#idol!au

"You'd be perfect if you were just a little luckier."

The manager probably meant it as a compliment. That's the funny thing about compliments. Sometimes they stay longer with you than insults.

You don't even remember his face anymore. Only the sentence. Human memory is a landfill. It discards entire beings and preserves fragments. Like the color of a stranger's umbrella glimpsed through the rain. A melody leaking from a convenience store radio. A sentence spoken carelessly by a man who probably forgot it before the meeting ended.

"You'd be perfect if you were just a little luckier."

As though luck were a skill. Something measurable. As if you could spend another hour in the studio and emerge with better odds.

The memory followed you into consciousness. It arrived before the sunlight.

Before the ache in your neck.

Before the familiar weight beneath your ribs.

By the time you opened your eyes, the room had already begun to brighten.

The dorm was suspended in that uncertain hour between night and morning, when the darkness had retreated but the day had not yet committed to arriving. The walls were washed in a weak grey. Your hoodie lay where you dropped it yesterday. Or the day before. A water bottle rested beside the desk, half-empty. Or half-full.

You suppose optimism has always been a matter of perspective.

The air tasted stale. The window had been shut for so long you couldn't remember opening it.

For a moment, you stayed exactly where you are. One arm was numb. Your cheek was creased from the pillow. Your mouth was dry in the particular way only mornings seem capable of achieving and the teeth felt fuzzy. Neither dirty nor clean. Just coated in the residue of being alive. It was disgusting when you thought about it.

Sleep was supposed to make you feel better. Most mornings it felt more like an intermission.

The mattress shifted beneath your weight. The springs complained—a tired metallic groan. You knew that noise. You had known it for years.

The same way you knew the stain on the ceiling looked like a non-existent continent.

Knowledge accumulated not through affection but repetition. Knowledge accumulated the way a river accumulates sediment. Slowly. Without permission.

Most people imagined their lives were built from grand moments. The triumphs and the tragedies. The turning points that split existence into before and after. But perhaps people were really assembled from smaller things. The details repeated so often they became part of the architecture of the self.

The room smelled faintly of detergent. The cheap kind the company bought in bulk. Sharp and artificial. Trying far too hard to smell clean.

You knew that smell too. But suddenly that felt unbearable. Not because there was anything wrong with the room. But because you had become fluent in it.

Every nook and cranny. Every smell and stubborn imperfection. As though the dorm had memorized you. Or worse — as though you had memorized it.

A laugh died somewhere behind your teeth. You had spent years trying to become unforgettable. Only to end up knowing the exact sound a cheap mattress made when you sat up too quickly.

There should have been a word for this. For dedicating years of your life to something and still feeling like a guest inside it. For standing in the middle of a dream you had spent so long chasing and realizing it fitted someone else better than you. Perhaps there was.

You dragged a hand down your face.

The digital clock read 7:12.

Somewhere down the hall, a door slammed. Someone laughed. Another swore.

Life continued with the stubborn persistence of a weed breaking through concrete. You considered staying in bed.

Not seriously. Just long enough to imagine it.

People thought quitting arrived like lightning. Most days it was only a passing thought. Gone before you had finished brushing your teeth.

You wondered how many times you had almost quit. Not enough, apparently.

A line surfaced from somewhere in the back of your mind.

Shakespeare.

"I have no spur to prick the sides of my intent, but only vaulting ambition."

You had always thought ambition was misunderstood. People talked about it like it was a virtue. Something polished or admirable. A shining thing. Most of the time it felt more like an old injury. The kind that healed incorrectly. You learned to move around it. You forgot it was there. Until someone brushed against it. Until someone said the wrong thing.

Then suddenly the ache returned.

"You'd be perfect if you were just a little luckier."

The worst part was that he hadn't been entirely wrong. You hated that. Almost as much as you hated the fact that part of you still cared.

The thought lingered longer than it should have. Then vanished faster than it felt.

One moment you were staring at a dormitory ceiling, feeling the thoughts turn in your head like gears. The next—your lungs were burning and the hands on your wristwatch pointed to 10 something.

The practice room mirrors glared back at you from every angle, merciless in their honesty. Overhead lights flooded the room in sterile white. Sweat trickled down the back of your neck.

For a second, you just stood there. Blinking. Panting in rapid and loud breaths.

Your towel hung around your shoulders, damp and heavy. Your shirt clung unpleasantly to your skin. Music reverberated through the floor beneath your feet, bass vibrating through bone.

Someone was speaking. You realized, belatedly, that they were speaking to you (well mostly).

"…and then he told me to shut up. Like the audacity!"

Sharp laughter erupted somewhere to your right. Several people groaned. You wiped your face with the edge of the towel.

"Huh?" It was like the room paused.

The girl, Chae-hwa, stared at you with an unreadable look in her eyes. "Damn."

"What?" you repeated, hands clutching the towel at the sudden attention, the dense loopy fiber suddenly felt course to you

"I've been talking for, like, three minutes." You considered apologizing. Then decided against it.

"Sounds important," you said, turning away from the other trainees with a sigh.

"It wasn't." A beat passed. "That's not the point."

You weren't entirely sure what the point was anymore.

A water bottle arced through the air. You caught it without looking. The movement happened before thought could reach it. Muscle memory.

Most of your life seemed to operate that way those days. The choreography. The schedules. The monthly evaluations—you name it.

The endless cycle of wanting something badly enough that it became indistinguishable from obligation.

You twisted the cap open. The water was uncomfortably warm. The kind of tepid drink that did not quench your thirst after hours of physical exertion. You drank it anyway.

Across the room, someone changed the music. The opening beat rattled through the speakers. Conversation died instantly.

Bodies shifted.

Everyone returned to their places. Like a flock startled into flight. Feet moving to find their marks. Hands lifting. Entire sequences unfolded without permission, as though some quieter version of themselves had taken the wheel.

Including you. Especially you.

Your body obeyed before your mind did.

Burial. Layer after layer of practice pressed beneath your skin until it became instinct.

Left. Turn. Step. Again. And again.

The strange thing about exhaustion was that eventually it stopped feeling like tiredness. It settled deeper than that. Into muscle and habit. Into the space between thought and movement.

Which meant that when the lines blurred, you would realize that you had simply forgotten how to stop.

The music ended mid-beat, and silence rushed in to occupy the space it left behind.

A collective groan followed. Someone collapsed dramatically onto the floor.

You hooked the towel around your neck, offering your throat to the air as you slid down the mirror wall, pulling your knees up to your chest. Your lungs were still trying to negotiate with the rest of your body. You grunted, the sound low, hollow, and utterly spent.

Sweat slid down the side of your face. The mirrors blurred beneath the harsh lights. Or maybe your vision did. It was hard to tell anymore.

"Sunbae." You glanced over.

One of the newer trainees stood nearby. He was tall and looked polite.

The look of a kid who apologized when somebody else stepped on his foot.

"Yeah?" He shifted his weight. He sat down beside you while maintaining a strangely respectful distance. The sort of space anyone barely gave regardless of age these days.

He looked strangely nervous. Then:

"I was just curious about how long you've been here," he asked softly. It didn't hurt. It was just familiar. Like touching a bruise to see whether it still throbbed. A small pause later he added, "it's just that the others said you are the oldest here." Your eyes trailed the maladroit explanation that was demonstrated by alot of hand movement. After a few moments of silence, you replied.

"Six years and a few months. Give or take." His eyes widened slightly. Right on cue. You looked away toward the mirror before it arrived. Because it always arrived.

"But—given your reputation," he paused, as if wondering if he should continue, "given how talented you are, shouldn't you—" He cut himself off, scratching his nape awkwardly.

"Yeah, well, that's impressive." Even more awkward laughter followed. The kind people used to patch over a conversation they had accidentally damaged. Because silence had a way of making people uncomfortable, and you had just handed him plenty of it.

You could almost hear the questions forming behind his eyes.

Persistent. Dedicated. Look how young she is. She spent her entire childhood here?

Nobody said it. Nobody ever did. They let the sentence die before it reached their lips. As though mercy existed in omission.

It didn't make it any gentler. A blade doesn't become less sharp simply because nobody names it.

Your phone vibrated. The screen lit up. For a moment, you only stared at the name

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips—a nervous tic that you had developed over the years. You didn't particularly dislike the sender, but some names became associated with places. Conference rooms. Evaluations. Plastic water bottles arranged neatly across long tables. The slow erosion of expectation.

Your thumb hesitated. Then tapped on it.

Come see me after practice.

Nothing else. No explanation. No urgency. One ordinary sentence.

Your pulse stumbled uncomfortably anyway. The body remembers things the mind grows tired of carrying.

"Everything okay?" The question came from the new trainee, whom you just noticed was still sitting beside you.

You locked your phone. "Probably." Too quick. Too automatic. As though good news had ever arrived in a message that shorT.

Around you, conversation resumed. Life continued with the confidence of people who still believed tomorrow belonged to them. You stared at your reflection. Sweat-darkened shirt. Hair stuck to your forehead.

A face made familiar by repetition. A face you had seen in dressing-room mirrors and bathroom mirrors and practice-room mirrors and elevator mirrors.

A face that suddenly felt temporary.

The thought arrived so quietly it almost slipped past unnoticed. Maybe this is it. Seven years is the pathetic end of the line.

Long enough for seasons to change. Long enough for entire trainee generations to come and go. Long enough for potential to become a question instead of a promise. The idea should have terrified you. Instead—relief. Small, sharp, and sudden, hits. Gone almost immediately.

There was the possibility of an ending. The possibility of putting down something you had carried for so long that you had forgotten what it weighed. Guilt followed a second later, as predictable as gravity.

For those who weren't first in this continuous and endless race, burnout waited at the finish line—if they even reached it, that was. Raw and immovable. Even the most successful ones didn't get the warmth of commemoration nor caresses.

After practice ended, you remained where you were. Still enough for a passerby to think that you were trying to count the droplets of sweat that dripped down from your face to the floor. Your phone felt heavier in your pocket. Five words. Not many people could ruin an afternoon in five words. You sighed, you do that a lot these days.

Moving toward something had always made it harder to pretend it wasn't real.

The hallway outside was colder than the practice room. The glass panels threw your reflection back at you. You looked past it.

The walk should have taken two minutes. You made it take seven. Then eight.

At one point, you stopped to check your phone. Nothing.

No new messages or missed calls. You stared at the screen anyway. Wishing that another notification might appear and spare you from the first.

Halfway down the corridor, a thought caught you off guard.

If they terminate my contract today—who do I tell?

Your footsteps faltered. The answer arrived immediately.

Nobody. Nobody cares.

The words landed with a dull sort of finality. Years ago, there would've been another answer.

Your mother. Before every evaluation. Every showcase. Both of the almost-debuts—those frantic weeks where you had tried on stage outfits, only to pack them back into suitcases when the groups dissolved before the first teasers could even drop. Every tiny victory inflated by excitement into something enormous. You would've called her first

Like a hand withdrawing from a flame, out of motor reflex, you shoved that thought down.

Your thumb hovered over your contacts. Names. Phone numbers. People you cared about. People who probably cared about you. Friends. Former trainees. Some mentors. A dozen conversations waiting to be resumed. People already carrying enough weight. Enough that adding to it made your chest feel heavy.

Yet none of them felt like the person you would call when a life ended. Because that is what this would be. Not your life exactly, just the version of it you had been constructing since you were ten years old. Brick by brick. Practice by practice. Evaluation by evaluation.

You wondered what happened to dreams after they were declared dead. Whether they got buried somewhere. Whether there was a ceremony. Flowers. A eulogy. A polished plaque engraved with something respectable.

'Here lies Potential.'

The thought should have been funny. It wasn't.

You kept walking while the building hummed around you. Managers carrying coffee and employees carrying laptops. People who were all pretending to know what they were doing. You used to think adulthood came with certainty.

Now you suspected everyone was improvising. Some were simply better at hiding it.

The conference room waited at the end of the corridor. The door was closed. You stopped in front of it, and suddenly the hallway felt very quiet. For a moment, all you could hear was your own breathing. Seven years distilled into a closed door and a trembling hand. It was ridiculous.

You curled your fingers toward the wood. But just before your knuckles met it—the handle turned first. The door swung inward. You stepped back automatically. The person emerging did the same.

A near-collision with a man tall enough to classify as a pole. Silky brown hair was pushed back from his forehead with a hairband, and rimless glasses hung from his nose, looking one careless nod away from falling off. He had a black folder tucked beneath one arm.

There was a particular look people wore after spending years chasing something. You had the ability to recognize it immediately.

After all, it was knowledge accumulated not through affection but repetition. You recognized it because you saw it in the surface of every mirror you stood in front of.

The exhaustion sat differently on everyone. On some people, it sags. On others, it hardens. His had settled somewhere behind his eyes.

His gaze landed on you. Briefly. Not long enough to become rude. Not short enough to be accidental. A flicker of recognition passed between strangers who had occupied the same building for too many years. The ecosystem of people perpetually waiting for permission to begin their lives. Perhaps something adjacent to familiarity.

The moment slipped away. He shifted to the side. You noticed the distance he left. Just a few inches. Enough. The space reserved for strangers. Or for people carrying fragile things, there was no in between. His eyes were still on you. Assessing carefully.

"Sorry." His voice was rough around the edges. Overused. Like he had spent hours arguing with someone.

Despite the fact that it was nothing but a careless apology thrown at a stranger, to you, it felt oddly heavy.

You nodded once. The universal language of people who had no intention of having a conversation. The exchange ended there. He continued down the corridor. Long strides. Head lowered slightly. The folder (now lowered) tapped gently against his leg with every step. Then he disappeared around the corner.

The silence returned. You stared after him for a moment. There was something oddly comforting about seeing another person leave a room you were terrified to enter. Proof that survival remained possible.

The conference room waited. The open door revealed only a sliver of the interior. Small plants littered the brightly lit room. They all looked vaguely like plastic.

The office was smaller than you had expected. Not cramped. Just ordinary. A desk. A few chairs. A framed platinum record hanging slightly crooked on the wall. The sort of room where futures were discussed in the same tone people used to discuss lunch.

The man behind the desk looked up when you entered. Mr. Choi. He smiled, motioning for you to sit down.

With your lips in between your teeth, and legs dragging behind you like wet blankets, you did.

He slid a folder toward you, it was yellow. At that moment, you weren't sure why that bothered you so much.

Maybe because yellow was the colour of summer. Children's drawings pinned to refrigerator doors. Bright and happy. This yellow looked tired. Muted by lighting and fingerprints. The color of something handled too many times. The front page read :

CORTIS. An acronym for 'Color outside the lines'.

The words landed softly. That was somehow worse.

You stared at the folder, unblinking, as if maybe by looking long enough, you would wake up from this dream. It felt cold and the bristly texture irritated the tip of your finger.

You had always imagined this moment in your head. Not often.

The future had been dangerous territory when you were a trainee. Most people learned not to visit it too frequently.

Still—sometimes when it was late at night. On the walk back to the dorm. Or perhaps during evaluations.

You had imagined hearing the word debut. You had imagined relief. Excitement. Vindication. The sudden certainty that all those years had been building toward something.

