#evan x reader

“i missed you,” he whispered, kissing you.

“you did amazing,” you praise him between kisses.

“yeah?”

you hum in response, the sound vibrating through your bodies.

heeseung’s hands drop from your waist to the base of your legs, just below your ass.

with a short, reassuring kiss on your neck, he lifts you up, pinning you up against the wall.

your arms slide over his shoulders, pulling him closer.

a few quiet moments pass by as he simply just looked at you.

he loved it. the way you did your eyeliner. the way your lashes fluttered whenever you blinked your eyes. just, you.

“you looked so pretty out there, baby,” he murmurs, hands gripping your thighs securely.

your legs lock around his waist and your hand finds its way into his hair, running your hand through his dark, wine red locks as heeseung's lips crash into yours, capturing your lower lip.

“all for you,” you whisper when he pulls away. you bring your hand to his face, dragging the back of your hand from the base of his ear down across his jawline. the cool metal of his earrings contrast with the warmth of his skin, and it sends a shiver down your arm. “gotta remind you who your biggest fan is out there.”

a smirk crosses his face, a straight up sinful one that lifts the right corner of his lip as his eyes flit between your eyes and your lips. it was clear he loved it, the way you always caught his eye and the way you were absolutely smitten with him―of course, he was enamored with you too.

he wraps a hand around the hand following the curve of his jawline, fingers lacing through yours, and brings it to his lips to kiss your knuckles before pinning it above your head against the wall.

the surprise melts away quickly as heat rushes to your cheeks, a blissful sigh escaping your throat as heeseung busies himself with pressing a trail of kisses along your jawline and then down the column of your throat.

“you love being mine, hm?”

you hum, the sound broken as you tilt your head back to give him better access.

but instead of feeling his lips against your skin again, you feel the floor underneath your feet.

“gotta go back, baby,” he exhales, still holding on to you. “c’mon, i’ll take you back to the dressing room so that security can make sure you get back to your seat safe.”

you dramatically sigh at him and heeseung chuckles, pecking your lips one last time. “i’ll give you your vip treatment when the show’s over, darling.”

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One of the dancers had said something ridiculous, and the room had broken into a small wave of tired laughter.

I kept my eyes on the lens, telling myself to focus on the job, but then I heard his voice.

Lee Heeseung.

Not the polished stage voice. Not the nervous "Evan" that came out in interviews.

Just him, low and warm, the kind of laugh that slipped out before he could stop it.

I looked up.

He was standing near the mirror wall, one hand hooked loosely around a water bottle, the sleeves of his black top pushed up to his forearms.

He wasn't even doing anything interesting. That was the problem. He was just there, listening, smiling in a way that looked like it had surprised him too.

My finger hovered over the shutter. Click.

It was one frame. Nothing dramatic.Just enough to catch the expression before it disappeared.

I told myself I had photographed worse things, more important things, but my chest still felt strange when I looked at the tiny preview on the screen.

Not because it was perfect. Because it wasn't.

He looked human in it. And somehow that felt more dangerous.

I nearly dropped my camera when I heard, "Yoru." Mina was standing beside me, expression unreadable in the way only editors manage, as if they can see through your bones and decide not to mention it.

"You good?" she asked.

"Yes," I said too quickly.

She looked from me to the camera screen and then back again, "Don't get sentimental on me."

"I'm not."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Then stop staring at him like you're about to write poetry in the margins."

My face went hot, "I'm looking at the light."

"Sure you are."

She walked away before I could defend myself, which was worse than if she had kept teasing me.

I turned back to the screen, but the image had already settled into the back of my mind like a secret I hadn't decided whether to keep.

LEE HEESEUNG

I heard her camera before I saw her. It was always quiet.

Not the kind of sound that interrupts anything, just a small click that made me aware of how much she was watching without making it feel like being watched.

Most photographers shoot like they're trying to catch you doing something wrong.

She didn't.

Park Yoru shot like she was asking permission from the moment itself.

That should have made me more nervous, not less. Instead, I found myself looking for her in the room without meaning to.

She stayed near the edges, usually in black or muted colors, hair tied back, camera strap resting against her shoulder.

She didn't hover. She didn't talk too much.

But when she asked me to move into better light, her voice was steady enough that I stopped thinking about the people around us.

That was the weird part.

People were always around me. Managers, assistants, dancers, stylists, staff with clipboards and tired eyes and a hundred opinions.

But when Yoru spoke, it felt like the room had decided to become smaller, quieter, more manageable.

I didn't know why I noticed her so much. Maybe because she didn't behave like she wanted anything from me. Maybe because that made her the one person in the room I wanted to give something to.

A laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it, and when I glanced up, she was already looking at me.

Of course she was.

I looked away first. That annoyed me for some reason.

PARK YORU

The taxi was late.

That was how the evening started, which meant Heeseung and I ended up standing under the awning outside the studio while the rest of the team disappeared into the building or into their own cars.

The air had turned cooler after sunset, and I wrapped both hands around the strap of my bag to keep them from shaking. It wasn't even from the cold.

