Written In Essence

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky now, dipping behind too-tall buildings, casting too-long shadows across the busy city streets as Hyunjin pulled up in front of your apartment. 7 pm, as promised, and not a moment earlier. He was leaning against his car when you stepped out and stole his breath. He couldn’t help the way his eyes roamed over your figure, unapologetically tracing the curves that were oh, so visible beneath the tight cream dress he’d requested you wear. 

Your heart stuttered when you saw him, donning an oversized black coat slung over a simple white tee. His hair was tousled like he hadn’t been able to keep his fingers from combing through it. The faint scent of his cologne wafted toward you as you strode closer, and he straightened, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across his face. 

“Damn, pretty,” he murmured, voice low and teasing as he opened the passenger door for you like the gentleman he was. “You look like you stepped right out of my sketchbook. Ready to experience some culture?” He leaned down as you slid into the seat, brushing his warm lips against your skin in a quick kiss to your forehead. The door clicked shut, and he rounded the car, sliding into the driver’s seat with that graceful ease that seemed to come naturally to him. 

The drive was short, but charged, filled with easy banter that felt like foreplay. He asked about your day, genuinely listening as you rambled about a frustrating work call and a viral video that made you giggle and cry in just 60 short seconds. He laughed with you–that deep, melodic sound that always sent the butterflies in your stomach swarming–and snuck glances when he thought you weren’t looking. 

But you were, every time, catching his gaze linger a little longer, like he was memorizing your every detail: the way your hair caught the fading sunlight, the curve of your smile. “Y’know,” he drawls lazily at a red light, his hand drifting to rest on your thigh, tracing slow circles. “I think this is going to be the best date out of all of them–mark my words.”

“What makes you think that?”

He tries to hide his nerves behind a cocky smirk, but you see right through it when his voice cracks the moment he opens his mouth to respond. “I’m taking you to my secret spot, muse. No crowds, just us and the art. It’s gonna be… intimate.”

By the time he parks on a quiet side street, the air between the two of you hums with unspoken anticipation. The museum was exactly as you imagined from his description: a hidden gem, squeezed between a sleek office building and a bustling green park. The entrance was unassuming, with no sign aside from a small plaque on the frosted glass door that read “Contemporary Gallery.”

Hyunjin holds the door open for you, his hand brushing the small of your back as you step inside. The cool air hits you first, carrying the faint scent of aged paper and fresh paint with it. 

“Jinnie!” 

A warm voice calls to Hyunjin from behind the desk. An older woman with silver-streaked hair beams up at him, rounding the corner for a quick hug. “Welcome back! It’s been weeks, I was surprised to get your call!” She turns towards you, bright smile and eyes both welcoming and intimidating at once. “Is this her? The girl you mentioned on the phone?”

Hyunjin flushes, the tips of his ears and nose turning a bright red as he scratches his neck with a shy grin, wishing so deeply that the floor would open up and swallow him whole. He groans, shifting his weight to glance at you from behind the hand covering the embarrassment on his face. “Pretty, this is Ms. Kim. She’s basically the heart of this place–keeps it running smoother than any of my paintbrushes.”

Ms. Kim’s eyes twinkle as she reaches for your hand, shaking it so hard the feeling reverberates up your arm. “He talked about you non-stop. Said he was bringing someone special along this time. About time, huh, Jinnie?”

You wouldn’t have believed it to be possible if you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes, but Hyunjin's bashful blush deepens to a sunburnt ember. He mumbles something about checking out the new exhibit and steers you away gently, with one hand on your elbow. You shoot him a teasing look as you wander into the first gallery room. 

“Talking about me, huh?” you whisper, bumping his shoulder with yours. The space was intimate, white walls dotted with abstract canvases and soft, ethereal lighting that made the colors pop. 

He shrugs sheepishly, though his eyes are sparkling. “Maybe a little. Can’t help it though–you’re inspiring.” He pauses by a large splatter painting full of vibrant reds and voided blacks swirling like a storm caught on canvas. “I come here a lot–when I need to turn my brain off. The guys are great, but sometimes the noise… the schedules, the fans, even our own chaos… It’s too much. Here, it’s quiet. They rotate pieces every few weeks, so there’s always something new to lose myself in.” His voice softened like he was sharing a secret, but before you can dwell on his words for too long, he turns you towards the painting. 

“What do you think of this one? Chaotic or beautiful?”

You tilt your head, studying the piece, letting the bold strokes pull you in. “Both? Like, it’s messy, but there’s intent in the strokes. You can tell the artist was passionate. Kinda reminds me of a raw, unfiltered emotion, something that hits you all at once.”

Hyunjin slinks his arms around your waist from behind, dropping his chin to rest atop your head. He hums softly, his breath warm against your hair and his body molding perfectly to yours. “God, I love hearing how your mind works. You see things I miss sometimes; layers I didn’t even notice.”

His hands splay across your stomach, pulling you closer so that his fingers can trace idle patterns that send tingles through you. For a moment, the two of you just stand there, bodies pressing together in the quiet room while the outside world fades away. 

You move through the galleries like that–him asking your thoughts on sculptures that twist like lovers’ limbs, their marble surfaces reflecting under the lights; photographs capturing fleeting moments of joy and pain, black and white contrasts that make you wonder aloud. In one smaller room, filled with elegant lighting installations that reflect dancing colors across your face, you hear the faint click of a camera shutter. 

Hyunjin’s too late in trying to hide his phone, slowly lowering it like you aren’t actively glaring at him. “Hyunjin! Did you just take a picture of me?”

“No–”

“Hwang Hyunjin–”

He flinches at the way his full name rolls off your lips, unsure whether he’s afraid or aroused. “Yes…”

“Delete that! I probably look ridiculous–”

He shakes his head, turning the screen towards you with a grin. The photo was stunning; the light haloing your face, your expression soft and wondrous, like you were part of the exhibit. “Ridiculous? Baby, you are the art here. Look at the way the shadows curve along your cheek, the glow in your eyes. It’s perfect.” His voice drops, eyes darkening as he pockets the phone and steps closer, diminishing any space still left between your bodies. “I could paint you like this. Or just stare forever. Hell, I might frame this one.”

The museum is nearly empty, and it feels like your own little private world. Echoing footsteps on the polished floors and whispered conversations blend with the distant hum of an air conditioner. His hand never leaves your waist, the intimacy building slowly, simmering beneath your skin. As the minutes tick down, you find yourselves in a dimly lit alcove with a worn leather bench facing a massive mural of intertwined figures where bodies blend in a swirl of colors that scream passion. 

Hyunjin sits first, tugging you into his lap with a gentle pull and allowing you to settle against him. Your legs drape over his, and his arms enclose you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. His fingers toy with the hem of your dress, absentmindedly tracing the skin of your thigh. For a moment, he’s quiet, just holding you, his heartbeat steady against your back while the scent of his cologne–something woody and fresh–wraps around you. 

“Y’know why I was last to ask you on a date, muse?” he finally murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. His lips brush your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I was scared. Terrified, actually.” He pauses, hand stilling on your leg as he gathers his thoughts. “Han’s got this unbreakable childhood bond with you. Felix got all your firsts, and Chan’s the one who holds everything together. I’m just the flirt–the one who teases from the sidelines and watches because its safer than admitting that I want more.”

