Zoey

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The announcement had been clean.

Too clean.

A joint statement. A curated photoshoot. A soft rollout of “romantic collaboration synergy” between two groups that were suddenly everywhere at once.

The internet didn’t question it.

Why would they?

The pictures looked real.

The smiles looked real.

Martin’s hand resting lightly at your waist looked real in a way that made fans go insane overnight.

“they’re literally perfect together” “this is the softest idol couple i’ve ever seen” “they were made for each other”

Hashtags trended for days.

Your company called it “success.”

His company called it “record-breaking engagement.”

Neither of them mentioned the truth.

That it started as a concept.

A controlled narrative.

A contract signed with too many clauses and not enough honesty.

Rule one: maintain the relationship publicly at all times.

Rule two: do not break character.

Rule three: do not fall in love.

That last one should’ve been easy.

It wasn’t.

The first press event went smoothly.

Too smoothly.

Martin pulled your chair out for you.

Fans screamed.

You smiled like it was normal.

He brushed imaginary lint off your sleeve.

Fans screamed louder.

You leaned slightly into him during photos.

The cameras ate it up.

Backstage, your manager whispered:

“perfect. keep this energy.”

Martin nodded.

You nodded.

Neither of you looked at each other after that.

Not because you didn’t want to.

Because you were already learning how dangerous it was.

The first time it slipped, it was unplanned.

A variety show.

A question.

“Who apologizes first after arguments?”

You laughed.

Before you could think, you said:

“him. always.”

Martin turned to you.

Confused.

Then smiled.

Soft.

Real.

“I do not,” he said.

You tilted your head.

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

“You literally apologized for stepping on my foot yesterday.”

He blinked.

“…that was an accident.”

“you said sorry like you committed a crime.”

The studio laughed.

Fans clipped it instantly.

“THEY’RE SO COUPLE CODED HELP” “HE’S SO SOFT WITH HER???”

Neither of you corrected them.

Because you couldn’t.

The rules were clear off-camera too.

No unsanctioned meetings.

No public appearances outside schedules.

No deviation from the narrative.

But rules were funny like that.

They only mattered when you still believed in them.

Martin started showing up where you were.

Coincidentally.

Always coincidentally.

Cafeteria breaks.

Practice hallways.

Elevator rides that lasted too long to be accidental.

“You’re everywhere,” you said one day.

He shrugged.

“you’re not hard to find.”

That should’ve meant nothing.

It didn’t.

Your group noticed first.

Meanwhile, you noticed martin's phone blowing up with notifications from his group.

Martin did not respond.

Because he was sitting next to you.

Eating cold convenience store food on a studio floor.

Like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“You’re quiet,” you said.

“I’m listening,” he replied.

“To what?”

“You.”

That made you stop.

“…I’m literally just complaining about schedules.”

“yeah,” he said. “i know.”

A pause.

Then softer:

“i like hearing you talk.”

Your chest tightened slightly.

You looked away.

“you’re weird.”

“you keep saying that,” he replied. “it’s not changing anything.”

The fans never doubted it.

That was the strangest part.

Everything looked too perfect.

Too consistent.

Too soft.

Too real.

When you walked on stage together, he looked at you first.

When you laughed, he followed.

When interviews got long, his hand always found yours without thinking.

“they’re literally the standard” “no one does it like them” “this feels like a movie”

And it did.

Except no one knew the script was written by accident.

The rule about falling in love was never spoken out loud after the first month.

Because it became irrelevant.

Because something had already shifted.

It happened slowly.

Not in big declarations.

In small betrayals of intention.

Martin remembering your coffee order.

You waiting for him after schedules you weren’t required to attend.

Late-night texts that started with “you awake?” and ended hours later with nothing resolved except the fact that neither of you wanted to hang up.

One night, he walked you back to your dorm.

Camera-free.

Silent streets.

He stopped at the gate.

“You’re going in?” you asked.

He nodded.

Then didn’t move.

Neither did you.

“…this is getting dangerous,” you said quietly.

He looked at you.

“yeah.”

“we’re supposed to just be convincing,” you added.

His expression shifted slightly.

“we are convincing.”

A pause.

Then:

“…aren’t we?”

You didn’t answer immediately.

Because the truth felt too heavy to say out loud.

Instead, you asked:

“what happens when they end this?”

Martin exhaled.

“they won’t.”

You frowned.

“what do you mean?”

“They’re happy,” he said simply. “we’re trending. it’s working.”

That wasn’t what you meant.

And he knew it.

A beat.

Then quieter:

“…and if they do?”

Silence.

The question hung there like something neither of you had the answer for.

Finally, you said:

“we stop.”

He nodded slowly.

Like he understood.

But his hand tightened slightly around yours anyway.

The moment everything changed was not an announcement.

Not a scandal.

Not a leak.

It was a backstage corridor.

You were laughing about something stupid.

Martin reached for your wrist instinctively.

Pulled you closer to avoid staff passing by.

You bumped into his chest.

Both of you froze.

Too close.

Too quiet.

Too real.

His voice dropped.

“…you okay?”

You nodded.

But didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

And somewhere in that stillness, the entire concept of “fake” stopped making sense.

Because it didn’t feel like acting.

It didn’t feel like marketing.

It felt like something you had already chosen without realizing.

That night, your group chat was loud.

He was outside your dorm again.

Waiting.

Like it was nothing.

Like it was everything.

When you opened the door, you sighed.

“You’re gonna get us in trouble.”

He smiled slightly.

“we’re already in trouble.”

You stepped outside.

Cold air.

Empty street.

No cameras.

No scripts.

Just him.

“we can’t keep doing this,” you said.

He nodded.

“…then don’t do it like it’s fake,” he replied quietly.

That hit harder than anything else.

Because it wasn’t fake anymore.

Not to you.

Not to him.

Not even close.

You stared at him for a long moment.

Then reached out.

Grabbed his sleeve.

And said:

“you’re so stupid.”

He blinked.

“yeah?”

“yeah,” you repeated. “because this was never just a concept for me.”

Silence.

Then his voice, softer than anything the world ever saw:

“me neither.”

And for the first time since the cameras started rolling,

nothing about it was for them anymore.

The night after that changed everything, nothing changed at all on the surface.

The cameras still rolled.

The fans still screamed.

The edits still multiplied like wildfire across timelines.

Martin still smiled at you the same way he always did in public, soft and effortless, like it had been rehearsed into his bones.

And you still leaned into him like it was natural.

Because it was.

That was the problem now.

It stopped feeling like acting.

It stopped feeling like pretending.

It just felt like existing next to him made more sense than not.

Backstage, your manager clapped once, sharp and satisfied.

“Perfect. Keep that chemistry exactly like that. It’s working better than expected.”

You nodded.

Martin nodded.

Neither of you corrected them.

Neither of you could.

Because what were you supposed to say?

That the concept was no longer a concept?

That somewhere between staged kisses and scripted interviews, you forgot where the line was supposed to be?

That the worst part wasn’t the cameras anymore, it was the fact that when they weren’t there, you still reached for him anyway?

