#cloudy writes!

The walk to Blend was infuriatingly cold. It was only 12 minutes way from your bus stop, but in -3-degree weather, that was way too long walking in what was essentially a freezer. It was the peak of winter season in Downtown, so you couldn’t blame anyone or anything. The morning dew looked nice on the tree’s leaves beside you, but you couldn’t appreciate it as much right now, considering that you were literally freezing. You scrunched your nose in pain as the breeze nipped at your exposed skin. A small, reserved sigh left your throat. I should really invest in a bigger scarf you thought. It was enough to cover most of your nape and some of your chest, but it could only hold so much warmth. You had a toque on to cover your ears and forehead and even had earmuffs on top for good measure. It wasn’t enough to stay in the cold for too long, but you just had to suck it up and walk as fast as you could to the warm refuge that was the café you were walking to. Pockets are stuffed full of gloved hands, each step crunching frozen salt on the concrete, determined to warm up as soon as you could.

The jingle of the store bell rings in your ear as the lens of your silver-framed glasses suddenly fog up. You shook off the salt from your shoes at the entrance and made your way to the thermostat to adjust the heater’s temperature. Your heavy layers and bag land on the employee table with a loud thunk. A sigh escaped you, louder and longer now that you knew there was no one to look at you weird, as you made your way to the main area of Blend café.

It was your first opening shift alone at your first “big girl job” today. Anything could go right. Or wrong. It depends, you thought. You wanted to prove to your manager that you were trustworthy and a great employee. You wanted this shift to go well. You needed this shift to go well. She saw through your anxious tendencies—always ensuring the customer’s needs come first before yours, lining up the to-go cups in a certain way, and coming at least 15 minutes earlier than your shift to make sure everything is prepared properly. But she seemed to have noticed that and let you begin opening shifts alone, apparently much sooner than usual from what your co-workers say.

You needed to prove to her that you were trustworthy and reliable. Every day leading up to this shift, you double checked exactly what tasks she’d want done and whatever else she might need to do. But she only looked at you with soft eyes, saying to do it “just like you usually do it”. That totally helps! you thought anxiously. Anything could go wrong. You could forget how to make a certain milkshake. The payment machine could malfunction while waiting for the next employee to clock in. Electricity could go out for all you knew. The weather could actually give in and make the power go out—

You slapped your cheek softly, snapping yourself out of your spiral.

You let muscle memory guide you, feet already moving to the first task of your opening shift.

First, the café sign goes out because that’s the only task that required you to go out into the freezing cold again. Then, you do as you would usually do in every other opening shift: switch on the coffee machine, get out its supplies, restock the to-go cups, prepare the oven for pastries, and turn on the iPad and machine. Your eyes glanced at the clock on the iPad. Finished at 5:00 AM exactly. Finally, your fingers flipped the sing to “open”. 

A silent lull filled the space of Blend café as Downtown slowly woke up outside. Cars gradually filled the street outside, the occasional person zoomed past the café towards their unique destination, and building windows began lighting up one by one. But nobody had entered the café yet. Typical for the crack of dawn. But the silence felt too suffocating. Your fingers, on autopilot, grabbed your phone and connected to the café’s speakers. Maybe a happy song to start the day off right. None of that depressing shit. “This Side of Paradise” by The Coyote Theory was first to play.

You let your eyes relax shut, mind consumed by the first few notes of the electric guitar. Every few seconds, a new instrument was added, making the song louder and louder—

The store bell’s jingle jolts you out of the trance you were in.

“Hi there! What can I get for you today?” you asked automatically, costumer service voice and customer service smile activated.

Your hands froze above the iPad when your eyes finally landed on the boy that just walked in. You mentally cursed. He was a bit good looking. Maybe a bit was an understatement. You hadn’t mentally prepared for an interaction with a cute boy at the crack ass of dawn. Typically, your customers this early are older people, office or construction workers, grumpy and depressed, probably 30 to 40 years old. The younger ones don’t come out until at least 7 AM.

“Hi. Uh, could you give me a few minutes?” the boy responded with a small sheepish grin.

“No worries,” you replied, slightly breathless. “It’s pretty early, so not a lot of people have their brain working properly,” you say with a small laugh. You mentally smack yourself. Smooth. Real fucking smooth. Small talk had always been difficult for you, but this? You can’t be that miserable.

“Oh, it’s a, uh, bit of the opposite for me,” he stutters with a small chuckle as your eyes meet. His voice wasn’t as deep as other kids your age. And the boy had a strange accent you couldn’t quite put your finger on. It was on the tip of your tongue. “Me and my, um, team, are actually still working. We’ve been working since around 3 PM yesterday.” His eyes nervously flicker onto other things but frequently landed back onto yours.

“Oh, I see. Working ‘til early morning is a… choice. Must be a very important project then.”

“Yeah, my job can get brutal at times. But we just needed a pick-me-up, and, um, well, this was the closest café that I could survive walking to in this weather,” he noted as he turned to the windows behind him. Snow had begun to fall.

“Right!” you exclaimed, a little louder than you’d liked. His head whipped back to yours. When your eyes met, you glanced down as blood rushed to your cheeks. God. What a way to leave an impression on a cute guy. When will you ever function like a normal human being? You clear your throat in attempt to ease the awkward air around you. As you returned to meet his gaze once more, his lips turned up into an adorable smile. Charming. “The walk here was exhausting with the wind. Only 12 minutes, but it felt like walking for 30 minutes in Antarctica.”

He only chuckled in response, eyes now focused on the menu above you two, chewing on his lip in decision.

Quiet filled the atmosphere between you as the boy went over the menu silently. You tried your best to avoid looking at him by looking at anything but him, but your curiosity couldn’t be helped. Every few seconds, your eyes stole their little peeks. He was really attractive. At least visually. Small attractions to customers like these were inevitable. You knew that. But you vowed to never think too much of them. You’d made mistakes like these when you were younger, letting yourself slowly eat itself away over a fantasy of some person you’d probably only encounter once.

Inevitably, your eyes land back onto his face, longer this time. He looked kinda young, probably a teenager your age. You could tell by the innocent sparkle in his eyes and pout of his lips as he scanned the menu. His eyebrows, thicker but tamed—unusual for a boy, you thought—and defined jaw made him look manly, yet quite pretty with his long eyelashes and crimson flushed cheeks from the cold. You mentally sigh. A pretty man. What a sight. I could stare at him all day… if it wasn’t generally frowned upon. He wore dark washed blue jeans with a long silver chain attached to the belt loops, a thick grey hoodie decorated with white lines, and a dark blue bomber jacket. The boy even had a single diamond-shaped earring on his left ear. Yeah, the bar is low with how bad my guy friends’ style is… But he isn’t poorly dressed. I’m impressed.

“Hey, um, I’m ready to order,” he said, interrupting your admiring.

“Sure! What can I get for you,” you smiled.

“Could I, uh, please have three matcha’s and two Oreo milkshakes to go?”

You distracted yourself from his handsome face by typing it into the iPad, repeating his order in quiet murmurs as your fingers pressed the respective buttons on the screen. “Sure! Your total will be $29.14. It’ll be ready in a few minutes.” You placed the machine in front of him as he tapped his phone to pay.

As you went to the back to prepare his milkshakes, you felt his gaze linger on you for a beat longer. Sweat began to form in your hands. Cut it out. It’s just a boy. He just wants his 5 drinks.

When you arrived at the back, you’re greeted with empty ingredient tubs. Shit. The new closers must have forgotten to refill them before clocking out. You knew where the bigger tubs were, but they’re huge. Sure, you could definitely do it on your own, but it’d take a while.

You pop out of the back and run to the front. “Hey, uh, sorry, but your order might take a bit longer. I have to get the ingredients from the back, but I’ll get it out as soon as I can!”

“Oh, you’re good! Need help? Is it just you there?” he asked.

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly as you looked at him weird. “Sorry, that was creepy,” he said as his hand fidgeted with his earrings, eyes darting at anything but you.

“You’re good. And I should be fine! Hopefully,” you chuckled nervously. His head nodded in response as his lips pressed together in an understanding smile.

You ran to the back. Just get this over with so that he doesn’t think that this café has a long wait-time. Not a good look for you if he leaves a review. Your hands and legs moved as fast as they could to get the ingredients refilled. The Oreos were easier to refill as it was just boxed cookies that needed to be put in a jar, but the vanilla and matcha powder on the other hand… 35kg tubs, full from their recent restock the other day. You could either use a scooper, unfortunately really fucking small because it was all this café had, but that would take way too long. Should you take the boy’s offer up? You turned on your phone. 5:09 AM. Other customers might not come until 5:45. Hopefully. You prayed that was the case for today. You pray that it was just a normal day. Well, except for this, obviously. But you needed it for your sanity. And there’s not much harm to asking him for help. You just needed help for, like, 2 minutes. It should be quick and easy.

Why the hell not.

You ran back to the front. His eyes shot up from scrolling on his phone as he shut it off and shoved it into his pocket. “Hey, um, so, about that offer… Would you mind helping me out for like 2 minutes? The tubs are a bit too heavy for me, and it’d be nice to have your drinks ready sooner than later, you know?” you stammered in rushed words.

“No worries! I’m always down for a side quest,” he remarked with a smile as his hands clapped together.

“Amazing! Thank you so much, you’re genuinely a life saver right now,” you exclaimed as you gestured for him to follow you.

As you two get to the back, you stopped where the re-fill tubs are. “Here they are. And here are the smaller tubs for up front. I just need your help pouring them into the smaller tubs,” you said, hands on the back of your hips, as your eyes scanned his face for any sign of discomfort.

“Okay! I’ll, um, take this side. You wanna hold onto the top and I’ll lift the bottom?” he asked. His eyes examined the size of the tubs, probably figuring out how to share the weight.

“Yes, that’d be amazing,” you chuckled. His eyes lingered on yours a beat too long for a stranger.

Your hands grip onto the top of the matcha tub as he placed his on the bottom. “Ready?” He nodded. “One, two, three!”

Small grunts came from both of you as the big matcha tub is tilted, powder flowing smoothly into the smaller tub. Once full, you two slowly brought the big tub down with a big thunk! “Nice!”

The vanilla one looked more intimidating. Powder full to the brim. “No one usually orders anything with this powder?” he grunted as you both lifted it.

“I know. Milkshakes aren’t as popular with the cold weather. But we also got these refilled the other day, so it’s essentially been untouched.” Your muscles tensed, trying to be careful not to spill any of the insanely expensive powder. One of your hands slid for a split second, probably from all the sweat on them.

Shit.

You returned your hand right away, but his hand had moved to recover for you and landed right where yours were.

Your fingers twitched at the contact.

Electricity jolted through your hands as your eyes met.

“Sorry,” he muttered. Flush rushed to your cheeks. You noticed that his had a matching flush.

You both placed the tub back onto the ground slowly, landing with a loud thud! You sighed in relief. “Seriously, thank you so much. I’ll have your drinks ready soon.”

“No worries. No other big tubs that need lifting?” he queried as he looked around, fingers pointed at another re-fill tub. His head tilted adorably, questioning.

“No, it should be fine,” you giggled. He was so cute. “I can do those later, but I’m sure you and your team want your drinks as soon as possible.”

“True,” he states, head nodding in agreement, his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Well, um, I’ll be, uh, out front,” he stuttered.

“Yep!”

Your gaze followed his figure as he walked back to the front. But you quickly snapped out of your trance, focusing your attention on making the cute boy’s drinks. Three matcha’s and two Oreo milkshakes. The milkshakes come out speedily, blender blasting loudly as it blends the ice cream, Oreos, and powder.

You walked back to the front as the matcha cookware was placed out next to the coffee supplies.

“You’re not from here, are you?” you suddenly questioned, stepping next to the coffee machine.

His hand goes from fidgeting with his pocket’s zipper to rub the back of his neck. “Was it really that obvious?” he asked with a small chuckle.

“A bit,” you said with an apologetic smile. His fingers go back to fidgeting with his pocket. This whole small talk thing was much easier with a cute, interesting guy. “You have this innocent spark in your eyes that no real Canadian this deep into downtown would have unless they’d recently moved here or are visiting,” you said as your hands vigorously whisked the matcha powder and hot water.

“My bad, I’ll try to be really depressed from now on. I thought Canadians were supposed to be nicer,” he retorted with a grin, hand going to pat his chest quietly.

That made you laugh, his eyes sparkling in return. “Oh, they are. Much better than Americans in my personal opinion. But with the gloom and rain here, people tend to be a bit sadder than other provinces. Still much better than Seattle, though. I find they’re also sad, but grumpy. Grumpier than your typical American.”

“Seattle?”

“Yeah, the closest American state to us. I’ve crossed the border many times to visit there. But that was before whatever’s happening right now with the government,” you said, glancing at him often. Though, your attention always returned to the matcha’s you were making.

“Ah, I see. I’ve, uh, never been.”

“It’s okay. You haven’t missed out on much. It’s better by the coast, though.”

“You like the coast?” he asked as his eyes brightened, head tilted slightly.

“Yeah. Mountains and evergreen trees are beautiful and all here in on this side, but I find more beauty in the water. I feel more at peace near the water.”

“Nice. I’m the same. The coast back where I live is nice too. I go there alone most of the time to, uh, think. It gets gloomy like this back there, but there’s peace in it.”

A tranquil hum filled the space between you both. His ears had now gone pink. It was definitely not from the cold at this point. His eyes frequently glanced at your lips, and when you noticed, you quickly looked down, distracting yourself by pouring the matcha’s into their cups, and pressed your lips together and chewed them in nervousness. Focus on the matcha, you reminded yourself. When you looked at him again, he was still shyly staring at your face, eyes enamored by something on you. But when he noticed your gaze, his eyes flickered away as flush tinged his cheeks once again.

“Well,” you say, sliding his finished drinks in a drink carrier across the counter. “Three matcha’s and two Oreo milkshakes to-go.” Both your fingers brush together on the side of the carrier.

Electricity flowed through your veins from the contact.

“Do you, um, make good coffee?” he murmured, almost quiet enough to miss.

“I’d think so,” you chuckled. “Not the worst. My parents are coffee fanatics, and they say it’s not bad.”

His eyes surveyed the café, then landed on yours. “Then I should probably come back?” he questioned with a cute smile, each word chosen and said with care.

“Perhaps,” you countered as your body leaned against the edge, faces now a smidge closer than before. His skin was so clear. So clear that you wanted to reach out your hand and run it over his cheek to make sure that he was real. Clear skin felt weird for a teenage boy. Or he’s just been blessed by God. And he’s Asian. He must have really good skincare or something. The space between you felt electric. Intense. But you didn’t want to push him to do the same. You only wanted to test the waters.

Your eyes met for a few beats too long. His eyebrow twitched every few moments as if he was physically jolted by the tension between you two. You kept your gaze locked on him, curious about who this handsome boy might be and why you felt so compelled to keep talking to him. By now, you’d have let go of whatever attraction you felt towards a customer. But with the way he stared at you with a familiar curiosity in his eyes, you felt like it was okay to hold onto it—to him—a bit longer.

A ping sounded from his pocket, a foreign sound interrupting the conversation you two had between your eyes. A pout formed on your lips.

“That must be your team. Antsy for their caffeine, huh?” you retorted as you tilted your head.

He tilted his in response, a small pout forming on his lips as well. “Probably. I’ll, uh, try to come back. Depends on how good these matcha’s and milkshakes are.”

“Well, just know they were made to the best of my abilities.”

“With a bit of my help, no?” he chuckled.

“Oh, right. Thank you again. Seriously. And tell them that I’m sorry for the hold-up.”

“Of course,” he smiled, eyes crinkling again. “I didn’t mind a little side quest.”

The jingle of the store bell abruptly halts your conversation. Cold air slipped into the café. Both your heads whipped towards the entrance.

Your eyes meet once more. “Well, I’ll see you,” he said with a sheepish grin.

“See you,” you said with your own smile.

Your gaze followed his figure as he walked towards the entrance. Time wasn’t in your favour anymore as the customer looked at you, smiling a bit impatiently, waiting for you to take their order. The universe didn’t even let you have a moment to let whatever just happened sink in.

An interaction with a cute boy that didn’t end in you fumbling over your words. Not bad for an awkward anxious girl.

Your feet reluctantly take you back to the front to help the customer that just walked in. Even as you took and made their order, your head still buzzed as it replayed every little interaction between you and the cute boy.

You couldn’t lie and say that you hadn’t thought of him at all since your last interaction.

You’d been referring to him as the boy, since you technically didn’t catch his name. It sucks, because you totally could have found his entire background in one night. A simple name could potentially have narrowed down your research results and given you his family, baby photos, and probably his friends. Sometimes, you were ashamed of abusing the Internet and its freedom of information. Sometimes you’d find information you really didn’t want to know. But finding this out was important because you wanted to know if he was dating anybody. You were curious about this boy. Not that it mattered if he was dating anybody or not. Your heart wanted to know if this was safe to explore. But even if you wanted to figure that out, you knew nothing about him, except that he was probably your age, wasn’t from here, liked the sea, and was infuriatingly handsome.

You thought about it hard the night he came to the café. To stalk or not to stalk. But when you opened up Google, Instagram, and even Facebook, you didn’t even know what to type into the search bar. Handsome guy? Boy working on a project for 17 hours straight? Kid visiting the sea when he wants to think? They felt like shit prompts.

You sighed, loud, long, and drawn out, falling deaf upon nobody’s ears in your warm and dimly lit room, accepting your fate. The probability of seeing him again was very low. You did your finishing touches to your makeup, stood up, and grabbed your phone from its charger. The typical snow-proof layers went on with ease—still wishing that you had a bigger scarf—then you quickly double checked you had everything in your bag. As your fingers confirmed that you had everything you needed, you stepped out into the cold. It was still dark, typical in the cold and depressing winter. The snow from yesterday didn’t stick, but morning frost glimmered on the grass and cement around you.

You were on your way to your second opening shift alone. It was a nice job with alright pay. It wasn’t horrendous, but it was manageable. Your co-workers were considerate and funny. And the workload wasn’t overbearing because your manager was so nice. You thought that you’d hit the jackpot for your first job. Every shift, you do your best to prove that you’re a worthy employee. It felt nice working at the cute and cozy little corner café.

Your walk to the bus stop was faster than yesterday. Knowing that yesterday went pretty smoothly—except for when you had to ask that boy for help refilling—your nerves calmed significantly from yesterday. Your fingers flicked open your AirPods case from your pocket and placed one in your left ear as the other hand pressed play on a random playlist. “Good Days” by SZA played into your ear.

The electric guitar riff consumed your thoughts. Every time a chord changed to a different one, the instruments got louder and louder, as if they were echoing in an empty parking lot. New sounds were slowly added to the background of every measure that created layers and depth to the song. But the electric guitar riff stayed constant, as if a stone thrown into water and each instrument rippled it.

All the while, I'll await my armoured fate with a smile.

Your mind is flooded with memories of the boy. When he charmed you with his adorable smile. When your fingers brushed when you were pouring the vanilla powder. When your fingers briefly touched again on the drink carrier. When your eyes met for a moment too long for strangers. You suddenly remembered when he said that he’d visit the beach often back where he lived. When he needed to think. You do that too. You did that whenever you needed to escape. When it got too difficult. When your mind got too loud.

No one really understood why you found comfort in the sea. Your family preferred mountains. Your friends didn’t find as much meaning in it as you did. They liked camping and lakes and forests and streams. But you always found that the ocean water shimmered more than lakes. The sea danced and embraced your body better than lakes ever could.

The boy would probably get me, right? He’d understand my love for the beach. We’d probably hang out there often. We’d have deep talks by the pier. Talks about the meaning of life, importance of human connection, the impacts of literature, our favourite colours, the perfect albums, aliens’ existence you know, the important stuff. We could be lonely together. We might even fall in love with each other. If we started dating, we’d have dates at the beach. We’d probably visit there no matter the weather—sunny and warm or snowy and frozen. That reminded me of that Taylor Swift song. “Snow on the Beach”, I think. That song’s a love story. How two people falling in love is as inevitable as snow falling on the beach. It’s strange, weird, but it’s happening, and you can’t do anything to stop it—

The bus’s lights had blinded your eyes temporarily, enough to snap you out of your thoughts.

Shit. The boy’s got me associating him with songs. Oh, I’m soooooooo fucked.

You placed your focus back onto your transit to work, stepping onto the bus and tapping your bus payment onto the machine. You headed to the middle of the bus, sitting at the available window seat.

Window seats were always good for pondering. And your mind did just that, only, about the boy. Would you see him again today? He never really promised that he’d visit again. He only said he’d try to come back. You hoped to see him again, though. It’d be nice.

But realistically, he wouldn’t come again. He didn’t have a real reason to, especially if they didn’t like your drinks. It was probably only a one-time interaction. It made the most sense logistically.

It was an unfortunate situation to be in with a cute boy, but it was most probable.

You couldn’t risk getting a crush for nothing.

So, you just brushed off your thoughts and feelings and desires.

Your bus had arrived at your stop, and you stepped off the bus. The walk to the café felt faster today, your feet fast as if there was something waiting for you at the café. But you knew there wasn’t anything there for you, except for all your future customers. Setting up the café was much easier today, too. You even double checked that all the ingredients were refilled before you opened.

But, as you expected, he didn’t show up today.

The first hour of your shift was a bit more hopeful. Your head always jolted up whenever the store bell rang. But as customers poured in, all who didn’t have the same adorably handsome face or stammering boyish voice as he did, you began to accept that he wouldn’t show up.

As you went to the back to grab your stuff, already heading home because your shift had finished, you sighed softly.

The boy didn’t come.

But it was okay. You knew it would be okay. Because your shift had gone well. There were no significant bumps like yesterday. You took orders with a smile and served coffee made with care.

Maybe, one day, fate will bring you two back together. But also, maybe fate decided that you would only ever interact once.

You knew that in the end, you were not in control of fate’s hands, so you patiently let what was next come to you in its own time.

Good or bad, you’d greet it with a smile.

Days passed without seeing the boy.

A day.

Two days.

Three days.

You were on day five. But who was counting?

You didn’t think much of it anymore when day three came around. Sometimes, brief memories of what he looked like interrupted your thinking. Sometimes, it had you yearning that it could have turned into something. You were bored. But it was okay. For all you knew, he could have totally forgotten you and passed by you on the street, completely unbeknownst to you. Maybe he got so caught up in whatever work he had going on that he forgot to visit you again. Maybe he had already left. But you had survived without him before, surely you could do it again. Realistically, you could live without him.

And you did.

Life went on as it always did. Days got brighter. Shifts got easier. Paychecks came in, helping with your travel fund. Dinners with your family were entertaining as always. You even visited a few friends yesterday and had car conversations that lasted until 2 AM.

It was as mundane as it was before, but it was fulfilling enough for you. Simple, but full of joy.

Today would be a good day, you thought. You woke up much later than you usually do, but it was okay because you were off work today. There was apparently a market happening in Downtown that was open since 10 AM. You thought it would be good day to window shop. Not actual shopping because you knew your money was best spent in other places—concerts, plane tickets, and books.

It felt strange for there to be a market in such cold weather. It was 4-degrees outside, but maybe some people thought it was nice enough to browse around. There were many big clouds, but not enough to be cloudy or not grey enough to the point of gloom. The sun had occasionally peaked through the buildings on your left.

You had been browsing around for around 20 minutes already. Curiosity took you to a stained-glass trinket stall, a jerky stall (you don’t even like jerky), a cap stall (you don’t even wear caps), a waterproof sticker stall, a leather bag stall (you already have one), a candle stall, and finally, a jewelry stall. But nothing really felt worth your money. The trinkets were cute, but not worth $15. Waterproof stickers were interesting, but you already had an overflow of them at home. The candles smelled good, but you had enough at home. You spotted a few pieces at the jewelry stall, however, not for yourself. But none of them felt needed, so you didn’t end up buying anything.

You left empty-handed. Which wasn’t a bad thing. That was probably an extra $150 into your travel fund. But you didn’t get any of that sweet instant gratification from shopping. You don’t shop much, so you sometimes miss those few hours of pleasure.

You walked with no destination in mind. It wasn’t as cold now, the sky clearing slightly and the sun peeking out every few minutes. Every time you stopped, you took a breath and closed your eyes, letting the sun kiss your face.

Your mind brings you back to the last time you visited the beach. It was September, so it wasn’t the sunniest, but it also could not compare to the cold back in home. The clouds were a bit grey and sad, which felt foreign in Hawai’i, but still peaceful. You were in paradise. On your first day back, it was warm enough to swim, so you went in for a dip. The cooling water enveloped your body. It embraced you as if you hadn’t for years. And, really, you didn’t. It had been 7 years since you were last in there. You missed it badly. You’d visit lakes and streams and waterfalls back home and took dips in the so-called beaches, but they never matched up to the beaches in Hawai’i. The vividly remembered the way your skin welcomed the humid air. The way your hair curled up like Moana’s. The way the sand exfoliated your feet so lovingly—

You were interrupted by your face crashing into another person’s shoulder.

“Sorry!” you exclaimed, apologizing to the person who seemed to not be looking where they were going, only slightly wincing in pain.

“Oh—” the person—the boy said. “It’s oka—”

Time, despite its typically unfair hands of fate, seemed to have graciously let this moment pause. The universe and all its magic let you have this moment, feeling the gradual slow of time as your heart sped up.

Your eyes locked with him. His faced looked familiar with his long eyelashes and thick eyebrows. Skin clear of any blemishes, except for one adorable mole on his right cheek. Cheeks so flushed from the cold that he was pink to his jawline. Lips moisturized and looking quite kissable right now. And the sunshine made his dark brown hair look like he was sent from the Heavens themselves. Eyes deeply dark, yet light enough that you could see his irises. They scanned your face as well, eyebrows twitching and pinching together as if he, too, was trying to solve the mystery that was you.

The boy wore a slightly distressed pair of light washed jeans, a white “Joy Division” graphic tee, wired headphones that draped around his neck, and an oddly familiar dark blue bomber jacket. You may be going crazy, but this could be the boy from the other day. He looked familiar enough to be him. His clothes, his height, his hair, his face—they all looked like him. But what stumped you was the boy’s silver-framed wire glasses. They were small and simple, but they made his face look slightly different from the boy you remembered. He could be anyone, really. A mere stranger who was also lost in the moment with you. But the way he stood there, breathless with his mouth slightly agape, made you think that he could be somebody you knew. Maybe he’s a friend of a friend?

“Hi,” the boy said breathlessly.

“Hi,” you replied with a tilt in your head. You were still trying to figure out who this boy was. “Do I know you?”

“Are you the, uh, girl who works at Blend café?” he asked in return.

“Uh, yes. But I asked you first. Who are you?”

“Oh! Right,” he said. He moved his glasses to push back his hair. Oh. “I’m the one who helped you refill that matcha and vanilla powder the other day.”

Yes. The infuriatingly handsome boy from a few days ago. The one who you were suspecting was him. He looked so good today. Maybe it was the way the sun shone on him. Maybe it was his hair pushed out of his face. His perfectly proportioned face made him look incredibly handsome, almost perfect, as if he was carefully crafted by God. He looked so good up close. His skin, his face, his hair, his eyes. You could probably stare at him all day…

But it was strange to find him out on the streets of Downtown out of all places. You really thought that you’d never see him again. Or maybe see him at a shift at Blend instead. The glasses had really thrown you off. This boy could have been a weird rando. Is this how people feel when they find out Clark Kent is Superman? “Oh! Yes! I remember you,” you exclaimed. “Thank you so much for your help, by the way. Sorry that I had to keep you longer than you needed to.”

“Oh, it was okay, really! I didn’t mind a side quest with a, uh pretty girl,” he stuttered. If this was his attempt at flirting, it was working, but not in the way he probably intended. His smile grew wider and his cheeks flushed redder as each second passed.

You giggled at his remark. He looked so much better up close… “I never caught your name.”

“Oh, um, it might be hard for you to say,” he chuckled nervously.

“Oh, come on, it can’t be that hard! You can teach me.”

“You can just call me Hogan.”

“Hogan, huh? Not a very common name.”

“Yeah. But my real name is Keonho,” he said sheepishly, further emphasizing the different “oh” sounds in his name.

“Nice to meet you, Hogan! You can teach me how to say your real name next time. I don’t want to butcher it today,” you said, leaning in as you extended your hand and offering your name.

His hand slid into yours with a firm grip. His hand was warm and smooth. Dang. Did he moisturize his hands too? This was…not necessarily concerning… but unusual for a boy. He whispered your name once more with his charming smile, each syllable rolling off his tongue like honey. God. Since when was saying my name attractive?

“You never came back to try our coffee,” you commented, jutting your lips out in a pout. You noticed that his eyes darted to your lips then quickly recovered to your eyes.

“Sorry about that. I’m sure your coffee is great. But I couldn’t see you again because my schedule has been so fucking packed,” he sighed. “We had a, um, performance yesterday, a long day of practice the day before, these—uh—lessons the day before that, and we recorded something the day before that.”

See me again, huh? Dang. “Oh, I see. Busy guy, huh?”

“Yeah it gets like that. But then there are some moments that I can spend alone which is nice.”

You jutted your lips out in a pout again, slowly nodding as you thought of what he just said. Only some moments of break are quite brutal. What project was he working on? It sounded too professional for a school project or simple work project. “How’s that 17-hour long project going, by the way?”

“Oh, yes. I’m surprised you remembered that.”

“Well,” you laughed. “I didn’t have much to remember you by in our short ass interaction,” you countered.

He laughed in response. “Well, um, it was pretty good! We got a few good drafts that were sent to, uh, the higher ups for review. I actually got very inspired after visiting your cafe,” he stuttered.

“Inspired by me, huh? As long As I get some sort of credit,” you said with a wink. His cheeks flushed even more, if that was possible. “What project are you even working on?”

Your eyes glanced around to see if you were blocking the way. You two had been in the middle of the sidewalk for a few minutes already and you didn’t want to be that annoying citizen that took up the entire space. Before he could answer, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards the side as a large group of people walked by. “Sorry. That huge group was about to walk by, and we were lowkey in the middle of the walkway.”

When you looked back at him, his eyes were wide, almost sparkling, and staring at your hand that was still clutching his wrist tightly. You quickly retracted your hand, blood rushing to where you came in contact and to your own cheeks. “Sorry,” you murmured. “I hope that didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

He had an incredibly sheepish expression on his face. He looked so red, the cold not aiding his case, his cheeks and lips twitching, almost smiling. “It’s okay,” he breathed, his other hand moving to touch the wrist you held. “Anyway,” he said, shaking his head and slightly widening his eyes, refocusing onto you. “Um, what did you ask again?”

You smiled at his reaction. He’s so cute. “What project are you working on?”

“Oh! Well, it’s a bit of a long explanation. Are you, um, heading anywhere right now?”

“No, actually. Today’s my day off.”

“Great!” he exclaimed loudly. He cleared his throat, probably out of embarrassment. “Do you want to, maybe, um, walk with me? I do have somewhere to be in, like, 45 minutes, and it’s a pretty long walk. And I’d like your—er—the, uh, company.”

You pretended to think about it, finger on your chin as you looked up. When you returned your eyes to him, you noticed his incredibly cute and nervous expression. “Yeah, I’m down,” you smiled with a small nod.

“It’s this way,” he stammered as he began to walk. “So, um, my team actually makes songs.”

His head turned to yours, seeming to be waiting, almost hoping for something, reading your expression. “Yo, really?! That’s so cool, what the heck? Wait, that’s perfect! I’m such a music lover, you don’t even know,” you exclaimed. He must be a singer. Or a performer. He has the perfect face for one. It would suck if he was just an underground singer—or even a mere songwriter—with such a perfect face. You briefly surveyed his body. Perfect proportions too, lowkey…

His smile grew. “Perfect?”

“Well, yes. It’s nice to have more in common with a stranger turned…” your eyes met as your words trailed off. “Acquaintance? Friend?” you questioned. “I will say, I don’t know much about you, Hogan.”

“Um, well, we can start with the basics.”

“I’m down.”

“Well,” he started, hopping around a puddle. “My name is Hogan or Keonho. I’m 16, but I’m turning 17 on Valentine’s day!” he said.

“Sick,” you replied.

“I’m from South Korea.” Ah. Korean. You knew you recognized that accent. “And, uh, I’m visiting here for the first time. Well, more like this part of the world in general.”

“Well, I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay here, Hogan,” you declared.

He replied with a charming smile. After a beat, “And, you?”

You restated your name and offered your age. 

“Wow. Okay, Unc,” he teased.

“Okay, not too much on me.”

“Sorry,” he giggled with that Canadian twang.

“You’ve got the Canadian accent now.”

“Huh?”

“You say ‘sowry’ instead of ‘sorry’ now.”

“I probably picked it up from you. You, uh, say it a lot,” he commented

“Yeah. Canadians are known for that,” you said as you laughed together. “Anyway. I was born here but my parents aren’t from here.”

“Cool!”

“Yeah.”

After a few beats, you asked, “Have you ever been anywhere in South East Asia?”

“Yeah! But it was, like, 8 years ago. So, a lot has probably changed.”

“Oh. I’ve never really visited anywhere outside of Korea.”

“Yeah. Well, some of the beaches are nice there!”

“Yeah! I visited one in the Phillippines once. The sand was so soft on your toes, it felt like a blanket.”

“Soft as a blanket? I’ll have to remember that.”

You giggled at your own stupid remark. “Do you plan to go there anytime soon?”

“No. But it’s on my, uh, list for ‘to-see-countries’.” You nodded as you both came to a stop at a crosswalk. His accent was so adorable. He was fluent, but there were some moments when he hesitated, second guessing what he was about to say.

“Okay, one more random trivia that we should know about each other. But, not something boring like your favourite colour.”

“What’s wrong with knowing each other’s favourite colour?”

“Nothing. It’s just boring. And I think it makes more sense when you get to know somebody though.”

There was a moment of silence before he responded. He probably took a second to think about that. “That’s true, actually.”

“Yeah, right?” you affirmed. The walking sign switched to light up the white walking person.

“What’s your favourite time of day?” he asked after a moment as you both step onto the street to cross.

“Wow. I’ve never thought of that.”

“I know, right? A hard one.”

“For sure,” you said as you took a long breath. “Maybe 13:00 in military time? But then 3:00 PM for regular time, if that makes sense.”

“That’s cool. I’ve never considered military time,” he said as you both arrive at the other end, only to wait for the next crosswalk. “But, for me, I like 4:00 PM and 19:00 for military time.”

“Nice. Okay, Hogan, we’re officially friends,” you said, lifting your hand up for a high-five. High-five? What are you, seven years old? Awkward. You mentally slapped yourself. Whatever. Just keep your hand up. He chuckled and high-fived you back. “Friends,” he said with a wide grin.

As the crosswalk sign lit up, you both stepped onto the street. “So, what music do you make? Hip-hop? Rock? Country? Some other very indie genre that I don’t know of?”

“Oh, um, it’s pretty known. Not that indie, unfortunately. Do you like indie artists?”

“Yeah! I love some indie artists, but I do mostly listen to pop,” you explained. “Should I guess what genre?” you queried with a smirk.

“You know what, why not?” he teased with his own grin.

“Hm… you look like an alternative-indie person.”

“Do I?”

“You got the style and the face.”

He hummed in response as you two returned onto the sidewalk. “I’ve, uh, never gotten that before.”

“I don’t mean that in a rude way, by the way. I love alternative indie.”

“Well, then. I’m flattered,” he smiled, then quickly returned to his resting face, “but, no.”

“Dang. RnB?”

“No,” he deadpanned.

“Aw, shucks. Okay… this is harder than I thought.”

“You’re overthinking it too much. It’s very, uh, popular.”

“Okay…” you trailed off, deep in thought. “Give me a hint.”

“It’ll give it away.”

“Okay, so you just want to be mysterious. There’s no fun in that,” you said, bumping your shoulder with his.

“It’s entertaining watching you guess,” he said, grinning as you locked eyes.

“Fine. If it’s not any ‘chill’ genres, then, it must be more upbeat,” you said, glancing down at your shoes.

“You’re on the right track.”

“Amazing. Okay. You don’t look very rock-y or metal-y. Can’t be folk or country either. Hip-hop or pop?” You gasped. “K-Pop?”

“You got it.”

You exclaimed with triumph. “I won’t be weird about it. But, I will say, I was a big K-Pop fan back in 2020-2021.”

“Honestly, who wasn’t?” he chuckled.

You laughed. “True.” You thought of the groups you used to listen to back then. So many big-name groups—ones with boys, girls, both, and a variety of members and albums released. You wonder how they are now. “How’s the K-Pop industry now?”

“It’s…” he paused, weighing his words. “Alright.”

“So, bad.”

“Well… yeah. But when has it ever really gotten better.”

“True,” you laughed. You glanced at him. “So, are you in a K-Pop group where they dance and stuff? Or are you in a K-Pop band where you actually play instruments?”

“Hey, I know how to play instruments,” he informed.

“Oh, really?” you chuckled. “What instruments?”

“Guitar—acoustic and electric—”

“Okay, bro. They’re literally the same,” you interrupted, scoffing slightly.

“Whatever,” he said, rolling his eyes as he fought a smile. “I can also play a little piano. My, uh, friend is teaching me. And I can play the cajon. I got that rhythm.”

“Aye, okay. Not bad,” you said, raising your eyebrows, impressed.

“But, we are the dancing group.” Called it. He looked way too toned to be just a guitar player or whatever.

You only nodded. “You any famous back home?”

“Yeah. Pretty famous. We’re actually here for some special training and recording.”

”Special training and recording, huh? Your company must be rich-rich.” YG? SM? JYP? BigHit? Maybe some other company that got famous when I left K-Pop fandoms?

“Probably the richest out there.”

“HYBE?”

He reluctantly nodded. “Yeah. BigHit.” Called it. Again. I’m on a roll.

“That’s not bad. From what I remember, YG barely promoted their artists, JYP focused on one group at a time, SM had those slave contracts. BigHit isn’t the worst. Lesser of two evils.”

“Yeah, it’s not bad. Our managers are pretty nice to us. They let us do what we want most of the time.”

“That’s good! At least you have a little freedom.” He just nods in response. It now made sense to you why his face looked so good. The tamed eyebrows and brown-dyed hair were for his idol-image. After a moment of silence, you ask “So, uh, is Hogan your stage name or something?”

“No, actually. It’s Keonho. Hogan is just my name backwards.”

“Aye! What!” you exclaim. Your mind was quick to find how clever that was. “Wait, that’s actually so sick.”

“Thanks. The creative juices were flowing when I made that up.” You nodded as you think about the two names. Keonho and Hogan. Keon-ho and Ho-gan. That’s so tough. After a few beats of silence, “Anyway. If you search up my name, you’ll probably find my group there.”

“Don’t wanna name drop now?” you chuckled.

“Well, hopefully it makes you think of me later,” he slightly stuttered out with an edge that made it sound like he was testing the waters. Dang. Already leaving room for a possible second hang out? Was this even considered a hang out? You were literally just walking with a guy—your friend. But even with how mundane walking was, it was still fun. With him.

“True. Helps add mystery or whatever to your character, I guess.”

He slowly comes to a stop in front of some sort of studio. One for dancing probably, considering the girl in the ballet position at the front door. “Well, this is me.”

“You dance well?” you retorted

“Uh, yeah? I’d think so. Not the worst, but there are people better than me.”

“I’ll look you up later and be the judge of that,” you teased with a smile.

“Do you dance?”

“Oh, hell no. I just have a few dancer friends.”

“I see.”

You looked down at your guys’ shoes. They were almost matching. White Sambas for you and black Sambas for him. You were still curious about this guy. But you knew you needed to leave a clear enough signal that you still were. So, you took a very brave step forward as you stood quite close to him. “Well,” you trailed off, “when can I see you again?”

“You miss me already?” he asked, confidence seeping into his words.

“Bold of you to say for our second interaction ever.”

He laughed with you. He took out his phone from his pants’ pocket and handed it to you. “You can put in your contact there,” he nodded towards his phone. You typed out your phone number and saved your contact as “matcha girl” with a slight tremble in your fingers. As he read your contact, he asked, “Do you like matcha?”