Instead, all you felt was strangely disconnected from your own body. As though the room had shifted half an inch to the left. As though reality had made a decision without consulting you.

The manager continued speaking. Schedules and preparations and training adjustments—you name it. But the words all drifted past. All meaningless.

The manager noticed your expression. "You've worked very hard," he said, then nodded as if he were satisfied with the words of encouragement he had offered. As if they would be the medicine to the sickness that plagued your mind right then.

CORTIS. Everybody knew CORTIS. Not officially. Companies loved pretending secrets remained secret.

A debut rumored to be weeks away. A lineup polished so thoroughly it had practically become fact.

Your gaze lingered on the pages. The concept sketches, recording schedules, and the styling notes; the promo ideas and, of course, the lineup.

Every page told the same story.

Five boys standing shoulder to shoulder. Five shadows cast in the same direction. Five pieces cut to fit together.

Five. Five. Five.

Five boys. CORTIS wasn't a mixed group. It was a pathetic testament to how much effort people were willing to spend making sure everything fit together.

A completed shape.

Your name sat at the edge of it now. New ink on an old blueprint. The realization settled somewhere beneath your ribs. Nothing inside this folder felt new. Except you.

Companies were capable of astonishing things. Apparently, common sense rarely ranked among them those days.

Mr. Choi called your name. You looked up.

"Do you have any questions?" Thousands. None of them useful. None that could be satisfied with whatever answer he would offer.

You thought of the brunette trainee leaving the room. The folder beneath his arm.

The careful distance he had left between the two of you.

The split second of recognition which you had labeled as 'something adjacent to familiarity' You were wrong. Terribly so. The apology made more sense now.

A strange pressure unfurled beneath your ribs.

Your excitement (not really) folded in on itself. Collapsing like a star at the end of its life. The feeling of arriving late to your own life. Because for seven years you had imagined a door opening. You had never imagined walking through it and finding people already seated.

Already comfortable. Already belonging to one another. For years, the future had been simple.

Someday. Everything lived inside someday.

Someday you would debut.

Someday things would make sense.

Someday all the sacrifices would line up neatly beside the reward and balance the equation.

Now someday sat inside a folder with the names of five boys.

Printed and scheduled and painfully real.

The strange feeling stretched further and further into the shape of a question.

One sharp enough to draw blood.

How do you join a future that already learned how to exist without you?

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It was already late into the night, the kind where the streets outside had gone quiet but the practice room was anything but.

The air was thick—drenched in sweat, faint cologne, and the constant squeak of sneakers against the polished wooden floor. The mirrored wall across from them reflected every ragged breath, every strained movement, every ounce of exhaustion.

“Again!” their dance instructor barked, clapping his hands together. His voice echoed sharp and merciless across the room.

Jungwon’s chest rose and fell violently as he dragged his forearm across his damp forehead, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. He locked eyes with his own reflection, the stern set of his brows shadowing his otherwise soft features.

His voice slipped past his lips in a mutter, low enough to not carry past himself but sharp enough to sting.

“For fuck’s sake…”

Jake, stretching nearby with a water bottle dangling from his hand, heard it anyway. He turned his head, catching the way Jungwon’s lips twisted with irritation.

“Hey,” Jake warned lightly, shooting him a side-eye. “Cameras.”

Jungwon’s gaze flickered toward the black domes in the corners of the ceiling, red lights blinking back at him like taunting eyes. He raised one brow at Jake, unimpressed.

“What?” Jungwon’s tone was cool, deliberately flat, like he dared Jake to call him out louder.

Jake just smirked and lifted his hands in mock surrender, the bottle glinting under the fluorescent lights. “Nothing, nothing. Just don’t let your little rebellion end up on some kind of compilation.”

Jungwon scoffed, turning away, flexing his fingers against his thighs as he bent over to catch his breath. Every muscle in his body ached, yet the instructor clapped his hands again.

“Positions. Let’s go.”

He pushed the damp blond strands away from his forehead, annoyed by how they stuck stubbornly to his skin. His mop of once meticulously styled hair—glossy, parted just right when the day began—was now a tangled, sweat-soaked mess.

The sight alone made his scowl deepen.

“I swear to God…” he muttered under his breath, jaw tightening as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror again.

For a split second, his irritation cracked.

The memory slipped in uninvited—your delicate fingers brushing through his hair earlier that morning, gentle but firm, carding through the blond until every strand was in place.

He could still remember the faint smell of the hair oil you patted in, how your sleepy voice had murmured, “Blond looks good on you, Wonnie…” before you’d hidden your face in your pillow again.

That had made him smile then, despite the ungodly hour of his schedule. But now? Now he looked like a wreck. He hated it.

Shaking his head to chase the thought away, Jungwon shifted into position beside Heeseung. The older’s bright red hair practically glowed under the harsh fluorescent lights, a beacon against his own muted mess.

“You okay?” Heeseung asked quietly, shooting him a quick glance from the corner of his eye, his voice low enough to not draw their instructor’s attention.

Jungwon’s tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth. “Define okay.” His voice came out clipped, dry, like he was daring Heeseung to press further.

Heeseung’s lips quirked into a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “That bad, huh?”

“Worse,” Jungwon muttered, dragging a hand across his face before planting his feet firmly on the floor. His reflection in the mirror looked back at him: hair clinging, chest rising too fast, exhaustion painting shadows under his eyes.

Behind him, Sunghoon let out a long sigh, running a hand through his dark, sweat-damp hair. “Look on the bright side,” he said, voice low but carrying just enough sarcasm to make it sting. “This is our last run before tomorrow’s filming.”

Across the room, Jake groaned dramatically, tilting his head back like he’d just been told the world was ending. “Fuck,” he muttered, hand dragging down his face. “I forgot about tomorrow’s schedule.”

That was enough to make Jungwon’s faint scowl deepen into a sharper edge.

He snapped his head toward them, the corners of his lips curling down. “I said I wanted to be an idol my whole life, not a fucking robot.” His voice was flat, tired, but it cut through the air anyway.

Sunghoon couldn’t help the small snicker that slipped out, brushing sweat from his temple as he shot Jungwon a side-eye. “Well, aren’t you just a little bundle of joy tonight?”

The jab earned him a sharp smack on the arm from Heeseung, who didn’t even bother to hide his exasperation. The eldest shook his head, mouthing a stern ‘don’t’ as his eyes flicked between them.

Jungwon scoffed, turning back toward the mirror without another word, letting the sound hang in the air. His silence was louder than anything he could’ve said.

It was enough to make Sunghoon realize his mistake. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he shifted his weight and muttered, “Sorry.”

Jungwon’s head shook almost instantly, quick and dismissive. He didn’t look at Sunghoon, didn’t acknowledge the apology with anything more than a twitch in his jaw.

“Okay!” the instructor’s voice rang out again, clapping his hands together. “Second pre-chorus. Sunoo, get in the center.”

Sunoo groaned softly under his breath, rolling his shoulders back as he pushed himself forward.

Usually, he moved into place with a bright grin or some sarcastic remark, but the longevity of the day was etched across his face. His smile had dulled, fading into something neutral, heavy-lidded eyes betraying the same exhaustion clinging to all of them.

Dragging his sneakers across the polished floor, Sunoo took his place in the center. He rolled his shoulders once more, letting his arms fall loose at his sides, trying to summon the energy that had long since burned out hours ago.

Even the way he glanced around—at Jungwon’s clenched jaw, at Jake’s slouched posture, at Sunghoon still rubbing his arm where Heeseung smacked him—said it all.

No one wanted to be here anymore. But the cameras blinked red, the mirrors reflected everything, and their instructor was already counting them back in.

Sunoo sighed as he rolled his shoulders back into place, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. From behind him, Ni-ki’s low mumble carried across the floor, just loud enough for the rest of them to catch.

“Just pretend like you give a fuck.”

Normally, a comment like that would’ve earned him an earful, but Jay—usually the first to berate the youngest—actually let out a laugh, shaking his head as he moved into formation.

“You’re gonna get us killed,” he said, though the corners of his lips curved up like he wasn’t really mad at all.

The track started again, heavy bass rattling through the speakers, and their bodies moved almost automatically, like machines programmed to the beat.

Jungwon’s body betrayed him—sharp lines, precise movements—but his mind cursed with every step. Each count felt like dragging his lungs through quicksand.

Finally, the music cut.

“That’s better than last time,” their instructor announced, voice stern but with the faintest edge of approval. “Okay, we’re doing one or two more full runs. Take five for now.”

Jungwon dragged a hand across his damp face, the other tugging irritably at his compression shirt, the cling of sweat making it suffocating.

“I just wanna go home,” he muttered, words almost lost in his panting breath.

Jay nudged him with his shoulder as they walked off to the side, his voice carrying a teasing lilt. “Tough it out just a little more. I know you’re itching to run away from here.”

Jungwon’s lips twisted into a tired, shit-eating grin as he glanced sideways at him. “Tempting.”

Jay barked out a laugh, handing over a fresh, unopened water bottle. “Here.”

“Thanks,” Jungwon muttered, uncapping it immediately and taking a long swig.

“Anytime.”

Leaning back against the wall, Jungwon tilted his head up toward the ceiling, the fluorescent lights burning into his half-lidded eyes. His chest heaved, words slipping out without much thought. “To say this is killing me would be an understatement.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jay sighed, sinking down against the mirror with his own bottle. “But it’ll get worse tomorrow with the filming, too.”

Jungwon groaned at the reminder, the weight of exhaustion settling even heavier in his bones. His frown deepened, brows knitting together as another thought clawed its way out. “I’m worried about (Y/N)…”

Jay’s brows rose at the sudden shift in topic. It wasn’t unusual—Jungwon had been dating you for three years now, and if there was one thing Jay could count on, it was that their leader couldn’t go more than a few hours without bringing your name into conversation.

Memories of it played in his head, vivid and unshakable. Like that one time—

They’d been crammed into one of the company’s meeting rooms, albums scattered across the table as the members flipped through their second mini.

You’d sat pressed against Jungwon’s side, your eyes bright as you sifted through the pile. Then you found it—his in-demand photocard. The one where he peeked around a wall holding a stuffed bear, an image fans had been practically fighting over.

You’d gasped so loudly the others turned their heads. “Look!” you squealed, waving the photocard like it was a trophy. “This one! I got this one!”

Beside you, Jungwon laughed so hard he had to brace a hand against the table, his phone in his other hand recording the entire scene.

Even Jay, who’d been wary of your relationship being exposed at first, couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

Heeseung leaned back in his chair, watching with amused disbelief. “You see him every day,” he teased, tilting his head. “What’s the difference?”

“This one is in demand,” you shot back proudly, waving it again. “And really expensive, too. So.”

Jungwon shrugged, finally putting his phone aside and leaning closer, mischief tugging at his lips. “Well, it must’ve known I’m your very amazing boyfriend.”

He gestured toward the open albums sprawled across the table, grabbing a marker like it was second nature. “C’mon, let me sign the back.”

Your face lit up, and you leaned closer against him, your smile wide and unrestrained. Jungwon slid the now-signed photocard across the table to you, his fingers brushing yours.

Without hesitation, you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss against his cheek.

Heeseung’s laugh rang out immediately, the sound bouncing around the walls as Jungwon’s ears flushed red almost instantly.

Jay had muttered under his breath, half in disbelief and half amused, “Young love…”

You only grinned wider, clutching the photocard against your chest. “Thanks, Wonnie.”

Jungwon had smiled so hard his dimples carved deep into his cheeks, eyes sparkling like he hadn’t just been caught off guard in front of his members. “No problem, baby.”

And then there was the other time—you surprised them with home-cooked meals during the filming of their Dark Blood photoshoot. You’d somehow roped the staff into your little plan, and they’d smuggled you right onto set.

Jungwon had been sitting on the mirrored floor, waiting for the director’s cue. His hair—black with blond streaks glinting under the set lights—fell into his eyes.

He puffed a strand away, careful not to knock over the candle holders surrounding him, half of his mind trained on looking perfect for the cameras, the other half drifting back to you.

You’d been fast asleep in his hotel room that morning, and he hadn’t wanted to wake you. He’d even argued with himself that he could just call a car for you later.

The director’s voice cut sharp: “Nice—hold it! One more.”

Jungwon immediately snapped into his sharp gaze, jaw tight, shoulders squared. The cameras clicked and flashed—and then, suddenly, his focus shattered.

Because standing just behind the director, peeking in with the shyest little smile, was you.

Jungwon’s brows furrowed, lips parting in disbelief. “…Is that—”

“Hi, Wonnie,” you chirped, tilting your head sweetly.

His body reacted before his brain could. He scrambled off the mirrored floor, his boots clattering as he stepped onto the concrete, ignoring the staff’s startled murmurs. In seconds, you were swept into his arms.

“Jungwon!” you yelped, half laughing, half panicking. “There are cameras—”

“I don’t care,” he mumbled into your hair, voice muffled but firm. His arms wrapped tighter around your waist, pulling you flush against him like he’d been deprived for weeks instead of just hours.

The staff around you burst into laughter, a few shaking their heads at their leader’s sudden break in composure. Someone even whispered, “He’s whipped, huh?”

You gave a sheepish smile over Jungwon’s shoulder, waving awkwardly at the cameras still filming the very real scene. “Uhm… hi.”

When you finally wiggled back just enough to breathe, you grinned and gestured down to the stacks of boxes by your feet. “I brought food.”

Jungwon blinked, then his face broke into a soft smile that was so different from the sharp, cold gaze he’d had for the shoot. “You remembered?”

“Of course,” you said proudly. “You were craving chicken last night, remember? So I brought enough for you, the members, and the staff.”

The set erupted in a chorus of grateful voices.

“Thank you, (Y/N)!”

“You’re a lifesaver!”

“Bless you, seriously.”*

Your cheeks warmed under all the attention, but Jungwon didn’t let you go. Instead, he pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, uncaring of the fact that the cameras caught every second.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, his words warm against your skin.

Your chest tightened, a helpless smile tugging at your lips. “I love you too, Wonnie.”

And if his grip tightened just a little more at your response, no one dared to point it out.

Those were just a few of the countless memories Jay had of you and Jungwon being practically glued together. It wasn’t even intentional—you just had this way of fitting seamlessly into Jungwon’s world, like he’d been born to hold you close, like every space in his life had been waiting for you to fill it.

Jay leaned back on the practice room wall, watching quietly as their young leader stood next to him, water bottle turning idly in his hands. Jungwon’s brows were furrowed, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

“Why’s that?” Jay finally asked, his voice calm but laced with curiosity.

Jungwon glanced up, startled out of his daze. He hesitated, jaw working before he let out a quiet sigh. “With comeback season… I feel like I’m being a bad boyfriend.”

Jay raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt, letting him talk.

“I’m always gone these past few months,” Jungwon continued, shoulders sinking as he traced his thumb over the bottle’s ridges.

“Whenever I leave, she’s still asleep. When I come home, we’re both too tired from work and… routines.” His voice softened on the last word, like it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

There was a pause as he took a slow sip of water, the sound of the cap twisting back on filling the silence.

