Skaza

Chaewon x (Black) male Reader

Tags: singer Y/N x idol, secret relationship, fluff, with pics included

  CONTEXT Kim Chaewon and Y/N, known by his stage name *The Dawn*, have been living a secret love story since the very beginning. You met back when Chaewon was still a member of IZ*ONE, and your relationship has withstood the evolution of your respective careers. 

Today, Chaewon is the charismatic leader of LE SSERAFIM, while you, Y/N, are a international R\&B superstar. Though you relationship remains hidden from the public, it is known by HYBE, the other members of LE SSERAFIM, and the staff. Despite the risks, You both can't resist the love they share—even if it means living in the shadows.

---

You ever wonder what it feels like to be in love with someone the whole world’s watching?

Like… actually watching.

Not just “oh she’s cute” kinda thing. But “millions idolize her,” fancams doing numbers in two hours, TikToks being born out of her breathing too hard.

And you?

You’re that guy.

The absolute menace who had the audacity — no, the psychological delusion — to date Kim Chaewon.

And yeah. You did that. And you still haven’t come down from it.

Tonight, you’re backstage at the KSPO Dome in Seoul. The energy? Straight-up feral. It smells like sweat, glitter, hair spray, nerves, and that insane post-concert high that hits different when a stadium just erupts.

LE SSERAFIM’s CRAZY EASY HOT Tour in Seoul just wrapped, and that final fireworks moment? Bro. They deadass dropped South Korea’s national defense budget on that stage.

You’re laid out on a random backstage couch, watching the monitor. Black hoodie on, sunglasses on (yes, at night — you’re a celebrity and a drama king), grey baggy jogging, black Nike Shox shoes. The staff’s running around like ants and you’re invisible. Perfect.

You’re staring at the screen when the girls start pouring out, half-dead, hair stuck to their foreheads, sweat everywhere, stage outfits hanging half open, but all of them smiling like maniacs.

They’re screaming, laughing, flinging towels at each other while yelling stuff like:

“YAH UNNIE I ALMOST DIED DURING ANTIFRAGILE”

“ZUHA YOUR MIC WAS OFF THE WHOLE CHOREO???”

“HONG EUNCHAE JUST DID AN UNSCHEDULED SPLIT WE’VE LOST HER”

It’s that post-show chaos. The good kind.

But you?

You’re locked in. You got one mission.

You stand up and start scanning.

Looking for her eyes.

And then — she walks out.

Chaewon.

Not the idol. Not the leader, the it-girl, the 163cm menace whose fancams make the internet malfunction.

Just… your girl.

The same girl who sent you a voice note crying at 3AM last night over a fancam of herself because she thought her voice sounded “too nasal.” 

The same girl who cried mascara into your shirt during the Unforgiven comeback. 

The same one who stole three of your hoodies — one of which you’ve literally never seen again.

She spots you.

And bro… it’s over.

She breaks into this big, toothy grin. There’s a millisecond where her brain goes “oh yeah, he’s really there,” and then she’s gone — running, full sprint — straight into your arms.

You barely catch her. Her forehead hits your chest, arms locked around your waist like you’re a damn life raft. Cameras? What cameras. You stopped caring.

Your hand slides up instinctively to the back of her neck, right under her sweaty bob. Her heart is racing.

You two just stand there. In the middle of a hallway that’s a whole traffic jam of staff and chaos.

You. And her.

One full minute. Maybe more.

And then she mumbles, all soft and raspy:

“You saw me?”

You laugh, chin brushing her hair.

“Baby, the whole damn country saw you.”

She doesn’t say anything, but you feel her smile against your chest — that tired lil smirk she gives when she’s too drained to speak. You’re absentmindedly running your hand up and down her back. She’s trembling slightly — not from cold. Just leftover adrenaline.

“The fans went feral when we did the special dance break during Antifragile.”

She leans back just enough to look at you, cheeks pink.

“You saw the body roll?”

You raise an eyebrow dramatically.

“Saw it? Babe I almost passed out.”

She giggles. You smile.

And god.

This girl.

She pushes a strand of hair off her forehead. You wanna kiss her right there. But you hold back. Barely.

“What you doing tonight?” she asks, voice a little fried from the show.

“I’m kidnapping Le Sserafim’s leader and taking her out to dinner. Somewhere far. Like no idols, no cameras kinda place.”

