the scripted heart

Day 9 of the #30daysofTheScriptedHeart : I'm your copy, copycat

Yura watched him shrug off his coat and she tried so hard not to laugh but the moment he sat down across from her she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“OH MY GOD why do you look like Steve Jobs AFTER the budget cuts”

Rowoon froze with his hands still halfway fixing his turtleneck on the table. His knuckles went white around the stem of the wine glass. Across the booth Yura slapped a hand over her mouth way too late and her shoulders shook as giggles slipped between her fingers. A few people nearby pretended not to look but they definitely were staring.

He leaned in slow, eyes narrowing under that too neat military cut. When he spoke his voice dropped really low. “This” he flicked the black fabric stretched over his bicep “is Paul Smith. And since when” his gaze slid right down her neckline “does my little mouse think she can judge uniforms” A shiver ran straight down her spine because that was the same tone he used before biting her shoulder at night.

She looked down quick, messing with the napkin in her lap until it wrinkled. The chandeliers suddenly felt too bright. “I am sorry oppa” she muttered, cheeks going hot. Under the table his shoe tapped slow against the floor and her chest tightened with each tap. Rowoon dragged his thumb along the rim of his glass, the movement almost too calm.

The silence stretched. The truffle risotto was for sure cold now and her perfume was starting to fade from the humidity. When he finally spoke his tone was soft but sharp enough to sting. “You are going to swallow that laughter pet.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. A waiter froze with a bottle of wine and spilled it right onto the linen. Rowoon didn’t even blink.

He snapped his fingers once and the sound cut through the whole room. “Dessert.” Yura jumped a little. Her pulse thudded against the thin skin of her wrists where the rope marks usually hid. His turtleneck collar brushed his jaw when he leaned the slightest bit closer. “Blueberry cheesecake.” He said it slowly like he wanted to watch her reaction. She hated blueberries. He absolutely remembered.

The cheesecake came out shiny and perfect under the cloche glass. Rowoon stabbed a blueberry with his fork and said, “Open.” It wasn’t loud but the couple at the next table immediately asked for their bill. Yura parted her lips just a bit too slow and the fork pressed against her teeth before she could think. The tartness hit her tongue and a bit of juice slid down her chin. He wiped her jawline with his knuckle. “Good. Now we can talk about uniforms.”

His boot brushed her stiletto under the table then pushed a little harder. Pain shot up her leg and weirdly it grounded her more. The bitter blueberry taste mixed with something sour in her throat. Plates clattered behind her and she felt pinned in her seat like she couldn’t move.

Rowoon pulled the fork back and dipped another berry into the cream before eating it himself. “The military likes discipline. It also likes innovation.” He tapped his collar. “Functional. Authoritative.” His smile softened but his eyes didn’t. “Makes me think of you kneeling by the bed.” Heat crept up her neck and across her collarbones.

He nudged the dessert plate her way. “Finish it.” The blueberries floated in the syrup like tiny drowned jewels. The room went quiet except for the scrape of her fork and the bass from the bar. Her breath caught every few seconds. Each bite got heavier in her mouth. Rowoon rested his chin on his hands and watched her swallow every single piece. His polished Oxford nudged her shin possessively beneath the table. Not a request. A reminder.

*insert that one Spiderman meme where they are pointing at each other*

Day 8 of the #30daysofTheScriptedHeart : Ifs called visual representation

“Seriously, why?” she asked, staring at him like he’d lost his mind.

“It’s called visual representation. Just… imagine how good we’d look as parents.” He shifted the toddler on his hip. The little girl giggled, tugging at his earring while she knelt tying her shoelaces, trying not to notice the weird flutter in her chest. Yugyeom bounced the child gently, humming something that sounded suspiciously like a random GOT7 chorus. Her fingers were sticky with something unidentifiable, leaving a faint sheen on his black t-shirt.

“She’s Chungha’s niece,” he added casually, fixing the toddler’s crooked hair clip. “Remember Minjun? He was two years ahead of us.” Memories of a quiet boy hunched over cameras in high school flickered in her mind. The toddler patted Yugyeom’s cheek with surprising gentleness, her wide eyes studying her as if she were a puzzle. There was a faint mix of baby powder and strawberries in the air, undercut by the sharp warmth of his cedar cologne.