After the schedule ended, you found him outside the venue leaning against a wall, hood up, phone in hand.

He looked up when he saw you.

“You’re late,” he said.

You raised a brow.

“I had interviews.”

He nodded.

“I know.”

“…then why are you complaining?”

He shrugged slightly.

“wanted to see you sooner.”

That should’ve been normal.

For the “relationship.”

For the narrative.

For the cameras.

But there were no cameras now.

Just the two of you standing under streetlights that didn’t care about contracts.

You stepped closer.

“You’re getting too used to this,” you said quietly.

“To what?”

“This,” you gestured between you. “us.”

His expression didn’t change much, but his eyes did something subtle. Something quieter.

“am i supposed to unlearn it?” he asked.

You hesitated.

Because the honest answer was no.

But the safe answer was yes.

So you said nothing.

And that silence said everything instead.

He pushed off the wall slowly.

“You know,” he said, voice lighter on purpose, “they think we’re like… perfect.”

You let out a short laugh.

“They’re not wrong.”

He looked at you.

That pause again.

The one that always felt like it was leaning toward something irreversible.

“yeah,” he said softly. “they’re not.”

Your heart stuttered slightly at that.

You tried to ignore it.

Tried being the key word.

You started walking, expecting him to follow.

He did.

Of course he did.

He always did.

The city was quieter at night, the kind of quiet that made thoughts louder.

Martin walked beside you with his hands in his pockets.

“you tired?” he asked.

“always,” you replied.

He hummed.

“me too.”

A beat.

Then, almost casually, he added,

“but it’s better when i’m with you.”

You nearly tripped over nothing.

You shot him a look.

“you can’t just say shit like that.”

He tilted his head.

“why not?”

“because it sounds like you actually mean it.”

He stopped walking for half a second.

Then caught up again.

“maybe i do.”

Your throat went dry.

You hated that he said things like that so easily now.

Like he didn’t realize the damage they did.

Like he didn’t realize how close you were to believing all of it.

At your dorm entrance, you stopped.

He stopped too.

Neither of you moved for a moment.

Then you sighed.

“This is getting out of hand,” you said quietly.

“what is?”

“You,” you gestured at him. “this. whatever we are when no one’s watching.”

His voice dropped slightly.

“we’re the same thing we are when they are.”

That made your chest tighten.

Because he was right again.

And you were starting to hate how often he was right.

You looked down.

“we’re not supposed to feel like this,” you said.

He stepped closer.

“like what?”

You hesitated.

Then said it anyway.

“like it matters.”

Silence hit immediately after.

Thick.

Heavy.

Real.

Martin didn’t look away this time.

“it does matter,” he said simply.

You shook your head slightly.

“No it doesn’t. it’s not real. it’s for cameras and views and numbers and company bullshit.”

His jaw tightened slightly.

“it was,” he corrected.

You looked up.

“What?”

“it started like that,” he admitted. “yeah.”

A pause.

Then softer.

“but it’s not that anymore.”

Your breath caught.

You wanted to argue.

Wanted to say he was being reckless.

Wanted to say this was exactly how scandals start.

But your voice didn’t come out fast enough.

So he continued.

“i don’t know when it changed,” he said quietly. “but it did.”

He looked at you like he was trying to read something that wasn’t on the surface anymore.

“and i’m not pretending i don’t see it just because we’re not supposed to.”

That line hit differently.

Because he wasn’t confessing like a scene in a drama.

He was just stating it.

Like it was already decided.

Like you were just catching up.

You swallowed hard.

“You’re going to get us in trouble,” you said again, but weaker this time.

He gave a small, almost tired smile.

“we already are.”

Then, quieter.

“just not in the way they think.”

That made something in your chest twist painfully.

You should’ve stepped back.

You didn’t.

Instead, you said,

“martin…”

He answered immediately.

“yeah?”

And that was it.

That was the moment.

The moment where you realized there was no going back to “just a concept.”

Because when he said your name like that, soft and certain, it didn’t feel like marketing anymore.

It felt like home.

You exhaled slowly.

Then reached for his hand.

No hesitation now.

No performance.

Just contact.

He froze for half a second.

Then laced his fingers with yours like it had always been the most natural thing in the world.

You squeezed once.

“we’re really stupid,” you muttered.

He let out a quiet laugh.

“yeah.”

A pause.

Then,

“but you’re holding my hand anyway.”

You looked at him.

“yeah,” you admitted.

“i am.”

And somewhere above you, the world kept believing it was all part of the plan.

And for once,

you didn’t correct them.

you straighten up. “i’ll text you when i get home.”

he nods, but his hands don’t drop. they tighten instead, pulling you back a step until your spine meets his chest, nestled. he buries his pretty face in your shoulder, breathing you in like he’s trying to memorize the moment.

you laugh softly. “james…”

he shakes his head against your skin. not a no—just a quiet plea.

hiss arms slide fully around you now, locking you in place. he sways a little, like holding you is calming him down. his heartbeat is fast, too fast, and you feel it through his chest.

you try to turn around, but he hugs you tighter, chin hooking over your shoulder.

“just… stay like this,” he whispers, voice small.

you relax into him, and he exhales shakily, hands flattening against your stomach like he’s grounding himself. he presses a soft kiss to the side of your neck, lingering—not sexually, not horny, just needy.

when you finally pull away, he follows your movement automatically, like his body refuses to let you go. you cup his cheek, and he leans into your palm instantly, eyes half‑closed. his lashes gently brushing your skin.

“i’ll miss you,” he murmurs.

you haven’t even left yet.

KIM JUHOON

juhoon doesn’t grab you.

he doesn’t beg.

he just… attaches.

you’re lying on his bed scrolling your phone, and he quietly climbs in beside you, sliding under your arm like he belongs there. he rests his head on your chest, one hand gripping your shirt lightly—not enough to trap you, just enough to whisper “don’t move.”

you stroke his hair—soft and sliky, and he melts instantly, his whole body relaxing against yours. his breathing evens out, slow and warm against your ribs.

he doesn’t talk. he doesn’t need to.

every time you shift even slightly, his fingers tighten, pulling you back into place. when you try to sit up, he makes a soft sound—not a word, just a tiny, desperate noise, a whimper almost—and buries his face deeper into you.

you settle again, and he exhales like he’s been holding his breath.

after a while, he lifts his head just enough to look at you, eyes heavy, soft, almost pleading. he doesn’t say anything—he just watches you, like he’s checking you’re still real.

then he tucks himself back against you, arms sliding around your waist, holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him together.

MARTIN EDWARDS PARK

martin pretends he’s fine. he’s not.

you’re getting ready to go out with friends, and he’s sitting on the edge of the bed watching you like a kicked puppy. his knee bounces. his fingers twist the hem of his shirt. he keeps opening his mouth like he wants to say something but can’t.

you grab your purse. “i’ll be back late.”

he nods, but his eyes drop to the floor. you step closer to kiss his cheek goodbye—and he grabs your wrist, gently but fast, like he didn’t mean to but couldn’t stop himself.

you blink. “martin?”

he stands up immediately, arms sliding around your waist, pulling you into him. his forehead presses to your collarbone—like soft kiss, his breath warm and shaky.

