#the8au

Chapter 15 - End

The cup slipped from her fingers before she even realized it.

Hot tea spilled down the counter, soaking into the pages of the open notebook she’d left by the sink. The ceramic shattered on the floor a second later, the sound sharp and final.

But Sua didn’t flinch.

She stood there, her phone still clutched in her hand, screen dark now. Her fingers were trembling. Not violently. Not the kind of tremble that made you gasp or stagger. No, this was quieter—subtle and horrifying. The kind of shaking that crept into your bones when your body knew something your mind wasn’t ready to admit yet.

Pledis had called her.

They had spoken gently. Calmly. With the kind of rehearsed sympathy that was more insulting than comforting.

She couldn’t breathe.

Her knees gave out before the tears did. She slid to the kitchen floor, the broken cup beside her, the spilled tea now lukewarm beneath her palms. Her mouth opened—but no sound came out. Only air, shaky and thin. Her chest rose and fell, uneven, like her lungs had forgotten how to do their job.

He had been fighting with them. With his members. His brothers.

Because of her.

She just didn’t know it.

Not until now.

Not until Pledis handed her the truth like a loaded gun and asked her to pull the trigger herself.

He had been fighting for her.

Fighting because of her.

And the worst part?

She knew him.

Even though they’d only been together for just under a year, she knew him. Knew how easily he’d burn down the whole damn world if it meant protecting someone he loved. How recklessly he’d throw himself into the fire if he thought she was hurting. How much he hated seeing her in pain.

He would leave it all behind. In a heartbeat. The group, the career, the stage he’d built piece by piece since he was a kid.

He would walk away for her.

And she couldn't let that happen.

Her fingers curled tighter around her phone. Her breath hitched again, and this time the tears came—slow and stinging. No sobs yet. Just the kind of crying that felt like drowning. The kind where your body didn’t move, didn’t shake—just leaked. Quiet. Defeated.

It was too much.

Too loud in her chest.

Too final.

She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth as a strangled sound escaped her throat. A sob. Guttural. Painful. It was like her lungs had ripped themselves apart from the inside.

She wasn’t just heartbroken.

She was destroyed.

Because loving Seungcheol had never been the problem.

It was losing him—choosing to lose him—that would kill her.

And now she had to do exactly that.

—

Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

The tea was still soaking into the notebook by the kitchen sink. Shards of the broken cup were scattered around her knees, but she couldn’t move. Not yet. The tears hadn’t stopped, not since the phone call. Her lungs hurt. Her throat ached. She was still gasping like she’d just run a marathon in a dream she couldn’t wake up from.

She needed someone.

Just one person.

With trembling fingers, she unlocked her phone, her vision still blurry with tears. She scrolled through her contacts until she found his name—Minghao—and pressed “Call.”

It rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then—

“Sua?”

Her breath caught. Just hearing his voice made the wall she’d been building inside her crack wide open. Her voice came out in a jagged whisper, barely human.

“Ha-Hao…”

A pause. “What happened?”

“I—” Her voice cracked completely, collapsing into sobs. “They called. Minghao, they called me—Pledis—they said I have to stay away from him. They said he’s fighting with the members—he’s losing everything—and it’s because of me. They said…”

She pressed her palm against her mouth, trying to stifle the sound, but it was too much. Her whole body was shaking now.

From the other side, Minghao was moving. She could hear it—the sharp shuffle of feet, the click of a door, his breath speeding up.

“Where are you right now?”

“At home—” she gasped. “I didn’t know who else to call—I didn’t—I can’t let him find out, Hao. If he finds out, he’ll leave everything behind for me. You know he will.”

She was choking on every word, guilt curling like poison in her chest.

And Minghao knew. Of course he knew. There was a pause—a beat too long—but then his voice came back, calm, gentle, grounding.

“I know,” he said. “I know, Sua. I’m at rehearsal, but I’ll come to you as soon as we’re done, okay? Just… breathe. You’re going to be okay. We’ll figure it out.”

“No,” she whispered, wiping at her face with the back of her trembling hand. “Don’t tell him. Please. I can’t be the reason he throws everything away. I won’t survive it, Hao. I won’t.”

“I won’t say anything,” he promised. “I swear. Just hold on for me, okay?”

“I’m trying,” she whispered. “I’m trying.”

But even as she said it, she already knew the truth.

She wouldn’t be there when he arrived.

She hung up first. Not because she wanted to. Because if she stayed on that call for one more second, she would’ve begged him to come now, begged him to take her somewhere far away, and she didn’t have the strength for that kind of desperation anymore.

The screen dimmed.

And in the hollow silence that followed, another buzz lit up her phone.

Just arrived at the venue. Members are all here.

She stared at the message like it was a knife.

Like it was a goodbye she hadn’t written yet.

Tears rolled silently down her cheeks.

Because he didn’t know.

Because he was still trusting her with his heart, not knowing she was about to break it.

She typed, barely seeing the letters.

Good luck. I’m rooting for you.

She hit send.

And then she let herself scream—into the pillow, into the silence, into the kind of heartbreak that didn’t sound poetic or pretty.

Because it didn’t feel like anything but ruin.

—

It took her a long time to move again.

Time blurred after that last message. Seconds stretched into minutes, minutes dragged into hours, and she just sat there on the kitchen floor—knees pulled to her chest, eyes blank, throat raw. The tea had long dried into a sticky stain across her tiles, seeping into the edges of her notebook, her palms red from gripping them too tight against her knees.

Her body ached, not from injury but from holding it all in. Her ribs felt bruised from crying. Her lungs were sore from silence.

She had nothing left in her, but the world outside kept spinning.

And Seungcheol was still out there—laughing, rehearsing, maybe smiling at something someone said—completely unaware that the ground beneath him was already cracking.

And she was the one holding the match.

The call echoed in her skull like a bell: He recently had a conflict with several members and staff over this matter.

Her breath caught again.

Fighting with them. His brothers. The people who'd held him up, been by his side since he was a teenager, who knew every inch of who he was even before she did. She could see it—his voice raised, jaw tight, the vein in his neck throbbing the way it always did when he was angry. She could hear him defending her again and again until his throat went raw.

And he’d never tell her.

Because he was protecting her, even when it destroyed him.

She knew him too well.

And because she knew him, she had to go.

There was no “talking this through.” No middle ground. If he found out what they said—if he found out they threatened to choose for him—he wouldn’t hesitate. He’d leave the company, the group, the life he built with his own hands. For her.

And that would kill him.

So this would have to kill her instead.

Her limbs moved before her brain did. A kind of mechanical instinct took over, like her soul had already decided and was dragging the rest of her body along for the ride. She got up, slow and stiff, wiping her face with the hem of her shirt. Her throat burned. Her eyes stung. But she didn’t let herself cry again. Not yet.

She walked to the living room, took a shaky breath, and picked up her phone.

Her thumb hovered over the screen for a long moment before she scrolled through her contacts and tapped on a name she never thought she’d call again—not for this.

“Hello?” her boss answered on the second ring, voice clipped and surprised.

Sua swallowed the knot in her throat.

“I’ll take the job,” she said, quiet but steady. “The one you offered me in Paris. If it’s still open.”

A pause. “Wait—what?”

“I’ll take it,” she repeated. “You said the position was available. That you’d help me settle in if I ever wanted a fresh start.”

Another pause—longer, heavier. Then a breath on the other line.

“It’s still open,” her boss said carefully. “You’re sure?”

No.

Not at all.

Not in the ways that mattered.

But she had to be. For him.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Her boss exhaled. “Okay. I’ll arrange everything. When are you thinking of leaving?”

“Tomorrow. I'll hand over everything to Ari and handle the rest when I land there.”

A pause so sharp she could feel the disbelief through the phone.

“Jesus, Sua.”

“I know,” she said softly, rubbing her temple with the heel of her palm. “Just… I can’t be here anymore. I’ll pack tonight. I don’t want anyone else to know until I’m gone.”

There was understanding in the silence that followed. The kind that only came from watching someone hold themselves together with shaking hands.

“I’ll make some calls,” her boss said finally. “Text me your passport info. I’ll have Ari help you at the airport. You’ll be okay.”

“I don’t think I will,” Sua replied.

But she hung up anyway.

Her hands dropped to her sides. For a second, she just stood there in the middle of her apartment, staring at nothing, listening to the buzz of the fridge and the faint hum of the outside world that didn’t know she was crumbling.

And then she moved.

Boxes.

Suitcases.

Trash bags.

Old gift boxes from Seungcheol she couldn’t bear to look at but still folded gently, like they meant something, before laying it on a box.

She packed her books first—quietly, carefully—like she was tucking away pieces of herself. Her memories. Her safety. One by one, she placed them into the cardboard box she used for winter clothes.

Then came the closet. Her sweaters, her dresses, the hoodie she always wore when she was anxious—his hoodie.

She stared at it for too long.

And then she packed it anyway.

It was almost 8 p.m. by the time the last suitcase was zipped. She hadn’t eaten. Barely drank. Her phone was buzzing somewhere in the mess, but she ignored it. She couldn’t look at his name again. Not until she was gone.

But then—

A knock.

Sharp. Sudden. Two beats against the door that made her flinch.

She froze.

The sound was so real it knocked the air out of her.

Her gaze darted to her phone.

Six missed calls.

Four from Minghao.

Two from Seungcheol.

Her stomach twisted.

And then—another knock.

She moved. Legs heavy, bare feet dragging across the wood floors. She opened the door slowly, barely daring to breathe.

It was Minghao.

His hood was up, cap pulled low, mask covering half his face—but she knew those eyes. She’d know them anywhere.

He stepped inside.

And the first thing he did was stare at the boxes.

Then the suitcases.

Then her.

And something inside him shattered.

—

Minghao didn’t speak for a while.

He stood at the doorway, frozen like someone had knocked the air out of his lungs, eyes slowly scanning the room as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The boxes. The open suitcase. The folded clothes. The taped-up memories. Her face.

And then his voice cracked, low and quiet.

“...You’re really doing this.”

Sua looked down at her feet. She couldn’t meet his eyes. Not now. Not when they still held pieces of her past, and maybe worse—reminders of the part of her that almost stayed.

“I have to.”

“No, you don’t.”

She didn’t reply. Her fingers curled around the edge of the suitcase, knuckles white. She could still feel the burn behind her eyes, but the tears had dried up hours ago. Now there was just this hollow ache, the kind that sat under your skin like a bruise you couldn’t stop pressing.

Minghao stepped deeper into the room. His steps were slow, tentative—like he was afraid one wrong move would make her disappear completely.

“Does he know?” he asked softly.

Sua shook her head.

His jaw clenched. “And you’re not going to tell him?”

“I can’t.” Her voice cracked this time, barely more than a whisper. “If he knows, he’ll come after me. You know he will.”

“I do,” Minghao said. “Because I would.”

She looked up.

And there it was—that ache again. That quiet, unbearable ache between two people, one who loved the other in silence. His eyes held her like they always had: gently, fully, with everything he never said out loud.

“Minghao—” she started, but her voice broke.

He stepped closer.

“I know I’m not the one you’re in love with,” he said, his voice shaking just slightly. “I know that. But I still can’t let you go like this.”

“It’s not fair,” she whispered. “You shouldn’t have to see me like this.”

“I don’t care,” he said, too fast. Too desperate. “I’d rather see you broken than disappear without a word.”

Sua’s breath caught.

And that’s when he really saw her.

The way her shoulders shook. The puffiness under her eyes. The trembling in her hands even as she tried to hide them. She looked like someone who had used up every last ounce of strength just to survive the day.

And for the first time since they met, Minghao dropped everything.

His mask. His calm. His logic.

He walked to her, fast and silent, and pulled her into the tightest hug he’d ever given anyone. No words. No explanation.

Just him, holding her like he was trying to keep her from falling apart.

Sua melted into him like she’d been waiting for it—like her body had been craving this very thing she didn’t even know she needed. The comfort. The safety. The familiarity.

This was the hug that used to save her before Seungcheol.

And now it only hurt more.

Her knees gave in first. Then the sobs followed—slow at first, then harder, until they ripped out of her like a dam had finally broken. She buried her face in his chest, shaking, her fists gripping the fabric of his hoodie like she could anchor herself to it.

And Minghao just held on tighter.

He said nothing.

Because what could he say?

He didn’t want to be the one she ran to, not like this. Not as a last stop before goodbye. Not when he still loved her in a way that was so painfully, helplessly quiet.

But he would be there anyway.

Always.

Eventually, she pulled back, eyes red and swollen, hair clinging to her cheeks. Her hands were still trembling when she walked back to the half-packed suitcase and zipped it shut.

“I have to finish,” she murmured.

Minghao didn’t move. He watched her quietly, jaw clenched, breathing uneven.

“Do you need help?” he asked.

She hesitated. Then nodded.

And just like that, they went back to the silence.

She packed.

He taped.

They folded clothes they once laughed in. Sorted through books he once borrowed. Moved furniture that had held so many memories they didn’t dare speak of.

And when everything was almost done, and the room started looking less like a home and more like a stranger’s apartment, Minghao finally spoke again.

“I’ll help you get a moving company for this,” he said. His voice was lower now. Defeated.

Sua paused, her back to him.

“Okay,” she whispered.

He sat on the edge of her bed, watching her fold the last sweater.

“Stay,” he said suddenly, almost too soft to hear. “Please.”

Her hands froze.

He didn’t look at her this time. His eyes were on the window. The way the city lights spilled across her walls. The way everything felt like it was slipping through his fingers.

“You don’t have to go. Not like this. I’ll help you hide if I have to. I’ll talk to them. We’ll figure something out.”

“You know I won’t,” she said, barely audible.

“I know,” he said, just as softly.

Silence.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly between them. Like he was trying to hold himself together.

“I just hate that I’m not enough to make you stay.”

She turned to him, eyes wide, heart breaking all over again.

“Minghao…”

“It’s okay,” he said quickly, standing up before she could say anything more. “Don’t say anything.”

She didn’t.

He crossed the room and opened his arms again—and this time, when he pulled her in, she collapsed before he could even close them around her.

And he held her like he always had.

With everything.

Even if he had to let her go.

—

The apartment is silent now, save for the hum of the fridge and the occasional shuffle of paper. Neither of them has spoken much since the move was discussed, but the words that linger in the air feel heavier than anything that’s been said. Minghao hasn’t left, not yet. He’s still here—sitting on the couch, arms crossed, eyes lost in thought as he stares at nothing in particular.

Sua is sitting beside him, close enough that their shoulders brush, but it feels like there’s an ocean between them. She’s exhausted, drained, her mind still tangled in the chaos of the past few hours. Her heart is shattered, and she doesn’t know how to put it back together. How can you fix something when the pieces are scattered everywhere, and you’re too afraid to pick them up?

The clock on the wall ticks on, reminding them both of the time slipping away. It’s nearly 3 AM now, and neither of them has slept. Not that they could. Their bodies are wrecked, but their minds are far worse off.

Minghao glances at her, his gaze soft but filled with worry. He hasn’t asked her if she’s okay. Because he knows the answer. How could she be? How could either of them be?

She hasn’t cried much since the last time. Not out loud, anyway. But he can see the way her shoulders tremble as she folds a shirt in her lap, as if the simple task is the only thing anchoring her to the present. His heart breaks just a little more every time she avoids his gaze, every time she looks away as if she’s trying to disappear.

“I can’t do this, Minghao,” she says quietly, her voice barely audible over the quiet of the room. She’s staring down at the shirt in her hands like it’s the only thing in the world that matters right now. The words slip out of her lips with a finality she can’t take back.

Minghao opens his mouth, then closes it again. There’s nothing to say, really. He’s known all along, hasn’t he? He’s known from the moment she made the decision. He knew the weight of it long before she ever said the words aloud.

“You don’t have to go,” he says softly, but there’s no real hope in his words. He’s just saying them because he doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know how to stop this. He doesn’t know how to stop her from leaving.

Sua looks at him then—finally looks at him, her gaze haunted, broken, like the pieces of herself are scattered all over the room. “I do, though. I have to.”

She exhales shakily, and Minghao watches her chest rise and fall, every breath an effort. His heart breaks again, not just for her but for himself. He can’t bear seeing her like this, yet he knows he can’t make her stay.

“I can’t keep doing this, Minghao,” she adds, her voice thick with emotion, though she refuses to let the tears fall. She’s past the point of crying, it seems. “I can’t keep being the reason everything falls apart.”

Her words sting, even though he’s heard them before. He knows what she’s saying, but it doesn’t make it any less painful. He wants to tell her that it’s not her fault—that none of this is her fault. But the words feel empty. Because he knows it won’t make a difference. She has already made her decision.

Minghao shifts on the couch, the ache in his chest almost unbearable now. His hand twitches, wanting to reach out, to take hers, to pull her close and tell her it will be okay. But he doesn’t. Because he knows it won’t be okay. Not this time.

“I just wish…” Minghao starts, but he can’t finish. The words choke in his throat. He doesn’t even know what he wants to say. Maybe he wishes things were different. Maybe he wishes she could stay, that she didn’t feel like she had to leave. Maybe he just wishes he didn’t feel so powerless.

Sua shifts beside him, and for a moment, she’s so still that Minghao wonders if she’s already gone—if she’s left him without a word, without a look back. But then she turns to him, her eyes wide, vulnerable, as though she’s afraid to show him what’s been happening inside her all along.

“I'll write a letter,” she says, the words barely escaping her lips. “For Seungcheol.”

Minghao’s heart twists at the mention of Seungcheol’s name. He can’t imagine what the letter says, but he doesn’t want to ask. He knows it’s not his place.

Without another word, Sua stands up, and Minghao watches her go to the desk in the corner of the room. She grabs a pen and a piece of paper, the familiar rustling sound of the paper echoing in the otherwise quiet space. She places the paper down with careful precision, her hand hovering over it for a long moment.

Then, she begins to write.

Her handwriting is elegant, careful, the pen gliding across the paper like it’s the only thing she can control right now. As she writes, her brow furrows, and the tears that she’s been holding back for so long finally begin to spill. But she doesn’t stop writing.

She writes, pouring everything she feels into the letter, every bit of sorrow, every apology, every fear she’s tried so hard to bury. She writes the words she can’t say out loud, the things she can never tell Seungcheol in person. The letter becomes a confession, an apology, and a goodbye—all wrapped into one fragile piece of paper.