Instinctively, she reached out, letting the tiny fingers curl around her thumb. Warmth radiated from the small hand, firm but delicate. Yugyeom shifted, watching her face like he was trying to read a secret. A bus roared past outside, rattling the blinds. The toddler flinched and buried her face in his shoulder, clutching at his hoodie. His hand moved over her back in a slow, soothing rhythm, murmuring something low that blended with the fading rumble of the engine.

“She just tried to chew my hoodie string,” he said with a soft chuckle, gently prying it from her mouth. She noticed the faint teeth marks and the damp spot on the drawcord. Pulling a small giraffe toy from her bag, she offered it quietly. The toddler grabbed it and immediately started gnawing on its ear. His eyes lingered on her hands as she smoothed down the child’s sock, tender and unthinking.

“Minjun’s wife teaches abroad now,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the toddler’s shoulder blade. “He’s solo parenting while she’s on contract. Poor guy looked wrecked dropping her off.” She pictured him—those earnest eyes, always bent over tripods, now juggling diapers and sleepless nights. This sticky-cheeked little girl was proof that those high school echoes had grown into real, messy lives. The toddler babbled nonsense against his collar, warm breath brushing her hand.

She leaned closer, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. “Yeomie,” she whispered, testing the nickname without its usual bite. Cinnamon and milk hit her senses all at once. He raised an eyebrow, silent and questioning. Rain tapped against the window like impatient fingers. The child flinched, clinging tighter, and his arms tightened around her like steel. She watched, aware of every protective curl of his shoulders, the way his palm spanned the little girl’s back. This is dangerous, she thought, heart racing.

“Let’s have a baby,” she said, finally saying the words he’d been dangling in front of her for months. Her voice was softer than she meant, almost lost under the rain’s rhythm. He froze mid-bounce. The toddler hummed sleepily, sensing something had changed. She kept her eyes on the sŵmall fist wrapped around her thumb, tracing faint blue veins beneath translucent skin, thinking of Minjun who’d filmed their disastrous sophomore talent show, whose wedding invitation they’d laughed over last spring.ŵèè

Yugyeom inhaled sharply. “Nora—” he started, but she cut him off with a gentle brush of her knuckle against the toddler’s velvety cheek.

He froze. And suddenly, nothing would never be the same.

Day 7 of #30daysofTheScriptedHeart : Can I have your heart in a plastic box?

Mina jerked forward. “Hey!” Her iPad was gone mid-scroll, screen still glowing. Jungkook held it just out of reach, knuckles pale.

“You’ve been at it a while,” he said, quiet, just observing. He didn’t look at the screen. The sudden silence made the apartment feel too big.

She sank back into the sofa, pulling a pillow onto her lap. Smudges dotted the screen – taco fingers? Or her fingerprints from scrolling his Osaka photos. The apartment smelled like sandalwood and reheated pizza. Her bare feet tucked under her, but she shivered anyway.

Jungkook set the iPad on a high shelf, then leaned against the wall. “You keep digging. Looking for what? Proof I’m someone else?” No anger, just patient weight that made her chest tighten.

She swallowed. “It’s just… loud,” she mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

He knelt by her, thumb brushing her ankle. “Look at me,” he said. She did. “Do those strangers know me like you do? My quirks? Seeing you bite your lip?”

“The world wants a piece of me, Mina. Doesn’t get you. You’re the part I guard.” He leaned closer. “Rumors are noise. Your doubt? That cuts.” His eyes were raw, unpolished.

Her fingers unclenched. The frantic scrolling drained out, leaving a hollow ache. She whispered, “Okay.” A pause, nothing more. Outside, Seoul flickered, indifferent.

He shifted beside her, thigh brushing hers. Fingers laced. The hum of the AC and distant traffic became their world.

“Work. Tokyo. Three days. Mountains. Just us,” he said, thumb tracing her knuckles.

“Kiko?” she whispered. “One photo. She tripped, I caught her. Camera angles do the rest.” He pressed her hand to his chest. “This? Only you. Trust it. Even when I’m gone.”

She nodded. Neon bled across the floor. Silence felt like armor.

He tilted her chin up, eyes dark. “Now,” he breathed, “tell me what you actually saw scrolling.”

But I'm jealous of your exes and I wanna burn all your history.

Day 6 of #30daysofTheScriptedHeart: Got an obsession call it cute aggression

"Im convinced your main goal in life is to torture me."

