storm brewing in his eyes—a mix of unchecked jealousy and irritation—and you knew you had to intervene before the night devolved into a shouting match. You stepped forward, your hand reaching out to firmly grip Minghao’s wrist.

"I’m thirsty," you said, your voice calm but firm. You didn't give him a choice; you pulled him away from the table, his heels dragging slightly against the carpet. "Come on. We’re getting a drink. Now."

You led him out of the main room, his tension radiating against your palm, while you silently hoped he would eventually realize that no game was worth losing his cool over.

Seungkwan

The club was a dizzying kaleidoscope of neon lights and thumping bass, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and sweat. You had retreated to the bar for a moment of relative calm, needing to order a round of shots to keep the night moving. However, the bartender was hurried, and your Korean—still very much a work in progress—was failing you under the pressure of the loud music.

You frowned, trying to remember the specific vocabulary for what you wanted, but the words felt stuck in your throat. You were about to give up when a familiar, relaxed presence slid into the stool next to you.

"Having trouble, or just practicing your intense thinking face?" Vernon asked, a small, amused smirk on his face.

You let out a relieved breath. "Vernon! Honestly, a bit of both. I’m trying to order, but I think I’m abusing the language."

"No worries," he said, turning to the bartender. With practiced ease and perfect pronunciation, he rattled off your order, along with a request for two more for himself. "Consider it my good deed for the night."

"Thank you, I really appreciate it," you said, beaming at him. "Please, let me get these. It’s the least I can do."

He chuckled, accepting the gesture. As the drinks were set down, you both clinked glasses, the cool liquid offering a brief reprieve from the heat of the dance floor. You were just starting to get into a comfortable rhythm of conversation when Seungkwan finally shouldered his way through the crowd, having just returned from the bathroom.

He stopped short when he saw the two of you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the sight of you laughing at something Vernon had just said. He moved in, sliding his arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him.

"What are we celebrating?" Seungkwan asked, his voice sharp enough to cut through the music.

You leaned into him, smiling up at his face. "Vernon just saved me! I was totally failing at the bar, and he stepped in."

Vernon laughed, shaking his head. "She’s being too hard on herself. Honestly, your Korean is getting better every day. Give it a few months, and you'll be fluent before you know it."

You smiled, genuinely encouraged. "I hope so! It’s just so fast, you know?"

"Don't worry about it," Vernon added, effortlessly switching to perfect English. "It’s a tough language to master."

As the three of you continued to chat in English—a relief for you, but an obvious barrier for Seungkwan—you noticed his jaw tighten. He cleared his throat loudly, his expression shifting into a mask of feigned confidence. "Actually," he interjected, his eyes darting between you and Vernon, "I’ve been meaning to start formal lessons with her. I’m going to be her teacher."

Vernon let out a dry, pointed laugh, raising an eyebrow. "You? A teacher? Seungkwan, you’re about as patient as a toddler in a candy store. You’ll be frustrated after the first five minutes."

Seungkwan’s face flushed, and he shot Vernon a glare so lethal it could have scorched the floor. "I am perfectly patient when I want to be," he snapped, his voice rising above the beat.

You felt the spike of competitiveness in the air and gently placed a hand on Seungkwan’s chest to soothe him. "Actually," you said, looking at Seungkwan with a sweet, disarming smile, "I think you’d be the best teacher. You’re always so good at explaining things to me."

Seungkwan’s expression melted instantly, that characteristic, infectious pride softening his features. He leaned down, pressing a lingering, deliberate kiss to your lips—a clear, territorial move that he made sure Vernon witnessed.

"See?" Seungkwan said, casting a smug, triumphant glance toward Vernon. "She knows who the best tutor is."

He didn't give Vernon a chance to respond. He took your hand, his grip firm and insistent, and started pulling you toward the center of the dance floor. "Come on," he murmured into your ear, his voice low and possessive. "Let’s get away from this guy. I want to dance with you."

Vernon

The gym was echoing with the rhythmic clatter of weights and the distant hum of industrial fans. It was a space where you and Vernon usually trained together, finding a quiet comfort in the shared effort of a workout. But today, the air felt significantly heavier.

You were struggling with your form on a new series of overhead presses, your muscles trembling under the strain of the barbell. Without asking, Dino had stepped in, his movements sharp and efficient as he positioned himself behind you.

"You're leaning too far back," Dino said, his voice practical and professional. He reached out, his hands wrapping firmly around your waist to stabilize your core, his other hand guiding your elbows into the correct alignment.

You exhaled, finally finding the sweet spot in your form. "Thanks, Chan! I couldn't get the angle right to save my life."

"No problem," he replied, staying close to ensure you didn't wobble as you pushed the weight up.

A few feet away, Vernon was paused mid-rep, a heavy dumbbell dangling from his hand. He wasn't watching the mirror anymore; he was watching the way Dino’s hands lingered on your waist, the way his knuckles were white from the effort of spotting you. Vernon didn’t mind Dino—they were friends, colleagues—but the sight of Dino, sweat-drenched and wearing a form-fitting tank top, hovering so close to you, triggered a quiet, deep-seated irritation he couldn't quite mask.