“you’re really going?” he mumbles.

“i told you—”

“i know,” he says quickly. “i know, i know, i’m not trying to stop you, i just—” he squeezes you tighter. “i hate when you’re not here.”

you stroke his back, and he clings harder, fingers curling into your shirt like he’s scared you’ll vanish.

“just… hug me for a second,” he whispers.

you do, and he melts, all tension draining out of him as he holds you like you’re the only thing keeping him steady.

EOM SEONGHYEON

seonghyeon gets clingy when he’s overwhelmed.

you’re sitting on the couch, and he quietly climbs into your lap without asking—knees on either side of you, arms around your neck, face buried in your shoulder.

he’s trembling a little, not crying, just overstimulated and seeking the one place he feels safe—seeking your touch, warmth, just you.

you rub slow circles on his back. he presses closer, practically molding himself to you. his breath hitches every time you move, so you stay still, letting him hold on as tightly as he needs.

after a minute, he whispers, “don’t go anywhere.”

you kiss the top of his head. “i’m not.”

he relaxes instantly, his whole body softening against yours. his fingers curl into your shirt, gripping like he’s anchoring himself.

he doesn’t talk again. he just holds you. and holds you. and holds you.

AHN KEONHO

keonho doesn’t knock, doesn’t call out, doesn’t even pretend to play it cool.

the moment he walks into the room and sees you on the couch, something in him just melts. his shoulders drop, his whole expression softens, and he heads straight for you like instinct.

you barely have time to look up before he’s already climbing onto the couch, sliding into your space with zero hesitation. he tucks himself against your side first, testing the waters—then, when you lift your arm even slightly, he takes it as permission to fully curl into you.

he shifts until he’s half‑lying on you, half‑hugging you, arms wrapped around your waist, face pressed into your shoulder. warm, heavy, clingy.

like a needy golden retriever who finally found his person after a long day.

you giggle. “long day?”

he nods against your shirt, his breath warm through the fabric. he doesn’t talk—he just holds on, fingers curling into your clothes like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens even a little.

his legs laced around yours, pulling you closer, trying to erase any space between you.

you u stroke his hair, and he melts instantly, body relaxing in slow waves. he nuzzles into your neck, inhaling like your scent alone is intoxicating him. every time you shift, even slightly, his arms tighten, he starts whimpering and whining.

afer a moment, he lifts his head just enough to look at you. his eyes are soft, big and glossy, tired in a way that makes your chest ache. he leans forward and presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in.

“i love you so much,” he whispers, voice small.

you smile softly, cuppin his cheek. “i love you too.”

he exhales shakily, relief washing over him. he tucks himself back into your shoulder, arms looping around your neck this time, holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him steady.

his fingers trace slow, absentminded patterns on your back—grounding himself, reminding himself you’re real.

minutes pass.

he doesn’t move.

he doesn’t talk.

he just clings.

everyone knew the story—one of those ancient, enduring legends passed down in half-whispered conversations between grandparents and grandchildren, scribbled into the margins of notebooks, or shared between friends during sleepless nights when the world felt a little softer than usual. 

your moles, they said, mark all the places your lover kissed you in your past life. 

most people laughed it off, some secretly checked, while others spent an embarrassing amount of time standing in front of mirrors, trying to convince themselves that a tiny mark on their wrist or shoulder meant something profound.

you had never really believed it, mostly because if the legend were true, then your past lover had apparently been completely, utterly obsessed with you. there was simply no other explanation; you had moles everywhere—one near your collarbone, three scattered across your neck, one hidden behind your left ear, and another buried right beneath your hairline. there were several across your hands, one on your ankle, two on your feet, one tucked beneath your jaw, and another near your shoulder blade, with new ones seeming to bloom like constellations across your skin every time you actually looked closely enough.

it was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, especially considering the fact that in this life, you were currently painfully, catastrophically, embarrassingly single. 

but on the worst nights, when the quiet of your bedroom felt entirely too vast, you would trace those tiny dark spots with a fingertip, wondering how a love so fierce it had literally stained your skin could leave you feeling this hollow, like a ghost ship still searching for a shore that no longer existed. you would press your thumb against the mark on your wrist, aching for the echo of a warmth you could no longer remember, trapped in the agonizing space between a past you couldn’t reach and a present where you were entirely alone.

“there’s no way,” your friend had once said whilst counting them, her finger tapping a slow rhythm against your skin. “either the legend is fake or somebody in your past life genuinely couldn’t keep their hands off you.”

you had nearly choked on your drink, coughing out a frantic, “please never say that sentence to me again,” but the words had already taken root, burying themselves deep beneath your collarbone where they refused to quiet down.

yet sometimes, usually late at night when the house was quiet and the world felt suspended between dreams and reality, you found yourself tracing those tiny marks with a slow, deliberate touch. you would wonder—who could have loved someone so completely, wondering if they had existed at all, or if they were just a cruel myth left behind to mock your empty hands. you wondered if, somewhere across lifetimes and centuries and endless stretches of time, someone had once looked at you as though you were the most precious thing they had ever known, leaving you now like an anchorless boat drifting in an ocean of silence, desperately reaching for the ghost of a pull you could no longer see.

☆

a very long time ago, in a life neither of you remembered anymore, there had been a boy named juhoon, and he had loved you with a tenderness that made entire lifetimes feel entirely too short. it was never loud, never dramatic, never the sort of love that demanded an audience.

it lived in the quietest, smallest things—in the way he always reached for your hand first, in the way he remembered every minor detail you forgot, and in the way his eyes softened whenever they landed on you, as though seeing you alone was enough to make his day better. and perhaps that was why he kissed you so often, because every time he looked at you, affection seemed to overflow from him like a river bursting its banks until it simply had nowhere else to go.

“you know,” he mumbled one evening as you sat together beneath the golden glow of lantern light, your head resting comfortably against his shoulder, “i don’t think i’ll ever stop being amazed that you’re real.”

you laughed softly, shifting against him. “i’m sitting right here.”

“exactly.” his smile appeared against your temple before he pressed the gentlest kiss there, just beneath your hairline, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “see?” 

“that proves nothing.” 

“it proves everything.” 

you rolled your eyes, though your cheeks warmed all the same, and juhoon seemed utterly delighted by this—he always was. 

he tilted his head slightly before pressing another kiss behind your ear. “there.” 

“juhoon.” 

“just appreciating my favourite person.” 

“you say that every day.” 

“because it’s true every day.”

his voice held such effortless certainty that it made your chest ache, as though loving you was the easiest thing he had ever done, as though it had never once occurred to him to do anything else. it was a love so heavy it was like a physical weight, anchoring you both to a moment that felt entirely disconnected from the rest of the world.

there were countless moments like that, lazy mornings when sunlight spilled through open windows like melted honey and he would take your hand simply because he wanted to, lifting your fingers to his lips to press absent-minded kisses against your knuckles whilst listening to you talk about absolutely nothing important.