She laughs — a real one, eye-crinkly and everything.

“Then you better kidnap me fast, before Yunjin hits us with a two-hour ‘Let’s debrief girls there were so many pepow’.”

You smirk, hand still on her back.

“I’m already outside. BMW’s on. Sexy kidnapper in position.”

She tilts her head all mock-impressed.

“Hmm. Tempting.”

“R&B mix playing. Curated by yours truly — The Dark himself.”

She rolls her eyes playfully.

“You’re really flexing your own playlist?”

“Baby. I’m the main course. The playlist’s just the appetizer.”

She smacks your chest laughing.

“Well keep the main course hot, ‘cause I’m hungry tonight.”

Then she slowly heads toward the dressing rooms, throwing one last look over her shoulder.

That tired, cheeky, in-love look.

And you dip out.

You head for the service exit. It’s dark out. The air’s heavy with leftover fan screams still echoing in the night.

You open the door of your black BMW M4, slide into the driver’s seat, and hit play on your track — *Call Me Anytime*.

You start scrolling Twitter. Fancams already going viral. Edits, slow-mos, dramatic zooms. You scroll a little faster when you see backstage clips showing up.

Lowkey praying none of them caught your couch potato moment.

But honestly? If they did...

Let it be known:

You’re not just a fan.

You’re her man.

---

 9:17 PM.

Before dinner, you took a minute to freshen up. Back to ur place. Hot shower. Few sprays of your signature scent. Slid into a clean Corteiz denim fit — dark wash, tailored just right. Subtle chain, light styling, diamond ear piercings. You take one last look in the mirror. Tonight, you wanna be unforgettable. Problem-core.

Chaewon, on the other hand, was exhausted from the show but powered from going out with you. You sent her a text.

“When can i pick u up miss ?”

“Give me 30 min.”

She jumped in the shower, got her hair back in check, and threw on something lowkey but killer.

A blue oversize crop shirt, a grey Miu Miu skirt, heeled boots, a and white Prada bag. Minimal but hot.

In the dorm living room, the girls were posted up — Kazuha tapping on her iPad, Sakura knitting like a grandma in front of some show, Yunjin deep in TikTok, and Eunchae half-asleep on her shoulder.

Chaewon walks past them, bag in hand, sunglasses and cap ready.

Yunjin looks up.

“Where you going looking like a secret agent on a mission with those sunglasses at night ?”

Chaewon slips on her cap over her freshly ironed bob, smirking.

“Top secret rendezvous.”

“Oh so Y/N’s a classified op now?” Sakura throws in, not even looking up.

“Shhh,” Chaewon holds a finger to her lips. “Walls got ears.”

Kazuha lifts her head, curious.

“Y’all going out? Like out -out?”

“He’s waiting downstairs. Restaurant, I think.”

“Luxury vibe or tteokbokki-in-a-parking-lot core?” Yunjin asks, deadpan.

Chaewon throws her a helpless look.

Eunchae mumbles half-asleep:

“Did he give you his cologne? ‘Cause unnie… the front door smells like ‘Y/N was here and claimed this zone.’”

The room explodes in laughter. Chaewon fake-pouts and sticks her tongue out.

“Alright I’m leaving before this turns into a press conference.”

Yunjin raises her cup.

“Tell him we said hi. And that he better come back with gyozas.”

Chaewon, halfway out the door, grins.

“Noted. If I forget, you guys can stage an intervention.”

“Word,” Yunjin replies, 100% serious. “Intervention and a fine.”

Chaewon slides on the sunglasses. Mid-level attempt at disguise — she’s always been trash at low profile.

You’re outside waiting, leaning on your car. The night’s cool, calm. And finally, a silhouette shows up.

Her silhouette. Goddamn.

She walks up and plants a kiss on your cheek.

“Let’s go, driver. I’m starving.”

She hops into the passenger seat. Sunglasses swallowing her whole face, wearing your cologne, your cap.

She shuts the door and looks at you sideways. You grin.

She’s still instantly recognizable. Even in incognito mode. Her aura just screams “I’m the main character,” even if she was wearing pajamas.

“You reek of the stage,” you laugh, pulling out.

She takes off her shades and gives you that fake annoyed look, eyes sparkling.

“You reek of ego.”

You fake-gasp. “Touché,” you mumble with a smirk.