“I don’t want us to fall apart because of my schedule,” he admitted, his voice low, almost vulnerable.

Jay tilted his head, studying him. It wasn’t often Jungwon let his composure slip like this. Normally, he was all sharp words and leader-mode confidence, but now his eyes looked younger, a little glassy under the fluorescent lights.

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit,” Jay said finally. “(Y/N)’s not stupid. She knows what she signed up for—knows what it means to be with you. If anything, she’s tougher than you think.”

Jungwon gave a small, humorless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know she’s strong. That’s the problem. She keeps putting me first… even when she shouldn’t.”

Jay let the words settle, then leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “So, what are you gonna do about it?”

Jungwon blinked at him, almost startled.

“Don’t just sit there sulking, man. Plan something. Even if it’s small. Remind her that she’s more than just the person waiting for you at home. You’re her boyfriend, not just some idol she has to share with the world.”

Jungwon swallowed, the knot in his throat tightening. His grip on the water bottle flexed, knuckles paling. Slowly, he nodded. “…Yeah. You’re right.”

Jay clapped him lightly on the shoulder, firm enough to break him out of his spiral, then pushed himself off the wall with a stretch. “So,” he asked casually, lips quirking, “what do you have in mind?”

Jungwon’s gaze flickered, the image of you surfacing immediately in his mind—your laugh, the way you wrinkled your nose when he teased you, the warmth of your hand tucked in his.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips, sharp and just a little mocking. He tilted his head, dimples threatening to appear.

“You aren’t gonna like the next words that’ll come out of my mouth.”

Jay groaned before he even heard it, already rolling his eyes. “Shut the fuck up. I practically raised both you and Sunoo, and now you’re out here saying shit like that in front of our own father? That’s sick, man.”

A startled laugh burst out of Jungwon, his shoulders shaking as he leaned forward. “Okay, first of all, that’s you admitting you’re old,” he shot back, voice dripping with faux pity.

Jay squinted at him, but the corner of his lips twitched.

“And second,” Jungwon added, pointing his water bottle at him like a weapon, “don’t ever call yourself Dad again. That’s weird. I will actually walk out of this group.”

For a beat, Jay only stared at him—then a slow, shit-eating grin stretched across his face. He jabbed a finger toward Jungwon like he’d just uncovered the scandal of the year.

“…Is it, though? Or do you just get called Daddy in bed?”

The words hit the air like a grenade.

Jungwon’s jaw dropped, a scoff ripping out of him so sharp it sounded offended down to his soul. “What the fuck—no. Out of everyone in this group, me? Seriously?”

He whipped his head around, glaring at Jay like he’d lost his mind. “Why aren’t we pointing fingers at Heeseung?”

Heeseung, mid-stretch, froze. “…Me?” His brows furrowed in pure confusion.

The room shifted like the air had been electrified. Both Jay and Jungwon turned their heads toward him in unison, the accusation hanging heavy.

Heeseung blinked. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a sly smirk as he raised his arm—pointing a long, accusing finger straight at Ni-ki.

The youngest gawked, his jaw slack. “What?”

Jungwon’s laugh slipped out before he could stop it, sharp and gleeful. “You didn’t deny it.”

Ni-ki sputtered, throwing his hands up. “Because who the hell corners someone like that? That’s—”

Heeseung only folded his arms over his chest, leaning back into his spot at center. His voice dropped into that calm, dangerous register that always got under Ni-ki’s skin. “I don’t know… maybe you do have a Daddy kink we don’t know about.”

The entire group erupted in noise. Jay howled, clutching his stomach. Jungwon snickered, hard. Even Sunoo, who had been trying to keep his cool in the corner, was suddenly bent over, shaking with laughter.

Ni-ki scowled, face scrunching like he’d just bitten into something sour. He snapped his head toward Sunghoon, desperate for backup. “Dude—say something!”

But Sunghoon just raised a brow, lips quirking into a wolfish grin. He tilted his head, voice lilting with faux innocence. “…Do you?”

Ni-ki’s eyes widened like he’d been stabbed in the back. “Oh my fucking god—” His voice cracked as he spun in a circle, glaring at each of them. “Fuck you. Fuck all of you.”

Laughter exploded across the practice room, loud and unrestrained, bouncing off the mirrors until it filled every corner. Even Heeseung’s usually composed demeanor cracked into full-blown laughter as Ni-ki stood there fuming.

Sunghoon’s grin widened, he casually strolled over, draping an arm over the youngest’s shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Really, Daddy?” he teased, voice pitched low and playful.

Ni-ki immediately shrugged him off with a huff, his scowl deepening. “Very mature,” he bit out, glaring at him like he’d just committed treason.

That only sent Jake doubling over, clutching his stomach as wheezy laughter poured out of him. Jay, who had been standing shoulder-to-shoulder with an amused Jungwon, finally lost the last of his composure and let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head.

And then Heeseung twisted the knife. “Yeah, Daddy,” he said in a mock-serious tone, lifting a brow. “What about fucking me?”

Sunoo’s jaw dropped before he smacked Heeseung’s arm with a choked-out, “Hyung!” The staff standing near the cameras tried to cover their mouths, but even they couldn’t help the chuckles slipping out. One of them muttered something like, boys will be boys, shaking their head at the mess.

Jungwon could only chuckle, watching the whole disaster unfold. He shook his head, exhaling as he bent to set his water bottle down by the wall before striding closer.

“Alright, alright,” he said, patting Ni-ki’s shoulder as the younger sulked, arms crossed so tight they might fuse to his chest. “Stop tormenting the kid.”

“They’re bullying me,” Ni-ki grumbled, voice low but just loud enough for everyone to hear. His cheeks were pink, his jaw tight with indignation.

Jungwon couldn’t stop the teasing smile that tugged at his lips. He tilted his head, eyes glinting as he leaned closer. “Well… do you, or do you not, have a Daddy kink?”

Ni-ki groaned, shoving Jungwon away from him like he was contagious. “Horndogs,” he muttered, glaring at all of them in turn. “All of you.”

Their laughter was cut short when a sharp clap echoed across the room. The instructor’s voice sliced through their bubble of fun like a blade. “Positions. From the top.”

The groans were instant but muted, swallowed down as years of training forced them back into line. Jungwon’s smile vanished almost immediately, his jaw tightening as he trudged back to his spot. His shoulders squared, expression rearranged into something harder, sharper.

Beside him, Jake let out a soft sigh, his hand reaching out to pat Jungwon’s back a few times, more comfort than encouragement. “Just a few more minutes,” he murmured.

Jungwon grumbled under his breath, barely audible, but the bitterness clung to his voice. His gaze dropped to the polished floorboards, then flickered back up toward the mirror—only to catch the way his own reflection seemed almost foreign to him.

For a second, his mind drifted again, unbidden, to you. The way you’d smiled at him last time you said goodbye, that sleepy look in your eyes. The guilt twisted his stomach. A worried look ghosted across his face before he could stop it—

But it was gone in an instant when he noticed the instructor’s gaze land on him, sharp and observant, like a hawk searching for prey. Jungwon’s mouth pressed into a firm line. If there was one thing he refused to hand over to this man, it was his emotional vulnerability.

Not here. Not in front of someone who would twist it into ammunition against them later.

The instructor clapped again. “Good. Stay sharp. If you’re tired, don’t show me. The cameras are rolling, and weakness doesn’t sell.”

Jungwon’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the smallest flicker of defiance burning in them. He wasn’t above using his own influence when needed—the weight of his reputation, the respect his name carried. He knew where the line was drawn, and he knew damn well how close he could walk to it.

But right now, all he could do was lift his chin, adjust his stance, and pretend he wasn’t silently counting down the minutes until freedom.

Jungwon’s chest rose and fell, shallow and uneven, the beads of sweat trailing down his temple sticking strands of hair to his skin.

His jaw clenched as he angrily raked a hand through his damp hair, pulling it back only for it to fall messily into his face again. The scowl etched deep into his features said more than words ever could.

Jake, still catching his breath, exchanged a wary glance with Heeseung. The older only shook his head, the smallest movement, like a silent warning not to push it.

They were just as tired, lungs burning and muscles aching, but the weight on Jungwon’s shoulders was different—heavier, harsher.

Silence from him had been the biggest warning sign. Ever since the second half of practice started, he hadn’t spoken unless absolutely necessary. Just sharp nods, curt commands, or that unreadable stare in the mirror that screamed he was somewhere far from the room.

“Come on,” Jungwon mumbled, voice low but firm, forcing his body into position again. The rest of the members scrambled to follow, careful not to agitate him further.

No one dared complain. Not when his tone left no room for argument.

The only sound filling the room now was the echo of sneakers against polished wood and the faint hum of the remaining camera lens moving.

Four cameras had been filming them earlier, but Jungwon had waved three off, muttering that everyone was tired enough without more eyes picking them apart. Only one remained now, tucked into the corner—and even its quiet whir felt intrusive.

“Alright,” their choreographer’s voice cut through the heavy air, sharp enough to make shoulders stiffen. Everyone froze in place, chests heaving.

Jungwon’s head whipped up, eyes snapping toward him with a practiced blankness. But the moment his gaze broke away, it fell to his shoes, like the sight of his scuffed sneakers was suddenly fascinating. Anything to keep from letting too much show.

“Well,” the choreographer started. His expression gave nothing, which only made the unease coil tighter in their stomachs. “It’s a bit better than earlier… and the last few weeks.”

Low sighs rippled through the group. Even that tiny acknowledgment wasn’t enough to soothe the tension.

“I expected better.” The words landed like stones, each one heavy. His voice sharpened, disappointment laced in every syllable.

“What happened to those two weeks of endless practice? Are we starting to go soft on you boys?”

Nobody spoke.

“You’re not even in sync again,” he continued, his gaze cutting through them one by one. The silence pressed heavier, the only sound the faint buzz of the overhead lights and their uneven breathing. “This isn’t acceptable. Not at this level.”

He paused. Let it hang. Then his eyes narrowed toward the back.

“You two.”

Sunoo and Ni-ki stiffened instantly, like deer caught in headlights.

“I expected more during your parts.” His tone was calm, but biting—disappointment worse than outright anger. “Especially you, Ni-ki.”

The youngest’s throat bobbed as he forced himself to nod, lips pressed into a thin line. His shoulders slumped as he muttered, “Yes, sir,” barely above a whisper.

Jungwon’s fists curled at his sides, nails digging crescents into his palms. He could feel his pulse thundering, the bitter taste of frustration clawing up his throat.

He hated this—hated watching the people he cared about get torn down, hated not being able to protect them without making it worse.

But the choreographer wasn’t done.

“Heeseung.”

Every head turned.

“You have a lot of center parts. Try to act a little more focused. If you won’t bother, then maybe don’t bother at all.”

The words sliced clean through the room, crueler than they needed to be. Heeseung, who usually had no issue biting back when something felt unfair, stayed silent this time. His lips pressed thin, jaw tight, as he gave a stiff nod, shoulders squared in that quiet show of restraint.

Jungwon’s scowl deepened. He raked a hand through his damp hair again, strands sticking to his forehead, before finally raising his head. His eyes locked with the choreographer’s across the mirror-lined room, one brow quirking up as if daring him to say something more.

And he did.

“Jungwon.” The man’s voice was condescending. “I know you’re balancing a lot on your shoulders as the leader. But can you start working more on your parts? You seem lifeless.”

That was it. The last fraying string of patience inside him snapped.

A humorless laugh broke from Jungwon’s chest, sharp and mocking. A smirk tugged at his lips as he straightened up, posture dripping with challenge. “You done?”

The change in the room was immediate—Jay exchanged a wide-eyed glance with their manager, who was already hurrying toward the lone camera.

“Turn it off. Now,” the manager barked at the team, and the red recording light blinked into darkness just as Jungwon’s voice rose.

“Is this all you do? Bark orders all day like we’re a bunch of damn dogs?” His tone was cutting, venom curling through every word.

The choreographer blinked, momentarily astonished by the outburst, but he recovered quickly, lips curling into a cruel smirk. “If this is too much for you, then maybe this comeback shouldn’t have been released at all.”

Jungwon’s vision tunneled. Heat burned up his neck as his body moved before his mind could stop him—a step forward, fists curling, his hand already twitching toward the man’s collar.

But Sung­hoon was faster. His grip locked firm around Jungwon’s arm, stopping him inches away.

“Let go of me,” Jungwon growled, voice low and dangerous, eyes still fixed on his target.

Sung­hoon’s grip only tightened, knuckles white. “Don’t,” he muttered under his breath, his voice the anchor in the storm, though tension lined his shoulders too.

Jake stepped forward too, ready to intervene if it went further, his expression torn between worry and fear.

Jungwon only scoffed, jerking against Sung­hoon’s hold but not enough to break free. His eyes burned holes into the choreographer.

“Listen here,” he spat, voice rising again. “You may be older than any of us—hell, you may be older than our manager—but that doesn’t give you the fucking right to talk down to us.”

A pause. His chest heaved, every muscle tense as he tried—and failed—to filter his words, to blunt the edge just enough to avoid total disaster. He knew their team might have his head for this. Knew every second was digging his grave deeper.

But he didn’t care.

No one talked to his members like that. No one talked to him like that.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Jungwon continued, voice sharp and merciless.

“Are you forgetting that we didn’t hire you? Our company did. We’ve been sitting around here for months, expecting you’d be some kind of backup because our original choreographer got sick—but no.”

He scoffed, venom lacing his tone. “You’re all just fucking talk, aren’t you?”

The room was silent except for the sound of his ragged breathing.

Even the staff, usually unfazed by tense rehearsals, stood frozen, wide-eyed. The members didn’t move either—torn between supporting their leader and being terrified of what would happen next.

The choreographer laughed, a cruel sound that grated in everyone’s ears. “As if you had the guts to actually go against the company. Go ahead—punch me. I’m sure your pretty little girlfriend would love to see you ruin everything you’ve worked for.”

And that was the only confirmation Jungwon needed.

His arm ripped free from Sunghoon’s hold in one swift motion. Before anyone could react, he had the man by the collar, yanking him forward with enough force to shut him up mid-breath.

Gasps erupted across the room, but Jungwon didn’t falter—his gaze was ice, his voice low and dangerous.

“Step away.” His words weren’t directed at the members trying to hold him back, but at the choreographer trembling in his grip.

Jungwon’s tone dripped with venom, eyes locked on the man in front of him. “Listen to me, you fucker—I need you out of this team tomorrow.”

He was aware, keenly aware, that the staff was listening, their heads snapping between him and the man he held by the collar. He wanted them to hear. He wanted this to stick.

“I don’t care if you file a complaint,” Jungwon continued, glancing briefly toward the CCTV camera blinking above them, recording every second of this mess.

“We have proof. You want to make noise? Go ahead—congrats, you’ll finally be famous if you do. But keep my girlfriend’s name out of your filthy mouth.”

The disgust was evident in the way his hand unclenched, as if just holding onto the man’s shirt repulsed him. He stepped back, shaking his fingers out like he wanted to rid himself of the touch.

“Practice is over,” he bit out, voice sharp enough to cut through the thick tension. “Pack up. Everyone. We have an early schedule tomorrow.”