He knew about the history, of course. He knew you had harbored a crush on Dino long before you and Vernon had found your way to each other. It was an old story, a ghost of a feeling that had long since evaporated, but that didn't make the sight of Dino’s hands on you any less jarring.

Vernon let his weight drop to the rack with a resounding clank. He walked over, his stride slow and deliberate. He stopped right beside the two of you, his presence making the space feel suddenly cramped.

"Having trouble, babe?" Vernon asked, though his eyes were fixed on Dino with a cool, unreadable expression.

"Chan was just helping me with my form," you said, smiling at him. "I think I've got it now."

Vernon didn't step back. Instead, he gave your shoulder a gentle, firm nudge, sliding you slightly to the side so he occupied the space between you and Dino. "You know, that looks like a great move for the deltoids. I’ve been meaning to work on those more."

Dino blinked, looking genuinely taken aback. He gestured to the rack. "Yeah, I guess, but Vernon, you don't really do these. You usually stick to cardio and resistance training. This is a bit intense for your current routine."

Vernon tilted his head, a thin, tight smile playing on his lips. "I’m looking to switch things up. Why don't you show me? I want to see exactly how you did it for her."

Dino stood there for a beat, his confusion turning into a dawning realization. He looked from Vernon’s stiff posture to your slightly bewildered face, and the subtext hit him squarely. He let out a soft, knowing breath. "Right. Yeah, sure. Grab the bar, then."

Dino stepped back, giving Vernon the space, but he kept his distance. Vernon gripped the bar, his movements aggressive and focused, his eyes never leaving the mirror where he could see exactly how close Dino was standing.

He was doing the move perfectly, perhaps with more intensity than necessary, his jaw set in a line of stubborn defiance. He looked back at Dino, his tone perfectly polite, yet unmistakably sharp. "Like that? Or do I need to get closer to the bar to really feel the burn?"

You stood back, watching the two of them, the tension between them so palpable it felt like an electric charge. You bit your lip to hide your smirk; Vernon’s "interest" in your workout was nothing more than a thinly veiled warning, and you couldn't help but find his brand of protective jealousy, however quiet, utterly captivating.

Dino

The atmosphere in the dorm kitchen was typically loud, but for Dino, the silence he felt internally was much harder to handle. You were sitting on the counter, your delicate gold necklace held out in your palm, its chain a miserable, knotted bird’s nest of metal.

Dino had been working on it for ten minutes, his brow furrowed in concentration. His nimble dancer’s fingers, usually so precise and controlled, were shaking just enough to make the task impossible. Every time he nudged a link, the knot seemed to tighten, mocking his efforts.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice dropping as he let his hands fall, defeated. "I’m just making it worse, aren't I?"

You reached out, covering his hand with yours. "It’s totally fine, Chan. It was already a disaster when I walked in. Don't stress."

Before he could try again, the kitchen door swung open, and Seungcheol walked in, grabbing a glass of water. He stopped when he saw the two of you, his gaze landing on the tangled mess in your lap.

"What’s the problem?" Seungcheol asked, his voice naturally deep and commanding.

"It’s just… it’s stuck," Dino said, his jaw tightening as he stepped back.

Seungcheol didn't ask twice. He stepped into the space Dino had just vacated, his large, capable hands moving with surprising, practiced gentleness. He barely seemed to be trying, his focus absolute, and within thirty seconds, the gold chain fell perfectly straight against your skin.

"There you go," Seungcheol said, handing it back to you. He shot you a quick, charismatic wink—a remnant of the flirtatious history you both shared—before downing his water and sauntering out of the room.

You were genuinely relieved, turning the now-perfect chain over in your fingers. "Oh my god, thank you! That’s amazing!"

You turned back to share your excitement with Dino, but the words died in your throat. He wasn't looking at the necklace. He was staring at the floor, his shoulders hunched, his expression shadowed by that familiar, quiet insecurity that haunted him. He knew better than anyone what you used to see in the older members—the maturity, the ease, the way Seungcheol just knew how to handle things.

You felt a sharp pang of guilt in your chest. You quickly hopped off the counter, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the living room where it was quieter.

"Chan, look at me," you said, making him meet your eyes. "It’s just a necklace. Honestly, I’ve been meaning to buy a new one for months anyway. This one is getting old."

Dino looked at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of a lie. "You don't have to say that. You liked it enough to keep wearing it."

"I did," you agreed softly, tracing the line of his jaw. "But just because I used to like something—or someone—doesn't mean I still do. I’m not eighteen anymore, and I’m not looking for what I was looking for back then. I’m here with you. Because you’re who I want."

The raw honesty in your voice seemed to deflate the tension in his frame. He searched your face, and the vulnerability that usually hid behind his perfectionist exterior finally softened into something warmer. He saw the truth in your eyes, and the ghost of Seungcheol’s wink seemed to lose all its power.

Dino let out a shaky, relieved chuckle, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. "You’re really something, you know that?"

"I know," you teased, smiling up at him.