“what are you doing?” you would ask, your voice heavy with sleep. 

“thinking,” he would murmur against your skin. 

“about?” 

“how nice it is that i get to hold your hand.” 

“that’s not thinking.” 

“it is for me.” another kiss, another smile, another tiny moment that seemed completely insignificant at the time, yet somehow lasted forever, weaving itself so deeply into the fabric of your soul that even the passage of centuries couldn’t entirely wash the ink of him away.

sometimes he would find you reading, curled up somewhere comfortable and entirely absorbed in another world, and rather than interrupting, he would simply settle beside you close enough that your shoulders touched—close enough that he could quietly admire you while pretending not to. 

eventually you would notice, pulling your eyes from the page to catch him in the act. “why are you staring?” you’d ask, trying to sound annoyed. 

“i wasn’t.” 

“you absolutely were.” 

“can you prove it?” 

“...no.” 

“then i’m innocent.”

before you could argue further, he would lean forward and kiss your cheek—soft, warm, unhurried, the sort of kiss that existed purely because he had wanted to give it, like a habit he had no desire to break. it was a quiet devotion that asked for nothing in return, settling over you like a familiar blanket, leaving you completely defenceless against the steady, rhythmic pull of his warmth.

once, during a long evening, your feet had begun to ache from sitting in an uncomfortable position for far too long while you watched television together. you had complained exactly once—a tiny, half-muttered sigh between scenes of whatever predictable rom-com was playing on the screen, but that was all it took.

juhoon immediately insisted on shifting, pulling your legs across his lap despite your protests, and despite your insistence that you were perfectly fine. he knelt over them slightly anyway, his fingers carefully kneading the tension from your arches whilst you tried to focus on the dialogue. 

“you’re impossible,” you informed him, staring down at him in the dim, flickering light of the tv. 

“and yet you adore me.” 

“unfortunately.” 

“there it is.” he grinned, then, after making certain you were looking right at him, he leaned down and pressed a tiny, deliberate kiss against the side of your foot, just enough to make you stare at him in absolute disbelief. 

“juhoon.” 

“what?” 

“that was ridiculous.” 

“you smiled.” 

you hated that he was right, the warmth spreading through your chest like wildfire, making it completely impossible to care about the movie anymore.

years passed, seasons changed, and the world continued its endless, indifferent turning, yet some things never altered. 

juhoon still reached for your hand first, still looked for you before anyone else in crowded rooms, and still smiled the exact same way whenever he heard your voice across a hallway. he still kissed your forehead when you were tired, your shoulder when you were sad, your hands when you were nervous, and the side of your neck when he thought you were beautiful—which, unfortunately for your dignity, seemed to be quite often.

“you know,” he whispered one evening as you rested together beneath a sky overflowing with stars, the darkness stretching out around you like a velvet canvas, “if there are other lives after this one, i hope i find you again.” 

your fingers tightened around his, a sudden, sharp ache blooming in your chest. “and if you don’t?” 

his expression softened, softer than moonlight, softer than anything you had ever known before. “then i'll spend every lifetime looking.” he leaned forward, pressing one final kiss against the place beneath your jaw—gentle, careful, full of every ounce of love he possessed, as though he wanted the feeling to remain there forever, as though some part of him knew it would, tattooing his devotion directly into your skin.

☆

centuries later, in another life entirely, you stood in front of your mirror, your fingertips brushing absent-mindedly over a mole near your neck, then one behind your ear, then another on your hand—small marks scattered across your skin like forgotten memories. you still didn’t believe the legend, not really, and yet for the briefest moment, an unfamiliar warmth settled in your chest, like the echo of a voice you couldn’t quite remember, like a promise spoken beneath starlight, or like someone, somewhere, loving you so fiercely that even time itself had failed to erase the evidence. and though neither of you remembered it now, there had once been a boy who had spent an entire lifetime proving exactly that.

the thing about fate, if it existed at all, was that it had an irritating sense of humour, because if soulmates were real, if past lives were real, if all those ridiculous stories about destined lovers and threads of fate and eternal connections were real, then surely the universe would arrange something a little more cinematic than this. surely there would be rain, or dramatic music, or a sudden rush of recognition, or at the very least some sort of celestial sign that screamed, pay attention, this is important. instead, you were carrying three iced coffees and a paper bag of pastries whilst attempting to answer a text message at the same time, which was exactly why you walked directly into somebody.

“oh my god,” the words escaped you immediately as coffee sloshed dangerously, the other person stumbling backwards as you nearly dropped everything. for one horrifying second, it seemed as though all three drinks were about to launch themselves directly onto the pavement, but somehow, miraculously, they survived. you looked up, the stranger staring at you with the same expression of startled panic.

“i’m so sorry,” he said immediately, “that was entirely my fault.”

“no, it wasn’t—”

“it definitely was.”

“i was looking at my phone.”

“and i was looking over my shoulder.”

you paused, and did he, before a soft laugh escaped him—unexpectedly bright, unexpectedly warm, and for some reason, the sound settled somewhere strange inside your chest like a coin dropping into a deep, forgotten well. 

“then perhaps we’re both idiots,” you muttered.

“that seems fair.” he grinned.

“good, i’m glad we've reached a mutual agreement,” you nodded, but for some reason, neither of you immediately left. it was odd, considering normally these sorts of interactions ended after thirty seconds of an apology and a polite smile before everyone moved on, yet here you both remained, standing in the middle of a crowded pavement having apparently forgotten how normal social interactions worked.

“did any of the drinks survive?” he asked eventually, and you glanced down at the completely intact cups.

“a miracle.”

“thank god.”

“seriously, if i’d lost these, my friends would’ve killed me.”

“that sounds slightly threatening.”

“you haven’t met them.” 

his laughter appeared again, and there it was—that strange feeling, like something deep inside you quietly straightening itself, like a puzzle piece shifting, or like recognising a melody without knowing where you’d heard it before. you ignored it, mostly because it was ridiculous; the man in front of you was a complete stranger—a very attractive stranger, unfortunately, but still a stranger.

“well,” you said, adjusting the paper bag beneath your arm, “i should probably let you continue whatever important business led to this near-fatal coffee incident.” 

“probably,” he replied, yet neither of you moved. you tried not to notice, and he seemed to be trying not to notice too, which somehow made it worse. 

“right.” 

“right.” 

silence stretched between you, a fragile thing.

“actually,” the word left his mouth at exactly the same moment you said “well—”. you both stopped, then laughed again.

“you first,” he said.

you shook your head, “no, you.” 

“i insist.” 

you rolled your eyes, “fine, i was going to say that since neither of us died, we should probably know the name of the person responsible.”

his smile widened, and for some reason, seeing it felt strangely familiar, like coming home after a very long trip. “that’s reasonable,” he said, offering his hand. you looked down at it, then back up at him, before taking it—warm fingers, a steady grip, and something about it made your heart skip just once, just enough to notice.

“i’m yn.”

for the briefest second, something flickered across his face—gone almost immediately, too quick to identify or understand—and then he smiled again, gentler this time, softer, like hearing a favourite song unexpectedly. 