You turn, straddling him now, cupping his face in your hands. His eyes are glassy in that vulnerable way that makes your chest ache. “Hyun, you’re not just that–”

He shakes his head, cutting you off gently, bringing his hands up to cover yours. “Let me finish, please. Those days when you ghosted us after everything? I painted garbage. Like actual shit. Everything that came out of me was dark and twisted, like my head was a storm I couldn’t escape. Seeing you with them–the way Han claims you, Felix’s softness, Chan’s control… It stung, but fuck, it turned me on too. This agreement works great for the voyeur side of me, but it fucking hurts the part that just wants you to choose me. I don’t want to just watch anymore. I want to be the one who makes you feel alive and messy and beautiful. Like art that breathes, muse. I want to paint your skin with my hands, hear you gasp my name, knowing that I’m not last in your heart.”

Your breath catches, heart pounding as you lean in, drawn to him like gravity. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer while his fingers entangle in the hairs on your nape. Before your lips can even brush, a loud static fills the room, followed by: “Attention, visitors. The gallery will close in thirty minutes. Please make your way to the gift shops and exits.”

You sigh, pulling back reluctantly. “Cockblocked by a public service announcement.”

He groans, hands still on your hips and squeezing lightly. “Yeah, that’s a first for me.” He helps you up, smoothing your dress, letting his fingers linger just a moment too long. “Come on, pretty. Gift shop’s this way. I gotta get you something sentimental, like a postcard of that splatter painting to commemorate your best date ever.”

You make it halfway down the hall, hand in hand, before his steps slow to a stop. His eyes flicker to a side door marked “Restrooms,” and with a mischievous and feral grin sprawled across his face, he pulls you inside with a quick glance over his shoulder. He clicks the lock behind you, trapping you both in a single, spacious family bathroom with a large mirror over the sink, tiled floors that shine like they’ve been polished recently, and fluorescent lights that cast a harsh glow. 

“Jin, what–” He cuts your words off with a quick spin, pressing your back against the door, crashing his mouth into yours in a kiss that was pure heat and desperation. Your tongues tangle immediately, while his hands roam under your dress, nails grazing your thighs hard enough to leave faint raised lines in their wake. He bites your bottom lip, tugging gently, and then soothing it with his tongue, drawing a whimper from you. 

“Tell me you want this,” he pants against your mouth, eyes searching yours with a dark intensity. He presses his body further into yours. The hardness in his pants is impossible to ignore, and the feel of it grinding into your leg leaves you dizzy, barely able to process his commands. “Say it now, pretty. I need your words.”

“Yes,” you breathe, already aching. “God, yes, Jin. Please–”

That was all he needed to hear. 

He hikes your dress up roughly, fingers hooking into your sticky panties and yanking them down in one swift motion, slightly tearing the fabric at the seams. He falls to his knees like a prayer, pupils blown as he spreads your thighs wide, hooking your left leg over his shoulder. “Fuck,” he groans a little too loudly for two people having sex in a public bathroom. “Look at you–dripping already.” He takes his index finger and runs it through your folds gently, collecting your wetness on the pad, just to feel you. “This from the art? Or from me spilling my heart out to you, muse?”

Hyunjin pulls off your panties entirely, saving them before they touch the floor and stuffing them into his pocket with a quick wink. “For Jisung,” he says, and before you can respond, his mouth is on you–tongue flat and insistent, lapping at you like a man starved. It’s too messy, too noisy for such a small space. His saliva mixes with your wetness, dripping down your thighs and onto the tile. 

He sucks on your clit hard, curling a single finger inside you with a rough twist. When you gasp, hands finding his hair and pulling to steady yourself, he just groans, sending the vibrations to shock your cunt. 

“That’s it, pretty,” he murmurs, voice muffled, but commanding, pulling back just enough to let a string of saliva connect his lips to you before diving back in. “Pull harder. Show me how much you needed this.”

His words send a coil tightening in your belly, but who are you to not obey? 

“Fuck, you’re soaking my face,” he moans, adding a second finger deep inside of you, then a third without warning. His thrusts are quick, his free hand gripping your ass bruisingly to hold you steady as you buck against him. You wail at his menstruations while the sound of your wetness echoes obscenely through the room, mixing into a loud orchestra that’s sure to get you caught soon.

When you come the first time, it’s sudden and intense–a gush that soaks his chin and shirt collar, and he laps it up greedily, eyes rolling back like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted (because it is). “Good girl,” he praises, strain pulling at his vocal cords. “Gimme another. I want you shaking.”

He stands slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, but not before he leans in to kiss you deep, letting you suck the taste of yourself off his tongue. His cock twitches at all the thoughts of all the ways you can be nasty for him, and he spins you around to face the mirror, pressing in behind you. His chest is hard against your back, his pants down in seconds, cock hard as his angry red tip leaks for you. He rubs it against your ass, catching the tip in your slick skin. “Look at us,” he whispers, hand wrapping lightly around your throat, forcing your eyes to the reflection. “This is what I see when I paint–raw, fucked-up beauty. You ready for me to ruin you?”

You nod frantically, but he squeezes your throat in correction. “Words, baby.”

“Yes, Jinnie. Fuck me, please.”

He slides in slow at first, relishing in the feel of your ridged walls shaping around his dick. Both of you watch your reflections as he stretches you, your mouth falling open in a silent gasp. But then he snaps, thrusting hard and deep, the pace brutal and unrelenting. His other hand rubs your clit in messy, rough circles, fingers slick from your previous orgasm and moving unforgivingly. 

“Gonna mark you up, baby,” he growls, teeth sinking into your shoulder deep enough to break skin. You cry out, nails scratching at the hand he still has around your throat, and he just sings your praises through it. “So good for me, pretty, taking me like this. My perfect little mess–uh, fuck–look at how you clench around me.”

He pulls his hand away from your clit, pressing it into the small of your back to arch you into a better angle. His hips slam into yours with wet, echoing slaps. Grunts escape him with each thrust, low and animalistic, mixing with your muffled moans as you try (and fail) to keep quiet. “Fuck, listen to that,” he pants, slowing just enough to let the sounds ring out–skin on skin, wet and obscene. “You’re so fucking wet for me–gonna feel this for days.”

His thrusts pick back up again, and his eyes light up with that mischievous glint. “Hold on, pretty… gotta capture this.” He reaches for his phone from his pocket, propping it up against the soap dispenser and hitting record with a quick tap. The camera catches what your reflection already shows–ruined makeup, frizzed hair, him thrusting into you from behind while your face twists in pleasure and your body jolts with each snap of his hips.

“Smile for the boys,” he whispers, voice dark and teasing, and not missing a beat as he fucks into you harder while the phone captures every grunt, every muffled whine, and every slick slap.

You come around him again, walls fluttering and clenching hard enough to make him groan. He pulls out just to stroke himself over your ass–painting hot streaks into your skin in messy, hectic lines. 

But he wasn’t done. He flips you around roughly, lifting you onto the sink with ease. “Need more,” he mutters, sliding back in with a single, deep thrust, the mess from before making it even slicker and louder. You wrap your legs around him, riding down as he thrusts up, his hands bruising your hips. 

“Jin–” you moan, head thrown back as you cry out his name. “Fuck, Jinnie–bite me.”