“No. I actually don’t even like caffeine.”

“Interesting,” he mused. “I like matcha when it’s made right.”

“Well, was Blend café’s matcha good, matcha boy?”

“Not bad. A solid 7.5/10.”

“Nice.”

A long pause held you both captive. It was a comfortable silence between you, the only sound being the occasional honk of cars and murmurs of conversations from passersby. Your conversation continued through your eyes. He continued to stare into your eyes without breaking contact. It made your heart stutter and knees tremble slightly with how intimidating it felt being under his gaze.

“Well,” you said, finally breaking the silence. “Message me if you ever need 5 drinks at the crack ass of dawn. Or if you need company while you walk,” you said as you took a step back, ready to turn around and leave, but lingering. Just in case. You weren’t sure for what. But just in case.

“I just might take you up on that offer. Maybe both,” he challenged with a grin, eyes boring into yours, looking impossibly lost in them. He took another step forward, closing the distance you had created. Your breath stuttered.

Careful, girl. This is a dangerous game.

You tilted your head, curious as to what he meant by it. But you didn’t ask that out loud with words. You wanted to know what he meant through his actions. He only tilted his in response. Was that enough of a response for you? A ping disrupted you two, snapping you out of your eye contact. “I gotta go,” he murmured.

“I’ll see you around, Keonho,” you said as you took a few steps backwards. He hadn’t moved forward to close the gap anymore. He had something holding him down to stay where he was.

“See you,” he breathed your name, gaze locked onto your figure as you walked away.

You began walking with no destination in mind yet again.

But this time, when you looked up, there were no clouds in the sky.

Pure sunshine.

Keonho couldn’t sleep that night.

I’ll see you around, Keonho.

She said my name perfectly. I didn’t even have to correct her pronunciation.

It wasn’t the most surprising thing—that your pronunciation wasn’t bad—but he had to confess that he was impressed. Maybe even a little dumbfounded with how his mind had sighed in attraction when you said his name. He stood there in front of the dance studio for a little longer than he should have, head foggy as he remembered the way that electricity flowed through him whenever your shoulders brushed every few steps. It was so hard for him to concentrate on the song he was adjusting right now when he easily recalled the hush and sweet sound of your voice. Memories of the way your face looked—pretty and tender whenever you met his gaze—consumed his mind.

Over and over again, his mind rushed with memories of you. His mind roared and buzzed with memories, feelings, and emotions.

He didn’t feel this strongly when he first met you that early frozen morning in the café.

The week before that, his team was trying to get something out of this song camp. Everyone was so frustrated because there wasn’t anything on anybody’s mind, not even a simple lick or hook that could be made into a song. Both Martin, his group leader and ultimate producer, and Seonghyeon, his best friend and his group’s creative mind, couldn’t create anything that was worth further producing. How the fuck could this place give no inspiration to any of us? the other songwriters furiously exclaimed one time.

But when Keonho met you, his mind was suddenly full of so many lines and melodies. You two only had a simple interaction, but it inspired him. He was curious about who you were and why his heart stuttered whenever you focused on him. He was sure it wasn’t anxiety or nerves—he’d know—and he was scared that it was attraction. He didn’t know why. But you made him feel… human. You just had… regular conversations with him. You didn’t ask him anything weird or any of that unhinged parasocial fan shit.

It was just a normal interaction, and honestly, he’d missed them. He did his best to steer away from interactions with girls—one, because some of them got weird, and two, if he does end up dating, his idol life made it overly complicated. He amped up his flirty side when it came to fanservice, but outside of that, he was honestly a loser. Every night after work, he debated visiting you again (because he may have missed your voice, but he’d never admit that out loud), but a quiet voice in the back of his head said to think logically about this. He couldn’t let the rules and problems of idol life get in the way of a potential relationship with you.

But you had made him feel normal. You made him feel comfortable.

The whole thing inspired him to make a song. It was simple, short, and sounded like a Midwest emo song. But it was bare, mostly instruments. And he only had a small poem for lyrics but no proper melody. No matter how much he added or removed or adjusted, he couldn’t quite recreate what he had in mind. It always either felt like too much or too little.

He tried coming back to your café again a few days after you first met, waking up early to visit you at 5 AM. But he was only met with a dark and empty café, eyes reached a “closed” sign when he stepped in front of the entrance. He sighed, breath visible as it exited his nose, running a hand through his hair. Martin had encouraged him to finish up this draft, but he knew he had to see you again to get the sound right. He had tried and you weren’t there.

Later on in the afternoon, he tried again. After hours of clicking, moving, and changing tracks, he wasn’t progressing at all. But again, he had no luck. Some guy with bleached hair was at the cashier today—definitely not you. He didn’t even order anything. He just stared at the menu as if he wasn’t here the other day and left. The cashier probably thought he was weird, but Keonho could care less. He just needed to see you.

And somehow, he did, accidentally bumping into you—literally—on the street.

Now, all his feelings were heightened. His mind rushed and buzzed with you, you, you.

That night, after a long day of dance lessons and draining practices, he sat alone in the studio. Martin wanted Keonho to do it himself since he knew the sound he had in his mind. Keonho wanted help, but realistically, Martin couldn’t help him. As soon as he opened his laptop, he felt like he literally blacked out. His voice decided the melody instead of his head. Fingers moved on their own, creating and adjusting instruments that chose and aligned themselves. Finally, his mind knew which key, what electric guitar motif, and what drum rhythm sounded like the song that played in his head.

It was simple. It was good. It was beautiful. Like you.

He sighed, finally leaning back after hours of perfecting this track inspired by you. He interlaced his fingers and let his palms cover his eyes as he leaned his head back, chair creaking in the empty studio. If his team liked this draft, and the higher ups accepted the song, then that would mean it might be out in the open for you to hear. Would you like it? Would you even know it was about you? Would you look at the credits and see that he helped produce and compose it? Or would you not care because you forgot that he ever mentioned that?

He couldn’t tell.

Yet.

You still hadn’t messaged him. Technically, since you had put your number in his phone, he totally could have messaged you first. But he didn’t know how to strike up a conversation with you. Not only did he not have any non-Korean teenage friends, but he didn’t have much female friends. He didn’t know how to go about it. And he couldn’t bring it up with his group members. Seonghyeon would tease him to death. Martin probably had an idea, but he couldn’t admit his feelings out loud.

He didn’t even know you.

Yet.

You said you two were friends. But he was still curious about you. He couldn’t quite figure out why he felt so… comfortable in his own skin around you when he felt like he was living a lie. You had this strangely natural ability to make him feel… alright. Being around you made him feel like he didn’t need to exist outside of himself.

He thought that you were a good friend. A great listener.

He could see himself… potentially… falling in love with you.

But he didn’t know yet.

He couldn’t quite tell.

That night, he never ended up messaging you. He thought it would be weird for you to wake up to a message from a boy sent from a really late hour.

He’d probably send a message tomorrow during break.

That night, he fell asleep to the memory of your voice and the thought of your pretty face.

Keonho woke up to the thought of you.

Again.

He couldn’t get you out of his mind. And he couldn’t understand why.

You two had two short and sweet conversations. But they were the ones that stuck to him the most. Not the ones with his manager about remembering what shampoo to use. Not with Seonghyeon when he rambled about which wash of jeans was superior. Not with Martin talking about the instrumental dynamics in his song draft—the one about you.

He loved bands like Radiohead, The Smashing Pumpkins, Joy Division, Nirvana, The Cranberries—you know, your typical Midwest emo bands. There was something about the distortion in the instruments—the rhythm electric guitar, the driving beat of the drums, the simple vocals—that made him feel so mundane yet so alive. It made him feel mature. It was as if listening to older (as in released before he was alive) made him mentally older. It was the closest thing he could get to feel like he actually knew where he was going.

They were in the studio that afternoon, discussing all the song drafts they had accumulated during their song camp. They went through song drafts from each of the members—James with his pop-sounding drafts, Juhoon with a calm, ballad-like song, Martin with his punk grunge ideas, and Seonghyeon with his strangely catchy songs. Lastly, it was Keonho’s turn.

He was nervous watching the other members’ and producers’ reactions. He’d done these many times before already. They had song camp in 2024, again in 2025, and now in 2026. But it still felt nerve-racking to show something that he had made entirely by himself to a bunch of professionals who actually knew what they were doing. With every expression he couldn’t quite read, he wondered if they thought his arrangement was weird or his harmony choices were odd. His chest felt like it was stuck, waiting for the song to finish and for this whole thing to get over with.

When it finished, silence covered the studio. It felt suffocating. Consuming. His skin itched, mouth aching to open and say something, anything, to get rid of this quiet. 

Seonghyeon probably saw how nervous he was beside him, finally breaking the silence. Thank you. “I like it. It sounds like something CORTIS would make.”

“Yeah,” Martin added. “It sounds like ‘What You Want’.”

“Exactly,” one of the other producers responded. “But it has a totally different vibe.”

“More romantic,” his manager mused. “It’s nice.”

“Simple. But it feels like… going through life,” Martin commented.

“I was trying to go for that,” Keonho replied to Martin. “Simple and mundane, ‘cause that’s how life feels like sometimes. The lyrics aren’t my best work, but it’s that sound that I was just trying to create anything.”

“Nice,” another producer noted. “I like the guitar motif.”

“Thank you,” Keonho smiled. He added that in as something up for interpretation. But for him, he added it because it reminded him of the idea of love. It was cringey, but he couldn’t find another way to describe it. It was soft and flowing, a bit of a contrast from the electric guitar and synths. The motif was barely noticeable in the beginning, but after the first chorus, it became more obvious. That’s what you felt like to him.

He had always known that someone who truly understood him would come with time. He just didn’t know when. He knew he was young, only in the middle of his teenage years. Days were spent working as an idol, sagging his pants, smelling his armpits, finding his personal style, and experimenting with everything in his life. But in the two times you were together, he had this fuzzy feeling in his chest that made him think that maybe you were that person for him. Vivid memories of the way your eyes softened when you held eye contact with him and the way your voice was hushed and passionate like wind and waves in the ocean. He wasn’t so sure yet, but he had a feeling that you could be something to him.

Every time he thought of you (which was almost too often for his liking), he remembered the soft silence that overcame your conversations with him most of the time. Not that you had nothing to talk about, but simply the comfortable stillness that came with two people who understood each other. Which was weird to consider, because you guys had only ever talked twice. But whenever the conversation died down, you made casual eye contact with each other as if you two had been married for years already. His chest fluttered and bloomed with something warm every time you met his eyes. His thoughts, usually screaming at him for every little thing and itching for him to make any noise, got strangely quiet, only focused on the fact that you were looking at him.

It had only been a day since you last saw each other, but he couldn’t help but miss you. You hadn’t messaged him yet. He hadn’t messaged you yet. But he wanted to know more about you. Who was this stranger who made silence feel good when most of the time his mind couldn’t handle a moment of quiet? Who was this person who made his heart dance by simply looking at him with those hopelessly tender eyes?

A buzz snaps him back to reality. The room was still buzzing with comments about his draft. He had forgotten to silence his phone before this meeting started. But everyone else was going back and forth with their own notes and ideas about his draft, so he figured that a quick peek at his notifications would be okay.

matcha girl [3:45 PM PST] hi! is this hogan?

Oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God

It was you. He immediately shut off his phone and turned it screen-side down. The blood was warm as it rushed to his cheeks. He suddenly felt a nudge in the knee from the person—Seonghyeon—beside him. He raised his eyebrows, almost asking what it was about. But he probably noticed the flush on his cheeks and a small smirk grew on his face.

“I think we should use this, Keonho,” his manager suddenly said.

“I’m good with that!” he exclaimed, a little to quick and a little too loud for his liking.

“Great!” his manager clapped. “Well,” he said as he glanced at his watch, “I think that’s enough discussion for today. We’ll send up that good draft Martin and Seonghyeon had, maybe Juhoon’s ballad—we’ll see how it fits the vibe. If ever it might be for a future album. And definitely James’ first song and Keonho’s song. You guys did well today,” he smiled. Suddenly, he tapped the armrests as he stood up, “Welp! The rest of your guys’ day is off so feel free to do whatever you want. Just don’t do anything stupid and try not to spend too much money.”

“Thank you, everyone,” each person said, every voice overlapping with each other.

As soon as he saw Juhoon glance at his phone, Keonho knew it was okay to finally message you back. He could feel his fingers get sweatier and sweatier as each second passed by of leaving you on read.

You [3:47 PM PST] hi!! yes is this y/n?

matcha girl [3:47 PM PST] yes!!

You [3:47 PM PST] hiiiii :)

matcha girl [3:47 PM PST] heyyyyyy hahahaha sry for msging u so late LOL i lost track of time was thinkin’ abt uuu

Keonho’s heart stuttered in his chest. He felt like he could literally pass away at this exact moment.

matcha girl [3:47 PM PST] how was dance practice?

You [3:48 PM PST] it was okay haha learned some new techniques :3 and sorry for not msging soon either lol i was actually abt to msg u too

matcha girl [3:48 PM PST] ayeeee tuff tuff and ur good cutie 😉 soooo ur from cortis? bighits new boy grp

You [3:49 PM PST] yeahhh u js searched me up? lol

matcha girl [3:49 PM PST] don’t blame me :( i had a shift this morning n i went out with my friends yesterday

You [3:50 PM PST] it’s okay LMAO i’m js joking wit u u free later? i wna explore metrotown but the other members r busy

Which was obviously a lie. He just wanted some time alone with you. Seonghyeon had actually invited him to the aquarium nearby. But he hadn’t given him a proper answer yet.

matcha girl [3:51 PM PST] no :(( i got dinner w da fam later tmrw? i js got smtg in the morning, but im free in the afternoon :3

You [3:51 PM PST] aw shucks ok i’ll check my schedule i rly wna see u again 🤞

matcha girl [3:52 PM PST] aw ur so cute

Heat rushed to Keonho’s cheeks. Keonho locked his phone and walked towards his manager. Unsurprisingly, talking to the other staff about future plans, rambling, mumbling, blabbering about any and everything in Korean. “Hey, are we doing anything tomorrow?”

“Uh, not much. You guys have vocal lessons until 11 AM and then vlog your lunch at 12 PM, but after that, you’re free. Y’all should enjoy your Sunday. I know you all worked so hard this week, so you deserve it. Especially with that demo. It has great potential, Keonho.”

Keonho felt his cheeks get impossibly redder. I’ll never escape her, will I? “Okay, hyung. Thanks!”

“Who’s got you blushing?” Keonho’s manager noted with a teasing tone in his voice. He couldn’t move fast enough, subject to his manager’s nagging. He didn’t even know his blush was that noticeable.

Keonho audibly swallowed. “Oh, um, nothing.”

“Is it about whoever you wrote your demo about?”

“Haha! You’re funny, hyung,” he said sarcastically.

“Did I stutter?” his manager deadpanned.

Keonho sighed loudly. “Yes. But it’s nothing right now.” And as if the world absolutely hated him, his phone buzzed. Multiple times.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. “It’s okay, Keonho. Just don’t get wrapped up in drama. You know how big-boss-HYBE is about these things. Keep it on the low.”

“Yes, hyung.”

“But also have your fun. You’re only 16.”

“You got it, hyung,” Keonho responded, cheeks ever so pink with his smile getting more sheepish by the second.

“Now go respond to your girl.”

“She’s not my girl!” Were you?

“Who’s your girl?” Seonghyeon chimed in at the worst time ever.

“Nobody!” Keonho exclaimed, a little too loud for comfort.

“Doesn’t sound like nobody to me, am I right, Seonghyeon,” Keonho’s manager remarked, bumping his shoulder with Seonghyeon as he nodded in agreement.

“Y’all are so mean,” Keonho replied, already stepping into the other room.

“Ugh! Our maknae’s experiencing teenage love!” his manager exclaimed, overly exaggerating each word. He could hear him fake sob into Seonghyeon’s shoulder as he sat on the empty couch in the empty room next door.

matcha girl [3:54 PM PST] JUST KIDDING I’M FREE TN! my parents r watching a show tn & my brothers went out w their friends bruh jk they told me tht was tmrw . i’m gna jump them actually tldr; i’m free tmrw where in metro did u wna explore!! the mall? the town?? i can help show u around 😉

You [4:01 PM PST] LMAOOOO we can go somewhere u’d like if u want?

matcha girl [4:02 PM PST] well there’s honestly not much to see if u’ve alrdy been around downtown LOL metro is no different esp if u’ve alrdy been to the mall

You [4:02 PM PST] oh okay yeah i went with seonghyeon the other day

matcha girl [4:02 PM PST] maybe we could go to white rock!! it’s nice there but it’ll be cold

You [4:03 PM PST] okay!! is that closer to u? n we can js walk around town then!!

matcha girl [4:03 PM PST] no, actually LOLL white rock is pretty far it’s veeerrryyy expensive there like u gotta be rich rich to live there but where i’m from is generally further from everything so it’s fine i got my license :3 if ur comfortable w me driving

You [4:04 PM PST] oh why not lol n i can treat u :P

matcha girl [4:04 PM PST] aye awesome!! n plz don’t pay for me. like i’m threatening u. i’m not making the tourist pay

You [4:04 PM PST] ok but lowk not to bash ur job but i think i get paid more than u…

matcha girl [4:05 PM PST] ok bro . i get it ur the rich kpop idol from some rich company but it’s okay! we can js visit their pier :) maybe get smtg to eat to-go by the shore

You [4:05 PM PST] LOL i’m still paying idc

matcha girl [4:05 PM PST] whatever bro anyways! i’ll pick u up at 6 tmrw? we’ll have dinner?

You said we. What the fuck. It lingered like some sort of promise in the air, refreshing and cool like the smell of cold sea water late at night.

You [4:06 PM PST] i’m down see u soon :)

“Who’s got you giggling?” Seonghyeon suddenly said in fluent Korean as he sat in the spot next to Keonho on the couch. He quickly put his phone face-down beside him, just in case you messaged again. Keonho hadn’t even noticed that he was making any noise.  

Keonho sighed loudly, closing his eyes out of annoyance. Reluctantly, he said, “This girl I met at the café where we got the matcha’s and milkshakes.”

“Ooh,” he remarked, eyebrows going up. “The one that held you up for much longer than you were supposed to?”

“Okay, hyung, how many times do I have to say that I was helping her refill the matcha and vanilla powder! It was just her there! And she took my offer to help her! If I didn’t, we probably wouldn’t have gotten through whatever that draft drought was,” he insisted.

“If you didn’t, we wouldn’t have that demo.”

“Okay! Fine. I think I like her. Happy?” Seonghyeon’s eyebrows jolted up, his fist moving to cover a shocked mouth.

“Dang, bro. Already?”

“I know! That’s why I didn’t say anything. We talked like twice. For like 30 minutes.”

“Damn. What was so interesting that it made you fall head over your fucking heels, Keonho?” Seonghyeon giggled at Keonho.

“Shut up.”

“Did I stutter?” he deadpanned.

Keonho throws his hands up in defeat. He ran a nervous hand through his hair. “I don’t know! We talked a bit about ourselves. We talked about the beach—”

“The beach?”

“Yeah!”

“Wow. You don’t even like talking about that with me.”

“I know! But I don’t think it’s that.”

“Okay… what is it then?”

“I don’t know! When there’s a silence after a conversation, everything just feels… right? Like it’s a comfortable stillness. Like we’d had so many conversations before that, and everything just falls into silence like it’s clockwork. And I feel like I can… I don’t know—be okay in that quietness? And, hyung, you know me,” Keonho breathlessly rambled.

“Yeah, you hate silence.”

“Yeah!”

“Holy shit.”

“Holy fucking shit, hyung. Whenever she leans in when it gets quiet, I get nervous, but, like, I don’t feel like I need to move away. Like I’m not uncomfortable! I actually want to lean in and… I don’t know… memorize her face? She’s so pretty, hyung. Whenever she tilts her head, I want to tilt mine to copy her. And her eyes are so beautiful, hyung. And the way she looks at me is also what gets me. She holds eye contact with me like she knows I’m not her saviour or something. Like I’m not an object, but a human. Like I’m worth getting to know. Not just shallow things, like my favourite food or whatever. She even said something about knowing a person’s favourite colour—"

“What’s wrong with knowing somebody’s favourite colour?”

“Oh my God, hyung. She said that it only makes sense when you know somebody,” he breathed. “And that fucking made sense to me. Like it all clicked! Martin-hyung likes orange, electric and neon enough to stand out, but mellow enough to be calm, just like him. Juhoon-hyung likes black and white, as neutral as him, the same way he can adjust himself and match with anything. James-hyung likes pink, cool enough like his cold exterior, but warm enough like his personality. And you like grey, a neutral, found everywhere, but unique enough to differentiate from black or white. Hyung, doesn’t it make sense?” he rambled.

Seonghyeon’s eyes zoned out, mouth slightly agape, pondering what that meant. “Shit.”

“Yeah! Shit!”

“Who is this intellectual human being and can I lowkey get her number.”

“Shut the actual fuck up.” Keonho felt his fists curl up unknowingly. He could punch Seonghyeon’s handsome fox face right now.

“No, but, seriously. Why is that lowkey so interesting—”

“Hyung.”

“Okay. My bad, bro. Lay off me. I’d just want to at least have a conversation with her. I think it’d be interesting. Unless you’re gatekeeping.”

“Well…” Keonho muttered. Keonho looked down and thought. It’s not that she’s only his. She’s not even his yet. Would she fall for Seonghyeon? Would she think Seonghyeon’s better than him? He was funny and attractive in his own way—

“I’m joking, twin. She’s yours. I got my girl back in New York,” he said as he wrapped a hand around Keonho’s shoulder and rubbing it. “I don’t know this girl, but I hope you at least treat her well.”

“I’ll try, hyung. I think I like her.”

“You seem like you do, Keonho. But, uh, I don’t mean to rush you or anything, but, what do you plan to do?”

He sighed, long but not loud. His head hurt as he thought about it. “I don’t even know, hyung. I know I should probably get to know her first before I figure out if I even wanna do anything. I’m… curious about who she is…” he trailed off.

“I think you should take it slow. If your connection is strong enough, then do something about it. I’m sure you’ll know what to do when you need to,” Seonghyeon replied. But would he? He already had a hard time choosing between a croissant and a muffin this morning. A pit in his stomach ached whenever someone says he did something wrong, mind spiraling, even when they assured him that it was okay to make mistakes. He faked everything he did in his job and eventually made it. But how long could he do that before it crashes and burns?

“Yeah,” Keonho only mumbled, vision slightly blurred as he zoned out.

“When are you seeing each other next?”

“Tomorrow, actually. We’re apparently going to someplace called White Rock.”

“Oh, nice. I heard it’s cool there,” he said. “I’ll leave you to it, bro. Message me when you’re on your way back to the house.”

“’Kay, hyung. Thanks.”

Seonghyeon just hummed as he walked away.

Keonho sighed, head running with so many emotions at once. Anxiety, dread, confusion, but also something warm that bloomed in his chest. He brought his palms to his face to cover his closed eye sockets. Do I really like her that much? Or am I just going insane? He couldn’t figure out his feelings yet. A voice in his head said he needed to know more of you first. There was too much that was left unknown between you two. His chest heaved up and down slowly in a long exhale. I’ll let fate decide it all.

He moved his gaze to the phone beside him and just stared at it. It was face-down so that Seonghyeon couldn’t peek at your messages. He flicked his phone as it flipped over. One new notification from a certain contact.

matcha girl liked your message.

That was it. Everything else was just reminders from Martin and his manager. The time was 4:15 PM. He had exactly 1 day, 1 hour, and 45 minutes until you see each other again. That’s just enough time to shower, distract himself with work, and probably go insane. But he also knew that the wait would go by faster than he’d like.

But who was he to dictate time?

He just had to accept that it was inevitable, like waves crashing onto the shore.

The sun had fully set by the time Keonho left his AirBnB. The chill nipped his nose, air visible as he exhaled. He walked further from the front door of the house and stood there like a loser, eyes scanning the area around him for you in a vehicle. But not that much of a loser—you had said you would be there in 5 minutes exactly 4 minutes ago.

As he stood there, he let his mind wander a bit. Does White Rock even have a white rock? Stupid but also genuine curiosity took over him as he whipped out his phone and did a quick google search. A scoff left him as he read the results. No, there’s no white rock in White Rock. That’s so dumb. It better be pretty at least. To make up for whatever stupidity this was.

As soon as he turned off his phone, a silver Honda Civic turned into the street in front of him.

He saw your smile through the front windshield first. Bright, warm, and welcoming. You had your hair down this time, only a few stray curls pinned away from your face. It was curlier than the last time he saw you. And your silver glasses had framed your eyes and face so well. Oh, how he’d kill to just stare at your face for a while. Your makeup looked much less than yesterday—probably because it was later on in the day, making your make up look lived in. Your lips had curved into a smile that captivated him. Not plump, not thin, but perfect and shiny. He wanted to bring his thumb to touch it—just briefly—maybe even let his lips touch them—

“Hey!” He was snapped out of the trance you put him in as you yelled through your open window. “Are you gonna stand there and stare at me all night long?”

I fucking wish. “Sorry! Sorry. My mind wasn’t, uh, working properly for a second,” he stammered, mind still flustered as he fumbled to open your door.

“You’re so cute,” you giggled as he strapped himself into your passenger seat. A sweet sigh left your lips. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he stuttered with a shy smile as the car began to drive. A quiet filled the space of your car.

You wore a white long sleeve under a hot pink shirt with butterflies and hearts outlined in black—so cute—and cargo jeans. Only one necklace decorated your chest, just a dainty chain with a small cross on it. He could tell there was something on it, but he would have to take a closer look next time to see what it was. Your wrists were stacked with different coloured bracelets, and your fingers were covered with a few rings—all silver if not colourful. He noticed that your nails were painted—not entirely, just decorated with a small heart on each finger. Some were different colours, but all were imperfect as if done by hand. Pretty. And your hair—

“Did you, uh, curl your hair?” he started, breaking that silence between greeting and conversation.

“No, actually!” you flushed, cheeks a soft pink. “It’s all natural. It comes from my dad, even though he’s bald.” A light laughter filled your car. “It gets curlier the more often I wash it or if I’m in a more humid area. I know my hair’s not in its best state right now because it’s dry as hell here.”

His focus lingered on your hair for a beat too long. “Isn’t it hard to, uh, maintain?”

“Well, yeah,” you began. “If you want each curl to be perfect or more defined, you need to do a lot more work. But I usually just scrunch in curl cream and hair oil to maintain the frizz. It gets tiring and really inconvenient if you curl each strand every time you shower.”

His lips were jutted out in pout as he nodded in agreement. “Before I, uh, debuted, my hair was curly. I never liked it, but everyone said it looked nice.”

“Aw, dude, really?”

“Yeah.”

Your eyes drifted to his eyes, then his hair, his eyes again, and back to the road. “You’d probably look more charming with curlier hair,” you mused with a cute pout. “It’s a shame. But it is easier to style straight hair.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “It felt weird with straight hair for a bit. But there are some days when it acts like it’s still curly. It’d go up in all different directions. And it’s still, uh, thick. I think my eyebrows and eyelashes give that away,” he chuckled.

“That’s crazy,” she laughed. A silence fell into your conversation. But it didn’t feel awkward. It just felt… still. And he felt weirdly okay with it. He didn’t feel the urge to talk about anything. The soothing low hum of the engine was enough noise for him. It comforted him, if ever. Your fingers moved to the volume knob to turn the music up a bit. The beginning synth of “lowkey” by NIKI began to consume the speakers. The low hum and vibrations of the bass felt amplified in his chest.

“You have good speakers here?” he asked as the bass boomed and resonated in his bones louder than usual.

“Yeah!” you exclaimed. “I’m glad you noticed. Not a lot of people do.”

He hummed. “Yeah. I never really felt it until I became an idol.”

“Yeah, not a lot of people feel it. I only realized that it was important, like 2 years ago. But you can really tell the difference.”

“Yeah.”

Another stillness covers the car. You both let the song fill the silence. There’s no tension in the car. No one dared the other to talk. It was just a comfortable quiet. As the song progressed, a synth motif consumed his ears. It reminded him of the motif he had in his demo inspired by you. Simple, repetitive, yet distinct enough to notice even with other instruments layered on top.

Put your phone on vibrate. Let’s catch a vibe, babe, while the sun’s down.

“You play any instruments?” he asked, softly breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” you replied after a beat. “Like you! I play acoustic and electric guitar—”

“The same thing,” he teased.

“Yes,” you laughed. God, how Keonho wanted to make you laugh all the time. The sound made him feel so… drunk. Like he’d bottle it up and get dizzy on it whenever he missed you. “And piano. But I, um, don’t sing. It’s ironic because my mom sings so well, but I don’t have much faith in my voice to do melody, so I just harmonize most of the time.”

“That’s so cool. I only know how to, um, harmonize when someone points it out and teaches me each note.”

You hummed in response. “It’s hard to stop once you start, actually. It’s usually 3 to 4 notes higher or lower than the melody. There’s some music theory on it—for exactly which note to sing—but I just do whatever sounds nice.”

“That’s so cool,” he said as your eyes briefly met. “Have you ever performed before? Or done gigs or something like that?”

“Yeah, I’ve played guitar and piano for my, um, youth group, but I’ve never really sung to other people.”

“Well, I got to get you to do karaoke someday then,” he countered.

“Someday,” you smiled as you shook your head slightly.

You left silence in the space between you two. He took the opportunity to breathe in, let the scent of your car take over his senses.

“Wanna play any music?” you asked, voice ever so soft and hushed. “You can play whatever you want. Unless it’s trash. Then I’ll change it.”

“Wow, okay. Strict much?” he smirked.

“It depends. This is my car, no?” you teased. He laughed. “You can add anything to queue. I promise to be open minded for your first song.”

“Yeah. No pressure at all.” You giggled this time. The sound made something warm and fuzzy bloom in his chest. He wasn’t sure what it was, or if he was ready for what it would be, but he didn’t focus on that. He focused on the warmth that you exuded from the driver’s seat and the tender hush of your voice. His mind was also focused on choosing a good song to play next. He landed on “The Boy” by The Smashing Pumpkins, the electric guitar sounded smoothly throughout the car.

I can’t stop, I can’t breathe, I can’t think—I’m in love again.

The air in your car felt warm, not that sticky feeling that came with talking in a car for too long, but welcoming and homey. The stillness in your car felt oddly domestic. Comfortable. Familiar. Like you two had done this many times before and conversation naturally flowed with silence between each topic. It felt like the quiet was there so you could appreciate each other’s presence.

But it wasn’t. You two had met just five days ago. For all Keonho knew, you were a stranger. But what stranger looks at him like she already knows him?

Why did it feel so… right?

“So, uh, what are your plans for after you graduate?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Oh, uh,” you hesitated. “Maybe a librarian or archivist? I like books and stuff, so hopefully that’s a good choice,” you said with an optimistic tone.

He nodded in response. “What’s the passion behind it?”

“Uh, well,” you chuckled nervously, “it’s a long story.”

He glanced at your GPS. “We have 45 more minutes.”

“Right,” you sighed. “I’ll be vulnerable here, Keonho. Hopefully I didn’t absolutely butcher that pronunciation, by the way. How was it when I first said it?”

It was fucking perfect, he wanted to say. “You said it right! I was actually surprised at how well you pronounced my name.” It sounded like Heaven when you said it. Tender, unrushed, and soft. It melted his heart.

The boy, the boy is in love.

“Anyways,” you took a deep breath. “Well, for the longest time, I didn’t know what to do. When I was 9, I wanted to be an engineer like my dad, to prove that women are just as capable men. It was this weird feminist thing, but that was the past. I have this whole perspective on it all, but that’s probably a conversation for another time,” you said, shoulders tensed as they hunched up. Your eyes locked onto him. He only offered a warm, understanding smile. Your eyes had softened and your shoulders had relaxed a fraction.

You took another deep breath. He watched your chest go up and down, slowly, slightly shuddering at the vulnerability of it all. “After that, I didn’t know what to do. People say that you should do something you were passionate about, but I didn’t really know what I was passionate about. I liked movies, reading, clothes, logic, animals, and plants but I thought that I wasn’t passionate enough about just one thing,” you breathed.

“Movies were interesting, but when I compared my thoughts to other people’s reviews and commentary, I thought that thinking critically about everything took too much from me. Sometimes, it’s nice to just watch it and ponder on the overall theme.

“When I was 11, I wanted to learn how to sew. I was watching these fashion YouTubers make clothes, and everything looked logically easy to do. I could wrap my head around every step and I understood it all. But it never ended up being real passion. I could sew and hem, but I couldn’t see myself designing outfits or whatever. I was just copying what I found on Pinterest. It was nothing that was… I don’t know… mine? If you get what I mean.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, “I do.”

“Yeah. And then for a time, I thought I wanted to be a marine biologist. I liked the water and animals. But then, I lowkey found out I had a fear for deep waters… so that wasn’t for me,” you chuckled.

“When I was 15, my dad and I started this home garden where we grew our own vegetables. It was so cool! Cucumbers, lettuce, tomatoes, and watermelon all grew in these elevated wooden boxes in our backyard. It was nice researching what they needed to survive. Logistically planning their sunshine, water, fertilizer, and when to repot them. But also, tenderly loving a plant because they need to grow. You need to feed them, care for them, and talk to them. It felt fulfilling. But I ended up getting, um, really depressed after that, so I went into this whole slump. Not my best year,” you said with a nervous laugh. He hummed, offering a tender smile for you to continue.

“And reading. Well, I still read,” you said with a familiar sparkle in your eyes. “I love it. I have books all over my room. On my vanity, on my walls, on my bookshelf, on my bedside table, probably in my closet too. But the literary beauty of it all is what keeps me there. Rhymes, metaphors, similes, contradictions, morally grey characters—I love reading it all. It’s so beautiful reading how so many people can write their own story with their own twist,” you said with a bittersweet smile. “And, um, I’ll be really vulnerable here. But, I love escaping into little stories. Even the sad ones. Because then at least it’s not… well… reality. It gets hard, you know?”

“Yeah. Escapism,” he responded.

“Exactly. I don’t really like imagining myself in whatever story I’m reading forever, because eventually I do have to get back into the real world, but it’s nice not having to think your own thoughts sometimes.”

“Yeah, I get that.” A silence followed his words. How could you have explained how he felt so well? He took a deep breath, all the way to his stomach. He felt deep in his soul that he wanted to share a part of it with you. It’d be scary. But it was you. Maybe it’d be okay. He closed his eyes for a moment before continuing. “I don’t even know if I should tell you this,” he paused. “But I’m telling you anyway,” he breathed.

“As a K-pop idol, they want you to put on a personality that’s likeable. Our group is technically supposed to be ‘real’ because we ‘colour outside the lines’ or whatever, but the higher-ups still want money, so they make us say things and do things that are likeable. Our music and content are made more for the younger male generation, but for fan-signs and interview in Korea, they want us to be sweet, flirty, or bubbly for the girls. To make us ‘marketable’ and ‘profitable’ or whatever. But then, that means having to think thoughts that are technically not mine,” he sighed.

“There are times when I think something ‘idol-like’ when I’m technically on a break. I remember saying something weird to my older sister when she visited me for lunch one day. It was so weird. She looked at me like I just said something worthy of arrest,” he said, mind now slowly zoning out, but the beep of your turn signal snapped him out of it. “But it gives me a break from, I don’t know, being myself? Like, thinking your own unique thoughts is good and all… but it gets,” he paused for a beat, “tiring. It’s nice to have a break from my own head sometimes.”

“Yeah. I expected that. They want all the money they can get, so it won’t all be real and authentic,” you replied.

“Yeah.”

“That’s depressing to think about, though.” He only nodded in response.

Was it really like that, though? Was he using this whole ‘idol mentality to escape his own mind? It did make sense, though. It got loud, too often, too quick. There were too many thoughts in his head about everything. Past, present, future. Him, his family, other people. His home, his work, the world. And all the memories that haunt him. Thoughts of what to do now and next consume his mind more often than he’d like.

Everyone expected so much from him. His family wants him to do well. They say they put him in the real world too fast. And maybe that’s true, having to compete with bigger kids at 7 in the swimming pool, noticing other people’s anger and indifference. His friends expected him to be cool, entertaining, and funny. They’d always message him after a particularly funny interview or vlog. And his managers, well, expect him to be an idol. To be socially intellectual and loved by everyone—young and old. To be swag like teenagers his age—posting niche songs, sagging his jeans, and taking “acceptable” selfies. And they have to be at a good angle at all times.

It was controlling, honestly. His managers nagged him on and on about being himself but also never failed to remind him to send over whatever pictures he’s about to post to the staff so that they can review it.

But nobody said anything about it.

They expect a kid who barely had any socialization growing up to read a room. Seonghyeon could do that well, being the eldest child in his own family, but could Keonho? Could he catch on quickly to somebody’s emotions? He was only 16. A kid. A teenager. That’s too young to let somebody be “idolized”. They think he’s perfect, that he’s cool. But he doesn’t know how to do that. He’s just trying. He’s just pretending that he knows what to do.

He was just masking the fact that he does not know what the fuck to do.

“But, to me, Keonho,” she suddenly said, “you’re… real.” The silence that followed your words was deafening. “I know we haven’t really talked that much, but from what you tell me, I think you’re real.”

He looked at you. Your eyes were hopeful, tender, understanding. “It can get hard sometimes. I know that. You feel the need to hide away—to put on something foreign so you can bury the part of you that… doesn’t know what they’re doing. But… don’t lose yourself in shoving the scared part of you down. I’m sure there are parts of you that are good. Funny. Interesting. Or maybe, show that part of you to people you think are worthy of it.”

The words hung suspended in the air. He didn’t know what to say in return. Had he really hidden himself so much? Have his friends noticed that a part of him was hidden? Do his members notice it? Or do they just brush it off, because they do it, too? He didn’t know. He didn’t know a lot of things. He just let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, letting those thoughts dissipate into the air.

You eventually came to a stop as you parked near the pier. He hopped out of the car and went straight to the parking meter to pay for parking.

“Dude!” he heard you exclaim from the car as you scrambled to get out. “Wait, please. Let me pay.”

“You drove a whole hour and 45 minutes. At least let me pay for this. Gas here is so fucking expensive.”

“No, dude. I’ll do it,” you said as you grabbed your wallet from your pocket.

“Too late,” he said as a beep came from the machine. Your jaw dropped in disbelief. A silly smile dawned on his face.

“Oh, fuck you, bro.”

“Oh, come on. You like me,” he said, tilting his head with a smile, confidence building slowly.

“Whatever,” you said as you rolled your eyes, fighting a smile, already walking.

The cold was nipping at his nose. He greatly underestimated how cold it would be near the pier. It was only 10-degrees downtown, how the fuck could it be almost 1-degree down here? He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, rubbing his fingers to generate some heat. When he looked at you, he noticed that you were zipping closed your windbreaker and pulling up the collar.

“Cold?”

“Yeah. Underestimated how cold it’d be. You’d think I’d know by now, living here literally all my life.”

“It’s okay, me too,” he chuckled.

He followed your steps on the path near the pier. It was cold, but it was also dark. Not pitch black because of light pollution, but dark enough. Lamp posts shone in the dark canvas like stars in the sky. His eyes wandered towards the White Rock pier. The tide was high. Waves were rushing onto the shore, slamming the wooden poles. The sound of waves made his head rush with a flood of memories.

He had been a swimmer throughout his childhood. It began as a sport that his mom put him into. But, as usual, he was good at it. So, his coaches put him into competitions. He’d win most of them. His room was decorated with medals. Mostly gold and silver, but medals, nonetheless. But when the water glided over his body, his mind went quiet. It was peaceful in the water. The water welcomed him, danced with him. Every time he thinks too much, he always goes back to the pool. The beach was too far from where he lived now. But here, near the coast, it felt good. The salty air and wind mixed to make the perfect atmosphere for pondering.