“juhoon.”

the world did not stop turning, the sky did not split open, and nothing dramatic happened; people continued walking past, cars continued driving, and somewhere nearby, somebody dropped a shopping bag. everything remained exactly the same, except for the strange feeling that settled quietly between your ribs, except for the way his name seemed to linger in your mind like a line of poetry, and except for the way he looked at you for a second too long.

“well,” you said eventually. 

“well,” he echoed, and neither of you let go of the handshake immediately, which was probably normal—or maybe it wasn’t, but you honestly couldn’t tell anymore.

somewhere above you, hidden behind clouds and years and forgotten memories, fate smiled to itself, because after spending lifetimes searching through the dark, juhoon had finally found you again; he just didn’t know it yet, and neither did you.

© hyuneskkami ❦

even when james became a trainee, you guys texted every day, met up whenever you could, and stayed close. to this day, you both refuse to admit you’re anything more than “just friends.” the members never let you live it down though. every time you two do something couple-y, they always say “just friends don’t do that.”

it was keonho’s idea to do slideshow night after he saw it online. it’s where you make slideshows about whatever you'd like and present them.

you made a whole presentation on why ___ is the best food. james did his favorite music artists and why. seonghyeon argued why martin should be drafted into the nba, and keonho passionately defended why spiderman is the best superhero.

then it was martin’s turn. he cleared his throat, looked straight at you and james, and announced his title: “top 5 things ‘just friends’ don’t do.”

the second the words left his mouth, everyone turned to stare at you two.

“seriously,” james said, smiling but clearly annoyed.

“you don’t want me to present?” martin asked, smiling.

you spoke before james could. “no, go ahead.”

#1: "friends never have to say they’re just friends."

he wasn’t wrong. every time family or strangers saw you two together, they’d glance between you and go, “so… are you guys, like, you know?”

you’d both immediately respond, “nooo, we’re just friends.” james would nod, “mhm, childhood friends, actually.”

martin let out a little laugh to himself before flipping to the next slide.

#2: "friends don’t sleep in the same bed together."

you and james had only done that once… or twice… or a few times… it doesn’t matter. your ac was broken at your apartment, so he let you crash at his dorm. just sleep. obviously.

before moving on, martin pointed at james. “this one’s specifically for you.”

#3: "friends don’t spend their whole entire bank account on the other friend."

you weren’t fully sold on this one. you’ve known each other since you were kids—spending money on each other felt normal. like that time james bought you a chanel bag with all the cute chains and a vivienne westwood necklace to match his the second he got his first idol paycheck. nothing crazy:)

#4: "best friends don’t touch as much as y’all."

another fair point. you hug a lot. he sometimes rests his head on your shoulder from behind. it’s not like you’ve ever sat on his lap or anything… 👀👀

the fifth slide wasn’t even a real point.

#5: "just say you guys want each other bad at this point." martin threw his hands up dramatically.

you and james shared a glance.

“we’re just friends though,” james said.

you agreed. everyone in the room groaned.

“bro, c’mon mannn,” seonghyeon complained.

james just smiled, clearly done with their nonsense. “i’m tired anyway, i’m heading to bed.”

“it’s only 12pm,” keonho said. martin nodded in agreement.

“yeah well i’m older than you guys. i need my sleep.”

as james walked out, keonho called after him, “grandpa!” and the rest of them cracked up.

you followed a little after. the second you left the room, the members all looked at each other holding in their laughter.

you walked into james’ room. he was pulling out clothes, about to shower.

“you good?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“yeah, i’m good. you?”

“yeah, i’m fine.”

“sorry if martin’s slideshow made you uncomfortable.”

“no, it was fine. i actually liked it. it was funny.”

he smiled, glancing back at you while digging through his drawers for sleep pants. “mmm, yeah. some parts were funny.”

you flopped down on his bed, way too comfortable for someone who’s only been in it “a few” times.

“sooooooo,” you dragged out.

“soooooo?” james mocked, turning around.

“hypothetically… if we weren’t ‘just friends,’ would you mind that?”

he fully turned to face you, sleep pants in hand. “why do you ask?”

“well… i just feel like we act more like a couple than friends.”

“oh yeah?” he said, stepping closer.

“yeah.”

he paused for a second, then asked, a little unsure, “do you wanna be my girlfriend?”

you were caught off guard. “uhh… i mean, yeah.”

“really?” james looked genuinely surprised.

“mhm.”

he did a tiny silent celebratory dance. then he walked over, peppered your whole face with kisses, and planted one short, sweet kiss on your lips while you smiled. no hesitation at all—which was kinda shocking for someone who “never” kissed their best friend before 👀

“i’ll be right back, gotta grab something from the kitchen.”

“okay,” you smiled.

james opened the door and found all the members with their ears pressed against it, trying (and failing) to look casual.

he laughed under his breath. before he could say anything, keonho blurted, “you two dating now?”

james smiled and nodded. the members immediately started cheering and hyping him up like he’d just won the lottery. he threw his hands in the air, grinning like a dumbass who finally got the thing he’d been wanting for years—which tbh wasn’t that far from the truth.

“Ugh,” she groans suddenly, dropping her phone onto the desk dramatically. “This guy won’t stop texting me. I’m actually going insane.”

You barely glance up. “Girl, just ghost him.”

“I did.”

“Block him.”

“I did that too.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Yoonchae grabs her phone again and waves it around.

“He's spamming me with emails, Yn. Emails. My phone is literally going to explode.”

You laugh, nearly dropping your brush.

“That’s because you’re a baddie.”

“Thanks.” She grins at her reflection before pointing her lash curler at you. “You are too.”

The compliment makes you smile, but only for a second. Unlike Yoonchae, boys aren’t exactly throwing themselves into your mail inbox. Actually, any inbox.

You stare at yourself in the mirror from where you’re sitting on the floor.

Maybe your eyeliner looks uneven. Maybe your hair isn’t sitting right. Maybe you're not funny enough.

You sigh, putting your blush brush away and reaching for your highlighter.

“Do you think anyone wants me?”

Yoonchae pauses mid-curl and slowly lowers the lash curler. Her eyes meet yours through the mirror, and the look she gives you is almost offended.

“Yn.”

“What?”

“I think everyone wants you.”

You roll your eyes. “Be serious.”

“I am serious.”

“You have no evidence.”

“I have plenty of evidence.”

“Name one.”

Yoonchae’s lips twitch. That’s when you make the mistake of speaking again.

“Do you know Kim Juhoon?”

The second his name leaves your mouth, her entire expression changes. A smirk slowly appears, the kind that immediately makes you nervous with anticipation.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Yoonchae.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“You definitely know something.”

“I know nothing.”

She reaches quickly for her phone.

You narrow your eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“You are doing something.”

“Nope.”

You hear her unlocking her phone, her fingers scrolling, tapping, then scrolling more, until you hear a ringing noise.

Your eyes widen with fear. “No.”

You shake your head.

“Yoonchae.”

She doesn't answer.

“Are you calling him?”