The members obeyed without question, still on edge. His eyes flicked briefly toward Heeseung, and that single glance was enough.

Heeseung gave him the smallest nod, silently promising to handle things inside the room. Jay had already slipped to their manager’s side, face tight as he prepared to do damage control.

But Jungwon was done. Completely wrung out.

He grabbed his duffel bag from the corner, snatched up the discarded hoodie near it, and slung it over his shoulder in one motion. Without another word, he gave Heeseung one final nod and pushed out of the practice room.

The muffled voices behind him—manager’s tense whisper, the choreographer’s sputtering, the members’ low murmurs—blurred into nothing the second the door shut behind him.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath, his chest still heaving as he stormed down the hall.

His fingers dug through his bag until they found his car keys and phone. The screen lit up with your name at the top, a string of unread messages staring back at him.

pretty girl ❤️ [12:00 A.M.]: wonnie, i cooked your favorite !! hope you’re not pushing yourself too hard <3

pretty girl ❤️ [12:03 A.M.]: what time are you coming home?

pretty girl ❤️ [12:30 A.M.]: it’s late. did something happen? :((

The messages were three hours old. The timestamp burned into his chest.

Jungwon sighed, shoving the phone into his palm tighter as he pushed through the stairwell instead of waiting for the elevator. His pace quickened, footsteps echoing sharply against the concrete as he descended.

By the time he reached the underground parking, his lungs were still uneven, heart pounding for reasons far beyond physical exertion.

The sleek black car beeped to life at the press of his keys. Its low roar filled the empty garage, but instead of getting in immediately, Jungwon leaned against the hood, running a hand over his face.

The adrenaline was fading, and in its place came the guilt—the heavy, suffocating weight of it.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N),” he whispered into the empty space, voice hoarse. Not for the outburst, not for the fight—but for you, waiting, wondering, cooking his favorite meal and staying up even though he kept failing to show up.

He forced himself upright, pulling open the door and tossing his bag into the passenger seat—the same seat you usually occupied. The sight of it being empty made his chest tighten, the gnawing ache clawing deeper.

But then his eyes landed on the tiny Sanrio figurines you had once insisted on sticking to his dashboard. “Your car needs more life, Wonnie,” you’d said, giggling as you placed them one by one.

The corner of his lips twitched upward, the frown softening just a fraction.

The earliest hours of the morning mocked him even further, the sky still clinging to its heavy darkness when Jungwon finally pulled into the driveway of the house he shared with you.

The engine gave one last purr before he shut it off, exhaustion weighing on his shoulders as he slumped back into the seat. He lingered there for a moment, staring at the faint glow of the porch light, before forcing himself to grab his bag and step out.

Pushing past the half-open gate, he muttered under his breath, “Baby, you really need to start locking this…”

The white-painted metal squeaked as he pulled it shut behind him, a quiet click following when he secured the latch.

The stone path crunched faintly beneath his sneakers as he walked toward the house, his sharp eyes scanning the dewy roses by the porch. The petals glistened under the dim light, a soft pink that reminded him of you.

He sighed, a mental note forming instantly—lilies next time. You’s been asking for lilies. A small smirk tugged at his lips despite his exhaustion.

Sliding his key into the lock, Jungwon pushed the door open and was instantly greeted by warmth—the kind only a lived-in home could carry. The faint hum of the still-running TV drifted in the background, but what really hit him was the smell.

“Ramyeon,” he murmured, stomach growling at the familiar scent that wrapped around him. His nose twitched as the aroma of meat layered over it, making his chest ache in that quiet, guilty way.

You’d stayed up. Again.

Dropping his things by the couch with practiced care, he turned off the TV, setting the remote gently on the table. His gaze was immediately pulled to the dining area, where the dim overhead light illuminated the containers waiting on the table.

Steam still curled lazily from the lids, but it wasn’t the food that got him—it was the small pink sticky notes plastered on top.

He walked closer, plucking one off with careful fingers: ‘here’s your dinner, wonnie. sorry, got too sleepy. love you !!’

Jungwon exhaled, a soft laugh escaping him as he rubbed the back of his neck. “What would I do without you, huh?” he muttered, his voice quieter this time, almost reverent. He placed the note back where it had been, lips tugging into a tired but genuine smile.

Ignoring his growling stomach, he turned away from the table and padded toward the stairs. Each step was heavy, his body screaming for rest, but his heart softening with every faint trace of you in the house—the blanket tossed on the couch, the faint perfume clinging to the air, the slippers lined neatly by the wall.

By the time he reached the top step, his chest felt tight, his exhaustion replaced by something heavier.

Want. Need. The ache of knowing you were only a door away, and yet, he couldn’t shake the thought that he’d been missing more of these quiet moments than he wanted to admit.

His eyes flickered across the second floor as he moved down the hallway—the door to your gaming room left slightly ajar, a faint glow from the RGB lights spilling through the crack.

Another door, his so-called ‘bedroom,’ though it was nothing more than a workout space now—or a retreat when you were too annoyed with him to share the same air.

The two guest rooms sat quiet, a silent reminder of how often his members sought refuge here when the dorms became too suffocating.

He sighed again, chest heavy, before his hand found the knob to your shared room. The door gave a soft click, opening to the warmth he had been craving all night.

His lips curved faintly, all exhaustion slipping away at the sight of you—curled up on your side, face pressed against the softness of your pillow. The dim golden light from the bedside lamp washed over your skin, highlighting the delicate shape of your shoulders.

The TV still flickered faintly, sitting at the foot of the bed, eyes drinking you in while you remained undisturbed, lost in sleep.

His gaze trailed lowly—lazily—from the way your hair spread across the pillow in soft waves, down to the flimsy strap of your pink nightgown that had slipped dangerously off your shoulder.

His throat went dry, his chest rising heavy when his eyes followed the path of exposed skin, the delicate lace framing your chest just enough to torment him.

Your nipples, hardened beneath the thin silk fabric, peeking through, the cold of the room doing what his hands ached to. Jungwon sucked in a sharp breath, his jaw tightening as he raked a hand through his damp hair.

“Shit…” he whispered under his breath, voice husky, gaze locked on your chest. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his tongue darting to wet his lips.

For a moment, he stayed frozen—just looking, just taking you in.

But then his hand moved, slow and tentative, brushing the air above your calf before his fingertips made contact with your skin. The warmth of your body against his icy touch sent a shiver down his spine.

You shifted faintly in your sleep, a soft sigh slipping past your lips, and his heart nearly stopped.

“Baby…” he whispered, voice low, almost a plea.

His thumb stroked absent circles against your skin, his gaze flickering back up to your chest, to the way your breaths caused the fabric to rise and fall in a steady rhythm.

The strap of your nightgown slid even lower, baring more of your shoulder, and his self-control thinned like paper. Jungwon’s hand twitched, aching to tug it down, to uncover the rest of what the silk barely concealed.

“Fuck…” he cursed softly, the sound strangled in his throat. He tilted his head, studying you, torn between letting you rest and indulging in the sight that had his body aching.

Jungwon shifted higher on the mattress, his body now angled closer to yours. His hand, once idly resting on your calf, traveled upward with maddening slowness until it reached the softness of your bare thigh.

His fingers toyed lazily with the lace trimming of your nightgown, tugging gently at the delicate fabric as though testing how far he could go before it would tear.

His heated gaze followed his hand’s every movement, hungry, unwavering. By the time his palm settled firmly on your upper thigh, his breath had already turned heavy, chest tightening with each rise and fall.

His hand inched higher, slipping under the thin silk fabric, calloused fingertips grazing the warmth of your skin just inches shy of your hips.

Leaning down, Jungwon pressed feather-light kisses against your exposed shoulder, lips brushing the curve of your skin with reverence. You didn’t stir. The lack of reaction emboldened him, his kisses trailing hotter, wetter—his mouth opening against you as his tongue left languid licks over your skin.

“Oh, fuck it,” he muttered under his breath, voice breaking with need. His lips returned to your shoulder, moving higher toward your neck as his hands pushed the silk of your nightgown up, inch by inch, baring more of your thighs to his hungry eyes.

His other hand pressed into the mattress for balance, knuckles white as if calming himself.

And still—you slept soundly, unaware of his torment.

Jungwon pulled back briefly, sucking in a breath, his eyes drinking you in with a mix of awe and desperation. “You’re so beautiful… just like this,” he whispered hoarsely.

But then, like a cruel spark, the words of their choreographer replayed in his head. The mocking laugh. The taunt. The way your name had been dragged into it. His jaw clenched, a scowl forming as his lips pressed into a hard line.

“Can you believe him, baby?” he whispered angrily, voice low, trembling with restrained rage.

“That bastard had the fucking nerve to say your name… like he knew you. Like he could even speak about you.” His grip on your thigh tightened, fingers digging slightly into your skin as if to reassure himself that you were real, here, his.

“I should’ve broken his jaw right there,” he muttered through his teeth, leaning closer to your sleeping face.

His frustration mingled with his need, the ache in his sweatpants unbearable now, throbbing against the fabric. He cursed softly again, biting down on his lower lip as he studied you—peaceful, untouched by the storm brewing inside him.

The sight dragged him back—to that first time he couldn’t hold back.

It had been one of those nights months ago.

He had stumbled in from practice, sweat clinging to his skin, cologne still heavy from the spray he’d used hours earlier. His body screamed for rest, but his heart had only one instinct: find you.

He’d taken the stairs two at a time, steps heavy but hurried, until he reached your shared bedroom. He hadn’t even bothered to knock, pushing the door open with breathless anticipation.

You were sprawled on the bed, asleep, the hem of one of his oversized white shirts riding dangerously high on your thighs. The fabric clung to your curves, thin enough to make his throat go dry, and his breath had caught instantly.

He had stood there for a long moment, torn between retreating into the shower like he should’ve—and crawling into bed to press himself against you, sweat and all.

But Jungwon wasn’t one for patience. Not when you were laid out in his shirt, the fabric riding high, teasing him with the faint outline of your black lace panties. His decision was made before he even realized it.

His knees pressed into the mattress as he hovered over your sleeping form, hands roaming greedily across your body. Calloused fingertips trailed the curve of your waist, slipping under the shirt until the hem bunched against your stomach, baring the delicate lace to his hungry eyes.

“Fuck…” he breathed, voice already wrecked as his lips brushed the inside of your thigh.

You woke to the first wave of pleasure rolling through your body, a sharp gasp leaving your lips as your lashes fluttered open. The sight that greeted you made your stomach twist—Jungwon, lost in a daze, face buried between your thighs.

His tongue licked a slow, deliberate stripe across your slit, not caring how your wetness coated his mouth, how it dripped down his chin.

Your back arched, a strangled moan tearing from your throat as your hand clutched the sheets. “W-Wonnie…” you rasped, head falling back as pleasure spiked too fast, too soon.

He pulled away with a soft pop, lips glistening, chin wet. His half-lidded eyes locked with yours, smirk curling lazily across his mouth. One of his hands moved to toy with your clit, circling it slowly, making your thighs twitch.

“When… when did you get home?” you whispered, voice small, breathless.

“Just a few minutes ago,” Jungwon murmured, tone low and sinful, his smirk deepening as you whimpered under his touch.

“Sorry for waking you up, baby. Sorry for jumping on you like this…” His thumb pressed harder against your clit, making you choke on a whine. “—but I was so fucking mad. So fucking tired.”

Your lips parted, a broken moan leaving you when his mouth returned to your pussy, sucking softly at your folds before diving back in, tongue flattening against you.

You managed to stutter out, “W-Welcome back…”

His answering hum vibrated against your core, your whole body shivering. He pulled back just enough to smirk against you, voice muffled as he muttered, “Mhmm… you’re the sweetest welcome home, baby.”

Your voice cracked as you gasped, “Did… did you eat yet?”

He clicked his tongue against your clit, lips wrapping around it as his smirk widened. “I am now,” he said between licks, before diving back in with renewed hunger.

You closed your eyes, the weight of sleep trying to pull you under even as waves of pleasure dragged you back up.

Your voice came out in a hoarse whisper, shaky but honest, “You don’t need to wake me up just to fuck me, okay… do as you please.”

Your lashes fluttered, vision hazy as your glossy eyes finally locked with his hungry ones. He didn’t stop lapping at you, if anything, your words only made his pupils dilate further.

“You don’t ever need to apologize for that,” you added, breath hitching when his tongue flicked hard against your slit. “You can have me whenever…”

Your fingers twitched, weak but intent, pushing the dark strands of hair away from his damp forehead. That tiny gesture—so soft, so inviting—had his jaw tightening. His smirk returned, more feral this time.

“Careful, baby,” Jungwon murmured against your folds, voice muffled and dripping with heat, “saying things like that will make me ruin you every night.”

But instead of giving you time to reply, his tongue pressed deeper, prodding and pushing against your entrance until your hips jerked up on instinct. He groaned into your cunt, the vibrations making you whimper as your thighs trembled around his head.

“Fuck—Wonnie,” you rasped, chest rising and falling erratically. “Too much…”

He only chuckled darkly, one hand sliding up to pin your hips down. “No, not enough.”

His tongue stroked relentless circles before plunging back in, his nose bumping against your swollen clit, sending shocks through your body.

You could barely keep your eyes open, but the sight of him—hair messy, chin glistening with your arousal, eyes glazed like a starved man—was burned into your brain.

“Stay awake for me,” Jungwon muttered, pulling back just long enough to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, though the smirk never faded.

“I want you to see who’s making you feel this good.”

Your lips parted, trying to form words, but all that came out was a shaky moan returned to devour you. His tongue thrusted in again, curling just right, and your hand instinctively gripped at his hair.

“Shit—Jungwon…”

He hummed against you, pleased, eating up every drop like he’d been waiting for this moment all night.

But then, somewhere between the steady rhythm of his tongue and the heat rushing through him, he blinked—once, twice—his mind snapping back to the present.

His eyes drifted upward, and there you were. Out cold. Breath steady. Face relaxed in that soft way only sleep could give you.

“Still asleep, huh?” Jungwon murmured under his breath, shaking his head with a faint, amused smirk tugging at his lips.

His fingers trailed upward slowly, tracing the curve of your thigh as though he had all the time in the world. When they brushed against the lace of your panties, he stilled, humming to himself as if weighing his options. The delicate fabric was warm, clinging slightly from how wet you were, and his jaw flexed at the sight.

Careful. He had to be careful.

With a measured breath, he slid his fingers along the hem, tugging gently, watching for the slightest twitch, a sharp inhale—anything to show you’d woken.

But you only shifted lazily in your sleep, rolling your body just enough so that you were facing the ceiling again.

That earned him another smirk, small and dangerous.

“You make this too easy for me,” he muttered, almost like a confession only the dark could hear.

The pink lace slipped down to your hips under his slow tug, the sight nearly undoing him right there. He didn’t push further—not yet.

Instead, he climbed onto the mattress, positioning himself between your legs with quiet precision. His hands steadied you, palms warm against your thighs as he settled in.

You didn’t stir. Not once.

The thin nightgown you wore had ridden up from all the movement, and Jungwon’s hands wasted no time pushing it higher until the hem bunched just beneath your ribs.

