When you joined AMPERS&ONE's content team, you were determined to not get attached to anyone to make your job easier. Due to the fast-paced industry, the staff come and go constantly, evident as the last person with your current position was only in the team for three months. Professional boundaries exist for a reason, you never know when you'll have to leave. So you take the rule seriously. You show up, film what needs filming, hand in your footage, and go home without ever hanging out with the other staff or idols. A simple, foolproof routine.

Except Brian keeps making it difficult for you.

At first, he's just much easier to work with than other idols. When you're filming behind-the-scenes content, some members get awkward around the camera. Others try too hard to look candid, but Brian somehow knows exactly how to act natural. Whenever you're assigned to AMPERS&ONE, the editors are satisfied with your work because the footage always comes back usable.

The problem is that over time, he starts giving those reactions specifically to you.

Not the camera.

You. Only you.

And the thing is, he wasn't exactly subtle about it. After six months of work, the entire film crew has noticed how Brian would always help you carry equipment, how he would offer you food before he even eats, even going so far to give you his own hand warmers when filming during winter. Despite the teasing you've slowly gotten from your coworkers, you've decided to stick to your rule. No getting attached. So you leave immediately after every shoot, blatantly reject the younger editor who offered to take you out to dinner, and most importantly, distance yourself from Brian as much as possible.

However, this is proven difficult when the two-day filming of their comeback music video begins. You find yourself at the set quite early on the first day of filming, your breath fogging up from the cold weather. As usual, the setup takes up around two hours of the day, so the crew was instructed to arrive at the first location at four in the morning. A few members arrive at around 6:30, and the filming starts with Siyun and Kamden, then Jiho and Mackiah a few hours later.

The director calls for a break after filming a dance break portion at the second location, and you hurriedly head to the group's waiting room to ask the members questions for content. You find Kamden and film him quickly, then head to the corridor to eat lunch. However, your phone pings in your pocket and you sigh in annoyance as you see a message from one of the editors.

Hi! Would it be possible for you to film Brian as well since you're near their break room already? Please ask him which of the other member's parts he'd like to have. Thank you and have a good break!

Good break, my ass. There's twenty minutes before the next portion of filming and you haven't even touched your already cold sandwich. So much for trying to avoid Brian. You sheepishly head back into their waiting room and find him eating lunch beside Jiho while scrolling on his phone. Hesitantly, you clear your throat and pull your camera out.

“Sorry, I was instructed to film you for a bit. I was instructed to ask you which of the member's parts you'd want to have instead of your own,” you mutter as you uncap the lens cover. As usual, he grins up at you eagerly, immediately setting down his phone and chopsticks.

“Sure! That's all you need?”

You nod gratefully and set up the camera properly. The moment you start recording, he stares straight at the lens like he's in love with it, talking enthusiastically about how he’d like Seungmo's part. You have no choice but to cut him off after five minutes of talking, thanking him for his willingness to provide good content for Andears. As you turn to leave, a hand shoots out to gently grasp your shoulder. You turn to face Brian, slightly irritated that your break time is ticking away far too quickly, but your glare immediately softens when you see a plastic bag with a bento and coffee in his free hand.

“You probably haven't eaten yet,” he says while giving you a shy smile.

You immediately break eye contact, staring at the necklace he's wearing instead. “They gave the staff sandwiches, you don't have to give me food-”

“Take it. Or at least the coffee, it's still warm. Please, you've been working for hours. It's cold out and a sandwich isn't enough to give you energy.”

You open your mouth to protest but Brian stops you by shoving the plastic bag into your hands. You thank him quietly and rush out of their break room to finally eat. The plastic bag crinkles loudly as you place it down, prying open the bento box to find piping-hot miso soup, stir-fried beef, and a heaping pile of rice. You scarf down the food as quickly as possible then head back to the set to set up for the next scenes.

An hour later, you set up the camera under the platform for the scene where Siyun has to hit Brian with a prop brick. You watch from the monitor as the music cues and Siyun whacks Brian at the side of his head, the prop brick barely crumbling. Once the director yells cut, Brian stumbles to his feet and walks back to the waiting room, the white debris from the brick still stuck to his hair. You find yourself trailing after him without thinking, too worried to keep distancing yourself. You find him sitting down, a blanket wrapped around him as he winces while brushing the debris away.

You hesitantly walk up to him, trying your best to act unfazed by the pain he's in, muttering softer than you usually sound.

“Are you…okay? Do you need a medic?”

Unsurprisingly, Brian offers a small grin. Despite clearly being in pain, he's prioritizing your feelings, trying to assure you that he's okay. You almost believe him as he speaks in a deep, soothing voice, a voice you’ve always found to be comforting.

“I'm okay. I guess Siyun didn’t realize the prop was that hard. We were both expecting it to crumble immediately, but it was pretty solid. I swear I didn’t get a concussion though, don’t worry.”

You sigh softly, slightly annoyed that he’s trying to pretend that he’s okay. “Sure you don’t need a medic? Or anything else?”

Oh, no. You realize that you’ve worded that badly when Brian lets out a tiny smirk.

“Anything else, huh? Hmm…then I think I deserve a kiss for this. It did hurt a lot, you know.”

A scowl immediately reappears on your face, your earlier concern vanishing. “Absolutely not,” you snapped, trying your best to hide the heat rising up into your cheeks.

Brian laughs at this, a warm, resonant sound that fills the room as his eyes crinkle softly. You realize that you can feel your heartbeat thrumming against your chest, a warm, giddy solace spreading through your body despite the biting cold. The realization jolts you back into reality, and you immediately back away, taking on a professional tone again. You’ve gotten far too close this time. Too dangerous.

You manage to sputter out an excuse to leave, the restraint in your voice evident. “I'll get a medic to check on you. Don't move around too much.”

You scramble out of the room, ignoring the intense desire to hear him laugh again. But as you call over one of the medics, you realize that you can't get that smile out of your head. That angelic, unforgettable smile that somehow never fails to make you feel safe.