When she finishes, her hand lingers on the paper for a moment, the ink still fresh. She doesn’t read it again. There’s no need. She already knows what it says. But she can’t shake the feeling that she’s written a final chapter to a story she never wanted to end.

She folds the letter carefully, the crease sharp and deliberate. Then, she hands it to Minghao, her fingers trembling as she presses the paper into his hands.

“Can you give this to him?” she asks quietly, her voice breaking as she fights to hold back the tears that threaten to spill. “When you see him. Can you tell him I’m sorry?”

Minghao looks down at the folded letter in his hands, the weight of it almost too much to bear. His eyes blur, but he doesn’t let the tears fall. Not yet. Not until he’s alone.

“I’ll give it to him,” he says finally, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll make sure he gets it.”

Sua nods, looking down at her hands, almost as if she’s ashamed. “Thank you, Minghao. You’ve always been there for me. You’ve been so good to me.”

Minghao doesn’t know how to respond to that. He wants to tell her that he’s not just a friend, that he’s always wanted more, but now isn’t the time. He can’t make this about him. Not when she’s already hurting so much.

Instead, he just gives her a sad smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes, and leans back against the couch.

—

The sun comes up too quickly, like a cruel reminder of how time never waits for anyone—especially not for people who are already broken. The air feels different today, colder, heavier, as though the world itself is aware of the gravity of the moment, pressing down on her with a weight too great to bear.

Sua barely notices the bags she’s packed the night before. Her clothes, her books, the small, intimate pieces of her life that once felt so familiar, now seem like foreign objects. It’s like she’s packing up a version of herself that she’ll never get back, closing the door on a chapter she didn’t want to end. The apartment that once held her dreams, her laughter, her pain, is now almost completely bare—echoing with silence, filled only with the remnants of memories.

She doesn’t even look at Minghao when he enters the room, his face a mask of quiet sorrow. She already knows what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. The soft pleading in his eyes is enough to break her all over again, but she can’t let herself go there—not now. Not when the decision has already been made.

She’s leaving. She has to.

Her phone buzzes with a new message. Sua doesn’t look at it at first. She knows who it’s from. Seungcheol. The texts have come in relentlessly all morning, each one more desperate than the last. She hasn’t opened any of them. She can’t. She knows that if she reads one, she won’t be able to leave. She won’t be able to do this to him.

But then, just as she’s about to zip her suitcase shut, her phone buzzes again, louder this time, and she sees the name on the screen. Seungcheol.

She ignores it.

“Are you sure about this?” Minghao’s voice is low, almost a whisper, like he’s afraid the answer will shatter whatever’s left of them. He stands by the doorway, his body tense, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie. His posture is stiff, like he’s bracing himself for the storm that he knows is coming.

She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she picks up the small picture frame on the desk, the one with a photo of her and Seungcheol laughing at some stupid inside joke, and her heart tightens in her chest. The smile on her face seems so foreign now, so distant. A time when everything was easier, before the weight of their love and their pain had taken over.

“I don’t have a choice,” she finally says, her voice breaking under the strain of the words. “I can’t let him destroy everything for me. For us. For Seventeen. I can’t let him do that.”

Minghao steps closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “And what about you, Sua?” His voice cracks, the vulnerability in it cutting through the coldness in the room. “What about your happiness? Don’t you deserve to fight for what you want too?”

Her throat tightens, and she blinks back the tears that threaten to spill. She hates herself for feeling this way. She wants to fight. She wants to stay. But she knows that it’s not just about her anymore. It’s about Seungcheol, about the people he loves, about the career that’s been built with blood, sweat, and tears. If she stays, it’ll tear everything apart, and she can’t live with that.

“I can’t be the reason he loses everything,” she says softly, almost to herself. “He deserves so much more than me. He deserves to be happy with his members, with his brothers. He doesn’t deserve to fight for me. Not when I’m just…” She chokes on the words, unable to finish the sentence.

Minghao’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t say anything, but the look on his face is enough to tell her that he doesn’t agree with her, that he wants her to stay, to fight for herself—for them.

But Sua just shakes her head, the tears finally spilling over, running down her cheeks in a quiet stream. She wipes them away quickly, angry at herself for still caring. Angry at herself for feeling so weak when she should be stronger.

“I’ll never forgive myself if I destroy everything for him. If I’m the reason he loses his family, his career…” Her voice falters. “He’ll hate me.”

Minghao reaches out, his hand hovering in the air as if he wants to comfort her but doesn’t know how. She doesn’t look at him, doesn’t let him see the rawness of the pain that’s splitting her apart. Instead, she takes a deep breath and turns back to her suitcase, zipping it up with finality.

She’s done.

“Help me with the rest?” she asks, her voice small, almost too small for the weight of what she’s about to do.

Minghao doesn’t hesitate. He walks over and starts picking up the last few things from the floor, folding them gently before placing them in her suitcase. He doesn’t say a word as he works, but the silence between them is heavy, thick with things neither of them can say. His hands tremble slightly, his eyes flicking to her every few seconds, but he says nothing. He’s already said too much, already begged her too much, and it’s clear that none of it matters.

By the time the last of her things are packed, the apartment feels emptier than it ever did before. It feels like the last vestiges of what could have been are being erased with every movement.

It’s almost time to leave.

Minghao glances at the door, knowing that the moment she walks out of it, things will never be the same. He doesn’t want her to leave, not like this, not with so much unsaid between them, but he knows he doesn’t have the right to stop her.

He knows that no matter what he says, Sua will leave.

As she picks up her suitcase, she hesitates by the door for just a moment, a single glance back at the apartment she’s leaving behind. Her eyes flicker over the space—over everything that once felt like home—and for a brief second, she wonders if she’s making the biggest mistake of her life.

But then, she shakes her head.

No, she tells herself. This is what has to be done. For Seungcheol. For everyone.

—

The airport air always felt cold, no matter what season it is.

Sua wrapped her coat tighter around herself, but no amount of fabric could protect her from the way her chest was collapsing inward. Everything felt sharp. The wheels of her suitcase rolled against the polished tile with a rhythm that sounded too loud in the silence between them—her and Minghao. He walked beside her without a word, face masked, eyes hidden, his hands tucked into his jacket like he didn’t trust them not to reach for her again.

She had barely slept the night before, her limbs trembling as she packed what little life she had left behind. It didn’t feel real. It still didn’t. But there was no turning back.

At the gate, two figures waited.

Ari, cheeks red and puffy, barely held it together the moment she saw Sua. She dropped everything and ran into her arms. “You’re really doing this?” she whispered, breath shaking. “You’re really leaving?”

Sua didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

She only nodded, her lips trembling too hard to form words, and hugged Ari even tighter. She felt her friend’s tears soaking into her shoulder. Then her boss stepped forward, quieter but not any less emotional. She touched Sua’s arm gently.

“You did good,” her boss said. “And you’ll do even better there. I’ll take care of things here. I promised, didn’t I?”

Sua nodded again. Her throat burned from holding back the sob that had been lodged there since dawn. “Thank you,” she rasped. “I’m sorry for doing this so fast—”

“Don’t apologize,” the woman said gently. “This is what I offered, remember? You just finally had the courage to take it.”

The moment felt suspended in air. Too much was left unsaid, and yet everything felt understood.

Sua turned around to face Minghao.

He hadn't moved from his spot since they arrived. He was watching her with eyes full of things he would never say. His hands were clenched in his pockets. His posture stiff. He didn’t cry in front of others. He never did.

But when she reached for him, when she pulled him into a hug—his arms folded around her so tightly, so painfully—it nearly broke him.

He squeezed his eyes shut behind the shades. His shoulders trembled.

“I hate this,” he whispered into her ear. “I hate this so much.”

“I know,” Sua murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry.” His voice cracked. “You’re doing what you have to do, right? You’ve always done that. Even when it hurts you the most.”

She smiled sadly, her fingers clutching the back of his jacket. He still smelled like mint and oakwood. Safe. Familiar. Home—at least the version of it that used to catch her quietly every time she fell.

But he was never the one.

And he knew that.

Still, he stayed until the very end.

Still, he let her go.

When the final call echoed through the speakers, she stepped back slowly. Ari was crying again. Her boss had turned away to wipe her eyes. And Minghao stood still, like a statue carved out of grief, his lips pressed in a tight line, jaw clenched so hard she thought it might crack.

“Tell him…” Sua said quietly, eyes searching his for the last time. “Tell him I’m sorry.”

Minghao nodded once. Not because he agreed. But because he would.

She gave one last glance at the life she was leaving behind—three people who had meant so much in such different ways. Then she picked up her bag, turned toward the gate, and walked away.

Minghao didn’t look away until she was gone from view.

Only then did he let himself cry—quietly, behind his mask, shoulders shaking in silence.

Ari leaned against him, sobbing.

And Sua’s boss placed a gentle hand on his back.

But nothing helped.

Because letting someone go out of love doesn’t make it any less painful.

Sometimes, it hurts even more.

—

The morning Seventeen was scheduled to fly out to Japan, Seungcheol woke up with a strange tightness in his chest. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened. No texts left on read, no obvious red flags. And yet—something felt wrong.

He texted Sua.

Good morning. Can’t believe we’re flying out again.

Eat well today, hmm?

No reply.

He figured maybe she was still asleep.

But two hours passed. Then three. Then six.

And she still hadn’t answered.

His messages went from playful to curious to mildly concerned.

Babe?

Are you okay?

You home?

Sua.

Still nothing.

It wasn’t like her. She always texted, even if it was just a sleepy “mhm.” She always made sure he ate, always sent those little emojis he teased her about but secretly loved.

But today—nothing.

By mid-afternoon, dread had already started to spread through his veins. When the manager called to remind them to get ready, he tried not to show it. Tried to smile, crack a joke, be the leader everyone expected him to be. But his hands were shaking when he pocketed his phone.

He called her.

No answer.

He called again.

Straight to voicemail.

At 4:12 PM, he left rehearsal early and went straight to her apartment.

He rang the bell three times.

Knocked until his knuckles turned red.

Nothing. No lights. No sound. Just the silence that told him: she wasn’t there.

His breathing picked up. Panic curled under his ribs like a cold hook.

He texted again, just once.

Please. Just tell me you’re okay.

Behind him, the black van pulled up, their departure to the airport waiting.

He was still staring at the front door when Minghao stepped out of the van and walked toward him.

“Hyung,” Minghao said quietly, eyes unreadable behind his sunglasses.

Seungcheol turned. “She’s not answering.”

Minghao hesitated. Then, without saying anything, he pulled a folded letter out from his coat pocket—crushed slightly at the edges, the ink smudged from the grip of someone who didn’t want to let go.

“What’s that?”

Minghao looked at him for a moment longer. And then handed him the letter. “She asked me to give this to you.”

The van engine hummed faintly behind them. The world kept moving. But in that moment, Seungcheol’s heart stopped.

He opened the letter.

"Seungcheol,

If you’re reading this, then I’ve probably landed somewhere far away by now…

Or maybe I’m still asleep, tucked into the window seat of a plane, drifting somewhere between clouds and dreams.

And you’re still here—holding this letter.

Breathing. Living.

Exactly how I want you to be.

I don’t know how to begin. I don’t even know how to say goodbye properly, Cheol. I never thought I’d have to.

But I love you.

I love you more than I’ve ever known how to love. And I know you love me too. Enough to fight for me. Enough to throw everything away just to keep me beside you.

That’s why I had to go.

Because I love you too much to let you do that.

You’ve worked so hard, for so long. I’ve seen it in your eyes—in the way you pour yourself into every song, every show, every moment you spend building a world that was never easy to carry.

You gave it your all.

And I can’t be the reason you burn it down.

I can’t let your heart choose me if it means you’ll lose everything you’ve bled for. I couldn’t live with that. I’d never forgive myself if I became the thing you had to sacrifice it all for."

He read it.

Every line. Every sentence.

Each word falling like a knife.

A poem written in heartbreak. A confession dressed in goodbye.

His vision blurred halfway through.

"So I left. Quietly. Quickly.

I didn’t give you a chance to stop me, because if you did… I know I would’ve stayed. You’d look at me and I’d break. I’d crumble.

You always did that to me, you know?

You made me feel safe. Real. Like I belonged somewhere in this world.

I’m sorry I called Minghao instead of you. I know how much that must hurt, and I hate that I did it—but I had to. I needed someone who wouldn’t try to make me stay.

You would’ve begged.

And I would’ve said yes.

Please don’t blame him. He didn’t want this either.

I don’t know where life will take me after this. I don’t know how long it’ll be before we meet again.

But if we’re meant for each other… if this love of ours really was something the universe carved into our bones—then we’ll find our way back. Someday.

Until then, don’t come looking for me. Don’t try to chase a shadow.

Just… live.

Sing. Laugh. Be happy.

And when the night gets too quiet and you miss me, I hope you remember that I didn’t leave because I stopped loving you.

I left because I couldn’t bear the thought of being the reason you lost yourself.

So live, Seungcheol. For me. For all of us.

And when it’s time… I’ll see you again.

Always,

Sua."

He clutched the paper like it was alive. Like if he held it hard enough, she’d come back.

“Where is she?” he asked, his voice a low quake.

“I don’t know,” Minghao said honestly. “She didn’t tell me.”

Seungcheol stared at him. Silent. Wrecked.

But he didn’t say another word.

—

The knock came just past midnight. Sharp. Panicked. Unrelenting.

Minghao had barely finished drying his hair when he opened the door.

And there he was.

Seungcheol—flushed from the cold Osaka air, jaw clenched, eyes feral with panic. The moment Minghao appeared, Seungcheol shoved past him, storming inside like he couldn't breathe unless he was moving.

“Where is she?”

His voice was already fraying.

Minghao froze. “Cheol—”

“Where is she, Minghao?” he snapped, turning around. His whole chest rose and fell like he’d just run from the airport. “Tell me where she is.”

“I don’t know.”

“You were with her.”

“Yes,” Minghao said, quietly.

“You gave me that fucking letter!”

“I still don’t know where she went, Cheol.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“I’m not lying—!” Minghao’s voice raised a fraction, and it was enough to make both of them go still.

Seungcheol’s breathing turned ragged, hands trembling by his sides.

“She left because of me,” he said, voice cracking like dry wood. “Because I wasn’t careful. Because I let it all get too loud. Because I fought with the members, and the company, and I—”

He bit down on the rest of the sentence, but it was too late. The guilt had already poured out, too raw to hold back.

“She told you, didn’t she?” he whispered. “She told you why she left.”

Minghao looked away.

That was answer enough.

Seungcheol’s face twisted. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

“Because she knew you’d drop everything for her!” Minghao’s voice snapped like a whip. “She knew you’d burn the whole world down if it meant keeping her, and she didn’t want that blood on your hands, Seungcheol!”

“Then she should’ve let me make that choice!” Seungcheol shouted.

The room echoed with his words.

Minghao clenched his jaw. “You think it didn’t kill her to leave? You think she just walked out like it was easy?”

Seungcheol’s fists balled at his sides. “She called you. Not me.”

That one hurt deeper than it should have.

“I was the only one she could call,” Minghao said, voice lower now, but heavy with hurt. “Because if she called you, she would’ve stayed. You would’ve begged, and she would’ve stayed—and she didn’t want to ruin you.”

“I wouldn’t have let her go,” Seungcheol said through gritted teeth.

“I know,” Minghao whispered. “That’s exactly why she had to ran.”

A silence followed. Thick. Devastating. Alive with pain.

“I was supposed to protect her,” Seungcheol said, breaking again. “I promised I would. I swore I’d never let anyone hurt her.”

“You didn’t,” Minghao said softly, stepping closer. “But you would’ve hurt yourself if she stayed. She chose you over her own heart, Cheol.”

Seungcheol sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. His hands covered his face as if trying to hold in the grief swelling inside him. But it broke free anyway—spilling in tremors down his spine, in wet gasps behind his palms.

And Minghao—God, he couldn’t stand it.

Because while Seungcheol mourned the loss of the love of his life…

Minghao mourned the loss of both of them.

The girl he loved, and the brother he couldn’t fix.

He stepped forward and dropped down beside Seungcheol again, knees to the cold floor, just like before.

“You’re not the only one hurting, hyung.”

Seungcheol looked at him through red eyes, broken. “You love her.”

“I still love her,” Minghao admitted, tears silently streaming down. “But she was never mine.”

Seungcheol looked down at his hands, the ones that used to hold her like she was the center of his universe. Now they were empty. Useless. Shaking.

“I didn’t even say goodbye…”

Minghao’s throat tightened. He didn’t answer. Just leaned forward and pulled Seungcheol into a trembling embrace.

And for a moment, neither of them were idols.

They weren’t artists, leaders, dancers, performers.

They were just two men—two broken hearts—mourning the same girl in two completely different ways.

Seungcheol cried until his chest ached. Until his eyes burned. Until he couldn’t breathe without tasting her name in his mouth.

And Minghao stayed beside him the entire time. Silent. Steady.

Hurting.

Because some love stories don’t end in fireworks or forever.

Some end in hotel rooms far from home, with nothing but unsent messages, unanswered questions, and letters written by hand.

And still—

Even as the pain swallowed them whole—

They couldn’t hate her for it.

Because she left to protect him.

Because she loved him that much.

Because she had to.

──────────────────────────────

See you guys again soon ;)

Full series:

Chapter Nine

It had been three days since Seungcheol showed up at her gallery—three days since he finally cornered her in her office and kissed the fight out of her. They were fine now, their tension unraveled in hushed words and lingering touches, but neither of them had the luxury of time.

Sua was drowning in preparations for the upcoming art fair, her days packed with meetings, logistics, and last-minute artist arrangements. Seungcheol, on the other hand, was barely keeping up with the relentless demands of their impending world tour. Every day was a cycle of rehearsals, meetings, and physical exhaustion that left him with barely enough time to breathe, let alone see her.

They had talked, exchanged texts and late-night calls whenever they could squeeze them in. But it wasn’t the same. A screen couldn’t replace the feeling of her beside him.

He missed her. A lot.

But tonight—tonight, he was going to change that.

—

The practice room smelled like sweat and lingering adrenaline. The speakers hummed from the bass-heavy track they had just finished running for what felt like the hundredth time. Seungcheol rolled his shoulders back, exhaling sharply. The exhaustion clung to him, but his mind was already elsewhere.

“Hyung, let’s grab a drink,” Seungkwan suggested, collapsing onto the floor dramatically. “We need it after today.”

