#idol!james

It starts stupid.

Like… stupid stupid.

You make one harmless comment about another idol being “pretty good on stage,” and suddenly James is acting like you committed a crime.

“You didn’t have to say it like that,” he mutters, arms crossed so tight it looks uncomfortable.

You blink. “Say what like what?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t,” you snap. “I literally said he did well. That’s it.”

James scoffs, pacing the practice room like he’s trying not to explode.

“Oh my god,” you groan. “Are you seriously jealous right now?”

“I’m not jealous,” he fires back instantly.

You raise a brow. “Right.”

He stops pacing. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That tone.”

You throw your hands up. “James, you’re being ridiculous!”

“Oh, I’m ridiculous?” he says, voice rising. “You’re the one acting like I’m crazy for not wanting to hear you talk about someone else like that!”

“It wasn’t even praise! It was a statement!”

“You didn’t have to smile like that when you said it.”

You stare at him. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re-” He cuts himself off, jaw tightening. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me!” you shout, stepping closer. “Because I’m not a fucking mind reader!”

He steps closer too. “You know exactly why it bothered me.”

“No, I don’t!”

“Yes, you do!”

You’re chest‑to‑chest now. Breathing hard. Both too stubborn to back down.

His eyes flick to your mouth. Quick, but obvious. And that’s when it hits you.

This isn’t about jealousy. It’s about him being scared. Scared of losing you. Scared of not being enough.

Your voice softens. “James-”

He shakes his head, frustrated. “Just- you don’t understand how it feels when-”

“James.”

He looks at you, eyes sharp, hurt, tense.

And then he snaps.

“Just shut up and kiss me.”

You don’t even have time to react.

He grabs your face and kisses you.

It’s messy. Your back hits the wall softly as he presses forward, not forceful, just desperate to be close. His breath mixes with yours, uneven, warm. His hands slide to your jaw, thumbs brushing your cheeks like he’s grounding himself.

You kiss him back just as hard, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. He exhales against your mouth like he’s been holding his breath for hours.

When he finally pulls back, he’s still close. He rests his forehead against yours, breathing unsteady.

“You drive me crazy,” he whispers, voice a little bit rouhg.

“You started it,” you whisper back.

He huffs a tiny laugh, the first one since the fight started.

“I wasn’t jealous,” he lies again, softer this time.

You smile. “Sure.”

He rolls his eyes, but his hands stay on your waist, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“I just…” He swallows. “I don’t like the idea of someone else getting your attention like that.”

You cup his cheek. “You have my attention.”

His eyes soften instantly.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, leaning in for another kiss, slower this time, but still warm, still full of everything he can’t say. “I know.”

And just like that, the argument dissolves.

Because with James, it always does.

Practice had been going fine. Tiring, sweaty, chaotic as usual, until your foot slipped during a turn and you landed wrong. Not dramatic. Not dangerous. Just a sharp sting in your ankle and a very unflattering yelp.

The staff helped you sit down, wrapped it, told you to rest. You insisted you were fine.

…And then someone, you still don’t know who, told James.

Which is why the door to your practice room slammed open like someone kicked it.

“Y/N!-”

He stopped when he saw you sitting on the floor with an ice pack, hair messy, cheeks flushed from dancing.

His chest rose and fell like he’d sprinted the whole way here.

You blinked. “James?”

He walked over fast, not running, but close, dropping to a crouch in front of you.

“What happened?” His voice was calm, but his hands weren’t. They hovered over your ankle, then your knee, then your face, like he didn’t know where to check first.

“I just slipped,” you said. “It’s not bad.”

His jaw clenched. “Why didn’t you call me?”

You stared at him. “James.. it wasn’t serious.”

“That’s not the point.” He finally touched your ankle, gentle like you were made of glass. “You got hurt.”

You laughed softly. “Barely.”

He didn’t laugh back.

Instead, he exhaled shakily, and sat besid you, shoulder pressed to yours.

“I thought—” He stopped, swallowing. “I thought it was worse.”

Your heart softened instantly. James never panicked out loud. He panicked in silence. in the way he showed up breathless, in the way his hands shook just a little.

You nudged him. “Hey. I’m okay.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“You scared me,” he muttered, eyes on your ankle. “I was in the middle of practice and Yoonchae said you fell and I-” He cut himself off again, shaking his head. “I don’t like not knowing.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

He finally looked at you. Really looked at you. His eyes softened instantly.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he said quietly. “Just… tell me next time. Please.”