“Do you know why it’s called White Rock?” he asked, breaking the silence. “I googled it and there’s no white rock here. That sounds really fucking stupid unless there’s some sort of grand meaning behind it,” he said with a laugh.

“I know right? I don’t even know how they came up with it. I honestly don’t know why it’s even called that,” you said with a chuckle. “But it’s nice by the coast sometimes.”

The wind had picked up your hair, flowing with no true intention. He stared at your face while you stared at your shoes. You unintentionally (or maybe intentionally?) matched his every stride. He thought about what you said earlier. And honestly, everything that you’ve ever said to him. It didn’t feel so scary—being vulnerable. At least with you. Your tender smile, soft eyes, and hushed voice created a safe haven. You made it easy to talk, to be vulnerable, to be quiet.

He knew that if he let whatever connection you two had go, another person would find that out about you, and this… would all go to waste. He had to do something to… keep you… but he didn’t know how to do it. He didn’t want to be manipulative, or hurt you, or scare you into staying with him. He just didn’t know what to do. As he exhaled, he saw the whisps of white ribbon escaping his mouth.

As you both turned to cross the street, more and more people appeared. Couples, families, friend groups of all sizes. It wasn’t packed, but it was comfortable. You’d passed by fish n’ chip stalls, overpriced jewelry stores, and expensive clothing stores. Warm air seeped out every time someone opened a door. The town had its own gloomy coast-side charm. You two had passed by the occasional dead tree, homey but coastal houses, and flickering lamp posts. No big neon signs that made it feel fake. Just laughter and conversation from passersby and the occasional crash of the waves nearby.

“You like hot dogs?” you asked.

“Yeah. You can never go wrong with ‘em.”

“You get it,” you giggled. “Well, that’s good. Because that’s what we’re eating tonight,” you said, stopping in front of the now apparent hot dog stand.

You opened the door of the hot dog stand, letting him go in first. Warm air blew on his face as he stepped in. It had that typical unappetizing environment—warm-toned light coming from above, dirty floors that looked mopped but were still dirty, and empty tables, save for the one in the corner covered in boxes near the washroom. The menu was simple. 5 different hot dogs, all mouth-watering at the thought.

“What are you having?” he whispered near your ear, shoulders touching.

“Probably the jalapeno-cheese smokie. You?” you muttered to no one but him.

“I’ll try that,” he said with a smile.

You went up to the cashier, and he followed you, hovering around you like a hopeless golden retriever. “Hi! Can I please order 2 Jalapeno-Cheese smokies and 2 waters—wait—” you said as you turned to him. “Do you want water? Or Coke? Sprite?”

“Water’s good.”

“—sorry—yes, and 2 waters.”

“Sure,” the old lady said with a rumble in her throat. “Anything else for you and your boyfriend?”

Both your eyes went wide with shock, gazes flickering to meet. His words die on tongue as you stammer, mouth closing and opening like you don’t know what to say. Your eyes went back to the cashier, but his lingered on you for a beat too long. “Oh, we’re not together!”

The lady looked at you both weird. She stared him down, eyes narrowing, then she just shrugged slightly.

She dragged out the machine. “That’ll be $14.”

Keonho had tapped his phone onto the machine before your hands could reach for your wallet.

“Dude,” you said, serious and cute as ever.

“Please. Let me.”

“I swear, I hate you,” you said as he smiled, wide and bright.

“It’ll be out in 5 minutes,” the lady said as she walked to the back. He grabbed the waters from the counter as you walked to the side of the store.

The wait was quiet. An awkward tension evident between you both. The lady’s words hung in the air, holding you both captive. He stared at your face while you typed something into your phone. You were blushing. So was he. He just stood beside you, shoulders almost touching, almost kissing—

“Two Jalapeno-cheese smokies!” the lady shouted from the counter.

“I’ll get it,” he’d said, already walking to the front.

“You know, kid,” the lady mumbled in a quiet voice. “I see how you look at her. My piece of advice for you, kid: don’t let the opportunity go to waste. I had many loves lost to the ‘maybes’ because nobody wanted to do anything. Kiss her. Tell her how beautiful she is.” He stood there taking the lady’s words in, mouth slightly open in shock. “And I can tell from how she looks at you that she likes you too, kid. Don’t ruin it.” The lady just stomped away to the back with a hand on her hip.

His mind went fuzzy as he walked back to you. Your eyes met his face. “What did she say?”

“Oh, uh,” he said as he shook his head. “Nothing. Something about paying for you.”

“Oh. Okay. Seriously, dude I could have covered our meal.”

“It was 14 bucks,” he shrugged. “You can pay me back some other way.”

“Whatever,” you said, smiling at him. He mentally sighed, lost in the way you look at him. Shit. “Wanna eat these by the pier?”

“Sure,” he nodded.

The walk was shorter. Water bottles in his pockets and warm hot dogs in his hands.

“I can hold something, you know?”

“You are the lady,” he said, bowing his head, a water bottle falling out of his pocket before you picked it up right before it touched the ground. His eyes nervously glanced at you, then anything but you.

“’Kay, bro,” you said with a laugh.

The pier wasn’t empty. A family of 5, a few wave listeners, and an elderly couple were all the people on it, so it was easy to find an empty bench. You chose one closer to the end of the pier, away from most of the people.

You both sat down and Keonho passed you one hot dog and one water. “I’m just gonna bless the food before we eat. Did you wanna pray with me?” you asked right before he opened his hot dog.

“Sure.”

“Nice! You don’t have to say anything, but I’ll be saying a prayer out loud,” you said with a wide smile on your face. You blessed your food as you would usually do on your own, stating the same words as you had done since you were little.

“Thanks for praying with me, Keonho,” you said, flush evident all over her cheeks and nose.

“Yeah! I, uh, I’ve never done that before,” he stammered.

“Blessed your food?”

“Yeah. My family didn’t grow up religious, and I didn’t have much religious friends, so I guess I just wasn’t really exposed to it.”

“Understandable,” you nodded. “But thank you for being open to it anyway.”

He watched you unwrap your hot dog and take a bite. “Nice,” you said, eyes locked onto the waves ahead, chewing your hot dog. He also took a bite of his own hot dog. He nodded in agreement.

After a few bites, Keonho immediately stopped chewing. A hot, spicy burn was felt on the back of his throat. His hot dog was spicy. His eyes went wide. “Shit.”

“What?” you said, concern written all over your face.

“It’s spicy…”

“You didn’t notice that when we first ordered?”

“No! Well, not really. I just wanted to try what you liked.”

“What, do you not like spicy?”

“No! It’s just… I just can’t,” he breathed, mouth now left open between words, “handle spice.”

You had laughed so hard, some people from the end of the pier turned their heads in your direction. Your head had fallen backwards, eyes fully closed, foot stomping on the deck. “Bro... why would you order a jalapeno cheese smokie without even considering your tolerance?! Please… I’m actually crying,” she replied, as her empty hand went to wipe tears from her eyes.

“My bad,” he replied, chuckling now. “…so stupid…” he muttered as he laughed at himself.

“You’re so cute, Keonho,” you said casually, as if it wouldn’t keep him up at night. How could you say things so casually? Oh, I’m definitely freaking out over this later.

As you both finished your hot dogs, you scrunched both your wrappers up together, paper crumpled but together in one ball and shoved it deep into your pocket. He watched you through the corner of his eye as he drank the last of his water. His throat was still in hell, but the hot dog, and the company, was good.

“You good?” you asked.

“Yeah. Maybe. My throat is still dying.”

You laughed. “You can have the rest of my water,” you said, handing him your water bottle, still halfway full.

“Thanks,” he said as he took a slow and long swig. His eyes locked onto yours as you stared at him. Your cheeks got redder, if that was even possible. You looked down, rubbing the end of your shoe into the planks below.

“Oh, um, what made you switch careers?” you inquired. “I read somewhere that you were a swimmer before you got scouted. What was with the sudden change?”

“Well, I wasn’t really the one who decided to do swimming in the beginning. My mom just put me in it for the sake of doing a sport. But I liked the way the water glided on my body. It felt safe. Peaceful. So, I stayed. But my coaches noticed my skill and put me in a competition. I won 2nd place for my first comp. It was thrilling,” he said, remembering all the emotions and cheers from his family. “I liked the competition of it all. Seeing whose body the water favoured that day. Not to brag or anything,” he said, bumping his shoulder with yours casually.

“You’re so humble.”

“Thanks. I try,” he chuckled. “Anyways. I, uh, eventually got scouted by HYBE’s casting directors. Said I had a face that wasn’t worth not going up to. I was 12, mind you,” he said, taking a bite, chewing, then swallowing. “I didn’t really want to do it at first. It meant saying goodbye to my school, my friends, my life that I had and loved. But, my mom said to go for it. She said I could always quit if I didn’t like it.”

“And, I guess, you liked it?”

“Yeah. I liked dancing. I liked moving my body. It reminded me of swimming. It also felt nice being complimented, I guess. They don’t really say that stuff in the swimming pool. It’s hard to find someone attractive when they’re soaked in chlorine.”

“I might say otherwise if it was you” you had muttered, almost quiet enough to miss, as if you didn’t realize you were saying it out loud. His ears registered it, quietly tucking it away into a secret corner of his mind..

He hummed. “But yeah. It was a lot of training. Vocal training, dance training, media training, every fucking type of training there was out there. But, I eventually got here.” He let his words hang in the air. But his mind rushed with all sorts of emotions. “I’m really glad our debut went well. I know it’s not saying much considering we’re from BigHit, but at least for the other members. I know how much it means to them.” Quiet filled the space between you, but it’s nothing like that in his mind. “Not that I don’t like being an idol. Dancing with others is fun. Making songs with friends is so cool. Having a little more freedom in what we do is a bonus. But I don’t think I have as much passion in it as everyone else. Have you watched the documentary yet?”

“Uh, no. I found out what CORTIS was like 30 hours ago.”

“True,” he said, eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Well, you can kinda see what I’m talking about there. Martin-hyung has loved music since he was a kid. Playing guitar and making music at like 7 years old. I was playing on the fucking playground when I was 7. And everyone likes Seonghyeon for his unique style. His ideas are always prioritized when we’re making drafts,” he breathed, anger and frustration slowly brewing in his throat. “James has been in this thing for 7 years already. Since Trainee A. Making dances for other famous groups and shit. And Juhoon-hyung? Wel he’s just good at every fucking thing he wants. Jack of all fucking trades, master of fucking all,” he rambled with a little more edge than he wanted. He sighed as he closed his eyes. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s okay. I get it.”

“Like, I feel like just the jack of all trades, but master of none. I can swim, dance well, sing mediocrely, and people say I’m handsome. But what am I truly good at? What am I even passionate about?”

“Yeah, I really get what you mean.” You let the words hang in the air, giving space for your words to sink in. “I felt like—no, feel like that until now. Like, I’m okay at things, but what am I great at?”

A quietness consumes your conversation. The only sound being waves slamming against the poles beneath you.

“But,” you said after a beat or two, “I think that there are just some people like that. They’re just meant to be good at many things, but not great at it. It doesn’t really make sense to make everyone passionate about only one thing. It doesn’t make life much interesting, no?”

Keonho thought about that in silence. He let your words sink into his skin, into the folds of his brain. “Yeah,” he said as he nodded in agreement. “That makes sense. You can experience so many things because you can do so many things.”

“Exactly,” you replied.

His eyes stared into the water. He’d never thought of it that way. He’d never thought of anything the way you did. It felt so… relaxing. He thought you had such an interesting understanding view of life. That even though you were literally going through bad things, you could understand why and what good could come from it. You were like the ocean. Crashing onto the shore, like life crashing into you. Blue, like the melancholy in your eyes. Deep, like your understanding of life. Undeniably constant, like your consistent hopefulness.

Your shoulders shook, shivering. “Cold?” he asked.

“A bit. But it’s okay.” He began to unzip his jacket. “Please, it’s okay. We both have thin jackets on.”

“I don’t want you to get sick.”

“I don’t want you to get sick either. You’re the idol here, though. I think you have more priority, unfortunately,” you said, rubbing your hands together before shoving them into your pockets.

Even though his mind wanted to focus on the waves in front of him, he couldn’t help but return his gaze to yours. He couldn’t explore the endless sea that was your eyes anymore because of how dark it was, but he could still bore into them. They held so much joy, crinkles near your eyes as evidence of that. Yet they were also sad. You finally take your eyes off the waves and land on him, your gaze softening as each second passed by as you both stared into each other’s eyes.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but it felt like a long time. You each blinked when the other blinked and breathed what was essentially each other’s air mixed with a bit of salt from the nearby water. When you tilted your head, he had playfully copied you. Your hair flowed with the calm but frozen wind. A strand had got in the way of your face. His hand itched to move it away, not allowing it to get in the way of what he was looking at. And he let it, touch as tender as he could, tucking it gently behind your ear, fingers lingering more than it should.

It felt like time had slowed to a pause.

You shivered. He couldn’t tell if it was from his touch or the cold. Immediately, he retracted his hand.

“Wanna head back to the car?” he mumbled, eyes now on the wooden planks beneath him. He didn’t want this moment to end, but he also didn’t want you to get cold. As he returned his eyes to yours, he saw the way your eyes twitched slightly in regret.

“Yeah, sure.”

“It’d probably be better to talk in your car then out here when we could get sick.”

“True,” you said as your shoulders shuddered.

“Let’s go,” he said, already standing up, offering a hand.

You stared at his hand for an extra moment, then grabbed it and sat up. Your hand was cold, yet soft, in his. You stretched your back, bending backwards and rubbing your lower back. “I really need to fix my posture.”

“That’s so real,” he replied, stretching his shoulder blades.

He quickly threw away your garbage and caught up to your side.

He noticed that your mouth was shivering from the cold. Keonho wanted to warm you up in some way. But he didn’t know what to do. Not really.

But he could be bold right now. Maybe. There’s a 50/50 chance that this could go badly, or it could be the start of everything he’s ever wanted. If he knew what he wanted.

Why the fuck not?

Suddenly, he intertwined his arm with yours, shoulders flush against each other, hopefully generating heat for you both.

“Oh,” you said, mouth slightly agape in shock as you stared at both your arms.

“Is this… okay?” he whispered.

You blinked. “I mean, yeah.”

“Okay,” he breathed. “Good.” He slightly relaxed, sighing as quietly as he could.

The walk back to your car was silent. He didn’t blame you. What would you even talk about if you just intertwined arms with a stranger—turned friend—who you met not even a week ago? But the air between you felt tense. Something warm bubbled deep in his chest. He didn’t know what it was. But he saw the way your cheeks flushed, and the whisps of air coming from your slightly open mouth.

He didn’t mind this feeling. Even simply holding each other’s arms felt… nice.

He felt nice with you.

A few steps from your car, you untangled your arms, fishing for your key in your pocket. His mind yearned to touch you again, to hold you again, but he knew better than to push any hidden boundaries anymore. He just let you unlock your car as you both head into the back seat. You sat across each other. A strange tension held in the air. And Keonho had a feeling he knew why.

It was quiet for a moment.

“You’re so…,” he said, breaking the silence. The words died on his tongue.

Your eyebrows shot up, eyes written in mild concern.

“So… raw.” He sighed, glancing at the waves through your window, then returning to the comfort of your eyes. “You feel so true. Authentic. Like you’re the only one who can… I don’t know… get me in all this. I’m a mess,” he said, whispering your name, almost pleading for you to hear him earnestly. “I’m so young but I’ve made so many mistakes already. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do next. But you have…” he breathed.

You tilted your head, eyes softening as you waited for him to continue.

“You have such an understanding of everything that I’m jealous of. You have this acceptance of both the good and bad. You don’t love everything, but you don’t hate anything.” He paused, long and tense. He let his words hover in the air.

After a beat, he continued. “And you make me feel so… comfortable? There’s definitely a better word for it. You make silence feel okay. If there was even a split second of silence with my other friends, I’d probably go insane. I always have to be talking. Or singing. Or screaming. Or whatever. Just not quiet,” he rambled. “But… I don’t know. You let things go… quiet… still. And… I think I like that.”

“Oh, Keonho…” you muttered his name with a soft sigh. “I don’t know what to say,” you said as you met his eyes. “We’ve had a total of, like, 3 interactions.”

“I know,” he said, reaching out to grab your hand tight, as if he slightly let go, you would disappear. “But I… I think I want to… get to know you.”

You hummed, vibrations flowing through his bones, your eyes softening as you glanced down as you intertwined your hands with his. “I think I want to get to know you, too,” you replied as your gaze returned to his.

There’s a long, stretched out silence.

“But,” you sighed. He felt his heart drop to his stomach. “I don’t know about this, Keonho.”

He hesitated. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve never done this before. I mean I’ve talked to guys, but they always had a massive fucking ego or were too shy to save their life. You can’t blame me for guarding my heart.”

His eyes looked down. His hand itched to move to give you space, yet he clutched onto your hand tightly, pleading to stay holding onto yours. “I read about love in books. I watch it in movies and TV shows. I write about it more often than I’d like to admit out loud. It’s nice to think about in my head. But it feels,” you sighed, “scary… to have. It feels strange to love someone romantically and have it… reciprocated. Because, I don’t know, it means it’s real,” you uttered, soft enough for him to hear.

Your eyes met. He scanned them, mind wandering into all the possibilities that could be in your mind. “Why is it scary?”

“Because it means that I’ve let them into my heart, but it also means they can choose to hurt me and ruin me and leave me to pick up the pieces by myself.”

“I…” Your eyes looked impossibly scared, but hopeful. Eyebrows furrowed in fear, but he could feel your fingers still holding his. “I can’t promise that it will never happen. But I will do my fucking best to be there for you. To… listen to you, to hold you…” he said, words taking space between you two, “if you’ll let me. I’ll prove that we’re worthy of your time. Worthy of your poems.”

“You think I’m poetic?” you asked, sitting up and turning your body towards his.

“Yeah. It’s been infuriating me recently.”

You simply gaped at him. “You’re so…” you uttered. He could feel the sigh you let out, air now warm between you two. He sighed in return, head fuzzy and mouth watering. His eyes caught yours, staring, holding, silent. Something hungry, something longing, was hidden deep in them. His breath stuttered in anticipation.

He leaned in just a fraction, testing the waters. He stayed there, waiting, leaving space for you to move away.

But you hadn’t.

“You’re…” you sighed. “You’re messing with me,” you uttered to nobody but him.

“You don’t know how much you’ve already ruined me,” he confessed, words airy, breathless and trembling.

The car felt silent, save for the low hum of your heater. He couldn’t tell if there was even anybody walking by, witnessing this intimate moment. But it felt quiet between you two, like the world let you have this moment all to yourself.

His free hand moved to your waist, holding you there, tight enough to show he wanted you to stay but loose enough to let you leave. Not that he wanted you to.

A strand fell from your ear, and his hand moved from your waist to your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. His hands lingered on your cheek.

He could feel your breath on his mouth, warm and real. He moved in closer, faces now mere inches apart. His eyes glanced from your eyes to your lips and back to your eyes again, searching for any hesitation, any fear.

An unspoken tension held the air. It felt suffocating, but he also wanted to see where this all lead to, so he let it simmer. His eyebrows furrowed in anxiety, uncertainty, and hope. He wanted you to lean in, too—to want him, too.

A part of him knows he should be reconsidering things too. He had a life back home. He had a career that consumed his entire being. He knew that he would be bringing you into something that was difficult to navigate. But he didn’t want to think about that at all right now. All he wanted to think about was the feeling of his lips on yours.

He moved ever so closer, lips now hovering yours. He gave you all the time to move away, to run away—but he also dared you to stay, to be with him in this moment. He could taste your lips already. The lips he’s oh, so wanted to touch. Ones he wanted to know, to memorize like the back of his hand.

He whispered your name, breathless, almost sigh-like. You breathed his in reply.

He suddenly let your lips finally touch. His eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to know what your expression was like. But he could feel your lips on his, soft, tender, and loving. A careful press. Tentative. Waiting for your reaction. Blood rushed to his cheeks, pumping with more warmth than usual.

Then, he felt you press back—and something unleashed between you two. All that tension came to a pique. It felt electric. Raw. Real. But he couldn’t believe it. He wanted to move his fingers to pinch his thigh where it rested on your cheek to see if this was a dream.

But it wasn’t.

He knew it wasn’t.

From the way he could taste your lip balm on his own lips—gummy bear flavour. The way he can feel your fingers squeezing his in your lap. The way your pulse hammered under his palm where it rested by your neck.

You kissed him without any hesitancy.

He could finally relax his eyes, releasing any tension because he knew you were feeling exactly what he was.

With each press of your lips, Keonho found himself losing his grip on reality. He felt like he was falling into a dark, deep hole with no one to catch him. But with each move, touch, and slide of your lips, the more he felt himself safe in your arms. He was falling, but at least he had you with him right there with him.

You had shifted forward, hands untangled, climbing onto his lap, your knees finding their places on either side of his hips. Your hands found their way to his shoulders as his stayed on your cheek and hip. Your grip on the collar of his windbreaker tightened as he pulled you closer by your hip. He wanted to be close—closer—to you, feeling grounded in the way your weight pressed onto him.

One of your hands went to the back of his neck, fingers intertwining with the hair on the back of his head. His mind went dizzy at the feel of your hot touch, a great contrast to the window that his head leaned on. Your kiss grew deeper than ever, your saliva on his own tongue. Every time your bodies touched—your thighs brushing against each other, his hand grazing your hair, the tips of your noses bumping—sparks ignited within his chest, warm, fuzzy, but shared. He could tell you were feeling it all too with how your lips trembled against his and how your fingers shook on his shoulder.

He feels your hand at the nape of his neck, interlacing with his hair. A strangled noise sounds from his mouth, something between a gasp and a moan. Your hand moved deeper into his hair, lightly tugging him ever so closer to you. His lungs hurt, aching for a breath of fresh air. But he wanted to stay in that moment and never let it end. This moment was delicate, fragile, and he didn’t want to let it shatter into a million pieces. You broke away first, gasping for air, foreheads touching. “Holy shit,” you cursed.

“You’re insane,” he gasped. “I—”

You pressed your lips onto his, a quick peck, before he could even begin. It was chaste, careful, and yours. You sighed, still catching your own breath, then climbed off his lap, back to the spot next to him.

Even though you weren’t touching him anymore, he could still feel his skin burning from where you two had met.

Then, you suddenly started giggling. It looked like you were in the clouds, high off something. He joined you, his chuckling more nervous than happy. “Why are we laughing?” he suddenly asked, eyes still boring into your lips.

“You kissed me,” you said, smile wide and shy.

“Yeah,” he said looking up into your eyes, grin growing as wide as it could be. “I did. You kissed me too.”

“I know!” you exclaimed with a laugh. You suddenly grabbed his cheeks and pecked him once more. “You’re so cute, Keonho,” you giggled, suddenly intertwining your fingers as you sighed.

“Happy?” he giggled.

“Oh, I don’t know, Keonho! Well, one, you’re really fucking handsome. Imagine your first kiss being someone who is lowkey the man of your dreams,” you muttered. First kiss? “Oh, I never mentioned that. Well! You’re also my first kiss,” you declared.

His mind paused, then buzzed with all emotions possible. Confusion, shock, adoration, joy, pity, all of the above.

“Say you’re joking,” he said.

“Nuh-uh!”

“That’s… insane,” he said, eyes still staring at you with his mouth wide open in disbelief.

You only shrugged and smirked. “Take responsibility for it.”

He knew this shit meant a lot. At least, with how you were acting.

And it meant a lot to him. More than he wanted. But you were right. All of this came with a lot of responsibility.

But he didn’t want to think about that right now.

He wanted to focus on the fact that you… no matter how much he didn’t know how he was feeling… had kissed him.

His heart leapt and vibrated in his chest, buzzing at the memory of your lips on his and the idea of being your first kiss.

At some point in the night, you two got out of the car and wave watched. You two leaned against the hood of your car as your bodies were flush beside each other. Your gazes matched, focused on the waves crashing onto the shore. A low hum filled the space between you two.

Your mind raced.

You had just had your first kiss with a boy you met not even a week ago. Deep down, you knew you either fucked up—heavily—or this would be something… somewhat beautiful.

But you also knew that either way, you were in the good part of it all.

But what did this mean now? Were you people who just kissed? Or were you officially dating? Wouldn’t that be weird? He had said that he wanted to get to know you, but to what extent do acquaintances kiss but also get to know each other?

A part of you loved this. It was your first kiss, after all. You had dreamed of this moment since you were a kid. And it couldn’t have gone any better. You were near the water. You weren’t under any pressure of friends or family nearby. You two were just each other, caught up in whatever feelings lingered in the air between you. And it was with a guy you think you liked. You could see a future with him.

But a part of you feared this. If he thought that this was some casual shit, you knew this wouldn’t be worth your time. You hated hearing the situations your friends had been in with men who didn’t want something committed. You hated that. You needed security. You needed assurance that it wasn’t all made up in your head. You needed it to be real for both of you.

And you couldn’t have things crash in burn in the end. You hated letting go of beautiful things.

The thought devastated you.

But the electric feeling of you two overpowered any hesitancy that might have lingered.

“What’s on your mind?” he suddenly asked, probably noticing that you were deep in thought.

“Well…” you began. A tentative tension held in your mind. You knew that no matter what you said or how you worded it, you didn’t know what he would say. He could be the man of your dreams or ones from your nightmares.

“Well?” he murmured.

“What are we?” He took a long pause. It made you anxious. You knew that this could simultaneously be the easiest thing to respond to, but also the most difficult. Your situation was too… complex. It made sense why he would hesitate. But it ate away at your mind. Your thoughts were now loud—too loud.

“I guess… we’re just people who’ve kissed.”

“Oh,” you said before you could stop it.

Oh.

“I know it sounds so fucking bad,” he began. “But, you said it too. We only met like a week ago. We barely know each other,” he said with a slight tremble in his voice that you couldn’t quite read. “But we want to get to know each other, right?”

After a beat, you hummed, “Yeah.”

“So,” he drew out his word, looking towards you now. But you couldn’t bring yourself to look back at him just yet. “Let’s get to know each other.” Your mind was too distracted to even think of a response.

Oh. So, we’re not dating. And you were living your worst nightmare. What about being in a relationship was he even so scared of? What made men so scared of relationships?

“…Is that okay?” he asked, eyes boring into yours, searching for truth, pleading for you.

His eyes held a promise of sorts. That it might be okay in the end. And in your mind, you knew that there wasn’t anything wrong with getting to know someone. But, you promised yourself, if he doesn’t ask me to date him after 5 “hang outs”, then I’m done. You didn’t want to wait for somebody who wouldn’t give any effort in the end. “Yeah,” you finally replied.

You saw the breath he let out, puffs of sheer white coming from his mouth. “Good,” he chuckled. “I got scared there for a sec.”

“Yeah,” you mused, feet already heading into the driver’s seat.

It had been a few days since that day on the pier.

He would send you good morning texts, the frequent how are you, and more often than not, a random but funny meme. And he begged to call every night, no matter how tired you or he was.

maybe boyfriend?? (hogan/keonhoo) [11:43 PM PST] plzplzplz can we call

You [11:43 PM PST] son i’m so tired… i had a long ahh shift today

maybe boyfriend?? (hogan/keonhoo) [11:43 PM PST] pleaseeeeuuuhhh i wna hear ur voice before i sleep 🙏

You [11:44 PM PST] i’ll js send u a vm bro

maybe boyfriend?? (hogan/keonhoo) [11:44 PM PST] noooooo its not the sameeeeee i promise u don’t have to talk for long

You [11:44 PM PST] bro 😭

maybe boyfriend?? (hogan/keonhoo) [11:44 PM PST] js get ur charger n fall asleep on call i miss u baaaad y/n

You [11:45 PM PST] k clingy boy

maybe boyfriend?? (hogan/keonhoo) [11:45 PM PST] THANK YOU THANK YOU HTANK YOU THANFYOU THAN YODU

And you thought you would be the clingy one.

But it all left a strange feeling in your stomach.

Back by the pier when you two kissed, you were absolutely convinced that you finally had the relationship you had yearned for your whole life. That boyfriend who truly saw you, understood you, and took care of you. And Keonho did do that. He listened to you, had meaningful conversations with you, and cared for you.

But it all felt… off.

You couldn’t bring yourself to put any hearts in his contact’s name—even though your soul yearned to do it already—because you knew you two weren’t even in a relationship. And you couldn’t quite call him your boyfriend yet to the few friends who have asked about him.

It felt like something was missing in it all.

Like there was a heavy weight on your stomach that wouldn’t go away no matter what you or he did.

But the conversation never lacked. You had always ended calls with your cheeks hurting from smiling from whatever compliment he gave you or laughing from whatever stupid joke he made. And sometimes, the conversation drifted to something more psychological, which you thrived in, and he seemed to love, which felt great.

But it still felt wrong.

No matter how much you learned about him, the pit in your stomach grew more and more.

Today, you were at Metrotown together. He asked you which mall you wanted to go to. You decided on Metrotown because it was a good middle spot for you two, and because you had some errands to run.

You had gone around to a few stores already, items filling your bag to the brim.

“Wait, Keonho,” you said.

He hummed in reply.

“Where do you think I could buy scarves…” you asked.

“Shit, I don’t know?” he chuckled. “Maybe that store?” he asked, pointing at the Aritzia that had some winter clothes in the front.

You pouted as you nodded. “Good catch.”

You went in first, heading straight to the scarf section. “Which one is better on me?” you asked, pointing at the different colours.

He hummed in thought. “First, what’s your least favourite colour?”

“What does that have to do with what looks good on me?” you asked as you scrunched your nose.

“Well, you wouldn’t feel good wearing a colour that you don’t like,” he countered.

“That’s true, actually. Good on you for thinking of that,” you said, impressed. “But I don’t really like yellow or orange on me. Or green, maybe. I don’t know. I don’t really care. As long as it looks good,” you laughed.

He hummed, eyes darting between you and the different coloured scarves. “The red one,” he said finally, grabbing it and wrapping it around you. “Looks good on you!” he said.

You walked to a nearby mirror with it on, impressed at what you saw in front of you. The shade did match you quite well. “Thanks, Keonho. This is actually really good.”

“Of course. Never doubt my fashion sense,” he winked. “I’m in CORTIS, too. That automatically means I’m stylish.”

“Not a lot of people would agree with you on that one, buddy.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I don’t know, bro. Some people just take style too seriously and hate on people who are different,” you chuckled.

“True,” he mused as you paid and began walking out.

“Wait!” you exclaimed as you began walking into the busy walkways of Metrotown. He raised his eyebrows in response.

“Let’s go to the photobooth!”

“Sure,” he smiled.

“I love photo strips,” you grinned. “I have at least one with all of my friends,” you rambled.

“Have you ever taken one of those K-pop ones?” he asked.

“No,” you laughed. “I wasn’t really a fan of K-pop by the time those got out. I think CORTIS has one downtown I think.”

“Let’s do that next.”

“You wanna take a photo with yourself?” you chuckled.

“Well, no. You take one with me.”

“The point of getting one here is because I have the real thing, stupid.”

“Oh,” he flushed. “I guess.”

You simply giggled at him.

As you arrived at the photo booth, you two picked out your props. Two bungeoppang head props and heart headbands because it was February.

You two did a mix of the silliest, cutest, and most awkward poses imaginable.

“You are way too tall for me to do that on your head, Keonho,” you laughed, trying to pose for the next photo.

“Use the stool!” he exclaimed.

But it was too late. The timer had gone from 3, to 2, to 1, and flashed.

“You could’ve used the stool! That’s what it’s there for, no?” he laughed. You laughed with him.

“Whatever. Let’s just do a nice one.”

“Smiling?” he asked, wrapping his arm around your waist like it was the most casual thing in the world.

“Sure,” you said, already grinning at the camera.

After the camera flashed, he looked at you. There was one more photo to take. You noticed his gaze on you on the screen in front of you and you turned to meet his eyes. You couldn’t read what the sparkle in his eyes meant. A shiver ran down your spine as he pulled you in closer to him. You could see the countdown of the timer go down in your peripheral vision, but your gaze remained locked on the boy in front of you.

His eyes flickered to your lips. Your breath hitched. You knew what that meant. But you couldn’t stop him—whatever you two had inevitably pulled you in together, lips finally meeting.

You could feel his smile on your lips, your mouth matching with a grin as you kissed him back. The camera flashed in the background.

You released from him first, gazing into his eyes. They had something hungry in them. It enticed you but simultaneously scared you.

The trance was broken as the machine spoke loudly. “Thank you! Come again!” it exclaimed robotically as your photo strip was printed out.

Your heart warmed at each picture captured as you picked both copies up.

“We’re cute, no?” he commented, hovering close beside you.

“Very,” you simply smiled in response.

You went out to Coquitlam with him today. You two were in a random café that your parents always talked about. It was quaint and simple with very modern furniture and décor.

This time, he asked you again where you had wanted to go. It rubbed you the wrong way at first. You never really liked making decisions for others when you had been doing that since you were a child. His own workload could not have been that bad for him.

But you’d never admit that out loud.

Plus, your heart felt inclined to give in to him.

To give him his chances.

“What’d you do today?” you chirped as you took a sip of your drink.

“We had this interview with some host. I don’t really remember his name.”

“Damn, bro. You really just zone out during work, huh?”

“Sometimes. I had my mind in other places,” he smirked at you.

“Oh, really?”

He hummed. “Have I told you that you look pretty today?”

You simply blushed in reply. “You look quite handsome yourself.”

He sat right across from you, looking as attractive as ever. A pout decorated his adorable face. He wore a monochrome outfit today—black tee, black jeans, even a dark beanie that was on his head just 10 minutes ago. But now, his fluffy hair was down, landing right where his eyebrows were. His lashes long and fluttering as he blinked, the side of his eyes crinkling into his infamous charming smile.

“Oh, I never asked, but, how’s your family? Tell me about them,” he said, taking a sip from his drink while gazing into your eyes like an adorable puppy.

“They’re good! I have 2 other younger brothers and a dog,” you said with a small smile.

“How old are your brothers?”

“15 and 12.”

“Aw, they’re young.”

“You’re only a year older than the eldest one,” you teased.

“True,” he smiled.

“They’re great, though. I think my parents raised us well. They always wanted us to be polite to everyone because we never knew what was going on at home,” you continued. “They really instilled that in me. And now I work in customer service. But they’re all amazing, though. I don’t think I would be the person I am today if it wasn’t for them.”

“That’s good,” he replied. “You guys close?”

“Yeah, I’d think so. More than you’d think. We talk about basically everything. They’re good at keeping things under wraps, though. We just go to each other for advice and whatnot. I know a lot of people don’t feel comfortable telling their siblings, let alone their parents, about something bugging them. I feel bad for them. But it just makes me all the more grateful for them. We love to joke around,” you laughed fondly.

“I’m happy that you have that type of family,” he said with a tender smile.

“What about you? How is it at home?”

“Well, I don’t talk to them much anymore. I’m probably closest with my sister, but nothing with what you have with your siblings. I’ve heard how you talk to your mom and brothers on the phone,” he said sheepishly. “My noo—I mean, older sister, is good, too. She’s much older so she has her job and stuff. I don’t talk to my dad much. But he’s nice. They’ve always been supportive of me, so I’m grateful for that.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” you said. After a beat, “I didn’t know you were the youngest.”

“Yeah. People say I act like one.”

“Yeah,” you mused. “I guess you do.”

You took another sip of your drink, a hot chocolate, curtesy of the boy sitting across from you. The heat burnt the tip of your tongue. You winced in pain, choosing to take off the lid to cool it down a bit. “Have you ever had a girlfriend before?” you asked.

“Uh, no,” he said, slightly flustered. “I mean I’ve liked girls and sometimes thought they liked me back, but I was also, like, 10, so I don’t think it counts,” he said with a chuckle. “Being trained young didn’t really help.”

You nodded. “Makes sense.” You wanted to get more out of him here, but you should have known that he was pretty young and had less experience than you.

“What about you?”

“I mean, no, I haven’t really dated women before.”

His eyebrows furrow, mouth open as the words die on his tongue. “I mean… Not really what I meant, but sure!” he laughed.

“I’m only teasing you.”

“I know,” he said, eyes crinkling.

“I haven’t really properly dated before. I think I came close a couple times,” you mused.

“Tell me about them.”

“Dang, okay,” you chuckled nervously. When you glanced back at him, he had a look in his eyes that meant he was being serious. You braced yourself by taking a deep breath. Suddenly, he grasped your hand, intertwining your fingers. You stared at his gesture then back to his face. He had a tender expression on his face and a sparkling promise in his eyes. It looked like he would promise to be present for you. Now. And maybe forever. You’re really fucked. But you didn’t let whatever fear that lingered consume you, choosing to be vulnerable in whatever… relationship you two have.

“Well, the first guy was okay. He’d genuinely ask me if I was okay. Check up on me whenever we saw each other. Smile at me when he saw me walking by. I thought I was being really obvious that I liked him, but I guess not because he had been talking to our mutual friend at the same time,” you said, making a noise between a laugh and a scoff. “When I found out they were dating, I really, um,” he squeezed your hand in comfort.

You sighed shakily. “I guess, distanced myself? I didn’t want to give off the wrong impression on the girl, so I just… stopped talking to him entirely. But I miss him sometimes.” At least before you met Keonho. “He was the only boy that actually talked to me like I was a real friend. But I was also really fucking petty for not talking to him. But,” you shrugged, “the past has passed.”

“I’ve never heard of that phrase before.”

You hummed. “Yeah. I like it.”

“Who was the second guy?”

“Oof,” you breathed. “This one is a bit harder to talk about.”

You hadn’t really thought of this particular guy that much. You were over him, that was for sure. But it still hurt thinking about him. It was a relationship that didn’t break off due to a big argument, but rather one that lingered in the silence, in the sudden late-night messages, in the stolen moments of stillness.

It made the air heavy around you two. It almost felt suffocating. Your eyes glanced at the exit and genuinely pondered the circumstances if you left right now.

“If it’s too hard to talk about, that’s okay,” he said, your name gentle off his tongue. “But know that I’m here for you.”

You only bore into his eyes, heart sighing with how sweet he was being but stomach fearing what this might imply.

But you continued, sighing out any doubts that lingered in your mind. At the same time, you unleashed all the memories that you kept locked down into the deepest darkest part of you. You let it come back to you.

“This guy was, um, much older. I think all the guys I’ve ever liked were older than me,” you noted. The light in his eyes shifted, but only by a fraction.

You sighed. “16 was a vulnerable year for me. There was a lot of pressure to do better in school and to figure out what to do after graduation. And I had to face that I wasn’t a little kid anymore. I had to take shit seriously. But I didn’t really want to.

“And this guy was in the middle of all the big changes in my friends. He was in my youth group, and he was,” you chuckled, “way too old to be considered youth. The other leaders were literally pushing him to transition out already. But he was also a part of a group of people I considered my safe place. A place I called home. And a lot of other older people had to leave. They were moving on to better things. But I didn’t really want time to move on. I was happy for them and happy that I could call that place my second home.

“He was just,” you sighed, “there. He happened to be very available to talk about any and everything. We’d talk about the community we had and the growth of our friends. I thought that at some point he’d stop replying because he thought I was weird or whatever, but no, he kept texting back. It made me feel very… seen, I think.

“I had feelings for him because he was, well, at that point in time, my type. He was tall, had good hair, was nice to my family—even going as far as dropping me off at the front door after events—that my mom approved of him, was the eldest child so he did acts of service that he really didn’t need to do but did anyway, and he even taught me guitar. I think that was my mistake, though. Letting him teach me guitar made him linger a little longer than he should have,” you breathed.

“I don’t see him as often anymore. I knew a time like this would come, but it still hurt for a while. It hurt that I liked him so hard. It hurt that he had to leave. It hurt that I wasted so much time on a guy that I knew would eventually leave. I spent a whole year on him, by the way.”

“Woah,” he breathed.