“You always need a drink after practice,” Jeonghan teased, ruffling Seungkwan’s hair before turning his attention to Seungcheol. “You in?”

Seungcheol barely hesitated. “Nah, I’ll pass.”

A brief silence.

“What?” Seokmin blinked. “Did I hear that right?”

“You’re passing on drinks?” Joshua asked, clearly just as bewildered.

It wasn’t like Seungcheol never skipped out on drinking nights, but he was usually the one starting them. Turning them down was rare.

“Whoa, this is serious.” Jihoon leaned back against the mirror, crossing his arms. “What’s the occasion?”

Seungcheol huffed, shaking his head. “No occasion. I just have somewhere to be.”

Jeonghan smirked, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Ohhh, I see.”

Seungcheol shot him a wary glance. “What?”

Jeonghan leaned in slightly, his voice dripping with amusement. “Is it her?”

The room instantly perked up. Seungkwan gasped, Seokmin grinned, and even Wonwoo looked mildly interested.

Seungcheol exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “She’s still working. Won’t be done until one.”

“Wow.” Wonwoo raised a brow. “The dedication.”

“More dedicated than our leader, apparently,” Jeonghan snickered.

Seungcheol shot him a glare.

“Relax, I’m just saying,” Jeonghan said, raising his hands in surrender. “I like her. She makes you interesting.”

Another round of teasing followed before the group finally began dispersing, still chuckling at their leader’s expense. Seungcheol let them go, checking his phone as he headed toward his bag.

One unread message from Sua.

You don’t have to wait for me. Just go home, we’ll meet tomorrow.

Seungcheol scoffed. As if.

Just as he was about to reply, a voice cut through the quiet.

“You’re being reckless.”

Seungcheol didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

Minghao stood by the door, arms crossed, gaze sharp.

The teasing atmosphere from earlier was gone. This wasn’t a joke.

Seungcheol pocketed his phone. “And?”

“And you know exactly what I mean.” Minghao stepped closer, his voice low but firm. “You’re walking straight into a mess. The media’s already watching. Do you think they’ll just let it slide?”

“Since when do you care so much about the media?”

“It’s not about me.”

Seungcheol clenched his jaw. He knew what Minghao was implying.

It wasn’t his career that would take the hardest hit. It was Sua’s.

“You think I don’t know that?” Seungcheol’s voice dropped, dangerously close to a growl.

“So prove it.” Minghao’s eyes darkened. “You’re not thinking straight. Every move you make is being watched, and right now, you’re making it too easy for them to turn this into something bigger.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then, Seungcheol exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I’m not abandoning her just because it’s inconvenient.”

“No one’s asking you to abandon her.” Minghao’s gaze didn’t waver. “I’m asking you to be smarter.”

A muscle in Seungcheol’s jaw twitched.

He knew Minghao had a point. He just didn’t like hearing it.

Minghao sighed. “You’re too reckless when you care about something.”

Seungcheol’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And you’re too cautious when you do.”

Neither of them said anything after that.

Minghao didn’t stop him when he grabbed his bag and walked out.

Seungcheol didn’t look back.

—

The streetlights blurred past as Seungcheol drove through the near-empty city, one hand gripping the wheel, the other resting tensely on his thigh. The clock on the dashboard read 1:14 AM.

His phone buzzed beside him, a new message from Sua.

You really don’t have to wait. Just please go home

His jaw ticked.

I’m coming up.

He tossed his phone onto the passenger seat without waiting for a reply.

As if he was just going to go home after rehearsal and pretend he wasn’t thinking about her the whole damn time.

It was already late when he wrapped up at the company, but instead of heading back to his apartment—or hers—he found himself driving straight to the gallery.

Sua was probably still holed up in her office, buried under work, just like she had been all week. He knew she had an event coming up, but working this late? 

She needed to go home.

And if she wasn’t going to listen to reason over text, then he’d make sure himself.

By the time he pulled into the underground parking lot, the place was empty.

His tires rolled over smooth pavement, the soft hum of his engine the only noise cutting through the silence.

He parked in his usual spot, turned off the ignition, and exhaled.

Then, without hesitation, he got out and headed upstairs.

Sua didn’t even look up when the door creaked open.

The soft glow from her desk lamp cast warm shadows on her face, her brows furrowed in concentration as she traced over a layout with her stylus. The large monitor in front of her displayed a chaotic spread of artwork, text, and placement markers for the upcoming fair.

Seungcheol leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. Of course, she was still working.

He let the silence hang for a moment, just watching her.

Then, casually, he spoke. "You know it’s almost 2 AM, right?"

Sua sighed, not bothering to turn around. "I told you to go home."

"Yeah, well." He stepped inside. "You also told me you'd be done by midnight."

She glanced at the clock. 1:36 AM.

With another sigh, she set her stylus down and finally turned to face him.

"You’re so damn stubborn."

"And you’re not?" Seungcheol shot back, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Sua rolled her eyes but pushed herself up from her chair, stretching out her stiff limbs. "Fine. Let me just pack up."

Seungcheol didn't move as she gathered her things, just watched as she powered down her monitor and grabbed her bag.

The air shifted between them the moment she stepped closer. It was subtle—just the way her fingers brushed against his arm when she passed, the way her perfume lingered in the small space between them—but it was enough.

The same tension that had been simmering between them for days, since their last rushed goodbye, was suddenly electric again.

Seungcheol clenched his jaw. "Come on," he muttered, leading her out.

The walk to the basement was quiet.

Too quiet.

Seungcheol could hear every little sound—the soft click of her heels, the faint rustle of fabric, the way his own breathing felt heavier than usual.

Maybe it was exhaustion. Or maybe it was the fact that it had been a week.

A week since he last touched her.

A week since he felt the warmth of her skin, since he had her pressed against him, gasping his name. And fuck, was it getting to him.

By the time they reached his car, his pulse was already hammering.

Sua reached for the handle, but Seungcheol was faster, opening the door for her. She gave him a look but slid in without a word. He shut the door and rounded the front, slipping into the driver’s seat.

The second he settled, he exhaled.

Tension.

Thick.

Sua shifted slightly beside him, pulling the seatbelt over her.

But before she could click it into place—

Seungcheol reached for her. It was instinct. His hand tangled in her hair as he pulled her in, his mouth crashing against hers.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t soft.

It was raw—needy, impatient, fueled by every second he had to spend apart from her this past week.

—

Sua barely had time to react before Seungcheol’s lips crashed onto hers again, stealing her breath, her thoughts, her everything.

It was deep, insistent—no, desperate.

Like he had been starved for her, like the past week had been torture, like he had held back for far too long.

She felt it in the way his fingers tangled in her hair, in the way his free hand slid to her waist, gripping tight as if anchoring himself to her.

A soft gasp slipped from her lips when he bit down on her lower lip, tugging just enough to make her thighs clench together.

"Fuck," he muttered against her mouth, his breathing heavy, his patience snapping by the second.

He pulled her closer—no, yanked—until she was straddling him right there in the driver's seat, her knees pressing into the leather, the curve of her thighs molding against his own.

The gearshift dug into her side, but she barely noticed. Not when his hands were sliding under her blouse, fingertips skimming the bare skin of her waist, tracing up, up—

"I missed you," he murmured, lips ghosting down her jaw, her neck.

Sua swallowed hard, her head tipping back as his mouth found that one spot that made her shiver.

"Cheol—"

"Yes, baby?"

His voice was deeper now, rougher, vibrating against her skin as he sucked a bruise just beneath her jawline.

Her fingers curled into his jacket, needing something—anything—to hold on to as the heat coiled low in her stomach.

Then suddenly, he rolled his hips up.

Hard.

The friction—hot, intense, perfect—made her gasp, her fingers tightening in his shirt.

Seungcheol smirked against her throat.

"Sensitive?"

A flicker of annoyance sparked in her eyes, but before she could retort, he did it again—a slow, deliberate grind that sent shivers up her spine.

Her head dropped onto his shoulder, breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Seungcheol—"

He clicked his tongue, his fingers sliding up her spine.

"I like when you say my name like that." A teasing bite to her shoulder.

"Do it again."

And fuck, the way his voice dropped—deep, low, possessive—made her thighs clench even tighter around him.

His hands slide down to her ass, gripping hard as he thrusts upward, meeting her movements with a force that has her gasping, nails digging into his scalp. The dashboard creaks beneath her hands, but neither of them cares—lost in the push and pull of each other, the rhythm that drowns out everything else.

“Shit,” she hisses, voice shaking. “I’ve missed this so much. You don’t know how hard it is to hold myself back. To see you on my screen and—fuck—do nothing about it.” Her pace falters for a second as a deep, shuddering moan escapes her lips. “You stretch me so good.”

Seungcheol's grip tightens, dragging her closer, thrusting deeper. The possessiveness in his gaze is unmistakable, his voice rough when he speaks. “You’re mine, Sua. Always have been, always will be.” He kisses her hard, teeth catching her lower lip before he pulls back, watching her fall apart above him.

The car rocks violently, their moans swallowed by the heated space between them. Sua’s head falls back, exposing the delicate line of her throat, her hands reaching for his shoulders as she grinds against him, taking everything he gives.

“More,” she breathes, desperation lacing her voice. “I need more.”

That does it.

With a growl, Seungcheol moves—fast—flipping their positions in one swift motion. Sua barely has time to react before she’s beneath him, sprawled across the passenger seat, legs wrapped around his waist.

He buries himself to the hilt, drawing a sharp gasp from her as he sets a relentless pace, hips snapping forward, driving into her over and over. His fingers slide up her torso, wrapping lightly around her throat, tilting her head back just enough so she has no choice but to look at him.

"Eyes on me," he commands, voice dark, controlled. She obeys instantly, eyes locking onto him as he thrusts deeper, dragging a cry from her lips. He smirks, dipping down to press open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, down to the sensitive spot just beneath her ear.

Sua's nails rake down his back, her body arching into his. "Yes—fuck—just like that," she moans. Her voice drops, sultry, teasing. "Use me like you miss me."

Seungcheol groans, his pace stuttering for a fraction of a second before he slams into her harder, chasing the intoxicating sound of her pleasure. His grip on her wrists tightens as he pins them above her head, the dominance in his touch making her walls flutter around him.

"Missed this," he grits out, hips moving in a brutal rhythm. "Missed you."

He fucks her like he's making up for every second they were apart, like he’s trying to carve himself into her, make sure she never forgets who she belongs to.

A sharp cry rips from her throat when he angles just right, hitting that sweet spot inside her that has her legs trembling around him. His name spills from her lips like a prayer, her body tightening, clenching around him.

"Shit—Sua, I’m—" His breath hitches, movements turning erratic as the pleasure coils tighter, ready to snap. He buries himself deep one last time, groaning against her skin as he comes, filling her with every last drop of himself.

For a moment, neither of them moves, the only sound in the car their ragged breathing. Seungcheol finally collapses against her, forehead resting against her shoulder as he presses a lazy kiss to her damp skin.

Sua chuckles, hands running soothing circles down his back. “Couldn’t even wait to leave the basement, huh?”

Seungcheol huffs out a laugh, lifting his head just enough to meet her eyes. He smirks. “Would you have wanted me to?”

—

The drive back to Sua’s apartment was silent, but not in an uncomfortable way. The air still buzzed with the aftermath of what they’d just done, thick with lingering heat and something even deeper. Seungcheol kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on Sua’s thigh, his thumb stroking absentmindedly against her skin. A small, smug smile tugged at his lips when he felt the way she squeezed them together, still sensitive from how thoroughly he had wrecked her just minutes ago.

The soft hum of the engine and the glow of passing streetlights painted fleeting patterns across his face. Sua stole a glance at him—his damp hair sticking to his forehead, the slight tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twitched slightly against her skin, as if he was restraining himself from doing more.

She smirked. “You look proud of yourself.”

Seungcheol let out a breathy chuckle, flicking his gaze toward her for a second before returning it to the road. “Shouldn’t I be?” His fingers flexed against her thigh. “I mean… I made you scream my name in a parked car. That’s gotta be a new record.”

Sua scoffed, shoving his shoulder playfully, though the heat in her cheeks betrayed her. “Yeah, and if anyone had walked by, we’d be screwed.”

“We were already screwed.” He grinned, absolutely delighted with himself.

She groaned, but the laughter in her voice gave her away. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still here.” He gave her thigh a light squeeze before pulling up to her apartment building. The dashboard clock read 3:07 AM.

“You good?” His voice was hoarse, still raw from all the things he’d murmured against her skin.

Sua hummed, tilting her head against the passenger seat. “You’re still driving,” she mumbled, as if she’d expected him to teleport them home instead.

Seungcheol chuckled, his grip on her tightening briefly. “We’d be there already if your legs weren’t shaking so bad,” he teased, eyes flickering to her in amusement.

She huffed, though she couldn’t even deny it. “Shut up and focus on the road before we end up on Dispatch for a whole different reason.”

His laughter filled the car, low and deep. “Would be worth it.”

By the time they pulled into her apartment’s underground parking, neither of them made a move to get out immediately. Seungcheol sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck before glancing at Sua. She was staring at the dashboard, her lips pursed, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her skirt.

“Hey,” he called softly.

She turned, her expression unreadable. “This week was hell,” she admitted. “I kept thinking about you, but I was still pissed.”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Yeah? And what exactly did you think about?”

Sua rolled her eyes but let her fingers trail lower, brushing against his knee. “Mostly about strangling you.”

His laugh was immediate. “Jesus—”

“I was debating between snapping your neck or your kneecaps, honestly.”

Seungcheol groaned dramatically. “You do realize I have bad knees already, right?”

“Exactly.” She grinned, reaching for the car door. “Come on, old man, before you cramp up in that seat.”

He scoffed but followed her inside, the warmth of her apartment a welcoming contrast to the chilly night. Neither of them spoke as they made their way to her bedroom, their bodies naturally gravitating towards each other.

As soon as they hit the mattress, Seungcheol pulled her against him, pressing a lazy kiss to her shoulder. “Don’t even think about running from me again, got it?”

Sua didn’t respond immediately, her fingers tracing patterns on his bare chest. Then, softly, “Don’t give me a reason to.”

It wasn’t a promise, but it was something. And right now, he’d take it.

The morning came slowly, the golden afternoon light spilling through the curtains. Sua stirred first, feeling the solid weight of Seungcheol’s arm draped over her waist. His body was warm, radiating heat like a personal furnace, and—

Was he snoring?

She turned her head slightly, and sure enough, soft, rhythmic breaths left his slightly parted lips. It was quiet, almost soothing. Sua sighed, watching him for a moment before reaching for her phone. 3:08 PM. Not so morning, apparently.

“Babe,” she murmured, nudging him lightly.

Seungcheol groaned, burying his face against her shoulder. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled, voice raspy with sleep.

Sua rolled her eyes but made no effort to move away. She let him cling to her for a little longer, fingers absentmindedly running through his messy hair.

Eventually, though, hunger won over comfort. “Cheol, I’m starving. Get up.”

He groaned again but finally cracked an eye open, blinking blearily at her. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But I’m not cooking. You do that wifey shit so well.”

Sua smacked his arm, making him laugh. “Get your ass in the kitchen, Choi Seungcheol.”

The kitchen was filled with the aroma of warm butter and eggs, a stark contrast to the chaotic mess they had made of themselves the night before. Seungcheol leaned against the counter, watching as Sua flipped a pancake with practiced ease.

“Domestic looks good on you,” he commented, voice still heavy with sleep.

“Everything looks good on me,” she deadpanned.

He grinned. “That’s true.”

As they ate, Sua nudged his foot under the table. “What time’s your meeting?”

Seungcheol glanced at his phone. “Five-thirty. I should head out soon.”

She frowned slightly but nodded. “Text me after.”

“I will,” he promised, reaching over to steal a bite from her plate.

—

The board meeting had been unbearable.

Seungcheol sat through all of it, nodding and biting his tongue as executives danced around the real issue—his distraction. They spoke in circles, throwing out words like "brand risk" and "group stability," but he knew what they were getting at.

It was his fault that fans were speculating. His fault that articles were circling. His fault that the company had to do damage control because one gallery visit turned into a damn media frenzy.

But it wasn’t his fault that he had fallen for her.

And now, after everyone else had filtered out, Minghao was still in the room—lingering with his arms crossed, his expression a storm waiting to break.

Seungcheol could feel it coming. He knew that look.

Minghao didn’t move at first. Then, with a sharp inhale, he did.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

Seungcheol exhaled, already exhausted. "Hao, don't."

"Don't?" Minghao let out a humorless chuckle. "Don’t? You have any idea what you've done?" His voice was tight with restrained anger, the kind that only built up when you cared too much. “Do you even realize what kind of attention you just threw her into?”

Seungcheol’s patience thinned. “I didn’t throw her into anything.”

Minghao scoffed. “No? Then what do you call it? A soft introduction?” His eyes darkened. “Her gallery is flooded with people who don’t give a shit about art. Her workplace—her safe space—is now a damn tourist attraction because you couldn’t stay away.”

That stung.

Because Seungcheol knew Minghao was right.

But he still bristled, his pride not letting him fold so easily. “I get it, alright? I fucked up.”

"No, you don’t." Minghao stepped closer, his tone low and sharp. “You don’t get it, because if you did, you never would’ve set foot in her gallery. You never would’ve made her part of this.”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched. “You act like I had a choice.”

Minghao let out a slow breath, shaking his head. "You did. You always have a choice."

Silence stretched between them.

Seungcheol hated this. He hated the fact that Minghao wasn’t just angry—he was disappointed. He could see it in the way the younger man looked at him, like he had expected better.

And maybe he should have.

Because truthfully?

Seungcheol had been selfish.

He could’ve waited. He could’ve been more careful. But after a week of Sua ignoring him, he hadn’t been thinking straight. He just wanted to see her. He wanted to fix things.

And now, she was the one paying for his recklessness.

Seungcheol ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “You think I don’t want to protect her too?”

Minghao’s expression softened—just a little—but his frustration was still there. “Then start acting like it.”

The room felt suffocating. Seungcheol opened his mouth, but before he could fire back, a calm voice cut through the tension.

“Alright, enough,” Jun sighed, stepping between them with practiced ease. “No one’s solving anything by throwing words at each other.”

Minghao huffed but took a step back. Seungcheol let out a sharp exhale, running a hand through his hair.