“But I kinda like it.”

You start driving.

She reaches out her hand. You grab it instinctively, your fingers locking like second nature. Her thumb brushes little circles on your skin.

Silence. Not awkward. Just… warm. Like a song you don’t need to hear to feel.

You gently speed up. Headed to that spot you booked.

Not some hidden idol trap with Comic Sans “PRIVATE” signs.

Nah. You booked the real deal.

Big energy. Big main character vibes. Just the two of you.

---

 9:54 PM

Hidden in a no-name building in Mapo-gu, the place looks so lowkey you’d think it’s a damn Yakuza safehouse. But once you pass the lobby and the facial recognition elevator (yes, it’s giving elite), you walk into a space that just screams old money energy but in a “quiet luxury” way.

The interior’s minimalist, straight out of a Japanese Ryōtei dream. Light wood walls, warm lighting, tatami floors, and sliding panels that separate the private rooms. Soft ambiance. No windows. No cameras. Just pure, unbothered exclusivity.

You lead Chaewon to a private room at the end of the hall. The staff welcomes you with soft smiles, all dressed in sleek black modern kimonos. You both take your shoes off at the entrance. She walks in first.

And stops dead in her tracks.

“Okayyyy…”

she breathes out, clearly impressed.

A shallow water basin cuts through the room, with a small wooden bridge leading to the table. Koi fish swim slowly underneath. Scented candles float gently on the surface. It’s giving high-budget K-Drama, Netflix × AppleTV crossover episode.

You let her take it in.

“This looks like a drama scene.”

You smile. “Babe, our whole life is a drama.”

“Shut up.” She laughs, but it’s soft—whispery almost.

“You booked the whole place?”

“Just the room. I ain’t Jay-Z… yet.”

“You could be.” She side-eyes you, lips pursed into that smirk that always comes right before she says some unserious shit.

You raise a brow.

“You really see me with Beyoncé on my arm and a yacht in the south of France?”

“Well… I am Beyoncé. You don’t need anyone else.”

You laugh like an idiot. She’s ridiculous. You’re obsessed.

Dinner is a traditional Kaiseki tasting menu. Eleven dishes. Served one by one, in silence, every movement precise. It’s elegant. Refined. And her? She’s unbothered as hell.

She eats like she’s back in the dorm. Makes little “mmmh” noises and claps after every bite. Closes her eyes when she chews. Makes you taste everything with her chopsticks—even when you already have the same dish in front of you.

“Mine has more wasabi, taste it,” she insists.

You bite. A second later, it shoots straight into your sinuses.

“HOLY SHIT.” You start coughing.

She cackles, hand over her mouth trying not to choke.

“You got a baby throat. Rookie behavior.”

“I have a sensitive voice, thank you.”

“Want me to buy you a sippy cup next time?” She shrugs, fake concerned.

You narrow your eyes, smirking. “You know you’re gonna pay for that, right?”

“Promise me,” she says, eyes glittering with chaos.

She steals food from your plate with zero remorse. Always picks the prettiest, priciest pieces (obviously). Gives you the plain ones back like you’re not gonna notice.

“You steal from my plate like a stray cat.”

“I prefer feral cat, thanks.”

She sips some yuzu iced tea. She's wearing that ring you gave her years ago for your anniversary. It’s hanging from a thin chain around her neck, hidden under her shirt. You spot it when she leans forward to grab a sashimi. You don’t say anything, but your gaze lingers a second too long.

She notices.

“You know the food’s on your plate, right?”

“I was looking at the ring, you perv.”

“You know I touch it every time we go on stage ?”

“You mean like a good luck charm or…?”

“Nah. More like… a reminder that you’re always with me.”

You smile. You’re done. So far gone. In love like a fool.

She sets her chopsticks down, stretches with her arms high over her head.

“I’m full. We should sleep for three days straight.”

“Sounds like a dream. I drop you off, stay over, and we hibernate like two grizzly bears.”

She smiles and blinks slowly. You know that look. She’s drained.

“You staying at the dorm tonight?” she asks gently, reaching across the table for your hand.

“If your lil gremlin members don’t jump me…”

You stop mid-sentence, sighing.

“But I probably should say no, on principle.”

“But you’re gonna say yes, right baby?”

You smile. Yeah. You always do.

“We’ll see when we get there. I’ll drop you off first.”

