Episode Five: Wrong Timing, Right Dress

You didn’t plan to go out tonight.

You were set on staying home, cleaning your brushes, maybe rewatching a documentary you’d only half-finished. But Bada had other plans — and when Bada Lee decides she wants a girls’ night, resistance is basically pointless.

“It’s not a club-club,” she insists, adjusting her silver hoops. “It’s just a chill lounge. Creative people, live music, candlelight vibes. You’ll love it.”

You sigh, but go anyway.

You throw on a low-effort fit: black silk skirt, tank, hair up. No heavy glam. Just lip gloss and a bit of blush.

The Uber ride is quiet. Seoul at night sparkles — and you're thinking about that studio moment with Jackson. The way he sat on your couch. The way he looked at your unfinished canvas like he actually saw it. Like he saw you.

You shake the thought off. It’s not like he followed up.

———

The bar is dimly lit and buzzing — a low thrum of conversation, ambient R&B playing in the background. You spot Bada instantly, surrounded by some of the Bebe girls, laughing over drinks. You head over, exchanging hugs, sliding into the booth.

You feel it before you see him. That shift. That energy.

And then—

Jackson.

Across the lounge. Sitting casually at a table. Black leather jacket. Chain peeking out under his shirt. He’s not facing you directly — but you can still see the smile he’s giving to the girl next to him.

She’s pretty. You’ll give her that. Long hair, designer bag, pouty lips. She’s leaning in a little too close, laughing a little too hard.

You look away, sip your drink.

Bada nudges you. “That wasn’t on purpose.”

You raise a brow. “What?”

She tilts her head, subtle. “Him. Being here. I didn’t know. He doesn’t usually come to these.”

You shrug. “It’s fine.”

It’s not fine. But you’ve practiced that cool-girl mask since high school.

———

He sees you five minutes later.

You’re mid-convo with Tatter, giggling about some TikTok she tried to teach you at the last practice run-through. Your laugh is real. Your smile is soft.

He freezes.

You don’t notice. You’re not performing. You’re just being.

That’s the part that gets him.

He doesn’t even hear what the girl next to him says — he’s too focused on how the light hits your cheekbones, how effortless you look, like you belong in a frame somewhere.

She notices the shift in his attention. Glances over her shoulder. Her expression hardens.

You finally look his way.

Lock eyes.

You don’t smile. Just a soft nod. Respectful. Distant.

Jackson suddenly hates that distance.

———

An hour passes.

You haven’t approached him. You’re not playing games — you just… don’t want to look pressed.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom. On your way back, he intercepts you near the bar.

“Hey.”

His voice is low, quieter than usual.
Like he knows this moment needs to land right.

You pause, lean on the counter. “Hey.”

“She’s just a friend,” he says quickly, almost defensively. “PR stylist. I’m working on something and she’s helping.”

You raise a brow. “Didn’t ask.”

He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Yeah, but I figured you might’ve wondered.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. The music is louder here. You lean in, just enough. “I don’t keep tabs on you, Jackson.”

He nods slowly, eyes on yours. “Maybe I wish you did.”

You freeze for half a beat. Then you smile — slow, effortless, unrevealing.

“Enjoy your night,” you say, turning on your heel.

And you swear you can feel his eyes on your back the whole walk back to the booth.

———

DM sent around 12:47 AM, a few hours after the lounge)

📲 jacksonwang852g7:

yo

not tryna be weird or anything

but i just wanted to say you looked nice tonight

like really nice

and also

i wasn’t tryna be rude or shady earlier

idk, felt like maybe you were mad? or distant?

maybe i’m reading it wrong

but i just didn’t want you to think anything weird about that girl

it’s not like that at all

anyway

hope you had fun with the crew

good night 🎧

End of Episode Five.

Episode Four: Uninvited Guest, Unavoidable Vibe

Mark texts you:

📲 yo. bored. you free? let’s catch up. i’ll grab coffee and swing by

You smile. The two of you haven’t properly hung out since you got back to Korea. Between your painting deadlines and his schedule, it’s been passing DMs and the occasional meme.