The next day, you arrive early at the third set. It's considerably colder than yesterday, but the morning sunlight is somewhat warm enough to keep you from shivering while preparing your camera. The director puts you on standby for the morning, since most of the scenes are simple enough for a few staff to handle. Instead, you find yourself watching from the sidelines as Siyun, Mackiah, and Jiho go through their parts with ease.

By the time the director calls for a lunch break at 1PM, almost everyone is quivering from the winter. You’ve forgotten to wear thicker clothing before leaving the house due to sleepiness, so you head to one of the warmer waiting rooms to eat the food they’ve provided for the staff. The door creaks open after a while and you look up, expecting another staff member, but smile politely as Seungmo enters, holding a paper bag.

“Sorry for intruding,” Seungmo says quietly, “but Brian-hyung told me to find you. He couldn’t give this to you because he’s getting his makeup done so he told me to give it instead.”

You thank Seungmo courteously as he hands the warm paper bag over and leaves quickly. The moment he’s gone, you pry the bag open and find a canister of seaweed soup along with the expensive lunch you know they provide for idols. You find a sticky note on the side of the soup canister after pulling it out, handwriting hastily scribbled but undeniably Brian’s.

We’re both working late today, so please eat well. You need energy, so at least have the soup to stay warm. Be safe.

The same, comforting warmth from yesterday envelops you yet again as your cheeks heat up. He’s been thinking about you even if you haven’t seen each other today.

He’s worried about you.

Only you.

The thought fills you with giddiness as you happily eat the lunch he’s provided you. You’re halfway through the meal when you freeze. The realization that he’s gotten through you, that you’ve been thinking about him hits you.

You’ve gotten attached. Not to a staff member, but to an idol. A man who’s supposed to be unattainable. You realize that you can’t help thinking about the way he’s been looking at you for the past few months, the affection in his gaze from across the various sets you’ve both been to, the memory of his smile permanently fixed in your mind.

Brian is completely, utterly, head-over-heels in love with you. And now, you’ve realized that you feel the same.

After the lunch break, you head to the arena set to help prepare the cameras and lighting again. You watch from one of the monitors as they complete their group dance scenes, then one of the staff hands over the responsibility of the camera rig to you for Seungmo and Brian’s solo parts.

Seungmo’s part flies by quite quickly, only needing one take, then you adjust the angle again while waiting for Brian to prepare for his part. You watch through the camera as their manager shows him what to do, but you can’t help but snicker when he makes direct eye contact with you, grinning widely.

The last scene, a group dance with Kyrell in the middle wraps up the shoot at around 2AM. The director instructs everyone to start packing up immediately, and you forget about Brian for a while, too cold to think about anything else. As you quietly start walking away from the set and pull out your phone to get a ride home, you hear a familiar voice behind you.

“Wait, you’re leaving already?”

You turn around, a stupidly happy expression on your face, then remember that you’re supposed to be distancing yourself and stop, awkwardly clearing your throat instead.

“Ah, yeah. It’s cold and it’s late, so I’m heading straight home. Thank you for the lunch earlier, by the way. You really didn’t have to.”

Brian freezes like he hadn’t expected you to thank him.

“Oh, right. The lunch. That was nothing.”

His hands disappear into his puffer jacket as another chilling gust of wind blows across the now-empty set. The rest of the staff have already left, and Kamden, who was with Brian earlier, is nowhere to be seen. For a moment, neither of you say anything, then you glance away first.

“Well, I should probably get going-”

“Did I do something wrong?”

The remorseful tone in his voice stops you in your tracks. You immediately turn back to face him in confusion.

“What?”

Brian looks around nervously. It's strange seeing him like this. On camera he's confident, playful. Right now he looks like he's about to throw up.

"The past few weeks." He laughs weakly. "You've been avoiding me."

Your stomach drops quickly.

"I swear I wasn't-"

"You were."

His voice isn't accusing. If anything, he sounds guilty. You open your mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. He’s right. You’ve been avoiding him. The smile he gives you is small and despondent.

"I knew it."

"No, Brian, it's not-"

"It is, though."

"Brian, wait-"

"I’m sorry if I creeped you out or something."

The words come out in a rush, like he’s barely thinking before he speaks.

“I just really wanted to impress you but I heard that you aren’t interested in dating, so I’ve been trying my best to get on your good side so we could be friends first. I thought I’d have a chance if we became friends before I tried to make you fall in love with me. Wait, this is all coming out wrong. I just…like you. A lot. I didn't mean to make this so awkward.”

A horrified laugh escapes his lips as you gape at him in surprise, watching as his ears turn red. For several seconds, you can only stare at him. Every excuse you'd made for his actions. Every time you'd convinced yourself you were imagining things. The lunches he’d always give you, the constant offers to help carry things, the way he'd always look for you first whenever they arrived on set. All of it suddenly made sense.

You laugh, completely surprised at the predicament you’ve gotten yourself into. His expression falls immediately.

"Oh. I’m sorry."

"Brian- wait, no." You step forward before he can retreat. "No, no, that's not why I'm laughing. Listen to me for a second, will you?"

Brian looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole as he snaps back weakly. "Then why are you laughing?"

You cover your face as you feel your cheeks heat up quickly.

"I thought I was imagining everything. I thought you were just trying to be polite, okay? And I wasn’t avoiding you because you creeped me out. I was avoiding you because I like you too."

Brian's mouth actually falls open.

"...What? You like me?”

You immediately regret confessing because now he's smiling. God, you loved that smile.

"Brian."

"You like me."

"Stop repeating it."

"You like me."

You smack his arm playfully and he laughs even louder, pulling you closer. For a second, the two of you just stand there, grinning like idiots in the middle of an empty, freezing parking lot at two in the morning. Then Brian clears his throat awkwardly before speaking.

“So…are you free this Friday?”

The smile that spreads across his face when you nod is worth every second of torment in the winter. And for the first time all night, you don't feel cold at all.

thank u for reading! message or comment if you want to be added/removed from my taglist!