He does, nipping your collarbone, your neck, leaving a trail of blooming red marks like you’re his personal canvas. You return the favor, nails raking down his back beneath his shirt and drawing a faint line that sprouts with blood. It makes him hiss, pounding even harder. He comes deep inside you with a guttural moan, pulling out slow so it drips, mixing with the cum on your thighs in a filthy display.

Still catching his breath, he grabs the phone, stopping the recording with a smirk. “And… sent.” He taps the group chat, attaching the video with a quick text following it: “Proof I own. Listen to her, ruined.” Your phone buzzes in your bag, but you’re too spent to care, laughing weakly as he helps you clean up with paper towels and warm water, his touches turning soft again. 

“That was…”

He cuts you off with a slow, sensual kiss. “Us,” he finishes, resting his forehead on yours. “Messy, and rough, and perfect, my muse.”

The museum lights have dimmed by the time you two sneak out, giggling like kids with a secret. He holds your hand the entire car ride home, and at your front door, he kisses you again, deep, slow, lingering in a way that makes you debate pulling him inside and going for round two. 

Inside, your phone was blowing up–the group chat in full crashout mode over the video. 

[Han:] HYUNJIN WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK???

[Han:] DELETE THAT SHIT

[Han:] WAIT, NO! SEND THE FULL VERSION FIRST

[Lixie:] Hyung, you didn’t

[Lixie:] wait, won what?

[Chan:] Jin, you’re a menace. Victory lap, much?

[Chan:] Delete the video if she says

[Chan:] send the full copy for research purposes first though

[Hyun:] don’t worry, sungie

[Hyun:] i saved her panties for you

[Hyun:] she was dripping for me all day

[Hyun:] they smell straight up like her cunt

[Hyun:] and they’re still wet

[Lixie:]...

[Lixie:] that’s not fair

[Chan:] since when are you a panty-sniffer lix?

[Lix:] still not fair

[Han:]...

[Han:] i’m on my way over

[You:] Jisung, you’re disgusting

[Han:] and proud

to be continued...

Heeseung was your biggest fan.

No, seriously- he’d declared it himself. Six years ago, when your cover of Love on the Brain came across his YouTube feed and the smokiness of your voice and husk of your tone hit him straight in the chest. It led him to a deep dive into your channel with only a few hundred subscribers and a dozen or so views per video. He watched every single one. Watched when the 20-something views grew to 200, which grew to 2,000 in only a matter of weeks. The numbers kept climbing, and Heeseung was quickly becoming lost in the sea of growing fans. 

Now, he was an idol obsessed with an idol. Your shows were selling out venues just as big as ENHYPEN’s, full of fans who screamed themselves hoarse when they saw you. At every show, every send-off, every meet-and-greet, Heeseung was there, starstruck. He couldn’t believe you; how you’d grown, how humble you stayed, how perfect you were.

And his members teased him relentlessly for it. When your first album dropped, and it could be heard playing through Heeseung’s walls at 3 am, it was Jay who pounded at his door, demanding peace. “Hyung! Her album will still be there at a more reasonable time!” Heeseung just turned it up and tuned Jay out. 

When Hee was spotted by Dispatch wearing your neon pink merch beneath a cool leather jacket, Sunghoon was unimpressed. “Seriously? You look like a fangirl.”

He was a fangirl, and a damn proud one at that. 

ENHYPEN’s comeback was expected to release in a week, which meant packed schedules, photoshoot after photoshoot, and a shitload of interviews. The more their faces circulated, the more the word got out, and the more successful the comeback was expected to be, so they were expected on every music show, every news outlet, and every TikTok page. 

This particular interview was going pretty well- a music bank following a stage prep, with each of the boys still huffing, trying to catch their breath. The interviewer gave them no time to do so, no heads up before diving into a round of questions. 

Heeseung had already tuned them out, mind wandering to dinner plans, tomorrow’s weather, anything but being here. He didn’t even realize he’d started humming your latest song until he turned back toward his members and noticed all eyes on him in a nearly silent room. The interviewer was wearing a wicked smirk on their face when they opened their mouth to ask: “Heeseunggggg,” they drew out his name in a long whine that Heeseung knew meant trouble. “Who would you say inspired your music the most these days?”

The camera was already zooming in, focusing so close that it caught the moment Heeseung’s eyes softened and his lips bloomed into the sweetest of smiles. He didn’t even need to think about his answer before he said it, drawing a groan from the other members because they already knew what was coming. “Y/n, always y/n.”

Jake’s laughter breaks the cameraman’s hypnosis on Heeseung, and he pans out to show the full group again. “You didn’t even pause to think.”

“Because it’s true!” Heeseung shoots back, a blush starting to creep across his face. “I’ve been following her since her YouTube cover days. The way she arranges harmonies, the way her voice carried emotion- it’s just… no one does it like her”

Sunoo sighs dramatically, though he can’t hide the smile that breaks way on his face either. “Are you here to promote ENHYPEN or y/n?”

Heeseung doesn’t even acknowledge the jab. His eyes are shining, and he’s still lost in his thoughts of you. “She makes music that feels alive. I want to write songs that make people feel the way I feel when I listen to hers.”

The fans move fast, clipping his confession and passing it across social media platforms: ‘he’s in LOVE, look at his eyes!’ The edits go viral, and the comments start flooding in:

‘Spring boy and his muse.”

Just a few days later, they’re doing a group interview with Billboard Korea. The questions are the standard, the ones asked at every single interview, so the boys have their answers locked and loaded.

“If you could collab with any artist in the world, who would it be?”

Ni-Ki speaks first, breaking his cool exterior to murmur, “Kendrick Lamar.”

Jungwon’s quick to follow up: “Jungkook!”

Heeseung, with a dreamy expression on full display and not even an ounce of hesitation, whispers your name like a promise. It’s low and intimate, but the interviewer catches it anyway. 

“Why her?” Cue six collective groans because little does this interviewer know, he just opened Pandora’s box. Heeseung leans back in his chair, eyes unfocused, like he’s imagining his answer before he speaks it. “Her voice is… It’s like spring. Warm, soft, but strong enough to break through the coldest winter. I can’t explain it. I just think if I could sing next to her once, I’d be happy for the rest of my life.”

Jake wastes no time before teasing him, “They asked for a collaboration, not marriage vows. Heeseung shrinks back, trying to hide his growing blush behind his hands. “I didn’t mean it like that! I just… she’s my dream collab. Always has been.”

The fans go wild: “HE’S SO DOWN BAD!”

    “Future husband arc loading.”

Your videos flood with comments tagging him, dubbing you ‘Heeseung’s future wife.’

You were on the tail-end of your own comeback. It’d been two weeks, and the love was still going just as strong as the day it dropped. Fans already knew which song was their favorite. Your album had sold out, then restocked, and then sold out again, and the music video for your title track was set to drop tomorrow. If someone had told an 18-year-old you that the YouTube covers would eventually lead to concerts, music show bookings, and awards, you would’ve asked if they were dropped on their head as an infant. You never imagined anyone would see those videos, let alone blow them up the way they had. The very same idols you used to fantasize about, you now rub elbows with, and ‘grateful’ wasn’t big enough a word to describe what it meant to you.