Ara wiped sweat from her forehead, glaring at Bohyun who was just casually leaning against the leg press like it was a throne or something. His gym shirt stuck to him in all the wrong, or maybe right, ways, broad shoulders flexing just enough to remind her she was human and pathetic at the same time. She was gasping, wobbling on jelly legs from the supersets he’d forced her into. He grinned, that stupidly perfect actor grin that made her want to throw the water bottle at him and also melt. "Come on, it’s character building," he chuckled, nudging a water bottle toward her with his foot like it was a peace offering. "Besides, you begged me for proper coaching last week."

The smell of disinfectant and old sweat hit her as she gulped water, trying not to look at how his forearms flexed when he adjusted the machine. Months ago she’d seen him between the weights, and damn, the crush had hit like a dumbbell to the head. And now here she was, paying to be tortured by him while he seemed confused or maybe amused by how utterly ridiculous she looked. “You’re leaning left again. Posture matters more than weight.”

Cool air from the vents made her shiver even though she was burning up, watching him move like he had some internal cheat code for muscles. She focused on the barbell instead of his perfect form, biting back complaints as her knees threatened mutiny. He laughed quietly when she almost fell over. “Eyes on your stance, not mine. Unless you’re taking notes?”

Then he stepped closer, closer than necessary, tapping her lower spine. “Arch here,” he murmured, voice low, suddenly not teasing. Heat flooded her cheeks, unhelpful heat. She froze, aware of the calluses on his fingertips like her brain had been taken hostage by them.

He pulled back, putting the smile back on, gesturing to the mats. "Now try it without folding like origami." She did, muscles screaming, mind cursing, eyes flicking to his reflection in the mirror. Arms crossed, quiet, calculating. Was he judging her or just… seeing something else? Frustration and something fluttery battled under her ribs.

Finally she straightened, trembling but standing. He smiled, different, softer, a little surprised maybe. "Better," he said, tossing her a towel. "Don’t celebrate yet. We’re just warming up." His eyes gleamed with menace—fun menace—and she wiped her face, hiding her own traitorous smile.

"Burpees. Ten. With a push-up at the bottom." Ara groaned. "Think of it as… explosive character development."

She dropped to the mat, limbs betraying her immediately. He knelt close, finger pointing, voice low, the low-thrum kind of voice that makes your brain short-circuit. “Hands here, Ara. Don’t collapse. Control the fall.”

Five reps. Sweat stinging eyes. Sixth, arms buckled. His hand braced her elbow—efficient, firm, fire under her skin. "Strength isn't just muscle," he said. "It’s engaging everything, right now."

Last burpee done, she collapsed. Floor pressed to her cheek, relief washing through her. Bohyun crouched close again, silent but present. Offered water. Studied her. “Twenty minutes,” he said, soft. “You look like you wrestled a bear.”

She choked on water. He added, almost thoughtfully, “But you didn’t quit once.” Hand extended, gaze intense. "Maybe you’re not entirely hopeless."

I swear some people are just born to ruin you in the best way possible and somehow make you laugh while you’re dying inside.

Day 5 of #30daysofthescriptedheart : I wonder

“I wonder.”

“I wonder how you manage to stress me out this much,” he said, groaning as he pressed a dial harder than he probably should have.

Elara just grinned. She leaned over the soundboard, curious as always, and Hongjoong quickly rolled his chair back before her fingers got any closer. The studio smelled like stale coffee and metal, and there were wires everywhere, curling across the floor like black vines. Elara’s curiosity practically vibrated in the air. “What does this one do?” she asked, already pressing a blinking green button before he could even answer.

A piercing shriek filled the room. The monitors screamed, feedback slicing through the air. Hongjoong jumped, knocking over his half-empty mug. Coffee splashed across his open notebook, staining pages covered in lyrics.

“Elara!” His voice cracked, sharp and tired.

She froze. The brown stain spread across his handwriting, the ink bleeding into strange patterns. For a long second, no one moved. The only sound was the slow drip of coffee hitting the floor.

He slumped back in his chair, rubbing at his temples. It wasn’t really about the ruined pages or the work. Not entirely. It was just… her. She threw him off balance without even trying. Outside, the Seoul skyline glowed pink and blue against the window, painting streaks of light over his exhausted face. Elara watched him, her grin fading into something smaller, almost shy. Her hand hovered near the soundboard again but didn’t move.

He sighed and tried to peel the wet pages apart. “Lyrics,” he muttered under his breath. “I can fix them.”

The words sounded like a promise to himself. He could rewrite songs. That was easy. Explaining why she got to him so easily? Not so much.