“Yeah. I see him every once in a while on Sundays.. But I avoid going out that day just in case I see him. And he’s talking to one of my friends right now. Or not really talking. I heard she doesn’t really romantically like him, but he likes her. I think it hurt at first. It was a whole thing of jealousy and comparison. What did she have that I didn’t have. She was older too, so it really fucking sucked the life out of me. But I got over it eventually. I remember him sometimes when I play a certain chord. The E one specifically. It was the first chord of a song that I loved that he hated. But again, I’m okay now. I’m over him. I don’t think I yearned for him that much anymore.”

He hummed in response. “You really held on to him. For the other guy, you created distance on purpose.”

“Yeah. They were different years, though. I was 15 and then 16.” After a beat: “I think it also depends on my connection with the guy. If there wasn’t anything to begin with, then I’m okay with letting go easily. If there was a little too much of the real thing, then I’d probably cling onto them more than I should.”

He hummed. “I think for me, to be in a relationship, it really depends on how good the connection is. Like, I mean I don’t have much female friends—because they always get so fucking weird—but for like the 3 that I do have, I don’t think our connection is that strong. I’ll entertain girls’ friendly approaches, but when it’s romantic shit that I just can’t see with them, something in my stomach physically stops me. Maybe that’s why I’ve been single for so long,” he laughed.

You chuckled softly. “Maybe.”

“But also,” he sighed. “I just don’t really know what to do when it comes to that stuff. So, I feel like they deserve a better person who actually knows what they’re doing. And also, all this idol stuff. That makes things overly complicated on top of the complexity of relationships. And I don’t wanna put effort into something that might end up hurting somebody or not work.”

“True,” you hummed. “I’ve always wanted love, though. Since I was a kid,” you mused. “I’d see my parents’ romance, hear of other people’s love stories, and read of different romances in books, and I’d always wished that I had one of my own. There wasn’t a lot of guys that really liked me, I think. Or at least told me that they did. My dad always said, ‘no dating until after college’. I think that really got to me. It made me think that no one could like me until then.”

“Well, I’m here,” he smirked. “Before you got into college.”

“I guess that’s right,” you chuckled.

The conversation had died down to a soft him. All you heard were soft murmurs of people nearby and the occasional clink of a glass from the kitchen. You two were now people watching others in the café. Some were focused on whatever work they had on their laptop, some were attempting to enjoy their drinks while their kids fussed around, and some were having heart-to-heart conversations, just as you and Keonho did just now. His gaze went outside the window. “Wanna go for a walk?” he asked. It was clearer today, the sun still shining even at a later hour than usual.

“Yeah, sure.”

He held the door open for you on your way out and jogged to walk beside you. He suddenly interlaced your fingers together. Your breath hitched with the proximity, sparks igniting and heartbeat hammering in your chest.

“Do you prefer the sun or the moon?” he suddenly asked.

You hummed in thought. “Probably the sun. I don’t know, it makes me feel alive most of the time. But I also like staring at the moon at night. As long as it isn’t gloom, I guess.”

He nodded beside you. “Mm, yeah, I get what you mean. If there are too many clouds, it tends to get too sad,” he mused.

“Yeah.”

A quiet covered the atmosphere around you. The air was crisp, still much chillier, but it felt nice with the sun on your skin. The late afternoon sun was still in the sky, now colouring it orange, purple, and pink. It was golden hour.

Beams of sunshine shone warmly between the gaps of the buildings by your side. Your eyes brought you to the boy holding your hand.

Time felt like it stopped. The sun shone through a gap, light streaming downwards at an angle. It hit Keonho so well. His hair looked beautifully brown, not as dark as it usually was, but there were certain parts of it that glowed golden. It shone like a halo around him. Like an angel.

It hurt seeing him this beautiful.

Because he wasn’t truly yours to keep.

You could tell he still wanted you with how he kept coming back every time. You were sure of that. He’d kiss you, usually on the cheek but mostly on your lips, every time he dropped you off at your front door. He’d hold your hands as you were right now as if it was the most casual thing ever. He’d leave his hoodies with you whenever you got cold, always insisting for you to keep it. He did what every girl dreamt of—what you dreamed of.

And it was happening to you in real time.

But it still felt wrong. Your parents were starting to ask about him, but you knew you couldn’t introduce him to them because you weren’t really dating, and that wasn’t something you wanted to have to explain to them. It was a finnicky situation. It could ruin you, him, your relationship, and maybe everything if you weren’t careful.

And you weren’t being careful right now, fingers relaxed in his grip, shoulders brushing as you walked as if you were dating.

But you weren’t.

The silent thoughts echoed in your mind as time moved forward without your permission. The voices in your head consumed your every being, your mind stuck in itself.

Exactly what had you gotten yourself into? 

masterlist – prev – next

Martin first messaged you in the second week of March on an unknown number.

Unknown [7:49 PM PST] hi is this y/n?

You [7:52 PM PST] uh who is this?

Unknown [7:55 PM PST] this might be very creepy but i promise it’s real but i’m martin, cortis’ leader and keonho’s friend

You [7:56 PM PST] oh how’d u get my number 😭

Unknown [7:56 PM PST] plz don’t tell him but i snooped thru his phone

You [7:57 PM PST] LOL how do will ik this is real and not a set up

Unknown [7:58 PM PST] *insert picture of your photo strip*

You [8:00 PM PST] oh shit ur real

Unknown [8:00 PM PST] yea

You [8:01 PM PST] my bad gng 🤞

Your anxiety eased a fraction, fingers slightly trembling as you saved his number as “martwin”. 

martwin [8:02 PM PST] UR GOOD anyways i wanted to ask if u were ever planning to visit keonho here in korea

You [8:03 PM PST] oh uh i was actually planning to go next month LOL to surprise him

martwin [8:05 PM PST] shit that’s so cute

You [8:06 PM PST] yeah LOL i've been working overtime to save up he’s been pretty moody bc we haven’t called in a bit but plz don’t tell him that

martwin [8:07 PM PST] oh yea for the next game caterers x hybe (coming out next week but plz keep it a secret 🤫) he won’t have much screentime bc this kid has been so emo

You [8:08 PM PST] omg i’m so sorry 😭😭

martwin [8:08 PM PST] plz don’t be sorry LOL it’s a him problem

You [8:10 PM PST] 😭

martwin [8:12 PM PST] anyways me and the members wanted to chip in for ur flight n accommodations n whatnot to visit him bc he’s been rly missing u

You [8:13 PM PST] oh i can’t accept

martwin [8:15 PM PST] plz 🙏 to get me out of this MISERY

You [8:15 PM PST] has it rly been that bad? 😭

martwin [8:16 PM PST] yeah the managers hv noticed alrdy

You [8:16 PM PST] shit i’ll talk to him about it

martwin [8:18 PM PST] plz take our offer 🙏 consider it a gift

You sighed to nobody but yourself. Could you really do this? Visiting him had been a frequently brought up hypothetical since the week he left, offered initially by your mother. She also offered to pay as well, as long as you broubght her back whatever skincare or snacks she asked for.

You [8:22 PM PST] only $250 max.

martwin [8:22 PM PST] $3000

You [8:22 PM PST] wtf $300

martwin [8:23 PM PST] $3500

You [8:24 PM PST] $500

martwin [8:25 PM PST] deal i knew all that haggling with thrift sellers was worth it

You [8:26 PM PST] bye 😭 anyways i was actually gonna book this weekend i js need to find a place to stay

martwin [8:26 PM PST] gotcha i’ll send u a good airbnb nearby our dorm msg me ur etrans

You [8:27 PM PST] yessir happy early birthday btw!

martwin [8:28 PM PST] thx :)

You had been planning for your trip ever since. You had found a cheap enough but overall nice AirBnB near their dorms, area courtesy of Martin.

You watched their “Game Caterers X HYBE” video later that week. And Martin was right—Keonho had been much gloomier than usual. He had let his emotions drive him to what seemed like a dark place. But this was the complete opposite of the boy you know. He was bright like sunshine in the summer, smiling and laughing like an innocent kid. He was passionate about his career and was uncontrollable in his jokes like fire left unattended.

But even with you, he was still him, only amplified. That fire burned brighter and got more passionate. Even sitting in stillness felt nice. It felt real. It felt human. And you loved that.

And you had to confess—you missed him too. You miss both your shallow and deep conversations and your adventurous hang outs and casual dates. You missed when life with him felt domestic—when he’d go with you to grocery shop, when he’d pick you up from outings with your friends, and playing with Nerf guns with your brothers whenever he came to your house. 

The normal moments were when you missed him the most. Because the weather had gotten warmer with the changing of the seasons, cherry blossoms had begun blooming, the wind became refreshing rather than sharp, and the sky was more sun than clouds. You knew Keonho would take advantage of the weather and ask to play at the park, walk the streets of downtown, or even talk by the pier. And that selfish part of you knew he looked heartwrenchingly handsome under the sun’s golden beams. Who wouldn’t waste an opportunity to stare at your boyfriend where he looked like nature’s very muse?

You missed moments when you could admire him, and it wasn’t through the pixels on your screen.

You missed him. His scent on one of your favourite navy-blue “Drew” hoodie was wearing off, faster than you'd like. The fabric still reminded you of him, but it felt like a part of him was fading alongside the scent.

The boy you met at Blend café had fully intertwined his fingers into your brain and you were entirely unaware that you had even given him permission to do so in the first place. You didn’t realize—or want to admit, maybe—that he had such an effect on you, too.

You went into this relationship with a wall built between the world and your heart. And Keonho had unknowingly found a defect in the corner and climbed in as if it was the easiest thing to do. You kept your distance at first, but you felt your sense of control slipping the more time you spent with him. He crept his way into every crevice of your heart. But that same pit in your stomach bubbled up from where it retreats every once in a while.

It comes back every time you guys haven’t had a proper conversation in a few days. Every time he bails on a planned video call. Every time you see a new CORTIS article pop up on your feed.

Yes, the boy was yours. But simultaneously, he was the world’s. He was idolized and essentially ogled at by many other women and men. You weren’t jealous that other people loved him or found him attractive or simply perceived him. You were just saddened by the fact that he was put in the front for the entertainment and leisure of other people. He wasn’t some thing to be looked at and unraveled. He was Keonho. He deserved to show his true self and be supported wholeheartedly. 

It was what rubbed you the wrong way in the beginning. It was what made you hesitate in the first place.

But, really, who could you truly place all the blame on?

He was simply living the consequences of not only his past actions, but of his pursuit of his dreams.

Those walls around your soul were turned from hard, set cobblestone to crumbling sand in a snap of a finger the second he got real with you. You didn’t want to let this stranger into your heart, but here you are now, missing him, a piece of your heart left with an indentation that only fit him.

You missed him after your shifts when your eyes wandered to the door, almost always anticipating him standing there, waiting for you with a soft smile. You missed the late nights in your car every time you drove by the Dairy Queen, remembering the mess of ice cream you both had to clean up every night.

But you’d never go there by yourself. Scared that it’d ruin the sacred memory you had with him. And you’d never tell him of the weight on your chest when he couldn’t call after a particularly difficult shift.

It all worsened that pit in your stomach.

You really didn’t like how this was going.

A small voice in your mind mumbles, grumbling low like a kitchen vent, the likelihood that this was all rushed into too quickly.

You two had only been dating for around a month

Maybe you should have listened to that voice since the beginning.

Because you knew this was a bad idea.

But every time you open your lock screen and see your wallpaper of him, you shake your mind off of the thought.

You liked this boy. You loved this boy. He meant so much more than the distance between you two.

And it wasn’t like he was making things intentionally worse. From what Martin had been telling you, it sounded like he was going through the same thing as you. You were simply two teenagers trying to figure out this whole long distance relationship thing.

But it was killing you. No matter how much you knew you loved him, it still felt… off.

But you knew you had to try. 

You had to keep going for this love. 

One that was real for the both of you.

The day of your flight came faster than you anticipated.

One day, you had just booked your AirBnB. The next day, you were beginning to plan out your outfits for the trip. And suddenly, you were all packed and spiralling with anxieties the night before your trip.

“You checked in with your AirBnB host?” your mom asked as you paced the kitchen floor.

“Yes.”

“All the dates line up?”

“Yes.”

“You checked in for your flight?”

“Yes.”

“It’s your name, right?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, relax. Martin knows the timeframe of your arrival?”

“Yes.”

“You know how to switch your service for when you get there?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re all set. Why are you so anxious?”

“I don’t know! It’s kinda my first time travelling. Alone, at that.”

“You’ll be just fine,” she sighed with a small, comforting smile, standing from the kitchen stool and patting your shoulder before heading to her bedroom. You could hear her call out from the open door. “You should be more anxious about how you’re gonna bring all my snacks back!”

You simply chuckled at your mother’s remark. You’d gone over everything you could possibly be anxious about. Bookings, payments, correct traveller’s information, your packing list—every and any thing someone could be worried about. But at the root of it all, you knew you simply wanted everything to go smoothly because you wanted to have the best time with Keonho. And maybe the rest of CORTIS. But you couldn’t wait to reunite with him and tell him of everything that he missed and everything you couldn’t tell him over the phone.

You didn’t necessarily hide the fact that you were visiting him. You simply omitted the fact. You ensured to be as normal as possible, still calling as often as you would and messaging like usual. And he hadn’t said anything out of the blue yet, so truly, he hadn’t figured it out. Unless Martin or one of his members ratted you out. But you’d probably hear of it by now. He couldn’t keep one thing secret when it came to you. It was almost like he needed to empty out his thoughts to you. And you found it endearing, if ever. But at moments, it got annoying. He’d tell you of the stains in his underwear, no matter how many times you insisted he keep those, out of all things, to himself. But he was just a boy after all. Your boy.

You had landed on Korean soil the next day, home only being one day behind. Martin wanted you to go to their dorms right away, but you insisted on at least dropping off your things at your AirBnB. Martin had arranged some sort of car service for you—apparently courtesy of YCC team and HYBE—that would help you travel from your AirBnB to their dorm with strong safety. You easily avoided the main, busy buildings full of fans hoping for a glimpse of their idols. It would probably also help avoid any scandal. That was another thing to be worried about.

You sighed as you dropped your bags off in your apartment. You were actually in South Korea. On the same concrete that Keonho was on. Finally.

You were only staying for a couple of weeks, so you knew you had to make them last. You knew you had to say things you were afraid to say on call. To do things you missed with him.

And this time, you were the tourist. He could show you around the secret places he went to escape to. He could show you the hidden gem stores and restaurants he adored.

You couldn’t wait to see the look on your boyfriend’s face.

But most especially, that first look of shock when you surprise him at his dorm in only an hour’s time.

The driver, whose name you learned was Hwanwoong, picked you up at your AirBnB right on time and drove to their dorms.

“First time in Korea?” he asked from the driver’s seat, words entirely fluent, only a slight accent in his throat.

“No,” you chuckled softly. “I’ve been here before with my family. But that was almost 8 years ago. So much has changed in such a short timeframe.”

“That’s very true. You caught Korea right before 2020. That’s such a great experience. I remember how it was that time. Everyone’s so sad now.”

“I’ve noticed that,” you sighed. You recalled how much Hawai’i had changed last you were there and how much emotion that brought out of you. Your attachment to Korea wasn’t as strong, however, the feeling lingered on your chest, spreading to the base of your throat. “It’s everywhere, really.”

“But it’s good that you’re trying to help a certain someone out of their sadness.”

Your breath hitched and eyes went wide in slight surprise.

“Martin told me,” Hwanwoong laughed as he glanced at you through the mirror.

“Oh,” you breathed shakily, chuckling nervously. “Sorry. I didn’t know he’d… out my relationship.”

“Don’t worry. If you were dating a BTS member, that would be an entirely different conversation.”

“True,” you laughed.

“Take it easy. The YCC team and their staff are very chill. We do our best to create a comfortable and real atmosphere in our work. That also just means we share a lot with each other.”

“I see. It’s nice seeing the authenticity, then,” you said, tension in your shoulders slightly relaxing..

“Right,” he smiled. The car came to a slow stop right in front of a grey building. Boring, normal, and typical for this part of Seoul. You wouldn’t tell that this dorm was housing 5 famous K-pop idols. Your head tilted slightly as you looked at the building through the window.

“How’s the security here?” you asked as he turned off the car.

“Not bad. Big-boss HYBE has a large team of security for them. They alternate every couple of weeks. The technology is also pretty secure. It gets heavier and heavier as you make it deeper into the building,” he replied, shoulder against the seat as he faced the building beside the car.

“Good,” you sighed.

“Somebody in CORTIS or one of the staff team will always have to take you in, though. So, no surprise visits,” he smirked.

You flushed at his words. “Oh. Thanks for the heads up.”

“No worries.” After a few beats, he spoke up again. “Alright. Let’s get you inside.”

The walk towards their dorm was nothing like you expected. Maybe compared to a big artist like BTS or BLACKPINK, you would think that their security measures are tight. But here, everything looked quite… normal. Not that it was a problem. At least they had security measures in place. But it made you feel a bit more at ease. You anticipated the questioning looks of security guards or someone at the front desk quirking an eyebrow every time you entered the building—which would be often during your stay. But every person you saw in the hallways greeted you with a smile and a small bow. Your nerves eased with each step.

“Remember this number,” he said, as you arrived in front of a door with metal 1608 in the middle of it. He knocked on the door and rang the doorbell.

“Thanks, Hwanwoong,” you smiled.

“Of course. See you around!” he beamed, already walking away.

Seonghyeon was the first face you saw as the door opened. You recognized his face from a lecture from Keonho when he was introducing you to each of CORTIS’ members. You were stumped for the first 30 minutes trying to differentiate Seonghyeon and Keonho, his eyes in genuine disbelief when you mixed them both up. But you could tell with Seonghyeon’s broader face shape, distinct nose, and plump lips. He had his hair parted in the middle with the hood of his grey sweater up.

“Hi!” he greeted with a small smile.

Seonghyeon looked so much more unreal in person. You had to confess, if Keonho wasn’t your boyfriend, you would have totally had a fat crush on Seonghyeon. His alluring gaze and dimpled yet charming grin lured you in. Your brain stuttered as your gaze lingered on his face for a beat too long. “Hey,” you finally stuttered out.

“So, you’re the infamous Y/N,” he mused, smirking and tilting his head. “Welcome to Korea! Come in,” he said, opening the door wider for you to enter. “It’s a bit messy in here but we tried to clean up as much as we could.”

“It’s okay. I had brothers growing up, so I’ve probably seen worse,” you chuckled.

“Oh, you haven’t seen 5 teenagers in one dorm kinda messy,” he leaned in a fraction. “Anyways, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the members. Martin went out to distract Keonho, by the way. Just in case you were curious about where he is. They’re buying these Chinese donuts not too far from here.”

You couldn’t help but be drawn to the way he spoke. Soft and gentle, yet with a teasing edge after joking remarks. When you watched CORTIS’ content, you couldn’t help but be intrigued by Seonghyeon. He stuck out to you more than any other member. A cinephile, a reader, an intellectual. If ever, you had a big friend-crush on him.

He led you all the way to the living room where the rest of the members were. “This is James,” he said, pointing at the man with short hair. He looked quite intimidating with his Wasian features and indifferent gaze. But with the way he smiled softly when your eyes met, small dimples on his cheeks appearing, you found him to be quite handsome, nonetheless.

“Hi!” you shyly muttered out an introduction.

“Hey,” he said as he began walking towards you and Seonghyeon. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“And this is Juhoon,” he said, pointing at the taller boy, who was now making his way to the living room.

“Hey. How was the flight?” he asked in fluent English.

“It was alright. Kinda stuffy. But it’s nice here.”

“Good. Now, please fix Keonho,” he joked with a smile.

“I’ll do my best,” you countered with a small chuckle.

“Anyway,” Seonghyeon interrupted. “Could you check his location, James-hyung?”

“Sure,” James said, pulling out his phone.

“They’re getting donuts. We forgot to pick it up earlier with our dinner. But I guess this made for a great excuse to get him out of the house to hide you,” Juhoon added.

Your bottom lip jutted out, impressed with the coincidence.

“They’re on their way back now,” James said, fingers zooming in and zooming out on his phone.

“Shit,” you cursed.

“It’s okay. You can hide in his room. So that when all his tears come out, it’s in private. I’ve seen him cry enough,” Seonghyeon said with a small sigh.

“Yeah,” James added.

“Too many times,” Juhoon said, eyes zoning out slightly.

“Dang… is it really that bad?” you asked.

“Yeah. He misses you a lot,” Seonghyeon replied. You pouted at the thought.

James interrupted the silence. “They’re almost here.”

“Shit, okay. Where’s his room?” you shakily breathed.

“This way,” Seonghyeon said, already walking towards the hallway.

“Here you go,” he said, opening the last door.

“Thanks,” you muttered. You could feel the sweat in your armpits dampen your shirt.

“Just come out whenever you two are ready. We ordered jajjangmyeon for dinner. Hope you like it.”

You only nodded in reply, your nerves on edge. He closed his door on his way back towards the hallway, leaving you alone in Keonho’s room.

His room was dark—curtains pulled all the way shut. The first thing you did in his room was open them, finally letting fresh light in. Dust particles flew into the air, sparkling like snow, after opening his blinds. You frowned at the thought of him rarely opening them. It worried you slightly.

Keonho’s room wasn’t bare, but it was a teenager’s. Clothes were scattered all over his floor. You couldn’t even tell if they were clean or dirty. There were no distinct piles, simply garments thrown onto the ground. You sighed, in both annoyance and fondness, as you thought of your boyfriend’s negligence in his room’s cleanliness. His walls were decorated with a few posters. A few Radiohead ones, a Weezer one, a random grunge band you had never heard of, and one of CORTIS. He even had an “OK Computer” Radiohead vinyl on his bedside table. You recalled how Martin had gifted it to Keonho, details of the conversation and unboxing vivid as the memories of that call came flooding back. The thought made something warm bloom in your heart.

You went to sit on the edge of his bed, dipping slightly with your weight. It was made—thank God—and smelled exactly like him. You took a long breath in, finally smelling his scent. It overwhelmed your senses, head going fuzzy at the realization that this was all real. No longer a figment of your imagination. You couldn’t wait to bring home many hoodies that smelt exactly like this.

“He’s almost here!” you heard James yell through the walls.

Shit. Keonho was almost here. Did you look good? You opened your phone’s camera, fixing your hair, putting on lip balm, anything to make sure you were presentable. Your leg began jumping in anxiety, anticipating when he opened the door and saw you for the first time in a while. What do you even say? I’m here! Welcome back! I missed you! I brought your favourite hoodie back! Or, well, mine. It all felt stupid as you said it in your mind.

You took a long breath in and out, closing your eyes as you focused on the air on your skin and his scent in your nose. It calmed your nerves slightly.

You gazed at the wall near where his pillow was, assumedly where he laid his head every night. It had your guys’ pictures there. A printed selfie of you that you had sent before you went out with your friends. He freaked out, spamming you in your texts when you first sent it. He was so cute about it, even going as far as asking for your permission to save it. There was another photo beside it, one of you in bed with a pout. You sent that one when you said you missed him a lot that day.

There were a few other photos of his family, his dog, and some friends on the wall. But in the centre of it all was your photo strip that you took at Metrotown. Stupid poses that you still laugh at to this day. It was your favourite photo strip of all time. You also had yours right by your bed, a constant reminder that he existed before you slept and as soon as you woke up.

The thought that he’d intentionally placed these photos in a particular way brought a warm, fuzzy feeling to your chest. You missed this sentimental part of him.

You heard the door close from the outside. Conversation between a few people were mumbled through the walls.

You could feel your heart vibrate in your ears, going a hundred miles a minute. Your heartbeat was so fast, you’d think that you just ran a 10-kilometre race. And won. Adrenaline was rushing through your veins, anxious as to what your boyfriend’s reaction could be.

As soon as you saw the door handle twist, you shot up. You looked back and forth between the bed and the door as it opened, slightly unsure of whether you should sit or stand. You quickly landed on standing somewhere near the edge of his bed. You put on a soft smile on your face, hopefully masking any anxiety that might be written all over it.

As he opened it, he froze, his phone in hand, stuck in mid air as he was about to place it against his ear as he did a double take in your direction. Your phone’s ringtone resonated throughout his room, the one that you had changed to a specific tune to distinguish when a particular person was calling.

Time seemed to have stopped for the both of you again.

He stood there, frozen in time, blinking slowly, like with each blink, he was proving that you were actually there with him. No longer something of his wildest dreams.

The world went silent, save for your phone softly ringing in your pocket. You also stopped your movements. Your words died on your tongue, throat closed up as your gaze lingered on the boy in front of you.

He had gotten much handsomer. He seemed to have grown up a fraction—jawline sharper, eyebrows more defined, yet eyes still youthful and shimmering. He seemed to have come from practice beforehand, a slight sheen of sweat glimmering on his skin, glistening in his room’s warm light. Some of his hair stuck onto his forehead in an unusually attractive way. His cheeks were flushed red from his practice, but it reminded you of what Keonho looked like when you first met him. He wore a plain black tee, slightly clinging to his body, and grey sweatpants that further accentuated his fit form.

Tears were beginning to well in your eyes, vision slightly going blurry at the sight of him. “Hi, my lovely boy,” you smiled, finally breaking the silence.

He uttered your name. He blinked, voice slightly cracking, as he walked towards you. He set his phone down as his hands went to hover over your shoulders, jaw, and waist, hands shaking and refusing to finally touch you as if he still couldn’t quite believe you were there.

“Keonho,” you breathed, a tear finally slipping from your clutches. He had his own set of tears now, streaming in a beautifully cruel way down his face. His eyebrows were furrowed together in sadness, face a reflection of his feelings.

“I…” he breathed shakily, hands finally landing on your arm and hip, “…I missed you.”

Before you could utter out a response, the boy collapsed into your arms, head falling to your shoulder. You could feel your shirt dampen with his tears.

“Oh, my poor Keonho,” you cooed as he sobbed into you. Your legs were already shaking from your own emotion, unable to hold up yourself, let alone both of you. “C’mere,” you said, guiding you both to sit on his bed. You wrapped your arms around him as he clutched onto you like a sloth.

You tightened your embrace, fingers clutching against the back of his shirt as you brought him closer to you—to your heart. His shoulders were trembling with emotion, breath uneven on your neck as he tried and failed to find some sort of composure. You could hear his choked sobs muffled into your shirt, which was now notably wet with your boyfriend’s tears.

You had pushed your glasses up to the top of your head, the fog from your tears being too overstimulating. You sniffled as you cooed into his ear. “I missed you too. So much. You don’t even know.” You trembled and stuttered through your own words.

He perked up from where he found refuge in your neck to lean into his palms, eyes and nose red from his crying, as he wiped his face with his arm. You sat up yourself and couldn’t help but reach out and cup his cheek with your palm. Your heart stuttered and warmed as he relaxed into your touch, leaning further into your palm as if cherishing your love. “You’re really here,” he breathed, eyes remained closed as tears continued to flow down his face.

“Yes, I am,” you muttered softly.

He sighed, stretched and drawn out, then took a deep breath in, slightly trembling from all of his crying. “You’re really here,” he repeated, the sound coming from his throat, confidence slowly seeping into his tone. 

“Yes, silly. Is this all not enough confirmation for you?” you giggled.

“Ugh. I missed you so much,” he sighed shakily, returning his head back to the crevice in your neck where you felt like he belonged.

“I know,” you replied, bringing your hands to brush your fingers through his hair for the first time in a while.

“I missed this,” he muttered, breathing relaxing now. He intertwined one of your hands with his, gripping tightly, like if he let go even a fraction, you’d escape from his grasp.

“Not too tight,” you softly winced.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as you felt a pout form on his lips by your neck.

“I’m not leaving for a long while, Keonho,” you giggled. You missed this. You missed his voice. You missed his touch. You missed him. You tapped his jaw with a finger.

He perked up, smiling sheepishly in anticipation, breath stuttering as he breathed in. “I haven’t done this in a while. I’m rusty,” he murmured, his eyes darting from your eyes to your lips

“Well, I’d fucking hope so,” you teased with a small smirk forming on your lips. “I haven’t personally kissed anyone that wasn’t you since you left.”

“Hey, I’m not saying that!” he exclaimed in exasperation. “I’m just saying that we haven’t kissed… in a bit. I’m nervous.”

“Then let’s be nervous together,” you said, leaning in with a smile as you finally brought your lips to his, snapping the gentle and vibrating tension in the air.

An ocean roared inside of you. Being here, finally, with him felt like diving into the deep end, letting the water consume you, pressing and pushing onto your bones in such a loving and ardent way.

His kisses were tender, almost chaste like he was scared that if he kissed too hard, he’d snap out from this dream. His lips were soft as they inevitably pressed onto you, gentle like ocean waves in the afternoon. But yours had a touch more passion than his, tears falling down your face from emotion, as you let it all consume you. Your touch was fervent and consuming, like the sea in a storm.

You pushed with hunger, giving into the tension in the air, while he pulled with a soft and sweet love. You were like the waves, and he was like the shore. Pulling and pushing gently against each other.

Tears were warm against your cheeks, your brain too fuddled and fuzzed with his kisses that you weren’t entirely sure if they belonged to you or him. Your fingers trembled where they stayed behind his neck. His body shook slightly with an overwhelm of love.

You weren’t sure who released from this kiss first. You kept your foreheads pressed together, slightly gasping as your breaths intertwined in the small space between you.

You sighed. “I missed you.”

“I missed you more,” he replied, letting your breaths carry the conversation.

After a beat, you gently shattered the intimate stillness. “We should probably head out already. They’re looking for us.”

“No,” he whined.

“Huh?”

“I want to stay here with you,” he said firmly.

“We have all the time together after dinner. And if you’re allowed to, you can stay with me for tonight?” you asked, an unsure tone in your voice as you tested the waters.

“Maybe. I’ll ask. I want to.”

You hummed in reply as you pulled back to look at him properly. “I only offered because I know how clingy you can get,” you giggled.

“Geez, sorry. A man can’t miss his girlfriend and want to be attached to her hip anymore?”

“Maybe not a man…” you trailed on, leaning back onto your palm on his mattress now.

“Hey!”

You only laughed in response, the crinkles by his eyes deepening as he smiled. You missed that.

“Let’s go, Keonho.”

“5 minutes.”

“One minute.”

“10 minutes.”

“3 minutes.”

“Fine.”

You giggled at his reluctant remark. “You’re just like Martin when it comes to haggling. He did the exact same thing when we were talking about me coming here. Same strat and everything,” you chuckled, rubbing sweet shapes into his forearm.

“How do you know that?” he asked, almost taken aback at your words.

“Jealous?”

“Uh, yeah! How come my own friend knew you were coming but not me, your literal boyfriend?”

“Sorry. We just talked about you and my flight and stuff.”

“Did you pay for it?”

“Not really. Your members wanted to pay for it all, but I said no. They ended up paying for almost half of it. I still feel really guilty.”

“Don’t feel guilty. But that’s good. You need to come more often,” he replied firmly.

You two remained together in silence, a soft electricity lingering in the air between you two. His eyes just bore into yours, mouth still open in slight disbelief that you were right in front of him. Sometimes, he’d lean in to place a chaste kiss on your lips then giggle like a little kid afterwards. You would join in his giggling, heart warming at the sight of your adorable boyfriend, cuteness aggression skyrocketing in your chest.

By the time you two came out of your room and into the living room, everyone roared with cheers.

“Fucking finally!” Martin exclaimed.

“We were waiting for like an hour,” said Juhoon.

“Hey! It was more like, 25 minutes, no?” you argued with a slight flush in your cheeks.

“Whatever. Let’s eat. Please. Now,” said James.

“I’m starving,” sighed Seonghyeon.

You took an empty seat as Keonho took the one right next to you. James was the first to get his food and the others followed in suit. Before you could reach your hands towards the serving utensils, Keonho scooped a serving of food for you first.

“Thanks,” you murmured, only loud enough for him to hear.

He simply smiled warmly towards you.

“How’s the jjajangmyeon for you?” Martin asked you.

“Oh!” you exclaimed softly, mid bite. “Not bad. I only tried whatever was given to me back home, so I have no standard. Unlike you guys.”

James hummed. “It’s much better here, I think. The flavour of the black bean stands out more.”

“Huh. I never noticed that,” said Juhoon.

“It’s in the bitterness, hyung,” replied Seonghyeon.

“My bad,” chuckled Juhoon.

“You’d think rich-boy over here would have a sophisticated taste, no?” Martin asked you.

You only shrugged with a soft chuckle as small laughs resonated through the dining room.

“Are we going out later?” asked Seonghyeon.

“For what?” asked Keonho.

“Well. Dessert. Duh.”

“We have ice cream here,” replied James.

“The one you bought too,” murmured Juhoon.

“Geez, gang. Not too much on me.”

“Didn’t you literally beg for us to buy the ice cream for weeks? Complaining about some craving so strong you thought you were pregnant?” asked Martin with an amused smile.

“’Kay. Whatever. Maybe I just wanted something a little different. And offer our guest here something cultured.”

“What’s the ice cream?” you asked.

“Papico,” replied James. “Chocolate only.”

“I love those!” you replied.

Keonho’s chin retracted slightly in surprise. “I didn’t know you had even tried those.”

“They’re so good! My neighbor’s brought it over one time. It had 50% plastic for my first time, though.”

Martin laughed. “You gotta cut it properly.”

You hummed in reply. Juhoon began telling them something in Korean and you continued eating your food.

“You never told me that,” muttered Keonho beside you.

You shrugged in reply. “You never asked.”

A small pout appeared on his lips.

You chuckled softly at him. “They’re Korean. We don’t really talk that much. But they’re nice.”

“What if they were Martin’s relatives?” he asked in genuine curiosity.

You considered it for a moment as you stirred your noodles. “Maybe. You know from where he came from in Canada?”

“Not really,” Keonho shrugged.

“Dude, you made such a mess!” whined James, eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the few noodles on the table which should be in Martin’s bowl.

“I’ll clean it up, don’t worry, hyung,” replied Martin.

“You better,” muttered Seonghyeon.

“Wait. Isn’t it literally your turn to do dishes,” said Martin.

“You made all this mess!” bickered Seonghyeon.

Juhoon’s eyebrows went up in annoyance and amusement.

“Fine! Fine. I’ll help. But you owe me,” replied Martin.

“How the hell do I owe you?” questioned Seonghyeon.

“Because I’m cleaning for you!”

“Bro.”

“You know what? Both of you clean it up. Settle it over basketball on Friday or something,” muttered James.

“Hell yeah. Your ass is beat, Martin.”

“That’s not fair, James!”

James merely shrugged, no emotion in his face. You turned to Keonho beside you as he smiled at the bickering in front of him.

“This normal here?” you asked with a grin.

“Oh, it’s so much worse. Sometimes it’s me and Seonghyeon. Sometimes it’s everyone. It’s so funny to witness and remember,” he said, leaning in slightly. “It’s also just so easy to rage-bait Seonghyeon. It’s a fun game of whoever can get to do it first.”

“Does James ever rage-bait?”

“Oh, yeah. A lot,” he laughed.

“Huh. He doesn’t seem like the type to do that.”

“I pride myself in being the D1 rage-baiter and prankster, but James is a good second.”

You hummed in reply, your heart warming and cheeks laughing from whatever else Seonghyeon and Martin were fighting over now. They seemed so fun to be around. It felt like a real friend group, not just coworkers. They were like a group of friends who wanted to have fun but also do what they loved. Their bond flowed through the air so naturally and their silliness complimented each other so well. And it was honestly a refreshing contrast to the tear-fest you and Keonho had not even an hour before.

Even if it was your first evening with them, something in you warmed up to their goofiness.

Everything felt real.

Authentic.

Later that night, Keonho insisted he take you on a tour to his “hidden-gem food stalls”.

You were already stuffed with the jjajangmyeon from earlier and Seonghyeon’s Papico ice cream. Keonho bought a red bean bungeobbang to share, almost shoving it into your hands, arguing that it’s unlike anywhere else. And he was right, as per usual. Afterward, he brought you to a fishcake skewer stand. Even with your insistence that you hated seafood, Keonho begged for you to at least try it. After a few minutes of adorable pouts and stupid promises, you gave into it and took a cautious small bite. It wasn’t as bad as you had anticipated it to be. You were more fulfilled by the wide grin that was plastered all over your boyfriend’s face. But at this point, your belt was 3 notches looser than when you arrived.

“Just around that corner is my favourite sweet potato stall. They always have it fresh. It’s never too hard or too soggy. Just the perfect in-between. And I think they even grow their own sweet potatoes, too,” he rambled, arms intertwined in the cold alleyways of Seoul.

You simply nodded, even though you knew your stomach could barely handle anything more. “The glaze better be worth it, boy,” you teased. “I’m fucking stuffed.”

“Oh, trust me. It is,” he promised with a wink.

And true enough, as soon as you took a bite, your tongue was met with an incredibly deep flavour and interesting sweetness. “Shit,” you said as you began nodding.

“Good, right?” he said, cheekbones flushed and prominent as he smiled.

“Yeah. Holy smokes, bro. I gotta remember where this is so I can visit it again.”

“Just let me know when you wanna have some!” he exclaimed as you began walking. “I’ll go with you.”

You simply smiled at him, continuing your attack on your sweet potato. “You know, my mom misses you.”

“Really? Have I really left that big of an impression on her?”

“Well, yeah. You always ate everything and brought food. How did you know she didn’t like flowers or chocolates or any of that shit?”

“Well, I noticed the fake flowers around the house. And well, the severe lack of plants,” he chuckled, whisps of white ribbon in the evening air. “My mom’s the same way, too. She says they just die anyway. She also just can’t take care of them.”

You laughed at that.

“And you don’t even like flowers that much.”

“I do!” you exclaimed, looking at him slightly offended. “What are you talking about?”

“You prefer food, big back.”

“Okay, not too much on me. Guess who keeps asking me out for dates that include food?” you said, bumping his shoulder with yours. “Plus, I’d rather get something physical. Like a photo or a train ticket or some shit.”

“Yeah, I know,” he smiled, eyes on his shoes. His grin stretched from flushed ear to flushed ear, soft giggles escaping his mouth every few moments.

“What are we laughing at?” you asked.

“Oh, nothing,” he said, giggling low not 2 seconds after.

You hummed in suspicion. “Where are we going now?”

“Mmm. Somewhere.”

“Wow, ‘kay, mysterious guy.”

You let him lead you in silence, fingers still intertwined with each other. You two arrived in front of a store full of books. The Korean in front read “Bookstore”. It looked like some indie bookstore, deep brown shelves, stacks of books on the floor, warm lighting, and the occasional person reading a synopsis on the back of a book. Your mouth hung open slightly.

“Can we go in?” you murmured, eyes now on him.

“No. We’re here to just to fucking look in.”

You gave him a nasty side-eye, and he just laughed at you. Oh, how you missed that sound. “Just kidding. They close in two hours. I’ll buy whatever book you want,” he said with a warm, loving, and real smile, one that you learned he only gave to you.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re so sweet. How can I ever repay you,” you replied with a pout, closing the distance between you two, hips now flush against each other.

“Well, you gave me the honour of being your boyfriend. On my birthday of all days. I think that’s more than enough for me. Did your pretty little head forget all that already?” he said, tapping your head softly.

“No, actually. I just didn’t know that it mattered that much for you.”

He scoffed in slight disbelief. “Let’s go in now. You gotta get all the books you want. All of them, okay?” he insisted, hands now resting quietly on your waist. “No putting any back on the shelf because you feel bad or whatever.”

You pouted. “Fine.” You held eye contact with him and searched his eyes, looking for what else he could be trying to say in this very moment. But with the way his breath hitched slightly, the way his mouth was left slightly agape, and the way his eyes kept darting to your lips every few seconds, you already knew. You simply leaned in, fingers clutching his arms to bring him closer, letting him meet you in the middle, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I love you, Keonho.”

He blushed and began softly giggling like a little kid. “I love you too,” he breathed your name, head tilting slightly as he bored into your eyes. “C’mon,” he said, already pulling your hand to the entrance.

As soon as you stepped through the bookstore’s doors, you were greeted with the wooden smell of books and their bookshelves. It brought a soft warmth to your cheeks and a smile to your face.