“Good morning. You're frowning again,” he said lightly, watching you prepare products through the mirror.

“I'm working.”

“You can work and smile though.”

“I don't want to.”

Kyrell smiled brightly, turning around to watch you pour foundation onto a palette. “You should try. It wouldn't hurt anyone, y’know."

You uncapped a tube of primer with more force than necessary, leaning over him. “No. Tilt your head up.”

“Yes, ma'am.” 

He obeyed immediately, a soft smile still on his face. That was your problem with Kyrell. He never seemed bothered by anything. Not their overwhelming schedules, not their exhausting rehearsals, not even when their manager accidentally forgot to order his coffee one early morning. He never seemed to be sad or tired, despite everything.

Meanwhile, you've been awake since 11 PM, had to take an hour to commute to work, and had already considered quitting your job five times since you've stepped into the dressing room.

“You look tired,” he said softly.

“You tell me that way too often, Kyrell.”

“Because it’s true.”

You dabbed concealer under his eyes. A thin layer, it’s not like he needed much to cover up, anyway. Sometimes you wonder how his skin looked so good when you know idols barely get two hours of sleep in a day. “Maybe I keep frowning because people keep talking to me.”

Kyrell laughed quietly, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. You hated how much you liked hearing it. 

“Close your eyes.”

Your fingers lightly brushed his cheek as you tapped a champagne-colored shimmer onto his lids. Kyrell stayed still, probably because he’d learned early on that you’d threaten to poke him in the eye with a mascara wand if he moved too much.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “you’re gentler today.”

“I’m always gentle with my clients.”

“You poked my eye yesterday.”

“That was your fault for moving and talking too much.”

His lips twitched, threatening to break into another smile. “Wow, and here I thought we were bonding.”

“We're not.”

“Mhm. Sure.”

You ignored the sarcasm in his voice and continued on fixing his eyeliner. Kyrell watched you carefully now, watching you work on his makeup through the mirror like every little thing you did fascinated him. It was…unsettling. Usually, most idols would be on their phones or asleep while you worked on them.

“You keep staring,” you muttered as you carefully smudged his eyeliner with your finger.

“You're pretty.”

The pencil eyeliner nearly slips out of your hand as you freeze. 

Kyrell's eyes flick up to you innocently. “What?”

“You can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I'll ruin your eyeliner and I'll have to do it all over again.”

He laughed again, closing his eyes compliantly when you bring the eyeliner back up to his face.

By lunch break, you were one convenience away from a breakdown. Someone spilled foundation on your sleeve, a stylist tipped over a liquid blush you'd been using on Kyrell, and one of the managers kept asking you about a group's coffee order that was definitely not your responsibility to handle. 

You escaped to the corridor outside the dressing room to eat your lunch in peace, hoping to get at least five minutes alone. 

Unfortunately, you hear a familiar voice behind you as you sit down to eat.

“Found you.”

Kyrell sat down beside you before you could protest, holding two iced coffees. An iced americano, probably for you, and a caramel macchiato for him. After working for his group for months, you’ve learned that his taste in food is as sweet as himself.

You stared at the coffee he placed beside you. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“I know. That’s why it’s called being nice.”

Hm. Suspicious. Still, you took it. It would be a waste, anyway.

Kyrell beamed, a look you've seen often after successful performances.

“You’re really easy to please,” you said.

“You accepted my coffee. This is basically you accepting my marriage proposal. I've finally gotten through that ice-cold heart!”

You regret how your cheeks immediately flush, turning away to hide your embarrassment. A defensive scoff escapes your mouth as you glare at him.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“But you like it.”

“No.”

“But I'm a little cute, aren't I?”

“You’re delusional.”

Kyrell sighed wistfully. “You always say the sweetest things to me.”

Despite yourself, a tiny smile tugged at your mouth, threatening to break out into a full grin.

His eyes widened immediately. “There it is!”

You flattened your expression at once, turning away. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Nope. I saw it.” He pointed excitedly. “Tiny smile. Barely, but still there.”

“You’re annoying me.”

“And yet you smiled.”

You took a long sip of coffee to avoid answering, the bitter americano helping to jolt you awake.

Kyrell leaned his head against the wall, close enough that your shoulders brushed every few seconds. Neither of you moved away. 

“I gotta make you a playlist,” he muttered suddenly.

“For what?”

“You don't listen to music while working. That's one of the reasons why I talk so much when you're doing my makeup.”

“You could play your own music if it's too quiet.”

“Oh, I don't think you'd like that.”

“I wouldn't. Who even listens to pop at two in the morning?”

“It's fun! Drowns out the sound of my manager screaming at the staff.”

You let out a soft giggle before you could stop yourself.

Kyrell’s eyes flickered to your lips, a grin appearing on his own face. “No longer Oscar the Grouch, huh? I see we’re making progress today.”

“You’re insane.”

“Yet you still like me.”

You opened your mouth to deny it automatically, yet nothing came out. Because the horrible thing was maybe, just maybe, you did like Kyrell.

Maybe it was because of the way he always bought you coffee whenever you worked on him, or how he was respectful enough to thank every staff member by name. Or how he somehow noticed when your hands hurt from holding brushes all day and silently opened bottled drinks for you afterward. Maybe it was because of that stupidly warm grin he’d always have on his face whenever he eagerly sat in the makeup chair.

As you watched him leave to prepare for yet another performance, you realize that your heart’s been pounding ever since his voice rang out from behind you. The breath you didn’t know you’ve been holding finally escapes you as you quietly mutter to yourself.

“Fuck, this is so unprofessional.”

Their last showcase ended a bit after midnight.  You were packing palettes into your kit when he suddenly appeared beside you, still dressed in stage clothes, a tissue plastered across his sweaty forehead.

“Good work today,” he said.

You zipped your bag shut. “You too. Shouldn’t you be taking photos with the members?”

“I already did.”

“Okay.”

“I just wanted to see you.”

The room suddenly felt strangely warm. Or perhaps it was just your face.