Elara stepped closer, the faint scent of her perfume—soft and floral—mixing with the sharp smell of coffee and electronics. “I just wanted to see what it did,” she said quietly. “You make it all look like magic.”

He caught her wrist gently and guided her finger to a small silver switch. “This,” he said, voice softer now, “is the master mute. Emergency stop.”

Her skin was warm beneath his hand. She looked up at him and bit her lip, and despite himself, he smiled. She wasn’t trying to ruin anything. She just wanted to understand it. Her curiosity was reckless, but pure. Like striking a match just to see it burn.

The door creaked open. Mingi appeared, all height and confusion, headphones crooked on his head. “Hyung, we need—oh. Uh…” His gaze darted between their hands and the coffee-covered desk. “Bad time?” Yunho leaned over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in amusement.

Elara stepped back fast, face flushing. Hongjoong cleared his throat and forced a calm that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Perfect timing,” he said flatly, grabbing a towel to mop up the mess. There was no way he could explain this. Not to them.

She started toward the door, mumbling an apology, but he reached out and caught her elbow. His voice dropped low, meant only for her. “Stay,” he said, just loud enough for her to hear. She looked at him, uncertain. He nodded toward a tangle of cables at her feet. “Watch your step,” he added. Then, after a pause, “And… hands off the board.” There was a ghost of a smile behind the words.

When the others finally disappeared down the hall, she turned back. Slowly.

She kissed his cheek. Then his nose. Then his forehead. Small, quiet touches that landed like soft petals. Hongjoong froze at first, muscles tense, then exhaled. The smell of her perfume mixed with coffee and electricity until he didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

Her voice brushed against his ear. “Does this button make you forgive me?” Her fingers hovered near the controls again, teasing.

He caught her wrist before she could touch anything, but instead of pushing her away, he guided her hand to his cheek. Her thumb traced the edge of his eyebrow, right where tension always gathered.

“That,” he murmured, eyes falling shut, “is way more dangerous.”

The room fell quiet again. Only the low hum of the machines filled the air. She brushed her lips against his temple, softer now, slower. Her curiosity had shifted—away from wires and buttons, toward him. The small scar at his hairline. The coffee stain on his sleeve. The way his breath slowed when she was this close.

He leaned toward her, close enough that their foreheads almost touched. “Elara,” he said, her name a sigh that hung between them. Somewhere down the hall, Mingi laughed—loud and oblivious. It broke the spell, but only a little.

Hongjoong pulled back, still holding her hand against his face. His thumb moved gently over her knuckles. “Magic needs quiet,” he whispered. “And focus.”

Her smile came back, softer now, glowing around the edges. The mischief was still there—just quieter. Warmer. Realer.

“does this button make you forgive me?”

he catches her wrist before she can press it.

Day 4 of #30daysofthescriptedheart : water, water, water, water

"Ahhh Jun no!"

Yeonjun grinned like a shark that just spotted prey. The plastic trigger clicked, and a burst of freezing water slammed into Mara’s shirt. She shrieked, half laughing, half choking, stumbling backward into the shallow pool. Her feet slid on the slick tiles, arms flailing. Water splashed everywhere, the air thick with chlorine and noise. Kids tore past on slides, shrieking with glee, oblivious to the chaos brewing in one corner.

Yeonjun lowered the purple water gun, eyes crinkling. "Still think bringing this was childish?"

Mara blinked water from her lashes, her ponytail plastered to her neck. For a second she just stared at him. Then she lunged. Full force. He didn’t even have time to breathe before they crashed into the water again, a massive splash drenching two unsuspecting tourists nearby.

Yeonjun came up first, laughing and sputtering, while Mara clung to him like some wild creature, victorious grin and all. Her cheek pressed to his shoulder, breath warm against his skin. "Payback," she whispered.

They drifted for a bit. Not talking. Just floating. The world around them felt far away, all sound muffled by the slosh of water and distant kids yelling. Yeonjun traced lazy shapes on her arm, circles that faded before he finished them. He thought about all the almosts — their near-misses, the brushed hands, the movie nights that never ended right, the subway rides where neither of them spoke but both of them smiled too much.

Now here they were, soaked to the bone, laughing at nothing.

He bumped his nose against hers. "Remember when you shoved me into Soobin’s birthday cake?"

She snorted, eyes bright. "You stole my last dumpling, you deserved it." Then, quieter, "Scarier than the Cyclone?"

His fingers found her wrist, thumb brushing over the steady beat beneath. His grin softened. "Way scarier. But better."