The Elle Korea interviewer nodded along as you told her all of this, with a small smile and understanding eyes. She allowed you to finish and sit in silence, letting the somber moment pass before turning to face you fully with a smirk that made you nervous. “So, y/n, I’m sure you’ve seen the clips- Heeseung from ENHYPEN mentions you a lot. How do you feel about that?”

Your head shakes with the laughter you try- and fail- to hold back. “I have seen them, actually. The interviews, the lives, the fan edits; they’re impossible to miss.”

“And?”

Your grin turns sly. “Honestly? I’m flattered. He’s insanely talented. His vocals, his stage presence- it’s beyond impressive. And…” You pause just long enough for the interviewer to lean in towards you, drawn in like you’re about to drop a secret. “... he’s hot.”

The studio erupts in laughter, the interviewer clutches her chest, fanning herself with her cue cards, and the clip is already posted everywhere before you even leave the studio. “Y/n calls Heeseung HOT!”

ENHYPEN goes live on Weverse the following night. It’s lazy and lax, with the boys just hanging around, scrolling through their devices, and taking turns answering questions. A fan comments, “Hee, did you see y/n said you’re hot?” and all hell breaks loose. 

Heeseung reads it aloud, and his eyes triple in size. He falls back in his chair, like actually falls backwards and hits the ground with a thud that shakes the camera. Jake and Jungwon are in the background, howling with laughter, and Heeseung stands back up shakily, gripping his chest like he’s been shot. “She… she said I’m hot? For real?”

“Calm down, hyung. You’re literally sweating.”

“Don’t talk to me right now,” Heeseung mumbles, pulling his hoodie over his head and tugging the string taut. “I need a minute.”

It’s clipped, thrown in with some dramatic music and slo-mo zooms. The swoon becomes a meme, and #FutureHusband is trending by the end of the week.

The night of the awards show arrives all too quickly, and the air is humming with electricity. Flashing lights blind from every angle, microphones pointed and poised like a weapon, and the red carpet is rolled out like a runway. ENHYPEN gather early in the night, waving to the monsoon of screams crashing from fans pressed behind barricades. It doesn’t matter how many times they’ve done this now; the nerves are always still there. Heeseung adjusts his blazer, then readjusts it, unsatisfied, only stopping when the interviewer greets them. He plasters on his idol smile, silently wondering how long this thing is going to last and how quickly he can get out of this suit when he returns home. 

“ENHYPN! Welcome, guys!”

The boys speak over one another, murmuring their greetings in response. 

“You’re nominated tonight- how are you feeling?”

“It’s an honor as always; we wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the fans, and we’re so, so thankful,” Jungwon answers for the group, with the rest of the members confidently pitching their agreement. Then the inevitable question comes, and it’s directed straight at Heeseung.

“Did you know y/n is attending tonight as well?

The words hit him like a physical blow- his jaw drops, his ears go pink, and when he responds, his voice is an octave higher than usual. “She’s really here? Tonight?!”

His members fall apart at his reaction; Jake slaps his shoulder, Jay doubles over, and Ni-ki covers his face. The crowd behind the barricades screams even louder.

The interviewer joins in on the laughter. “Yes, she’s here! What do you think about that?”

Heeseung can’t contain himself. His grin is blinding, his hands gripping the mic too tightly. “Oh my god. I can’t believe it. She’s really… wow.” He shakes his head like he can’t believe his own luck, and the cameras catch every second, from his wide eyes to the boyish awe dripping from his voice.

Behind him, Sunghoon mutters into his mic: “Future husband’s about to faint.”

Fans online lose it instantly. Clips with subtitles pop up before the group even leaves the carpet: “he’s not even trying to keep his cool.”

Later that evening, you step onto the same carpet. Flashes erupt, the press is calling your name, and the fans are deafening. You radiate confidence in a sleek black dress, waving to the crowd like they’re all your best friend whom you haven’t seen in a while. The interviewer congratulates you on your nominations, blushing at how genuine your thanks are before quickly steering the conversation away. “Did you know ENHYPEN is also here tonight? Specifically, Heeseung?”

You don’t even hesitate. You step forward, leaning into the mic with a bright grin, voice playful, but just shy enough to tease. “Oh my gosh, I’m gonna meet my future husband tonight, you guys!”

The crowd erupts. Reporters laugh, shouting follow-up questions over each other, and the clip is replayed on giant screens inside the venue before you’ve even left the carpet. By the time you’re ushered inside, Twitter is a battlefield: #FutureHusband, #HeeseungandY/N, #AwardShowCouple.

The show is hours longer than Heeseung would’ve preferred, but all of his complaints dissipated when he got to watch you accept your Album of the Year award from the front row. He never stopped clapping, his smile never fell, and when you finally left the stage, Sunoo had to tug him back down to his seat by the back of his jacket. 

Backstage after the awards is chaos. Stylists are running, idols move between press rooms, and managers are shouting schedules. You’re tucked away in a quiet corner when a familiar figure appears. Heeseung. 

He spots you first, freezing mid-step, like someone hit pause on him. His mouth falls open, eyes wide. His members aren’t too far behind- Jake nudges him forward, whispering, “Go say hi to your wife!” You look up then, tilting your head and fighting a smile. He’s even taller up close, and those wide eyes are so much softer without the stage lights.

It’s you who approaches him, breaking the silence first, voice playful, but shy. “So, I might’ve caused an uproar on Twitter about our marital status without even giving you a chance to propose.”

The tips of his ears turn scarlet, and he stammers, blinking rapidly. “I- I-I… no, it’s fine-I mean- It’s-”

You laugh gently, reaching out a hand between you. “I’m y/n.”

He stares at your hand for a beat too long, then takes it so softly you almost don’t feel it, like he’s terrified of holding too hard. His voice is whispered, but certain, “I know.”

For a moment, the backstage chaos fades. It’s just the two of you, a handshake that feels like a spark, like a first page turning. A staff member calls your name, breaking the bubble. You pull back, still smiling, while Heeseung stands rooted in place like he just lived a dream. By the time he rejoins his group, his phone is already buzzing. Someone snapped a photo of the blurry handshake from across the hallway; “Backstage Couple” is the newest trending hashtag. 

You were already saving edits of his red-faced reaction by the time you made it home that night. Later, grinning at your phone, you finally work up the nerve to DM him: “So, future husband, I hear I’m your dream collab. How about we make it happen?”

Heeseung stares at the message in shock, clutching his chest like it’s too much. His members bang on his door when they hear him scream into his pillow. The world doesn’t know it yet, but the legend of “Future Husband” has truly just begun. 

The doorbell rings at exactly 6pm, not a minute earlier, and not a second late.

When you open the door, Felix is standing there with the soft kind of smile that makes your chest ache. His curls are pushed back, but still fluffy, catching the fade of setting sun behind him. The light outlines him in gold, making him almost too pretty to be real, and for a second you just stand there, staring and trying to remember how to breathe.