His breath hitched low in his chest when his eyes fell to the panties again—pink, delicate, just sheer enough to show the damp outline underneath.

“Fuck…” he whispered, dragging his bottom lip between his teeth. His eyes flicked back up at you, your face still soft in sleep, lips parted faintly. “You’re so pretty, baby…”

He let one hand slide up your side, fingers brushing over the curve of your waist before resting just above your navel. The other smoothed down your thigh again, his thumb circling idly as if to soothe you even in unconsciousness.

Jungwon lowered his head, breath hot as he mouthed over the thin fabric, letting his tongue press flat against the lace to taste you through it. The faintest moan slipped from his throat, guttural and hungry.

His voice came out rough, broken up by the drag of his lips over your clothed pussy: “You’re mine, even like this… no one else gets to see you, touch you, fuck you—just me.”

Jungwon moved his weight, quick to fix his position so he was caging you in perfectly, his hands sliding back down to your thighs.

His grip tightened, not too hard, but enough to anchor himself as his tongue pressed back against your damp lace, licking slowly, tracing over the soaked spot until it clung and darkened further with his spit.

Your chest rose and fell faster, the subtle change in your breathing feeding into his own hunger. He smirked against your core, dimples cutting deep into his cheeks even as his mouth dragged messily over the thin barrier.

He pulled back just a fraction, breathing heavily, eyes dark and hooded as he tilted his head to admire the patch of wetness spreading across your panties—from you, from him, a perfect mix that made his cock twitch painfully inside his sweats.

“Fuck…” he whispered, his voice more a groan than a word. “Look at this. You’re already ruining them, baby.”

He let his fingers wander from the softness of your thighs back to the waistband of your panties, tracing the delicate edge as though savoring the moment.

With slow precision, he hooked his fingers under the band and began tugging them down—careful, so damn careful not to stir you awake too suddenly.

The fabric slid down over your ass, then your thighs, until they were bunched at your ankles, forgotten. Jungwon’s breath hitched when your pussy was bare before him, glistening in the low light, and his eyes fluttered shut for a second as though the sight alone was too much.

When he opened them again, his gaze was feral.

“Always so fucking pretty for me,” he muttered, voice husky.

He leaned forward, hovering close, lips just barely brushing against your folds as he blew a warm breath over your slickness. The teasing puff of air made your brow furrow in your sleep, the smallest sign of reaction, and Jungwon’s smirk deepened.

“Sensitive even now…” he murmured. “God, I’m obsessed with you.”

Without waiting another beat, he dove in—tongue flattening against you as he licked a long, slow stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit. The sound he made against you was shameless, a groan muffled into your cunt as if he’d been starved.

“Fuck—so fucking sweet,” he breathed, pausing only to kiss your folds like they were something sacred before lapping at you again. “Always taste like this, hm? My perfect girl.”

His hands squeezed your thighs harder now, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he kept you spread open for him, his tongue moving in languid strokes, circling and dipping until his own lips were shiny with your slick.

Jungwon didn’t give himself time to breathe—he dove right back in, tongue dragging up your slit before pressing hot, wet kisses along your folds.

He sucked softly, just enough to make obscene sounds echo in the quiet of the room, saliva mixing with your arousal until it was dripping down his chin.

“Fuck…” he groaned low, smirking against you as his tongue flicked up to your clit. He traced lazy circles around the sensitive bud, teasing, drawing patterns with the tip before closing his lips over it and sucking.

The sudden pull made your hips twitch ever so slightly, your body shifting in your sleep, and Jungwon’s smirk deepened against your pussy.

“Ah… there you go,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to whisper against your folds. “Even knocked out, your body knows who’s touching it.”

He went back to work, this time slower, meaner—his tongue stroking slow lines from your slit to your clit, stopping to press tiny kisses around the swollen nub before he latched onto it again. His dimples carved into his cheeks as his tongue flicked and curled, devouring you like he’d been waiting all night for this.

One of his hands released your thigh, sliding down. His fingers traced aimless patterns over your skin, dipping closer and closer to your soaked folds until he finally brushed against them. He let your slick coat his fingers, stroking the mess back over your pussy, making sure every inch of him tasted like you.

“God, you’re dripping,” he muttered under his breath, voice rasping with hunger. “Don’t even need to prep you, do I?”

But still, he was careful—almost maddeningly so. He slid his fingers up and down your slit, coating them thoroughly before prodding at your entrance.

He didn’t push in, not yet, just toyed with you, circling the tight hole, dragging his slick fingers back up to your clit before teasing back down.

The smallest reaction escaped you—a scrunch of your nose, a faint shift of your thighs. Jungwon’s chuckle was low, dangerous, vibrating against your core as he pulled back for a second, lips hovering above your folds.

“Must be having a wet dream, huh, baby?” he whispered, voice dripping with mockery and adoration all at once.

He pressed another kiss to your clit, almost tender if not for the way his eyes darkened. “Bet you’re dreaming about me anyway.”

He licked another stripe up your pussy, his fingers still toying at your entrance, pressing just enough to test your resistance, his patience hanging by a thread as his cock throbbed against the fabric of his sweats.

“Should I wake you up, or just keep playing with you like this?” he whispered, sucking your clit between his lips before groaning into you again.

His free hand slid lower, fingers glistening with your slick as he finally gave in to temptation. He pressed the pads of two fingers to your entrance, circling once, twice, before pushing inside with agonizing slowness.

Your walls stretched around him, tight and warm, and he hissed through his teeth, forehead dipping against your thigh.

“Fuck, baby… you’re so tight like this,” he muttered, lips dragging over your folds. “Even in your sleep, you’re perfect for me.”

The intrusion pulled the smallest sound from you—a soft, sleepy moan muffled into the pillow. Jungwon froze, then smirked to himself, pride swelling in his chest at the reaction he coaxed out of you without even waking you.

“That’s it… good girl,” he whispered, pumping his fingers in shallow strokes, curling them just enough to feel your body twitch.

Your lips parted in another broken whimper, the sound making his cock twitch painfully against his sweats. He moved faster, pushing his fingers deeper, the slick squelch of your cunt filling the room as his mouth latched back onto your clit.

His tongue flicked against the swollen bud, circling, teasing, pressing harder with every pass until his own dimples popped from how hard he was smirking against you.

Your thighs shifted faintly, chest rising quicker as your breathing deepened. Jungwon groaned low in his throat, the vibration buzzing against your clit as he curled his fingers again.

He felt it—your walls fluttering desperately around him, clenching like you were on the edge even in unconscious bliss.

“Ah… there it is,” he rasped, pulling back just enough to speak, lips shiny with your slick.

His fingers angled deliberately, thrusting harder against that spongy spot inside you. “Found it, baby. Right here, huh?”

He abused it mercilessly, curling and pressing over and over, his tongue lapping at your clit until the bed shook faintly from his pace. Your body reacted without thought—thighs trembling, back arching slightly, a louder whine spilling from your throat.

“Shhh…” Jungwon soothed mockingly, never relenting. “Just let go for me. Cum for me in your sleep, baby. You can do it.”

With one last thrust of his fingers and a sharp flick of his tongue, your body tightened, clamping around him as your release spilled hot over his hand. Slick coated his fingers, dripping down to his wrist, and he groaned shamelessly, slowing only enough to feel every clench and flutter of your walls milking his digits.

“Fuck yes… that’s it. That’s my girl,” he praised, low and guttural, watching your sleeping face soften as you rode out your high.

He withdrew his fingers slowly, savoring the way your cunt tried to pull him back in. He lifted them immediately to his mouth, slipping the soaked digits between his lips with a wet pop. His eyes rolled slightly as he sucked them clean, groaning at the taste of you.

“So fucking sweet,” he muttered against his knuckles, dragging his tongue along every inch before pulling them out with a smirk. “All mine.” His gaze dropped back to your still-slick pussy, glistening under the dim light, and his smirk widened.

The cold bedroom air lulls you awake, your body still groggy from sleep. You stretch, feeling the chill on your skin, and your eyes flutter open to the dimly lit room as Jungwon’s mouth works hungrily between your legs.

His lips press firmly against your inner thighs, sucking and licking with possessive intent, leaving behind fresh, stinging marks that bloom into dark hickies. Your slick pussy throbs under his attention, his tongue delving deep to lap at your folds, each bite near your core making you gasp and shuffle restlessly on the sheets.

The faint glow from the bedside lamp casting shadows that highlight his focused movements, your body arching instinctively as waves of pleasure mix with the sharp pain of his teeth grazing your sensitive skin.

Jungwon hums against your wetness, the vibration sending jolts through your core as he pulls back just enough to pop your clit with a wet, audible smack. His fingers rub circles around your entrance, teasing the slick heat that clenches desperately around nothing, drawing a soft, needy moan from your lips.

“Fuck, you taste so good baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding making your heart race. You writhe beneath him, your hips bucking slightly, overwhelmed by the building sensation, your mind foggy with desire and the lingering chill that contrasts the fire he’s igniting inside you.

Your hands reach down instinctively, fingers tangling in his soft blond hair, pulling just enough to scratch at his scalp. The action elicits a deep, satisfied smile from him, his cat-like eyes glinting up at you with a mix of amusement and hunger.

“Hi there, baby,” he growls, the words vibrating against your pussy as he dives back in, his tongue flicking relentlessly over your clit while his fingers press deeper, stretching you just a little.

You moan louder, the sound escaping unbidden, a blend of pleasure and submission that makes your chest tighten. It feels so good to surrender to him like this, his warmth wrapping around you like a warm blanket in the cold room.

Slowly, Jungwon pulls away, his lips glistening as he crawls up your body, his strong arms caging you. His weight presses you into the mattress, and he leans down to kiss your forehead softly, a tender contrast to the roughness below.

Then his mouth captures yours in a lazy, wet kiss, his tongue sliding in to taste you, sharing the flavor of your own arousal. You whimper softly, your hands still tangled in his soft blonde hair, holding him close.

As he pulls back slightly, a small string of saliva connects your lips, and he smiles down at you with a look of pure desire. “I’m home,” he whispers, his voice low and rough.

You smile up at him, your eyes still heavy with sleep, and your heart flutters at the sight of him. His presence fills the room, and you can't help but feel a rush of excitement. “Welcome home, Wonnie,” you say, pressing a soft kiss to his nose. Your hands slide up to his neck, pulling him closer, and you feel his warm breath on your skin.

“Rough night?” you ask playfully, teasing him. But your question is met with a groan and a look of frustration.

His brows furrow as he remembers the dance instructor who had him under his control just an hour ago, a source of pent-up anger and frustration. He lowers his mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses that make you mewl and arch into his touch.

Jungwon’s hands roam above the silk fabric of your nightgown, just grazing your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He bites gently on a particularly sensitive spot, and you whimper, “It’s okay, he’s not here,” you assure him, knowing that Jungwon’s possessive nature is aroused by the thought of others who dare think about you.

His hard cock, already pressing against your hip. You feel the heat of it through the flimsy material of your nightgown, and a sigh escapes your lips. “I missed you, Wonnie,” you whisper, pushing his hair away from his face, revealing his piercing dark eyes, now darkened with desire.

He pulls you closer, his body pressing firmly against yours, and his voice drops to a husky tone. “I’m here now, baby. Let me show you how much I’ve missed you.” His hands find the straps of your nightgown, sliding them down slowly, revealing more of your delicate skin. The fabric, a thin barrier, is pushed up by his other hand, stopping just above your upper thighs, leaving your pussy exposed to the cool air.

You arch your back, feeling vulnerable yet excited, as Jngwon bunches up the silk at your waist. Your hips lift slightly, inviting him to remove the nightgown, and with a gentle tug, it’s pulled over your head, leaving you in nothing but your bare skin glowing in under the dim lights.

He captures your lips once more, his kiss intense and demanding, tongue delving deep to claim every inch of your mouth with a hunger that sends shivers racing down your spine.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, pulling back just enough to admire your naked form, his dark eyes tracing the curves of your breasts, the dip of your waist, and the soft mound between your thighs.

With a swift movement, he sheds his shirt, revealing his taut muscles rippling under smooth skin, his hard cock straining against the fabric of his pants, thick and veined, ready for your touch.

You mewl softly under his touch as his hands roam your body, calloused palms gliding over your heated skin with a possessiveness that makes your heart flutter.

Jungwon tugs his pants down along with his boxers in one impatient motion, not even bothering to fully remove them—they bunch around his thighs, leaving him exposed and urgent. You close your eyes, drowning in the feeling of his hands roaming around your bare skin, fingers tracing lazy patterns from your collarbone down to the swell of your hips. His touch is electric, igniting sparks wherever he lingers, and you arch instinctively into him, craving more.

His hands softly pass by your nipples, thumbs brushing just close enough to make them pebble into tight peaks, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. You sigh in pleasure, the sound breathy and needy, your body already slick with anticipation.

Jungwon’s leaking tip slowly drags into the folds of your pussy, the warm, sticky precum mixing with your arousal as he teases your entrance, circling your clit before nudging against your opening. The sensation is maddening, a delicious friction that has you trembling.

“Stop teasing me, Yang Jungwon,” you hum, your voice laced with sleepy desperation, “I’m so sleepy.”

Jungwon chuckles lowly at the use of his full name, the sound vibrating through his chest as he positions himself. “Sorry, baby,” he coos, his tone soft and affectionate, eyes softening with love even as his body tenses with restraint.

He slowly pushes himself in, inch by thick inch, not needing to pull out the lube from the bedside drawer—your juices are enough to coat him, easing the way for his hard, angry cock as it stretches you open. He hisses at the feeling of you sucking him in, your walls fluttering around his length like they were made for him alone.

With a final thrust, he quickly bottoms out, burying himself to the hilt, mumbling, “So fucking tight as always, baby.”

God, he feels perfect, you think hazily, the fullness of him inside you chasing away the edges of your drowsiness, replaced by a warm, pulsing bliss.

Jungwon leans down, caging you back in his arms, his biceps flexing as he pauses, giving you a moment to adjust. You look happy lost in the bliss and the feeling of him inside you, your lips parted in a soft gasp. He watches you with adoration, his thumb stroking your cheek.

You let out a soft breath, mumbling, “Sorry, baby, I’m just so sleepy,” your words slurring slightly as exhaustion tugs at you.

This makes Jungwon laugh, a gentle rumble that echoes in the quiet bedroom. He leans down, pressing soft kisses against your eyelids, his lips feather-light and tender. “Rest, I got you,” he mumbles, his voice a soothing whisper that wraps around your heart like a blanket.

You nod slowly, trusting him completely, as he intertwines his fingers with yours, squeezing gently, soothing you both.

Jungwon starts thrusting softly, slowly, each roll of his hips measured and deliberate, making sure you’re borderline awake yet drifting into dreamland.

The rhythm is languid, his cock sliding in and out with wet, obscene sounds that fill the room, your combined arousal making every movement slick and easy. You softly mewl, eyes still closed, lashes fluttering against your cheeks as you mumble, “Feels so good.”