She holds up a finger to quiet you down.

“Yoonchae!”

Before you can launch yourself across the room and steal her phone, the line connects.

“Hello?”

Your soul physically leaves your body. You stop whatever you were doing and slap both hands over your face. “Oh, my god.”

Yoonchae, on the other hand, is fighting for her life not to laugh.

“Hey, Ju. I have a quick question.”

On the other end, his voice sounds slightly confused.

“Uh, hey. Okay, sure. Go ahead.”

You are already shaking your head violently, eyes wide with fear. Absolutely not.

Yoonchae ignores you completely.

“Say, what do you think of Yn?”

You stop breathing. Worse, Juhoon doesn’t answer right away.

A few seconds pass. You think you’re completely done for and will never recover from this. You're already planning your escape to Mexico.

“…Why are you asking?”

Yoonchae shrugs even though he can’t see her.

“No reason. I just thought you’d be cute together.”

You nearly choke. You knock your makeup bag over, and all your products spill over the floor, making a loud noise.

Meanwhile, Yoonchae is smiling like the devil himself. Oh, she is enjoying this too much. But you'll enjoy ending her life more.

The line stays quiet for another moment, then you hear him exhale softly. “Oh.”

Your heart is beating so loudly you’re convinced both of them can hear it.

You watch Yoonchae’s face closely, waiting.

“I think she’s cute.”

Your jaw drops. Yoonchae’s eyes go so wide they nearly fall out of her head.

And somehow that’s not even the worst part, because after a second, you hear movement on the other end, like he’s pacing, thinking, probably brushing a hand through his hair.

“Actually…”

Your stomach flips.

“What would she think about dinner?”

You shoot to your feet so fast you nearly trip over your open makeup bag. Yoonchae whips around in her chair, both of you staring at each other with matching expressions of complete disbelief.

“Dinner?” you mouth.

Yoonchae mouths back, “Dinner!”

“I think she’d love to,” she answers immediately.

The line goes quiet before Juhoon lets out a small laugh, you can practically hear his smile through the phone.

“Then I’ll text her.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper.

“Oh my god,” Yoonchae whisper-yells back.

“Okay,” she finally says.

“Thanks, Yoonchae.”

“No problem. Bye!”

You slowly move beside her chair, still trying to process the fact that this is real, that this is actually happening. That Kim Juhoon just asked you out. Indirectly, but still asked you out.

Yoonchae notices your panic and holds the phone closer as a silent invitation.

You stare at it, building up some courage, then lean forward.

“Bye, Ju.”

For a second, there’s only static.

Then, a soft laugh. “Bye, pretty.”

And the call ends.

For exactly one second, neither of you moves, neither of you speaks, neither of you breathes. Then Yoonchae lets out a scream so loud it could probably be heard from another continent.

“Oh, my God!”

She throws her phone into the air.

You grab her shoulders, not sure if to steady her or if to steady yourself.

“Oh, my God!”

“I can’t believe he said that!”

“He called you cute! And pretty!”

“He asked me to dinner!”

“He asked you to dinner!”

The two of you start jumping around her room like complete maniacs.

Yoonchae is screaming, you’re screaming, and someone downstairs is probably wondering if there’s been an emergency, but neither of you cares.

Your phone lights up on the vanity.

A new message, from Juhoon.

freaky!james who loves when you take him in your mouth. you don’t need to suck him off; the feeling of your pretty lips being wrapped around his cock, the sounds of you gagging against his length is more than enough to have him moaning and cumming as he shoves himself impossibly deeper down your throat to ensure you taste every bit of him.

freaky!james who can’t control how loud he is when you suck and kitten lick at his tip, his pre-cum smearing all over your lips as your hands cup his fat balls, squeezing every now and then. he’d take that over a blowjob any day of the week.

freaky!james who fingers you until you’re a blabbering mess. his arm is wrapped around your waist to stop your squirming and to keep your back against his chest as your eyes roll to the back of your head and your legs shake. he can’t help but smile as incoherent blabbers leave your mouth while his fingers are plunged deep into your pussy, your juices dripping down his wrist.

freaky!james who kneels beneath you every time before you guys go out. his eyes are hazy as he gazes up at you, soaking in every bit of your beauty. he presses his face against your tummy, kissing over the fabric of your clothes before his nose is pressed against your covered cunt as he inhales deeply, his big hands groping your thighs while soft groans escape his lips.

freaky!james who will do it in every and any position. missionary consists of your chests pressed against each other, soft and slow kisses with his hand around your throat, squeezing gently. prone bone consists of his arm wrapped around your neck, his chest pressed against your back while his thrusts are deep and rough, his fat balls slapping your clit every time your pelvis connects with your lower back. doggy consists of his hand pressing your head against the pillow to ensure you keep still while his cock penetrates your insides, going deeper and deeper every thrust as his fingers have a bruising grip on your hips.

Tonight is no different, a Friday night, a movie playing in the background, the two of you tangled under a fuzzy blanket that smells faintly like his cologne. The room is dim, cozy and peaceful. You rest your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear. Then he presses a soft, absentminded kiss to your neck. Once, then again. His breath is warm against your skin. It’s innocent at first, just a habit, a show of affection. But the way your body tenses and your breath catches, tells him something has shifted.

You turn your head slightly, just enough for your noses to brush and then you feel it again. He cursed under his breath, pulling back a little. “Shit—sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to—” You blush, heart starting to beat faster. He looks so flustered, so careful, that it made something inside you ache. You didn’t want him to hold back anymore. You wanted to show him that you were ready for him.

So before you cantalk yourself out of it, you slip off the couch and kneel down in front of him. “Wh–what are you doing?” James stammers, sitting up quickly, eyes wide. His heartbeat is loud in the quiet room. You look up at him with big eyes, your voice quiet and shy. “I wanna help you, James.” He stares at you for a heartbeat, his chest rising and falling faster than before. “Baby, you sure?” You nod softly.

Then his expression shifts, guilt melting into something darker. His hand moves to your jaw, tilting your face up gently but firmly. “Okay, princess…” he breathes, voice low, “then come here.” He kisses you hard, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger he’s been holding back for weeks. You whimper into the kiss, your fingers curling into his shirt as he deepens it, breathing ragged.

Then he takes your hand, guiding it down to his lap, to the hard outline pressing through his sweats. The moment your palm brushes over him, he lets out a low, shaky groan, his hips twitching up slightly to your touch. You squeeze him softly, and he breaks the kiss just enough to murmur a curse against your lips, “fuck…” You stroke him again, feeling the tension build in his body before your hands trail lower.

His breath catches when you start to tug his sweats down, leaving him in his boxers. You press soft, teasing kisses through the thin fabric still separating you, and he exhales, “Don’t tease me, baby.” voice low and pleading. When you finally pull the last layer away, your eyes widen—he’s bigger than you expected, and for a second, all you can do is stare, heat rushing to your face.