---

 12:34 AM.

You two step out of the restaurant.

The night’s quiet but cold. The street is dead silent, just the sound of your footsteps. The city’s asleep. The streetlights cast long shadows on the sidewalk.

Her arm’s looped around yours, her fingers tracing invisible letters on your skin. Her head’s on your shoulder.

You feel her smile against you. That quiet, peaceful kind of smile. Like, inner peace but make it Kim Chaewon*.

Your other hand’s in your jacket pocket, keys lightly clinking. Your mind’s already jumping ahead. Maybe a drive. Maybe another laugh. Maybe just crashing at the dorm.

But then—

 Flash.

You squint. Eyes narrow.

A white light slices your vision. You turn your head. Nothing — at first.

Then you take another step.

 Flash. Flash. FLASH.

“Fucking hell—”

You yank her into you instinctively. She gasps, nails clutching your sleeve.

Shapes. In the distance. Three, maybe four. Flashes popping nonstop. That sharp *click* of a professional camera.

You glance further. Ten meters out, left side. A black car, parked all messy. Half in shadow.

A guy crouched behind it. Camera up. Black jacket, jeans. Then you see it.

A badge.

 Dispatch.

Your stomach legit drops. Like swallowing ice water.

Chaewon freezes.

Her fingers dig into you harder. Like she’s scared they’ll pull her away from you.

She lifts her eyes slowly. You see the panic right away. Her lips are trembling.

“Chae, look at me,” you say softly, leaning down to meet her gaze. “Breathe. We’re gonna act normal, okay? If we freak out and run, it only makes it worse when the PR team has to do damage control.”

She blinks. Once. Twice. Flashes still going like gunshots in the quiet.

“I…” She shakes her head, barely hearing you. “Fuck. Y/N… they got us, didn’t they?”

You glance back at the guy behind the car. He’s still aiming. Click. Click. Click.

You shut your eyes for half a second. You wanna scream, but you stay calm. For her.

You nod. “Yeah. They got us.”

Chaewon breathes in, but it’s shaky.

“Come on,” you say.

You grab her hand gently, pick up the pace. No more strolling. Your arm’s around her like a damn shield. You've never wanted to destroy a camera more in your life.

Your BMW M4 is up the block, under a streetlight. You press the key. *Beep.* Lights flash.

“Fucking knew it…” you mutter. “How the hell did they know we were here? I heard something earlier… thought I was being paranoid.”

“Why now…?” she whispers. “We were so careful.”

“Because this is their entire existence. And tonight? Jackpot.”

You open the passenger door for her. She climbs in silently, head down. You shut the door, sprint to the driver’s side. Start the engine. Pull out with one sharp move.

You drive. Fast. Silence thick.

Chaewon stares out the window. Quiet. Overthinking.

You glance over. “Hey… look at me.”

She turns.

“We’re gonna get through this. Together. Like always, okay? We’ll find a way.”

She nods. Doesn’t say a word. But she squeezes your hand on the gear stick—tight. Almost painful.

You lift your joined hands and kiss hers. “You’re not facing this alone.”

And in your head, one word:

  Fuck.

As the dorm gets closer, you speak up.

“Yo babe…”

“Hmm?” She looks at you.

“I’m not coming up tonight.”

She raises her brow slightly. “You don’t want to?”

“I do. Like way too much.” You laugh, hands up like surrender. “But we just got exposed once. I’d rather not hand Dispatch another photo set on a silver platter.”

She stares, nods slowly. Quiet. Then sighs.

“Okay. I get it. You’re right.”

You rest your hand on her cheek, thumb brushing her skin gently.

“I swear, once this blows over, I’ll make it up to you.”

“You better,” she says, smiling faintly—but yeah. You can tell. She’s a little hurt. She leans in, kisses your cheek soft.

The ride back is chill. Summer Walker plays low in the background. Her fingers keep brushing over your hand on the gearshift.

When you reach the dorm, she thanks you softly.

“Thanks for tonight, babe.”

“You don’t gotta thank me, baby. It was amazing. And after everything you did for the concert, you deserved a lil peace. I’m just lucky I got solo time with the Kim Chaewon herself.”

“Shut up,” she laughs sleepily. “But really… I missed this. Just us.”

Before getting out, she leans in, kisses you again. Longer this time. Then she opens the door, steps out, turns back. You lower the window.