Kyrell leaned against the table, watching you with that same unbearably fond expression, his eyes locked onto your face. “You know,” he said carefully, “I think I figured something out.”

“What?”

“You act grumpy when you’re embarrassed.”

“I’m leaving.” You slung your bag over your shoulder quickly, attempting to scramble out of the room. “Goodnight, Kyrell.”

He caught your wrist gently before you could escape. Your breath caught as you turned around to face him. After always working on him while he’s sitting down, you’ve never really realized how much he towers over you.

Kyrell’s smile softened immediately. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes?”

“Would it be okay if I took you out sometime?”

Your brain stopped functioning for a few seconds as your cheeks reddened yet again. “You’re…asking me on a date?”

“Yes.”

“You?”

“Yes,” he repeated, laughing softly as his hand squeezed your wrist lightly. “I think I was direct enough, pretty.”

You stared up at him, trying very hard not to notice how handsome he looked under the dim dressing room lights.

“How long have you liked me?” you asked breathlessly.

“Since you threatened to make my eyeliner crazy long when I wouldn’t stop moving.”

“That was the first time we met, Kyrell. It’s been that long?”

“I’m committed.”

You shook your head slowly, but there was no hiding your smile now. Of course, Kyrell noticed instantly. 

“There it is again,” he muttered triumphantly.

“Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Sorry.” He paused. “So…date soon? Please?”

You definitely should’ve made him work harder for it. Instead, you sighed softly and said, “Fine. I’m free next Thursday. Don’t make me regret this.”

Kyrell stepped closer, his grin so fond it made your chest ache as his hand on your wrist moved to your waist. “Trust me, I’ve been thinking about this for months. It’ll be perfect, I swear. I’ll see you soon, pretty.”

You watch as Kyrell walks back to his group, practically beaming with delight. And for once, you don’t regret taking this job.

thank u for reading! message or comment if you want to be added/removed from my taglist!

The bell above your restaurant door rang at exactly 1:35 AM. You didn't have to look up from the register to know who it was. You turn to the stove behind you, ready to reheat the meal you prepared for your regular.

“You're late tonight.”

“Sorry.”

The familiar laugh behind you reached your ears quickly as Kamden slid into his usual seat near the window, dropping his backpack onto the seat beside him. His hair was mussed beneath a black cap, his eye bags more noticeable than last Friday. From the looks of it, he'd just finished dance practice.

“But I’m still here, aren't I?”

You rolled your eyes, though the smile tugging at your lips ruined any attempt at annoyance.

"Wow. Such dedication."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment, Kammy."

"It sounded like one."

You shook your head and disappeared into the back kitchen to get a drink for him. You could hear Kamden humming as you walked away, presumably one of their comeback songs he'd been telling you about recently. After a couple of months, he somehow became a part of the restaurant's nightly soundtrack. The soft humming of the refrigerator at the back, the sound of the traffic outside, the occasional rain pattering onto the windows. And Kamden. Always Kamden, every Friday. Always at the exact same time.

He'd started out as a normal customer, someone who’d been looking for a place to eat during late hours of the night. A time when barely any restaurants were open. A handsome customer, admittedly, but still just a customer. After a couple of weeks, he'd turned into a regular who'd always order what was easiest to make. He'd always stay for an hour or two then leave. But over time, things changed. Now he didn't even need to order anymore.

By the time you returned from the kitchen, a plate of kimchi fried rice was already in your hands. His favorite. Kamden's eyes immediately lit up.

"You love me."

"You wish I did."

You set the plate down as a soft chuckle escapes his lips, a quiet "I do” barely audible. You catch it anyway and turn to get him a drink from the fridge, ignoring how your chest suddenly feels warm. The booth creaks as you slip into the seat across him, setting down the can of soda in front of him. The restaurant was empty, as usual. At this hour, it always was. Most people had gone home from work hours ago. 

Months ago, you would’ve been more worried about a decrease in profit because of the hours your restaurant would be open. But not anymore, you never worried when Kamden was there. Not when he sat across from you and talked about his day between bites, and when he told stories about his members he loved so dearly. Not when he laughed so hard his eyes disappeared, and definitely not when he looked at you like you were the only person in the room. Well, technically, you always were. But the realization that you felt more for him was terrifying.

It was easy when he was just a customer. Easy when he was only another face passing through. But now?

Now you knew exactly how he liked his coffee. You knew he always stole extra napkins. You knew he drummed his fingers when he was nervous. You knew he called his mother after difficult days. You knew the shape of his smile and the sound of his voice at two in the morning. And knowing all those things made wanting him feel dangerous. Because people left. People moved on. Especially people like Kamden. His life was moving forward at a hundred miles an hour. Tours, schedules, flights. Big dreams. And you were just-

"Hey."

His voice interrupted your thoughts. You blinked and cleared your throat awkwardly.

"Hm?"

Kamden was watching you thoughtfully.

“You were gone for a sec.”

"No, I'm literally sitting right here."

"You know what I mean."

Unfortunately, you did. You looked away first, staring at the window to pretend to check the weather. Outside, the usual neon signs from bars across the street reflected against the rain-slick concrete.

Kamden rested his chin on his palm.

"Something bothering you?"

The honest answer sat painfully in your chest as you shook your head.

You. You are. You have been for weeks.

Not because he'd done anything wrong, quite the opposite. Because every night made it harder. Every conversation, every laugh, every moment that felt questionably like more, more than how you knew you interacted with other customers. But neither of you ever crossed that line. Maybe because you were scared. Maybe because he was. Or maybe because both of you were waiting for the other person to move first.

His voice softened. "You don't have to tell me."

The restaurant lights cast warm light across his features. For a second, he looked less like the polished idol you’ve seen on the small TV in the corner of the restaurant. Less like someone untouchable. Just Na Kamden. The guy who came here when he couldn't sleep. The guy who always stayed until closing. The guy you knew missed his twin brother thousands of miles away whenever he looked in the mirror. The guy who somehow made this place feel like home.

“Do you ever think about disappearing?”

The question escaped before you could stop it. Kamden smiled awkwardly.