He smells faintly of clean soap and vanilla, always like he just stepped out of a bakery. His cologne is clinging to the air between you, and you get an even bigger whiff of it when he steps a bit closer. Felix isn’t dressed extravagantly, but he doesn’t have to be. The cream button-up tucked neatly into soft tan slacks fit like it was tailored specifically for him. His sleeves are rolled up just enough to expose the veins running along his forearm and you can’t help but trace them with your eyes. One hand cradles a small bouquet of pastel peonies that looked like they’d been hand-picked by the Goddess of Spring herself, while the other hides stiffly behind his back, as though pinning his nerves in place. The fingers wrapped around the flowers twitch against the bundle, betraying the careful image of calm he’s trying to portray,  

“Hi, angel,” he says, voice low and thick like honey. The slight tremor along the edges of his words gives away his nerves, but his eyes are steady and full of light, like he’s trying to etch the sight of you into his memory. His gaze lingers, darting from your lips to your eyes and back, drinking you in like it’s been years since he last saw you and not hours. “You ready?” he asks softly, the question heavier than it should be, because he wasn’t just asking if you were ready for a date— he was asking if you were ready for him.

You nod, a little breathless, and he beams, the relief flickering across his face before he can hide it. His shoulders loosen and his chest lifts in a shaky exhale, like he still can’t believe you said yes. He extends the flowers towards you with a tiny bow, the gesture so unexpected and formal that you can’t help but giggle. His grin deepens at the sound of your laughter and when you reach for the bouquet and your fingers graze his, a jolt of warmth zips up your arm. He lingers for a fraction too long, basking in the feel of your skin on his, and before either of you can pull away, he tucksa loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch trails down the nape of your neck, feather-light, like he’s afraid to stop. The moment stretches, pooling a heat low in your belly, and when he finally does pull away, you’re already missing the warmth of his hand.

The drive is full of soft chatter and Felix’s playlist—gentle acoustic songs, guitar and hushed vocals that feel like springtime itself. He hums along, voice deep adn warm, tapping the steering wheel in time. Every so often his eyes flick toward you, like he’s trying to catch the exact way the streetlights paint your profile.

When you start to sing under your breath, quiet but sure, his entire body shifts. His grin widens instantly, dimples flashing like you’ve just given him something priceless. “You always remember the words,” he says, stealing a glance at you that lingers longer than it should, like he’d rather stare at you than drive.

“Maybe you just play this playlist too much,” you tease back, though your voice is softer than usual, unable to hide the affection curling around the words.

His fingers tighten on the wheel, jaw flexing like he’d trying to hold back from smiling too hard. “Or maybe I picked it just for tonight.” His voice dips lower with a shyness that’s almost swallowed by the music. He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t need to, because the weight in his tone says it all. 

When you arrive, is already on the move, hopping out before you can even unbuckle your seatbelt. He jogs around the car with a burst of energy, like he’s been rehearsing this moment all day, and pulls your door open with exaggerates formality, dipping his head slightly as though he’s playing knight to your royalty.

“M’lady,” he jokes softly, holding out a hand. The second you take it, the humor melts, his grip tightening and steadying, thumb brushing against your knuckles like he’s reluctant to let go. Before you can speak, his other hand covers your eyes, his laughter bubbling out light and boyish. He giggles like a schoolgirl, the sound infectious, and you let him guide you forward blindly. The world narrows to the warmth of his palm and the gentle press of his body beside yours. 

You stumble once, startled, and his arm slides firm around your waist instinctively. His hold is protective and for a moment, he doesn’t let go— even after you’ve regained your balance. The closeness of your bodies hangs heavy in the air, his breath grazing your temple, the steady beat of his heart thudding against yours like a secret he can’t hide.

When he finally pulls away and drops his hand from shielding your eyes, the sound of your gasp at the sight before you causes his heart to stutter a couple of beats. The clearing is like something out of a dream. It’s tucked in the heart of the park, surrounded by tall wildflowers swaying in the breeze, the low-hanging branches of trees creating a canopy that shields you from the world. A thick blanket is spread over the grass with pillows scattered across it, and lanterns strung from the branches above flickering with a warm fairy light. A small table sits nearby, set with real plates and cloth napkins, two glasses filled with sparkling champagne. The smell makes your mouth water, garlic roasted veggies, lemon pepper chicken, the reddest strawberries you’ve ever seen—and at the center of it all stands Felix, his cheeks pink, his smile both proud and nervous, like he’s not sure if you’ll laugh or cry.

“You did all this?” you whisper, voice barely carrying over the quiet hum of the night, the spread before you looking too dreamy to touch.

Felix rubs at the back of his neck, curls blown through by the light breeze falling into his eyes as he ducks his head. “I wanted it to be perfect,” he admits, voice shy. His gaze flickers up, locking on you with a startling sincerity. “You deserve perfect.”

Your chest squeezes, heat climbing your throat at the way he says it; like it’s not a line, like he’s been carrying the thought around for weeks, waiting for the chance to spill it.

He guides you down with both hands, carefully. His palms hover at your waist, smoothing your dress beneath you with almost comical precision, brushing away invisible dust, straightening the fabric like a man possessed. Don’t let anything touch her; don’t let anything ruin this. The thought hums in his head as he crouches before you, lips pressing together in a sheepish grin. When you reach for a fork, his hand darts out instantly, swatting yours with gentle insistence. “Nope,” he chides softly, dimples flashing again. “You’re not lifting a finger tonight.” His eyes sparkle with mischief, but theres an unshakable devotion in his words. “This is your date. I’m taking care of you.”

And he does. Felix slices your food into perfect, bite-sized pieces with his brows furrowed in concentration, like it’s the most important job in the world. He tests each one carefully, blowing lightly across the forkful before bringing it to your lips. His hand hovers just beneath your chin in case you drop a crumb, and every time you part your lips for him, something flickers hot and bright in his chest. A tiny speck dares to land at the corner of your mouth, and before you can reach for a napkin, Felix is already there, leaning in close. His thumb brushes across your bottom lip, slow and deliberate and lingering just a little too long. The touch makes your breath stutter, warmth pooling low in your stomach, and his eyes dip to your mouth like he’s fighting every instinct not to taste you himself.

“You’re glowing,” he murmurs after a moment, voice soft but certain, like he’s sharing a secret. Compliments spill from him as naturally as breathing— “So pretty,” when you laugh; “You’ve got the best smile,” when your eyes crinkle; “That dress doesn’t even come close to outshining you,” when you duck your head shyly. Your eyes roll at each one, cheeks warm, but Felix only beams brighter. He sees right through the protests, right to the way your skin hums and warms under his attention. He knows you’re glowing because of him, and he swears, if nothing else, he’ll keep you glowing all night.

The hours slip by in a haze of conversation, steady talks flowing from childhood memories to silly little stories, then spilling into whispered dreams of the future. At some point you end up curled against his chest, your head tucked beneath his jaw, his fingers tracing lazy circles into your arm like he can’t stand the thought of not touching you. The rhythm of it lulls you, until his voice cuts through, low and hesitant. 

“I’ve missed you for a long time, you know,” he admits, thumb pausing mid-circle. “Since before… everything. I just didn’t want to ruin what we had.”

Your heart stutters so hard he feels it against his chest. His lips twitch in the faintest smile, because he knows you felt it too, but he doesn’t push— he never does. Instead, he presses a feather-light kiss to your temple, his voice a whisper meant just for you. “I don’t expect you to choose tonight,” he murmurs. “If ever. I just wanted to give you a little peace, that’s all.” 