He groans lowly in response, the vibration humming against your skin as he thrusts, enjoying the way your walls clamp down on him, gripping his shaft like velvet vice. You’re his everything, Jungwon thinks, his mind foggy with love and lust, the intimacy of this moment making his chest ache.

He leans down, pressing his face against your shoulder, leaving open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck, sucking gently at the sensitive skin there. “Fuck, I love you so much,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear.

You sigh out, “I love you too, Wonnie,” your voice a sleepy whisper that makes his heart swell.

Jungwon smiles softly, his expression tender as his pace gets just a bit faster but still utterly soft, hips snapping with controlled power that drives him deeper without overwhelming you.

One hand sets yours free, trailing down to softly grip your hips, fingers digging in just enough to guide your body as he moves, pushing himself even deeper into you. The angle has his cock brushing that spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your closed eyelids.

Your brows furrow, a soft moan escaping your lips—“Oh god”—as you arch against the bed just a little, your back bowing off the sheets.

One hand goes to his shoulders, nails lightly scraping his skin, while the other stays intertwined with his, holding on like a lifeline. The pleasure builds slowly, a warm coil tightening in your belly, every thrust sending ripples through your body.

Jungwon hisses, his control fraying at the edges, “I’m close, baby,” he confesses, voice rough with need, his thrusts growing erratic.

“Me too,” you softly mumble, your walls fluttering around him in warning.

Jungwon quickens his pace just enough, his hips stuttering as the tension snaps. He groans deeply, burying himself deep as he paints your insides with white-hot ropes of cum, flooding your pussy with his release. The sensation tips you over the edge—your own orgasm crashes through you, waves of pleasure milking him dry despite your fuzzy state, your juices mixing with his as you clench and shudder beneath him.

He holds you close through it all, whispering sweet nothings into your hair—promises of forever and murmurs of how perfect you feel against him as you finally drift into sleep, sated and loved, your breathing evening out into soft, rhythmic sighs.

Jungwon lingers inside you for a moment longer, savoring the way your pussy still pulses faintly around his softening cock, reluctant to break the connection. With a gentle sigh, he slowly pulls out, the slick drag of his length against your sensitive walls making you whimper faintly in your sleep.

He admires how your mixed juices drip down from your swollen folds, a creamy trail of his cum and your arousal glistening on your inner thighs, marking you as his in the most intimate way. A soft smile curves his lips as he watches you, your chest rising and falling peacefully, utterly spent and beautiful in the dim light of the bedside lamp.

“You did so well for me, baby,” he whispers, his voice husky with affection, leaning down to press feather-light kisses along your cheeks, tracing the flush still lingering on your skin. But all he gets in response is a soft, sleepy smile tugging at your lips, your eyes remaining closed as you nestle deeper into the pillows.

Jungwon chuckles quietly, the sound warm and fond, as he brushes a stray lock of hair out of your face with tender fingers, tucking it behind your ear. His touch is soft, like you're the most precious thing in his world.

He shifts carefully, settling himself beside you on the bed, his body still humming with the afterglow. Without hesitation, he pulls you flush against his bare chest, your soft curves molding perfectly to the hard planes of his muscles.

You snuggle into the warmth instinctively, even in your drowsy state, your head tucking under his chin as one leg drapes lazily over his thigh. The heat of his skin seeps into yours, chasing away any lingering chill from the room, and you slide deeper into sleep, a contented hum escaping your throat.

Jungwon reaches for the blankets at the foot of the bed, drawing them up and over both of you in a protective cocoon, the soft fabric whispering against your skin.

He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and reassuring. “Good night, baby,” he mumbles, his breath stirring your hair, the words laced with a depth of love that makes his chest tighten.

This causes you to snuggle further into his chest, your fingers curling loosely against his pecs.

All the frustrations of earlier practices—the endless hours of dancing, the sharp critiques from their choreographer, the ache in his muscles from pushing too hard—finally drain out of his system like smoke dissipating in the air. With you in his arms, everything else fades into irrelevance; the weight of the day lifts, replaced by peace that only you can bring him.

He presses his cheek against the top of your head, inhaling the familiar scent of your shampoo mixed with the musk of your shared release, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back to lull you both. A muffled ringtone suddenly buzzes from downstairs—his phone, forgotten on the kitchen counter after their late-night return.

Jungwon only snickers softly at the sound, not bothering to move an inch. He knows it could be management barking orders about tomorrow's schedule, or maybe Heeseung calling to chew him out for ditching practice early, labeling what he did today as reckless—storming off to be with you when the group needed him most.

“Let them wait,” he murmurs to himself, a defiant smile playing on his lips as he tightens his hold on you, finally closing his eyes and letting sleep claim him too, the world outside forgotten in the sanctuary of your embrace.

⤷ KINKTOBER 2025 MASTERLIST | enhypen masterlist

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The set was simple, it made everything else stand out more, a clean space with soft lighting that rested gently over them without being harsh, and in the middle of it Luna and Jeonghan sat across from each other dressed in white, the color making them look even softer against the background, like they had been placed there on purpose to contrast yet match at the same time.

They were both holding small cards in their hands, their fingers lightly gripping the edges as if they already knew what was coming but were still curious about how it would unfold. They both smiled at the camera at the same time, not rehearsed, just natural.

Luna leaned forward just slightly as she spoke first, her voice calm but bright. “Hi, GQ. I'm Luna.”

Jeonghan followed right after, his tone just as steady, his eyes still lingering on her for a second longer before shifting forward. “I'm Jeonghan.”

“And today we'll be taking the Couples Quiz.” Luna finished, her voice carried a small hint of amusement, like she already knew how this would go, and when she finished she turned her head toward him, catching him already looking at her, his gaze steady and unreadable but familiar in a way that made her lips curl just a little more.

“Who's going first?” Luna asked.

Jeonghan did not answer with words, he simply lifted his arm and stretched it out toward her, his hand forming a loose fist.

Luna let out a small breath of laughter before mirroring him, her arm extending forward until their hands hovered close, the space between them filled with something light and playful.

They both lifted their hands up and down in rhythm, the movement small but in sync.

“Rock, Papers, Scissors... shoot,” Luna muttered softly.

Their hands snapped into place at the same time, and when the shapes settled it was her scissors against his paper, a clean win, and Luna’s smile widened just a little as she pulled her hand back.

“Okay. I'll go first.”

She said it like she expected to, like she had already prepared herself for this moment, and she began flipping through the cards in her hand, her eyes scanning the questions briefly before she paused and looked back up at him, her expression shifting into something teasing.

“Ready? You'll have to get all of these right or I'll be very upset.”

Jeonghan leaned back into his seat, his posture relaxing as if the warning did nothing to shake him, and he gave a small nod, a quiet hum leaving him that carried confidence more than anything else, like he had already accepted the challenge without thinking twice.

Luna watched him for a second before she let out a soft giggle, her fingers adjusting the card before she read the first question aloud. “What was I wearing when you first saw me?” She lifted her gaze again immediately, her finger pointing at him to make sure he understood exactly what she meant. “When you first saw me. Not when you first spoke to me.”

Jeonghan nodded once, his expression barely changing as he answered without hesitation. “You were wearing a black shirt and black jeans, and you had red Converses on. You were wearing a black zip up sweater over it.” He paused just slightly, like he was looking at the memory again instead of just recalling it.

“You wore black a lot when we were trainees. That was one of the reasons you stood out to everyone.” His eyes shifted to her then, softer. “But you stood out to me because you were really pretty.”

For a moment Luna did not say anything, her smile already there but her cheeks slowly turning red as she nodded, her gaze dropping briefly before she looked back up.

“That's right, I had an emo phase.” She said it lightly, brushing it off even if the reaction lingered on her face, and she quickly moved on, flipping to the next card as if to hide it.

“What is something about me that people get completely wrong?”

Jeonghan answered just as easily, his tone calm. “It used to bother you how people thought you were rude because of how you look.”

Luna nodded immediately, not even letting him finish fully. “I have a resting bitch face.”

There was no hesitation in the way she said it, and Jeonghan let out a small breath of amusement before continuing, his voice steady. “People tend to have that as their first impression of you, that you're rude or a snob, but you're not.”

Luna watched him for a second before nodding again. “Correct.” She said before glancing down at her cards, her energy picking up again as she flipped to the next one. “Next question! What is my go-to order when I'm hungry and don't want to think of what to order?”

Jeonghan tilted his head slightly, thinking for a second, not because he did not know but because he was choosing how to answer.

“Go to order? It depends on your mood…” He started slowly. “You normally go for something spicy. If you're feeling something Korean it's Jjamppong. If you're feeling Western it's pizza.”

Luna’s smile returned immediately, a little more playful this time. “What kind of pizza?” She asked it like a test, like she already knew he would get it right but wanted to see him say it anyway.

“Pepperoni pizza with stuffed crust.”

“That's correct.” Luna chuckled, clearly pleased.

Jeonghan turned his head toward the camera slightly, shifting just enough to include the viewers. “She dislikes pizza crusts and won’t eat them unless it’s stuffed.”

Luna nodded right away, her expression serious for a second as if defending herself. “I don’t like plain crust, it’s too dry, so if it’s stuffed I’ll eat it.”

She then glanced back at her card, her fingers tapping lightly against it before she read the next question “What is something I do when I'm shy or flustered? She lifted her gaze again, watching him closely. “You have to be very specific.”

Jeonghan’s lips curved slightly, like he already knew exactly what she was referring to, and he leaned forward just a bit this time as he answered. “You tuck your hair behind your ear even if it’s already tucked, your voice gets quieter without you noticing, and you blink a lot as if you’re trying to hide in your eyelids.”

Luna blinked at him, her lips parting just slightly before she let out a small laugh, her hand instinctively moving up to her hair before she caught herself halfway.

“I didn’t even know about the blinking thing…” Luna raised her eyebrow at him.

Jeonghan nodded. “You blink a lot when you’re flustered.”

Luna shook her head lightly, still smiling, and moved on. “You got all those right, I guess.” She flipped the card. “What is my most used phrase or reaction when I'm annoyed?”

Before she could even look up properly, Jeonghan was already reacting, his face shifting as he mimicked her, his eyes rolling slightly before he spoke in a tone that was clearly hers. “Yoon Jeonghan!”

Luna immediately turned toward the camera, laughing under her breath, her shoulders shaking just a little. “That's my most used reaction when I'm annoyed because he annoys me the most.”

Jeonghan muttered quietly under his breath, just loud enough to be heard. “It's because I like hearing you say my name like that.”

Luna let out another laugh at that, her eyes briefly closing as she shook her head. Her gaze back went to the cards in her hand, her fingers sliding one forward as her smile settled into something more focused, though the softness from before still lingered in the way her lips curved, and without looking up right away she read the next question.

“What did I want to be when I was younger?”

She finally lifted her eyes to him, watching him carefully, and Jeonghan did not take long to answer, his voice steady like he had gone over this before in his head without realizing it.

“You first wanted to be a prima ballerina. Then you wanted to be a psychologist at some point before you wanted to be an idol.”

Luna’s expression shifted almost immediately, her smile widening just a little as she nodded. “Correct!”

Jeonghan leaned back just slightly, his gaze still on her as he added without hesitation. “You achieved the first two dreams in some shape or form.”

For a brief second Luna did not speak, her smile softening as her eyes dropped for a moment before she nodded again, slower this time. “I did.”

There was a small pause, not uncomfortable, just enough for the weight of that to sit, before Jeonghan spoke again, his voice just as calm but softer.

“You're amazing.”

Luna looked back up at him, the compliment landing without surprise.

“Thank you.” She said, shifting in her seat slightly, as if brushing off the moment before it could linger too long, her fingers already moving to the next card.

“Next question… What is my biggest pet peeve?”

Jeonghan leaned forward this time, his elbows coming closer to his knees as he looked at her, his lips already curving with a hint of mischief. “How much time to we have?” He teased, and Luna immediately let out a laugh, shaking her head as if she already knew what was coming.

He did not stop there, his tone turning into something more animated as he went on. “You have a few, but your biggest pet peeve is when someone doesn't close the door after opening it.”

The moment he said it Luna physically reacted, her shoulders lifting slightly as she cringed, her expression tightening before she straightened up in her seat almost instinctively, like she had been waiting for an excuse to say this out loud.

“It doesn’t make sense to me when people open a door, enter, and leave it wide open as if they have a long tail trailing behind them.” She paused only to breathe before continuing, her brows pulling together. “It’s not hard to shut the door afterwards. It’s so annoying. I don’t know why, but it genuinely gets me heated.”

As she spoke Jeonghan slowly turned his head toward the camera, nodding once, his expression calm but knowing, like he had seen this exact reaction too many times before.

“You also hate people who are rude, people who lack common sense, people who walk slow, people who chew loudly… you hate being woken up by turning the lights on. You also hate when someone goes 'Tch'." He shifted slightly before continuing, adding more with the same ease.

Luna was already nodding before he even finished, her lips pressing together in agreement, and from behind the camera a voice from the producer cut in. “Why do you hate when people go 'Tch'?”

Luna turned toward the direction of the voice, her expression thoughtful for a second before she answered. “I don’t know why, but usually people make that sound when they are worrying about something or frustrated about something.” She tilted her head slightly as she continued, trying to explain it clearly. “And I feel like it’s annoying because it’s like they’re making it known they’re annoyed but won’t say anything… they just want you to know they’re annoyed. Does that make sense?”

Jeonghan let out a small chuckle under his breath, shaking his head slightly as he looked at her. “You're so passionate.”

Luna let out a quiet breath of laughter, nodding like she was aware of it herself. “I know.” She answered before quickly moving on, flipping the card again.

“Anyway, next question. What is my ideal day off?”

Jeonghan did not even need a second for that one. “Staying at home doing nothing.”

“Yup. I don't get to do that often, so whenever I can I just rot in bed.” Luna elaborated with a nod, and without lingering she moved to the next question, her eyes lighting up just a little as she read it.

“Next question... ooh this one is good—What is my favorite nickname from you?”

Jeonghan paused this time, actually thinking, his eyes drifting for a second as if sorting through options.

“You call me a lot of nicknames.” Luna said, watching him closely.

Jeonghan hummed before answering, “My moon.”

Luna’s smile returned immediately, softer this time, and she nodded. “That is my favorite, but it has to be a complete answer.”

Jeonghan let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Alright, my pretty moon.”

Luna giggled, she turned her head toward the camera for a second, giving a quick wink before looking back down at her cards.

“Ooh, this one is... okay,” She said before reading the next question out loud, her tone shifting just slightly. “When did I realize that I liked you more than a friend?”

Jeonghan snickered almost immediately, not even pretending to think. “That's a trick question because you always liked me more than a friend.”

Luna tried to keep her composure but it showed, the way her lips pressed together as she held back a laugh, her cheeks warming as she avoided looking at him, her eyes dropping down to the next card instead.

“You're one to talk.” She muttered under her breath, and Jeonghan only shrugged in response, a small smirk settling on his lips as he watched her.

“Moving on...” Luna said quickly, clearing her throat slightly as she continued. “What is something I always steal from you?”

“My clothes.” Jeonghan answered right away.

“You have to be specific.”

“Hoodies,” He said. “Specifically the oversized yellow hoodie.”