"I...What?"

"Not forever."

You fiddled with a sugar packet.

"Just... leaving everything behind for a little while. Like a hiatus, maybe."

Silence settled between you. Outside, rain continued falling. Then Kamden nodded.

"A lot."

Your eyes lifted.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

He leaned back, his gaze drifting towards the droplets of rain gathering on the glass of the window.

"Everyone wants something. Everyone's watching. Everyone has expectations of me. Especially as the leader. After taking over for Jiho, I just…I'm always scared."

You listened quietly.

"I love what I do. And I'm glad I chose this path. But sometimes I wonder what it'd be like if nobody knew who I was. If I could just enjoy my life without walking on eggshells."

Kamden laughed softly.

"Sounds dramatic when I say it out loud."

"No."

You shook your head.

"It doesn't."

His eyes met yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The rain outside grew stronger, but the restaurant felt warmer. Safer. And suddenly, terrifyingly, you wanted to reach across the table and take his hand. You didn't. But somehow Kamden noticed anyway. His gaze flickered downward to your hand, then back up again.

"Can I tell you something?"

Your pulse jumped.

"Sure."

He smiled nervously. You couldn't remember ever seeing him nervous before.

"I come here even when I'm not hungry. And I know there are restaurants closer to my apartment."

His voice became quieter.

"I know I could order delivery instead of walking here at 1 in the morning. But this place feels different."

The room suddenly felt too small for both of you.

Kamden swallowed.

"Because you're here."

For one second, the entire world disappeared. The rain. The restaurant. The city. Everything. Only him remained. 

"Kamden..."

His smile faltered. He'd probably spent weeks gathering the courage to say that. He looked disappointed, ready for rejection. The realization hit you. Kamden thought you didn't feel the same. 

You stood abruptly. His expression immediately became confused. Then you walked around the table. His eyes widened.

"Uh-"

"Move over."

"What?"

"Move, Kammy."

Laughing nervously, he slid across the booth. You sat beside him. Close enough that your shoulders touched. Close enough to hear his breath catch the moment your hand intertwined with his own. His grin appeared slowly. Brightly. Like the warm sunrise you always saw before closing up the restaurant.

"Oh. So you do like me."

You groaned.

"Don't make that face."

"What face?"

"That face."

"I'm happy!"

"You look ridiculous."

"I look like this because you've basically admitted that you're in love with me."

You shoved his shoulder, a grin creeping up on your lips as he laughed hard. The sound filled the restaurant. Filled every empty corner. And for the first time in weeks, the fear inside your chest quieted. Because maybe the future was uncertain. Maybe his schedule would get busy. Maybe you wouldn't see him for a while.

But right now? Kamden was here. Beside you. And for now, you could guarantee that he would be there for you, every Friday.

message or comment if you want to be added/removed from my taglist!

Not literally everywhere, of course. You didn't attend every schedule, not like their sasaengs did. There were times where he wouldn't see you at all, as expected. Not all fans would be able to set aside enough time and money to go to every event. But whenever you did appear, he always noticed. And after a month, even the other members had noticed how Jiho would always look for you.

“Hyung, you're doing it again.”

Jiho glanced up from his seat backstage, staring at Kyrell.

“Doing what?”

Kyrell followed his line of sight toward the large audience gathering in the stadium.

“Looking for someone.”

Jiho turned away, opting to stare down at his phone to ignore the blush rising up into his cheeks.

"I'm not."

"You totally are."

Jiho rolled his eyes, but Kyrell was already grinning.

"It’s the shy one, isn't it? The one you wouldn't stop talking about after our fansign a few months ago."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure, hyung."

The teasing from the rest of the members didn't stop after that. Unfortunately, neither did Jiho's habit of searching for you whenever they had an event. There was just something comforting about seeing you in the crowd to support them, to support him. He found you…sort of adorable. 

The first time both of you actually talked was during a fansign. When your turn arrived, you sat down across from him so sheepishly that he almost laughed. You looked absolutely terrified.

Jiho smiled immediately. "Hi, thank you so much for coming today!"

You finally attempted to look up at him. The moment your eyes met, you froze. The reaction was so immediate that he had to bite back another laugh, staring at you affectionately.

"Hi," you replied quietly.

"You're nervous, aren't you, pretty?"

Your eyes widened, your cheeks immediately flushing red as you handed your album over. 

Jiho grinned at you again. Cute. Way too cute.

"What's your name?"

After you answered, he repeated it softly before writing it down. The conversation continued naturally after that. You talked about school, music, and about how long you'd been supporting AMPERS&ONE. What surprised you most wasn't that he was friendly. Idols were trained to be friendly to keep the attention of their fans. For the money, obviously. As you assumed he did, too.

What surprised you was how attentive he seemed.

He listened. Actually listened. He didn’t seem like those other idols that acted polite and sweet for the money.

When your time ended and you stood to leave, he suddenly took your hand in his and said, "I'll remember that this time."

You froze.

"Remember what?"

"Your name."

The happiness in his voice caught you off guard.

Jiho leaned back in his chair, handing you back your signed album.

"I've seen you before. Don’t disappear too often, okay?”

Months passed by quickly, and the closeness between you grew naturally through fan calls, fansigns, and brief interactions after events. Jiho managed to learn much about you. Your dream career, your favorite shows, how you always had to listen to music while cleaning. He remembered everything you told him, despite the thousands of fans he had to interact with almost every day.

One fansign, he attempted to make you more comfortable by asking about an exam you’d mentioned months ago.

"Did it go well?"

You stared at him in shock.

Jiho laughed at you softly.“What’s wrong?”

You felt your pulse suddenly rushing. "You remember that?"

"Of course I do."

His answer was immediate. As if remembering details about your life was the most normal thing in the world. As if you were the only fan he cared about. 

That night, Jiho found himself laying awake in bed, despite needing to get up early the next day for a photoshoot. He found himself questioning things, questions he didn't particularly want the answers to.