You tilt your face up to look at him, your voice soft but teasing. “You call this peace? Feeding me every bite, staring at me like you’re memorizing my face; feels more like you’re plotting to ruin me.” Felix laughs, low and warm, the sound vibrating through his chest beneath your ear. “Maybe I am,” he smirks. “But only in the sweetest ways.” His hand drifts down your arm, fingers brushing over your wrist, grazing your pulse. “Besides… you’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

The air thickens, your silence answering louder than words, and he grins knowingly. “That’s what I thought.”

Felix leans back on one arm, the other still seeking you out, fingers tracing absentminded shapes against your skin like he’s tethering you to him. He nudges your shoulder gently, eyes bright with something playful. “Does this make up for all the terrible dates I took you on in high school?”

You snort immediately, covering your mouth with one hand as the memories flood back. “Terrible is generous.”

Felix gasps, clutching his pearls dramatically. “Excuse you, I tried so hard!”

“You tried to take me to see a slasher film on our first date,” you remind him, grinning wide, “and cried in the bathroom when the murderer with the chainsaw jumped out.”

Felix groans, burying his face in his hands, though laughter bubbles through anyway. “That shit was horrific, don’t lie. I had nightmares for a week. And then— ugh— the tire blew out on the way home.”

“And,” you added between giggles, “we ended up walking a mile back to your house in the pouring rain.” You lean against his shoulder, warmth blooming in your chest. “I was freezing, soaked, starving… and I still told you I had a good time.”

His laughter tapers off, fading into something softer. His head tilts toward you, curls brushing your temple, his gaze full of something fragile. “And you meant it?”

“Of course I did,” you say softly, no hesitation or doubt in your tone.

The air shifts around you, cicadas humming steady in the background, the breeze stirring the grass like nature itself is leaning closer to listen. Your hand dips naturally to rest on his wrist, feeling the flutter of his pulse beneath your fingertips. His throat bobs as he swallows, nerves twisting through him before he finds the courage to ask:

“You remember what happened after that?”

Your gaze flicks up to his, curious, catching the tension in his eyes. “At your place?”

He nods, watching you carefully, like the memory has lived in him for years and he’s terrified to ruin it.

“We were both soaked through,” you murmur, smiling faintly at the image, “trying to warm up under that thin-ass blanket in your twin bed.”

Felix’s smile is soft now. “And you looked at me like I was the only thing in the world.” His frops lower at the confession. “I’d never felt anything like that before.”

Your breath hitches as you watch him relive it, the memory painting his expression with both wonder and want. 

“You kissed me,” he continues, voice fragile, almost a whisper now. “Asked if we could try something… and we did. God, it was clumsy and awkward and so damn sweet. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I knew I wanted it to be you. I’ve never forgotten that.”

“Me neither,” you breathe, words so soft they barely stir the air.

His hand rises almost instinctively, brushing a curl back from your face. His palm lingers near your cheek, not quite touching, but hovering in that space that feels like it belongs to him. “It was the first time I felt like I loved someone,” he admits, the words trembling with honesty.

There’s nothing funny about it now. No jokes, no teasing— just the two of you, older, softer, but still tied together by that first fumbling, heart-racing moment.

“You’ve always been special to me,” Felix says. “Even when we drifted. Even when we weren’t talking. You never stopped being the one.”

The confession knocks the breath from you, your chest tightening as you lean in, pressing your forehead to his. “You still are.”

His lips curve into a smile so full of affection it makes your stomach flip, but his eyes burn with something steadier, warmer. The heat in his gaze makes your pulse skip.

“We’ve had sex since then—what, a handful of times?” he teases softly, chuckling under his breath.. “Quick, quiet… your apartment, on that torn old couch in the studio—” He laughs again, shaking his head at the memory. “Can’t believe we even risked that.”

You roll your eyes, biting your lip. “The risk made it fun.” His eyes linger on yours, burning a hole straight through you. “The other guys would’ve castrated me if we had been caught.” His grin sharpens, but it doesn’t last long. His expression sobers, gaze fixing on you with aching intensity. “But it’s never been just us, not like that night at least.” His thumb finally strokes across your cheekbone. “I wanna try again. Not to recreate it, but to do something new. Something real, just you and me, no rushing, no hiding.”

He takes your hand and presses it to his chest, right over the frantic thud of his heart. The beat quickens under your touch, strong and steady, betraying every feeling he’s holding back. “I want you to feel this,” he murmurs. “I want you to know what you do to me.”

He pauses, the silence stretching thick between you as his breath mingles with yours. When he finally speaks, his voice breaks, threaded with an ache that hits you square in the chest. “Have I made up for it yet?” he asks. “The way I used to hold you, touch you. Do I make you feel as special as you did back then?”

You swallowed thickly, your whole body thrumming at his sincerity. The way his hand cupped your face next, gently, said he already knew your answer—but he still wanted to hear you say it.

“You make me feel even better now,” you whispered, voice trembling with truth. “Even more special.”

A slow smile spread across his face, his eyes darkening just slightly. “Good,” he said, brushing his lips over yours. “Because I plan on spending all night showing you how much better I’ve gotten.”

And in that moment, bathed in golden lights, with petals from the nearby flowers caught in the hem of your dress, you believed him.

Felix had grown into his hands, into his body, into the kind of lover who could undo you with a word, a look, a single touch. And tonight… he’d finally have you all to himself.

His lips barely left yours, each kiss bleeding into the next as breaths were shared between you, noses brushing in the sweetest friction. The scent of you, jasmine and honey and something that had haunted him for years, wrapped around him like a drug he couldn’t quit. His hand slid down your spine, slow and purposeful, then around to your thigh. He tugged you into his lap with a strength that made your stomach flip, his neck breaking from yours only to part against your jaw, your neck, leaving a heated trail.

“I still remember the way you sounded,” he whispered against your skin, voice low, trembling slightly with restraint. His lips dragged over your pulse, tongue flicking briefly as though tasting the memory. “The way you held onto me like you didn’t want to let go.”

Your fingers fisted in his shirt, anchoring yourself as your hips rolled against his lap, against the hard length already straining beneath you, the pressure drawing a sharp gasp from both of you. “Feels like nothing’s changed,” you murmured, brushing your lips along the shell of his ear, your voice dripping with temptation. “You’re still the boy who kissed me like I was the only thing that mattered.”

Felix groaned, the sound ripping from him as his control unraveled fast. His hands gripped together, dragging you closer as his breath hitched. “I’m not a boy anymore, angel,” he said, voice rough and low enough to vibrate against your skin.  “But I promise I still feel exactly the same.”

With that, he eased you back onto the blanket, the world falling away until it was just his body hovering above yours and his hands were roaming as though committing every inch of you to memory. His palms slid along your sides steadily, as if he was reminding himself to savor, not devour. Fingers found the hem of your dress, teasing it up your thighs inch by agonizing inch, his touch grazing bare skin like fire.

“Can I?” he asked, breathless but still unbearably gentle, his forehead pressing to yours like he’d wait forever if you asked him to. You nodded, hips tilting toward his hands instinctively, but he stilled. His lips brushed yours, murmuring, “No, words, angel. I need to hear you,” he begged.

“Please,” you whispered, desperate and soft, the plea breaking free before you could cage it. “I want you.”