Jun crossed his arms. “You both have a point. Seungcheol, you need to be more careful. Minghao, blowing up at him isn’t going to change the fact that he’s already involved. So, let’s find a way to control the damage instead.”

Seungcheol narrowed his eyes. “And how exactly do you suggest we do that?”

Jun gave him a pointed look. “You like art, right?”

The question caught him off guard. “What?”

“You,” Jun continued, glancing between him and Minghao, “should go to galleries. Together.”

Minghao blinked. “Excuse me?”

Jun shrugged. “Think about it. Right now, the media is making it seem like you, Seungcheol, are only visiting the gallery because of someone. But what if we shift that narrative? If you start showing up at galleries with Minghao, making it clear you actually have an interest in art, the public will start associating you with that instead of just Sua.”

Seungcheol stared at him, absorbing the idea.

Minghao, however, remained skeptical. “And you think that’ll be enough?”

“No, but it’s a start,” Jun admitted. “The media follows whatever story we feed them. Give them something else to focus on. The more they see Seungcheol with you at galleries, the more they’ll believe he’s into art because of you—not because of Sua.”

Seungcheol leaned against the table, considering it. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was better than nothing.

Minghao sighed, rubbing his temples. “This is such a dumb idea.”

Jun smirked. “Dumb ideas usually work.”

Seungcheol exhaled slowly. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Minghao scoffed but didn’t argue. “Then let’s hope you don’t screw this up.”

Jun clapped his hands together. “Great! Now, can we all stop looking like we’re about to kill each other?”

The tension hadn’t fully disappeared, but for now, it was settled.

──────────────────────────────

Chapter 9 yayyy! I don't think I can wrap this up on chapter 10.... so maybe let's try 15? Hehehehe

Chapter Thirteen

Sunday, October 13th 2024

02:17 AM

Minghao didn’t speak the entire walk to his car. He was riding the elevator with Ari after Sua asked them to leave, and Ari stops at the lobby, giving him a knowing nods before she leaves.

The silence clung to him like smoke, trailing behind each step, seeping into the folds of his jacket, the creases of his hands. The air outside was colder than he remembered. Or maybe he was just finally feeling it now that he wasn’t holding her anymore.

She had asked him to leave. Quietly, gently, but firmly. And so, he did.

The car door closed with a muted thud. He turned the engine on, slipped his hands around the steering wheel, and just… sat there.

Still.

Numb.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t even blink for a long moment.

And then, slowly, he shifted into drive.

The streets were quiet, washed in the pale glow of streetlights and the occasional passing headlights. The concert traffic had thinned out. The fans had gone home. The city had moved on. But he hadn’t.

Not really.

His knuckles tightened on the wheel as he turned onto the expressway. It wasn’t until the buildings started blurring past that the thoughts began to crack open.

Seungcheol had always been reckless. Bold, sometimes brash. But never like this.

Tonight was different.

He didn’t know when it happened—when Seungcheol stopped thinking and started acting on instinct, emotion. Maybe it started the moment he showed up at that gallery. Maybe the day he stayed overnight at her apartment, car parked in plain sight. Or maybe it was earlier, in the way he looked at her—like she was gravity, and he was already falling.

Minghao exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw clenched.

He should’ve known.

No—he did know. He just didn’t want to believe it.

Because Seungcheol wasn’t supposed to fall like this. Not him.

He was the leader. The constant. The spine. The one who carried their burdens without ever asking to share his own.

Minghao had watched him for over a decade—watched him mold himself into someone the group could lean on. Even back when they were trainees, just kids barely scraping by on ramen and anxiety, Seungcheol had stood at the front of the line. Taking responsibility. Setting the standard. Always the one with answers.

Always the one pretending he had nothing to lose.

Except… he did.

Minghao’s grip on the wheel loosened slightly.

There was a time Seungcheol had loved someone. Briefly. Before they debuted. A trainee like them, all flushed cheeks and hidden smiles between practice sessions. Minghao remembered the way Seungcheol used to sneak glances at her between choreo runs, the soft kind of look that didn’t know it was visible yet.

But it didn’t last.

Their debut came. The weight of becoming "S.Coups" settled heavy on his shoulders. Leader of thirteen. Face of the group. There wasn’t space left for anything soft after that. So he dropped it—quietly, cleanly, like it had never even happened.

He never talked about her again.

Minghao remembered watching him back then. How he didn’t cry, didn’t spiral, didn’t even flinch. He just worked harder. Stayed longer at dance practice. Pushed his voice to the edge in the booth. Learned how to smile in interviews even when his knees were shaking.

And somewhere along the way, Seungcheol became untouchable.

Not invincible. Just… distant. Above it all.

Not because he didn’t feel.

But because feeling was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

And yet now—now—he was unraveling.

Tonight proved that. Every step toward the barricade. Every glance he threw Sua’s way. Every time his emotions overrode his sense.

He was in love.

Minghao’s throat tightened.

Not a crush. Not infatuation.

Love.

Real and messy and consuming.

The kind that makes you reckless.

The kind that makes you stupid.

The kind Seungcheol had never let himself have before.

Because he didn’t know how to have it. Not without trying to own it. To protect it so fiercely he ended up suffocating it in the process.

Sua didn’t stand a chance.

Not when Seungcheol loved her like she was a war he needed to win.

Minghao’s eyes flickered to the empty passenger seat.

He could still feel her weight against him. The way her body trembled. The way she fell apart in silence, and how she tried so hard to not ask for anything—even when she was breaking.

Seungcheol didn’t mean to hurt her. Minghao knew that.

But love wasn’t about intention.

It was about impact.

And Seungcheol had no idea how much damage he was causing—how loud his love was. How violent it felt, even when it came from the softest part of him.

Because Seungcheol was loved his whole life.

The youngest in his family. Coddled. Protected. Praised.

And he wanted so badly to prove he was more than that. That he was strong. Reliable. A man. A leader. A protector.

But he didn’t know how to be loved quietly.

Not the way Sua needed.

Not yet.

Minghao swallowed hard, the road blurring slightly as headlights streaked past. He blinked the burn away.

He wasn’t angry anymore.

Just… tired.

Tired for Sua. Tired with Seungcheol.

Because Seungcheol could change. He could learn. But not if he kept believing love was something he had to fight to keep. Not if he thought being in love meant standing on a stage and daring the world to come for her.

Because tonight? The world did.

And she shattered in the fallout.

Minghao didn’t know if they’d make it.

Didn’t know if Sua could forgive this. Or if Seungcheol would ever learn to love without making it hurt.

But he knew one thing for certain.

Seungcheol wasn’t the alpha male everyone made him out to be.

He was just a boy who had only ever known love when it came wrapped in duty.

And now, for the first time in his life, he was trying to give it freely—without knowing how to make sure it didn’t destroy the one he gave it to.

Minghao exhaled as the city lights began to fade behind him.

He didn’t know what would happen next.

But tonight?

Tonight, he finally understood.

Why Seungcheol was spiraling.

Why Sua was breaking.

And why love—real love—was never supposed to look like this.

Not even for someone like him.

—

09:24 AM

The morning crawled in slowly.

Sunlight pooled lazily through the edges of the curtains, casting warm streaks across tangled sheets and quiet breaths. There was a stillness in the room—not the kind that felt calm, but the kind that hummed with all the things left unsaid. The kind of silence that only comes after two people break and choose, against all odds, to stay.

Sua stirred first.

Her lashes fluttered as her mind clawed its way back from a restless, shallow sleep. Her body ached in places she didn’t expect—her temples, her back, the soft skin beneath her eyes. Everything felt too tender, like she'd been wrung out the night before and hadn’t fully settled back into herself.

It took her a few seconds to realize she wasn’t alone. That the warmth pressed against her wasn’t her blanket, but him.

Seungcheol.

One arm was looped around her middle, his large palm splayed across the curve of her stomach like it had landed there instinctively. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm against her back. His legs tangled with hers, anchoring her in place. And nestled against the back of her neck—his breath, warm and soft, like he hadn’t stopped holding onto her even in his sleep.

She stayed still. Not because she was afraid to move, but because she couldn’t.

Because despite everything—despite the fight, the pain, the tears that had soaked through both of their shirts last night—there was something about this moment that made her chest ache in a different way.

They hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

After he came—after that sharp, emotional collision that left them both exposed and trembling—neither of them had said a word. They’d just held each other. He kissed her like he was afraid it would be the last time, and she let him. She clutched the front of his jacket until he peeled it off, let herself fold into him when they sunk into bed, fully clothed, tear-stained and drained.

No plans. No conversation. Just two people too exhausted to let go.

Her fingers shifted slightly, brushing against the back of his hand that still rested over her. And even with the heaviness in her limbs, even with the dull throb behind her eyes, she felt… tethered.

Like maybe she wasn’t unraveling anymore.

She didn’t turn around—didn’t need to. She knew he was already awake.

He always was, when it came to her.

“Cheol…” Her voice was barely there, dry and quiet from crying too hard the night before.

He shifted behind her. Just a little. His arm tightened instinctively around her middle.

“I’m here.” His voice was gravelly, still thick with sleep, but sure. Like an anchor dropped into open waters.

They didn’t say anything else at first. Didn’t need to. The space between them—filled with slow breaths and lingering heat—spoke for itself.

When Sua finally rolled onto her back, her eyes met his. He was already looking at her.

Messy-haired, eyes swollen from crying, cheeks still marked from where she must’ve clung to him in her sleep. He looked terrible. And beautiful. And so heartbreakingly hers.

“I can’t believe we slept,” she whispered.

“I don’t think we did,” he replied, voice low. “Not really.”

Sua smiled—just barely. Her fingers found his, lacing them together as their hands rested between them.

He watched her, gaze dipping to the curve of her cheek, the softness of her lips, the way her eyes looked more tired than he remembered but somehow more open.

“I thought you were gonna tell me to leave,” he said honestly.

“I almost did,” she admitted.

A beat passed.

“But I didn’t want to wake up without you.”

He closed his eyes for a second, like the words physically hit him. When he opened them again, he leaned in, resting his forehead gently against hers.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

Sua didn’t answer right away. Instead, she tilted her head just enough to kiss the corner of his mouth. Soft. Not desperate like last night. Just real.

“You’re mine,” she murmured, “and I’m tired. But I still love you.”

His breath caught. His thumb brushed over the back of her hand.

Sua didn’t move—not yet.

Even with the morning pressing in and time inching forward, she wanted to stay suspended in this pocket of softness just a little longer.

Everything outside this bed felt too loud. The chaos. The whispers. The consequences of last night, the years of pain they hadn’t fully unpacked. It was all still there. But for now, she wanted to pretend that it wasn’t.

Seungcheol’s fingers brushed her wrist. Barely. Like a question.

She shifted closer.

“I hate that you look tired,” he whispered.

She blinked at him, a little amused. “You look worse.”

His nose scrunched. “Thanks.”

She laughed softly. It sounded a little like relief.

Seungcheol let his eyes trace her features—slowly, reverently. As if memorizing her again. Her skin, puffy and warm with leftover tears. Her lips, still parted like she wasn’t done telling him the truth. Her eyes, full of everything they hadn’t said yet.

“Last night…” he started, voice hesitant. “I was scared.”

Sua’s smile faded gently. Her brows pinched.

“Of me?”

He shook his head instantly. “No. Of losing you.”

She looked at him for a moment, then lowered her gaze.

“You almost did,” she whispered.

It wasn’t a threat. Just the truth. And it hurt because he knew it, too.

He leaned in slowly, kissing the center of her forehead. A long, quiet press of his lips like he was saying sorry all over again.

“Thank you for not letting go,” he murmured.

Sua didn’t answer. Instead, she closed her eyes and reached for his face, brushing her fingers along the faint stubble on his jaw. He leaned into her touch like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

“You know…” she said softly. “I used to wonder if loving you would ever feel easy.”

His eyes flicked up to hers.

“But now I think… maybe it’s not meant to be easy.”

Seungcheol swallowed.

“But it should at least feel safe,” she continued, voice cracking a little. “And I need to know that I’m not the only one trying to make it that.”

“You’re not,” he said immediately. “You’re not, Sua. I swear.”

A pause.

Then he added, quieter, “I just don’t always know how to do it right.”

Her fingers found his again.

“Then let’s figure it out,” she said. “Together. If you still want that.”

His hand tightened around hers like it was instinct. Like he couldn’t imagine not holding on.

“I do,” he breathed. “I always will.”

She smiled faintly—tired, but real.

And for a while, they just laid there. Wrapped around each other in a mess of limbs, blankets, and shared breaths. Not saying much. Just being. Healing in inches.

Eventually, his thumb started brushing over her knuckles in a rhythm she knew well—something he did when he was anxious, or thinking too far ahead.

“You have to leave soon, don’t you?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

He nodded against her pillow. “Soundcheck’s at four. They want me there by two.”

Sua tilted her head slightly to look at the clock. 9:46 AM.

Still a little time.

“Then stay a bit longer,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to his again. “Just a little.”

And he did.

Because no matter how much the world demanded from him outside these walls—right now, nothing mattered more than being next to her.

—

10:27 AM

By the time they pulled themselves out of bed, it was almost 10:30 AM.

Neither of them had really slept.

Four hours of uneven dozing and tangled limbs, punctuated by half-conscious whispers in the dark. A soft "are you okay" here, a mumbled "don’t go too far" there. It wasn’t restful, not in the way rest was usually defined.

But it was healing.

And maybe that was enough.

Sua moved first. She slipped into the kitchen with her sleeves still covering her hands, her hair a sleepy mess that Seungcheol found stupidly beautiful.

He followed a minute later, dragging his feet and yawning like he hadn’t just had the worst emotional breakdown of his life.

“Coffee?” she asked.

He nodded, already wrapping his arms around her waist from behind like a koala. “You make it better.”

“That’s just because you never measure your beans properly.”

“That’s just because I’m lazy.”

She huffed out a breath—half a laugh—and leaned back into him, letting his chin rest on her shoulder while she started the pour-over.

Everything was slow. Unrushed. A rare kind of silence that didn’t demand anything from them.

He helped prep breakfast—if cracking eggs and messing up her toast count as “helping.” She didn’t complain, just shoved him lightly and muttered something about him being worse than Ari in the kitchen.

He just grinned. “At least I’m prettier.”

She couldn’t argue with that.

They sat across from each other on the floor in front of her small table. Coffee steaming between them. Their plates only half-touched.

He caught her staring once—mid-bite—and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Sua hesitated. Then: “Just thinking.”

“About?”

She poked at her toast. “What happens after this.”

He was quiet for a moment.

Then, gently: “We keep trying.”

“Even when everything feels impossible?”

“Especially then.”

Sua’s throat tightened. “That sounds exhausting.”

Seungcheol nodded. “It is.”

She smiled faintly, eyes stinging again. “But you still want it?”

He leaned forward, brushing a crumb from the corner of her mouth with his thumb. “I still want you.”

Her heart did that thing again—that dangerous flutter that made her forget every reason she’d ever considered walking away.

And maybe that was what scared her most.

—

12:38 PM

By noon, he was standing by the door, reluctantly pulling on his jacket and ball cap.

Sua watched him from the kitchen, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

“Text me when you arrive.”

He nodded. “I will.”

“And don’t forget your in-ears this time.”

“Can’t promise anything.”

She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched. He stepped toward her again, slower this time, like he was afraid he wouldn’t get another chance. His hands came up to fix the collar of her sweater, brushing gently along her neck.

“Thank you for letting me stay.”

Sua exhaled shakily. “Thank you for coming.”

Their eyes met. That familiar ache returned.

And then he kissed her—soft and deep, like a goodbye he didn’t want to say.

—

01:43 PM

The second he stepped into the venue, the shift was palpable.

The staff didn’t greet him like they usually did. Their eyes flicked to him, then quickly away. His manager, who always had a light jab or smile ready, didn’t even look up.

It was cold. Not just the air. The energy. Like something had snapped overnight—and the fallout was waiting for him.

He barely made it past the dressing room threshold when he heard it.

“Choi Seungcheol.”

He turned. His manager stood in the hallway, stiff posture and clenched jaw. Flanked by two senior company staff—the ones who only came down when shit had really hit the fan.

“Now,” his manager said. “We need to talk.”

Seungcheol didn’t argue. He didn’t even ask. He just sighed and followed them into a rehearsal room nearby—one they never used. Too echoey. Too impersonal.

The door shut behind them with a soft click that felt like a verdict.

“What is this?” he asked, voice already heavy.

“We’ll get straight to the point,” said one of the execs, arms folded. “The rumors exploded overnight. Every private community has your name. Some even have hers. Her workplace.”

“She didn’t say a word,” Seungcheol said, jaw tightening. “She signed the NDA. She’s been careful.”

“We know,” the other staff member replied. “This isn’t about her.”

“This is about you,” the first added. “You’re the one breaking protocol—not with words, but actions.”

His stomach dropped.

“I haven’t—”

“You have,” his manager cut in, quietly. “You’ve made it obvious.”

“Obvious? Because I protected her?”

“Because you stood in front of her section during the concert,” the staff member said. “Because you showed up to her gallery. Because a fight broke out and her name was dragged through online hell overnight.”

“Do you know how close the press came to running the story this morning?” the other exec added. “Do you know what we had to do to stop it?”

“I was protecting her,” Seungcheol repeated, more firmly. “I didn’t do it to make headlines. I did it because I love her.”

“We’re not saying you don’t care about her,” his manager said, calmer now. “But you being in love can’t affect the group. The NDA isn’t to punish you. It’s to protect Seventeen.”

“I’m not the only one dating—”

“You’re the only one getting reckless.”

That stung. The words hit somewhere deep between his ribs, slicing through bruises already formed from weeks of sleepless nights and too many bottled-up emotions.

“So what?” he said. “You want me to end it?”

“We’re asking you to choose,” someone said.

His world paused.

“Because it’s starting to cost more than we can afford.”

That did it.

The last thread holding him together snapped.

“Choose?” His voice rose, disbelief laced with anger. “You want me to choose between the woman I love and the ten years I’ve given to this group?”

Silence. Uncomfortable. Heavy.

He let out a hollow laugh, one that didn’t reach his eyes.

“You don’t get it. She’s not just someone I’m messing around with. I love her. I’ve never—never felt this way about anyone in my life. And I’ve followed every goddamn rule for ten years. I’ve kept my head down. I’ve shown up to everything. Worked through injuries. Sacrificed sleep, time, health. I gave my life to this.”