Why was he always searching for you in crowds? Why did he remember every conversation with you? Why did his energy shoot up whenever he saw your name appear during fan calls? Why did he care so much about you?

The answer came to him after going through pictures from their concert a few months ago. In one shot, he spotted you easily, the stage lights showering your face with color. You were smiling brightly, lovingly, even. Not at the camera. At him. Jiho stared at the image for several seconds then dropped his phone onto the bed.

"Oh."

That was bad. Very bad.

Suddenly everything made sense. The way he found himself wondering whether you were doing okay, the way your happiness truly mattered to him, the way flirting came so easily when it was you, the way seeing you, even through a screen, felt like coming home after a tiring day.

He liked you. Not as a fan. You. And that terrified him.

Jiho spent the next week trying to convince himself it wasn’t true. He failed miserably, finding himself staring at that picture of you at the concert every once in a while.

Months later, after another successful concert, Jiho sat backstage checking his phone as the staff scrambled by to pack up. A familiar username appeared on his feed. Your latest post, featuring a shaky photo of the stage, clips of their performances, and a caption thanking AMPERS&ONE for being by your side through difficult days.

Jiho stared at the screen for a while, then smiled softly. The truth was, you had no idea how much you'd done for him too. You had entered his life as one face among thousands. Simply a fan, a stranger. Someone he should have forgotten after a single interaction, like the countless others he’d met for the past three years.

Instead, you'd become the person he searched for in every crowd. Someone he wanted to put a smile on their face whenever possible. The person he thought about long after schedules ended. His solace.

Jiho clicked the message icon and typed out a message without thinking about the consequences, about what his manager would say.

I know I shouldn’t be messaging you like this, but I saw your post. I’m glad you had fun tonight. Thank you for always coming to see us. You probably don't realize it, but seeing you there to support us makes difficult days easier for me too. But every conversation we have ends far too quickly, don’t you think? This is probably a terrible idea, but would you let me take you out on a date?

For several seconds, you simply stared at the message, too shocked to do anything else. You read it twice, thrice. Your hands were shaking so badly you nearly dropped your phone. It felt impossible, like a dream you would wake up from soon.

You swallowed hard and began to type.

I’ve liked you for so long but I haven’t let myself think about it too much. Because you’re you, and I’m me. Worlds apart.

Your thumb hovered over the send button, shaking nervously.

But if you’re seriously asking me…then yes. I’d love to go on a date with you.

thank u for reading! message or comment if you want to be added/removed from my taglist!

It wasn’t an intentional decision. After a bombardment of constant revision assignments, recording sessions, and almost-impossible deadlines, it just became easier to stay in the company building instead of bothering to commute home every day. The shower rooms in the company gym always had hot water, the laundromat a block away was open 24/7, and there were always fully-stocked vending machines in the company lobby. It was just easier that way. You told yourself it was only a temporary situation every time you folded another load of laundry into an old shopping bag before walking back to the FNC building at 4 in the morning. You told yourself you’d go home soon while eating a stale, reheated sandwich from the half-off section of a convenience store. You reminded yourself over and over that you went through the same thing in uni, that you’ve survived countless sleepless nights in the library to finish mountainous piles of assignments and org work. You could handle not going home for a while. Just until this project was over.

Then the next one arrived. And many more after that.

You knew you had to suck it up and keep going if you wanted to keep your job. You still bowed politely in the hallway whenever another employee passed by and helped the interns who shyly asked you for directions to parts of the building. You forced yourself to smile whenever artists greeted you before recording sessions to avoid further angering the supervisor who already disliked you. But the smile never seemed to reach your eyes anymore.

Regular meals became an afterthought for you. You ignored the constant headaches from an average of 10 hours of sleep in a week. Some afternoons, you found yourself staring at a session file for several minutes before realizing you hadn't processed a single thing on the screen. You blamed it on being busy, downed another painkiller, and kept on working. You didn’t have time to stop. Not when four different groups were waiting on vocal guides. Not when the other staff trusted you to deliver.

Siyun noticed a few weeks later. You weren’t particularly close, but you’d helped with a few of their songs before. He definitely wasn’t the most talkative, unlike Mackiah, didn't pry or ask personal questions or comment on things that weren't his business while recording. Instead, he observed in the quiet way he always did. So when he walked into the studio and found an energy drink beside your computer, he frowned for a second and stored the thought away before heading into the recording booth. It was strange. You hated energy drinks, insisted that they all tasted like medicine. He remembered that you always used to disappear for lunch around 1 PM. But nowadays, you never seemed to leave the recording room. Whenever anyone offered to take you out for lunch or have food delivered, your answer was always the same.

"I already ate."

The lie sounded less believable every time, but he never called you out on it. After all, he wasn't sure he had the right to. Being coworkers was a strange kind of relationship to him. Close enough to spend entire days and sleepless nights together, but not enough to the point that concern might seem like intrusion. Or maybe he was only overthinking. Maybe he didn’t want to seem like he was putting you on the spot. You were always kind to him during recordings, patient when takes took longer than expected, quick to laugh whenever he apologized for mistakes that barely existed. If he crossed a line, would he ruin all of that? The possibility scared him, so he decided to stay quiet. Mostly.

One night, he left vocal practice well past three in the morning and found your studio lights still on. He hesitated before knocking lightly against the open door.

You startled, nearly dropping your headphones.

"Oh. Sorry, didn’t see you."

His eyes lingered on the untouched convenience store sandwich sitting beside your keyboard. The expiration sticker read last week.

"You heading home? It’s late, er, early."

The weak smile that appeared on your face did nothing to convince him as you replied. Your voice sounded rougher than usual.

"In a bit."

He looked at the blanket folded on the couch, and silence settled between you until he held up a plastic bag from the convenience store. Inside sat three triangles of kimbap, bottled water, and banana milk.

"You can have one."

"You don't have to."

"It’s okay."

He set the bag beside your laptop before you could refuse again.

“I bought too much. It’ll go to waste.”

You both knew he wouldn't. Still, you accepted it.

"...Thank you."