You reply:
📲 studio day. but swing by. i’ll feed you snacks

———

You’re in joggers and a tee when he arrives. Paint under your nails, music low, windows cracked open. Mark throws himself onto the couch like he owns the place — which, to be fair, he kind of does. You grew up together. Comfort looks like this.

He’s mid-rant about trying to learn how to cook when you hear it:

A knock.
Then, a voice.

“Mark! Yo, bro, you forget your wallet again or—?”

You freeze.
He didn’t.

Mark calls out, unfazed.
“Not my fault you left it in my car, man!”

You turn your head, and there he is.

Jackson Wang.
Hat, sweats, plain black tee.
He’s casual. He’s comfortable.
He’s in your space.

Again.

———

“Hey.” He says it directly to you. Not surprised to see you. But definitely glad.

You nod, keeping your face neutral. “Hey.”

Mark hops up, already explaining. “I told him I was coming here, he said he needed to grab something. Didn’t think you’d mind.”

“I don’t,” you say quickly, polite. Too polite.
But your stomach’s doing somersaults.

Jackson wanders in like he’s been here before — hands in pockets, eyes scanning your studio.
Paint-splattered floor. A canvas half-finished in the corner. Your playlist still humming low in the background.

“This is cool,” he says, eyes locking on a small painting near the window. “You working on this?”

You nod. “Yeah. It’s not done.”

He glances at you, smirking. “Looks kinda done to me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And you’re suddenly an art critic?”

Mark’s already halfway through a bag of snacks, throwing out commentary like:
“She’s always been like this. Never satisfied. Even when the piece is perfect.”

You roll your eyes. “Perfection’s a scam.”

———

20 minutes later.

Mark steps out to take a call — some producer in L.A.
You and Jackson are left in the silence.

He sits on the edge of the couch, looking at your brushes drying in a jar.

“So,” he says, finally. “You still think I’m just some party-boy?”

You blink. “What?”

He doesn’t smile this time. He just looks at you. Curious. Careful.

“I know what people say,” he continues. “The flirting, the late nights. I get it. I’ve read the headlines too.”

You shrug, guarded. “I don’t make assumptions. I just… keep my distance.”

He leans forward, elbows on knees. “And yet, here I am. In your studio.”

You hold his gaze. He’s not being cocky. He’s being honest.

You shift your weight, trying to sound light. “Technically, you invited yourself.”

He grins. “Maybe. But I could’ve waited in the car.”

You go quiet. He’s not wrong.

And maybe that’s what makes your chest feel tight.

———

Mark re-enters, loud and breezy, snapping the moment in half.

“Yo, sorry. That was a whole thing.”

Jackson stands, stretches. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Mark shrugs. “They just needed some files. You heading out?”

Jackson nods. But his eyes stay on you.

Before he leaves, he tosses you a look.

Not a smirk. Not a joke.

Something... warmer.

Then, under his breath:
“You’re not what I expected, by the way.”

You don’t answer.
But that night, when you're alone again, you think about it.

And you wonder what he expected.

End of Episode Four.

Episode Three: Blue Paint & Typing Bubbles

Midnight. Your DMs.

📲 jacksonwang852g7:
okay serious question
how did you get paint on your elbow in that video and not notice

📲 you:
artistic genius doesn’t follow the rules
also i was wearing black. betrayal.

📲 jacksonwang852g7:
you’re hilarious lol
do you paint full time or just casually make your elbow famous

📲 you:
semi full time
i had a couple shows last year
but i don’t really talk about it much tbh

📲 jacksonwang852g7:
why not??
your work is 🔥
that big pink/blue piece w the koi???
that’s insane

You pause.
You posted that one months ago. It barely got much traction unless people really scrolled.

📲 you:
you went deep on my page huh?

📲 jacksonwang852g7:
it’s called research.
don’t embarrass me.

📲 you:
you’re smooth for no reason

📲 jacksonwang852g7:
nah i’m just honest
you’re dope
i didn’t know you were like that tho
art shows and all
no wonder you walk like you know secrets

You stare at that one a second longer than you should.

📲 you:
i don’t know what that means but i like it

📲 jacksonwang852g7:
it means you got presence
you look like you dream in color
but keep your favorite ones to yourself

You pause. That one hits a little different.