He looked around the room.

“And if you’re asking me to choose—between that and the only person who’s been there for me when no one else was—then yeah. I choose her. Every fucking time.”

His manager’s expression darkened.

But before anyone could speak—before the air even settled—the door creaked.

“Wow,” someone said.

They weren’t alone anymore.

The door hadn’t shut properly.

Woozi stood just outside the threshold. Behind him, Hoshi. Dino. Their faces unreadable—but their eyes? They burned.

“You’d throw it all away?” Woozi’s voice was low. Controlled. Dangerous. “Ten years, Cheol. We built this together.”

“I’m not throwing anything away,” Seungcheol said.

“You just said you’d choose her over everything,” Dino snapped. “You think that doesn’t include us?”

“You don’t know what she’s been through because of me!” Seungcheol’s voice cracked—emotion bubbling to the surface now. “She got harassed. Threatened. People showed up at her job. Because of me. And she still stayed. She still kept our secret.”

“That’s not the point,” Hoshi said, arms crossed. “The point is—you’re not just you anymore. You’re our leader. Our hyung. You’ve always carried us.”

“And leaders don’t put the team at risk,” Woozi said. “They don’t make reckless choices that could burn the whole thing down.”

“Then what?” Seungcheol snapped. “I was supposed to watch her fall apart while I sat on my hands and said nothing? Let people attack her? Call her names? I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“And what about us?” Dino said. “What happens when this explodes and we’re all dragged down with you?”

Some other members heard the yelling, decided to join them.

The room fell into chaos.

“Guys,” a voice tried to cut in—it was Joshua—but no one was listening.

“You think we’re heartless?” Woozi said, stepping closer. “That we don’t care about her? We like her, Cheol. But there’s a line. You crossed it.”

“I didn’t ask to fall in love,” Seungcheol shouted. “I didn’t plan for any of this!”

“But you did plan to stand in front of her section last night,” Woozi shot back.

That froze him.

Because… yes.

Yes, and no.

He hadn’t planned it, exactly. It was instinct. Panic. A need to see her. To make sure she was okay. After the incident earlier, when those fans shoved her… his body just moved. Like it knew what mattered most.

“I thought maybe I could stop it,” Seungcheol said quietly. “I thought if they saw me there, it would end. That maybe—just maybe—I could control the chaos.”

Woozi stared.

“Then you’re an idiot,” he said. “Because it only made it worse.”

—

02:11 PM

The room was a storm.

Shouting. Defending. Accusing.

Tension rolled in waves across the walls, thick and relentless, like humidity before a lightning strike.

Jeonghan now had both arms locked around Mingyu’s middle, holding him back from lunging at Woozi, who stood his ground with eyes like fire. Joshua had stepped between Hoshi and Dino, one hand raised toward each like he was trying to conduct the chaos into something softer—but his face betrayed the same boiling point the others had reached.

“I’m not saying what he did was right,” Joshua snapped, voice cracking with frustration, “but maybe let him breathe before you crucify him!”

“Oh, so now we’re defending recklessness?” Hoshi shot back. “We’re defending letting the whole group burn down just because our leader can’t keep his personal life under control?”

“We’re defending our friend,” Mingyu spat, chest heaving. “You think he wanted this? That he planned for this to happen?”

“No, but he let it happen,” Dino said bitterly. “And we’re the ones picking up the pieces.”

“Everyone shut up!”

Jeonghan’s voice cut through the air like a whip. Not loud, not screaming—but low, guttural, final. The kind of tone that made hearts drop before brains caught up.

Silence fell.

Not out of agreement.

Just exhaustion.

Breathless, stifling silence, like the air had finally caved in.

And then—

The door creaked open.

Soft. Slow. Controlled.

No one turned immediately. But they all felt it—like the air changed temperature.

The footsteps were quiet. Almost too gentle for the room’s leftover rage. But they carried weight, as if the ground moved to make space.

Minghao.

He didn’t speak at first. Just walked in and shut the door behind him with a deliberate click. Not a slam. Not a warning. Just control.

He stood in the middle of the chaos, still as glass, and scanned the room like he was counting casualties.

His gaze settled on Seungcheol.

“I saw what happened,” Minghao said, finally breaking his silence.

The room turned to him.

He wasn’t looking at anyone in particular, but his voice cut through the air like a blade. Calm. Controlled. Devastating.

“I was on the other side of the stage. But I saw it. Her. The barricade. The shoving.”

He took a step forward. His eyes were dark, unreadable.

“She didn’t even fight back. Just stood there, trying to disappear. And Seungcheol—” A pause. “He saw it too. You think he stood in front of her for fun? To show off?” Another beat of silence. “He did it because she was scared.”

He turned to the others. “It wasn’t reckless. It was instinct.”

Silence pulsed in the room like a second heartbeat.

Minghao’s gaze swept across them, steady and unflinching.

“Don’t mistake love for weakness,” he said. “You should know better.”

Then, quieter, as he looked back at Seungcheol—

“She looked safe when you stood there.”

No one moved.

Seungcheol exhaled through his nose, jaw still tense. His chest ached with something between fury and exhaustion.

But Woozi wasn’t done.

“You think that makes it okay?” His voice was sharper now, the fury unraveling in pieces. “You think just because it came from love, that excuses putting us at risk?”

“She was at risk!” Seungcheol’s voice cracked through the room. “And none of you were there. Not at the gallery. Not after the stalkers showed up outside her apartment. Not when she texted me that she was too scared to go to work!”

“She’s not your responsibility—”

“She is when she’s suffering because of me!”

Hoshi stepped between them before voices could rise further. “This isn’t about whether or not you love her,” he said, firmer this time. “It’s about how you’re handling it. You’re our leader, Cheol. You move—we all get dragged.”

“And what?” Seungcheol bit out. “You want me to stop moving? To sit still while the woman I love gets ripped apart by people who only hate her because of me?”

Dino laughed bitterly. “You’re not the only one with someone you care about, hyung. But we hide it. You’re out here standing in front of her section like a damn beacon. Of course the fans noticed.”

“She begged me not to go public,” Seungcheol snapped. “She begged me to keep it quiet—and I did. But you know what? It wasn’t enough. Because just breathing near her made her a target. So don’t act like I plastered our photos online. I was trying to live in the cracks.”

“Then live smarter,” Woozi shot back. “You think if she’s scared now, it won’t get worse once Dispatch picks this up? Once sponsors start pulling out? You think the backlash will only fall on you?”

“Enough,” Minghao said suddenly, voice calm but ice-cold. “You’re talking like he wants this.”

Jeonghan’s voice finally joined in, low and sharp. “You’re all acting like we didn’t meet her. Like we didn’t see what she’s like.”

Mingyu nodded quietly, speaking for the first time. “She didn’t even want to come to that villa. She looked terrified half the time.”

Joshua sighed. “And she never overstepped. Not once.”

Seungcheol glanced between them, throat tightening.

Jeonghan looked right at him. “You think we don’t see what you’re doing? How you’ve been pulling away from us just to protect her? But you don’t have to choose between being our leader and being hers.”

“Except they’re making me choose,” Seungcheol muttered, voice low, broken. “The company. The fans. The system.”

Joshua leaned against the wall. “Then maybe we should be the ones reminding the company who built this group in the first place.”

“And maybe we should stop treating love like it’s a scandal,” Mingyu added, expression grim. “It’s not like the rest of us are saints.”

Dino scoffed. “You’re all forgetting the main issue. The fans are turning. They’re angry.”

Jeonghan narrowed his eyes. “They’ve always turned on women who got too close. It’s not new.”

“And if we all let fear run this place,” Joshua said softly, “then what’s the point of everything we built?”

Seungcheol stared at them.

The room was split.

Hoshi, Woozi, and Dino—angry, anxious, desperately trying to preserve what they had.

Minghao, Jeonghan, Mingyu, and Joshua—calmer, more understanding, but still conflicted.

He had never felt so exposed in his life.

Never felt so alone—and yet, not alone at the same time.

Because they were all right.

And all wrong.

And he was just a man—torn between ten years of loyalty and the woman who had become his safe place.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” he said finally. “But if I had to choose again—I’d still choose her.”

He swallowed. “Even if it ruins me.”

For a long moment, no one said anything.

Then Woozi exhaled, shoulders slumping as he looked away.

“You better hope she’s worth it.”

—

02:51 PM

The room eventually emptied.

One by one, they filed out—some with heavy glances, others with tension still burning in their eyes. Hoshi lingered the longest before finally walking away, his silence louder than any words.

But Seungcheol didn’t move.

He just stood there.

Back to the door. Shoulders drawn up like the world had settled its full weight on them.

The anger was gone now. Replaced by something quieter. Sadder.

What am I doing?

He sat on the one of the chairs, hands clasped between his knees, staring at nothing. The echo of his own voice still rang in his ears—“I choose her.”

The company asked him to choose.

His brothers questioned him.

And now?

Now he felt like a man with no country. Too in love to belong to the industry that raised him, too much a leader to abandon the group that gave him purpose.

But wasn’t he allowed to be both?

Wasn’t he still human?

A quiet knock on the frame broke the silence.

Minghao stood at the doorway, arms crossed. He didn’t look angry. Just tired.

“Hyung.”

Seungcheol didn’t look up. "I thought you left already."

“I was. But you're not coming out. You okay?”

He let out a breath of laughter—bitter, exhausted. “No.”

Minghao stepped closer, taking a seat beside him on.

“Why’d you actually do it?” Minghao asked. “Why’d you go stand in front of her like that?”

Seungcheol chuckles, "I thought you knew, you told Woozi earlier."

"That was my personal opinion, but he doesn' have to know," Minghao laughed, then continued, "But was it true?"

For a second, Seungcheol couldn’t speak. His throat felt tight.

“I don’t know,” he said eventually. “I thought maybe if I stood close enough, they’d stop. Or at least think twice. Or maybe…” He swallowed. “Maybe I just needed to see that she was okay. My body moved. I didn’t plan it.”

Minghao didn’t answer right away.

Then he asked, “You love her a lot, don’t you?”

“I do.”

Silence.

Then, softer—

“You know it’s fucked up, right? That you even have to choose?”

Seungcheol turned his head.

Minghao stared straight ahead. “Everyone else gets to love freely. Our managers, our staff—they hold hands in public, post pictures, live normally. But you? You fall in love, and suddenly you’re a liability.”

A lump rose in Seungcheol’s throat.

“It’s not normal,” Minghao said. “What they expect from us. What fans demand from us. We sell them this illusion—of perfection, of availability, of loyalty to them and only them. But we’re not theirs. We’re not dolls or gods.”

He looked at Seungcheol. “We’re just people. And people fall in love.”

Something in Seungcheol cracked.

Because yes. That.

He didn’t want applause. Didn’t need a parade. All he wanted was to love someone without it turning into a scandal. To protect the one person who made all this noise bearable.

“Does it ever get better?” he asked, voice hoarse.

Minghao exhaled. “Maybe. If enough of us stop pretending.”

They sat in silence after that. Two idols. Two men. Just existing for a moment in a world that constantly asked them to lie.

Outside, the stadium buzzed back to life.

Inside, Seungcheol felt like a part of him had been left behind.

Maybe that was the price of choosing love.

—

03:37 PM

The backstage felt colder somehow.

Not the air—but the silence.

The members moved around him. Nodding. Offering brief glances. Mingyu’s hand on his shoulder. Jeonghan quiet beside him.

But Dino wouldn’t look at him.

Hoshi’s usual banter was gone.

Woozi’s jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful.

They were still a team. But barely.

Seungcheol sat in the makeup chair, head bowed, elbows on his knees. The stylist’s brush moved gently across his face, but he didn’t feel it. He was elsewhere. Still hearing choose her over all of us on repeat. Still seeing Sua’s eyes as he kissed her goodbye.

The door opened.

“Soundcheck in fifteen,” someone called.

No one reacted.

Everyone just… moved. Like machinery restarting after a shutdown.

They walked toward the stage.

No jokes. No humming. Even the sound of the fans cheering outside felt eerie—off.

Seungcheol adjusted his mic pack in silence. His hands were steady. His face unreadable.

But Minghao was watching.

He saw the tight jaw. The way Cheol gripped the mic just a little too hard. Holding himself together by sheer force.

“Hyung,” Minghao murmured, just before they stepped into the light, “You don’t have to prove anything right now.”

Seungcheol looked at him. Hollow-eyed. But he nodded.

Then the lights hit them.

And just like that, they became idols again.

Professional. Polished. Perfect.

They walked out to cheers. Fans sobbed. Screamed. Waved banners.

Minghao’s eyes flicked to the barricade section—where Sua had stood last night.

Empty now.

And still, haunting.

He remembered how she’d flinched when the crowd got loud. How she tried to shrink herself. He remembered Seungcheol drifting toward her during the set—like a compass drawn north. Instinctive. Uncontrolled.

He remembered security coming. The tension snapping. The illusion breaking.

But now, under the lights, the cracks were hidden again.

Seungcheol took center, smile playing at his lips like he wasn’t breaking.

“Let’s give them a good show,” he said.

It wasn’t for the fans.

It was for the group. For the silence. For the we're still here even when nothing is fine.

They raised their hands. Counted in.

The music hit.

Chapter 10.2

February 2024

Seungcheol didn’t particularly like change.

His life was structured—schedule after schedule, practice, meetings, rehearsals, workouts. If he could keep at least one thing constant, he would. And for the longest time, that one thing was the gym in the company building. It was close, private, and most importantly, familiar.

But then came Kim Mingyu.

"Hyung, please," Mingyu had whined, practically draping himself over Seungcheol's back after practice. "I found this gym, and it’s so much better than the one at the company. The vibe is cozy, the equipment is brand new, and they even have protein shakes made fresh at the counter—fresh, hyung!"

Seungcheol had barely looked up from his phone, already suspicious. "Then go by yourself?"

"I hate going alone."

Of course he did. Mingyu was practically a golden retriever in human form—thrived in companionship, hated doing anything solo. But Seungcheol wasn’t about to be dragged across town just because the younger one wanted a change of scenery.

Until Mingyu pulled out the final weapon.

"You do realize that our company gym is getting boring, right? Same people. Same routines. Same everything. Don’t you feel a little tired of it, hyung?"

Seungcheol had scoffed at the time, brushing it off with a lazy wave. But later that night, when he was back at the company gym, cycling through the same warm-ups, the same weights, the same sterile environment—he felt it.

That nagging sense of monotony.

And somehow, that was how he found himself standing outside a gym on the other side of town the following week, arms crossed, watching Mingyu practically bounce with excitement.

"See? It’s nice, right?" Mingyu beamed, swiping his membership card at the entrance. "And the people here are so chill, no one even looks twice at us!"

Seungcheol hummed noncommittally as he followed inside. The gym was… decent. Smaller than their company one, but the atmosphere was different. Cozy, like Mingyu had said. Warm lighting instead of the harsh fluorescents he was used to. A good mix of people—some regular gym-goers, others just there to stay active. No overly eager fans, no suffocating attention.

Alright, fine. Maybe Mingyu had a point.

"I'll give it a shot," Seungcheol finally muttered, rolling his shoulders.

"YES!" Mingyu fist-pumped like he had just won a bet.

–

This gym was never supposed to be a regular thing.

Originally, it was just a favor to Mingyu—a one-time visit, or so he thought. The younger member had insisted, claiming it was quieter than their company gym, had better equipment, and was “literally the perfect place to work out without distractions.”

"Just try it once, hyung," Mingyu had grinned, throwing an arm over his shoulder. "You’ll thank me later."

That never happened. But somehow, he kept coming back.

Not because of anything particularly special. He wasn’t someone who enjoyed changing up his routine. And yet, after that first visit, the place stuck in his mind.

It was quiet. No fans waiting outside, no cameras catching him off guard. The staff and members treated him like anyone else—just a guy coming in for a workout. No stares, no whispers.

It felt… normal.

And maybe that’s why his schedule started shifting around it.

At first, he only went when Mingyu was free. But, predictably, the younger man’s enthusiasm didn’t last long.

"Hyung, I can't today—early shoot."

"Hyung, let’s go tomorrow instead, I need sleep."

"Hyung, you’re still going? Damn."

One excuse after another, until he was going alone.

But stopping never crossed his mind. Somewhere along the way, this place had carved itself into his day, becoming as routine as practice or work. It wasn’t just about staying in shape anymore—it was about the rare stillness. A moment in his schedule that belonged to him.

And then, there was her.

It wasn’t immediate. No dramatic first meeting, no slow-motion glances across the gym.

She was just another regular at first. Someone who happened to be there at the same time.

Until she wasn’t just that anymore.

The little things started standing out. The way she always tied her hair back in a loose ponytail, strands slipping free by the end of her session. The way she scrolled through her phone between sets, completely lost in whatever she was reading. The way she carried herself—focused, steady, like nothing around her mattered.

Tuesdays. Thursdays. Fridays.

Always at the same time.

Always leaving just as he arrived.

He shouldn’t have cared about that.

But somehow, he did.

Because for someone he had never spoken to, who had never even looked his way—she was taking up space in his mind in a way he didn’t know how to stop

–

March, 2024

Seungcheol liked to believe he wasn’t easily distracted.

But lately, something had shifted.

It wasn’t the usual exhaustion from packed schedules or the weight of being SEVENTEEN’s leader. This was different—subtle, creeping in before he even realized it.

At first, it was just a passing thought. A brief glance at the clock before heading to the gym, an unconscious check to see if she was there.

Then, it became routine.

The moment he stepped inside, his eyes would instinctively scan the room, searching for a familiar figure. He told himself it was nothing—just habit, like any other part of his workout.

But on the days she wasn’t there, when the space felt a little emptier, a strange sense of disappointment settled in his chest.

Which made no sense.

He didn’t even know her.

She was just another gym-goer, part of the usual crowd.

And yet, habits were hard to break.

And once something—or someone—caught his attention, Seungcheol wasn’t the type to ignore it.

So, when he finally saw her up close for the first time, it hit him harder than expected.

The gym was quiet that afternoon, with only a few regulars scattered around. Seungcheol had just finished warming up when he turned—and there she was.

By the weights, adjusting her wrist wraps, completely focused on the task.

He shouldn’t have stared.

But something about the moment made it hard to look away.

Maybe it was the way she moved—calm, composed, lost in her own world. Maybe it was the way she carried herself, as if nothing could shake her.