“That's right. It's technically mine at this point.” Luna said, lifting her chin slightly as if claiming it fully.

“What's mine is yours. It doesn't matter.” Jeonghan did not look away from her as he responded.

Luna held his gaze for just a second before she looked back down at her cards again. “How many tattoos do I have?” She asked. “Bonus points if you can name what they all are.”

Jeonghan straightened up in his seat this time, his eyes scanning over her instinctively as if the answer was written there, and he let out a quiet breath.

“Give me second...”

Luna nodded, watching him as he went quiet, his gaze moving carefully all over her body as he counted on his fingers one by one, his focus clear.

“You have seven.” He started, then continued without rushing. “The number ‘17’ on the side of your right wrist, a crescent moon on the left side of your wrist, a small letter ‘J’ inside your left ring finger, a bow at the back of your right hand, the word 'eventually' in between your right middle finger, one on your right side by your ribcage that says 'lady of the moon' and one on the back of your neck that says 'lovebug'."

Luna broke into a smile before she even spoke, her hands coming together in a small clap. “Correct.” She said, her tone bright as she nodded at him. “That was really good.” She added, clearly impressed.

Jeonghan leaned back again, satisfied but not surprised.

Luna flipped to the next card without wasting time. “What is something I do when I'm jealous?”

Jeonghan let out a small chuckle at that, his head tilting slightly. “You rarely get jealous.”

“That's true. But what do I do when I am?” Luna pressed, watching him carefully.

“You either ignore me completely or don't leave my side. There's no in between.” He answered confidently.

Before Luna could respond the producer’s voice came in again from behind the camera. “What situation do you ignore him versus not leaving his side?”

“It depends.” Luna and Jeonghan said in unison, their voices overlapping perfectly.

Luna let out a soft laugh right after, shaking her head slightly as the moment settled between them. She then lifted the next card, her fingers lightly tapping against the edge as she glanced down for a brief second before looking back up at him, her expression already hinting that she expected him to get this right without effort.

“What irrational fear do I have?” She asked, “This is really easy.”

There was a small lift of her brow, almost challenging, but the softness in her eyes gave her away, he knows this, he always does.

Jeonghan nodded immediately, not even needing a second to think as he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow against his knee while counting off in a calm and steady tone.

“You’re scared of spiders,” he began, his voice even as if he were reciting something he had gone over many times before, “you’re claustrophobic, you hate throwing up, you’re scared of the dark because in extension you are scared of going blind,” he continued, his lips pressing together briefly as he recalled the rest, “and you’re scared of the deep sea.” He finished without hesitation, his gaze fixed on her as if confirming each one as he said it.

Luna nodded along as he spoke, her lips curling into a small smile that grew wider with each correct answer before she let out a quiet hum of agreement. “Other than those things, I’m scared of nothing else irrational,” she said.

She shifted slightly in her seat, the card in her hand flipping to the next one as her eyes skimmed over it before she read it aloud. “What movies or shows do I enjoy watching?” Luna asked Jeonghan as she watched him expectantly.

Jeonghan let out a soft breath, tilting his head as if organizing his thoughts before answering. “You watch a lot of animated shows and movies,” he started, his tone thoughtful but confident, “you prefer comedy over dramas, and you have a weird obsession with documentaries, especially crime documentaries.” He finished, glancing at her with a faint smile as if already knowing he had it right.

Luna smiled at that, her shoulders relaxing as she nodded. “I love a good documentary,” she said, her voice soft with a hint of fondness.

“She was sobbing over an animal documentary a few weeks ago,” Jeonghan said to the camera, his tone calm but carrying a quiet amusement as he turned his head slightly.

“I was,” Luna admitted without hesitation, her lips pressing together briefly before she let out a small breath of a laugh, “they’re unnecessarily sad.”

Without lingering too long, she moved on, flipping to the next card with practiced ease. “What kind of pets did I have growing up?”

Jeonghan answered just as quickly. “You used to have a lot of childhood pets, but you didn’t have anything with fur because your mom is allergic,” he said before continuing without pause, “you had two goldfishes, two angelfishes, two janitor fishes, two turtles, and two hermit crabs.”

Luna’s face lit up at that, her smile widening as she leaned back slightly. “I’m so happy you remember,” she said.

“Of course,” Jeonghan hummed softly, his lips curving into a small smile as he looked at her.

Luna tilted her head slightly, a playful glint in her eyes as she added, “I’ll give you bonus points if you can tell me why I had two of each.”

“It’s because you didn’t want them to get lonely,” Jeonghan said with a small smirk, his answer coming easily before he turned his head toward the camera, his expression softening into something more amused, “Isn’t she so cute?”

Luna let out a quiet laugh at that, shaking her head slightly as she looked down for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “You’re such a smooth talker,” she said, her tone teasing but not denying it.

She moved on quickly after that, her fingers tightening slightly around the last card as she glanced down at it. “This is the last question,” Luna said, her voice carrying a small hint of anticipation, “Out of all the gifts you have given me, what’s my favorite one?”

Jeonghan paused this time, his brows drawing together slightly as he thought, his gaze dropping for a second before lifting back up to her. “It’s either Bugs or that ring on your finger,” he said after a few seconds, his tone measured but sure.

Luna nodded almost immediately, her smile softening as she looked at him. “Those are my two favorites,” she confirmed, her voice quieter this time.

There was a brief moment where she simply looked at him, her expression filled with something warm before she let out a small laugh, shaking her head lightly. “You got all of the questions correct,” Luna said, her voice carrying a mix of surprise and admiration.

Jeonghan nodded once, leaning back slightly as a small, confident smile settled on his face. “Of course I got a perfect score,” he said, his tone playful but assured, “I’m just that good.” His eyes flickered toward her, the corner of his lips lifting a little more. “You have to get a perfect score as well now.”

He reached for his cards then, picking them up with ease as Luna straightened in her seat, her posture shifting into something more focused as she prepared herself. There was a small spark of determination in her eyes as she looked at him, ready.

“Bet,” Luna said, her voice certain, as she waited for the first question.

“Okay, first question...” Jeonghan said, scanning through his cards before continuing, “What is something I do when I want your attention?”

Luna did not even take a second to think, her answer coming out immediately as if it had been waiting. “Be extra annoying.” She said it so plainly that it made the crew behind the camera let out a quiet laugh, her tone carrying a certainty that came from experience.

Jeonghan’s lips curved into a slow smirk, his head tilting slightly as he leaned forward just a little, clearly enjoying this. “In what way?” Jeonghan smirked, asking her to elaborate, his eyes fixed on her as if he already knew what she was about to say and wanted to hear it anyway.

Luna exhaled softly through her nose, already amused as she glanced at the camera before looking back at him.

“Remember the door closing thing I mentioned earlier?” Luna looked at the camera, her brows lifting slightly as if pulling them into the moment, “That. He leaves the door open knowing it will get my attention.” Her voice held a mix of disbelief and familiarity, like it was something she had accepted long ago.

Jeonghan let out a quiet chuckle at that, his shoulders lifting slightly as he nodded, not even trying to deny it. There was something satisfied in the way he reacted, like he took pride in how well he annoyed her.

He moved on smoothly, his eyes dropping back to the card as he read the next one. “When and where was our first kiss?” he asked, his tone casual but his gaze flickering up to her with quiet interest.

Luna’s reaction was immediate, her expression shifting as a faint blush crept up her cheeks, her lips parting slightly before she let out a small breath of a laugh. “I wasn't expecting that question.” She said it softly, almost to herself, her fingers tightening slightly around her own cards as she tried to gather her thoughts.

Jeonghan raised a brow at her, watching her closely. “You don't remember?” he asked, his tone light but carrying a hint of teasing that only made her more aware of his attention.

“I do...” Luna said, her voice quieter now as she shook her head slightly as if clearing it, “It was in your car on the drive home from Wonwoo's birthday six years ago.” Her voice steadied as she spoke, her eyes lifting to meet his again.

Jeonghan’s expression softened at that, a small smile forming on his lips as he watched her. “You remember everything, don't you?” he teased gently, his tone low and amused.

“Yes! Next question!” Luna waved him off quickly, her hand making a small dismissive motion as she avoided holding his gaze for too long, already knowing the look he was giving her.

There was a quiet glint in Jeonghan’s eyes as he watched her for a moment longer before moving on, flipping to the next card. “What was the first thing I ever said to you when we first met?” He asked.

Luna’s expression softened instantly, her smile turning fond as the memory settled in her mind.

“You introduced yourself to me, asked me my name, welcomed me, and then told me if I needed anything that I could tell you.” She answered with a smile, her voice carrying a warmth that lingered in the air. “You kept me company the entire time, making me laugh because you said I looked like I needed a laugh.”

Jeonghan watched her as she spoke, something softer settling in his expression before he nodded. “Correct. Good job.”

“Next question… Oh—Who is my celebrity crush?” There was already a smirk on his face as he asked it, his eyes narrowing slightly in amusement.

Luna let out a small breath of a laugh, her lips curving as she tilted her head. “If it's not me then I don't want to hear the correct answer.” Luna joked, her tone light but her eyes watching him carefully.

“That's too bad because it's actually—” Jeonghan started teasing, his voice stretching the words just enough to make her react.

Before he could finish, Luna leaned forward and playfully poked him with the pointy end of her shoe, her expression warning but amused as he broke into laughter.

“I'm joking.” He said quickly, his laughter soft but genuine.

“I know... you're obsessed with me.” Luna said nonchalantly, her tone steady as if it were a simple fact.

Jeonghan’s smile deepened at that, his eyes lingering on her. “You get a point for that.” He said, winking at her before shifting his attention back to the cards.

“Next question...” he continued, his voice smooth as he read, “Where did we go on our first date?”

“The zoo.” Luna answered immediately, her lips curving as she leaned back slightly. “Because you said if I got bored, at least the animals would be entertaining enough to save the date.” She added, her tone carrying a hint of teasing as she looked at him.

Jeonghan let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly. “That was a good reason.” He said, his voice light.

“It was a very you reason.” Luna replied, her eyes narrowing slightly in amusement.

“It worked, didn’t it?” he shot back, his brows lifting.

“It did.” Luna admitted, her smile softening as she looked at him.

Jeonghan nodded once, satisfied. “Another point for you.” he said before moving on without missing a beat. “What was I wearing when we first met? These are easy questions.”

Luna smiled back, her answer immediate. “A neon green shirt with your name written on it, the shirt they made the trainees wear.”

“Correct!” Jeonghan said, his tone bright with approval as he flipped to the next card, “What's my routine before I go to sleep?”

“Nowadays? Or before you started your service?” Luna asked, her brows pulling together slightly as she needed the clarification.

“Nowadays.” Jeonghan answered simply.

Luna straightened in her seat slightly, her expression focused as she answered, “Once you get home from work you immediately shower, then you eat dinner if you feel like it which is most of the time, then you lay in bed scrolling on your phone or we watch a movie we’ll never finish, then you brush your teeth, and go to bed and sleep.” Her voice was steady, each step coming naturally as she listed them out.

Jeonghan tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a knowing smile. “You're missing one step.” He said it casually, but there was something in his tone that made it clear he had been waiting to say it.

Luna frowned slightly, her brows furrowing as she replayed her answer in her head. “No I didn't.” She said, her voice firm as she looked at him.

“You did.” Jeonghan smirked at her, clearly enjoying this.

“I didn't. What did I miss?” she asked, leaning forward slightly now, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Jeonghan’s smile turned more smug as he answered, “Before I go to sleep, I kiss you first. You missed the most important step.”

Luna let out a small laugh in disbelief, her head tilting back slightly before she rolled her eyes playfully, her lips still curved as she turned her head toward the camera. “He is doing too much because he knows this interview is relationship centered.” She said it with a mix of amusement and mild exasperation, her tone giving him away completely.

Jeonghan chuckled softly at her reaction, clearly pleased with himself. “You'll get a point for that anyway because I'm generous.” he said as he leaned back slightly.

“I get a point because I was right!” Luna retorted immediately, her voice quick as she looked at him, not letting him have the last word.

Jeonghan did not waste any time as he lifted the next card, his fingers sliding it forward with ease as his eyes scanned the question before he read it aloud. “What's my zodiac sign?”

“Libra.” Luna answered without hesitation. She did not even pause before adding, a small smile forming on her lips as she tilted her head slightly, “That's easy... what's my zodiac sign?”

Jeonghan’s lips curved immediately, his eyes glinting with mischief as he answered without missing a beat. “Intj.”

Luna’s reaction was instant as she reached over and smacked his arm, her brows pulling together in disbelief while her lips parted in protest. “Ya! That's correct and wrong at the same time.” she said, her tone caught between amused and mildly offended.

Jeonghan let out a quiet laugh, clearly pleased with himself before answering properly this time, his voice softer as he looked at her. “You're an Aquarius, baby.”

“Mm hmm.” she said, nodding as she settled back slightly, accepting the answer with a small satisfied hum.

He flipped to the next card, his fingers tapping lightly against it before reading, “What's something that you weren't expecting to love about me?”

Luna let out a soft chuckle at that, her eyes briefly dropping before lifting again as she answered, her voice carrying a quiet honesty. “That you’re annoying.” She said it plainly, but there was warmth in the way she spoke. “Normally that would obviously annoy me with other people,” she continued, her lips curving into a small smile as she looked at him, “but it’s one of the traits I love the most about you.”

Jeonghan watched her as she spoke, his expression softening just slightly before shifting into something more playful again. “So you’re saying I’m special?” he asked.

“You’re saying that, not me.” Luna replied immediately, though the smile on her face betrayed her words.

Jeonghan tilted his head slightly, studying her for a brief moment before nodding as if accepting her answer anyway. “Sure, sure. I’ll take that.”

He moved on, flipping the card with practiced ease as he read the next question. “What are your nicknames for me? You also have a lot.”

“Jeonghannie, Hannie, Han, Jeongie, and Angel Boy.” Luna answered confidently, her voice steady as she listed them off without missing one.

Jeonghan’s lips curled into another smirk, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at her. “Don't forget...” he said, lifting the cards up to cover his mouth from the camera as he mouthed something to her.

Luna frowned slightly, her brows knitting together as she leaned forward, trying to catch what he was saying. “Huh?” she said, her voice filled with confusion.

Jeonghan mouthed something again.

She squinted slightly, trying to read his lips again, still not getting it. “What?”

Without warning, Jeonghan hooked his foot around the leg of her chair and pulled her closer, the movement smooth as it caught her off guard.

Luna’s eyes widened in surprise as she was pulled toward him, her body shifting forward before he leaned in and whispered something quietly into her ear.

Her eyes went even wider before she pulled back and smacked him, her hand landing against his arm as he threw his head back and laughed, the sound full and unrestrained.

“You're so annoying. Read the next question.” she told him, her voice trying to sound firm but the slight shake of her head and the lingering smile on her lips gave her away.

Jeonghan gathered himself, clearing his throat lightly as he looked back down at the cards, though the grin had not fully left his face. “What's my favorite Lego set I built?” he read.

Luna’s expression brightened instantly, her eyes lighting up as she let out a small gasp. “You really enjoyed the Ferrari set,” she said, her voice animated as she leaned forward slightly, “and the Bowser one we built together.”