📲 you:
that’s poetic. you write often?

📲 jacksonwang852g7:
only when i’m tryna impress someone 😎

📲 you:
damn
did it work?

...He doesn’t reply for five minutes.
You think maybe you pushed it too far. Then:

📲 jacksonwang852g7:
idk
did it?

Your heart jumps.

You close the chat, throw your phone across the couch, and yell into a pillow.

———

Jackson, on the other side of the city, grinning at his phone like he just got away with something.

He taps on your profile again. Scrolls through photos of paint-stained hands, empty canvases, random mirror selfies, and a blurry group photo with Bada, Tatter, and a guy he doesn’t recognize.
He doesn’t “like” anything older.
But he stares.

For longer than he wants to admit.

———

Your story the next morning — a boomerang of your latte, captioned “blue today.”

He replies again.

📲 jacksonwang852g7:
is that blue as in sad or blue as in color of the week?

📲 you:
wouldn’t you like to know
interpret it how you want

📲 jacksonwang852g7:
dangerous.
i’ll go with…blue as in ocean depth.
mood: floating

📲 you:
who needs a therapist when you have a man who reads IG stories like horoscopes

📲 jacksonwang852g7:
call it my love language
interpretation & attention

📲 you:
damn.
you got those on deck huh

📲 jacksonwang852g7:
only for people i actually want to talk to

You close your phone again.
Heart? Doing backflips.
Mind? Screaming.
Face? Completely neutral — you’re in public, sipping your latte, looking like you’ve got your shit together.

(But inside? Chaos.)

End of Episode Three.

Episode Two: Can I Get Your... Instagram?

The next time you see him, it’s not on purpose.

You’re posted up at the edge of a rooftop party in Itaewon — something low-key thrown together by one of the streetwear brands your friends model for. The kind of event where everyone looks like they don’t care but also like they really care. You’re tucked next to Tatter and Kyma, picking at fries, when you hear it:

“Yo—! Wait a second.”

You turn. Jackson. Again.

This time, no cap, hair pushed back like he got tired of being undercover.

He’s already smiling.

“I didn’t expect to see you twice in one week.”
You match his energy, lips curling. “And here I thought you were the one following me.”

Jackson laughs, full and unbothered. “Maybe I am.”

Kyma snorts into her drink. Tatter raises her brows at you, that look. The one that says girl… he’s so into you.

“Have you two met?” you ask, gesturing between him and your girls.

Tatter nudges you with her shoulder. “He remembers us. Right?”
Jackson squints like he’s pretending to think. “Ah, the backup dancers from the donut night. Of course.”

They all burst out laughing — he’s charming, in that reckless way guys only get when they know they can back it up.

You’re smiling without realizing it.

———

Later that night, music softer, you’re standing near the railing, scrolling your phone half-heartedly.

He slides up beside you. Not too close, but close enough that your arms almost touch.

“I didn’t catch your full name the other night.”
“You didn’t ask,” you say, glancing at him with a subtle smirk.

He grins like you just challenged him to something.
“Well… now I’m asking.”

You tell him — and then add, “I actually know Mark, by the way. Grew up with him. Haven’t seen him in a minute though.”

Jackson blinks. “Wait — Mark Mark?”

You nod. “I figured you’d already made that connection.”
He chuckles, a little sheepish. “I didn’t. But that explains the vibe. You got that Mark energy — cool but lowkey. People trust you.”

That surprises you, the way he says it so easily. Like it’s obvious.
You glance away. “Didn’t realize that was a thing.”

He shrugs. “It is.”

There’s a pause — the kind that feels warm, not awkward. Like you’re both watching the same city lights in different ways.

Then he says it, casually:

“Hey, are you on Instagram?”

You look over, teasing. “Is that your way of getting my number?”
He puts a hand to his chest like he’s wounded. “Whoa — I’d never just ask straight out. I’m a gentleman.”

You laugh. “Yeah, I’m on IG.”

He hands over his phone without saying more. No pressure. Just quiet confidence. You type in your handle, give it back, and he doesn’t check it right away.

Instead, he says, “Cool. I’ll follow you when I’m not being watched.”
You look around dramatically. “You are being watched.”