You beelined for the fiction section, browsing their fantasy and literary selection. Your mind was careful in choosing your next read, intentionally scanning each book’s synopsis to see which one would be worthwhile—and worth the money.

You ended up with a few books your friend recommended, a book series you had been wanting to purchase anyway, and you even picked up an interesting enough Korean book. You didn’t know how you’d read it, but you’d learn the language one day, right?

You carefully placed your books down on the counter by the cashier, fingers trembling slightly from the sheer number of books. Keonho did most of the talking for you as you simply smiled politely whenever she glanced at you. Your focus went to your bag, fishing for your wallet.

“Nuh-uh. Remember?” he quirked as the machine beeped. “On me.”

You let out a breath of annoyance and adoration. “You’re so…”

“Amazing? Handsome? Caring? Hot? Perfect? Yours? Why, of course,” he listed with a cute wink.

The lady handed you your bag of books with a smile as you bowed in gratitude. “Thank you, Keonho,” you smiled sheepishly, leaning into his shoulder.

“Of course,” he beamed.

As you two were making your way back to your AirBnB, the building already in sight, your steps came to a halt.

“Shit!” you exclaimed.

He jolted in surprise. “You scared me. What’s wrong? Forgot something?”

“No. I just realized that I do not have space for all of this,” you said, slightly gaping at him. Now you had to worry about making room in your already stuffed suitcase. Or even extra charges on your card for an extra bag.

Keonho seemed to have thought about it for a moment. Then, he simply shrugged. “I’ll pay for the extra bag. Just take it home.”

“But—”

“Please.”

“I owe you too much already.”

“Please.”

“I…” you sighed, looking at your tempting haul of books.

“Plus, it’d be a shame to let these go to waste… Seonghyeon rarely reads anymore and Juhoon only reads non-fiction,” he trailed on.

“Fine,” you grumbled.

“Yay!” he exclaimed adorably, grin widening with your approval. “I can finally pay for my beloved girlfriend’s shit.”

“Whatever,” you mumbled, looking down at your shoes. Suddenly, you felt his lips on your cheek. His warm affection made you giggle a little.

As you got into your AirBnB, taking off your shoes, Keonho said, “Hey, why don’t you give me a haul? Tell me about the books you got.”

“Yes! Okay!” you replied, already running towards the living room. He followed your figure, copying the way you skipped in your step.

“Okay!” you exclaimed, sitting down against the couch, his shoulders flush against yours as you took out each book with care. “This one is my favourite fantasy series.”

“Percy Jackson,” he read.

“Yes! It’s a 2010s series that so many people have read. It was even adapted into a movie and a series! The series is out on Disney+ I think. The main character is your age I think. Well, further into the series. It has elements of Greek mythology and stuff. And the main couple literally yearns for like 5 books straight. 2 out of those 5 books, the guy doesn’t even realize he likes the girl. Can guys genuinely be that oblivious?”

“Yeah, unfortunately.”

You nodded. “Actually. You know what? Yeah. That checks out.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he laughed.

You giggled. “Anyways. I’m still saving up for The Hunger Games series. But the one with the new book. I want the special editions with the pretty edges, but they’re so expensive because of how many books there are. But after I buy that, I essentially have all the series I want,” you beamed.

“And this is the classic book I got. I’ve never really read them because they seem so intimidating. Like the words they use are so old.”

“Right! I never liked reading any of them in school.”

“Yeah. But I loved the ‘Pride & Prejudice’ movie. Especially the 2005 one. And this one, I promised to never watch the movie unless I read the book. So, now I can watch the movie! As long as I get to reading it,” you laughed.

“Let’s watch it together,” he offered.

“You’ve never watched ‘Perks of Being a Wallflower?’”

“No. It was never really on my radar.”

“Insane. I guess that makes you and me,” you laughed. “Anyways! That was my book haul paid for by my lovely boyfriend,” you beamed, leaning in a little closer to his face. “Thank you, my favourite boy.”

He giggled at your words, eyes flickering to your lips. “Of cour—”

You let your lips meet again before he could let the electricity in the air simmer for longer, choosing to show your gratitude through action. Your kiss lingered longer than you needed to. Your happiness from the books you’ve acquired and the way Keonho chose to express his love made you want to offer him some of your own. The way his breath hitched from surprise and his face quickly melted into yours made your head go fuzzy. It awakened something deep in you that you couldn’t quite name yet.

When you two separated his eyes flickered with something hungry. It wasn’t new, but one you hadn’t seen in a long time. The way his eyes were slightly dazed made your own brain melt to mush and cheeks flush as a corny idea flashed through your mind. 

“I should, uh, go to bed,” you nervously muttered, already standing up so that he wouldn’t see your flustered face.

“Huh?” he asked, tone adorably dumbfounded.

“I gotta get used to the time here,” you said, hand reaching out to the handle to your room. Something in your heart told you to look back at him, fearful in whatever awkwardness this moment might leave you if you simply abandoned him. His gaze was adorably dazed as his eyes lingered on yours. “Wanna watch me do my skincare?” you asked.

“Yeah!” he jumped from where he sat to follow you.

He sat on the toilet as you did your skincare. He commented occasionally, muttering products you didn’t even know were beneficial to skin in the first place. The “did you know” explanations were adorable as he said them with utmost certainty and confidence.

At some point, you ended up in your bed, limbs tangled comfortably, as one hand scrolled through Netflix in search for a movie to watch.

“I wanna watch an action movie,” he murmured by your shoulder, your sitting position making you taller than him.

You hummed. “Which one?”

“We watched Top Gun last time.”

“Yeah. Then La La Land afterwards. You absolutely bawled your eyes out when we watched that,” you snorted.

“Hey! It was a sad ending,” he defended as his eyebrows furrowed together. “They didn’t need to end that way,” he murmured with a pout.

You sighed. “But it’s realistic, no? Not everything will end with a happy ending.”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Sometimes the only thing you gain is a newfound understanding.”

“How wise of you, Keonho. Said exactly how I’d say it.” After a few moments of scrolling through your laptop, your mouse hovered over a familiar movie. “What about How to Train Your Dragon? Have you watched any of ‘em?”

“I think I watched the 1st and 2nd one. I forgot there was a third one,” he mused, staring at the series on your screen.

“You’re in for a ride, then,” you grinned, pressing play. You scooted lower, now closer to him, chest pressed against his shoulder with your arm laid over his stomach.

It was moments like these that simultaneously made your heart flutter—knowing that a domestic yet romantic love could exist—and your stomach uneasy with an ache that you’ve grown too accustomed to in the past couple of months.

Keonho was nice. He was good. He was charming. He was thoughtful. He cared. He saw you for who you were. And he really reminded you ofthat faceless boy in your dreams that would resurface every once in a while. He constantly made you want to be better—to eat better, to be kinder, to live better.

And the love you two had for each other felt so real. It didn’t feel conditional. It didn’t feel like it would fade like a sunset into the night sky, it’s beauty fleeting and temporary. You would need to cherish a sunset more in the moment than anytime after. 

And you saw how much he depended on you. For love. For support. His insistent begging to be essentially attached to your hip like a koala warmed your heart affectionately.

So, why did you feel so guilty?

Why won’t that pit in your stomach go away?

Was it because you knew this had to end? Was it because you saw how your friends’ relationships went? How they crashed and burned and ended in two broken people? Or worse, one unphased heart and one shattered heart?

You knew you could love him. You did—

You do.

With your whole heart. You’d find a way to fly to space and capture the moon if he said he wanted it in passing. You couldn’t imagine what life would be like without him in your life, loving you, supporting you, holding you, like his own life depended on it.

So, what was it with this melancholy that held your stomach captive?

Usually, in moments like these, your mind was quick to offer you some sort of final decision. Some final statement, final action, that made you sure of what you felt and what you needed to do next. But right now, it was dead silent. Hushed. Still.

It could be because he was right next to you. His arm wrapped around you lovingly and intentionally. His chest going up and down softly as the movie went on. His heartbeat soft and relaxed in your ear as you laid beside him. His perfume washed out through the day’s activities on his shirt. Dialogue between Hiccup and Astrid being the only sound in the room as your thoughts washed over you like diving deep into water.

Moments like these back at home were easily brushed off because you knew you were firm in your love for him.

But, what changed since coming here?

How did this guilt get so amplified?

What do you even do in this situation?

Keonho and the rest of CORTIS had invited you out to karaoke. You had dinner once again at their dorms, the air warm and filled with a welcoming laughter as they joked and ate and joked some more. It helped push down some of your doubting thoughts from the night before.

The air was crisp and a little like the air you had at home, the cigarette bums, urine on the wall, and gas smell mixing to create a disgusting yet familiar scent. The other members each stood beside another, talking about everything and nothing. You and Keonho lingered near the back, your baggy jeans swooshing with each step, arms brushing every time he leaned in every few seconds. It was like he yearned to be glued right next to you, never wishing there to be a gap between you two.

“What’d you think of the movie last night?” you chirped.

He hummed in thought. “I think it was pretty good. I don’t know if I told you yet but I watched How to Train Your Dragon 1 and 2 this morning because I forgot some things. But the drawing and animation style has improved so much.”

“Right? I mean, when I first rewatched the first one, I thought I was watching some downgraded version of it. The quality looked so ass.”

He chuckled, the sound sending vibrations to your chest. “I think story-wise, the second one was better. The first one was and always will be peak, though.”

“Yes,” you beamed. “What do you think about the message, though?”

He hummed, whisps of a sheer-white breath coming from his nose. After a beat, he spoke. “I think it was very needed. Toothless leaving to be with the rest of the dragons. Hiccup letting go of the very thing that he thought made him who he was. But sometimes, you do need to move on and let go of some things to truly be yourself. On your own. I think his identity relied too much on Toothless. On him being a “dragon-whisperer” or whatever. Hiccup needed to be Hiccup. On his own.”

“But, don’t you think they still could have been together? That Hiccup didn’t need to let go of something beautiful just to find himself?” you offered.

“Well,” he breathed. “That’s true. But then, Toothless would have been stuck. Stuck in a world that technically wasn’t his. Stuck with a person that understood him but didn’t truly compliment him. I think Toothless and the Light Fury was a good choice. And Hiccup had to rely on Toothless for his entire identity.”

After a moment of considering his thoughts, you spoke up again. “Do you believe in somebody that completes you?”

“Not really. I think that’s a stupid idea. That you have to find somebody else to be whole. You are your entire self on your own. You are a mosaic of the people you have encountered. Another person isn’t the missing puzzle piece or whatever. You’re just you.”

“That’s very wise of you, Keonho,” you mused.

“What about you?”

“Same. I think that just takes away from your purpose in your life. That you need to find your someone, or else your life hasn’t really started. There’s this whole dependency on the other person that comes with that concept. Like you said, it’s stupid.” After a beat of stillness, you spoke up again. “Though, I do believe in the concept of soulmates.”

“Soulmates?” he repeated.

“Yeah. At least when it comes to true, romantic love. All the love stories that I’ve heard were simple when you merely touched the surface of their relationship, but when you go deeper into it all, you see how it seems… fated. Like somebody reconnecting with their high school classmate. Or somebody bumping into someone on the street. Or going on a blind date. It all seems like God made it so that they intentionally met up at that specific moment in time. Sometimes it’s not perfect, but it’s real.”

“That’s nice to think about. Everything happened in the past made them who they are now, and at that moment is the perfect time for this person who is destined to be yours.”

“Exactly,” you grinned. “You get me.”

“Great minds,” he mused.

“They think alike,” you finished for him.

You simply smiled at your conversation, interlocking your arm with his.

The karaoke room was freezing cold with the air conditioning blasting when you first entered, but now everything was fogging up with the body heat and sweat. James and Keonho were singing “You Belong with Me” by Taylor Swift, Keonho’s voice cracking every few lines with how high he had to sing. You simply giggled at their actions, sometimes singing along with James as he exaggeratingly acted out the storyline of the song while Keonho danced so stupidly, limbs flailing everywhere as he spun.

You hadn’t anticipated to see this childish part of James. His persona came off as very cold, blunt, and intimidating in the beginning. But seeing him smile, scream like a little kid, and sing as if he was the youngest in this group, made you wonder how someone could be two entirely different people at the same time. It was a thought you knew you had to visit once more at another time. Preferably one where you had pen and paper ready.

James sighed loudly in defeat as he collapsed on the couch opposite from where you were. “I’m done. Someone else next.”

“I wanna rap,” muttered Martin.

“Yeah? What song?” asked Seonghyeon.

“Hm. I wanna sing something she knows,” Martin said as your head popped up as you heard yourself mentioned. “You listen to rap?”

“Oh, uh, it’s not really my taste,” you nervously chuckled. “But I’m sure whatever you choose will be good!”

Martin stared at you, thumb and pointer finger rubbing his chin gently in thought, seeming to be flipping through a mental catalogue for a few moments. “You like BTS?” he asked.

“Who didn’t?” you chuckled. “Their 2020 album was so good. That was the last time I listened to their other music, I think.”

“I got it! I know the perfect song,” Martin exclaimed, typing in the numbers for the right song into the remote.

The screen flashed “UGH! By BTS” as the driving rhythm took over the speakers. It had been a long while since you heard this song, but memories attached to it, as well as how the song went, slowly came to you as each line was played. The bass vibrated so loudly in the karaoke room, Martin’s rap flow sounding tired and slightly all-over-the-place as it echoed in the speakers. Your head continued to bop to the beat as Keonho finally sat beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, almost as if it was muscle memory.

“You good?” he murmured into your ear as he brought you in, voice low and quiet enough for only you to hear.

“Mhm,” you hummed, mouthing the chorus’ lyrics.

“Like this song?” he asked with a smile.

“I remember how much I loved this song,” you mused fondly.

“I remember when this song first came out, too. Hearing this during COVID was something else.”

“Right.” You let yourself lean in a fraction into his chest as the song finished. The contact warmed your back and seemed to have melted his heart as he placed a chaste kiss on your temple.

“’Kay, Y/N. Your turn,” said Martin, handing you the catalogue and remote.

“Oh! Please. Skip me.”

“I insist,” Martin urged with a curious sparkle in his gaze.

You thought about what song to sing for only a moment. Then your eyes scanned the catalogue as your finger ran over each page, searching and finding the one song on your mind. You grabbed the remote and typed in “101341” as the instrumental of “My Boo” by Usher and Alicia Keys began playing.

“Oh my God, I know this song,” you heard Martin mutter from the other side of the room.

“Yeah. It sounds familiar,” replied James as he stared at the screen as if he was trying to decode each sound coming from the speakers.

By the time the chorus came around, everyone was singing along with you, successfully easing your nerves, sweat now left to dry as you got more comfortable with your environment. You could hear Keonho and Martin doing stupid adlibs, hyping you up every so often, urging you to finish the song completely. Martin seemed to simply be that person. Passionate, loud, and so unapologetically himself. He wasn’t constantly talking for the sake of filling silence, but because it seemed like life didn’t feel complete if he wasn’t saying something. He creates a warm and happy atmosphere that it makes you want to join in on the fun. You finished your song with a sudden burst of laughter as Martin attempted a high note and failed miserably, a voice crack now forever recorded on Juhoon’s phone.

“Please delete that. From your phone. From all your minds,” Martin groaned, face going red as a strawberry.

“This is getting saved, backed up, and locked in on my phone, bro,” laughed Juhoon.

“Send that to me too, please,” James said as his shoulders shook with his laughter.

“Just send it to the group chat,” Seonghyeon somehow muttered out as he doubled down, clutching his stomach as he giggled.

“Whatever,” groaned Martin as he hid his face in his hands. The laughter mellowed down to an occasional soft giggle. “I’m getting out of here. I’ll get snacks. Who wants to come with?”

“I’ll go,” responded James with a smile, whisker dimples coming out.

“Anyone want anything specific?” asked Martin as he stood up. Heads shook around the room in response. “Amazing,” he replied, sarcasm laced into his voice. “Do not complain that if you don’t get the snacks you want.”

Juhoon muttered something in Korean to Seonghyeon as the two left, a smirk left on Juhoon’s face as he put in a song into the machine. “Superpowers by Frank Ocean” flashed the screen.

“Aye,” Keonho beamed. “The Juhoon classic.”

“Of course. Karaoke nights are never complete if I don’t sing this song,” he smiled as he began singing.

The song was simple. Soft. Special. So Juhoon. All-together, he resonated this calm and interesting persona that made you feel at ease. It wasn’t charisma or appeal, rather it was gently and simply living as he is. The authenticity of him and the raw emotion in his voice as he sang made you have a newfound appreciation for him.

“One more song for me. Then I’m done,” muttered Juhoon as he scanned the catalogue.

“Already?” asked Keonho with a small pout.

“Yeah, bro. Practice was brutal today.”

“Valid,” Keonho agreed.

“Let’s sing this one,” Seonghyeon said, showing Juhoon what song he was referring to. Juhoon nodded.

After Seonghyeon typed out the numbers on the remote, the screen flashed with “Nobody Gets Me by SZA”. The emotion in Seonghyeon’s voice drove this song—lyrics raw and real and personal. Underneath his frustratingly perfect facial proportions and charismatic smile and smooth, flirting voice, it can often get lost on people that he had his own feelings and thoughts. Ones that might be worth listening to. Considering that he watched movies and read often, it shouldn’t be a surprise when he expressed mature emotions and ideas. Hearing Seonghyeon sing with emphasized emotion, you could feel how much he felt and how true the lyrics were to him. This ethereal sheen of “idol-image” had disintegrated entirely, the raw, real, and true Seonghyeon now sat across the room from you.

Eventually, Seonghyeon and Juhoon also left, speaking words of “finding Martin and James” and “making sure that they’re actually coming back”. You and Keonho simply shrugged in reply, his fingers already flipping through the catalogue for the next song.

“Let’s do this one,” he said, a smirk already forming on his face.

“Oh?” you said, a grin growing on your lips, as you read “Sk8er Boi” by Avril Lavigne across the screen.

“C’mon!” he said grabbing your wrist. “No one’s here. Let’s dance!”

“You know I can’t dance!” you exclaimed, already giggling.

“Who cares? I certainly don’t! No one else is here!”

“Fine,” you huffed.

You let your fears and anxiety go entirely, comforted by the fact that it was truly only you and Keonho in this karaoke room. You let your shoulders dance to the beat, voice choosing to do the harmonizing as the song progressed. The fun electric guitar added to your excitement, now pretending to be the one doing all the little riffs. As the instrumental came in, Keonho grabbed your hands as you danced stupidly like weird teenagers. But that was who you two were. You sang along with him, hyping each other up and bopping your head to the rock beat.

“That was fun,” he said as he flopped onto the couch, opening a water bottle and taking a swig.

“Yeah,” you giggled.

“You do the next song.”

“You sing with me, though.”

“Sure!” he exclaimed with a soft smile.

“Teenage Dirtbag by Wheatus” flashed the screen after you typed in the corresponding numbers.

“I love this song,” he mused, eyes growing wide. You walked up to where he sat, almost singing the first verse to him, remembering your emotion from when you hadn’t known him entirely when you first met. The crinkles near his eyes deepening by the second as he watched you with a smile. Keonho got up and started singing with you after the chorus, both of your heads swinging to the beat like kids at a concert. You laughed as he danced around like a toddler. 

“You sing the 2nd verse?” you asked into the microphone.

“Duh,” he smiled. He walked up to you, too, eyes boring into yours as he sang the verse’s lyrics. He gestured and looked you up and down as if you were the very muse of this song. You let yourself jump and dance freely as the chorus came about, the lyrics repeating and sung loudly by you two through the speakers.

Some time in the middle of the song, right before the bridge, you spoke. “Wait! You do melody, I’ll do harmony.”

“Gotcha!”

As the post chorus came, you reached high for the harmonizing line as Keonho remained lower with the melody line. Your voices aligned almost perfectly, save for the split second that you were flat, creating sounds that complimented each other. It didn’t sound like either you were trying to overpower each other, neither in volume nor technique. Your voice remained quieter to compliment the main melody line, letting his part shine as the lead. His eyes locked onto yours as you both continued to sing. There was a quiet understanding that flowed between you two like shallow blue waves running over your feet. Even when it would ebb back into the water, you knew it would eventually come back, just like the way this specific harmony line returned to the same note as the main melody.

As the song finished, a warm feeling bloomed in your chest. A content and giddy emotion that you couldn’t quite name. Spending this time with him felt fulfilling, more than you had ever anticipated. “That was nice,” you mused as he sat beside you.

“Yeah,” he breathed with a smile, eyes remaining on yours. You let yourself gaze at him for a little while longer. Linger for a little bit more. He leans in a smidge before halting, boring into your eyes, searching for any hesitancy or refusal, yet—like always—yearning for you to let him in. As if he didn’t own your entire heart already. You only gave him a warm smile in response as you glance at his lips then back to his eyes once more. His breath hitched in anticipation, your own fingers twitching to reach out and touch this loud lover.

You can never tell who leaned in first. But with the soft press of his lips on yours, you couldn’t care less. In this moment, you were with a boy you had liked—loved—and that was enough. It was sweet, lingering, and so full of a bubbly warmth that it overflowed in your heart, making you giggle.

“Why are we giggling?” he asked with an adorable smile.

You hummed then shrugged. “Why don’t we go around the room and say what’s on our minds?”

“Okay. You go first.”

“Well, I’m thinking about your lips. How they’d feel on mine, maybe. How warm your cheeks would get, maybe. But also if we’d get caught by your members. What their reaction would be like. How often they’d tease you about this, even when I leave for home.”

“That’s a lot of thoughts,” he said with an amused smile.

“Who am I without them?” you quirked. “What about you, pretty boy?”

He hummed for a moment. “I’m thinking a lot about kissing you too,” he mused as his eyes flickered to your lips for a second. “And I’m also thinking a lot about how you never tell me why you love me. Not as a joke. But truly what’s on your heart,” he said with a slightly bittersweet expression.

Whatever defense you thought you had died on your tongue before it could come to life. A stutter of half-thought words dissolved in your throat as you failed to counter him. In some way, you had owed him that. To some, it might have been a simple thing to indulge him in. As if it had no pressure whatsoever to your heart. Or to your relationship.

You weren’t one to say things like this. It was mostly Keonho, attempting to profess his love for you in mumbled words and phrases that could be poetic if he arranged them properly. You accepted his professions with a tender care, holding them near your heart no matter if that one part of you cringed at him.

But now, he was prompting for you to be… cringe. It wasn’t entirely cringe, really. It was simply an outward expression—or rather, confession—of love. It was so raw. So intimate. But you halted your spiraling before it could even begin. Because when were you two ever not raw? Or emotionally intimate? You knew him the way you had the back of your hand memorized. You felt for him and felt him like it was the most natural thing. And it was. So nothing could truly stop you from doing this.

You breathed out, exhaling each negative thought, as you leaned in. With each inch of movement, the gap between you two grew smaller and smaller. You watched his pout turn into a pucker as he anticipated your kiss. It made you giggle warmly on the inside. “I love you, Keonho, because you’ve given me a reason to be happy again.” And it’s true. Maybe it’s simply the changing of the seasons, but your days feel brighter, warmer, more colourful. He’s made you desire a better life. A life to be loved. You place a chaste kiss on his lips, pulling back to watch his eyes go slightly dazed.

“I love you, Keonho, because you see and hold and understand a part of me that you’ve seemingly intentionally become fluent in.” He understood you like it was his first language. As if he knew you already. As if he studied you diligently beforehand. It was almost like you two shared a brain. You never had to explain why for him to understand anything. Yet he gave you the space to explain when you wanted to. He offered you that perfect balance between understanding the silent expressions and understanding your oftentimes chaotic words and phrases. He desired to be fluent in you, and he did his best to learn all of you. And that was the most attractive thing anyone could ever do for you. You kissed him once more, lingering a beat longer than before.

You let out a shaky breath, the rawest parts of you being exposed to the boy in front of you. Tears were already welling in your eyes, and you could tell that he was also tearing up. But you both refused to let them fall, your grip on each other’s arms tightening with each passing second. You could feel the warmth of his breath mixing with yours near your lips as he tenderly bore into your eyes. “And most of all, Keonho, I love you because despite knowing all of me, you aren’t scared of me. You don’t push me away when things get too vulnerable or deep. You stay. And I don’t know why. And I don’t want you to. I really hope you don’t want to either.” He lingered. He stayed. Even when he didn’t have to. When you knew that this would be the one thing that ticked him off or was the last straw. And you couldn’t find a logistical reason why other than he truly loved you. And who were you not to reciprocate true, real, and raw love? Who were you to give up a connection so special when you desired it just as much?

You sealed your confession with one final kiss, one that almost hurt with how vulnerable you were just now. You were laid bare emotionally to this boy. Your fingers trembled where it gripped his sleeve. Your shoulders shook with the anxiety of being perceived. But you weren’t exactly scared that it he wouldn’t accept you.

Because he would hold you. He did hold you in this exact moment, arms now wrapped around your torso. He’d hold your body with as much intention he would hold your soul.

Because no matter how raw you felt with him, you could rest assured that he would be just as raw with you.

Any and all thoughts of everyone else returning to the karaoke room and finding you two tangled up in each other, now consumed in the way he touched you and held you.

The only thing that mattered in this moment was the confession that you let leave your lips and the way he accepted it with gentle care.

Your heart was laid in front of him, and he cherished it so much that he gave you his.

What was love if it wasn’t reciprocated, shared, and in union with another?

The Korean barbeque place was too warm. You’d stripped of all your jackets and layers, the only remaining piece of clothing being a black long-sleeve Uniqlo heat tech. But the warmth was already so overbearing that you had the sleeves scrunched to your elbow, leaving uncomfortable marks on your arms. Your had forgotten your spare hair tie or claw clip, so your hair was uncomfortably down on your shoulders. Keonho was already asking the staff for your second jug of water with how much you were drinking to cool yourself down.

“You okay? Wanna go somewhere where it isn’t so warm?” he asked.

“Nah. I’m okay. Just give me a couple of minutes,” you said, sipping on your ice cold water to let it cool you down slowly.

“’Kay. I’ll start cooking though.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” you murmured with the cup still at your lips. “Oh!” you exclaimed as you laid your cup down. “Do you like kimchi?”

“Not really. You want more?” he said, glancing at the tiny plate of kimchi.

You hummed. “Maybe. We’ll see. I know you don’t like it. So maybe I’ll finish it myself instead.”

“Well, it’s free anyway,” he said. Before you could stop him, he was already turning around and calling a waiter for more.

A small pout adorned your lips. “Thank you, Keonho. You didn’t really have to.”

He shrugged. “I wanted to,” he said with a soft smile, one that you desperately wanted to memorize, yet it almost hurt to commit to memory.

He flipped the galbi meat, the marinade sauce splattering aggressively on the pan. Sizzling and murmurs of conversations were all that was heard in this small Korean barbeque spot. Old couples, friend groups, and families of all sizes surrounded you two. Some were laughing at a friend, all collectively laughing at some inside joke. Some were deep in gossip, one person’s eyes going wide as the other spoke fast. Some were busy eating, content smiles on their lips as they ate silently.

Your eyes drifted towards Keonho’s hands as he worked diligently to cook your food. His knuckles were going white as he gripped the tongs, his other hand swiftly cutting the meat into smaller pieces. A silver bracelet dangling graciously from his wrist as he moved all the cooked meat on a separate plate. The white nail polish was chipping all over his nails, but it gave his hands a very grunge accessory. One random day, he had asked you what colour to paint his nails. You offered white, your brain logistically coming to that decision because it was a good neutral but was flashy enough to be seen in his outfits. His expression through the phone at first looked like he didn’t want to take your recommendation, but after a few moments of silence, he chirped an adorable “okay” and smiled. The memory made you smile in thought.

He began cutting the bones off the galbi meat.

“Wait, you don’t have to do that.”

“It’s okay. You never clean it off the bone anyway. You always end up giving them to me.”

“True,” you chuckled. “Thank you.”

He hummed softly, already putting a few cut up pieces of meat onto your dish, all ones you were already eyeing while he was cooking.

You stared at the boy in front of you. Part in awe and admiration. Part in fear and confusion. Because since when were you one to let someone else cook for you like this? When was the last time you were the one waiting for the food instead of flipping the meat for them? Maybe when you were 7 when your dad was the one cooking. Maybe when you were 12 when your mom was flipping the meat on your birthday. But since then, you were always the one making sure everything was cooked to perfection, with the perfect amount of char but not burnt.

Since when would you allow someone else, especially a boy, do all this for you?

Order extra side-dishes because he knew you loved it.

Cooked each piece of meat to perfection, just the way you liked it.

Notice when your water was running low and ask the waiter for more for you.

Since when did you let your guard down so low that you’d let someone else do it for you?

The thought baffled you. Because that meant you were deep into this. This wasn’t something you could easily get out of or let go of anymore. You were stuck in the middle of a deep and unknown ocean with no land nearby. This was something that was so ingrained into your soul that it took over how you let yourself be loved. And you didn’t know what that meant now. You didn’t know if that meant you should love him more and stay in the middle of that deep water, because at least it was with him. You didn’t know if that meant you should start letting go before it gets worse. The pit in your stomach only grew. Because there was so much you could do to get out of it. And you should do it now before you get more attached, or worse, you fall deeper in love—

“You waiting for me to eat?” he asked, snapping you out of your spiral.

It took you a moment to form a reply. You landed on: “Yeah.”

A hand went to flick off the heat as his other hand placed down the tongs. “Let’s eat.”

So, you ate.

You ate as if you weren’t doubting him a mere minute ago. He smiled at you warmly as if you weren’t second guessing your intentions for this relationship, one that you desperately desired and anxiously fought for. He refilled your plate with meat, taking the pieces with bones and cartilage that you didn’t eat, as if you weren’t just considering breaking up with him.

He hummed. You closed your eyes for a moment, grounding yourself in the vibrations that sent through your chest. After swallowing his bite, he spoke up. “What would you do if you knew that once you woke up, it would be your final day on earth? Like, what would be the places you go to or who would be the people you see?” he asked.

“Ooh,” you mused, setting down your chopsticks. “That’s a good question.”

He gave you the silence you needed to think about it.

“Well, for the sake of my heart, you are visiting me. So that I can see both you and my family. I think I’d rather kill myself than choose between the both of you.”

“Valid,” he chuckled.

“But I think I’d wake up early and go to the beach. Watch the sunrise and enjoy a good sandwich. Focaccia, mozzarella, tomato, pesto, arugula. Toasted only slightly. Then, I’d try to meet up with some of my friends for brunch. Take some photos, tell them the things I don’t say often, hug them tight. You know, the usual. Then I’d spend some time alone. Probably go downtown and visit my favourite café, order my favourite ham and cheese croissant, and do those cringey K-pop idol photo strips. I’ll probably do a bunch. Even one with you,” you laughed in thought.

“Then I’d go to the park with my family. So that my dog can be with us, too. Tell them I’m proud of them, lean on my dad’s shoulder, hold hands with my mom, make fun of my brothers, run with my dog. One last time,” you replied, eyebrows furrowing in sorrow.

“And of course, I’d save the best for last and go on a date with you. We’d go out for dinner, probably McDonald’s or some sort of fast food. Then, we’d drive to White Rock again and have a deep talk. Maybe even let myself make out with you in the backseat,” you teased.

“Dang. That’s pretty detailed. Have you answered this before?” he chuckled.

“No. Well,” you mused. “Not really. I guess, I just thought of the things that I would really hate not doing before dying.”

He hummed with an impressed upside-down smile.

“What about you?”

He put down his chopsticks as he thought for a long moment. “Okay, well I’ll have the same rules as you, too. You’re visiting me here while my family’s here.”

“Of course,” you giggled.

“I’d probably do the same. I won’t wake up early, though. I hope it’s a day off. I’ll sleep until like 9:30. Then, I’ll wake up, go to your place and stay with you for a bit. Maybe we’ll cook breakfast together. Then after eating, I’ll take my family out to the movies. They always love it whenever we watch something together. After that, I’d probably go thrifting with my members. I’d bring you along too. Get some cheesy shirts for the giggles,” he smiled.

“I’d probably end the day similar to yours. At the beach, watching the sunset, your hand in mind, while we talk about everything and nothing. Then come back to your place. And I’d pass away peacefully in your arms.”

“Aw,” you said with a small pout. “That sounds so sweet.”

“Yeah. I mean, it sounds pretty sad to think about. But it also makes you think about all the things you need to do and say before you die. It’s dark but deep.”

“Right,” you mused.

The walk after was freeing. The breeze blew graciously on your face as the fresh air breathed refreshingly in your lungs. Your free hand, one that thankfully escaped Keonho’s possessive hold, rubbed your full stomach. You had to loosen your belt at least 3 notches before you could breathe properly. Some might have thought that conversation could have burned a couple calories in the meantime, but man, were they wrong.

“How far’s the walk, Keonho?” you whined. “I’m tired. I could literally pass out right here, right now.”

“It’s literally right there. You see the big neon orange sign?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s 5 minutes from there.”

“Bro.”

He chuckled at your expression. “Sorry. I love rage baiting you.”

“I will literally kill you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would. Then kill myself right after. I don’t want the guilt eating at me.”

“Why do you have this planned out?” he laughed, throwing his head back in amusement.

“Of course I do. Do you even know me?”

“I was just joking,” he giggled, bumping his shoulder with yours, clutching your hand just a fraction tighter.

The thrift shop had few customers but was packed with racks and racks and racks of clothing.

“This one is my favourite because it has so many good pieces and is always restocked. Like every couple of weeks. I go here so often, I think the owner would know my card information by heart by now,” he laughed. You laughed with him.

Your feet took you to where your eyes staring. You landed by a short sleeved henley you had been eyeing since you got inside. The hanger was rough under your fingers as you took it out to look at it in full. It looked around your size. Cream and faded with dark purple accents on the hem of the shirt and sleeves. In the middle was a simple floral purple branch that decorated very simple top. It was very much your style, and especially for the price, it’s a perfect buy in your book.

You feel Keonho brush up close to you. “That one looks nice. You gonna buy it?” he asked.

You hummed, scanning the top once more. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.” You took a step towards the rack on the other side of you. “I was looking at these jorts, too. But I don’t know if they’ll look good on me.”

“Well, the flower detail on the side looks good.”

“Yeah.”

“But I also like the wash.”

“I think you have something similar. I think you wore it when we went to the pier.”

“Right! I love how you remember it,” he said as his expression softened. “You should buy them,” he replied, as you finally looked at what he had in his hands.

“Whatchu got?” you asked.

“Oh, yes. This grey-brown long sleeve.” It had a cream cross, wings, and swirls that decorated the left upper portion, near the collar.

“Ooh, I like that one.”

“Yeah?” he asked, eyes lighting up. “I’ll get it then.” He rearranged the hangers, putting the long sleeve in the back of the pile in his hands. “And I saw this hoodie.” It was a grey hoodie lined with a dark blue and black plaid. “I don’t know, though. I feel like I can find this for cheaper.” He leaned in closer to your ear. “And with better quality fabric,” he said, eyes now scanning the shop to see if anyone heard him.

You giggled at him. Then, you replied with a lower voice. “Yeah, I think you could probably get this somewhere else. The wear on it is pretty good though.”

“Eh, that’s more Martin’s style.”

“True,” you chuckled.

“But I do need more hoodies. You’ve stolen a total of 5 already. I can’t even imagine how many I’ll have left when you have to go back.”

“Ugh. Let’s not talk about such negative matters. Let’s focus on the fact that I’m here with you.”

“Oh, of course. Not the fact that you are literally committing a crime.”

“It’s not a crime if you don’t catch me,” you smirked. “Or do anything about it.”

“Oh, I have,” he retorted. “You just haven’t noticed.”

You took a moment to process what he said. And suddenly, it was like the moment when everything clicked when you were learning math concepts. “Oh my God.” You hadn’t had any spare hair ties or hair clips in your bag for a while. You had looked through your luggage twice already, all leaving you empty handed with the hair accessories you desperately needed. A serious debate about spending money on buying some here had popped up in your mind more often than you’d like. “Are you stealing my hair ties and hair clips, Ahn Keonho?”

“Woah, full government name. But no. Matter of fact, I deny that baseless accusation,” he replied with his shit-eating grin, already walking away.

“Do not walk away from me, Keonho,” you scoffed, attempting—but failing—to fight a smile.

You find him by the pants. “Give me back half my hoodies and I’ll give them back to you,” he offered.

“But they’re comfortable!” you whined. “And, c’mon, bro. That ‘Drew’ hoodie is so fucking expensive. I can’t find it anywhere.”

“You can take it. I don’t mind,” he said with a small tilt in his head. “Just give me back a few of them. It gets cold sometimes, you know?”

You sighed, a grin now plastered on your lips. “Fine,” you replied reluctantly. “I promise to give some back. But I’m keeping that ‘Drew’ one.”

“Of course,” he smiled. “Let’s go?”

“Sure.”

The walk back to your AirBnB was quiet. The good kind. The one that seeped into the crevices of your brain and carefully caressed the layers of your soul. It was the silence that only came about when you were with Keonho. But with the eerie lack of people on the street, the quiet hum of buildings nearby, and the stillness that the boy beside you let consume your atmosphere, you were left to your thoughts. Again.

In your hand was a bag of clothes. It wasn’t anything special to someone looking in. But they were ones that you from three years would have never bought. Even you from three months ago would have bought something a bit more girly. Something that was bright or had frills.

Some part of you had always thought that “the one” would bring out the feminine side of you. It sounded very backwards to your logic, but it was something that you had been anticipating for a while.

But some time after you met Keonho, that idea disintegrated into dust and was let into the wind. Because somehow, your style now became more like him. Dark wash jeans that were a bit distressed at the ends, neutral henleys that sat a bit looser than what you would usually wear, and graphic tees of bands you didn’t really listen to. It all felt backwards looking back.

But the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. In a way, he was leaving his mark on you. Your clothing style, something you never really had entire autonomy over due to your indecisive mind, had become something like his.

And it was fine. Because you could tell you left an impression on him too. His phrases got deeper, in a sense. He spoke of words and phrases that sounded like they belonged in poems. It sounded like he had picked up little sayings in the same way a friend would pick up phrase that you would use often.

And, yet, you didn’t know what to do with that thought. You didn’t know if you liked that you both had an impact on the other. You didn’t know if that was good or bad. Because you were now chest-deep in dark, cold water. And you couldn’t stop the tide from reaching higher and higher. You wished for your feet to bring you back to shore, back on safe land, where you could rest assured that nothing new or scary would come at you. Back on the sand that grounded your feet, where you knew you could run back to safety with ease.

All at once, you knew you were being undone. You were letting yourself be loved in ways that you didn’t think you would and letting in a boy you hadn’t planned to love at all. The fabric barrier of your soul to the outside world was slowly being unraveled and exposed to the boy beside you. Each stitch broke every time he looked at you like you were something worth loving. Every time he sent you a cringey TikTok that you knew he meant from the bottom of his heart. Every time he held you like you were fragile, yet worth keeping.

The guilt ate at that pit in your stomach when he suddenly interlocked his arm with yours. You could feel the emotion bubble up into your throat. You couldn’t say anything about it all, and you knew you wouldn’t.

Like always, you’d let it simmer in that part of your chest until it exploded.

Because Keonho didn’t deserve your doubt. Your fear. Your anxiety. He deserved your love.

And right now, that was all you could offer.

All you could do was simply wrap your arm tighter around his and lean your shoulder into his.

His chin was heavy as he peered over your shoulder. You could feel him gazing at the book you were reading. Your pinky and thumb were holding the paperback open, your mind only half-invested in the main character’s dialogue as you could feel the warmth radiate off his body behind you.

“Have they kissed yet?” he murmured softly.

You sighed. “No. Can you believe that? Two-thirds through the book and they’ve only held hands.”

“Talk about a slow burn. The candle of their romance is longer than my patience.”

Your shoulders shook with laughter. “Right.”

After a few beats of silence, he shattered the stillness. “Can I show you something?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“It’s just on my laptop. I’ll get it. Stay put.”

“’Kay,” you replied, indulging once more into the story in your hands.