The sound that tore from Felix was half-groan, half-prayer, his entire body shuddering with the weight of you. His mouth crashed back onto yours, hungrier now, no restraint left in the way he kissed you like he’d been starving for years.

You made quick work of his shirt, fumbling only because your hands shook with need. The second the fabric left his body, your palms were all over him, greedy. The hard planes of his chest, the taut ridges of muscle down his stomach, the warmth of his skin. Every new line sculpted into him made your breath catch, but beneath it all, he was still Felix. Still the boy who had first stolen your breath over ten years ago, still yours. He shifted off of you to pull his down his thighs, just enough to slip his angry and already dripping cock from beneath it’s restraints. He fisted it with a gasp, and it was a delicious sight, watching his head dip back in his own pleasure.

Your legs lifted and parted on instinct, your dress falling to bunch around your waist. You were already bare, cunt slick, glistening up at Felix like a tease and a promise all at once. He hissed when his eyes found you, pupils tripling in size with hunger. “No panties, angel? Fuck, you’re trying to kill me—”

He settled between your thighs, his weight pressing you deliciously into the blanket, but then he paused, just for a moment. His face hovered above yours, his forehead pressed to yours like a vow. His breath came quick and hot, but his voice was steady when he whispered, “Nothing sloppy about this. Not tonight.”

And then he pushed inside you.

Slow and careful, like he wanted you to feel every inch, every stretch of him filling you until your gasp split the night air. Your pussy was insatiable, molding to every ridge, every vein in his cock as he split you open. His jaw clenched, eyes fluttering shut as he buried himself deep, deeper, like he belonged there. The sensation was almost too much, almost overwhelming, and yet your body welcomed him like it had been waiting all these years.

He bottomed out, his balls to the plumpness of your ass and when he moved, you moved together like no time had passed. Like you’d been chasing this rhythm, this perfect alignment of body and soul, for far too long. His thrusts were deep, steady, each one angled to draw a sound from your lips, to claim you completely. He was skilled, and experienced in you, hitting that spongy spot in your cunt that made you see stars. His hands slid up, capturing yours, pinning them above your head against the blanket, holding you there as his mouth stole every moan, every broken plea.

“You feel like home,” he breathed against your lips, his voice hoarse with emotion. “You always have.”

Your chest tightened, tears threatening to spill from the corners of your eyes. Because it was true—you felt it too. The way he moved inside you wasn’t just lust, it was memory, longing, years of unspoken ache crashing into this one moment. He thrust like he needed to stay, like he wanted to bury himself so deep he’d never have to leave. His forehead rested against yours, his body trembling with the sheer force of holding back all he wanted to say, all he wanted to do.

It was too much all at once; too much pleasure, too much love, too much of him. You broke first, your climax tearing through you after just a few thrusts in soft, choked gasps, nails sinking into his back hard enough to leave marks. You wanted to indent him, wanted proof later on that this night was real and not just a dream. The world shattered around you, nothing but Felix’s warmth and the way he whispered your name against your skin.

He followed you seconds later, his rhythm stuttering, hips pressing flush to yours as a broken moan escaped him. He came deep inside of you, so deep that you could feel the warmth of him rush your bones. He collapsed against you, still whispering your name like a prayer, like if he said it enough times, the universe would seal this moment forever. For a second, it was like the years had peeled back and you were both young again, breathless, drunk on the impossible rush of first love.

When the tremors eased, you stayed tangled together, limbs heavy, hearts still racing in sync. His fingers traced lazy circles along your arm, grounding himself in the feel of you and not pulling out. Your hand rested on his chest, feeling the frantic rise and fall, the hammer of his heartbeat against your palm.

“Still think about that first time?” you asked softly, your voice breaking the hush like a secret.

Felix’s grin curved slow against your temple, boyish and unguarded even in the aftermath of something so intense.

“Every damn day,” he murmured, kissing the side of your head. “But this…” his lips brushed your hairline, his voice a promise and a plea all at once, “…this is the one I’ll never forget.”

You turned, meeting his gaze, and the moonlight softened him into something untouchable, something beautiful and wholly yours. “Feels like we’re the only ones left in the world,” you whispered, your voice almost lost to the night.

“Maybe we are,” he answered, voice low, molten. His thumb brushed over your wrist where your pulse still raced, grounding you to him. “And honestly? I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Your hand slid into his hair, curling against the back of his head as you pulled him closer, foreheads pressed once more. “Promise me this isn’t just some moment. Promise me we’ll keep finding this—us—every single day.”

His smile deepened, eyes glimmering with hope, with something fierce and unshakable. “I promise. This is just the beginning.”

You fell into silence, letting the stars above speak in place of words. The night stretched infinitely around you, a dark velvet canvas punctuated by points of light, and you let your body mold against his, heartbeat syncing with his, with the soft symphony of crickets and rustling leaves. His breath traced against your temple, hot and teasing, sending shivers down your spine.

“You’re my forever, angel,” he whispered, voice low and thick, each word pressing like a vow into the space between you.

You tightened against him instinctively, warmth pooling low in your belly, and let the moment linger. He still hadn’t pulled out, savoring the feel of you fluttering around his length, and you were in no rush to make him move, to put space between the two of you again. You’d had enough space, well over ten years worth. The world had contracted to just the two of you, wrapped in a bubble of quiet and closeness, until words slowly found their way back.

You talked and talked, voices low and intimate, warm under the endless canopy of stars. Secrets slipped out like soft confessions, dreams weaving into memories, laughter spilling freely and echoing into the night. Each laugh felt like a spark, each glance binding you tighter together. Felix’s eyes never left yours, the intensity softened by tenderness, a mix of mischief and devotion swimming behind his gaze.

Time blurred, stretching and folding around the two of you, until Felix’s gaze flicked down to his phone. His eyes widened in quiet shock.

“Whoa. It’s almost 3 a.m.,” he murmured, voice gentle, tinged with surprise, as though the universe had betrayed him by letting the night slip so quickly past.

You blinked, suddenly aware of the hours spent tangled in each other’s company. “Guess we lost track of time,” you admitted softly, warmth and contentment pooling in your chest.

Felix’s lips curved into that irresistible grin, the one that made your pulse skip. He sat up, reluctant to pull out of you, but mesmerized by the string of slick that kept you two tethered. “Damn,” he murmured, so low you almost didn’t hear it. “Come on, pretty lady,” he murmured, bending and scooping you up in one smooth motion, bridal style, as though you weighed nothing at all. He haphazardly fixed your dress so your core was covered again, but he didn’t bother straightening his own clothes. His shirt was still unbuttoned, now wrinkled, and though his cock was safely tucked behind his boxers, his pants were still unbuttoned, his belt hanging off his waist.

You giggled, the sound light and carefree, eyes sparkling. “Bridal style? Really? That’s so extra.”

He shrugged, still carrying you effortlessly, grinning like a kid who had just stolen the moon. “Hey, it’s practice for our wedding day. Gotta be ready, right?” His voice was playful, teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something deeper, a promise that was deliciously private.

You snuggled closer to him, nose brushing against his chest, heart fluttering with the intimacy of it all. Every step he took was deliberate, protective, yet gentle, like he was carrying not just your body but the trust and closeness between you. The night hummed softly around you, and for once, the world outside didn’t matter.