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

Something he wasn’t ready to put into words.

He forced himself to look away, shaking off the thought.

Because that’s all it was.

A passing moment.

Nothing more.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

But the feeling lingered longer than it should have.

–

Obsession wasn’t in his nature. He was a leader, a decision-maker—someone who set goals and saw them through. But this? This was different.

The mystery of her lingered.

For weeks, she had been a presence just beyond his reach, slipping away before he could ever get close. Not once had they spoken, not once had he managed to be in the right place at the right time, yet somehow, she had taken up space in his thoughts.

And that wasn’t something he could ignore.

So, for the first time in a long time, curiosity got the better of him.

Answers weren’t hard to find—people talked, and the gym staff knew him well. A few casual questions here and there, nothing too obvious, and finally, he got what he wanted.

Her name.

Jang Sua.

He turned it over in his mind, testing how it sounded, how it felt. Simple, refined, carrying a quiet sort of confidence. It suited her.

And yet, the moment he had it, something about it tugged at him.

Familiar.

Like a name he had heard before but never really registered.

The realization didn’t hit him until later, when he was lounging in the practice room, half-listening to the others’ conversation.

Jang Sua.

Minghao’s Jang Sua.

The name that had surfaced in passing, always spoken with quiet admiration. The gallery girl, the art specialist—the one who had guided Minghao through paintings, pushed him beyond his comfort zone.

Recognition struck first. And then, something heavier. Something far more unsettling.

Minghao liked her.

Maybe not openly, maybe not in a way the others had picked up on, but now it was clear—the way Minghao’s voice shifted when he spoke about her, the way he lingered on details that had nothing to do with art.

And now, he wanted her too.

A slow exhale left his lips as he leaned back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Of course, it had to be her.

Because nothing was ever simple.

And walking away had never been his style.

—

“You look like you’ve got something on your mind,” Jeonghan mused, lazily swirling the straw in his iced americano.

Across from him, the man in question sat slumped in his chair, arms crossed, brows furrowed. It wasn’t like Seungcheol to be this quiet, especially during their late-night café runs. Normally, he was the one rambling about schedules, workouts, or whatever drama had unfolded in the group chat that day. But tonight? Silence.

Jeonghan smirked. “It’s a girl, isn’t it?”

The sharp exhale that followed was all the confirmation he needed.

“Not just any girl,” Jeonghan continued, amused. “It’s her, isn’t it? The gym girl you’ve been secretly obsessed with.”

At that, Seungcheol groaned, tilting his head back against the booth. “I’m not obsessed.”

“Sure. That’s why you’ve been going to the gym religiously every day at the same time, hoping to ‘accidentally’ run into her.”

He had nothing to say to that, so he took a slow sip of his drink instead.

Jeonghan leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. “Alright, so what’s the problem? You like her. She doesn’t even know you exist. What’s stopping you?”

A beat of hesitation.

“…Minghao.”

That wiped the smirk off Jeonghan’s face. “Ah.”

Seungcheol exhaled, fingers tapping against his cup. “He likes her.”

There it was—the thing that had been gnawing at him for weeks now. Minghao wasn’t the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve, but it was painfully obvious. The way he talked about her, the subtle way his expression softened whenever her name came up… it didn’t take a genius to figure it out.

And yet, despite years of knowing her, he had never made a move.

“So let me get this straight.” Jeonghan sat back, tapping his fingers against the table. “Minghao’s liked her for years but never confessed, and now you like her too.”

Seungcheol nodded.

“And you’re debating whether or not to do something about it?”

Another nod.

Jeonghan let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “You know, for someone who acts all tough, you’re surprisingly considerate.”

Seungcheol scoffed. “Hannie.”

“Listen,” Jeonghan leaned in, voice low but firm, “if you make a move first and she chooses you, then that’s how it’s supposed to be. Minghao had years, Seungcheol. If he really wanted to be with her, he would’ve done something by now.”

That… was cruel.

But also true.

Seungcheol hated to admit it, but the thought had crossed his mind before. If Minghao was really that serious about her, why hadn’t he said anything? Why had he stayed in the safe zone all this time?

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” Jeonghan added, as if reading his thoughts. “You like her. You want to ask her out. That’s normal. What happens next? That’s up to her.”

The words settled in his chest, heavy but strangely reassuring.

He’d spent so much time hesitating, caught between his own feelings and the unspoken ones of his friend. But at the end of the day, the choice wasn’t his—or Minghao’s—to make.

It was hers.

And he was done waiting.

—

April, 2024

He never thought she'd say yes.

Even as the words left his mouth—carefully measured, laced with quiet hesitation—he had braced for rejection. He had prepared himself for the moment she would scoff, roll her eyes, maybe even look at him like he was out of his mind.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she tilted her head, studied him like she was searching for something beneath his careful composure, and then—"I’ll sign it."

And just like that, the ground beneath him shifted.

—

Dating Sua was unlike anything he had known before.

There were no grand declarations, no textbook romance gestures. She didn’t expect flowers or public displays of affection, didn’t demand more than what he could give.

Instead, she gave him something far more dangerous—a place to rest.

She never pried, never asked about things he wasn’t ready to share. Yet somehow, she always knew—when to let him be, when to tease him out of his exhaustion, when to lean against his shoulder and let the silence stretch comfortably between them.

Seungcheol had never met someone so effortlessly steady.

And he was already in too deep before he even realized he was falling.

—

The night it happened, he hadn’t planned for it.

They were at his apartment, the air thick with unspoken things. She sat on the couch in his hoodie, fingers wrapped around a cup of tea, looking so effortlessly like she belonged there that it made his chest ache.

Then, somewhere between soft laughter and quiet touches, she kissed him first.

It was barely there at first—a gentle press of lips, like she was testing something, waiting for him to stop her.

But he didn’t.

Instead, his hands found her waist, anchoring himself to her, deepening the kiss with a hunger he hadn't let himself acknowledge until now.

He felt her sigh against him, soft and warm, and something inside him broke.

It had been so long.

Too long since he let himself have this, let himself want without hesitation, without restraint.

And now, with her beneath him, her skin warm beneath his fingertips, her name a quiet prayer on his lips—he realized just how much he had missed this.

Missed her.

His hands trembled slightly as he traced the curve of her back, mapping the shivers he pulled from her, the soft gasps that sent heat curling through his veins.

"Are you okay?" she whispered, her fingers threading through his hair.

He exhaled a quiet laugh, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Yeah." His voice was rougher than he expected. "You?"

She nodded, eyes heavy-lidded, lips swollen, beautiful.

And when he finally sank into her, when she breathed his name like it was something sacred—he knew.

There was no coming back from this.

—

After that night, it was over for him.

Seungcheol had always been careful—always kept a part of himself tucked away, guarded.

But now?

Now he was completely gone for her.

It was in the way he caught himself staring when she wasn’t looking. The way he found excuses to touch her, even in the smallest ways—a hand on the small of her back, fingers brushing hers, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against her skin.

The way he would wake up before her just to watch the slow rise and fall of her breath, to commit the softness of her to memory before the world pulled him away again.

He was in love with her.

So hopelessly, maddeningly in love with her that it scared him.

Because for the first time in a long time, he had something he couldn’t afford to lose.

—

August, 2024

Seungcheol had been careful.

At least, he thought he had been.

No one was supposed to know—not yet. Not until he figured out how to handle this properly. The moment the members found out, it would spread like wildfire. Not to the public, of course; he trusted them more than anyone. But within the group, between the teasing and the pestering, there would be no keeping it to himself.

So he had been careful. He had hidden it well. Or so he thought.

But now, as he sat in the dressing room, staring at the read receipt on his phone, he realized maybe he hadn’t been as subtle as he’d believed.

He had been smiling.

And someone had noticed.

"Who the hell is ‘Sua’?"

Seungcheol’s head jerked up.

Mingyu was standing over him, eyes locked onto his screen before he could react. He locked it immediately, but it was too late. DK was already launching himself onto the couch, eyes wide with betrayal.

"HYUNG, WHO IS SUA?? Secret girlfriend? Hidden manager? Are you being blackmailed? BLINK TWICE IF—"

"Mind your business," Seungcheol muttered, shoving him off, but his voice didn’t have enough bite.

Mingyu grinned, nudging his shoulder. “No, but really. Who is she?”

Seungcheol exhaled, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

"Someone important."

That should’ve been enough. That should’ve ended it.

But when he stood, stretching to make his escape, his gaze flickered across the room—

And there was Minghao.

Silent. Watching.

Seungcheol froze for a split second, just enough to feel the weight of Minghao’s gaze.

And then he turned away.

He knew that look.

Knew it too well.

Minghao had already figured it out.

—

Seungcheol wasn’t sure how long he had before Minghao confronted him, but he knew it was coming.

Minghao never reacted impulsively, never made a scene. He was careful, methodical, always waiting for the right moment to ask the right question.

So when the others had filtered out, leaving just the two of them backstage, Seungcheol didn’t need to turn around to know he was there.

"You’re seeing her."

It wasn’t a question.

Still, Seungcheol took his time turning. He could pretend to be surprised. He could play dumb. But there was no point.

Instead, he just met Minghao’s gaze.

"Yes."

Minghao didn’t flinch. Didn’t sigh. Didn’t react the way the others would have.

He just studied him.

"You never told me."

It wasn’t an accusation, but it wasn’t just a statement either. It held something else—something heavier, something that made Seungcheol’s stomach twist.

Because there was a truth underneath it.

You never told me.

But I told you about her.

I talked about her. I admired her. I trusted you.

And now, suddenly, she’s yours.

Seungcheol clenched his jaw, exhaling slowly. He could say I didn’t have to. He could say I didn’t think it mattered.

But both of those would be lies.

Minghao had noticed before anyone else. That was the kind of person he was—someone who paid attention, someone who saw things before they were spoken aloud. He had noticed the way Seungcheol lingered on his phone, the way his expression softened before locking the screen. He had noticed the flowers, the careful way Seungcheol crafted his words.

And now, standing in front of him, he wasn’t asking because he didn’t know.

He was asking because he wanted to know why.

Seungcheol swallowed. He could offer an excuse. Say it happened fast, that he didn’t want to make it a big deal. But none of those were true either.

He had avoided telling Minghao.

Because he knew it would feel like this.

Because he knew—deep down—that Minghao cared more than he ever let on.

And maybe that was the part that made Seungcheol feel guilty.

Minghao let out a quiet laugh, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just be careful, hyung.”

It wasn’t a warning. It wasn’t a threat.

It was a reminder.

Seungcheol didn’t ask what he meant.

Didn’t tell him that it was already too late for that.

—

September, 2024

It was supposed to be a casual night.

One of those rare evenings where practice ended early enough for them to grab drinks together, unwind after hours of sweating under bright lights and sharper critiques.

So here they were, packed into their usual spot—an upscale but quiet bar tucked away from prying eyes—nursing cold beers and emptying shared plates of anju.

Seungcheol had just returned from ordering another round when he felt it.

That shift in the air.

Subtle, but there.

The way the conversation slowed just slightly as he sat back down, the way glances flickered toward him—too fleeting to call out, but just enough to make his skin prickle.

And then—

“So,” Seungkwan began, slow, casual. A little too casual. “Sua, huh?”

Jun hummed, swirling his drink. “Interesting.”

"Very interesting,” Joshua echoed.

Seungcheol sighed, setting his glass down. “Just say it.”

Jeonghan, ever the executioner, leaned back with a lazy smirk. “We just realized something.”

A beat.

"She’s the same Jang Sua that Minghao always talks about."

Seungcheol barely reacted, years of self-control keeping his expression neutral.

But inside?

Inside, something twisted.

Of course, they figured it out.

He didn’t dare glance at Minghao, who sat a little too still, fingers resting lightly against his glass, gaze unreadable.

Vernon, unbothered as always, was the first to break the quiet. “Damn. Small world.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Woozi muttered.

DK, who always took a second longer to catch on, blinked. “Wait, so—” He turned to Minghao. “Isn’t she the one you always—”

“Drop it,” Minghao cut in smoothly.

The words weren’t sharp, but they carried weight.

DK shut up.

And just like that, the tension stretched taut.

Seungcheol breathed evenly, keeping his expression unreadable.

He didn’t owe anyone an explanation.

But under their scrutiny, he felt like he did.

Because he knew what they might thinking.

Was there something between them?Did she play them both?Did Minghao like her first?

It was bullshit.

Sua wasn’t like that.

And Minghao wasn’t the type to get strung along.

Seungcheol knew this.

And yet, the thought that even one of them might be entertaining the idea made his stomach coil uncomfortably.

He felt his jaw tighten, shoulders stiffening—

Then—

A soft nudge under the table.

Jeonghan.

Seungcheol turned slightly, catching the lazy way Jeonghan sipped his drink, the ever-knowing glint in his eyes.

“Cheol,” Jeonghan murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.

And just like that, the tension in Seungcheol’s body unraveled.

Because he knew what Jeonghan meant.

Let it go.

Starting an argument now would only make things worse.

So instead, Seungcheol exhaled. Forced himself to relax.

Shrugged.

“What can I say?” He reached for his beer, voice easy, light. “Guess Minghao has good taste.”

A beat.

Then—

Jeonghan snorted.

The others groaned.

And just like that, the weight in the air lifted.

Conversation picked up again, the scrutiny shifting elsewhere, and the moment passed.

Seungcheol took a slow sip of his drink.

Beside him, Minghao said nothing.

But Seungcheol didn’t miss the way his fingers curled around his glass just a little tighter.

──────────────────────────────

Chapter Five

The gallery was empty now, save for the echo of her own footsteps. The aftertaste of the exhibition lingered in the air—soft chatter still felt alive in the walls, the scent of expensive cologne and warm wine still clinging to the air. Sua moved through the dimly lit space, her body exhausted but her mind restless.

She had done it. Months of planning, endless sleepless nights—this exhibition had been hers to build from the ground up, and tonight, she had watched it unfold perfectly.

But she couldn’t shake it.

Minghao’s words. The way he had looked at her. The quiet knowing in his voice, the weight of something unspoken pressing into the space between them.

"You ever wonder what you’re getting yourself into?"

A slow exhale slipped from her lips as she reached her office, hands trembling slightly as she gathered her things. She knew the answer. She had known it the moment she signed that NDA, the moment she let Seungcheol pull her deeper into his world.

No turning back now.

Suddenly, she heard a soft rustle. A presence.

Her breath caught as she turned—only to find him standing there.

Seungcheol.

Leaning against the doorway, a bouquet in hand, watching her with something unreadable in his eyes.

Her lips parted. "You—what are you doing here?"

His smile was small. Almost knowing. "Figured my girl deserved flowers after tonight."

He stepped forward, slow, deliberate, until he was close enough for her to catch the scent of his cologne—His scent wrapped around her, thick and inescapable, a blend of smoky birch, crushed blackcurrant, and the lingering warmth of ambered musk. It didn’t just settle in the air; it clung to her skin, curled around her senses like a slow-burning ember, searing him into memory.

He held the bouquet out to her, but his gaze never wavered from her face. Sua took them carefully, fingers brushing against his. "You didn’t have to."

"I wanted to."

Silence. Heavy, charged.

She should be happy. She was happy. But something about the way Seungcheol was looking at her—like he was waiting for something—made her heart pound against her ribs.

"You okay?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Of course," she said, too quickly.

A pause. His eyes flickered over her, sharp, knowing. Then—

"Minghao was here."

Her breath stilled.

Of course, he knew.

There was no hiding from Seungcheol, not when it came to this. He knew where his members were at any given time, knew their schedules, knew who would be free enough to stop by.

Seungcheol’s voice wasn’t accusing, but it wasn’t light either. It carried something else—something deeper, something darker.

"He stopped by for the opening," she admitted, fingers tightening around the bouquet. 

A low hum. 

Sua swallowed. "He bought two pieces."

Seungcheol’s jaw tensed. "Of course he did."

A flicker of something sharp, something unreadable in his eyes. Jealousy wasn’t an unfamiliar look on him, but this—this was something else.

"Cheol," she sighed, stepping closer. "It wasn’t like that."

He let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. "I know." His voice was softer now, but his body was still tense. "Just—fuck. I wish I could’ve been there." The words settled between them. Sua exhaled, reaching for his hand, "I wanted you there too," she murmured.

His fingers curled around hers. Warm, grounding.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then je broke the silence, "You’re distracted."

Her eyes flickered up to meet his, startled.

Seungcheol studied her carefully. "It’s not just me, is it?"

She hesitated. A slow smirk curled at the corner of his lips, but there was something else beneath it—something unreadable. "Did he say something?"

Silence.

His grip on her fingers tightened just slightly. Not demanding. Just waiting.

Sua swallowed. "He—" She hesitated. "He... Was just making sure, about us. Just asked if I knew what I was getting into."

A flicker. A shift.

Seungcheol’s jaw ticked. "Did you tell him you did?"

Sua let out a small, dry laugh. "Would it have mattered?"

Something in his eyes darkened.

Then, suddenly, he was moving.

Slow, deliberate steps until her back hit the edge of the desk. Until he was close enough for his breath to fan against her skin.

"Would it have?" he murmured, voice dangerously soft.

Her breath hitched. "Cheol—"

His fingers found her waist. Light, barely there. Teasing.

"You’re overthinking again," he murmured. "Worrying about things you don’t need to."

"I just—"

His fingers now found her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. "Look at me."

She did.

And immediately, she was drowning. Dark eyes, heavy-lidded with something unreadable. A gaze that stripped her bare, left her exposed in ways she wasn’t sure she could handle.

"I don’t care what he said," Seungcheol continued, his thumb ghosting over her bottom lip. "But I need to know if you do."

Sua hesitated. She wanted to say no.

Wanted to tell him she didn’t care. But she did.

Because Minghao had seen through her too easily. Had made her question things she had buried too deep.

Seungcheol’s jaw ticked. He exhaled, slow and measured, before his fingers traced lower, down the column of her throat, over the bare skin of her collarbone.

A slow, featherlight touch.

"Do you regret it?" he asked, low and quiet.

A beat of silence.

She exhaled. "No."

His lips twitched. "Then stop thinking about anyone else but me."

And then, his lips found hers.

—

It started slow.

A slow, simmering warmth—his hands moving with purpose, tracing every inch of her like he was memorizing her. Sua’s fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, closer, until the space between them no longer existed.