He never stopped taking care of you after that. Never too forward to embarrass you, but still always around. Some mornings, there would be fruits and a sandwich sitting beside your monitor. Sometimes tea or banana milk. Once, during a week where the rain refused to stop, you came back from a meeting to find an umbrella leaning against your chair. When you found him later that evening, you held it up.

“Sorry, is this yours?”

He shrugged. "Keep it, I just bought it. It looked like yours was broken."

It was. The handle of your old umbrella snapped four days ago, forcing you to awkwardly hold the metal frame every time you walked in the rain. You hadn't mentioned it to anyone. You never realized how often he paid attention to you. You didn't know whether that comforted or flustered you.

Despite Siyun’s help, you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed as projects overlapped until every song sounded like another version of the last one. You caught yourself reading the same email three times without understanding it. Sleep became a rarity, and your head hurt constantly now. Sometimes the ringing after absurdly long recording sessions refused to disappear, piercing through your ears even after everyone had left.

One afternoon, Siyun stepped into the room for a scheduled recording.

"You okay?"

"Hm?"

"You've been staring at the screen. We should’ve been recording five minutes ago."

"...Just thinking."

"You look tired."

"I am tired."

The answer slipped out before you could replace it with your usual smile. Siyun nodded, and surprisingly, the look he gave you wasn’t of pity or awkwardness. He simply understood.

"I'll try to finish quickly today so you can rest."

You shook your head quickly. "You don't have to rush. You've got a ton of schedules after this."

"So do you."

"...Unfortunately."

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. Thankfully, you’ve always found it easy to record with Siyun. He listened carefully, adjusted almost immediately, and never argued no matter how many takes you’d ask him to do. Somewhere over months of working together, you'd developed an unspoken comfortableness with each other. Every session with him became one of the few you genuinely looked forward to, which made what happened a week later hurt even more.

You hadn't slept. Maybe just a bit, only a mere two hours, your body folded awkwardly on the studio couch like usual. By noon, your headache had worsened. You swallowed another painkiller, but it barely did anything to ease the constant throb in your head. After lunch, Siyun stepped into the booth right on schedule. You adjusted the microphone levels and pressed record. Or...

You thought you had. He sang through the entire verse. Clean, perfect, exactly what you'd wanted him to do.

When he stepped back into the room beside you, you smiled tiredly.

"That sounded great."

He shook his head humbly. "I think the second line could be softer."

"Let's hear it first."

You clicked the recording. Nothing happened. No audio. Your hand froze on the mouse. The record button wasn't red. It had never been.

"...No. No, shit…" You clicked again. Still nothing. The realization crashed into you far too quickly. You hadn't recorded a single second.

Siyun looked from the empty track to your face.

"...What?"

Your stomach dropped. Before either of you could speak again, the studio door swung open. Your supervisor stepped inside, clearly expecting to check on the progress before another meeting. His expression was neutral until his eyes landed on your monitor. The empty vocal track was too obvious. He looked at the booth, then back at you.

"...What's going on?"

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.

"I..." Your throat felt dry. "I forgot to-"

"You forgot? You forgot to record the take?"

The silence in the room was far too uncomfortable. You couldn't bring yourself to lie. The transport bar was still sitting where it had been before Siyun started singing. Your supervisor let out a slow breath through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face before looking at the clock mounted on the wall.

"Do you know how long we've had this room booked?"

"...I'm sorry, sir."

"I want an answer, not an apology."

"...An hour, sir."

"An hour." He gave a short, disbelieving laugh. "Do you know how difficult it is to move recording schedules around? We have another artist coming in right after this. Their manager already complained that they were pushed back because one of your sessions ran overtime yesterday."

"I know."

"No." His voice sharpened. "I don't think you do. Actually, I don't think you know what you’re doing at all."

The room had gone terrifyingly still. Even through the glass, you could see that the rest of the members waiting outside had stopped talking.

"You've worked here long enough to know that this isn't something you 'forget.' Recording is the bare minimum. That's the one thing that has to happen."

"I know, sir."

"So what happened?"

You thought hard for an answer that sounded reasonable. There wasn't one.

"I...thought I pressed it."

"You thought. You weren't thinking. That's the problem. You’re somehow incapable of thinking now that we’ve had you around for long enough. You’re getting complacent."

Your fingers curled tighter around the edge of the desk to stop them from shaking.

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Stop apologizing." His voice finally rose. "You've wasted everyone's time."

"Sir, I-"

Your supervisor gestured toward the booth. "Siyun's been standing in there for almost forty minutes and because you couldn't do the most basic part of your job, we're doing it all over again."

Heat rushed to your face.

"I'm...sorry."

"You keep saying that. Fine, take five minutes. Get yourself together."

He glanced toward Siyun.

"You’re re-recording from the top. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience."

Then he left. The silence that followed somehow felt louder than the shouting.

You stared at the monitor again. Your vision blurred. You blinked hard, but the tears came anyway. You turned away before anyone could see, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes. The first sob escaped before you could stop it. Then another. Then, a warm hand found its way to your shoulder. Siyun. He looked at you for a second, then quietly reached over to the recording computer. The monitor went dark. He walked over to the small refrigerator in the corner, took out a bottle of water, unscrewed the cap for you, and set it on the desk. He sat on the couch on the other side of the room, not close enough to crowd you. You cried into your hands for what felt like forever. He never once told you to stop, didn’t reach to hug you, didn’t say that everything would be okay. You both know it wouldn’t.

When your breathing finally steadied enough to speak, your voice cracked.

"I really did forget."

"I know."

"I don't..." You swallowed hard. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I’m so sorry for taking up your time."

He was quiet for a long moment.

"I don't think something is wrong with you."

You looked at him through teary eyes.

"I messed up."

"You did."

Despite the bluntness, there wasn't a trace of judgment in his voice. Only honesty.

"And it'll probably happen again if nothing changes."

You stared at the floor, too embarrassed to look at him.

"I don't know how to stop."

"I know."

You both understood that deadlines wouldn't disappear tomorrow. Your projects wouldn't magically finish themselves. Then after another minute, he stood.