Felix’s thumb brushed along the pulse at your wrist as he carried you toward the car, lips grazing your temple. “Just you and me tonight,” he murmured, his tone equal parts mischief and devotion. “Forever starts now.”

Morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting gentle shadows across the tangled sheets where you and Felix lie asleep, still wrapped in the warm remnants of your date. Clothes were rumpled, hair mussed, skin still tingling with the memory of each touch. Your breaths came slow, and even, but heavy with the satisfaction of everything you’d shared. 

A soft murmur stirred in the otherwise silent room, voices rising just above whispers, nudging you awake. Your eyes fluttered open first, taking in the pale gold of morning, then Felix’s, blinking against the intrusion of day. Your hearts raced in tandem, partly from surprise, partly from that delicious afterglow, and partly from the strange, sudden realization that you weren’t alone anymore.

Three familiar figures loomed in the doorway, each carrying their own energy. Jisung leaned lazily against the frame, crooked grin in place, eyes sparkling with mischief. Hyunjin crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes playfully, lips tugging into that signature smirk that was equal parts teasing and dangerous. Chan stood steady behind them, expression unreadable, yet you could feel the quiet warmth in his presence.

Hyunjin’s voice cut through the tension, playful but scolding. “Lixie, seriously? Not even a gentleman enough to clean our girl up after a date?” His gaze slid pointedly to Felix, eyebrows raised in challenge.

Felix flushed crimson, but his smirk held firm. “It was a picnic in the park, not a spa day.”

You tried not to laugh, hiding it behind your hand, the tightness in your chest easing as the room settled into that familiar, chaotic warmth with morning light bouncing off bodies that were close. Hyunjin snorted, crossing the room and plopping down on the edge of the bed. “You seriously think you’re smooth? I’ve seen better moves from a squirrel trying to cross a highway. And the squirrel was Sungie.”

Jisung grinned, stepping forward with mock sympathy, ignoring Hyunjin’s jab. “Yeah, Felix. Did you at least wipe your come off of her, or were you too busy daydreaming about how cute she looked with it there?” Felix’s smile turned sinister, just as he opened his mouth to respond: “Left it there to remind you whose she was last night.”

Chan’s arms crossed, leaning casually against the dresser, lips tugged in an amused smirk, head shaking slightly. “I’m just here to see if you two have any plans for breakfast or if I’m going to have to fend for myself.”

You laughed, nudging Felix’s side. “Well, Mister Picnic Prince, you going to take care of us or leave us starving?” He winked, tossing his hair back like he had all the time in the world. “Don’t worry, I got it covered. Just let me get dressed before I cook up a disaster.”

Hyunjin muttered under his breath, “Please don’t burn down the kitchen…”

Jisung’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, this I’ve got to see.”

The laughter that followed was warm, chaotic, full of affection, the perfect kind of morning noise that reminded you just how loved you were.

Then, suddenly, the energy shifted. Hyunjin’s usual playful smirk softened as he pulled you close, arm sliding securely around your waist. “Wait, angel,” he murmured low, voice almost a whisper meant only for you. “Let me get you cleaned up.”

You looked up, surprised by the tenderness that gleamed behind his eyes; the side of him that only came out when he trusted someone completely. Without hesitation, you let him lead you toward the bathroom, fingers entwined like they belonged together, the touch grounding and electric at the same time.

Warm spray enveloped you both as steam curled around your skin. Hyunjin moved carefully, deliberate in every gesture, his hands gliding over your shoulders, easing away any lingering tension from the night before. He cupped your face gently, brushing droplets of water from your hair with reverence, as though you were the most fragile, treasured thing in the world.

You opened your mouth to speak, to protest that you could wash your own hair, but he was quick to shut you down. “Shh,” he soothed, voice thick with something raw and unspoken. “You don’t have to worry about anything right now.”

You leaned into him instinctively, chest pressed to his, feeling a safety and devotion you never expected from the boy who once only flirted like his life depended on it. It was quiet, intimate, a secret crack in the armor he’d worn for years, and you treasured it deeply.

Even as the water pattered softly around you, Hyunjin’s fingers lingered in your damp hair, carding through it with gentle care. Afterwards, wrapped in a warm towel, he held you as if letting go even for a second would shatter something precious. His thumb grazed the curve of your cheek, and for a moment, all the teasing, the chaos, the noise of the past days dissolved into something pure, unspoken, and vulnerable.His voice dropped to barely above a whisper, weighted with sincerity and longing. You felt it against your skin, every word, every brush of his fingers, a quiet promise that he was exactly where he wanted to be, and exactly where you belonged.

“Angel…” he started, his eyes locked on yours like you’re the only thing tethering him to the ground. “I know I’m probably at a disadvantage ‘cause I’m going last, but…” He paused, breath hitching with the honesty of what he’s about to say. “I want to take you out. Please? Let me spoil you too. Let me show you how good I can be for you.” He leaned in, brushing his forehead against yours, his hand still warm on your waist. “I want my chance. I want to at least be in the running when you have to choose.”

It’s not smooth. It’s not cocky or confident. It’s real, because for once, Hyunjin isn’t performing. He’s just standing there, heart in his hands, asking you to hold it for a little while. He practically melts into your touch the moment your fingers graze his cheek. His eyes flutter shut for a second, lips parting like he’s barely breathing, like that small gesture just unraveled every nerve he was holding together. When you lean in and kiss his cheek, soft and sweet and deliberate, he goes entirely still, like he’s trying to memorize the moment in his bones.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask,” you whisper, and Hyunjin swears his heart just did a somersault in his chest.

His eyes fly open, wide and shimmering with something that looks like boyish wonder and giddy disbelief. “You have?” he says, barely more than a breath. And when you ask, “When do you wanna go, Jinnie?” The grin that spreads across his face is instantaneous and so bright it makes your chest ache a little for keeping him waiting

“Tomorrow night?” he asks, voice laced with the kind of excitement he can’t hide. “I gotta plan it. Gotta make it perfect, gotta make it yours.”

He kisses your forehead, then the tip of your nose, unable to stop smiling. “You won’t regret it, angel. I’m gonna make it the best date you’ve ever had. Just you wait.”

You walk out of the steamy bathroom, hand in hand—you in an oversized shirt that smells just like Hyunjin, soft and worn and clearly stolen from his drawer, paired with a pair of tiny shorts that peek out only when you move just right. Your hair’s still damp, your cheeks flushed, and Hyunjin looks downright smug, like the King of the goddamn world.

The second you cross into the living room, Hyunjin throws your intertwined hands up like a trophy and yells loud enough for the neighbors to hear—

“I GOT A DATE, BITCHES!”

Felix, mid-taste of the pancake batter he’s whipping up, nearly chokes.

Chan doesn’t even look up from his laptop, just mutters dryly, “Congrats. Want a medal?”

Jisung squints at your hands, gasps dramatically, and flops backward onto the floor like he’s been shot. “Not the last one getting a date. I raised you better than this, Jinnie!”

You lean into his side, biting back a grin as he drops a kiss to the top of your head like you’re his prize. “She said yes,” he says, softer this time, like he still can’t believe it.

Felix groans into his hands. “I swear to God, this is turning into The Bachelor.”

to be continued...