“I’ll text you once I’m inside,” she says.

“Btw Don’t overthink the Dispatch thing. Get some sleep.” You grin. “And watch out for Zuha opening the door in a towel again.”

“I briefed her, don’t worry,” she smiles before disappearing into the building. “Good night, baby.” 

You blow her a kiss and watch her vanish inside, then drive off into the dark. Brain foggy. Heart tense from earlier.

---

 7:49 AM. The next day.

 Twitter is in flames.

You’re still in bed. Shirtless. Sheets tangled around your waist. Phone in hand. Half-awake, fully wrecked.

Your watch on the nightstand reads 07:49. Your phone screen?

Absolute chaos.

 DISPATCH DROPS BOMBSHELL : 

> “KIM CHAEWON SPOTTED ON A DATE WITH INTERNATIONAL SINGER THE DARK.”

 (Spoiler alert: ur cooked, bestie.)

You click.

Boom.

The pics.

Right when you two left the restaurant. Streetlight lighting up your faces just enough.

You: 6’1”, the raw denim Corteiz fit, oversized jacket half-open over a fitted black tee. Curls on your forehead, diamonds in your ears, subtle chain catching light.

Her: The blue oversize crop shirt, a grey Miu Miu skirt, heeled boots making her legs look ten miles long, sleek hair, Prada bag in hand. Clinging to your arm like a walking fanfic.

You wanna laugh. And throw up.

Under the tweet, the replies are UNHINGED :

 @pupufan: "this man’s literally R&B poison stay away from her omg"

@fearbitch94: “she deserves someone normal not a walking toxic boy with emotional damage”

 @y/nslutcentral: "THE DARK dates idols?? What a multiverse, my roman empire."

@nugudetective: “he looked at her like she healed his depression”

 @darklingzforever: “don’t care. he’s HIM. if chaewon’s happy, we happy.”

@chaeslilangel: "if they hurt her i’m becoming a full-time anti. no one touches my girl."

@thedarkfanacc: “he’s a menace, a heartbreaker, a walking sin. she ate.”

@darkxchaewon: “can they just confirm it so i can make edits in peace??”

You open Messages.

  Groupchat with Le Sserafim: “6 eaters in da hood”

Yunjin: “BABE WAKE UP WE GOT DISPATCHED”

Sakura: “who tf took that pic i want their camera and their location”

Kazuha: “u guys were cute tho ngl”

Eunchae: “am i allowed to like the tweet”

You: “Yall mind if i kms real quick”

Chaewon: *“if u go i go”*

Yunjin: “STOP ROMANTICIZING SUICIDE U LUNATICS”

Sakura: “can we at least go viral together?”

You: “bruh i’m 2 seconds away from calling hybe and saying i got abducted by a lookalike”

Kazuha: “nah the chain gave you away”

Chaewon: “and the height”

Eunchae: “and the aura”

Sakura: “and the main character syndrome”

Yunjin: “AND THE WAY SHE’S CLINGING TO UR ARM LIKE A TINY WIFE”

You: “ok i get it u bullies”

You drop your phone on your chest. Stare at the ceiling. One part of you is spiraling.

Another part is weirdly… relieved. Like it was meant to happen eventually.

Your phone buzzes.

A text from Chae 💍

Chae 💍: “I’m sorry… I should’ve let go of your arm…”

You: “Stop. I loved that you didn’t. And even if you had, we’d still be caught by those roaches.”

Chae 💍: “So what now?”

You: “We breathe. Let HYBE cook. And until then… we don’t flinch.”

You tap your chest twice like you’re hyping yourself up. Close your eyes.

Throat tight.

But yeah… you’re smiling.

---

 9AM.

You were still dead in your bed when your phone started buzzing on your nightstand.

Not a cute “fan DM” buzz. Not a dumbass meme from Yunjin.

This one was different. Serious. Heavy. A call.

From HYBE staff.

You squint, barely functional, eyes burning from the lack of sleep. The screen’s blinding but you answer without even thinking.

“Y/N-ssi, this is Hyung from the creative team. You need to come to the company. Be here by 9:45. Urgent.”

His voice? Dry as hell. The kind that erases all your plans — even the fake ones in your head.

Bro didn’t even say good morning.

“Is something wrong?” you ask, knowing damn well the answer.