Right when you finished the final line on your current page, you could hear his slippers slapping against the floor as he made his way towards you.

You placed your bookmark onto the next page and placed your book down. “What you gonna show me?”

“Well, it’s nothing bad,” he breathed. “Hopefully.” You saw the way his eyes were blinking faster than usual, eyelashes fluttering beautifully against his cheeks. You could hear the stutter in his breath as he sat down next to you. You could see the crimson that flushed his cheeks to the end of his chin. He desperately avoided your gaze as if when he looked at you, he’d simply pass away. You chuckled at his nervousness as you scooted closer to him, your side flush against his as you placed your cheek near his shoulder.

You watched as he moved his mouse to launch some sort of audio on his laptop, his other hand increasing its volume.

“I’ve been, uh, on this creative streak.”

“Oh?” you chirped.

“Yeah. I made a few drafts. I haven’t really submitted it to management or any other producers because, well, we technically have everything we need for our comeback. You’ve probably seen it. Everything’s being released soon. We have choreo’s and marketing things ready.”

You simply hummed in reply as you bore into his eyes, searching for ways to comfort him. You saw the way he cleared his throat, eyes jolting from side to side in anxiety. His knee jumped in anticipation while his hand started patting his chest. You simply placed a comforting hand on his knee, staring into his eyes, urging him to continue.

“Well, I, um, made two songs. This one’s pretty long. It has very simple production, but the focus is more on the, uh, lyrics,” he swallowed, finally looking back at you. The corners of his eyes softened a fraction as he exhaled shakily. “I actually had the rest of the song done, but I was stuck on the chorus for a while. It was only the other day when I finally wrote something I thought was worth keeping.”

“Play it for me?”

He didn’t respond with words, but pressed play and retreated his hands.

The song began with a metronome-like beat of some sort of synth, acting like the heartbeat of the song. It never failed, though, at some moments, you swore it stuttered and stumbled over itself. But with the way the tracks were laid, you could tell it was aligned perfectly. A mellow electric guitar melody filled the room. It was simple—some notes prolonged in a way that lingered on the chest. Then, you could hear Keonho begin singing. It started with words of confession. Words of fear. Words of anxiety. But as the chorus rolled in, it spoke of reassurance. Somewhere in the end of the chorus, a line played that sounded familiar.

How can I make you know that you deserve all the love in the world? And more?

The reference was on the tip of your tongue. You scanned through everything in your mind that you could think of, yet nothing came up. But the line pulled at your heart. It was a line so simple, yet so raw. Just like the love you two shared. The same way ocean water can feel so refreshing on a sunny day, yet so salty when you accidentally swallow it. The line soothed your soul, yet at the same time, its taste made you want to shrivel away from it.

As the bridge came, you could tell that he wrote this at his most vulnerable. The melody ran fast, his diction getting sloppier and sloppier as he let out the secrets of his heart. He sang of his fear of losing you. He sang of the anxiety that held his chest captive at the mere thought of not being loved by you. He rambled of the ocean—the contrast between its roars or crashes in a storm and its soft caress as you glide through it. As the final repeat of the chorus came, it was like everything clicked.

You blinked. “That line’s from Perks of Being a Wallflower,” you mused as your eyebrows knit together.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I watched it the other day because you said you liked the book and movie. It was really good.”

“So, you wrote the chorus based on that dialogue?”

“Yeah. Because, I think,” he exhaled, “there are moments that you refuse to let yourself be loved in the way you deserve. You hold your heart too close to yourself that I feel like sometimes I don’t have all of you. And you deserve to have total autonomy over your heart. But it blocks out the affection I want to show you.”

“I’m sorry,” you muttered.

“Don’t be. I just wanted to,” he exhaled, “say it to you somehow. And this was… the best way I knew how. At least without stuttering over my words.”

After a beat, you spoke up. “I’m sorry if I’ve ever blocked you out of myself. I guess, I just don’t know how to navigate this. It gets overwhelming.”

“Well, you need to tell that to people who deserve that permission.” After a moment of silence: “And we can go through this. Together. Like you said when we first fought: it’s easier to go through things with someone else. Because then, the burden is shared. Sadness shared halved, and joy shared is doubled.”

Your shoulders relaxed at his words. “You’re right. And that was a good quote. Write that down.”

His chest shook with laughter. “Of course.”

“I loved that song, Keonho. I liked that heartbeat synth.”

“Thanks. I’m glad you like it. I really wanted it to sound like a heartbeat. Like when you’re going through a panic attack, where your heartbeat just sounds amplified.”

“Yeah. That’s good. Send me the lyrics?”

He nodded. “I’ll send you the audio file, too.”

You sighed, cuddling closer to him, wrapping your arms around him. “I love you, Keonho.”

“I love you so much more,” he whispered your name against your temple as he brought you closer to his chest. He pressed a chaste kiss on your forehead, then one on your nose. “I think you’re my favourite muse.”

You scrunched your nose at his words. “Are you implying that you have a second favourite muse?”

“And if I say yes?”

You jolted back in shock. “Who is she?”

“Who said they were a she?”

“Oh my God,” you sighed in exasperation.

“I’m joking,” he laughed. “You’re my only romantic muse.”

“I better be,” you mumbled as he cuddled into the crook of your neck.

“You’re my always muse,” he mumbled, the words tickling the spot below your ear.

That word… always. It hit you like ice cold water over your head. Because it held weight. It promised of eternity. And you weren’t sure if you were quite ready for that. You liked what you had now. You liked how you were living in your childhood dream. But going through the motions of it all made you think that maybe “happily ever after” was scarier than you had anticipated.

As much as you wanted this “forever” with Keonho, you simply couldn’t shake the way that the word worsened the pit in your stomach. 

The day after, Keonho invited you to his studio to work on another demo. Some interlude that he insisted needed your voice instead.

“The vibes are like that time between 5:30 and 6:45 in the evening when the sun has set and the breeze is cool on your skin,” he explained. “I just need these head-voice vocals to compliment the piano arpeggios. I have the sample in there already. You can either follow the melody or make one of your own.”

“Can I listen to it first?” you asked.

He hummed, giving you a pair of headphones as he pulled up the file.

The interlude was only a minute and 4 seconds long. His vocals didn’t begin until the 41st second, all low hums of some melody he created. It all built up to a flurry of instruments—a piano countermelody, a mellow guitar, a soft harp, and a vibrating synth all layered on top of each other, ultimately coming to a peak as the song came to an end. It began to sound like the month of March. The harp soothing the ears like breeze on a cool day. The piano glistening and shimmering flecks of harmony like the sun through the trees. The melody changed and flipped like the shift from winter to spring. It sounded like the promise of starting anew.

And from that first listen, you knew exactly what it needed. Accents of vocals—ones that harmonize with Keonho’s pre-recorded melody, which you insisted on keeping, and ones that compliment the electric guitar. It didn’t need much. Like he said, it just needed a higher voice. One that sounded like the chirp of birds in the morning. One that sparkled like morning dew on tree bark.

You recorded as much as you could offer. At first, it was frustrating. Getting used to his recording system and audio layering was an entirely different thing you had to learn. Sometimes, the mouse wouldn’t click the right button, or it wouldn’t even be recording the sample you just sung. Keonho must have sensed your irritation before it eventually bubbled over and calmly taught you with a patience you hadn’t expected from him. His hands took over the keyboard controls while he directed your other hand on the mousepad. His voice moved to a register that was calm, unwavering, and undeniably attractive. A small warmth spread across your cheeks as your heart stuttered with the intimacy.

After scrapping it once and a few redo’s, you were able to produce a sample you were alright with. You took off the headphones and played the audio for the boy beside you. You watched as his eyes lit up as a wide smile adorned his face.

“It’s perfect,” he beamed. “You captured perfectly what I was trying to portray.” He grabbed your cheeks and kissed your forehead roughly. “Ugh! You’re so perfect. I love you.”

“I love you too, Keonho,” you giggled.

“Oh, by the way,” he mumbled as he closed his laptop. “We’re doing this free concert thing in a few cities nearby. You wanna come watch?”

“Sure! What time?”

“Uh, in around an hour. Hwanwoong will take care of your ride there. Just dress warmly and be smart around crowds.”

“’Course, dude. You think I haven’t been to these things before?”

“I don’t doubt you,” he laughed. “Fans just get crazy here. It’s genuinely scary.”

“I can take care of myself. And I’ll be there to support you. And it’s free,” you emphasized, widening your eyes as if it was obvious. “Who am I to skip on free music and support my very talented and handsome boyfriend?”

His cheeks flushed even more, adding to his boyish charm. “Oh, please,” he said with a smile, looking away. After a moment, he returned his gaze to yours. “But I’d love it if you were there.”

You simply nodded in response.

And he was not wrong about the crowds. Their first stop, Dongmyo, was small. Somebody on their team decided the corner of the street was the perfect place to host a free concert of 5 charming and popular kids. Every thought in your brain thought this was a bad idea, but really, who were you to complain? You were simply a bystander—a mere girlfriend of one of their members. At least you were given a heads up about the locations and times. At least you had a safe ride to each venue.

You lingered near the back to avoid getting cramped somewhere in the middle of the crowd. Their first song was more awkward as the crowd was getting used to their sound. But as usual, slowly but surely, little kids and even grandparents started bopping their heads to the song’s beat.

You saw the way he scanned the crowd when it wasn’t his line, smoothly mouthing the song’s words as he tried finding you. His face lit up with a smile so wide, the sides of his eyes crinkled deeply, once he spotted your face. After a few moments of eye contact, he moved his eyes to the rest of the crowd to avoid suspicion. But with the way his eyes flickered to your general direction every few seconds, you knew he wanted to look at you the entire time. To let his eyes remain on yours as he looked at you with such longing. To commit your face to memory as if he hadn’t been staring at it every day for a few weeks already.

Hongdae’s crowd was worse. By then, fans must have caught onto the hints that the members had left on Weverse and gone to the nearest concert location to them. It was packed unlike no other. Full theatres back at home were never this packed. Thank God it was an outdoor concert, or else the warm air would trigger some sort of claustrophobia for you.

The sun had come out right behind the stage they were performing on. Half the time, you had to keep your hands up to shield your eyes. But the other half was spent admiring your boyfriend. This visual of Keonho was your favourite. His outfit wasn’t necessarily your favourite—sagging striped joggers, a dark grey crewneck, and a deep powder blue jacket—but what brought your gaze back to him again and again was the way the sun hit his features. Every time the sun landed on him, it was like he was the sun’s very own muse. Its rays shone on his face, illuminating his honey-like skin, creating a contrast to his already dark and prominent eyebrows. And from a particular angle, small shadows appeared from where his long eyelashes fluttered.

A sun-kissed angel was the perfect way to describe how Keonho looked.

He looked beautiful. So incredibly charming that you couldn’t entirely believe he was real.

Because how could this person, attractive on the inside and out, love you? What had you done in your previous life that made you deserve to love this boy so expressively and be loved so fully in return?

Ttukseom was the most packed. You began standing at a spot somewhere near the edge of the crowd. But as people started coming in to see the commotion, you got stuck in the middle, cramped between girls your age. The girls beside you had Keonho signs, ones asking for a heart or a kiss. Inside, you laughed because you knew you didn’t have to ask him for any of those. You simply had to give him a look, and he knew exactly what you were asking for.

And you liked that about Keonho. You liked that he knew you so well that you didn’t have to utter a word. But you also liked the fact that he gave you space to talk when you wanted to. You liked that he listened to you intently, actually asking valid questions about whatever you had been rambling about.

You liked this boy. You liked the way he kissed your forehead whenever you two were close. You liked the way his eyes sparkled whenever he was listening to you talk. You liked the way he annoyed you like he was one of your little brothers. You liked the way he loved you like it was muscle memory.

And you wanted to stay. To remain in this relationship that fulfilled you in a way that you hadn’t felt before. But you could already feel a part of you retreating. Shriveling away from his affectionate words and warm cuddles. Because you knew you had to let go soon. The impending doom sat familiarly yet uncomfortably on that pit in your stomach.

Because he wasn’t doing anything wrong. He loved you wholly and fully. And you loved him just as much.

But why wasn’t any of that enough? Why did this guilt eat at your chest months into your committed relationship?

You could feel his gaze linger on yours a little while longer. To others, it seemed like he was simply reading the sign of the fans beside you. But you knew that the faint sparkle in his eyes meant he was longing for you. Keonho effortlessly winked and blew a charming kiss in your general direction. You smiled at his antics and at the girls who were beginning to freak out beside you, giggling at their shared joy.

The whiplash of your emotions sat weirdly in your chest. You knew you couldn’t go on bottling up these thoughts—just waiting for the day that it gets too overwhelming and eventually explodes on something, or someone, you don’t want it on. You knew you couldn’t go on kissing him and blushing at his affections as if your thoughts weren’t doubting your intentions with him.

It didn’t make sense to you anymore.

You knew you had to do something about the pit in your stomach.

To talk about it.

Because he deserved so much more than silence.

And stillness.

But every time you thought of what to say, your throat closed up. It was almost like your body didn’t want you to… potentially ruin this beautiful thing you had.

And you didn’t want to either.

But for now, maybe the best thing you could do was smile at him as he performed.

To hold him tenderly when you get back to your AirBnB.

To love him in this moment of purity.

masterlist – prev – next

table of contents!

chapter 1: this side of paradise by coyote theory – 35.8k

part one – part two

chapter 2: futile devices (doveman remix) by sufjan stevens – 28.8k

part one – part two

chapter 3: heartbeats by jose gonzalez – writing...

chapter 4: at the beach, in every life by gigi perez – writing...

end ... or ???

Keonho knew life couldn’t have been any better than this.

You were finally his and he was truly yours.

And work was good. The rest of the producers wanted to expand more on his demo. He hadn’t anticipated having a great say in the production of it all, so work was way more than he expected. And dance practices and lessons were as before. Helpful sometimes but repetitive most of the time.

But it was usually tiring. But he knew that he had you to fall on when things were hard.

He always had the energy of a little kid, so dates were frequent. Though, some might say they were more “hang outs” than “dates”, always being quirky and a little childish. He had always dreamed of fun dates with his future girlfriend. But especially at his age, he knew that he should do all the activities that required a bit more energy and imagination now rather than later. He ensured to put the “friend” in boyfriend and girlfriend.

You two were at Walmart, wandering and loitering around, not necessarily buying anything in particular.

“Hey,” he said as he leaned in as you two walked into the store. He could smell the citrus and floral perfume you had on. “Who the hell puts Twix beside the cereal?” he joked, glancing at your face and waiting for your reaction.

Your head leaned back in laughter, dark curls falling like a waterfall behind your head, showing off your delicate neck as you giggled in amusement. “That’s so stupid. If it was at least Reese’s cereal, it’d kinda make sense.”

“Right,” he replied with a wide grin.

He ran a few steps forward, stopping at a paper Lego stand. “We should do this!” he exclaimed, pointing at a Lego F1 car box.

“Dude, this is so expensive,” you gaped at him. “Are you not saving up for anything important?” you asked.

“Well… not really,” he shrugged. “I’ve just turned 17 so.”

“I guess,” you chuckled.

“Let’s just call it an investment for our future happiness,” he beamed.

“’Course,” you giggled. “Which colour?”

He hummed in thought. “I like the purple one. You?”

You smiled. “You read my mind.”

“Yay!” he exclaimed in excitement as he picked it up and placed it under his arm. “Wanna make this while watching a movie later?” He purposefully lingered near you, his heart pulling him closer to you.

“Sure! What movie?” you chirped.

“Are we feeling action movie or sad movie today?”

“Both?”

His grin widened. “Okay! Top Gun Maverick?”

“Sounds good to me,” you smiled. “I wanna watch La La Land after, though.”

“Oh, I haven’t watched that one.”

“What do you mean you haven’t watched La La Land?” you exclaimed, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide as you stared at the boy beside you.

“What?” he chuckled, throwing his free hand up in surrender. “I just don’t watch those movies.”

“You’re in for a rollercoaster of emotions then, boy,” you snickered.

“Oh, yeah? We’ll see who cries.”

“Hah! Wanna bet?”

“Game.”

He watched your gaze wander to the book section. “If you cry, you owe me a book,” you teased, already walking to browse around the shelves.

“And if you cry, you owe me another one of these F1 cars.”

“Game,” you smirked, extending your hand. He shook yours as he nodded, smiling fondly at you as your eyes moved away from his to run over each book’s spine. His heart felt full of love and adoration as he watched you scan the shelves and occasionally picking up a book and reading the synopsis on the back. He watched the way your eyes read through each sentence, your eyebrow quirking every few seconds, but none of them truly interested you enough to keep.

“I can feel you staring, Keonho.”

“Can’t help it,” he murmured with a small grin.

You simply smiled to yourself, continuing your search for a good book of your choice. His eyes lingered on you, watching you—cutely he might add—attempt to focus on the shelves in front of you. Your eyes jumped from a book to something near him—though never at him—to only the book, that adorable quirk you do when you don’t want to focus on the way blood rushed to your cheeks, or the way your heart was probably stuttering in your chest, or the way your breath hitched when you realized he was still staring at you. Your antics made him giggle in his head and his chest warm with something fuzzy.

He loved these moments. When you’re (supposedly) focused on something else, gaze boring into the object or sign in front of you. You weren’t outright ignoring him, just pretending that his presence didn’t affect you as badly as you’d like to admit. It was like you gave him a quiet permission to stare at you silently, no matter how much it did a number on you. Because, in all honesty, these quiet moments did something to him. It wasn’t a physical intimacy, but an implied intimacy between two souls. It was an understanding that you simply lived in each other’s presence, and witnessing the other’s life was an unspoken vow you two took when you two first kissed.

He couldn’t get enough of it.

He relished in it.

Sometimes, dates would be hotpot.

“Let’s try something new today?” you asked looking up to him as he stood in front of you.

The restaurant was packed. The line was cramped too close together, people’s conversations were loud enough to hear from two tables down, and the air was warm and muggy with the sheer amount of people in one area. The server said the wait was at least 45 minutes just to get a table. On a bad day, it would have irritated him, and you two would have been seated at some other restaurant at this point. But with the way you sat down in front of him, cutely glancing around and passing around stupid topics just to pass time, your feet beside his with your knees touching, it felt bearable. His mind grounded itself in the way he could feel your knee bounce against his in anticipation and the way his heart fluttered in his chest from the little intimacy.

“Sure,” he said, softly nudging your knee with his. “I’ll try the tomato one.”

Your lip jutted out as you nodded. “I’ll try that Korean one.”

“Table for 2 for Hogan!” a server yelled. You both stood up and got in line as the lady handed him your section letter.

The line was even more claustrophobic and overstimulating. Somebody’s bowl had been touching his back since he got in line, another person’s feet were too close for comfort, and several arms were reaching out for ingredients on his side. Talk about an overload to the senses.

“Which meat are you trying today?” you asked.

He hummed in thought as he remained behind you, leaving you enough room to hopefully feel less overwhelmed. “I’ll probably try the tripe today.”

“Yuck,” you retorted with a scowl.

“Have you had it?” he asked with a small, amused smile.

“No. But it doesn’t look good.”

“Don’t yuck my potential yum.”

“But it’s still potential!” you returned.

He let out a small laugh. “I’ll get some pork shoulder slices for you, too, don’t worry.”

“Thank you,” you said as you fluttered your eyelashes. You gave him a shy smile.

“’Course,” he murmured into your ear, leaning his chin onto your shoulder as the line simmered down near the payment area. “Should I try a spicier level?” he asked.

You giggled as he felt the vibrations of your laughter under his chin. “Maybe. At least the first one.”

He hummed. “Remember when I tried that jalapeno hot dog to impress you?” he mused.

Your laughter filled his ear. “Yeah, Keonho. That was so stupid. Don’t you think of yourself sometimes?”

“Hey, I do!” he defended with a small grin on his face. “I think my mind was so caught up in you that I forgot that I can’t handle spice.”

You only chuckled at his remark.

When you two got to your table with your bowls, he waited for you to bless your guys’ food. He saw the way your eyes glimmered every time you asked, the look on your face forever ingrained into his brain, so he committed to remembering to ask you every time. He had even begun understanding some of the words and praying it alongside you. He could see how much it meant to you when your grin grew even wider whenever he let you.

You stirred your noodles, blowing on it to cool it down. After a few gusts of wind from your mouth, you began conversation. “What’s on your travel bucket list?”

He hummed in thought. “Good question,” he said, mixing around the food in his own bowl. “Maybe London? I just wanna see it, I guess. It seems cool. Egypt, too. Philippines is another one, recently bumped up on the list because of a special someone,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at you. You simply giggled at his remarks. “Australia too. Oh! And Hawai’i!”

“Ugh, I love Hawai’i!” you commented.

“How was it there?”

“Good! I loved it there. I don’t know if you remember, but Hawai’i—O’ahu specifically—means a lot to me,” you said with a fond smile.

“Yeah, I remember,” he smiled. After a beat, “That was so cool. Where else did you go?” he asked, taking his first bite of his food.

“We went to France, Italy, Spain, Portugal, Ireland, the UK, the US—San Francisco, LA, Arizona, Las Vegas, New York—then Toronto, Denmark, Netherlands, Austria, Czechia, Hungary, Greece, Turkey, Japan, the Philippines, then Korea.”

“Holy shit, you went on like a whole tour or something.”

“Yeah,” you laughed. “Something like that. I wouldn’t say world tour because we didn’t go everywhere. It was mostly Europe that we traveled to.”

“That’s still so cool. What the heck,” he remarked eyes slightly widened.

“Yeah, I think of it often,” you said, taking a bite of your food. After a few beats, “I think it was good for our family’s relationship with each other. We were around each other 24/7. Unless there was some girl’s only thing or boy’s only thing.”

“Well, that kinda explains why you’re so close with your family. That’s good, baby”

“Baby?” you commented, tilting your head. “Trying on nicknames now?” you teased.

“Don’t like it?” he questioned, scrunching his face with a smile.

“Well,” you trailed off in thought. “It doesn’t sound so bad coming from you. But I’m no baby. Realistically, you’re the baby here.”

“And, uh, who paid for you bowl?” he taunted, smirking.

“Shut up, Keonho.”

“It’s okay if you don’t like ‘baby’. I still like your name better.” It had rolled off his tongue smoother than any other nickname.

“Yeah,” you smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Got it,” he said, your name charming off his tongue as he winked

Your cheeks flushed deeper as you sighed. “You’re so dreamy, Keonho,” you murmured, scooping more noodles into your mouth.

He sighed in return, placing his elbow on the table and resting his chin on his palm. “And you’re the girl of my dreams,” he whispered your name, quiet enough for only you to hear.

“That was really fucking cheesy, Keonho,” you chuckled in disgust.

“But you love cheese,” he quipped.

“Thank God I’m not lactose intolerant,” you joked, shaking your head as you chuckled softly at his remark.

His heart and stomach always felt so full after your hot pot dates. Belt was always at least two notches looser in the end every time. He felt like he could burst from the food but also the love he felt from your conversations together. Keonho never wanted to leave from these dates, always insisting to loiter around the area after, convincing you to go on fart walks around the stores nearby. His feet always ached from how long you spent together.

His body was tired, but his heart yearned for at least a moment longer with you.

Moments like these were the ones he loved the most.

Because they were normal.

Casual.

But so full of love.

Other times, you two would have late-night ice cream runs after nights out with your friends.

matcha girl(friend 💙) [10:42 PM PST] keonhoooo

You [10:42 PM PST] y/nnnnnnnn wassup

matcha girl(friend 💙) [10:42 PM PST] are u free rnnn

You [10:43 PM PST] maybeee u want ice cream?

matcha girl(friend 💙) [10:43 PM PST] YES u read my mind hehe

You [10:44 PM PST] ofc im ur bf is that not the bare minimum

matcha girl(friend 💙) [10:44 PM PST] well 🤭 did u know that i like u like a lot

You [10:44 PM PST] i like u a lot too 5 mins 🫶

matcha girl(friend 💙) [10:44 PM PST] YOURE HERE ALREADY ?!!@>#@!!?#!?

You [10:45 PM PST] well i was gna surprise u anyway i missed u tdy ☹️

matcha girl(friend 💙) [10:46 PM PST] i love you

You [10:47 PM PST] what

matcha girl(friend 💙) [10:48 PM PST] what

You two were now in the backseat of your car. Heater was on low, a soft hum vibrating through the car. The air was too crisp and brisk in the Dairy Queen. Even chillier than outside, if you could believe that.

Keonho ordered a strawberry and chocolate double scoop. You had ordered an Oreo.

After he took a few licks of his ice cream, he broke the silence. “What’s your favourite albums?”

You hummed. “Wait,” you said, licking the ice cream around your mouth. “Lemme pull up my Spotify.”

He nodded.

“That’s lowkey a really intimate question,” you chuckled.

“Right,” he laughed, feeling the warm vibrations in his chest.

“The Dream Chapter: Magic, TOMORROW X TOGETHER. That album is literally my comfort album. And the production is unmatched. Cape Elizabeth, Noah Kahan. Uh, folklore, Taylor Swift. Burn & Breathe, Chloe Ament. Nicole by NIKI. Map of the Soul: 7, BTS. 1989 by Taylor Swift is good. Those vault songs in her Taylor’s Version album is so good too. Oh, and Fleet Foxes’ debut album. Lonesome Dreams, Lord Huron. And my most recent favourite, At the Beach, in Every Life by Gigi Perez,” you listed. “There’s many more that I’m forgetting. I have so many songs and artists and albums I like,” you said, facing the phone towards him, scrolling through your Spotify. “What about you?”

He hummed, pulling up his Spotify. “The Bends, Radiohead. (What’s the Story?) Morning Glory, Oasis. Sunburn, Dominic Fike—”

“Shit, I love that album too,” you exclaimed.

“Right? It’s so good. The production is elite, too. Banger after banger, I’d argue. Anyways. Going back to my list,” he said, side-eyeing you slightly, “because somebody had rudely interrupted me.”

“You love me,” you said, batting your eyelashes at him in return.

“How’d you know?” he teased. Your words lingered in his mind a little longer as he scrolled through the app. It felt a little strange to think that at this point, you two maybe loved each other already. But he couldn’t feel any dread from a pit in his stomach. Maybe, that meant that he wasn’t so scared of it all anymore. Because he knew you were there with him.

“SWAG, biebs,” he continued. “Saturday Night Wrist, Deftones. Currents, Tame Impala. Anything Mk.gee. Shit, anything Dominic Fike too.”

“Nice,” you said, crunching your ice cream cone. “Do you listen to the whole album when you discover a good song, or do you let the B-sides come to you when it’s time?”

“Ooh,” he mused. “That’s a good question. I think it depends on how much I like the song.”

“Right?” you said with a familiar sparkle in your eyes. “How often do you give albums a chance?”

“Not that often, really,” he mused. “Probably like once every few months will I listen to an album in its entirety.”

You hummed. “I see.”

“You?”

“Same, honestly. I discover a new album every 2 months or something like that. But I know there’s so many good B-sides that are left undiscovered by me. I’m so torn.”

He simply laughed with you.

“You got good taste, though,” you added.

“Well, you are dating me, so,” he teased. “I think that’s saying a lot about me, no?”

“Okay,” you said, rolling your eyes but fighting a smile. “Chill on the confidence, broski.”

“Oh? Do ‘broskis’ kiss?”

You scoffed. “You’re really fucking annoying,” you teased. After a few beats, you broke the silence. “Only us, though.”

“Us,” he repeated as he smiled, cheeks hurting with how deep he grinned. 

On days when Keonho’s craving your presence the most, you two would simply sit in the back seat of your car.

It was as simple as being in each other’s company. He didn’t want to waste energy on trivial matters like reservations at good restaurants or the loud conversations of other people nearby.

Sometimes, you two would doomscroll. Your head would lay on his chest. The car wasn’t ever completely quiet. There would always be an audio playing in the background—somebody’s monologue or a song in an edit. Sometimes, you’d show the occasional stupid meme to him. Sometimes, he’d send you those cheesy couple videos as if he wasn’t right behind your head.

“I’m right here, bro.”

“I’m shy,” he muttered. He could feel the warm flush that radiated off his cheeks as you chuckled, your laughter sending vibrations through his chest.

Other times, you’d cuddle. Somehow. You had the windows slightly cracked open, letting cool air in and hot air out for circulation. His hoodie drowned your figure—his dark navy “Drew” one. You’d called it your favourite every time he mentioned it when you wore it on video calls or asked for it back whenever he took it for longer than 2 days. He had never asked for it back since then, only taking it back when you insisted he wash it at his house because it “didn’t smell like him anymore”.

This time, he had his head laying on your lap, head surrounded by his own hoodie and head full of your scent. The intimacy of it all did something to his mind, letting his most vulnerable parts out every time. He had been ranting about a particularly difficult practice for a few minutes now.

“They kept running me through this one line. It pissed me the fuck off. And they only did that with me!” he exclaimed.

You hummed in reply, carefully removing his cream beanie off his head.

“I couldn’t reach the notes. It was so fucking high. And I warmed up for so long before that. They kept saying I should take a break to warm up even though I already did!”

You pouted, hands going to his head to play with his hair. Your fingers were soft, careful, and loving in his hair, incredibly distinct to the fury that was slowly being swept away with your ministrations. It reminded him of his mother back at home, combing through his hair when she wanted to show affection.

“And Martin didn’t say anything about it. He said that it was ‘for the album’ and ‘wanted it to be the best’,” he huffed, fingers making air quotes, mocking his assertive voice.

“Sorry that they did that to you, Keonho,” you said, voice soft and soothing to his ears.

He let out a quiet sigh. His mind consumed with the feeling of your fingers in his hair. “It’s okay,” he trailed off. “I know they want it to be good. I want it to be good.”

Your fingers began to slowly and gently scratch his scalp. He closed his eyes, sighing all the anger and fury out of his system.

“Feels good,” he mumbled. “Don’t stop, please.”

Keonho didn’t know when he had drifted off to sleep. The last thing he remembered was the feeling of your fingers in his hair and your soft mumblings of sweet nothings. He woke up to you carefully shaking him awake. Your playlist filled the car, the bass of some song by The Cranberries vibrating through his bones.

“Sorry, Keonho.”

He blinked. His mind was still catching up with the present.

“It’s getting late. Your team’s probably looking for you,” you mumbled.

“But I wanna stay here a little longer,” he pouted.

“I do too, my baby boy,” you giggled. He stuffed his face into your neck, nose brushing against the spot under your ear where he learned you were always weak to. “Tickles.”

He hummed. After a beat, “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

“Me too,” you sighed, fingers intertwined in his hair again. “Maybe… let’s just enjoy what we can while we have it.”

As soon as those words registered in his head, he shot up from where he laid by your neck. Your eyes were tender, tranquil, yet tired. And they remained on his. He could feel his face soften as he stared at you. You two were having a conversation, the words verbally unspoken yet some part in his heart could understand exactly what you were saying.

Your eyebrow quirked up, playful and questioning as to what his next moves would be. Honestly, Keonho didn’t know either. He just let it happen. But with the way you had that familiar twinkle in your eyes, he knew you already knew.

He didn’t know who leaned in first. Maybe it was you, finally closing the tension-filled gap. Maybe it was him, finally giving into his desire.

But it wasn’t angry. Nor uncoordinated. It was simply a profession of love of sorts. Though, he had a feeling you already knew. He pressed and gripped and held onto you, all in an effort for you to feel the weight of the overwhelming feeling that was on his chest. And you clutched onto his shirt with the same passion, your fingers firm yet trembling. You carved your lips into his like you were leaving the shape of you on him.

Keonho had your mouth memorized like the back of his hand now. He knew what it felt like when he pressed a certain pressure, when he nipped playfully, when you were trembling with sadness, and when you smiled against his mouth. He knew what you tasted like after a spicy hotpot bowl, after Oreo ice cream, after expensive burgers. He knew it all.

Yet, every time, his chest explodes like fireworks on the Fourth of July as if it were your first kiss. His heart hammered in his ribs, stuttering over itself like a little kid in shock that his crush liked him back. Sparks ignited as if there wasn’t a roaring and hissing fire in his chest already.

Without fail, you two always ended up like this.

Tangled and intertwined, kissing in the backseat like two teenagers.

Because that’s what you two were. Hopelessly in love and enraptured in promises that both of you didn’t know you could keep.

But Keonho would rather pass away then let any opportunity to be with you like this go to waste.

His heart longed for you like his lungs longed for fresh air.

The air was strangely still in the hallway of HYBE’s downtown studio. No chill from outside leaked in nor did any warmth come from the vents. Walls were covered with dark sound pads. Any and all whispers of background noise were effectively drowned out.

Keonho could still hear your shoes with each step you took as he led you to the recording room. Your hand was warm in his. Every time he glanced back at you, your eyes would be on the walls, the different doors, any and everything never going unnoticed by you.

“Ah, here it is,” he said, opening the door to the recording room. He had learned it was the room with the microphone symbol on the door.

“I’ll show you the voice recording gadgets first!”

You simply smiled like a kid at Disneyland in response.

As Keonho opened a laptop and turned on all the gadgets, you spoke up. “You sure your managers are okay with me here?” you asked with a hint of hesitancy.

“Yes. I asked three times. They said if I ask again they won’t let you in again.”

“Okay!” you sighed. “Okay. I just don’t wanna get you in trouble or anything.”

“You worry too much,” he said.

“My bad,” you said with a small pout.

“Here,” he said, changing the topic. “This one makes effects to your voice.”

“What effect?”

“Uh,” he said, tilting his head. “I don’t know how to describe it. You’re just gonna have to hear it yourself.” He grabbed a nearby microphone, plugging it into one of the free cords. He handed it to you. “Sing something for me.”

“Oh, um,” you chuckled nervously.

“Anything,” he said with a soft smile.

“Okay.” You began humming a song he didn’t know. It had an atypical melody. It was musically interesting because each note didn’t sit right to the usual ear, but it was beautiful to somebody with a distinct taste.

His finger clicked on the mousepad, adding the effect to your recording. Keonho replayed it back, your singing, along with the effect, played through the speakers. It made an alien-like sound to your vocals, similar to what CORTIS’ songs sound like.

“That’s sick. How much was this?”

“I don’t know. Expensive probably. Maybe 10 of our hot pot bowls combined and some,” he added. You laughed.

“Wanna see the instruments?” he asked after a beat.

“Yes!” you beamed. “Please.”

He led you down a hallway to a rum with a drum icon. Everyone who entered was immediately greeted with a plethora of instruments. It still had similar sound padding on the walls, but the lighting was warmer, more welcoming, instead of the bright blue glare of all the screens and speakers in the recording room.

“Holy shit,” you breathed.

The room had instruments of all kinds. Acoustic guitars from different brands—Taylors, Martins, Gibsons, Yamahas. Electrics of all shapes, sizes, and colours—all creating their own distinct sound. He’d learned that from watching Martin play for hours on end when they first discovered this room. One wall was covered in different kinds of synths. Another side of the room had a few drum kits, each different colours and layouts. The room was full of so many instruments, some he didn’t even know the name of, but they made music, nonetheless.

Keonho grabbed the nearest acoustic guitar and adjusted the knobs to tune it.

“Play something for me?” you asked, sitting down on the nearby chair.

“Anything for the pretty girl,” he cooed.

You only giggled, blushing in reply. He started strumming the intro to “Glue Song” by beabadoobee. You caught on quickly and started singing the first few lines.

I’ve never known someone like you. Tangled in love, stuck with you, from the glue.

“You’re good,” you commented.

“Why, thank you, pretty girl,” he replied as he bowed slightly.

“Gimme,” you said, extending your hand out.

You began fingerpicking the acoustic melody of “4×4” by Dominic Fike. Keonho’s jaw dropped slightly from the way your fingers easily plucked the strings and moved throughout the fretboard.

“Shit, you’re good,” he mused, a proud smile adorning his face.

“Had a good teacher.” His smile quickly faded in realization. “Only a teacher, Keonho,” you giggled.

“He better be,” he uttered as he continued staring at your fingerpicking.

You two had spent a whole hour there. You tried out all the different instruments, your eyes lighting up when you hear the sound they each make. Your curiosity never seemed to be quenched, your fingers ready to play each guitar, piano, synth, and any and every instrument playable.

“I technically don’t know how to play this thing,” you chuckled, adjusting your position on the drum chair awkwardly.

“Just give it a try,” he shrugged. “You never know. You could have perfect rhythm. I only found out I had rhythm when I tried it out.”

You threw your head back in laughter.

“Okay,” you breathed, tilting your head in doubt. “Let’s try this,” you uttered to yourself.

Your first few beats sounded awful, to put it nicely. It wasn’t on beat, if it even had a beat. Your sense of rhythm seemed good with a guitar—your fingers plucking with ease—so how could it not transfer to the drums?

“Okay, okay! Enough. Please,” he shouted as you came to a sudden halt. “For my ears. For the ears of those outside.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad!”

“Oh, it was as far from that as it could be.”

“Well, I probably just have to get used to it.”

“Away from me preferably,” he muttered quietly.

“What was that?” you asked.

“Nothing! Nothing.”

“Didn’t sound like nothing,” you muttered. You sighed as you got up from the drum set. “I wish a brought my dad here. He’d have the time of his life,” you said with a small pout.

“We can bring him next time,” he replied.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he smiled.

You interlocked your arm with his, giving him an adorably teethy smile of your own before leaning on his shoulder.

“Come on,” he suddenly said.

“Where are we going?”

“I have something to show you.”

“Ooh,” you mused. “It better not be anything stupid, Keonho.”

“Hopefully,” he muttered, quiet enough for you to miss, the sound of the door closing shielding his voice.

You walked beside him as he led you two back to the recording room. The room was exactly as you two left it and you returned to sit in your exact spots. Keonho opened up a laptop and opened up his file to play a song. The song. The song he had been working on in his free time. When he was thinking of you. When he was missing your voice. He poured his entire heart into it.

Keonho had been meaning to show you this song for a while. He just couldn’t find the right time. But he’s had this feeling in his chest for a while. And the thought only came to him a few days ago.

He had a feeling he was in love with you. Like, real love. He knew he wanted to be with you in everything that life throws you. The fun times, the happy times, the hard times, the broken times.

And he put all his feelings into this song. He adjusted it, created new tracks, deleting segments, all to perfect it to encapsulate his love for you.

As he pulled up the song, he began rambling. “I made this song. I actually started it back when we first met. There were two songs that I made when I met you. One was more upbeat. It kinda sounded like ‘What You Want’. But I also made this one. It sounded more like ‘Lullaby’. It’s calmer, simpler, I’d think. It has these wind-chimes that I put in because it reminded me of the coast which then reminded me of your love for it which then reminded me of you. I, uh,” he breathed, tapping his chest in an attempt to calm his nerves. Your hand reached out to grab his free hand.

You simply offered him a tender and soft smile, squeezing his hand slightly, urging him to continue. “Words have never really been my strong suit. I’m not much of a poet, like you. I just like music. So, I, uh, decided to make this song. It’s mostly instruments, but there is a small poem I wrote in there.

“Words feel like futile devices sometimes. Sometimes they don’t truly express what I’m trying to say. Sometimes they never give my feelings justice,” he trailed on. “Anyway. I’m rambling. But I, uh, hope that this shows you how I feel.”

He pressed play before he could say something he wasn’t ready to say.

For the first couple of minutes, he looked at the ground, at your shoes, at the wall beside him, at the keyboard in front of him, at anything but your face, anxious for what you might think. He didn’t want to look at your face and see disappointment or confusion written all over it. You hadn’t even said anything yet. Do you hate it? Do you… hate him? Do you not like what he made for you? Do you hate him? Do you think this is stupid? Do you hate him? Do you think this was cringe as fuck? Do you hate him?

His eyes ran to your face for comfort before his mind could tell him one more potential lie. He found them teary, eyebrows furrowed in an admirably strong effort to not let any tears fall, a pout growing deeper and deeper on your lips. As you met his eyes, a tear finally escaped your strong hold. His hand, out of muscle memory, went to cup your cheek, slightly quivering with the intense intimacy in the air, as he willed his thumb to be gentle to wipe away your tear.