Your lips part as you look up at him. “J-James…” you whisper, words barely finding their way out. “You're huge...” He lets out a soft chuckle, brushing his fingers through your hair with a tenderness that makes your stomach flutter. “You're gonna take it tho...,” he murmurs, “Right, baby?” You swallow hard, nodding anyway, your hands trembling slightly as you reach for him, careful and curious, wanting to show him you’re ready.

You cup him gently with both hands, feeling the size better now. He groans softly, fingers threading through your hair, holding you close as his breathing quickens. You lean in, brushing your lips and tongue over him in soft, teasing motions, and he hisses, low and needy. “Mmh…keep going, baby.” he murmurs, his eyes half-lidded. You can already feel your panties getting wetter and wetter by the second.

You move deeper, your lips and hands working together in a slow, nervous rhythm now. His hand finds your hair, grounding himself, his thumb brushing against your scalp as he exhales your name like it’s the only thing he can say. You hum softly on his length sending shivers through him, and his hand tightens just slightly in your hair. “Holy—” he cuts himself off with a sharp breath, eyes fluttering shut. “Don’t stop, baby...” his voice rough and strained, every word edged with pleasure and disbelief.

Your hands tighten against him as you keep moving, bobbing your head up and down, deeper and deeper. His breathing turns rough, and his hand slides to your face, thumb brushing over your cheek tenderly, catching the tears that fall from your eyes. “Doing so good, princess—fuck...” he murmurs, “Love your sweet little mouth...” The words melt into a low groan and you softly moan around him.

You lick and suck eagerly as he pants. “'Fuck, I'm gonna cum baby—nghh—shit..!” You stroke him just a little more, slowly taking him almost out of your mouth, and point on your tongue with your index finger. “Holy fuck, baby—you're so hot—fuck, im cumming...” your tongue softly touches his tip, waiting, until he finally cums on it. Milky liquid covers your mouth and chin, and you lick and swallow every drop your boyfriend gives you.

He’s breathing hard, cheeks flushed and chest rising with every uneven breath. When you look up at him, he reaches for you without hesitation, cupping your face and kissing you with all the warmth and gratitude he can’t put into words. “Thank you, baby,” he whispers against your lips, voice raw and full of relief. “You were amazing.”

He tucks his now wrecked cock back in his boxers, pulling you into his lap. His arms wrap around you, strong and steady. He presses a soft kiss to your temple, thumb tracing lazy circles on your back. The world feels still—just the sound of his heartbeat beneath your ear and the soft hum of his voice as he whispers, “Took it like a champ...”

To be continued...

a/n: just wanna say that idc what anyone says abt this, james is an ADULT! I won't write for the other members obviously since they're kids, but james is 20 years old. periodt. this was gonna be longer and a whole fic but since this is probably the first smut fic of james on here i wanted to do something small to see how it will go. pt 2 will come out soon.

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the thing about being a part of cortis was that you learnt very early that challenges rarely stayed about the actual challenge for long, because at some point—usually within the first thirty seconds—everyone collectively forgot what they were supposed to be doing and started treating the entire thing like a scientific breakthrough, a psychological experiment, or a competition to see who could embarrass themselves the fastest in front of a camera.

today’s challenge was soda. just soda.

the objective was simple enough that even the staff had looked relieved while explaining it, because for once there weren’t a million separate rules and a complicated scoring system involved, unlike your seniors’ (seventeen sunbaenims) games. 

all your group had to do was make a bottle of soda explode as high as possible. that was it, which, naturally meant the boys were about to make it far more complicated than necessary.

the explanation had barely ended before everyone scattered around the field, clutching their bottles and immediately developing wildly different approaches.

juhoon entered what could only be described as ‘professor mode’, turning his bottle over in his hands while muttering something about pressure, carbonation and liquid displacement under his breath. every few seconds, he’d tap the side of it thoughtfully and nod to himself, as though he was making groundbreaking discoveries nobody else could possibly understand.

martin somehow managed to be even worse. rather than actually experimenting with the bottle, he’d started reading the label. not skimming over it, not checking one or two details, but genuinely standing there and reading every single line as though he expected a written examination afterwards.

“dude, why are you reading the ingredients?” you questioned. 

he didn’t even glance up. “because there could be useful information.”

“on the nutritional label?”

“you don’t know that.”

“i think i do.”

“well, i’m covering all possibilities.”

the camera immediately zoomed in on him.

the editors, clearly recognised an opportunity when they saw one, because they would later add dramatic music and a caption that read: future scientist martin? ∘ ∘ ∘ ( °ヮ° ) ?

across the field, seonghyeon had already decided he was an expert despite doing absolutely nothing. he shook his bottle once, nodded to himself and announced, with all the confidence of a man unveiling a revolutionary invention, “i already know how to win.”

everyone turned to stare at him.

“you haven’t done anything,” juhoon pointed out. 

“exactly.”

“that doesn’t make any sense.”

“it will. later.”

it didn’t. nobody ever understood what he meant, least of all seonghyeon himself. 

keonho wasn’t much better either, to be completely honest. he was standing with his bottle upside down, staring at it with a level of concentration that suggested he was trying to communicate with it telepathically. every now and then he’d flip it around, narrow his eyes and continue staring.

“what are you doing?” martin questioned seriously. 

“thinking.”

“about what?”

“not sure yet.”

“okay. i guess?”

“i’ll let you know when i figure it out.”

and then there was james. you could always tell when he became competitive because he developed this frighteningly serious expression, like somebody had personally challenged his honour and he now had no choice but to dedicate the next several hours of his life to proving them wrong.

he was holding the bottle in both hands, examining it from every angle imaginable—turning it around, looking at the cap, looking at the label, looking at the liquid inside. he genuinely looked like somebody who’d just been handed classified government documents.

you watched him for a few moments while he continued to watch the bottle which, unfortunately, refused to reveal any state secrets.

then you looked down at your own, and opened it.

the soft hiss of the cap wasn’t particularly loud, but somehow it managed to bring the entire room to a halt.

every head snapped towards you. conversations paused; movements stopped. even some of the staff looked interested.

the editors would later add serious music over the footage because the boys genuinely looked convinced they were about to witness some kind of revolutionary strategy. you could practically see the thoughts passing through their heads.

‘yn’s doing something.’

‘she’s figured it out, hasn’t she?’

‘she has a plan.’

‘damn it, we can’t compete with someone who finished high school, unlike some of us.’

you twisted the cap open and lifted the bottle to your lips, and for a moment, everything in the field just… paused, like the entire challenge had collectively decided to stop breathing and wait for something important to happen.

juhoon was mid-gesture, still talking about carbonation like he was presenting a thesis, martin had frozen with the label in his hands, keonho had tilted his bottle slightly mid-thought, and even james, who had been staring at his own drink like it held the secrets of the universe, looked up immediately.

you took a sip, then another, then another, before lowering the bottle with a small, satisfied breath.

“ah,” you said. “it’s still cold. nice.”

there was a beat of silence, heavy and immediate, like everybody was processing something deeply offensive.

“that’s it?” seonghyeon asked, throwing his hands up like he physically could not accept what he had just witnessed.

“you just drank it?” juhoon said, sounding genuinely betrayed, as though you had broken some unspoken rule of physics itself.