Something rumbled beneath them. Low. Off. The sound rolled through the tiles and up their legs. Mara froze.

"What was that?"

Yeonjun turned, following her gaze. Near the lazy river, staff started waving their arms. Whistles cut the air. The lights flickered once, twice.

Then chaos.

Voices shouting. A whistle again, sharper this time. "Everyone out of the water!" someone yelled. The ground trembled. The waves turned strange — no rhythm, no pattern — just violent swells that pulled in every direction.

Mara’s hand shot out, gripping Yeonjun’s arm.

"Jun!"

He snapped back to her instantly, the smile gone. He grabbed her, tight, tossing the water gun toward the deck. A hard current slammed into them. She slipped under for a second, came up gasping.

"Hold on to me!" he shouted. His hands locked around her waist, arms like iron. The water churned around them, heavy and unpredictable.

A child’s float spun by, empty. Someone screamed. The smell of chlorine grew sharp, burning their eyes. The fake rock waterfall at the deep end groaned and cracked.

Mara buried her face against his shoulder, her breath shaking. "Jun—"

He didn’t look down. His eyes were fixed on the edge, calculating. Counting people. The siren started then, high and distant.

The water slapped hard against their chests. People were scrambling, slipping, falling. Lifeguards shouting orders that no one could hear.

Yeonjun tightened his grip. "We’re getting out," he said, low and certain, though his pulse was racing against hers.

The fun was gone. The laughter drowned. All that was left was the sound of everything breaking.

Best friends. Months of dating. And somehow, a water gun is the perfect way to test boundaries.

Day 3 of #30daysofthescriptedheart : He looks so cute wrapped ‘round my finger

He watched her frown at the two slices of cake like it was the most serious decision in the world.

“You’re smiling at me like that,” she said softly, not even looking up, her finger hovering over the glass display.

“Like what?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Like… you’re counting how many times I’ve changed my mind,” she said, tapping the glass decisively. “Fine. Strawberry shortcake.”

The barista plated it up, and Mingyu chuckled low, that raspy sound that always made her shoulders loosen without her even noticing. He leaned against the counter, his gym shirt still damp with sweat. He hadn’t even made it to the shower yet—she’d cornered him at the apartment door, those wide brown eyes pleading, talking nonstop about the limited-edition cherry blossom lattes.

She tucked a wavy strand of hair behind her ear, and her oversized oatmeal sweater slid down one wrist. The smell of coffee mixed with the faint tang of his own sweat, and he shifted, a little self-conscious but mostly just happy to be here, watching her decide on cake like it was the most important thing in the world.

Across the plush grey booth, she cradled her latte, blowing softly at the pink foam art. A stray petal landed on her knuckle. “Stop staring,” she murmured, but she licked the sugar off her finger anyway, and he grinned.

“I can’t,” he admitted, leaning forward, elbows on the oak table. “You just… look…” He trailed off, eyes catching the way the strap of her satin dress slipped down her shoulder when she reached for her drink. The café hummed with life—steam hissing, chatter buzzing—but all he heard was her soft sigh and the little scrape of a fork against a plate.

Outside, rain tapped at the windows, soft and steady. He traced a bead of condensation with his thumb. “Remember Tokyo?” he asked suddenly. “That tiny parlor at midnight?”

Her eyes lit up. “For matcha tiramisu.”

“You wore that ridiculous polka-dot raincoat,” he said, grinning.

She kicked his shin under the table. “You loved that coat.”

The memory hung there, sweet and sticky like the whipped cream on her cake, a private little language they’d built over coffee and impulse trips.

He was about to reach for his americano when her hand darted out, snagging a bite of his untouched lemon tart. Cream on her lip, she grinned mischievously.

“What?” she asked, chewing.

Mingyu shook his head, chest full of warmth and something like golden retriever-level patience. He swiped his thumb across her mouth, lingering just long enough that she shivered. She let out a tiny hitch in her breath. Outside, the rain blurred the city into watercolors, and for a moment, it was just the two of them, wrapped up in a bubble that smelled like coffee and cake and easy, quiet happiness.