You smiled. “Okay.”

He hesitated, then wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you gently into his side.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

“Only when I move it.”

“So don’t move it,” he said, dead serious.

You huffed a laugh, “That’s not how bodies work.”

He ignored you, adjusting the ice pack like he was a certified doctor. Then he brushed a strand of hair from your face, thumb lingering on your cheek.

“You really scared me,” he whispered.

You squeezed his hand. “I know.”

He leaned his forehead against yours for a second. Just long enough to breathe you in, then pulled back with a tiny smile.

“Next time you fall,” he said, “I’m carrying you to the hospital.”

“James-”

“No. I’m serious.”

You laughed, and he finally relaxed, shoulders dropping.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re dramatic.”

“And you’re injured,” he shot back. “So I win.”

You nudged him again. “Thank you for coming.”

He looked at you like you’d said something ridiculous.

“Of course I came,” he said softly. “You’re… you.”

Your face warmed instantly.

He smirked. “What? Getting shy?”

“Shut up.”

He kissed your temple. Quick, gentle, and almost shy himself.

He then stood up and offered you his hand.

“Come on,” he said. “I’m taking you home.”

“James, I can walk-”

“Nope.” He pulled you up carefully, and carried you bridal style. “You’re not walking anywhere without me.”

"It's not like you can anyway."

You sighed dramatically, but your fingers tightened around him anyway.

He noticed. And smiled.

The HYBE party is loud. Music shaking the floor, lights low, idols everywhere pretending they’re not exhausted. You’re talking to a producer you’ve worked with before, laughing at something he said, when you feel someone staring.

You don’t even have to look.

James is across the room, leaning against a high table with a drink, pretending to listen to Juhoon. He’s not listening. He’s glaring.

More specifically: He’s glaring at the producer’s hand resting a little too close to your waist.

You excuse yourself and walk over to him. He doesn’t move, but his jaw tightens.

Juhoon immediately leaves to go talk to Keonho, giving you too some space.

“You good?” you ask.

James takes a slow sip of his drink. “Didn’t know you were letting random dudes touch you now.”

You blink. “He wasn’t touching me.”

He scoffs. “His hand was literally on your waist.”

“It wasn’t-”

“Don’t lie,” he mutters, eyes flicking away. “I saw.”

You cross your arms. “Are you jealous?”

He laughs, sharp, sarcastic. “No. I just don’t like people touching what’s mine.”

You raise an eyebrow. “James.”

“What?” he says, defensive. “I’m not wrong.”

You step closer. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

He glares at you, but it’s weak. “Stop saying that.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m trying to be mad.”

You grin. “You’re failing.”

He looks away, ears turning pink. “Whatever.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later, when the party dies down, you find him sitting on a couch in a quieter corner, scrolling on his phone with the fakest “I’m fine” expression you’ve ever seen.

You stop in front of him.

He doesn’t look up. “…what.”

You take his phone out of his hand.

“Move.”

He blinks. “Move where-”

You sit down on his lap.

James goes completely still, hands hovering awkwardly before settling on your waist, fingers curling like he’s scared to hold you too tight.

“…you’re doing this on purpose,” he mutters.

“Maybe.”

You lean in and kiss his cheek. Soft, warm, and lingering just long enough to make his breath hitch.

His jaw tightens.

You kiss him again, closer to the corner of his mouth. His fingers tighten on your waist.

“You’re unbelievable,” he says, voice low.

You cup his face, turning him toward you. His eyes flick down to your lips before he can stop himself.

You kiss him, slowly and gently

Your lips press against his in a way that’s not rushed or messy, just warm and steady, like you’re reminding him he doesn’t need to be jealous.

His breath catches, and then he kisses you back, one hand sliding up your back, the other gripping your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

When you pull back, his forehead rests against yours, eyes half‑lidded, jealousy completely melted away.

“Fine,” he murmurs, voice barely above the music. “Maybe I was jealous.”

You smile. “Maybe?”

He groans. “Okay. Definitely.”

You laugh quietly and tuck yourself against his chest. His arms wrap around you immediately, pulling you closer, like he’s been waiting all night for you to sit exactly where you are.

“Next time,” he says into your hair, “don’t let anyone touch you like that.”

You look up at him. “You could’ve just asked.”

He rolls his eyes, cheeks pink. “Yeah, well… I’m asking now.”

You kiss him again, a soft peck on his cheek.

You guys sit there, ignoring the energetic environment around both of you.