Heeseung stood a few feet away, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone. He had changed out of rehearsal clothes and into something more put-together, like he'd remembered halfway through the day that he was still, technically, an idol. Dark coat. Black trousers. Clean lines. He looked expensive in the quietest way.

I hated that my brain immediately noticed. "You can go ahead," I said, nodding at the street.

"I'm waiting for the car."

"I know," he said.

I blinked. "You know?"

He held up his phone a little, "Mina texted me."

That was how we ended up standing there, waiting together in the awkward little pocket of time between work and whatever came next. The silence wasn't bad exactly, just loaded.

He glanced at me once, then looked back at the street.

"Are you always this quiet?" he asked.

I almost laughed. "Are you?"

"No." He paused, "Today's just been long."

That got a small smile out of me, "Mine too."

The taxi pulled up to the curb, but neither of us moved immediately. The driver leaned across the seat and called out our names in a tired voice, and only then did Heeseung open the door.

Inside, the car smelled like rain and fabric softener. The city slid past the windows in streaks of gold and red.

I held my camera in my lap, trying not to feel the fact that he was sitting close enough that I could smell something clean and faintly citrus on his coat.

Neither of us spoke at first.

"Still not talkative?" he asked, glancing over once before looking back out the window.

I let out a small breath. "Are you always this observant?"

That pulled a faint smile from him,"Only when I'm tired."

"Then we're both doomed."

He laughed, short and soft, and the sound made the space between us feel less stiff.

The taxi rolled over a bump, and I tightened my grip on my camera bag.

"Today was longer than I thought it would be."

He nodded. "Yeah. It felt long in there."

"In the rehearsal room?"

"Mm."

I hesitated, then said, "You handled it well."

He turned his head toward me, "You say that like you were watching me the whole time."

"I was," I admitted before I could stop myself.

He blinked once, then looked away again, but I caught the way the corner of his mouth moved, "That sounds dangerous."

"It is my job," I said, though my voice came out quieter than I meant.

"Your job is to watch me?"

"My job is to notice things."

That made him hum, thoughtful. "Then you probably noticed I was tired."

I looked down at my hands, "I did."

The question that came next was soft, not sharp. "Do you ever get tired of watching other people all day?"

I turned that over for a second before answering. "Sometimes. But not when it feels like I’m doing something that matters."

He was quiet after that.

Outside, the city moved past in blurred lights and dark windows. Inside, the air seemed to settle around the words I had just said.

After a moment, he murmured, "That's not usually how it works."

"I know."

"No," he said, still watching the street. "Usually people want the worst-looking version. The tired one. Anything that makes you easier to consume."

The honesty of it made my chest tighten. "That sounds exhausting."

"It is."

He said it so simply that I had to glance at him. He was looking out the window, one hand loose in his lap, face tired in a way no amount of styling could hide. I didn't have anything clever to say to that, so I just nodded.

After a moment, he looked at me again. "Do you like being in the room with a camera all the time?"

I almost laughed at the way he asked it, like he was genuinely curious instead of polite.

"Sometimes," I said. "Sometimes it feels safer than being in the room without one."

He studied me for a second. "Because then you get to decide what people see?"

"Maybe." I glanced down at my lap. "Or maybe because it helps me hide in plain sight."

That made him breathe out a quiet laugh, but there was no teasing in it, "I get that."

The taxi slowed at a light, and the silence after that didn't feel empty. It felt like something had settled.

When he spoke again, his voice was lower. "You're different from most people who work around me."

I looked at him, "Is that good or bad?"

"Good," he said immediately. Then, after a pause: "You don't look at me like I'm a headline."

The words made my throat tighten a little. I looked out the window before he could notice.

"I am a fan," I said, the confession slipping out before I could stop it. "So maybe I'm not completely objective."

He was quiet for a beat. "A fan," he repeated, not suspicious, just careful.

I nodded once, "But I know where the line is."

His gaze held mine for a second too long, and I could feel my heartbeat in my fingers. Then he gave a small, almost tired smile, "That's probably why this is easier."

"Easier?"

"Talking to you," he said. "It feels easier."

LEE HEESEUNG

I looked at her then, really looked. She had the kind of face that didn't ask for attention, which was probably why it kept getting mine.

There was concentration in the set of her mouth, tiredness in the soft line under her eyes, and something else I couldn't name.

Maybe caution. Maybe hope. Maybe both.

She was watching the window like she was trying not to watch me. I noticed that too.

It should have made things awkward. Instead, it made me oddly calm.

There were so many people in my life who looked at me like I was either a product or a problem.

Yoru was different.

She looked like she was trying to understand the shape of a moment before she decided whether it was worth keeping.

The taxi slowed near the company district, and I realized I'd spent the whole ride thinking about her instead of the schedule waiting for me in the morning.

That was a problem.

A quiet one, but still a problem.

The car moved again, and for a while neither of us spoke.

But the silence had changed. It wasn't awkward anymore.

It was the kind that forms when two people stop pretending they don't understand each other at all.

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