Jeonghan nodded at that, his expression softening again. “The cars are my favorite ones,” he said, his tone calm as he confirmed it, “but yeah, the recent one we built... Bowser is my new favorite.”

Luna nodded, her smile lingering as she turned her head toward the camera. “We both have a Lego addiction,” she said.

“What’s your favorite set you’ve built?” the producer asked from behind the camera.

Luna turned back slightly, her expression thoughtful for a moment before answering. “Hannie bought me the Hogwarts Castle that had like six-thousand something pieces. We spent three whole days building it together.” Her voice softened slightly at the memory, her eyes flickering toward him.

Jeonghan watched her as she spoke, his gaze steady and fond, the corner of his lips lifting just slightly.

Luna continued, her hands moving slightly as she spoke, more animated now. “It’s the biggest Lego set we have,” she said, her tone filled with a quiet pride, “and it was one of the reasons we bought a bigger house.” She let out a small laugh at that, shaking her head slightly. “Now we have an entire separate room filled with just our Legos.”

Jeonghan let out a soft laugh, nodding in agreement. “It got out of control.”

“You encourage it.” Luna shot back immediately, her brows lifting as she looked at him.

“That goes both ways. I encourage you, you encourage me.” he replied just as quickly.

“We’re bad for each other.” she said, teasing.

“Absolutely terrible.” Jeonghan winked at her, playing along.

He moved on to read the next question, “What is something I cannot leave the house without?”

“Phone, wallet, earphones... and your emotional support item.” She answered with confidence, her eyes flickering toward him as if waiting for his reaction.

Jeonghan’s face immediately broke into a grin, his head dipping in a small nod as he looked at her. “Correct!” he said as he flipped to the next card between his fingers. “This is another easy one. What is my favorite season of the year?”

Luna let out a soft breath of a laugh, her shoulders relaxing as she answered, “That's easy! We like the opposite sides of the season. I like spring and you like autumn.”

Jeonghan smiled at that as he nodded. “That's right. Good job.” His voice softened slightly as he said it, his gaze lingering on her for a second longer than needed.

Luna turned her head toward the camera then, her lips curving into a small smile as she added, “Basically we like it when it's not too hot and not too cold.”

Jeonghan let out a quiet chuckle at that, shaking his head slightly before looking back down at the cards, already moving on. “What were we doing when I proposed to you? Bonus points if you remember where it was.”

The moment the question left his lips, Luna’s expression shifted, her eyes dropping for a brief second as a faint blush crept up her cheeks, her fingers tightening slightly around her own cards. She took a small breath before answering, her voice softer now. “We were skipping rocks on the lake at a park in Berlin.”

Jeonghan looked at her with a small smile, his eyes soft as he nodded. “That’s correct.” His voice carried a quiet satisfaction, but there was something gentler underneath it. “You even got the bonus.” He added, his tone teasing lightly.

Luna let out a small laugh, shaking her head slightly as she looked at him. “Of course I did.”

There was a quiet confidence in her voice, but her cheeks were still faintly flushed.

Jeonghan glanced back down at the cards, though there was a hint of mischief returning to his expression as he asked her another question. “Is it true that you passed out when I proposed to you?”

Luna’s head snapped up at that, her eyes immediately narrowing as she caught the look on his face, disbelief written all over hers before it turned into a laugh. “That's not a question! Don't lie!” she said, her voice quick as she reached out instinctively to grab his cards, her hand brushing against his as he pulled them slightly out of reach, laughing.

“I didn't pass out...” Luna pointed at the camera as she clarified, her brows lifting as if addressing the viewers directly while Jeonghan continued chuckling beside her. “Almost, but I didn't.” she added, her tone firm but still laced with amusement.

There was a brief pause before the producer’s voice came from behind the camera, clear and amused. “You both got perfect scores.”

Luna’s eyes widened slightly before she turned toward Jeonghan, a bright smile breaking across her face as she lifted both her hands toward him. He mirrored her instantly, and they met in the middle with a double high five, both hands connecting at once with a soft clap.

“Good job.” Jeonghan said, his voice warm as he looked at her, his smile lingering.

“You too.” Luna replied.

“Can we end it with a kiss?” the producer asked, his tone teasing.

Luna and Jeonghan both turned to look at each other at the same time, a brief moment of shared understanding passing between them before Jeonghan reached out, his hand coming up to cup the side of her neck gently. He leaned in without hesitation and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of her nose.

Luna smiled at that instantly, her eyes crinkling slightly as she let out a small breath of a laugh.

“On the lips.” the producer teased, chuckling from behind the camera.

Luna shook her head lightly, still smiling as she glanced toward the camera. “He knows better not to kiss me when I have lipstick on.” she said, her tone amused.

Jeonghan let out a quiet laugh beside her, nodding in agreement. “She'll tear my head off if I ruin her lipstick.” he said, his voice light as Luna lifted her hand and gave a small wave toward the camera.

The moment lingered for just a second longer before it naturally faded, the two of them still smiling as the scene came to an end.

comments...

@/caratwonwoo • 17 hours ago ╰ SURPRISE DROP??? HELLO??? I OPENED YOUTUBE HALF ASLEEP AND GOT HIT WITH JEONGNA COUPLES QUIZ I AM NOT OKAY 😭😭 this is their FIRST OFFICIAL INTERVIEW AS A COUPLE and they just sat there in white looking like a wedding photoshoot like what do you MEAN?!

@/hanieloveclub • 17 hours ago ╰ when she said “When do I realized I liked you more than a friend?” and he just looked at her like that… and said ““That's a trick question because you always liked me more than a friend.” i’m actually unwell.

@/seokminsmiles • 16 hours ago ╰ the way he listed EVERYTHING she was wearing the first time he saw her down to the red converses??? sir that is not memory that is DEVOTION 😫 we’re not even a minute in!

@/cheolsversion • 15 hours ago ╰ “Yoon Jeonghan!” PLEASEEE the way he mimicked her and then admitted he likes hearing her say his name like that… i need to lie down

@/junhuicat • 14 hours ago ╰ 05:37 JIYEON’S RANT ABOUT THE DOOR NOT BEING CLOSED AND HIM NODDING AT THE CAMERA LIKE “see” IM CRYING they are literally married behavior already 😭

@/minghaosart • 13 hours ago ╰ not him casually saying she achieved all her dreams and calling her amazing and she just softly goes “I did.” like ??? THE INTIMACY ???

@/vernonfilmz • 10 hours ago ╰ 09:30 WHEN HE SAID HE KISSES HER BEFORE SLEEP AND SHE MISSED THAT STEP… the way she rolled her eyes but smiled?? yeah they’re SICK for this 🫠

@/hoshihoranghae • 10 hours ago ╰ “What's mine is yours. It doesn't matter.” JESUS FUCK YOON JEONGHAN WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM!?!

@/dkenergy • 8 hours ago ╰ “My moon… my pretty moon.” i’m done. pack it up. nobody talk to me ever again. he really looked at her like she hung the damn sky.

@/baebylunalover • 7 hours ago ╰ i don’t know who needs to hear this but LUNA IS SO PRETTY IT’S ILLEGAL. the way Jeonghan kept staring at her like she’s the only person in the room… chemistry is felt THROUGH THE SCREEN! i swear i felt like i was intruding on a date! This interview is TOO intimate 😭

@/jeonghanshalo • 6 hours ago ╰ i blinked and suddenly they’re talking about their FIRST KISS IN HIS CAR??? on the drive home??? six years ago??? after Wonwoo’s birthday??? oh they’ve been insane for each other for a long time.

@/mingyusbiceps • 6 hours ago ╰ 00:30 the way she said “Ready? You’ll have to get all of these right or I’ll be very upset.” and he just leaned back like he already KNOWS everything… yeah that man studied her like a textbook

@/nanayaluna • 5 hours ago ╰ YOON JEONGHAN PULLING LUNA’S CHAIR WITH HIS FOOT TO WHISPER IN HER EAR!!! LORD HAVE MERCY 🥵🥵🥵

@/wooahae • 5 hours ago ╰ Jeonghan: “You wore black a lot when we were trainees. That was one of the reasons you stood out to everyone. But you stood out to me because you were really pretty.” HELLOOOO?!!!

@/hoshishamster • 4 hours ago ╰ HER FACE WHEN HE GOT THE TATTOOS RIGHT??? ALL OF THEM??? even the tiny ones??? i’m actually screaming Jeonghan is a human Bae Jiyeon Encyclopedia 😝

@/dinosfuture • 3 hours ago ╰ 10:35 “What did I miss?” “I kiss you before I sleep.” HELLO??? SIR??? THIS IS A PUBLIC PLATFORM

@/scoupsleadernim • 2 hours ago ╰ i love how she kept trying to move on when he got smug like she KNOWS he’s about to say something that’ll embarrass her 😭 their dynamic is everything to me! I miss them soo much 🩷

@/caratdeul • 1 hour ago ╰ the way they both said “It depends.” at the same time about Jiyeon’s jealousy… yeah they’ve had that conversation before LMAO

@/hanieangelcore • 1 hour ago ╰ 11:50 when he mouthed something and pulled her chair closer??? and she smacked him after??? WHAT DID HE SAY I NEED ANSWERS!!!

@/moonlightbaeby • 30 minutes ago ╰ the lego room reveal??? SIX THOUSAND PIECE HOGWARTS SET??? they really built a whole life together brick by brick i’m crying

@/ot14forever • 52 minutes ago ╰ the way they both got perfect scores like of course they did… they’ve been orbiting each other for YEARS this was light work for them 😭

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You had been running late for all your lectures this week, but you were finally on time for this one. Actually, you were almost an hour early for this class. But that was mostly because you had a class two hours beforehand which meant that there was no time to travel all the way back to your apartment for only an hour before having to return to campus. But still, at least you were on time.

The innovation building was the best on your university campus — walls of blue glass, tall concreted lecture theatres, wooden floors and hanging lights, and your favourite: the laboratories. Marine biology. Geophysics. Chemistry. Biotechnology. Medical science. Design technology. Engineering. And your own major, Physics. Only two of your classes were held in the pretty building—Astrophysics 323 and Chemistry 101—the rest of your classes and labs were unfortunately scattered across the entire campus. Which, you bitterly remember, take a 15 minute walk between each of the buildings, even if your lectures are back-to-back. One of the many reasons you run late. ‘But,’ you think, ‘that one isn’t your fault, it’s the class organisers… Technically.’ But, this rainy Monday morning, you were sitting at one of the tables outside the lecture theatres waiting for your professor to unlock the doors. A takeout cup of green tea cooling by the laptop. Headphones on. Your hand fidgeting with a pen while reading your lecture notes. And on time. You hear them before you see them. A large group of what you suspect are foreign exchange students (not surprisingly, the university was known it’s science and technology departments, and international students were common) and their staff or translators. All dressed up in dark hoodies and face masks. ‘Did they get the memo covid was over?’ You wondered amused. You can’t hear what anyone is saying through your headphones, but you watch discreetly as they all walk past you and out the main entrance. One of them pauses and swiftly walks to the staircase before lifting a leg onto the third step. He puts down a water bottle and phone to retie his shoe as another person approaches and stands next to them almost like a bodyguard. Curiously sparks bright just as that one song—that you’ve been meaning to unlike from your spotify favourites for months now—plays too loud and jarringly. With a little sigh, you look away to turn your phone on and skip the song. But by the time you raise your head again, they’re gone. The sparks flicker and fate. Professor Manalo opens the lecture theatre doors wide and you take the opportunity to go in early to get the good seats in the front. You wash your hands in the deep porcelain sink with deionised water, then put the lab’s black rubber gloves on before taking your designated seat on table B2. Marina and the Diamonds spins around in your headphones. Slowly the room filled up with your fellow students, squawking boys and gossiping girl, all with their lab coats and safely glasses on, as the instructor sets up the projector screen. The practical goes well as always, and two hours later you’re walking out those same doors. Rummaging around in your backpack for the portable charger, you realise belatedly that it’s… missing? ‘Oh course it is. Why wouldn’t it be.’ ‘Great, great, great,’ you think while rushing to the seat that you sat in earlier, ‘if someone stole it already…’ But of course, the table is empty. Unfamiliar students and staff dot the area casually, but no sign of your charger. Fuck. Eyes searching the area, you find nothing but people, their bags, laptops, one abandoned empty coffee cup—that you bin—and some scattered pens. You double check. Then triple check. No charger. But your doomed hope skyrockets when you spot a small black square tucked into the side of the main staircase, and race over to hopefully retrieve your lost charger. You pick it up and it’s… a phone. Not yours. Not your charger. Great. Just great. “(Y/N)! You comin’ to the next lecture or skipping ‘n shit?” Jack, your classmate, yells (too loudly) from the main door. “Huh? Oh yeah, ‘m coming…” You pocket the phone, needing to hand it in at the student centre after your last lesson. And hopefully someone else handed in your charger? ‘Yeah, I’m not that lucky.’

Who the hell is going to believe you when you say that you did try and hand the lost phone in. You really did try, even leaving your last lecture of the day 10 minutes early to try and make it to the administration building before it shut. But by the time you got there only 3 minutes late it had already closed. And it wouldn’t be opened until Monday. Extinguishing any minuscule amount of hope you had to return the phone and find your charger. What a waste of time. And now here you were: sitting on your bed, bag of popcorn on your starry sheets, laptop open and abandoned on your lecture notes, and mystery phone light up in hand. For starters when you turned the thing on, the phone wasn’t password protected and took you straight to the homescreen. The display was thankfully in English too, with auto translate turned on from what looks like japanese or korean. The lockscreen and homescreen were the same image of some skyline unfamiliar to you. You refused to open the photos app on principle, but you did have to try to find out who the phone belonged to so you could return it. The text app was light up with 43 unread messages. You really really shouldn’t look. You should just turn the phone off and wait to respectfully hand it in on Monday. This is someone else’s property and privacy, you’d feel pissed off if a stranger went through your own phone. That’s what you keep telling yourself as you open the text messages and see the most recent messages. 11 different people tried to contact the phone in the hours since you’ve had it. The most recent one—named Hyunjinnie?—you open and read last few messages looking for the name of the phone owner, before texting them. You try the second one when the first blocks you.

They left you on fucking read??? For a second you’re tempted to submerge the phone into the dish water. To blow up the electrics and your stupid little desire to help a stranger out. Who the hell blocks or leaves someone on read who’s trying to return a lost phone?? Without another look or attempt, you turn the phone off to the sound of a train screaming past your apartment, and the warm yellow streetlights beginning to blotting out the stars.

It’s 4:12am when the phone lights up. Because of course the owner doesn’t have the damn phone on silent mode. Blearily you feel around in the dark of your bedside table for the phone, turning the brightness down low before reading the text.

On one side of the world, you’re out like a light with your face smushed against a pillow. On the other side, Seungmin is staring down at your texts.

AN: ahhhh panic, panic… okay so this is my first published fic, so please if there’s any mistakes or if you have some opinions, please do send them through! Can you guess whose phone the reader’s got, or who’s gonna be her favourite???