“Exactly,” he winks.

———

Later that night, home in your apartment, curled up in a hoodie, no makeup, phone lighting up in the dark.

📲 jacksonwang852g7 just followed you
📲 jacksonwang852g7 liked your last three posts
📲 jacksonwang852g7 replied to your story: “you looked good tonight btw 👀 just sayin”

You laugh to yourself and shake your head.

He’s bold. But he’s sweet with it.

End of Episode Two.

Episode One: The First Glance

Setting: Seoul, Fall – crisp air, cozy neutrals, everyone’s in jackets and sneakers, dancing between cozy cafés and dim-lit studios.

The music is too loud for a Tuesday night, but Bada never cared about that. And honestly, neither do you, because you haven’t seen her in over a year and this random invite to her crew’s “light rehearsal + chill” session was overdue.

You tug your hoodie tighter around your shoulders and push open the studio door.

“YA! You’re late,” Bada says, already running up to hug you like she hasn’t just FaceTimed you two nights ago.

“I brought donuts,” you hold the box up like a peace offering, and instantly, the crew forgives you.

You're not exactly a dancer like them, but you’ve always loved the energy — creative, loud, chaotic in the best way. And you fit into that chaos like you were born for it, even if you keep most of yourself hidden unless you feel safe.

Tonight feels…safe.

“Jackson’s in the other room,” Bada says casually while grabbing a glazed twist. “You’ll meet him.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Jackson Jackson?”

She nods, mouth full. “He’s working on choreo for something. Chill though. He’s like, not that Jackson in person.”

You shrug. “I’m not worried.”

(You are a little worried.)

---

Jackson, sweating through a loose tee, baseball cap, body rolling in sync with his own voice blasting through the speaker.

He notices you before you notice him — just a flash of your reflection in the studio mirror. You’re laughing at something Bada said, head tilted back, that kind of laugh that isn’t about being loud, but being real. You look so... calm. Like you belong in this chaotic scene. Like you’ve always been here.

He doesn’t say anything yet. Just files that laugh away.

---

Later, when everyone’s grouped on the floor, drinking iced americanos at midnight. Jackson ends up across from you. Not by design. Not consciously, anyway.

“Do you dance?” he asks, out of nowhere, between a conversation about honey butter chips and why dancers hate baggy jeans.

You blink. “Not unless I’m drunk and at a wedding.”

Everyone laughs, including him. He leans back, watching you like you’re a puzzle with no picture on the box. You don’t think much of it.

You’re too busy noticing how loud he is in the best way. Goofy, magnetic, loud with intention. He doesn’t try to shrink himself for the room — and somehow, that makes you want to open up a little too.

---

A week later.

You’re meeting Mark for coffee. Seoul’s gotten colder since last week, and he’s wearing a beanie that doesn’t match but somehow works. You guys have that old friend kind of energy — years and years of shared secrets but zero weird tension. He was always like a brother.

He’s laughing at something stupid you said when Jackson walks in, invited by Mark, and freezes for a split second when he sees you.

“Wait, you two know each other?” you ask, looking between them.

Mark grins. “Bandmates, remember?”

You blink. Right. Jackson Wang, GOT7. Shit.

Jackson just smiles, relaxed, but something flickers in his eyes — the same thing you missed at the studio.

End of Episode One.

Two.

♣️

"Let me take care of you..."

It was words she's heard him speak to her before.

Words she knew that she could never agree to because she had convinced herself time and time again that she was too damaged.

Jackson was the purest thing to enter her life, something she had known the moment she had met him. He was the only one who managed to make her feel as if she was someone special. Taking his time to truly get to know her because he simply wanted too.

From the start, Jackson's intentions were always innocent. His desire to get close to Milan was always because he enjoyed her company and the way they so easily clicked. Even when he knew what she did for a living and all the warnings that his friends would tell him about, it never stopped him from remaining in contact with her.

He had made up his mind that he wanted her in his life and no one or nothing would change that.

Milan could admit that her main reason for even approaching Jackson to begin with was because she had seen him as her next target. Another man she'd used to her advantage to get whatever she wanted but she was quick to learn that Jackson wasn't like the rest.