He swears he’s too tired, but one look at her and he’s already holding the car keys

Day 2 of #30daysofthescriptedheart : Draw me, Jack

“Draw me like one of your french girls, Jack”

Jiwon’s giggle cut through the quiet of the studio as she threw herself into some ridiculous pose by Hyunjin’s half-finished canvas hips out lips puckered in that over-the-top kissy face that made her dark curls bounce. Hyunjin let out a long sigh lowering his brush from the delicate charcoal grey clouds he’d been layering over the dusk sky “You do realise” he muttered rubbing smudged pigment off his wrist with a rag already stained vermilion and cobalt “Titanic references don't really work when the artist is Korean and also painting storm clouds over some sad pier right”

The studio smelled like turpentine and drying acrylics mixed with the faint sweetness of Jiwon’s strawberry lip gloss like it had decided to stick to her skin for life. Hyunjin watched her drop the pose to poke at a palette knife left on his stool fingers tracing dried streaks of ultramarine blue. His chest felt tight like someone had wound a guitar string too tight under his ribs. Deadlines for his rap verses were looming and he had only stolen these hours to fix the jagged edges of his life and here she was chaos incarnate in ripped jeans and a huge band tee ruining his peaceful moment

Then she grabbed a tube of cadmium yellow squeezed a blob onto her palm and before he could do anything smeared it across his cheek “storm clouds are boring” she said laughing bright and loud like wind chimes “you need more sunshine” He caught her wrist paint sticky between them feeling her pulse racing under his thumb. For a second irritation fought the familiar warmth she always dragged out of him the way her eyes crinkled when she teased the sheer nerve of her

Outside rain tapped against the window turning the city lights into messy streaks of gold and neon. He let her hand go turning back to the easel where the pier looked too lonely now. Without thinking he dipped his brush into her abandoned yellow and dragged a single bold line across the clouds a fractured beam of light. She leaned her chin on his shoulder breath warm against his neck “see” she whispered “better already”

Brush in hand, colours spilling over canvas and too many bad movie references later

Day 1 of #30daysofthescriptedheart : Before the sun woke up

Eunha sat in the camp chair, shifting until the aluminum frame gave a tiny groan. She blinked at the foggy grey horizon, the faint sound of water slapping against the shore somewhere she couldn’t quite see.

Next to her, Taeyong was humming under his breath while fiddling with the fishing gear. Every move was careful, like he’d done this a thousand times but still wanted to get it perfect. Eunha, still half-asleep, tugged her sweatshirt sleeves down over her cold hands and tried not to yawn too obviously.

He caught her watching and grinned, that stupid crooked smile that made her chest go funny. “Almost ready,” he said quietly. She wanted to scoot closer, maybe just lean against him, but instead she fished out her phone. The screen brightness stabbed her eyes. When Taeyong turned to cast his line, his shape looked almost sharp against the pale water, so she snapped a picture.

The shutter sounded way too loud. He turned fast, eyebrows up. Eunha froze like she’d been caught stealing. “Uh, evidence,” she muttered, blinking the sleep out of her voice. “Of you dragging me out here at…” She squinted at the screen. “...5:47 in the freakin’ morning.”

He laughed softly, and it wrinkled the corners of his eyes. “You’ll thank me when I catch breakfast,” he said, reeling a little. She peeked at the photo. He looked unfairly good for someone awake before six. The light caught his cheekbones just right. Great. Now she couldn’t delete it.

Then the fishing rod jerked so hard he nearly lost grip. “Whoa!” he yelled. The reel screamed. Water splashed. Something huge.

Eunha shot up, chair screeching on the gravel. “What is that?” she gasped, stumbling closer as he braced his feet in the mud. “It’s a big one!” he barked out, voice tight. The fish thrashed, throwing glittery drops everywhere. Cold water hit her cheek; she didn’t even care.

Taeyong leaned back, the line whining as he fought. “Almost got it,” he grunted. Eunha grabbed his sleeve instinctively, half for balance, half to ground herself. The fish finally flopped near the surface, gasping. It looked ancient and shiny and weirdly beautiful.

When he hauled it up, dripping and huge, his grin split his face wide. “See?” he panted. “Worth waking up for?”

Eunha stared. The fish blinked its blank fish eye, and she felt this dumb pang of guilt, like, sorry dude. “It’s massive,” she whispered.

Taeyong crouched to unhook it, fingers steady, hair falling in his eyes. The sun finally broke through the haze, turning his hair coppery. She raised her phone again, slower this time, and took the photo right in front of him.

He looked up and met her gaze. That smile softened into something smaller, almost shy. “Proof I’m not totally useless?” he teased.

Eunha rolled her eyes, trying not to smile. “Shut up,” she said, saving the photo anyway. The morning didn’t feel so cold anymore.