"I'll ask if we can reschedule."

"You don't have to."

"I know."

He paused at the door, then glanced back at you.

"When we're done today..."

His voice stayed soft.

"...Let's get dinner. My treat."

Not because food would fix anything, but simply because you had to eat. Because it was the least he could do to help you. Because he knew you didn’t want to be alone. And for now, that was enough. For now, that was all the comfort you needed.

tl: @syunet

message or comment if you want to be added/removed from my taglist!

KAMDEN (Sanctuary) ♫ Sanctuary - Joji ♫

OUT NOW!

SIYUN (By Your Side) ♫ Your Ocean - Hoppipolla ♫

OUT NOW!

You’ve never seen him up close, but the glint of a rifle held by a cloaked figure is enough for you to know that it’s time to run again. If his bullets couldn’t reach you, the boys with him would. “Taeyang-hyung,” they’d call the man with the rifle as the smaller boy would root through the resources you spent hours to find.

The taller one with kind eyes, Shota, he called himself, would talk calmly as he restrained you for the third time this month, trying to ignore the muffled swears that spilled out through the gag he’d unsuccessfully placed on you.

Shota’s sweet voice does nothing to comfort you as he tightens the restraints he clumsily wound around you after the other boy had knocked you down. 

“I’m sorry, but it’s Taeyang-hyung’s orders, you know? Besides, you’re only one person. We need this more than you do. Think of it as charity, okay, noona?”

You glare up at him, attempting to spit out another curse through the fabric around your mouth, but another cloth is clamped around your face by a warm hand as a voice from behind you growls into your ear.

“Help Jongseob, Shota. I’ll shut this idiot up.”

You try to protest again but the hands behind you tighten the ropes around you to the point of pain, and your breath hitches as the man at your rear finally spins around the chair you’re tied to. Without thinking, you struggle against your restraints to get away from the hooded figure now inches away from your face. You know it’s him, and you know it’s bad news if he personally came to help the other two.

You hear Taeyang snicker from behind the fabric covering his face as he holds up a knife to your neck, his words focused on someone behind you.

“Don’t get her weapons. We need our little bloodhound to live if we want easy loot, don’t we?”

Your weak attempt to snarl at Taeyang fails horribly when he topples over your chair to the side, ignoring you as your head hits the ground. After a couple of minutes of listening to them shuffle around behind you, you feel someone tugging at the rope around you to loosen it. You don't dare to fight back, but when the restraints around your body fall off, you yank the gag off of your mouth and sprint as fast as you can until a strong arm is swung around your neck, effectively holding you in place as Shota and Jongseob walk into your line of sight, staring at you with..worry? You feel an odd sense of fondness for the younger ones until Taeyang's voice resonates again from right behind your ear, loud and commanding.

“Boys, take the stuff and go back to the base. I'll make sure she doesn't follow us.”

You watch as Shota and Jongseob scamper away quickly, leaving only you and the man pressed against your back. Fighting won't work, you know he's stronger than you. So you decide to change tactics.

“Look, I know that you all need food too, but there's three of you, aren’t there? Wouldn’t it be easier to search instead of waiting for me to find things?”

Taeyang’s grip around your throat tightens, preventing you from saying anything else as you helplessly claw at his arm.

“Don't want to risk those two getting injured or killed. And you're easier to kill than those drones. So if you try anything, don't think I'll hesitate, lady.”

You breathe in relief when he finally lets go of you, collapsing to the ground. When you look up again, he's gone, but you hear the high-pitched hum of Alcor drones from a distance, a sign that you have to abandon the building you've been hiding in once again.

“Shit.”

You don’t usually explore when the sun has gone down, but the raid earlier left you with no choice but to scrounge around for any food you can find. After avoiding the infected near the main road, you find yourself going through an old hotel, rummaging through each room to see if there's anything left after years of abandonment. Surprisingly, there aren't that many infected inside. You didn't mean to stay here for that long, you were only hoping to find something to eat after the boys took your last cans of sardines.

A sigh of relief escapes your lips when you pry open a drawer and find a few expired granola bars underneath a pile of bloodied cloth. This place must have been occupied years ago by a couple of survivors, judging from how almost every room has been stripped of anything useful. You turn around to finally leave, but a sudden gunshot resounds and you crumple to the ground as your arm explodes with pain. You drop the knife you're holding and groan as someone kicks you in the stomach, weakly raising your hands in defeat, your eyes shut from the pain of having to move your injured arm.

“This is my property,” the man towering over you snarls. The voice is familiar, a raspy, low voice you heard just earlier. Taeyang. Your eyes snap open and your breath hitches when you realize he doesn't have his mask on. His face is pretty for someone who seems so cold-hearted: piercing, dark eyes that glare down at you, messy, brown hair almost long enough to reach the collar of his jacket, a pretty flush on his face from the cold evening air. He looks…younger than expected.

You ignore the pain pulsating through your arm and push him off of you.

“How was I supposed to know?? It’s not like you left some kind of big marking in front of the building with your name on it–mmph!”

“Shut up,” Taeyang cuts in with a whisper-yell. “Drones.”

Both of you freeze as the high-pitched sound of Alcor drones gets closer and closer in the hotel hallway. Taeyang immediately shuts and barricades the door while you struggle to your feet, picking up the knife you dropped and dragging yourself to the corner of the hotel room, trying to not panic. As the hum of the drones get closer and closer to the door, Taeyang rushes to the end of the room and attempts to pry open the window, hissing at you as quietly as he can.

“Fuck, get up and help me if you don’t want to die, lady!”

You pull yourself to your feet, slotting the blade of your knife into the end of the window, and gasp in pain when you try to pry it open. Taeyang shoves you out of the way and does it himself, the window giving way with a loud creak. Before either of you are able to move, the chair he’d used to barricade the door gives way and a drone flies in, aiming straight at Taeyang. His rifle, abandoned on the bed, is too far for him to reach, and your knife is useless as it clatters onto the floor from his hand.