Seungcheol was all-consuming—his touch, his scent, the quiet hum of approval that rumbled against her lips when she tugged at his hair.

She could feel it. The tension. The unspoken need.

"You drive me crazy," he murmured against her skin.

She wanted to say something—wanted to push back, wanted to call him out on the way he was avoiding his own jealousy—but then he was lifting her, gripping her thighs, and suddenly, her back was against the cool surface of the desk, and Seungcheol was between her legs, looking down at her with something unreadable in his gaze.

"You always look so pretty like this," he murmured, his fingers trailing up the inside of her thigh. "So pliant. So eager."

Her breath caught.

His fingers ghosted higher. "Tell me what you want," he murmured.

A shiver ran down her spine.

"You," she whispered.

His breath hitched, and he gave her exactly that.

—

It was slow. Torturously so.

He took his time, lips trailing down her body, hands mapping out every inch of her as if he wanted to commit it to memory.

His touch was both soft and firm, teasing and demanding, every move designed to unravel her piece by piece.

And god—he knew exactly how to.

His mouth, warm and wet, against her skin.

His hands, rough and steady, gripping her thighs, her waist, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.

"You’re trembling," he murmured against her stomach, lips pressing against the sensitive skin there. "You're that desperate already?"

Sua let out a shaky breath.

"Seungcheol, please—"

"Patience," he tutted, his fingers digging into her hips. "I want to take my time with you tonight."

And he did.

He pushed her to the edge over and over again, only to pull back just as she was about to fall.

It was maddening.

Deliciously cruel.

Every time she thought she had a moment to breathe, he would shift, his mouth, his hands, something new pressing against her, inside her, pushing her higher, making her beg.

"You like this, don’t you?" he murmured against her ear, his fingers teasing, his breath hot.

She couldn’t even answer.

Could barely form a coherent thought.

And god, he loved it.

"You’re so wet for me," he muttered. "So fucking needy."

Sua whimpered.

And finally, finally, he relented.

When he pushed into her, when their bodies finally came together, when he filled her so completely that all she could do was cling to him—

She knew.

She had already lost herself to him.

—

Seungcheol didn’t stop until he had her exactly where he wanted—writhing, breathless, her nails digging into his shoulders, her body arching under him like she was made to fit against him.

And fuck, she was.

He groaned, dragging his lips down the column of her throat, down to the dip of her collarbone, before biting down just enough to make her gasp.

“That’s it,” he murmured against her skin, voice thick with something raw. “Let me hear you.”

Sua was past the point of shame.

Her thighs trembled around his waist, her fingers tangled in his hair, her breath coming in sharp, shaky pants as he thrust into her—slow, deep, deliberate.

Every movement sent heat pooling low in her stomach, every drag of his body against hers sent pleasure sparking through her veins.

But it wasn’t enough.

Not nearly enough.

"Seungcheol," she gasped, her hips rolling up to meet his. "More—"

A sharp exhale, his fingers tightening around her waist.

"You’re so greedy," he muttered, but there was no real bite to his words. Only something dark, something amused, something dangerously fond.

Then, just as she was about to protest, he shifted, adjusting their angle—

And fuck.

Her breath hitched, her back arching off the desk as wet-hot pleasure shot through her.

"Seungcheol—"

"I know, baby," he groaned, dropping his forehead to hers. "I feel it too."

She clenched around him, her body desperate, aching, and Seungcheol cursed, his grip on her hips turning bruising.

And then he gave in.

His movements turned rougher, faster, his rhythm growing frantic as he chased the heat building between them.

The room was filled with nothing but the sound of their breathing, their bodies moving together, the sharp, quiet moans spilling from her lips every time he hit just the right spot.

And god—he loved that sound.

"Fuck," he gritted out, his fingers finding her jaw, tilting her face up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. "Look at me when you come."

The words alone nearly pushed her over.

She was close, so close, her body tightening, her nails dragging down his back, her thighs trembling—

Then—

A sharp thrust.

A whispered name.

And she shattered.

Pleasure flooded through her, blinding and all-consuming, and she barely even registered the low groan Seungcheol let out as he followed her over the edge, his grip turning desperate, his body pressing deeper, closer—

Until there was nothing left but the ragged sound of their breathing, the heavy weight of his body against hers, the slow, steady return to reality.

—

Seungcheol exhaled a quiet laugh, his lips grazing the damp skin of her shoulder as they lay tangled together on the sofa in her office. Their breaths were still uneven, the heat of their bodies lingering in the space between them. His fingers traced absent patterns along her spine, a silent conversation in the aftermath of pleasure.

“You good?” he murmured, voice hushed, like he didn’t want to break the fragile stillness wrapped around them.

Sua let out something between a sigh and a laugh, her cheek pressed against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. “Shut up.”

He huffed out a soft chuckle, the warmth of it brushing against her hair. "I’ll take that as a yes."

She rolled her eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it—only warmth, only the quiet hum of something deeper. He tightened his arms around her just a little, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple. And for a moment, the rest of the world ceased to exist. Just them, tangled together, basking in the afterglow of something neither of them were quite ready to name.

—

Seungcheol kept one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on his thigh, fingers curled into a fist. The car hummed softly around them, the city lights blurring past in streaks of gold and red. Beside him, Sua had fallen asleep, her body slack with exhaustion, her breathing slow and steady.

She was his.

She had given herself to him with no hesitation, had let him unravel her completely in that dimly lit office, her body fitting against his like it was meant to be there. And yet—he could still feel it. That small, nagging weight pressing against his chest, that flicker of hesitation in her eyes when she thought he wasn’t looking.

Minghao.

Seungcheol never thought he'd feel jealous of Minghao.

Not like this.

They’ve spent years together, trained through exhaustion, built a bond that was supposed to be unshakable. Seventeen was his family, his pride. But the second he realized Minghao had been there first—had known Sua before he even got the chance—something ugly curled in his chest, twisting sharp and unrelenting.

The words Minghao left her with weren’t much, just a simple warning, but it was enough. Enough to linger in Sua’s mind, enough to make her hesitate, enough to plant doubt where Seungcheol had spent weeks making her feel sure about them. About him.

Seungcheol wanted to scoff. What the fuck did Minghao know?

But Minghao isn’t just some guy he can despise and be done with. He’s family. A brother. And Seungcheol would never let himself be the reason that bond breaks. But damn it, the thought of Sua, his Sua, standing next to Minghao, listening to his words, considering them—

The car stopped at a red light. Seungcheol turned his head slightly, his gaze softening when it landed on her. She looked so small like this. So quiet, so at peace, her body tucked into the seat, her head tilted ever so slightly toward the window, strands of her hair slipping over her cheek like a delicate veil. The faint rise and fall of her breath was the only movement, as if the world outside couldn’t touch her in this moment.

She’s here with me now. That’s all that matters.

At least, that’s what he told himself. But deep down, he knew—he wasn’t done proving it to her.

──────────────────────────────

hehe

Chapter Three

The flowers arrive on a Wednesday.

Sua almost doesn’t notice at first—too caught up in the usual chaos of the gallery. Ari, her co-worker, is complaining about a delayed shipment, their inbox is overflowing, and a patron won’t stop asking if they can lower the price of a painting that’s already sold. The morning passes in a blur of emails and half-drunk coffee, and then there’s a knock at the entrance.

A courier stands at the door, dressed in all black, holding out a bouquet wrapped in soft cream-colored paper.

“Delivery for Jang Sua.”

She blinks, caught off guard, before hesitantly reaching for it. The petals are delicate, pale pink, and full—peonies. Her fingers brush against a small card tucked between them. The ink is precise, deliberate.

They mean bashful love.

There’s no name. But she doesn’t need one.

She knows.

Ari whistles low when she sees it, setting down her tablet with a smirk. “Wow. That’s the third one this week.”

Sua hums in response, already turning back to her screen. Maybe if she doesn’t engage, Ari will drop it.

She does not.

“Alright, so who’s sending you flowers every morning? Some art collector? A rich old man trying to impress you?”

Sua rolls her eyes, reaching for her coffee. “A client.”

Ari narrows her eyes, unconvinced. Ari isn’t buying it. “A client who sends you flowers every single day? What, did you sell him a Monet?”

Sua exhales slowly, fighting the warmth creeping up her neck. She should have thrown them in the break room vase like she did yesterday’s bouquet, but instead, they’re still in her hands, the petals soft beneath her fingertips. She doesn’t know what to call this yet. It’s not a relationship. Not really. But it’s something.

Something that lingers in her inbox at night.

How was your day?

Did you eat?

That painting you liked—it got sold, right?

Did you manage to say goodbye to it?

He notices things. He listens.

And that’s the problem.

—

Seungcheol sits in the dressing room, scrolling through his phone.

The others are loud around him, half-dressed for rehearsal, voices overlapping in every direction. He barely hears any of it, too focused on the read receipt that appears at the bottom of his screen. She saw his text. She hasn’t answered yet.

He doesn’t realize he’s been smiling until—

“Who the hell is ‘Sua’?”

His head jerks up.

Mingyu is standing in front of him, squinting at his phone. Seungcheol locks the screen immediately, but it’s too late. DK is already lunging across the couch.

“HYUNG, WHO IS SUA??” DK shrieks, eyes wide with betrayal. “Secret girlfriend? Hidden manager? Are you being blackmailed? BLINK TWICE IF—”

“Mind your business,” Seungcheol mutters, shoving him off.

Mingyu doesn’t let up, grinning as he nudges his shoulder. “No, but really. Who is she?”

“Someone important,” Seungcheol says simply, standing before anyone else can pry.

Across the room, Minghao doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t need to. He’s seen the way Seungcheol's shoulders relax when he checks his phone, the way his fingers hover before sending a text, as if every word has weight.

He already knows.

Minghao had noticed long before anyone else.

Not because Seungcheol was obvious—he wasn’t. He had always been careful, measured, keeping his private life locked behind knowing smiles and well-timed subject changes. But Minghao had been paying attention. He always did.

It started small.

The way Seungcheol checked his phone more often, how his gaze softened—just barely—before locking the screen again. The way he lingered in quiet moments, fingers hovering over a reply. And then there were the flowers.

The first time Minghao caught a glimpse of a delivery note sitting on Seungcheol’s desk, he didn’t think much of it. But then, he noticed another. And another. Different dates, the same sender. Seungcheol, who rarely entertained distractions, who always put logic before impulse, was sending flowers to someone almost daily.

Someone important.

Someone named Sua.

He had to hear it from Mingyu and DK first, of course—both of them far too loud, far too eager to dig into Seungcheol’s secrets. But Minghao didn’t need them to spell it out. He already knew.

And that was the problem.

Because Jang Sua wasn’t just a name to him.

She was someone he had worked with for months, someone he had admired—not in the way Mingyu or DK would tease him about, but in the way an artist recognized another. She had an eye for detail, an understanding of space, a quiet way of commanding a room without trying. He had mentioned her before—too many times, probably.

But Seungcheol had never reacted. Not once. Not even when Minghao brought her up in passing, when he spoke about her insight, her work.

Now, suddenly, she was his.

Minghao wasn’t angry. Not really.

But something about it sat wrong in his chest, like a half-finished brushstroke, like a piece of art that didn’t quite fit in its frame.

And maybe Seungcheol could sense it, because when they crossed paths backstage—just the two of them, away from the others—he hesitated. Just for a second.

“You’re seeing her.” Minghao’s voice was even, steady. He wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement.

Seungcheol didn’t deny it. Didn’t brush it off. He just met Minghao’s gaze, unreadable. “Yes.”

Minghao exhaled slowly, tilting his head. “You never told me.”

A pause. Then—“Did I need to?”

No. He didn’t.

But Minghao still felt the weight of something unsaid pressing between them, something that had nothing to do with jealousy and everything to do with the way Seungcheol had kept this hidden—not from the world, but from him.

He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Just be careful, hyung.”

Seungcheol didn’t ask what he meant.

And that, Minghao thought, was answer enough.

—

The cursor blinked at her, waiting.

Sua’s thumb hovered over the keyboard, the weight of her own hesitation pressing against her ribs. It shouldn’t be this hard. It was just a text. Just a few words. But the moment she sent it, there would be no taking it back.

She glanced at the bouquet sitting on her desk—the one he sent that morning. Something softer this time, pastel tulips arranged in a way that felt almost careful. Deliberate. It was ridiculous how easily he had woven himself into her routine, how his presence lingered in something as simple as the scent of fresh flowers filling the small space of her office.

With a deep breath, she tapped out the message before she could second-guess herself again.

Are you free for dinner?

Three dots appeared almost immediately. Then—

Tell me when and where.

No teasing. No hesitation. Just quiet certainty.

She stared at his reply for a second longer than necessary, then typed—

Tomorrow night. The same place.

A pause. Then three dots reappeared—

I’ll be there.

Her phone felt heavy in her palm as she set it down, exhaling slowly. The decision had been made. Now, there was nothing left to do but face it.

—

The restaurant was quieter this time. No flashing signs, no murmurs of recognition from nearby tables. Just warm lighting, the hum of soft music, and the gentle clinking of silverware against porcelain. It was intimate—too intimate, maybe, for what this was.

Sua sat across from Seungcheol, fingers loosely wrapped around the stem of her wine glass. The envelope rested between them, untouched, yet unbearably heavy. She could feel his gaze on her, waiting, patient in a way that made her chest tighten.

"You’re not eating," he said finally, voice quieter than usual.

She blinked, startled out of her thoughts, and glanced down at her barely touched plate. “Neither are you.”

His lips curved, but the amusement didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I guess I’m a little… preoccupied.”

So was she. The weight of her decision pressed against her ribs, an unspoken question lingering between them.

Seungcheol reached to the envelope between them, pushing it closer to her. The sight of it made her pulse skip—a simple, unassuming thing, yet heavy with everything it meant.

“This is it,” he said, voice low. “No pressure. If you need more time—”

“I don’t.” Sua reached for the envelope, fingers brushing against the fine paper, then hesitated. For a moment, she simply ran her fingertips along the edge, tracing the weight of the choice before her. Then, finally, she slid it toward her side of the table.

“I’ll sign it,” she said, her voice steady despite the whirlwind inside her.

Something flickered in his expression—relief, gratitude, something else she couldn’t quite name. He exhaled, watching her, and when his fingertips grazed hers as he gently pushed the pen toward her, a quiet shiver curled down her spine.

"Thank you," he murmured.

She swallowed, unsure what she was thanking him for. For asking? For waiting? For making this so much harder than it should be?

Seungcheol didn’t pull his hand away right away. His gaze lingered, softer now, something dangerously close to tenderness settling between them. “Are you sure?”

"No," she admitted. "But I want to be."

A slow breath left him, and then—so effortlessly it made her heart stutter—he reached across the table, his fingers brushing against hers. Not demanding. Not pushing. Just there, warm and steady.

Sua let him. Let the moment linger. Let herself believe, just for tonight, that maybe this wasn’t as complicated as it felt.

"Then that’s enough," Seungcheol said. And the way he looked at her—like she was something worth waiting for—made her think, just for a second, that maybe he was right.

—

As they stepped out into the night, the quiet hum of the city surrounding them, Seungcheol reached for her hand—slow, unassuming. Sua could have pulled away, could have let the moment slip between them like all the unspoken things that still lingered in the air. But she didn’t. Instead, she let her fingers slip between his, warmth meeting warmth, and when she finally looked up at him, he was already smiling.

──────────────────────────────

GAHHHHHHHHH here comes chapter 3!! If you haven't read the 1st and 2nd, go check my pinned!

And also, how do we feel about the HxW teaser???!!!!!

New chapter coming soon!!!

With love,

Chapter Four

It started with the little things.

The coffee that appeared on her desk every morning, always exactly how she liked it. The way he’d tug her scarf higher around her neck when the air outside turned crisp. The soft press of Seungcheol’s palm against her lower back when they walked side by side. The stolen moments in the car before he dropped her off at the gallery—his hand curled around hers, the warmth of his thumb tracing absent circles against her skin.

But most of all, it was the way he looked at her. Like she was something precious. Like she was something his.

It had been two weeks since Sua signed the NDA and officially became Seungcheol’s something. What that something actually was—she wasn’t entirely sure yet.

Not quite defined, not yet official, but unmistakably theirs.

No one knew. No one could know.

—

"You're staring," he murmured one morning, standing in her kitchen, pouring coffee into a mug.

Sua, still half-asleep, blinked at him from where she was perched on the countertop, arms wrapped around her knees. "I am?"

His lips curled into a small smirk as he set the mug in front of her. "Yeah. Not that I mind."

She took the coffee, blowing softly at the steam before taking a sip. "I was just thinking how unexpected you are."

Seungcheol leaned against the counter beside her, arms crossed over his chest, looking effortlessly at ease despite the early hour. "How so?"

"I figured you'd be… I don't know. Not on this level of clingy?" she teased, earning a scoff from him.

"I am not clingy."

"You texted me seven times yesterday asking what I was doing."

"Because I was curious," he defended, but the corner of his lips twitched. "Fine. Maybe I just like knowing what you're up to."

Sua shook her head, a small laugh escaping her. "You’re so busy, though. How do you even have time to check in on me this much?"

"Busy doesn’t mean I don’t think about you," he said simply, as if the answer was obvious.

And just like that, her heart stumbled.

It was terrifying, how easily he could make her feel everything.

She covered it up with a sip of coffee, ignoring the way he watched her with knowing amusement. "Well, you don’t have to worry about me today. I’m going to be swamped with last-minute prep for the opening."

Which was true. The past month had been a whirlwind of long nights and meticulous planning, ensuring every detail of the new exhibition was perfect. She had worked tirelessly to arrange the layout, carefully curate the pieces, and coordinate with the artist—Marcela Suaznabeer. This was her project, her first major one since working at the gallery, and she wanted everything to be flawless.

"Still, make time to eat," Seungcheol reminded her, gently squeezing her knee before stepping back. "I’ll see you later, okay?"

"Okay," she murmured, "I wish you could come."

"I know," he said softly.

They both knew he couldn't.

Instead, he let his forehead press against hers, just for a moment, before stepping back with again, now with a grin. "Have fun today, be amazing."

—

The gallery was alive with warm light and murmuring voices, the scent of fresh paint lingering beneath expensive colognes and velvety wine aroma. Sua moved through the room like a quiet pulse, making sure everything ran smoothly. Tonight was the opening of Marcela Suaznabeer’s exhibition—an event that had drawn collectors, art critics, and enthusiasts alike.