“We’ll explain in person. It’s… about a photo. You probably already know what I’m talking about.”

You exhale.

“I’m coming,” you mutter, your voice still half-asleep, but your heart? Already running a full damn marathon.

You jump out of bed and hit the shower — quick but surgical. The cold water shocks your brain awake. You can’t afford a single L today. Not when she’s involved.

You pass the mirror, shirtless, hair dripping, water sliding down your neck tattoo. You pause. Staring.

Trying to see if you look guilty.

Half-smirk.

“Damn, I’m too hot to be in a scandal.”

But time’s ticking. You throw on grey jogging, fresh white Air Force 1s, a clean white tee, and a matching grey puffer — just zipped low enough to show your gold chain.

Gotta look lowkey but still flex, just a little.

Cartier Santos on your wrist — Chaewon’s birthday gift from last year. Subtle. Personal.

You adjust your ring, hit one spray of your signature scent, and dip.

---

  9:30AM.

You slide into your BMW M4. Engine roars like it knows there’s drama coming.

Phone on the dash.

Playlist running:

  Brent Faiyaz – “Dead Man Walking.”

The irony is almost funny.

You drive on autopilot. Zoned tf out. Meanwhile, people on the street walking around like you’re not currently Trending Topic #1 in South Korea.

Your phone lights up.

 Text from Chae 💍:

“They called me too. I’m already here.”

“I’m gonna pass out I swear.”

You don’t answer. You’re gripping the wheel too tight.

Not because you’re scared for you.

You’re scared for her.

---

 9:47AM.

HYBE meeting room. Ice-cold AC.

Three managers. One PR dude. Some stylist who probably walked into the wrong room.

And you.

And Chaewon.

“We’re handling the narrative. Deny everything. Say it’s a lookalike,” one of the managers says, arms crossed like he just cured lying.

You raise an eyebrow.

“A lookalike? With my exact neck tattoo, wearing my literal gold chain? Plus it doesn’t erase the fact that Chaewon was seen with a man, linked to his arm.”

“WE. DENY. EVERYTHING.”

You let out a low laugh. Stylists click pens. The public relations guy avoids eye contact.

Chaewon’s sitting beside you.

She looks different than last night. A black Hoodie way too big — probably yours, the one u’ve been searching for weeks. Light blue Baggy jeans. No makeup. Just her eyes — and that clenched jaw like she’s holding in a scream.

You feel her leg shaking under the table.

You reach over, lowkey, and rest your hand on her thigh. Thumb tracing slow circles.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, not even looking at you.

“For what?” you ask.

“For dragging you into this.”

You turn to her.

“Babe…”

You look at her. For real.

“I dragged myself into this. And I’d do it again tomorrow. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

She finally turns her head. Her eyes are glassy. Not crying yet — but close.

You keep looking at her like you’re trying to physically absorb her pain.

The room goes still.

Even the stylist stops fiddling with his ring.

PR guy clears his throat.

“We… could also go a different route,” he says, glancing between the two of you.

You sit up. “Like what?”

“Well… you two already knew each other.  What if we say it’s for a creative project? Music collab. Concept shoot. Something artsy.”

You tilt your head. Lips tight.

“A creative project… that could work. Would explain us walking together. Staff being aware. Me showing up to the show.”

“Exactly,” a manager nods. “You kept it quiet to protect the project.”

Chaewon nods slowly.

“I could say I’ve been wanting to work with him for a long time… that I’m a fan of his work.”

You smirk, cocky.

“Oh? You’re a fan now? Since when, exactly?”

“Shut up,” she mumbles — but she’s smiling. Just a little.

Another manager sighs, rubbing his temples.

“We’ll prep the statement. Tease the project. Drop a blurry video. Studio pics. Sell the fantasy.”

You raise your phone.

“I’ve got videos from the studio. Us working on an unreleased track.”

Every head turns to you.

“You’re actually making a song together?”

“Not officially,” you shrug. “But if y’all need it to be official…”

PR dude is already scribbling notes like it’s Grammy night.

“Perfect. We fake a collab. Sell the creative tension. Win-win for everyone.”

Chaewon exhales. A little lighter. You feel her leg finally go still under the table.

Yeah, this is messy. But at least you’re in it together.

And the solution ?

It’s still you two.

---

part 2 ? (Imma be real, already writting it)