“Keonho,” you whispered. Your face was flushed with embarrassment or overflowing feelings. Your cheeks shimmered with emotion and tears. Your eyes were tender and full of something familiar.

As the song finally finished, you suddenly jolted up to stand.

“C’mere, Keonho, you sappy fuck,” you said through gritted teeth as your legs shook in an attempt to keep yourself from falling apart right here, right now.  

You pulled him into a warm embrace before he could stand himself, the collar of his shirt suddenly getting wet from your tears. He clutched you as tight as he could, letting his head fall into the space in your neck where he seemed to perfectly fit. You shook in his hold as you quietly sobbed. He could hear you mumble something, words too garbled in the fabric of his shirt.

He whispered your name, trying to pry you from his hold to see your face.

“Keonho,” you said through small sobs, your arms coming up to wipe your tears.

“I…” you sighed. “I don’t know what to say,” you said, tears lining your eyes once more.

“Does that mean you like it?” he quietly asked, boring into your eyes.

“Shit, Keonho. I don’t know. Does the tears in my eyes give you any answer?” you croaked.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Ugh. Fuck! Keonho,” you sniffled. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said, his own voice cracking as his heart swelled with love. Tears were welling up in his eyes now. “I was trying to tell you that through this song. I tried to be poetic like you.”

“I know. I caught onto that,” you laughed. You exhaled a long breath.

He sighed too, drawn out and shaky. His free hand went down from your shoulders to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to him. Keonho leaned in, hovering his lips mere millimeters above yours. “I love you,” he uttered your name with a familiar tenderness.

“I love you, Keonho,” you sighed, eyes glancing to his lips then back to his eyes.

Sparks flew in his chest, explosive and loud, as your lips finally met. His mind drowned out all other thoughts, focused on only you, you, you. His song for you was playing softly in the background. He could feel fresh tears stream down your cheeks and sink onto his. Your breath stuttered in overwhelm as your fingers clutched tighter onto the fabric on his shoulders. He did his best to hold you both up, though the small tremble in his knees told him that he wouldn’t last that long.

But he felt like he could finally breathe.

Keonho was brave enough to finally tell you the three words he had been yearning to say since that night on the pier.

The sun had come out more recently.

Its rays were kind enough to show more often. Sunshine felt like it lasted for longer than usual. The breeze felt refreshing on your skin rather than a sharp chill. It almost felt like spring, though the trees were still dead. But you knew flowers would bloom soon enough. You swore you heard a flock of birds chirp on your way to work the other day.

It felt like the weather reflected how you felt.

The boy you met almost a month ago was now officially your boyfriend and you two had finally confessed your love for each other. And he showed it through a painfully beautiful song. It sounded so perfect—so perfectly Keonho. So perfectly you and him. It was gentle and slow like wind chimes singing in the soft breeze. It had melodies that sparkled like the sun on waves in the water. It’s been on repeat ever since he sent you the file that night.

Everything felt right in the world.

You didn’t feel the weight on your chest to hide who he was anymore. The entire truth was given to your friends and family. Your girl friends giggled their way through your recounting of his stupid remarks and boyish texts. Your mom and dad merely asked when to meet him next.

And as soon as you told him, he freaked out.

boyfriend ❤️ [8:44 PM PST] WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT???// WHAT??????!?!@>#!

You [8:44 PM PST] yes LOL when are u free next :3

boyfriend ❤️ [8:44 PM PST] WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT

You [8:45 PM PST] keonho they’re asking when ur free

boyfriend ❤️ [8:45 PM PST] UM UM SHIT UM GIVE ME A SEC PLEFSE

You [8:46 PM PST] sure cutie ❤️

boyfriend ❤️ [8:49 PM PST] UM I’M FREE ON THE 20th

You [8:49 PM PST] yaaaay!!! u good for dinner that day??

boyfriend ❤️ [8:50 PM PST] YES SHIT Y/N WHAT DO I SAY WHAT IF THEY ALL HATE ME

You [8:50 PM PST] i promise they don’t all hate u maybe my dad bc it took u so long to meet him

boyfriend ❤️ [8:50 PM PST] SHIT

You [8:50 PM PST] its okay!!! dw ur cute little head i’m sure at least my brothers will like u

boyfriend ❤️ [8:51 PM PST] THAT’S NOTHING COMPARED TO UR PARENTS WHO I NEED PERMISSION FROM TO POTENTIALLY MARR YYOU HELLO .

You [8:51 PM PST] PLEASE this is hilarious they’re chill keonho just relax!! they’ll love u

boyfriend ❤️ [8:51 PM PST] when can i see u i’m freaking out

You [8:52 PM PST] later? ur so cute ily

boyfriend ❤️ [8:52 PM PST] please. i love you too

The day Keonho would meet your parents came faster than you thought. He was jittering in his seat—borderline shaking—words stuttering and rambling out of his babbling mouth. Your reassurance did nothing to soothe his nerves. It was like talking to a wall.

“I’m convinced they all hate me. They hate me! I fucked up before! I should have just asked you out the day I met you. Then, they wouldn’t doubt me at all!” he exclaimed, breath shaky.

“It’s okay Keonho. Just be yourself. Be kind, polite, and funny! They like funny people.”

“Okay. Funny. I’ll try.”

You sighed. “Thank you,” you muttered quietly.

“But what if they don’t think I’m funny?” he suddenly exclaimed, playing with the seat belt irritating his neck.

Keonho simply rambled the entire drive to your house. He said his doubts out loud for you to hear. Every single one of them.

As you entered, you could feel his hand clutching onto yours like a life source. You simply gave him a reassuring smile and ran your thumb over his fingers. He let out a shaky breath as you were greeted with the smell of food through the door.

“Hello,” you greeted, peering your head into the open door. You took off your shoes, gesturing for Keonho to do the same.

“Hi! I’m coming!” you heard your mom exclaim from the kitchen. “Jeremiah! Alex! They’re here!”

You could hear the rumble of footsteps as your entire family, including your dog, walked to the front door.

“Hi guys,” you smiled. “This is Keonho, my boyfriend.”

“Hi,” he said sheepishly.

“This is my mom,” you said, gesturing to her.

“Nice to meet you,” he smiled. “I heard you like these chips, so, I, uh, brought them for you!”

“Oh, Keonho, you shouldn’t have!” she exclaimed. “Thank you so much! I’ll be eating these later,” she said as she began walking back to the kitchen. “Come in! Come in.”

Keonho chuckled as he let out a small sigh.

“And this is my dad,” you said, gesturing to him as you gave your dad a serious look.

“Hello, sir,” Keonho said, extending his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Your dad shook his hand and grunted in reply. “Long drive? I heard you’re staying in Downtown.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled nervously. “But I didn’t make her drive all the way. I always insist to meet her at least halfway.”

“Good,” your father grunted.

“This is Jeremiah,” gesturing to the taller one, “and Alex,” you said as you gestured to the younger one.

“And this,” you said crouching down, smiling at your dog, “is Moto!”

Your youngest brother let go of his hold on the dog and he ran to Keonho barking and screaming at the stranger in your home.

“Oh!” Keonho exclaimed as Moto jumped onto him, howling loudly.

“He won’t nip. He’s all bark, no bite,” you smiled, as you pushed Moto off of the boy beside you, commanding him to get off.

“Hey, buddy,” he smiled, extending his hand for your dog to smell his hand.

“He likes you,” you commented, noting the way his tail wagged with much joy and he panted loudly, almost smiling himself.

“He probably knows I had a dog.”

“Maybe,” you giggled.

“So, what games you play?” Keonho asked your brothers.

“I just play Roblox,” Jeremiah said.

“Same. Sometimes Minecraft, though,” said Alex.

“Sick! I play Roblox, too. What games?”

“I like the new Marvel and One-Piece games,” said Jeremiah.

“I love the One-Piece game,” Keonho remarked, as he rubbed Moto’s belly.

“Wanna play?” Alex asked.

“Sure! What’s your user?” Keonho asked, standing up and pulling out his phone.

“Let me get my laptop!” Alex exclaimed as he ran to get his device.

“We can stay in the living room for now. People say the couch is their favourite part,” you said, walking him further into your house.

“Bet.”

You simply watched from afar as your brothers and Keonho played some game, your brothers often exclaiming when somebody did something wrong or Keonho peering over his shoulder to show one of them a trick. Your dad sat on the side, watching the whole thing go down.

“Y/N! Can I have your help, please?” your mom exclaimed from the kitchen.

“Coming!” you shouted.

“So, Keonho, what do you do for work?” your father suddenly asked.

His eyes went up from his phone to your dad, then to yours in a panic. It was almost like he was begging you to stay. But you could only offer an apologetic smile. “Please,” he mouthed, fear written all over his face. “Sorry,” you merely mouthed in reply.

As dinner came around, he sat nervously in the spot next to you. His hand clutched onto yours for dear life for the first five minutes. But as your mom led the conversation and your dad offered new topics, his real self slowly cracked open. Keonho began cracking jokes with your father and sweetly complimenting your mother.

It all made a warm, fuzzy, and familiar feeling linger in your chest late that night. It bloomed gently with love like a flower in the warm spring.

Everyone around you accepted and even approved of your relationship. Only your mom and closest friends commented on the whole “idol” thing, but you were quick to convince them into liking him anyways.

But even with all that—meeting your parents, going on fun dates, kissing in the backseat of your car—you still felt that pit in your stomach deep down.

And deep down, you knew you should begin preparing for the worst.

Because you know how this will end.

In burning flames, crashing hearts, and broken sobs.

He was an idol with a whole successful career ahead of him and you were an ordinary girl who had small ambitions. Where did you both fit in each other’s lives? It was an unspoken tension between you two—a topic you both avoided like the plague. You wanted to talk about it, but what would you two even talk about? It was hard. It was complicated. It was way more complex than you two combined.

But this was also something you didn’t want to lose. You enjoyed this. You enjoyed going out with a boy you found attractive, both in his face and in his soul. You enjoyed the deep talks you had late at night, no matter how many times your mom got mad at you for being out too late. You enjoyed how he liked you back—Keonho never failing to plan another date before your current one had even finished. It didn’t feel like an uneven exchange of love because he was giving you as much as you were giving him. He was a perfect fit for the boy you dreamt of.

You prayed for this. You wished for this. You yearned for this.

And you knew he wanted this as much as you did from the fact that he was blowing up your phone right now with texts debriefing his feelings about meeting your parents for the first time. You knew he wanted you as much as you did from the way he kissed you. Every time, they never lacked their tender touch or passionate love.

And you know you’re doomed.

You can feel it deep in your bones.

It winds you right in the stomach every time you think of it.

But what puzzles you is the fact that you keep coming back to his love. You always respond to the stupid or corny reels he sends. You always kiss him back, always with the same amount of love given. You never say no to a date when you’re free. You hold him when he needs you because you know he’s held you and will hold you when you need it. From an outsiders perspective, everything was perfect.

What lacked?

This was everything you ever wanted.

This was everything you had dreamed of since you were a kid.

Were you scared because it was so perfect?

Maybe.

It was still mysterious why you keep returning to the oasis of his heart.

One might say, it was a mystery of love.

Keonho knew he had to leave eventually.

Song camp had come to an end. Their team had enough drafts, and they were good to go back home.

But was his home back in Korea where his bed was? Or was it in the backseat of your car? Or was it in your arms? The thought plagued him like dust in the air of an old, unkept building. He didn’t want to choose between the place he had lived in his entire life and the girl of his dreams. He didn’t want to choose the comfort of his own bed or the safe oasis of your embrace.

He couldn’t face it quite yet.

But it lingered in the air, unspoken, unheard, uncovered in everything you two talked about.

Keonho wasn’t counting down the days until he could leave like he did in New York a few months back. He wanted to stay. He wanted to be with you. Forever. Maybe until his bones decayed. He refused to even think about it. About this “good part” ending. It made his heart ache with an unfamiliar pain.

He knew his job couldn’t let you be together all the time anymore. He couldn’t just quit his dream job with one word. He couldn’t rearrange his world just because he had found you. Not that you didn’t matter to him more than his job—no, you were his everything and more. But he knew he had to go back to reality eventually.

It was Keonho’s last day before his flight back. He had decided on watching the sunset at a nearby park. The sky was painted beautifully with shades of oranges, fuchsias, and purples. Only closer to where the moon sat elegantly was the sky clearer—bluer. The ground was wet from the rain the night before. He brought extra jackets to sit on so your underside wouldn’t get damp and cold. There weren’t many people out this late in the evening. Only a few dog-walkers and old couples on their evening stroll. The breeze’s bite was harsher than it had been in days. The temperature had suddenly dropped. You could see your breath in white whisps in the sky. Your cheeks were as flushed as the day he met you.

He stared at you and the way you breathed the atmosphere in. You two were sat on a hill towards the field ahead of you and face on the sunset in front of your eyes.

It was peaceful. Calm. Comfortable.

“What’s your favourite colour?” you asked from his side. The vibrations of your voice made his heart ache in his chest. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hear it right next to him in a long time. He knew he needed to cherish it, to remember it, to commit it to memory.

He hummed. “Blue.”

“I see that,” you noted as you turned your face to his, the wind brushing your hair back.

“But not a light blue like the sky. Nor a teal blue like the water by the beach. It’s more of the dark, mysterious, and deep blue. Like the water when you’re too far out from the shore.”

You hummed.

“And yours?” he asked.

“Red.”

He made a noise that sounded like he agreed with you.

“Not the bright red like in stop signs, though. A deep red like maroon. Like blood.”

You simply zoned out, face still on the sunset in front of you.

“But sometimes, it is pink. Not a baby pink. But a dusty pink. It has a touch of purple.”

He blinked. “Yeah. That fits you.”

The silence afterwards filled the space around you. It was heavy and damp. It weighed down his shoulders and tensed his muscles as the unspoken tension held in the air.

He spoke up first. “What happens now?”

“We… have to try it out, Keonho. We,” you sighed, “can’t be sure that it wouldn’t work until we try.”

His breath was shakier than he’d liked. “I don’t wanna lose you,” he mumbled, vision going blurry as tears welled in his eyes.

“You won’t,” you said almost matter-of-factly. “You know my heart is yours already.”

“’N mine is yours,” he said, your eyes meeting his. He scanned and memorized your face. Something in him urged him to—a voice telling him that it would be a while until he saw your face again.

The idea pained him. His bones, muscles, and most of all, his heart ached at the thought. That the look of your face, the sound of your voice, and the touch of your fingers had to be turned into a mere memory. That you were going to be tucked into the back of his head.

It hurt.

He didn’t want to have to let this part of your relationship become something that belonged in the past. He had your touch, your feelings, simply you memorized through and through. Everything he felt couldn’t have just been a fleeting experience.

He wanted you permanent.

He wanted you.

He wanted to sleep with the comfort knowing that you were a mere 30-minute drive away, including traffic. He wanted to go to work with the comfort knowing that he could call you up when things were good or bad and you would see each other soon. He wanted to sleep in the back of your car knowing you were within arm’s reach. He wanted to enter the subway knowing exactly what station to get off at to head to your house.

He needed you constant.

But he couldn’t face the fact that what you two had wasn’t a forever thing. Unfortunately.

He didn’t want to know that there was an entire ocean between you two. A continuous blue that stretched for miles and miles on end. He didn’t want to know that the thing you two cherished so much, the thing you two talked about the most, the thing you two pondered on every time, was the very thing that separated you from each other.

Keonho didn’t want to say goodbye right away.

He couldn’t accept the fact that this was goodbye for a long time. Yes, you two could—would—probably call every night. Yes, he would spam your phone even if he was on the other side of the world.

But the idea that you wouldn’t appear at his front door every few days when he simply asked made his chest ache with a pain that was once foreign, but now familiar as his soul yearned for yours as if there was already distance. He couldn’t call you to meet up when he had a bad practice. He couldn’t message you to cuddle in the backseat of your car because he’d missed your touch. He couldn’t call to meet up by the water just to talk.

You had showed him that love could be so beautiful, but he didn’t know it could be so cruel.

You two lingered in the airport longer than you needed to. None of you said anything extravagant. Empty promises and futile words weren’t worth the grand speech. But you stayed with him, talking sweet nothings and cracking jokes as if his heart wasn’t breaking into a million little pieces in his chest. But he knew that your heart was feeling the same way from your saddened and swollen eyes and from the way your voice cracked too often to not notice. It punched him in the gut, but he knew you two were in it together.

When his manager called him for the last time, you two embraced in the middle of the airport. You remained in each other’s arms until it was the very last second.

You were merely two heavy hearts who weren’t willing to separate, scared of distance—scared of loneliness.

“Please don’t let this distance break us, Keonho,” you shakily whispered into his neck.

“I know. I don’t want it to,” he said, lip already quivering from emotion.

“We have to fight,” you said, moving back to look into his eyes. “For us.”

“For us,” he restated.

You sighed, shaky and long. “What have we done, Keonho?” you laughed, wiping the snot from your nose with the arm sleeve of your hoodie.

“I guess, we might have gotten too deep into this whole ‘love’ thing.”

You looked at him with an amused smile. “I like it when our love’s deep.”

“Sounds kinky,” he joked.

“Way to ruin the moment,” you laughed. Your eyes scanned his as if you were also memorizing his. He saw the way your eyes were rimmed with red, your favourite colour, but an indicator of pain. But it also showed how much you cared. And loved. And that warmed his heart, slightly glueing together the shattered pieces of whatever remained his. “I love you, Keonho.”

“I love you,” he breathed. “Like the sky loves the ocean.”

“Poetic much?” you teased, bottom lip out in a pout as a tear ran down your cheek.

He shakily wiped them away with his thumb as his hand cupped your cheek. He simply laughed with you. “I love you,” he breathed one last time.

“I love you, too.”

His eyes glanced at your lips, then returning to your eyes as if asking for permission. And it was like you read his mind as you closed the distance between you two for the last time. It wasn’t delightful nor joyful anymore. It was full of sorrow and bittersweet love. Like listening to your favourite sad song for the first time in a while but feeling the blow of the most depressing lyric on your heart. It was nice on the outside, but on the inside, you were shattering and crumbling and falling into the abyss of nothing.

The world couldn’t let you two hold each other anymore. Keonho betrayed the way his heart tugged him back to you and let distance consume you both as he walked towards his gate. He could feel your gaze linger on his as he looked back for the last time. He offered you a smile in hopes that it would hold you. You gave him one of your own, and deep down, he knew nothing would be the same.

The plane was too stuffy. It was packed full of people going on their spring break vacation or coming home like he was. The rest of the members let him have the window seat, a perk of being the youngest in the group. But he didn’t feel excited for it like he was when he first arrived in here. His heart was shattering like glass, tender and raw inside his chest. The wheels of this full airplane hadn’t even left your cement yet, but he was already yearning for you.

He hated this.

A part of him hated himself for falling for you.

Not that he hated you.

But that it had to be like this.

He had his hood all the way up as the plane lifted off, hiding his face from Juhoon beside him. Only then did Keonho let the tears flow. They fell and fell and fell until his mind was too tired of reminiscent memories and depressive concepts. He slept with his muscles tense and arms cold, but cheeks flushed and mind loud.

Juhoon was almost finished his meal by the time he woke up. His appetite had vanished the second he saw your teary face in the airport a few hours ago. But it wasn’t like the meals were good on an airplane anyway. You probably wouldn’t have finished the meal yourself.

At first, he didn’t even want to open Spotify. He knew he would be greeted by your shared Spotify Blend and all the playlists you made for him. He even refused to play any albums because he knew he shared all of them with you at some point. But by hour 8, he let his fingers press play on a random playlist. His thoughts were getting too loud again. But he didn’t even let the lyrics or the instrumental sink into his brain. It was almost like his mind refused to work unless you were there with him.

On the drive back to his dorm, he messaged you right away.

You [11:51 PM KST] hi y/n i made it back to korea

matcha girl(friend 💙) [6:52 AM PST] that’s good keonhoooo u headin to sleep now?

You [11:52 PM KST] probably are u going to work now?? can we call?

matcha girl(friend 💙) [6:52 AM PST] yeah i have a few free hours :)

The second he opened his dorm doors, he dropped his bags off at the entrance with a loud thump and bee-lined for his room, locking it and jumping onto his bed. He quickly shoved his earphones into his ears and called you. You picked up after two rings.

“Hi Keonho,” you said, slightly robotic through his phone.

“Hi Y/N,” he said as a small smile bloomed on his face.

“How was your flight?” you asked as you put your phone down, picking up a makeup brush as you began putting something on your cheeks.

“It was okay. I basically slept through the whole thing,” he murmured with a small yawn.

“What?!” you exclaimed through the phone. “You didn’t eat anything?”

“No. I wasn’t really hungry,” he mumbled.

“Eat something for me, please.”

“I’ll eat tomorrow. It’s too late right now.”

“Send me a picture of what you eat.” It went quiet for a small moment. You stuck out your tongue to make a funny face. That made him laugh.

“You’re working today?” he asked.

“Yeah. I need to save up to visit my famous boyfriend in his expensive country.”

“I’m not that famous.”

“Yet.”

“I’ll chip in for you.”

“Flights aren’t cheap, bro,” you laughed. “It won’t do much.”

“Hey, at least it’s something.”

“Thanks, sugar daddy,” you joked with a scoff.

“Okay, stop with that. You know I hate that.”

“Then stop paying for my shit, Keonho.”

“So, you just hate me loving you.”

“Whatever, Keonho,” you giggled.

After a beat, “What’s your schedule for tomorrow?”

“Nothing. They want us to adjust to the time zone or whatever. You know, jetlag and all that.”

You hummed. He couldn’t feel the vibrations of your voice when you did that anymore. “I’m off tomorrow. Call me when you’re awake?”

“Yes, please,” he smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Well, my boy, I gotta get to work. You should sleep.”

“But I was just sleeping. For like 12 hours straight.”

“You need to get that jetlag out of your system,” you sighed. “Nap it off or something.” After a few beats, “You wanna stay on call while I go to work?”

“Yes, please,” he mumbled, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout.

“I’m right here. Talk to me if you want.”

“I just wanna be quiet with you.”

“Anything for you, Keonho.”

He didn’t know when he had drifted off to sleep. His body must have relaxed at the sound of your voice through his phone that it peacefully allowed him to sleep. His shoulders didn’t feel locked up like when he woke up on the plane. He groggily turned his head to glance at the clock in his room. 4:57 AM. It was 12 PM for you already. His phone scrolled through his notifications. He had a few from his managers, some reminders about their schedule for this week. There were also a few from you.

matcha girl(friend 💙) [1:01 AM KST]: hey keonho sorry, i had to hang up :( ik u prob didn’t wna hang up i had to start my shift alrdy good morning when u see this and i hope u have a good day my love! ❤️

His sigh was tired as he read your messages. He’d probably respond to them later when he had a bit more brain energy. Though, his fingers were already typing out a response. But he wouldn’t send it right away. The same familiar weight on his chest remained, no matter how many times he sighed, drawn out or short, loud or quiet. It stayed heavy on him, a consistent reminder of why there was an ache on his chest in the first place.

He got up and washed his face in his washroom, the cold water jolting him awake. He let it drip down his chin, some water on his long shirt’s sleeves, the faucet still running in the sink beneath him. His eyes zoned out, slowly waking up, but his mind was heavy knowing that you weren’t on the same ground as him. Suddenly, his stomach grumbled, too loud for comfort, successfully halting his spiral. He reluctantly turned off the sink and dried his face as he walked to find something to eat.

The refrigerator light was bright, blaring, and too sterile for comfort. It was refilled, courtesy of their management probably. He grabbed the milk and placed it on the counter next to it. The cupboard creaked quietly next to the fridge, full of all different kinds of cereal and breakfast foods. His hands grabbed whichever box his hand landed on. His face was too close to the dish cupboard when he opened it as it hit his forehead, pain blooming on it. He just shook it off, placing the bowl on the counter, pouring milk and cereal into it. He quickly grabbed a spoon from the utensil drawer before sitting down on the chair by the kitchen island.

You [5:34 AM KST] good morning beautiful :) i’m having breakfast rn wna call?

matcha girl(friend 💙) [1:37 PM PST] morning to uuuu yes please!! js got off work lol i’m off the rest of today :)

You [5:38 AM KST] yaaaaaay

Incoming video call from matcha girl(friend 💙)

You two had called for 8 hours that day, talking about everything and nothing.

“I just have a twin bed here. It’s essentially in the middle of the room, if you can see it,” he said, moving his phone so you could see what his room looked like.

“Yeah. How often you change your sheets?”

“Um.”

“Oh, God.” He could feel your sigh through the phone.

“I’m thinking!”

“Do you even wash your sheets?”

“Yes! Hello? What am I? 5?” he joked.

“You didn’t even answer my first question,” you giggled.

“Okay, well, because we weren’t here for like, a month, it’s been 3 months.”

“Lord have mercy.”

“What?”

“You know you’re supposed to wash it at least once a month.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that. We do it every 2 months.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t do it that often until I was 15. But you should do it more often, especially if you sleep on it in outside clothes.”

“You’re right,” he mumbled. “Anyways. Over here, I have a desk. I used to use it a lot for school, but it’s really just a catch-all place for me right now. You can see the overflow of hoodies on the chair.”

“Remind me to clean your room when I see you.”

“So you can take more of my hoodies?”

“Well…” you trailed on.

He laughed.

“Yes. I like them. They fit, too.”

“They do,” he smiled. “They look good on you.”

“What hoodies you have on there?”

At some point in your 8-hour long call, Seonghyeon had called Keonho for lunch.

“Need me to hang up, Keonho?” you asked as he walked to the kitchen counter.

“No!” he said firmly as he sat down on one of the stools.

“Really, you should focus on eating.”

“I want to eat with you,” he said decidedly. “Right, hyung? I can have her here?” Martin and Seonghyeon locked eyes for a moment, then shrugged.

“Sure,” Martin said.

“I’m fine with that,” James said.

“’Kay,” Seonghyeon said.

Juhoon simply nodded silently in agreement.

“What are you guys eating?” you asked, head resting on your palm.

“Japchae,” he said through a mouthful.

“Gross,” said Seonghyeon beside him.

“You’re just jealous.”

“Nah.”

“Is it still cold there?” asked Martin.

“Yeah. It was so sunny while you guys were here. I don’t know why it got so gloomy all of the sudden.”

Martin hummed. “It was raining here too when we got here. But it cleared up a bit today.”

“That’s good,” you mused. “You guys should go out today, then!”

“Yeah, I was just gonna ask Keonho actually. Wanna go to Hongdae later?” asked Seonghyeon.

“Maybe,” he mumbled as he stirred his noodles.

His members went on eating, sometimes talking in Korean, sometimes English so that you could understand. Keonho eventually came back to his room, listening to you rant about a specifically difficult customer that day. His heart ached because he knew he couldn’t pat your head to soothe you. He wished he could just reach out through his phone and feel you under his fingers. He wished he could put his hand through the screen and pinch your cheeks whenever you said something particularly cheeky.

He dreaded pressing the hang up button. As much as he wanted to stay on call and listen to you talk about something and nothing, you insisted that you’d be happier if he went out to get some fresh air. And Seonghyeon really pushed him to get out of the dorm, mumbling something about how he could feel his gloom from last night through the walls. Keonho had made you promise to call as soon as you were free.

The walk to the main shopping area in Hongdae was short from where their team’s car had dropped them off. Seonghyeon had stayed back to where Keonho was, walking beside him.

“Hey. You slammed the door before you went to your room. You okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

After a moment, “You miss her?”

“Yeah,” Keonho whispered, looking down.

“It’s okay. I get it.” After a few beats, “But it’s good to be out. Get some fresh O2, you know?”

“’Kay,” Keonho said reluctantly.

“I’ll pay for your food, later” Seonghyeon promised as he bumped Keonho’s shoulder playfully.

“Bet,” Keonho countered, a small smile forming on his lips.

You two hadn’t called that night. You said something about you having to wake up early and Keonho couldn’t make it home in time. Hongdae with his members took up most of his time. He was a bit bitter about it at first, but he promised you that he wouldn’t feel such things when you couldn’t talk. He’d simply try again next time.

But next time wasn’t for another few days. Your work was hectic and you had a packed schedule for a few days. In times like these, he made you promise to at least send a message of how your day went and a picture of you before you went to bed if you two couldn’t call. That was the case most times—a few small paragraphs of highlights and lowlights of your day and written promises he felt were becoming hollow.

Something deep in his heart ached whenever he went longer than 3 days without a call from you. The sun didn’t rest well on his skin, and the cold would bite harsher than usual. It was like his skin physically longed to be back with you where the sunshine felt refreshing and the cold was bearable.

As days went by, it felt like he was hearing from you less and less.

HYBE had wanted to get the ball rolling on the production of their new album, creating choreographies to learn then polish, listen to then record their new track list, and brainstorming ideas for the music videos. Days felt like they dragged on and on with work, work, and work. There was always a new thing to work on and practice each night.

One afternoon, Keonho had a particularly difficult practice. He woke up late because he stayed up calling you. And that seemed to have ticked off every person on Earth apparently. The HYBE driver didn’t keep up fun small talk as he used to with Keonho. His manager was yelling at him for posting a slightly “mean” comment on Weverse. The choreographer was on edge for whenever particularly Keonho made a mistake. James was nitpicking his every move. Martin was annoyingly reprimanding him for forgetting what his line sounded like. Juhoon didn’t offer any silent comfort. Even Seonghyeon didn’t say anything in Keonho’s defense. 

His chest heaved by the time he got to the dorm. Feet were moving as fast as they could as the walls that were supposedly holding in all his emotions and feelings were slowly cracking.

By the time he locked his door and landed on his bed, everything he had bottled up from that day was unleashed like water falling freely from a dam.

It was moments like these that he missed his mom. His older sister. You. Especially you. Anyone could easily offer a shoulder to lean on and an embrace to cry in. But you would listen to him—truly listen to him, run your fingers through his hair, and hold him like he was worth protecting—wholly, sincerely, and completely.

It was moments like these that calls weren’t enough for him. He needed to feel the soft vibrations of your voice in his chest. He needed to feel your thumb slowly rake over his hands as you interlaced them together. He needed to feel your heartbeat against his cheek as he buried his head in the space in your neck where he felt like he fit perfectly.

He needed you here with him.

But no matter how many times he messaged you or called you, you wouldn’t answer. It was late there for you, so he couldn’t blame you. A small part of him was petty, the feeling bitter in his mouth. A part of him assumed you’d be at his beck and call. But the more rational part of him knew you were only human and weren’t inclined to give him your everything.

But still.

All this emotion wasn’t resolved properly, and he was left alone once again to deal with the repercussions of his actions.

He was on his own yet again.

Most of the time, you two would only call on the weekends. Saturdays for you and Sundays for him.

You [11:03 AM KST] hai i hope u have a good day today thinkin’ of ur cute face i miss u so badly 😢

matcha girl(friend 💙) [6:05 PM PST] haiii i hope u have a good day today too :3 u free to call? i miss u too

You [11:05 AM KST] YES PLSSPSLSPLSPSLSPSLS

Calls like these were packed with as much as you two could fit. The funniest moments, the memorable moments, and sometimes even mentions of the difficult moments.

“I got a bonus by the way!”

“Nice! How much?”

“I think like $1500.”

“Shit, that’s good.”

“Right! It probably means I could visit you sooner. Or maybe I should save it up for the summer. When is it better to visit?”

“I honestly don’t care. It’s gloomy all the time.”

“Well, I wanna go when it’s cheap but also when it’s nice, man.”

“I don’t really care. Respectfully. Just come see me.”

“You’re a clingy boy.”

“So what? I miss you,” he whined.

You sighed. “I miss you too.”

By the time you two hung up, Keonho felt like he couldn’t go on with his day and function like a normal human being. He finally had something to look forward to—your call—but it ended up ruining his mood anyway.

Something about that concept just pissed him off.

The thought of seeing your face through a screen in real-time excited him, but the fact that in the end, you were still so far from him squeezed his chest uncomfortably. It physically pained him like it was a wound etched so deep into his heart that no one could reach for it. Except for him. And you.

Sometimes, the world would be gracious to you two and let one of you sleep on call. Sometimes, it was you fast asleep on call, sleeping blissfully and beautifully while he admired your resting face. Sometimes, it was him drifting off to the sound of your sweet mumblings of nothing. It was almost like you two were with each other physically, simply witnessing each other as one of you slept.

At some point, you were left with only weekends to call. Only 2 out of the 7 days of the week. It saddened Keonho. He knew it was getting difficult, for both of you now. It wasn’t really going as he had anticipated.

He missed your smile. The tender one that lit up on your face when you saw him. He missed your thoughtful comments that you stated at random. The poetic ones that made him want to stare into the sky and ponder more. He missed the feeling of your hands interlaced with his. The warm and soothing stroke of your thumb along his. He missed the feeling of your lips on his. The one that never failed to spark a fire in his chest.

But most of all, he missed you here with him. He missed the times when you two ended up tangled in your bed or the backseat of your car. He was simply listening to the thump of your heartbeat and watching the rise and fall of your chest. He could feel the warmth of your body spread to his as his mind got fuzzy with the sheer intimacy of it all.

He missed you.

Keonho knew it was bad when the rest of his members started noticing.

After a Weverse live of making Lego flowers for fans, Seonghyeon pulled him aside from the rest of the members to speak private.

“Hey, uh, are you okay?” Seonghyeon asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Keonho responded, looking down and fidgeting with his jacket’s sleeve.

“Well, you weren’t as talkative today. And you talk a lot. Like a lot,” he said, eyes widening to further prove his point. “You didn’t even make one witty remark against Martin. And you never let a moment like that go to waste.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Keonho shrugged, feet already moving to leave the room. It felt too stuffy in here. Too warm.

“Don’t avoid me, Keonho. I can read you,” Seonghyeon said, clutching onto Keonoh’s wrist.

“If you can read me, then you probably already know what’s up,” he deadpanned.

“Is this about her?”

“Maybe,” he mumbled.

“Bro.”

“What,” Keonho snapped.

“Okay, I get it. You like her. You might even love her. But you said yes to this job first. Sure, she matters more than work. But, man, we just debuted 6 months ago. Can’t we, I don’t know, not get into any more attitude scandals?”

Keonho just scoffed in response and looked away.

“Keonho,” Seonghyeon snapped. Keonho’s eyes reluctantly met his friend’s. “Let’s be a bit sensible here. If you want, I can chip in to whatever flight or hotel she needs to get here. I wanna meet her, too. Nothing wrong with another emotionally intelligent person in the building because tell me why none of you are,” he mumbled.

“Hey, I heard that.”

“Anyways.”

Keonho rolled his eyes.

“I’m sure you can survive without her for a little while longer. At least make a better performance. I don’t really give a flying fuck about what you do off camera. But on camera, let’s be nice, yeah?”

“Fine,” he muttered.

“I’m here, man,” Seonghyeon sighed. “If you need someone to talk to,” Seonghyeon patted his shoulder as he left to join the other members.

Keonho lingered alone for a little longer. Because, honestly, he didn’t need someone to talk to. He just wanted you here, back with him. He knew exactly what he was feeling. He knew that there was a solution to get all the heavy weight on his chest off of him. He just couldn’t find a way to cope without you here with him.

The next person to talk to Keonho was Martin.

CORTIS had an interview with a famous interviewer. Keonho had only muttered out the bare minimum in response to his questions because you two hadn’t talked in a few days. Only a few messages of “I miss you” and “I love you” in passing. They still held their weight, but he wanted to have a proper conversation with you. He wanted to hear your voice. Not just read words on a screen.

Martin had brought him aside at their dorm, catching him alone in Keonho’s bedroom.

“This her?” Martin asked, pointing at a photo strip of you two, taken in Metrotown, four different poses with different props and facial expressions. He remembers that day like it was yesterday.

“Yeah,” he mumbled from his bed, mind already zoning out to his leader’s words as he mindlessly scrolled on his phone.

“Keonho, I’m sure you know how hard it was to get this interview, right?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, a small sigh escaping his lips.

“You’ve lived here your entire life, so you know exactly what extent his fame and word can bring us to as a group.”

“Yeah.”

Martin only sighed in response. “Keonho, you had this whole cheery persona when we first debuted. Fans are gonna notice if you change.”

“So what? What if I change?

“Well, at least don’t make it a drastic change,” Martin said as his hands went to his hips. He looked so stupid in that pose. “Ease into it or whatever. I can only make so many excuses to our managers about you. I can blame it on your hormones and teenage rage for now, but you need to clean up your act. Soon. And fast.” Martin pulls out his phone and sits next to him on his bed, showing him a few screenshots. “Some fans have already started to notice. We can only be silent about it for so long. Let’s work on the attitude, okay?”

“’Kay, hyung,” he replied reluctantly. After a beat, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I kinda get what you’re feeling right now. But, please, we have this group. CORTIS. Our dream group. And it’s going great. Let’s not let it fail,” he said, slightly begging.

Keonho sighed. “Gotcha, hyung. Cheerier.”

“You can fake it or whatever. But don’t make it obvious.”

“I know what you mean, hyung.” After a few beats of silence, Martin left his room, bed dipping as he got up, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Keonho didn’t really feel like himself anymore. He wanted to express the real part of him that was truly him. But what if that part of him was sad? What if that part of him was lonely? Dark? Hurt? Would he have to fake that for his fans as well? Would he need to put on that mask that you had wanted him so badly to get rid of?

He worked so hard to show his real self, but now he was being told to mask it.

For his job.

For the fans.

For the people who looked up to him.

What kind of role model was that?

The third and final strike was when his manager had to talk to him about it.

HYBE had their special “Game Caterers X HYBE” video that fans were begging for a rerun for so long. Filming took much longer than one day, as his managers had initially told him, he wasn’t able to call you at all. The first portion of the video was alright. He was cracking jokes with the other members and teasing his seniors. But as the series went on, his mood started to dip. And it seemed like the editors noticed too.

One day, completely out of the blue, his manager and Martin pulled him aside to talk. It felt a bit intimidating for a young teenager, but his angst took over his fear quickly.

“Keonho,” his manager sighed. “Are you okay?” His voice was a bit more genuine than usual.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Keonho only shrugged.

“If you have a problem with this job, tell us now,” his manager said, arms crossed.

“Keonho,” Martin sighed, fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “What did I say?”

“What?” he snapped. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, whatever, you’re fine. But you’re not good. I can tell. I’ve witnessed you and all your teenage hormonal angst when you were 14, kid,” his manager countered.

“You need to manage your anger and indifference better. Find a different outlet that won’t affect your job,” Martin said, eyes slightly narrowing and intimidating.

“The editors emailed me about how they had trouble editing you in the 2nd and 3rd episode, Keonho. You won’t have much screen time. It might be a problem for some of the fans,” his manager said.

“Make yourself likeable for the camera at the very least,” Martin added.

Keonho simply blinked. “Fix your attitude, kid. I don’t have much else to say because I’m sure there’s something else you’re simply not telling me, but don’t let everyone else be a victim of your sadness or whatever,” his manager sighed, finally walking out of the room. Now it was just him and Martin.

After a beat, Martin broke the silence. “You miss her?”

“Yeah,” he sighed shakily. “I really fucking need her.”

“Alright. You need to figure that out. For everyone’s sake. We need our sunshine back,” Martin offered, eyes softening a little as he raked over Keonho’s expression. “Hug?”

Keonho didn’t answer with words. He simply wrapped his arms around his friend, letting all the emotion release from wherever he shoved it down. He had bottled it all up and thrown it down, deep enough for him to survive. But with the way his chest shook and heaved with sadness, waves of some sort of grief hitting him like waves in a storm, he knew that he shouldn’t have suppressed it all. All Martin could do was rub his back in comfort, his arms slightly unsure how to soothe Keonho.

But you would know how to soothe him. It wasn’t like when Keonho missed his mom. Or his sister. It was close enough, but it wasn’t quite it. He needed your embrace. Your sweet promises.