And among them, Xu Minghao.

He stood near one of the featured pieces, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. He had always carried himself with a quiet elegance, blending into spaces rather than demanding attention. But Sua knew better—he saw more than he let on.

"You're looking at it like you're trying to hear what it's saying," Sua teased, stepping up beside him.

Minghao let out a quiet laugh. "Maybe I am."

It wasn’t a lie. He found meaning in paintings beyond their strokes and colors. But tonight, his thoughts were elsewhere. He had made the decision to purchase two pieces from the collection, but that wasn’t what kept his mind preoccupied.

It was Sua.

He had been watching her all night—how she floated from one conversation to another, how her eyes softened when she spoke about the art, how she was in her element. But there was something else, too. Something different.

A secret.

"Did you see something you liked?" Sua asked, her voice pulling him back.

Minghao tilted his head toward the paintings. "I’ll take this one," he said. "And that one too."

She blinked, surprised. "Seriously?"

"You sound like you didn't expect me to."

"I didn’t," she admitted with a small smile. "You always take your time."

"I do," he said. "But sometimes you just know when something belongs to you." His own words sat strangely in his chest. "Consider it my way of supporting your work," He added, his lips curled slightly.

"You could just say ‘good job’ instead of spending a ridiculous amount of money," she teased.

But he didn’t laugh.

Instead, he studied her.

A slow, deliberate once-over—not in a way that was rude, but as if he was looking for something.

"You’ve been busy lately," he observed.

Sua hesitated. "Yeah. The exhibition took a lot of work."

"That all?"

Her fingers tensed around the champagne flute in her hand.

Minghao wasn’t the type to pry. He was careful with his words, never pushing unless necessary. But tonight, there was a weight to his gaze. A quiet suspicion.

A slow exhale.

"You ever wonder what you’re getting yourself into?" he asked, voice lower now, quieter.

Her heartbeat stuttered.

Before she could respond, he turned back to the painting.

Minghao wasn’t someone who wasted words. If he said something, he meant it.

And right now, she could tell—he was debating whether or not to say more.

Sua swallowed. "Hao…"

"I won’t ask," he murmured, almost too soft to hear.

Her breath hitched.

Because if he asked, she’d have to lie.

His jaw tightened. A long silence stretched between them. Then, with an unreadable look, he exhaled. "Tell Suaznabeer I’ll finalize the purchase later."

And with that, he turned and walked away.

Sua didn’t move.

Her fingers clenched around her glass, the weight of his unspoken words lingering long after he was gone.

—

Minghao left the gallery with his thoughts tangled.

He should be happy for her. Proud, even.

But there was something that didn’t sit right.

Sua had always been bright—sharp. The type to think before she leaped. But lately, she had been different. Not in an obvious way, but in the smallest details. The flicker of hesitation before she spoke. The way her phone was always tucked away, as if she was hiding something.

And maybe he was just paranoid.

But he had seen this before.

He had seen people—friends, colleagues—fall under the weight of secrets.

Minghao had spent years carefully crafting his own boundaries, drawing lines between his public and private life. It wasn’t just about protecting himself—it was about protecting the people he cared about.

And Sua—

His fingers curled into a fist.

She wasn’t built for this world.

She didn’t belong in the chaos he and Seungcheol lived in.

He knew Seungcheol.

Knew the way his heart worked—how he loved.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t soft. It was all-consuming.

And that kind of love?

That kind of love destroyed.

Minghao exhaled sharply, tilting his head back to look at the night sky.

He wasn’t sure what scared him more—the idea that Sua didn’t know what she was getting into, or the idea that maybe, just maybe, she did.

And she was willing to take the risk anyway.

And the worst part?

He felt something bitter about it.

He wasn’t sure if it was jealousy or frustration. He wasn’t even sure if it was about her or the situation itself. Because if Sua had signed the NDA—and something in his gut told him she had—then it meant she had willingly stepped into the life he and Seungcheol had spent years trying to survive.

And he hated that.

Not because of Seungcheol.

But because it was Sua.

The thought of her being dragged into their world, the scrutiny, the suffocating lack of privacy—it unsettled him in a way he didn’t want to admit.

And yet.

He had known her first.

He didn’t own her. He had no right to feel this way. But still, the realization stung—that by the time he understood what he was feeling, Seungcheol had already claimed her.

—

He had tried to push the thought away.

He had tried to tell himself it wasn’t his business.

But it was too late.

And he had failed to protect her from it.

──────────────────────────────

Dare I say that this one breaks my heart :")

A short one for today because I kinda wanna add more depth in Minghao's POV......

And also a bit emotional with Wonwoo's enlistment news today....

I'm not okay.

But hey, new chapter will be coming sooooooon!!

Thanks for all the likes and reblogs, I really really appreciate it! ;D

With love,

Paris, 2028

It’s funny, isn’t it?

How some people think they know me.

They’ve read between the lines of every article, zoomed in on every blurry photo, memorized the slope of my cheek or the way I style my coat.

Some of them still call me his girlfriend.

The secret. The scandal. The one who almost ruined everything.

But the truth is—they don’t know me.

Not really.

So let me start again.

My name is Jang Sua.

Just Sua. Serena, if you’re reading this from Europe or have trouble pronouncing Korean names.

I gave up correcting people sometime around my third week in Paris.

Or maybe it’s just the Gossip Girl reruns—I don’t know. “Serena” started sounding easier. Softer. Less... traceable.

Away from my old life.

—

Why am I in Paris again?

Ah. Right.

Because my world-famous ex-boyfriend almost left his career, his brothers, and his future for me.

Insane, right?

And I—genius that I am—ran.

Now here I am, in a foreign city with a borrowed name, still wondering if he ever tried to find me.

Do I still love him?

God, yes.

Three-quarters of me stayed behind in Seoul—scattered between the corners of my old apartment, the half-packed boxes I left with Ari, and the voicemail I never listened to.

Leaving Korea was the most reckless, gut-wrenching thing I’ve ever done.

I walked away from my job, my friends, and him.

Him, especially.

Was it the saddest thing I’ve ever done?

Absolutely.

The most frustrating? Without a doubt.

Because somewhere in my foolish, romantic heart, I thought we could make it.

I thought—despite the secrecy, the contracts, the blurred-out reflections in every mirror—we could somehow build a life.

I believed in a happy ending.

Me. The rational one. The one who always said fairytales were for other girls.

Who even thinks they can end up with a global pop star, adored by millions?

Apparently, me.

I really thought I could be the exception.

But I didn’t love the star. I loved him.

The man who laughed when I dropped cookies in my milk and then offered to make more.

The man who smiled softly whenever he caught me fixing my makeup, like it was his favorite show.

The man who wrapped his arms around me when I came home too tired to stand.

Not S.Coups.

Not Seventeen's leader.

Just Choi Seungcheol. A 29-year-old from Daegu with soft cherry lips and a voice that felt like safety.

And still—three years after I left—I wonder how he’s doing.

I check his fan pages sometimes. Quietly. Secretly.

His hair’s changed a few times.

His body, too—he looks stronger now. Gym days, no doubt.

His face has sharpened a little. Less boyish. More… serious.

Hotter, if I’m being honest.

Ugh. Stop.

But even so, I’m glad.

Truly.

I’m glad he’s okay.

I’m glad things are working for him, the way—somehow—they’ve started to work for me too.

Even if we no longer exist in the same world.

Now I live in a fourth-floor walk-up in the Marais.

There’s a bakery downstairs that sells the best pain au chocolat I’ve ever tasted, and my gallery is a 5-minute walk away.

I’ve built a new rhythm here.A quieter life. A softer one.

No flashes. No fans. No fear.

But still, every once in a while, someone brings up Seventeen.

They’ve expanded to Europe now.

My colleague tried to drag me somewhere around the UK the first few months I'm here. They performed at some festivals. I don't know.

I told her I had a migraine.

I didn’t.

Minghao even texted me a VIP pass. Said he missed seeing my face in the crowd.

I never replied.

But I did watch.

Alone. Lights off. Laptop screen glowing.

And there he was—Seungcheol.

Looking healthy.

I closed the tab after two songs. Told myself that was enough.

I don’t know if he still looks for me.

I don’t think it matters anymore.

Because I’m not the same girl he fell in love with.

And he’s no longer just a man in love.

We outgrew the version of us that thought love could bend the world.

—

When I left Korea, I changed all my numbers, I deactivated all my socials, cut ties on everything with him. I spent so many nights wondering what would happen if I didn’t leave. Ari and Minghao still call me sometimes, checking on me, making sure I’m still alive, and eating well.

Minghao now knows I’m in Paris. Of course, it’s not hard to guess anyway. He kept his promise to not tell Seungcheol, and I thank him for that. I’ve been talking to him almost everyday for 3 years now, and yet I never asked about Seungcheol at all. I just… I don't wanna know. 

Maybe I’m in denial, maybe I tried to be happy. I don't know.

Nobody here knows who I am. I haven’t run to any hardcore fans of Seventeen at all, thankfully. But I did run into Mingyu.

It was a random Tuesday evening.

I was having dinner with my gallery team at a restaurant tucked between rue Vieille-du-Temple and nothing in particular.

We were halfway through our wine when the room shifted—like the air itself started whispering.

Then he walked in.

Mingyu.

Tall. Effortlessly magnetic. The kind of person a room bends toward without even meaning to. Probably here for another fashion week.

I saw him. He saw me.

But I didn’t flinch.

I looked him in the eye, gave a small nod—barely a movement—and instinctively, my fingers curled into a quiet signal.

A wordless please.

Don’t say anything. Especially not to him.

Mingyu’s gaze softened.

He nodded once, subtle, before turning back to his manager.

And just like that, the moment passed.

Later that night, Camille wouldn’t shut up about him.

She’s twenty-three, bright as the Paris sun, and still blushes when idols cross her path.

She updates me on Seventeen more than she realizes.

According to her, Jeonghan’s already enlisted.

Wonwoo too. Hoshi. Woozi. Dokyeom.

Now almost everyone, except Joshua, Jun, Minghao… and Seungcheol.

I wonder how he’s coping—being the only Korean member exempt from enlistment.

Knowing him, it must be hard.

He’s always carried things heavier than he lets on.

I saw him at the Met Gala, maybe twice in the past few years? He looks good. Way too good. I can tell he's nervous, but he is The Choi Seungcheol, of course he can do all that easily.

Not that it's my business.

I have a life now. The gallery we work in is small, tucked in a quiet street of Le Marais, with its glass front framed by ivy and the scent of espresso seeping in from the café next door. We just opened a new group exhibition last weekend—emerging Southeast Asian artists, bold colors, heavy textures. I curated the installation layout myself. I still don’t call myself a curator, though. That title still feels like hers—my mother’s. I’m just… managing. Organizing. Breathing.

Just… enough for me to life my life quietly,

The way I love it.

—

My mother didn’t speak for a full minute when I told her I was moving to Paris.

Then, surprisingly—laughably—she smiled. Even clapped, as if I had finally done something right.

I remember staring at her, wondering what part of my decision she thought deserved applause. In her mind, I must have finally caved. Paris, to her, wasn’t just a city. It was the capital of legacy. Her world. Her circle. Her stage. For years, she’d been laying the foundation for me to follow her—a future wrapped in silk gloves and spotlights, wine-stained gallery walls and murmured praise from industry elites. As a child, I was her shadow in those rooms. Sitting through auction previews, quietly observing artists being dissected like specimens. At ten, I was already helping to arrange flowers at gallery openings. By eleven, I’d learned to hold a champagne flute the proper way, how to laugh politely at collectors' jokes, how to stay invisible but charming. I learned early on that appearances were everything.

Everyone assumed I’d step into her shoes. I think I assumed that, too. For a while.

But Chicago changed that.

Art school cracked open a door I never knew existed. It wasn’t the art that drew me in—not the finished works framed and hung with reverence. It was the mess. The madness behind the scenes. The endless nights spent hanging wire, leveling frames, sorting freight schedules, wrapping pieces in layers of archival foam. I loved the stillness of late-night installations, the nervous thrill of opening day, the way the lights hit the canvas after hours of adjusting. I wasn’t interested in writing essays about postmodern deconstruction or giving speeches at press previews. I wanted to build the skeleton of the show, make it breathe, make it work.

So I told my mother I was switching tracks. That I didn’t want to be a curator like her.

That I wanted to manage things from backstage—not be the one everyone watched.

She didn’t understand. Not really. But she didn’t argue, either. At least not then.

Instead, she pulled strings. She placed me in Paris with her colleagues, in a gallery nestled along the edges of her own orbit. She thought she was giving me space. But really, she was just giving me another version of her plan.

And I might’ve gone along with it—pretended we were finally meeting in the middle—if it weren’t for what came next.

When she found out the real reason I left Seoul, the applause ended.

She exploded.

Said I was careless. Distracted. That I’d brought disgrace to our family name—though it’s really just the two of us, so she meant herself.

She said I should’ve known better than to be involved in something so public, something that could invite scrutiny. She didn’t say his name, but she didn’t have to. The silence that followed spoke louder than any accusation.

She’d heard things, she said. Whispers from her colleagues. Even if they were discreet, they were enough to embarrass her. Enough to make her question every ounce of respect she’d built. How could I—her only daughter, the one she raised to walk rooms with grace and precision—be caught in a scandal?

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because part of me understood her anger. That’s the worst part.

And yet, even after all that, she still checks in. Still sends clipped voice notes reminding me to eat. Still offers—time and again—to help me transition into curatorial. “Whenever you’re ready,” she says. “It’s not too late.”

But it’s never been about me.

It’s always her legacy, her standards, her carefully preserved identity. She spent years curating her own narrative—and I was meant to be part of that final masterpiece.

Only, I’m not.

And I don’t think I ever really was.

—

It’s been three years.

Oh, did I mention that before?

Sorry, my brain did that sometimes.

But yeah. Three years of building a new life out of scraps of hope and stubbornness, far from everything I once called familiar.

Three years of waking up to the sound of trams, the smell of strong espresso drifting through the cracks of my apartment window, and streets that still feel like a dream I haven’t fully woken up from.

There are days when it still doesn’t feel like mine.

I miss my old life—not for the memories or the people I left behind, but for the comfort of belonging.

In Seoul, I blended in. I was no one special, and that was enough.

But here?

Here I am always seen.

Not in a bad way.

Not because of what I say—my French is passable, fluent even, without much of an accent.

But my face tells a different story. One that makes strangers glance twice at the grocery store. One that earns questions I don’t feel like answering.

I've gotten used to the stares. The curious ones. The polite, lingering ones.

I've learned to smile through them, to brush them off. I’ve adjusted. Survived.

But I’d be lying if I said the loneliness hasn’t gotten to me.

I miss being invisible. I miss not standing out. I miss being just another local, blending into the rush-hour crowd.

And now, I’m someone else. A foreigner in a city that I’ve grown to love—but that still holds me at arm’s length.

Maybe that’s why I work so hard.

Maybe that’s why my life is work.

It fills the silence. It makes sense when nothing else does.

I’ve thrown myself into every exhibition, every layout decision, every shipping delay and artist tantrum.

Work is the only thing I can control, and I cling to it like a lifeline.

The Art Basel Paris is next Monday.

Just the thought of it tightens something in my chest.

We’re presenting a new concept this year—experimental, bold, and full of risk. It’s not just a show. It’s a statement.

My team is nervous. Hell, I’m nervous.

But I can’t let them see it.

They look at me like I know what I’m doing, like I’ve done this a hundred times before.

And maybe I have. But this is different.

This is Paris. This is the Basel.

And this is home turf.

We’re not just participants—we’re hosts. Eyes are on us. Expectations are sky-high.

There’s no room for mistakes.

The chaos began months ago.

Endless meetings. Moodboards pinned to walls. Sleepless nights spent perfecting layouts, juggling artists’ egos, rerouting logistics when a crate got stuck in customs.

And still, I love it.

I thrive in it.

The opening weekend was a blur—press previews, collectors, curators, champagne, too many compliments that felt rehearsed.

And then, somehow, in the middle of all that noise, I spotted familiar faces in the crowd.

Ari, my anchor from back home, grinning with a glass in hand.

My former boss, raising an eyebrow as she saw me, before giving me a warm hug.

It felt like a glitch in the universe. A version of my past brushing up against the life I’ve fought to build.

It was warm. And bittersweet.

A sudden tug in my chest reminded me that I hadn’t fully let go.

Because even now, even here, even after everything… I still think about him.

Seungcheol.

How is he doing?

The question creeps in without warning, catching me off guard.

I blink it away. Pretend I didn’t hear it in my own head.

After the third day of nonstop conversation, I needed to breathe.

Too many people. Too many smiles that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

So I walked. No destination in mind. Just the need to move.

The sun had dipped low in the sky, painting the rooftops in soft gold. I found myself near a small park—one I sometimes pass on my way home but never stop at.

That evening, I did.

I bought a coffee from a corner cart, pulled out the pack of diet cookies I always carry but never actually like, and sat down on a wooden bench beneath a chestnut tree in the mid of September breeze.

My phone buzzed in my hand, but I didn’t check it. For once, I wanted quiet.

The soft hum of the city. The rustle of leaves.

The tiny, fragile peace that follows chaos.

And then—

A scent.

Familiar. Crisp. A little musky. Something like patchouli and green tea.

I paused, the half-bitten cookie still in my mouth.

Then came the voice.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you all day.”

I turned slowly, eyes widening.

There, standing a few steps away, was Xu Minghao.

My Minghao.

My best friend. My confidant. The only person who’s stayed by my side through every earthquake I’ve tried to hide.

He looked exactly the same, and yet somehow more grounded than ever.

Dressed in a long beige coat, hands tucked into his pockets, his eyes softened the moment they met mine.

I didn’t think—I just stood, crossed the space between us, and threw my arms around him.

The air between us shifted.

He smelled like safety. Like home.

“I missed you,” I whispered against his shoulder, my voice barely holding together.

He chuckled, squeezing me gently. “I missed you more.”

I pulled back, blinking fast, trying not to cry in the middle of a public park.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” I asked, my arms still looped around his neck.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he grinned, that boyish, knowing smile lighting up his whole face.

And he did.

He always does.

For the first time in weeks, I felt my heart slow down.

For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel alone.

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

HOLA!!! IM BACK!!

can you guys vote, which end game do you wanna see?

SuaxSeungcheol

SuaxMinghao