And you were offering him your promises. But they felt like they were losing their weight as he read them on his screen over and over again every night. “I love you” started to feel too easy to say, when only a month ago, his throat closed up at the mere thought of saying that to you. “I miss you” texts were exchanged too often between you two now, the words barely hitting him as he reads them. Your words felt like they weren’t truly meaning anything anymore.

He needed to see and feel your entire being as you said those things to him. Not simply words on the screen that could easily be manipulated to and be the opposite of what you truly mean.

He felt like he was beginning to become hollow without you. He had lived without you before. He had gone through interviews with famous people and learned choreographies with smooth ease. But now, he knew what it was like to be loved. To be real.

He missed that. He missed that safe space you made for him. It was like you created a blanket fort that only you and him knew the directions to and patted the spot beside you, promising that whatever he revealed in this secret blanket fort would remain between you two only.

Keonho felt like he could breathe when he was with you.

And now that you weren’t here with him, he felt like he was stuck, deep in dark and unknown water, trying to swim to the surface that seemed further and further the closer he tried to swim.

He needed you to visit him. But even with all of his promises and empty and joking threats, you wouldn’t let him pay a cent. Your insistent denial of his help was really fucking annoying him, but it was a part of you that he always thought of with a fond small. He’d pay his entire yearly salary just for you to visit.

Anything for you to be back in his arms again.

Anything for love.

Right?

masterlist – prev – next

It was a bad day.

You started the day off on the wrong foot.

Your phone died sometime during your sleep—atypical because you always ensured that it was charging. Anxiety spiked when you saw that you had less than 90% on your phone while you were out. But you brushed it off, plugged it in, and began getting dressed.

Thank goodness I’m not opening today, you thought. I’d probably get fired. Honestly, you still had the chance to. You sped through your skincare and makeup routine, not caring for perfect or pretty, just presentable.

You stopped by the front door, presented with two potential transportation choices. You could drive, but parking would be a pain in the ass. You could also transit, but you’d probably get fired on the spot. Driving was the most logical option.

The first song that your phone decided to play was Maine by Noah Kahan. It wasn’t a bad song, so you couldn’t complain. It was actually your favourite of his. But each song after that got sadder and sadder, thus making your mind more sorrowful than it should have. It probably wasn’t the best choice to continue to listen to sad music, but your focus was on getting to work on time rather than changing the music.

The very last song that played in your car-sized pool of depression was Gigi Perez’s “At the Beach, In Every Life”. It was your favourite song of hers, but it always reminded you of the beach. Of Hawai’i. And memories of that flooded your mind. Your body and soul yearned to return to it, needing to fill the Hawai’i sized void in your heart.

With each sad-sounding melody and depressing poem that played in your car, the more depressive your thoughts became.

And they consumed your mind for the rest of your day.

After your shift ended, you hopped into your car, letting yourself decompress for a few minutes before driving home.

Shit, you mentally cursed. Your notifications were full of Keonho’s messages.

maybe boyfriend?? (hogan/keonhoo) [6:50 AM PST] heyyy good morninggg i hv practice this morning but i'm free this afternoon :3

maybe boyfriend?? (hogan/keonhoo) [8:14 AM PST] helloooo

maybe boyfriend?? (hogan/keonhoo) [9:50 AM PST] hi um are u still free?

maybe boyfriend?? (hogan/keonhoo) [10:41 AM PST] i miss uuu

maybe boyfriend?? (hogan/keonhoo) [1:14 PM PST] hey r u okay?

You [1:30 PM PST] sorry i had a bad morning woke up late

maybe boyfriend? 🥹(keonhooo) [1:30 PM PST] oh shit i’m sorryYou [1:31 PM PST] don’t be sorry

You sighed, freeing the chains and barbed wire that once held back sad thoughts.

They were overwhelming.

You missed things.

The beach. The smell of the tide, the sound of the waves, the feeling of the sand, the beautiful colours of each sunset. You missed the way the clouds slowly disappeared and made a clear blue sky as the day went on. You missed it dearly. And you detested how dry it was here. It felt literally suffocating. You were surrounded by mountains and forests—just land, land, and more land. Escape was all you wanted. To see the blue hues of the water shimmer under the sun.

You missed simpler times. Times when you didn’t have to worry about getting fired for waking up too late. When your biggest worry was who you were going to play with on the playground that day. When relationships weren’t difficult to manage. When you could go about your hobbies without worrying whether you have enough time to actually do them. When you didn’t have to worry about how you’d pay bills or survive in this economy.

The weather wasn’t really helping. It rained during your shift, so the air felt sticky and humid. Grey clouds covered the sky, not a hint of blue in sight. The wind was blowing into the trees, swaying and flowing with each pass of the breeze. But it nipped you on the skin, harsher than you’d like.

It irritated you.

Everything irritated you.

All you really wanted right now was to sleep.

Or cry.

Or both.

Your phone buzzed every few minutes. It could only be Keonho. But you didn’t want to respond to them. You couldn’t. You couldn’t let him be the one taking all your emotions. He didn’t deserve any of that.

Just like the day, you went on with more gloom than usual. You didn’t feel like eating. Showering would be a good way to get rid of whatever slump you were feeling, but you didn’t want to because you’d done it the other day already. Doomscrolling wasn’t an option because your feed was too “nice”. Even napping felt too “good”. It felt like you didn’t deserve it.

You had a feeling that you were retreating back into that dark part of you. You didn’t want to, but you weren’t greeted with that typical dread and fear, rather, you felt comfortable facing whatever darkness it was.

At least it was familiar, no?

You didn’t fear it as it consumed you whole, staring at the ceiling.

The previously silenced thoughts were now loud, echoing in your empty mind.

Memories of the person you were years before, prior to this depression and darkness, surfaced. Tears pooled on the edge of your eyes. You’d missed her. Her innocence, her purity, her joy, her ambition. That part of you wasn’t completely gone, just simply quiet and tucked away into a dark corner of your soul. You shoved her down there because you knew she wouldn’t be happy with what you became. The pain seared in your heart as you let the feeling devour you.

Keonho was still blowing up your phone. He was calling you now, ringtone resonant in your room. But it only made you spiral more.

You suddenly felt claustrophobic in the room. The walls were too close, the ceiling was too low, there wasn’t enough floor space to breathe. You had complete control over everything in it, but it still felt like you were drowning. Like you were underwater but swimming to the surface was getting more and more out of reach no matter how far you swam.

You needed to get out of here. Anywhere but here.

Just not anywhere with people. You knew it would ruin your family’s atmosphere by being gloomy on the couch in the living room. And you didn’t really want to spend money, so a café or restaurant wasn’t the best place. Plus, driving wouldn’t be the safest choice with whatever you were feeling.

The weight of your phone in your pocket started to feel overbearing. Guilt consumed your throat. To somewhat ease yourself, you simply sent him where you were going to go. Maybe he’d get your message. Maybe he’d be confused.

But that was all you had the mind-power for.

You decided to walk to the small stream near your house. You had memorized the secret path to it, feet crunching the leaves and sticks on the ground, mud squelching with each step. Gloomy grey clouds remained in the sky, the wind softly pushing the trees around you. At last, you spotted the tiny bridge across the stream. You took off your extra jacket and sat on the ledge by the stream.

There wasn’t much noise, save for the stream swooshing and swirling down the rocks below. Occasionally, a bird would chirp, and the wind would blow the leaves and your hair. It felt calming. Peaceful. But it also felt quiet. Too quiet. Your spiralling easily overpowered the silence in this hushed space.

Your breathing stuttered as you thought of… whatever you were in with Keonho. It felt like something from your worst nightmares. He’d tell you things that felt like it should only be told to someone special. But if you were a special person to him, why wouldn’t he do anything about it?

The pit in your stomach ached and ached every time he embraced you, held your hand, and kissed you like it was the most casual thing in the world. A voice in your head told you it wasn’t that serious. You two were just hanging out like friends. But whenever he looked at you with eyes that yearned and promised, it didn’t feel like you two were just friends. It felt like he wanted you—like he needed you.

And you began to fear that you wanted him just as much.

Tears felt hot on your freezing cheeks.

You didn’t really realize that you let them run free.

Fright took hold of your shoulders like it was pinning you down.

You were scared of wanting to keep this connection with Keonho. It meant that you were committing to him. But you knew that already, right from the moment that he kissed you. Another part of you was intimidated in having an intimate connection with a boy. Keonho really understood you. But you knew that a relationship with him would come with a cost.

He had an entire life outside of you. Who were you to tell him to rearrange his world?

And you two were so young. 16 and 17, almost 17 and 18. You two were kids who barely knew anything, yet you were so sure that you both knew everything. With the way his eyes soften when you talk about something particularly vulnerable and the way his touch lingers on your cheek when he kisses you, you knew that he knew what he’s doing.

You could tell that you could trust him with your heart. He seemed to have trusted you with his heart. But with how much he put off asking you out properly, you were beginning to think otherwise.

He seemed to know that committing to you was too much, but he still stayed despite it all.

And you couldn’t figure out why.

But how much longer until it all crashes and burns?

The tears streamed from your eyes. It felt freeing. But the heavy weight on your chest lingered. Unrelenting to all the conclusions you came to.

You heard your name called from the other side of the stream. It sounded a lot like Keonho, but you couldn’t answer just yet. Just in case it was some random guy.

He shouted your name. “It’s me, Keonho! Where the hell are you?” he exclaimed.

You walked across the stream, sniffling and wiping the tears on your face, and you were met with his worried face.

He looked good today. Honestly, when has he not? He sported a grey tank top that fit him so well, a cream button up with accented with thick dark blue stripes, and denim jeans. A green and grey windbreaker was draped on his arm, seemingly only grabbed in a rush.  

His face was written with worry. Eyebrows furrowed together, cheeks flushed with the cold, breath stuttering as he tried to stabilize it.

“Hey,” you said, breaking the fragile silence.

His eyes met yours. “Hey,” he breathed. He simply walked up to you and embraced you. You stood there frozen, unsure how to react. Your mind hadn’t caught up to reality yet. But you felt your heartbeat stutter slightly. “It’s okay,” he said, rubbing soft shapes onto your back. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

At his words, the walls of the dam of sorrowful tears that you had so carefully and heartbrokenly built up had instantly broken down.

You wished that the tears wouldn’t flow, but it did. You simply gripped onto his back, letting him hold you. He hummed and caressed your hair, just like your mom did when you were a kid, and it soothed your heart. But it also made it ache, more than before. You felt guilty for doubting him, for being confused in whatever you two were in the middle. He held you as if you weren’t just second-guessing him 5 minutes ago.

When you pulled apart, pushing your hair behind your ears, all he did was wipe your tears with his thumbs, touch soft and gentle. Your heart ached. But you just beckoned for him to follow you across the stream and sit beside you. You brought your knees to your chest.

You let the atmosphere do the talking. The soothing flow of the stream, the loud gush of the wind, the vulnerable sound of your stuttering breath.

After a few minutes of nothingness, you spoke. “I’ve been missing the beach much more,” you confessed.

He just looked at you with those eyes. Understanding, promising, sparkling with some shine that you couldn’t quite name. But he simply let you continue.

“I…” you sighed. “It was my safe place. It was where I really let my heart rest when I was going through changes. My family lived there for three months. It was a big change of environment and pace. My parents wanted to go on this year-long gap year where we just travelled. It was nice. But it got lonely. And fast. But I found that the beach was my safe haven. I went there with my family, friends, and so many other people. It didn’t feel that lonely there.

“Me and my mom went back there last year. And so much fucking changed. Yeah, some buildings are still the same. The trees grow the same. The tunnel we went through every day still felt so calming to go through.

“But the beaches felt smaller. The friends that I knew had moved someplace else over the years. Moved on to better things, they said. But the people who stayed got sadder. Angrier. More restless.

“I guess it just fucking sucked that the place that I called my safe place changed alongside me. I never wanted it to change. I never really liked it when I changed. It hurts,” you breathed, lip wobbling as you blabbered out your feelings. You sighed, letting your head fall into your bent knees.

You heard him scoot a bit closer, shoulders now flush against each other.

“I get what you mean,” he said. “Thank you for telling me.” You felt his hands wrap around your shoulders, pulling you just a little bit closer. You let yourself, and your heart, lean into him a little more.

“I had to learn that at a young age too. The current just keeps going and you can’t do anything about it,” he muttered.

You hummed, your jeans muffling your sound.

“But it’s okay to miss it sometimes. Who are we if we don’t look back with a fondness we didn’t quite have in the moment?”

You peered your head up to look at him. “That was really poetic of you, Keonho,” you sniffled.

“You rubbed off on me, no?” he smiled.

“I guess,” you sighed, leaning closer into his chest, eyes gazing into the stream of water.

You let your final tears flow down your cheeks and let the sound of the stream below take over your conversation.

After a few beats: “Can we just stay here for a little bit longer?” you asked.

“Of course,” he breathed, whispering your name.

“Thank you.”

He simply kissed your forehead in reply.

His affection made your chest flutter and the pit in your stomach ache.

It had been your 5th time out with him. His last unspoken chance.

It got comfortable with him ever since that day by the stream. Conversation flowed and silence eased your mind. But that pit in your stomach never went away.

But that wasn’t really on the forefront of your mind at the moment.

You were focused on how good your A&W tasted and how attractive the boy in front of you was.

He had his jacket off, the heater in A&W blasting warm air, hotter than it needed to be. The deep fryers in the back made the air feel sticky and oily. But was nice with Keonho.

He wore a blue and purple flannel, whose sleeves he rolled up to his elbows, (delicious) forearms on display. He wore a pale blue distressed shirt over top, only one of his flannel’s collars peaking out, adorably you might say. He had light brown cargos on, baggy and your style. Maybe one day you could steal it from him. But he wasn’t even yours yet, so you willed those thoughts to leave your mind.

His hair was a bit messier than usual. It had a bit of a wave to it. They landed so perfectly above his eyes and slightly curled outward in certain places. It looked so good on him. Your mouth watered, either from the smell of your yam fries or his hairstyle for today.

“Did you style your hair today?” you asked between bites of your burger, courtesy of him.

“No, not really. But I did say I wanted to try curlier hair the other day. Maybe the stylists listened to me,” he chuckled.

You hummed. “Did you know that this is one of the few fast-food restaurants that serve yam fries?” you asked, popping one in your mouth.

“Oh, shit, really?”

“Yeah. I like it here. I just hate how expensive it is here.”

He hummed. “Let me know when you’re craving it next. I’ll take you out,” he smiled fondly at you. Your stomach flipped at his words.

“You are not my sugar daddy, Keonho.”

He laughed. “I’m just the provider, then,” he winked, confidence flowing through his veins.

“Whatever,” you laughed.

When you finished, he tidied up your table, combining your trays and wrappers. “You ready to go?” he asked.

“Where are we going next?”

“Well, it’s only 11:15 PM. You don’t have to be home for another 45 minutes,” he noted. “Is there a park nearby? I wanna stay with you for a bit longer.”

“Yeah, actually. Near the library over there,” you pointed in its general direction.

“Perfect,” he exclaimed, already getting up to throw your trash.

When you both got there, he ran to the swings first. You giggled at his childlike mannerisms. He looked like a kid, excited for extra time in the playground. “I haven’t been on these in a while!” he shouted, swinging higher and higher with each kick of his legs. You only laughed at him, trying to match his pace.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” you breathed, legs tucking and kicking out.

“We should do it more often, then,” he giggled.

“Bet,” you chuckled.

Your pace came to a slow swing.

“Hey, Keonho?”

“Yeah?”

“When do you leave?”

“25th.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

“Yeah, I know. It’s so soon.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to tell him what was on your heart. He should know, being that it greatly involved him. But you wanted him to know already. You wanted him to read your mind and know exactly what you wanted. He already knew everything else. How could he not know what to do next?

A lump in your throat stopped you from communicating anything.

He let the breeze carry your conversation into the wind. You don’t know how long you stayed there with him, swinging occasionally, or just staring into the dark sky above you two. There weren’t any stars in sight because of light pollution, but no clouds covering the sky either. It was a clear, calm evening.

As the night progressed, the air got colder. The chill sent a shiver down your spine.

“Cold?”

“A little. Just my ears,” you murmured.

He took out a beanie he had in his pocket. “Wear this,” he gestured to the beanie in his hands.

“Thanks. Remind me to give it back later.” He only hummed in response.

It felt warm around your head. It cradled your ears and forehead, but also your heart. It wasn’t a foreign warmth anymore, but it remained strange.

You two didn’t speak much after that. All that was said were mumbles of sweet nothings. Next time you checked the time, you knew it was time to leave. You got back into your car, driving him to the closest train station. He kissed your cheek goodbye, speaking of promises to talk tomorrow and every day after that.

As you drove home, you couldn’t help the tears that welled in your eyes. Blood rushed to your cheeks with frustration and anger. You hated that you felt so attached to him. You hated that you simply couldn’t tell him what was on your heart. You hated that he didn’t say anything. You hated that he hasn’t asked to be your boyfriend. He acted like it, for sure, but was he in words?

But do they really matter? a voice in your head asked. Your grip tightened on your steering wheel, turning into your home’s cul-de-sac.

Usually, words never mattered to you. If ever, actions spoke louder than words in most cases.

But this time… it felt like they meant something.

Words of declaration were never really your love language but hearing this out loud would be confirmation that whatever you felt… the magnetic pull you two had… was real.

You needed to know it was real.

You opened up the most vulnerable part of you to him, telling him of your hopes and dreams—just like you did to all the guys who you thought were “him”.

But you were disappointed once more. 5th date and he hadn’t asked.

A shaky breath left you as you placed your car in park.

The tears flowed freely.

You gently placed your head onto your steering wheel.

You wanted this badly. You wanted him badly. But he didn’t do anything about it. He didn’t take the initiative to do the one thing that you wanted.

He couldn’t catch on.

As you lifted your fingers to your hair, you were met with a beanie. Shit. His beanie. You had forgotten to give it to him before he left. Hot tears gushed from your eyes.

You just had to be reminded of how much he cared for you right when you were doubting him.

His scent lingered in the air. His warmth hidden but shown to only you in this fuck ass beanie.

It hurt.

But what more could you do about it?

Your senses and nerves were numb as you headed inside your house, into your room.

You laid his beanie down on the pillow next to yours and glared at it as if it had personally offended you. But not even 5 seconds later, you wrapped your arms around the pillow it laid on like it was Keonho, hugging and squeezing your pillow, as if begging him for forgiveness.

You fell asleep, cries and hiccups mellowing out into soft stuttering breaths.

You [7:50 AM PST] good morning y/n what r ur plans for today :3

You [9:10 AM PST] helloooo u usually msg me before u go to work :( what happened

matcha girl [10:02 AM PST] sorry keonho manager wanted me to come in much earlier today shifts changed again :(

You [10:03 AM PST] oh okay :( sry i js got anxious

matcha girl [10:04 AM PST] sorry i’m js working and then dinner and then i hv youth grp tn

You [10:05 AM PST] ok! we still ok to call later?

matcha girl [12:03 PM PST] i’ll do my best keonho

You never called that night. A part of Keonho was concerned. But you’d messaged saying you were too tired. A long day. You had fallen asleep before he could persuade you to at least fall asleep on call.

You [8:15 AM PST] morninggg

matcha girl [8:16 AM PST] morning keonho :)

You [8:20 AM PST] haiiii r u free today?

matcha girl [8:21 AM PST] maybe later? what time?

You [8:25 AM PST] um maybe 4? my schedule’s til 11p tdy but i hv a free hour at 4

matcha girl [9:01 AM PST] i’ll try keonho

You two only called for 5 minutes that night. He woke up to you calling late at night. You realistically only talked for 5 minutes before your words began to sound like mumbles.

You [9:55 AM PST] gm!! hope u have a good day today

matcha girl [10:00 AM PST] ty keonho :) u too

You [10:02 AM PST] are u free later?

matcha girl [10:15 AM PST] sry no keonho

You [10:19 AM PST] oh ok i miss umatcha girl [10:21 AM PST] i miss u too

You two hadn’t called that night. He missed you and your face and your voice. Badly.

Your responses had taken over Keonho’s mind. They were dry. Dryer than usual. Even dryer than Juhoon—also known as the most nonchalant out there.

And his mind racked all the possible reasons as to why you were being like this.

You were smiling and giggling when you went out the other day. You sported your widest grin and fluttered your eyelashes at him when he had paid for your drink. Your cheeks flushed when he held your hand when you went out for a walk. You kissed back when he kissed you.

What exactly had he done wrong?

He wanted to know so badly. But he couldn’t even try to figure it out because you avoided his messages like it was some contagious plague. Yeah, you responded to them with as much energy that was required, but how could he bring it up over text? What’s wrong? Is it me? Is it us? It all sounded so wrong in his mind.

He needed to know so badly.

He needed to see your face when you said it. He needed to hear your voice when you said it.

He needed to see you. And soon.

You finally had a free day, one where you could meet and see each other face to face. You two landed on a random parking lot located in a middle place between you two.

You two leaned against the hood of your car. The silence between greeting and conversation felt awkward. Time went by slower than it had to be. It wasn’t a comfortable quiet anymore.

He chewed on his lip, anxiously waiting for you to say something.

Anything.

He simply fidgeted with the zipper on his windbreaker.

Finally, he decided to speak first. He whispered your name.

You hummed in response.

“Can we, uh, we talk about the elephant in the room?”

There was too much silence between you two. It filled the parking lot. But it suffocated him too much. It felt like he was being consumed by an invisible water. And he was drowning in it. He didn’t know these waters. They were strong and heavy on his skin. He didn’t have the strength or technique to swim to the surface for air.

“Y/N?”

“Keonho,” you sighed, slow and sorrowful. You faced him, arms crossed, eyes melancholic. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“…Doing what?” he asked, worry cracking his voice.

“Kissing and holding hands and seeing each other every day even though we aren’t dating! What are we? Kids?” you exclaimed.

“We aren’t kids. You know this.”

“I know,” you muttered. “I know it well. Did you even hear the rest of my sentence?” You met his gaze, your eyebrows furrowed together in hurt. There was too much silence for comfort. He felt like he wanted to scream. “I don’t want to do all that couple shit—kissing, interlocking arms, cuddling, calling every night—without us being a real couple. My parents are asking about you, Keonho.”

And suddenly it clicked to him. He realized just how much this all meant to you. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he muttered.

“Because I don’t know what to say!” you argued, voice more furious than before. “What do I call you? I can’t call you my boyfriend because we’re still ‘getting to know each other’ as you say. And I hate the thought of us being in a situationship. Like what the fuck? Are we 14? Are we really that emotionally unstable?”

“And what if we are?!” he fumed with a little more anger than he wished.

“Well then, I don’t know, let’s be emotionally unstable together! What’s fucking stopping you?!”

His mouth opened and closed as he attempted to find an answer. After a few beats of silence, he reached an answer of sorts. “Why do we have to have a label? Why are we rushing into things so quickly?” he spat, fists now clenched.

“Oh, I don’t fucking know, Keonho,” you scoffed, throwing your hands in the air in disbelief. “You know how long I’ve waited for this. You know how much my heart has yearned for this. I told you this. I gave you a part of me the other day. And now that I have something like it, I want the real fucking thing. Why is it so hard to just ask me out?”

“I don’t get why you’re being really fucking complicated here. It’s just a label.”

“And it’s a label that matters to me.” Your words hung in the air, suspended over you two. The silence stung as he mentally winced in pain.

Your words hit him like a semi-truck. He knew what he was getting into. He knew how complicated it was going to be. But he also realized that you might not like this. Maybe you did want some security in this… relationship, if you could even call it hat.

You broke the deafening silence first. “If that doesn’t work for you, don’t ever fucking contact me again.”

He must have completely blacked out once your words hit him. He recalled that you walked away from his side and got into your car. You lingered in there for longer than you needed to. After a while, you got out and ordered him an Uber back to his AirBnB. You didn’t say much, simply gesturing with your hands and mouth instead of words. But what made his heart ache most after remembering the happenings of that night was that you waited for his Uber to be a minute away before saying goodbye and driving away.

His shoulders felt heavy as he opened the door to his AirBnB, snoring heard from the other rooms. He willed his tears to remain, though they fought to fall, lining the corners of his eyes. He opened his phone with a flick of his finger.

matcha girl [12:23 AM PST]: home

His fingers moved on their own accord.

You [12:45 PM PST]: home too

matcha girl [12:47 AM PST]: goodnight keonho

You [12:49 PM AM PST]: goodnight y/n

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He was alone now, save for his members snoozing in their own rooms. Silence filled his phone and the room around him.

He didn’t want to cry. But he did anyway.

His heart was heavy in his ribs. The tears burned his cheeks.

Your words, your face, your tears, your fury were imbedded into his brain, lingering in every thought he had.

Had all that really mattered to you?

Did it matter to him?

His career came at the cost of his sanity. Idol life is atypical to the normal citizen. He was entertainment. It was different and extremely complicated. He knew that the moment he gave his first “yes” to training. He knew that as he trained for days on end. He knew that when he found out he was going to debut. He knew that during his first interview. He knew that during his first international show. He knew it all. He knew that idol life doesn’t give you an ordinary life, full of ordinary things.

A small part of him yearned for one, but specifically with you. Date nights and late nights with just the two of you. Playfights with lightsabers, messing around on the playground, and goofing off with the water at the beach sounded like heaven on earth. With you.

But another part of him still liked his job. Yeah, it was hard. Yeah, it was… brutal… mentally, physically, and emotionally at times. But he liked making music and dancing to music and getting paid to do it all. He liked being in a band with his favourite friends. He liked all the attention he was getting from fans and celebrities alike.

But, realistically, where could he fit you in all of this?

You saw him. Truly saw him. You saw all of his micro expressions and understood his heart like twin souls. You celebrated his victories loudly and held him softly in his losses. He could simply be with you. Silence was okay with you. He could really be himself, let his soul be unmasked and breath, with you.

How could he bring you into his life without wrecking the life you had already so preciously and tediously built?

How could he bring you into his life without compromising what he couldn’t change?

Empty promises and unspoken rules didn’t sound like things that you deserved.

Keonho did want you.

He wanted to be with you so badly, his heart aches from the thought of not being with you.

But he didn’t want to ruin your life.

It went radio silent.

No contact.

And it killed Keonho.

It suffocated him.

He wanted to swim to the shore, tired of treading in this deep quiet between you two.

His practices and lessons went on as usual, team moving on without him. And as if nothing had changed, his hand instinctively checked his phone every hour or so for a message from you. But he was always met with no notifications.

Some nights he wanted to message you. He wanted to tell you about a funny remark he made when Martin fell stupidly. He wanted to ask if you could meet up because he missed you.

But some petty part of him stopped him from sending any message or pressing the call button.

But the pain in his ribs was getting too much for him to handle.

He was at some skate park alone today. Last time he was here, you were on the ledge watching him do tricks and flips on his skateboard. He did all the tricks he knew to dazzle you. You tried not to show how impressed you were, but he could tell from the small tug on the corner of your lips that you were, only secretly. You’d boo him every time he accidentally tripped, laughing along with him whenever he fell.

He missed the sound of your giggling whenever he made a particularly witty remark. He missed the look of your face when he said something unintentionally romantic. He missed the feel of your lips on his when you caved into granting him a winner’s gift.

He simply skated and skated and skated until his breath fell shallow and his chest heaved heavily. Skating away any the memory of the look on your face on the pier, by the stream, or even in the parking lot—

His foot slipped, making him crash into the concrete below him. His shoulder and arm smashed into the ground first. He put his hand out to bring himself up, wincing at the pain searing in his shoulder. This is not good, he thought.

He grinded his teeth, standing up and grabbing his skateboard, cursing under his breath as his shoulder stung. He sat by the ledge, right next to where you sat last time.

A tear slipped before he could urge it to remain still.

But he couldn’t tell if it was from the pain of his fall or from the void you left in him.

Fresh pain rushed to his heart as his mind raced with you, you, you.

He didn’t want to lose you.

He knew how good he had it. He knew how… perfect… you were. He knew he couldn’t just let whatever you two had go.

But he didn’t know what to do about it.

His life just had to be one of the more complicated lifestyles.

He just had to fall head over heels in love with you—

Was he in love with you?

Warm blood rushed to his mind—and his shoulder—as he thought about that.

He might be. And that might have fucked this whole thing over.

He brought his knees in, hugging them to his chest. He shivered at the thought of being unloved by you. Fresh tears streamed down his face the thought of you not being in his life. His chest ached at the idea of never seeing you again. He knew he had to do something.

To try.

Like he had all those years ago with swimming. Like he had during his first trainee session. Like he had when he was given free reign for producing a song.

Why not try with you?

Why not take a chance on this whole “relationship” thing with you?

It came with complications, with problems that were atypical to your usual couple, but he was willing to do it all.

With you.

 On day 3 of no contact, he decided to send a paragraph.

You [2:49 AM PST] dear y/n, hi :) i hope you're doing well. i just wanted to say i'm sorry for hurting you. i'm sorry for not taking the initiative and asking to be your boyfriend. being with you is amazing. holding your hand, kissing you, talking to you, and even being in silence with you makes me feel alive. you make my life worth living. i just don't know what to do next. my life as an idol is hard, you make it a bit easier, but i know that dating me comes with its challenges. but one with you will potentially come with its compromises, for both of us. i don't want you to ruin your life just for me. i confess i don't know a lot of things—i'm just trying my best. but i do want to be with you, so i'll do my best if you'll give me a second chance. i do want to try this with you. with all my love and kisses, keonho

He shut his phone off, silencing all notifications unless it was from you.

It was the morning of Keonho’s birthday.

It felt like every other day. Like 17 wasn’t the biggest deal in the world.

Realistically, it wasn’t. His body didn’t even feel it yet.

But a weight on his chest remained. A heavy guilt. A gloomy sorrow. A sharp, lingering pain that left him winded every time he thought about you.

He grabbed his phone from his bedside table, looking through his notifications—many birthday messages from his family, a few classmates that still had his number, and the rest of his group.

But he didn’t expect to see your name in his notifications.

matcha girl [9:05AM PST] happy birthday keonho

His mouth remained open slightly in shock. His fingers scrambled to reply, fidgeting and typing out any and every response. He didn’t want this little moment to go to waste. Finally, he sent the first message he typed out.

You [9:07 AM PST] thank you y/n <3

His free hand splayed across his chest, tapping it to hype himself up and calm his blaring anxiety. He really needed to see you. His breath stuttered as his fingers pressed sent.

You [9:08 AM PST] can we meet up?

The typing bubble appeared and disappeared.

You [9:09 AM PST] it won’t be a date i just want to talk to u

He chewed his lip in anticipation, mind nervous and anxious as to what you could say.

Easily, you could say no. You had every right to be furious with him and refuse him. He knew that your heart could still be vulnerable, tender and healing. Or hurt and broken. Or avoidant and numb. You deserved time to feel all that.

But also, he needed to see you. He needed to… talk to you. About everything. Anything. He couldn’t bear to leave you with nothing. He couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t at least tell you how he truly felt. Not just show you but say to it in words.

A buzz brought his attention back to his phone.

matcha girl [9:10 AM PST] okay canoe bridge? it’s near u

You [9:11 AM PST] yes please see u later

A sigh of relief left his mouth as he locked his phone. He had a set date to finally meet you again. A low hum lingered in his mind and stomach as the rest of the day went on.

The wait went by much faster than he anticipated. The members had thrown him a birthday party to celebrate. KBBQ as usual. It wasn’t particularly phenomenal or any good as it was in Korea, but it was definitely better than whatever happened in New York. They had a Weverse live the day before because it was February 14 in Korea yesterday. It was alright. He did his best to be jolly and joke around like the character everyone expected him to be. No one noticed anything out of the usual. Even Seonghyeon brushed it off.

When he stepped out of his AirBnB, the cold didn’t bite him like before. It was bearable with only a windbreaker on. He also wore a scarf, tying it and tucking it into his windbreaker before putting it on. In his pocket was a white cream beanie just in case you forgot something for your own ears. You always complained about how your ears are cold but you never fail to forget to bring one for yourself. He chuckled to nobody but himself as he recalled when you had ranted to him about it.

Keonho arrived at the bridge first. He was 10 minutes early, standing there alone, fidgeting with his jacket awkwardly. For the first few minutes, he felt like an idiot waiting there, but all thoughts of that vanished immediately when he remembered he was there for you. So that you wouldn’t have to stand there alone and feel like an idiot yourself.

He only wanted to get there earlier just in case you did. And you were there ahead of the agreed time, only by 5 minutes. Like always.

As soon as he saw your figure crossing the street, his heart fluttered, fingers pinching his thigh where it previously rested. He had dreamed of this exact moment, going through every possibility and perfecting it in his mind in each waking moment. But his hands got clammy, breath lost to the wind, mind stuck on the way your eyes lingered on his as you spotted him. It felt like the ocean water washing over his body after a long, hot day. Refreshing. Cooling. Calming.

“Hey,” you said first as soon as you were only a few strides away. “Happy birthday, Keonho.” He stood there frozen for a moment as you extended your arm for a side hug, but he simply accepted it, smile wide and heart full as it stuttered in his ribs anticipating what would come next.

“Thank you,” he muttered.

You both gazed over the bridge, into the water, leaning against the ledge, forearms resting on the chipped white ledge. Your shoulders gently touched each other, sending a jolt of electricity through his spine. His breath hitched softly from the proximity. The contact consumed his every thought, like the waves that were crashing loudly onto the wall near the end of the bridge, restless and uncontrollable.

The city was just as loud on the other side. People were walking, running, biking, any and everything to get to their next destination. The city never truly slept. It was tiring to watch.

“What’d you do today?” you asked, breaking the silence between you two.

“Not much,” he sighed. “We went live yesterday for the fans. But today was just vlogging my birthday.”

“Not that exciting, huh?”

“No, not really,” he chuckled. His eyes went to your face. Your body faced the water, eyes closed, taking in the sound and breathing in the water. Dark, long curls flowed behind you, whipping in every direction. Messy and uncontrolled but real and human. Saying that you looked breathtaking would be an extreme understatement. You looked like something that the poets wrote about. You had an authenticity that romantics described. You had a beauty that photographers yearned to capture. He knew he couldn’t just… move on and leave you both ruined. He had to love you and be loved by you. “I missed you,” he uttered, quiet enough to miss, but loud enough for only you to hear.

You let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “I missed you too.”

“I really wanna try this with you,” he confessed. He felt a small weight lifted from his chest. He could breathe a little. “I want to… be your boyfriend.”

You let out a breath, probably one you didn’t know you were holding. You turned your head to face his. “How will you do that, Keonho?”

“I’ll do my best to commit to you,” he breathed.

“Did you really think that I hadn’t thought about what it’d be like dating you?” you whispered, loud enough for him to hear. “Not just you as a person, but you and the life you already had? You think that I never understood that you had a different life than your normal human being? That maybe your life was more complicated than mine?”

Of course he hadn’t. But he shouldn’t have doubted your mind. The way you constantly thought of other possible perspectives and had deep empathy for everyone. “Not really,” he breathed. He inhaled all the way to his stomach. “But I was also worried about how you would feel in our relationship. I wanted you,” he confessed, as your eyes softened and head tilted slightly. “Badly. But I didn’t want you to feel miserable in our relationship.”

“Keonho… I” you croaked. “I thought that it’d be okay to be miserable because at least I would be miserable with you.”

Your words punched him right in the gut and winded him. Hard. He winced as you let your words hang in the air between you two.

That never occurred to him. That maybe you could do this… together. He had never done it before. Usually, he was left to deal with his feelings, manage repercussions, and navigate confusion alone. It was difficult for him to learn to do that, being that he grew up taken care of by his family, but especially his older sister. In his first few times Martin left him to produce alone, it ended in frustration with hot tears down his face and an empty track.

But it never occurred to him that maybe you too wanted a share in the bad moments. He didn’t want you to at first because he wanted to spare you the trouble. To save you from the ugly and messy parts of love. But now, he sees the true love in enduring everything together.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said.

After a beat, you replied. “It’s okay.”

“I was scared,” he whispered to only you.

“So was I. But,” you said quietly, “you just have to start telling people how you feel.” Your words breathed a calming wind onto his skin, and he let it brush against him. “At least to those that matter to you.”

“You matter to me.”

“Then show me, Keonho.” After a beat, “Prove it.”

A soft blanket of silence covers you both, gentle and warm against his skin. Waves were heard crashing underneath you two along with beeps and yells from further down on the street. Tension vanished, only a quiet yet intimate stillness remained.

“So,” you began, now facing him. “Is that it?”

He hummed, turning his body to yours.

“Is that all we’re here to do, Keonho?”

He let a out a shaky breath, tilting his head and tapping his chest in nervousness. He sighed out your name, almost whispering. “Will you do me the absolute honour of allowing me to be your boyfriend?”

Your eyes remained on his, focused on only him. He could feel your warm and sweet breath, close enough to feel it tingle his chin. The world must have stopped and went quiet, gently giving you two permission to let this moment happen. To be together. To simply be with each other.

He stood there, hands jittering and sweating in anxiety, waiting for you to reply, to say anything, as you let his words linger in the air. “I promise to do my best to be there for you, wholeheartedly, and care for you with all that I have,” he muttered, sick of the quiet.

You giggled, soft with a hint of fondness. A heavy weight released off his his chest. God, how he missed that sound. “Yes, Keonho, I would love for you to be my boyfriend.”

“Good,” he breathed, mouth twitching as he smiled.

As he inched closer, you met him halfway. A soft sigh left his mouth in gratitude. Your bodies were now mere millimeters apart. Close—closer than it had been in so long—the proximity fogging his mind already. His breath hitched and stuttered as you glanced at his lips for a moment. His mind wandered remembering how your skin felt on his.

He missed it.

He missed you.

He missed the way how easily you made his heart warm and his mind foggy. He missed the way his fingers itched to touch you and feel yours intertwined with his.

Any prior fear had completely dissipated into nothing. If anything, he felt alive. He felt loved. He felt real.

With you.

His hand went to your waist, finally closing the gap between you two. His free hand went to cup your cheek as yours landed on his shoulders. As your foreheads met, he closed his eyes, mind dazed with feelings for you and by the feeling of you on his skin. Your breath intertwined in the air, warm compared to the coast air, yet salty with the water nearby. It felt so intimate. Almost too intimate for a public place.

But that didn’t matter anymore. Because he had you with him, and everything was real. It was no longer a figment of his wildest dreams.

Heat rushed to his hands, his head, his shoulders, wherever you two met, as electricity pulsed through his veins. Your hands gripped onto his shoulder as you whispered his name. He softly whimpered, the sound of his name off your lips making his knees wobble. His grip on your waist tightened as the energy between you two spiked.

As if he couldn’t take it anymore, he finally put his lips on yours, tension snapping at last. Sparks had immediately ignited in his chest. He missed them. He could barely even admit it to himself, though, his mind was someplace else—brain fogged and fixed on the way your kisses weren’t gentle and brief like your first kiss and the few after that.

Rather, they were consuming. They were harsh and they roared as you swiped your lips onto his. He was engrossed in the way his love for you devoured him whole, chest and lungs choking on how overwhelming it was. Every time you pressed on him, you whisked any thought of doubt away and sunk it into a deep abyss, never to be found again. You kept pushing onto him, every time with a different pressure—either calm and soothing like a wave flowing back into itself, or strong with each breath thundering like an angry tide crashing onto the shore. Despite your unsynchronized rhythm, they felt intentional, like you were proving something to him.

He returned your kisses in a slightly different manner. They were like a little, gentle fire. It danced with the breeze, each brush of his lips hushed and tender, but he brought heat, nonetheless. And he could feel the way you were also burning for him—your lips hypnotized by his in an overwhelm of wholeness and your fingers slightly shook from the intensity of it all. But soon, his mind fogged almost entirely, completely letting his own desires take over, his urge to bring you closer, closer, closer, spread like a fire’s warmth.

Keonho doesn’t know how long you stayed there. God, he hoped it wasn’t that long, considering you were on a public bridge. But he couldn’t care less.

He had you in his arms, truly and entirely his.

You had him smitten, wholly engulfed in you.

You two simply lingered there for a little while longer.

Kissing, proving your love for each other as you let only the moon be your witness.

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