“we all stopped working for that?” keonho added, already rubbing his face like the situation was giving him a headache.

martin didn’t say anything at first, just stared at you for a long moment before slowly looking away, as if he needed recovery time.

james lowered his bottle slightly, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “you had everybody’s attention,” he said, still looking at you like there had to be more to it than this.

“i was thirsty,” you replied simply, like that explained absolutely everything.

“that’s not the point,” he said immediately, shaking his head like the answer offended him.

“it feels like the point,” you added, taking another small sip like nothing in the world was urgent.

“you looked so confident,” he said, gesturing slightly with his bottle, still trying to reverse-engineer what went wrong.

“because i was thirsty,” you repeated.

“you made it look like you had a strategy,” he said, narrowing his eyes slightly now.

“i did have a strategy,” you said, pausing just enough for him to react.

“what strategy?” he asked immediately, already regretting asking.

you lifted the bottle again, almost proudly this time. “drink,” you said.

the collective reaction was instant, like something inside everyone had just given up at the same time.

“that’s it,” seonghyeon said, leaning back dramatically.

“i can’t believe this,” keonho said, turning away like he needed space from the disappointment.

“we all stopped for her hydration,” juhoon said flatly, staring at the sky like it had answers.

martin covered his face with both hands. “bruh.”

james just stood there for a moment, still looking at you, still processing, still refusing to accept that this was the full story. “you know what,” he said eventually.

“what?” you asked.

“i actually think that’s worse,” he added.

you smiled immediately. “thank you,” you said.

“that wasn’t a compliment,” he said at once, though his voice had already softened slightly.

“i’m choosing to believe it was,” you replied.

james shook his head, but there was already a faint smile threatening at the corner of his mouth, like he was annoyed at himself for even finding this funny.

“you realise we’re supposed to be winning, right?” he reminded you.

“you realise i am winning, right? this isn’t a team game.” you rolled your eyes. 

“it’s not a competition yet.”

“it is, in my heart,” you sighed.

“that’s not a real category to classify this under,” he said.

“it is, if you lose there,” you replied smoothly. 

somewhere behind him, seonghyeon laughed. “oh, he’s gone,” he said.

“what?” james asked quickly.

“you’ve been smiling the whole time,” keonho added, pointing like it was evidence in court.

“i have not,” james defended immediately.

“you have,” you bit back at the same time.

“no,” he said again, weaker now.

“you literally laughed,” juhoon added.

“that doesn’t count,” james rubbed his forehead.

“it absolutely counts,” martin said quietly from behind his hands.

before james could recover, juhoon stepped forward and casually slung an arm over his shoulder.

“james,” he said.

“what,” james replied, already suspicious.

“if you’re done flirting with the competition,” juhoon said flatly, “you should probably go back to your bottle.”

there was a full second of silence, and then everything collapsed at once. james froze completely while you nearly choked. keonho lost it, and somewhere beside him, seonghyeon practically fell over laughing, and martin just slowly shook his head like this was the worst joke ever.

and the challenge, for all practical purposes, stopped mattering right there.

the next thirty minutes somehow became six completely different challenges happening at the same time, in the same space, with the same people, except nobody was doing what they were actually supposed to be doing and everyone had just accepted that the rules were more of a suggestion than anything else.

juhoon, somehow, had fully committed himself to becoming the self-appointed scientist of the group, which meant that every few minutes he would gather everyone around like a lecture was about to begin, and proceed to explain actual physics with the seriousness of someone being graded on it.

“pressure increases when gas molecules are trapped in a confined space,” he said.

everyone nodded like this was extremely important information.

“carbon dioxide builds up when shaken,” he added.

more nodding.

“and bottle structure affects explosion height,” he continued.

deep, respectful silence. it genuinely felt like a classroom for about three seconds. then immediately, everything collapsed again because right next to him, keonho was spinning in slow circles while holding his soda bottle like he had been possessed by a spirit of chaos.

“why are you doing… that?” seonghyeon asked, watching him with genuine concern.

“momentum,” keonho replied, not even slowing down.

“that’s not how momentum works,” juhoon said immediately, already sounding tired of him.

keonho stopped spinning just long enough to squint at him. “are you sure?” he asked.

there was a pause. juhoon opened his mouth, and closed it. he looked at the bottle, then at keonho, and finally at the staff, who were now actively pretending not to interfere.

“no,” juhoon admitted.

“then let me cook,” keonho said, immediately resuming his spinning like that was final scientific authority. nobody had any response to that.

martin, meanwhile, had started reading the bottle label again, except now he was muttering to himself like he was trying to decode a hidden message embedded in the fizz. “there’s no way they put this much sodium for no reason,” he said seriously.

“there is a reason,” seonghyeon said.

“what reason?” 

“to confuse you.” 

martin nodded like that made perfect sense and went right back to reading. you sighed heavily. 

on the other side of the clearing, james was still watching you and your bottle with the kind of focus that suggested he was actively trying to predict your next mistake, except every time he looked away for half a second, he’d come back to find you doing absolutely nothing productive again.

“you’re not even trying,” james said.

“i am trying,” you replied.

“you’re drinking.”

“strategically.”

“that is not a strategy.”

“it is if it works,” you countered quickly. 

“it’s not working,” he said firmly. 

“yet,” you corrected.

“that’s not comforting.”

“it’s not meant to be, loser.”

somewhere behind him, keonho suddenly stopped spinning and nearly collided with juhoon. “i think i unlocked something,” he said.

“you unlocked dizziness,” juhoon countered.

“same thing.”

“it absolutely is not.”

“you wouldn’t understand.”

“i literally explained physics five minutes ago,” juhoon said flatly.

“yeah.”

“and?”

“i ignored it,” keonho said proudly, moving towards the 2-metre martin cutout to vandalise it.

there was a moment of silence where juhoon just stared into the camera like he was asking for help, like he was some fictional character breaking the fourth wall.

martin, still reading his label, suddenly gasped slightly. “wait,” he said. every one of you turned to look at him, wondering what new information he could’ve found this time.

“what now?” seonghyeon asked cautiously.

“it says ‘best served chilled,’” martin said.

“yeah,” you said slowly, “it’s a drink.”

martin nodded like he had just discovered gravity. “so temperature affects explosion potential.”

juhoon slowly put his head in his hands. “no.” he sighed.

“maybe,” martin said.

“no,” juhoon repeated.

“i think it does.”

“martin, please stop trying to invent science.”

but martin was already gone, fully committed to his theory. and in the middle of all of it, keonho started spinning again for absolutely no reason.

“don’t restart that,” juhoon said immediately.

“too late,” keonho said.

“it wasn’t even paused.” james sighed wearily.

“it was, when he went to draw on fake martin with love twenty times that he has for the real one.”

seonghyeon had, at some point, fully decided that his bottle was no longer just a bottle, but a personal rival in a long-standing feud only he was aware of. he was staring it down with the kind of intensity usually reserved for final bosses in video games or extremely important exams.

“you think you’re better than me?” he said, narrowing his eyes at the bottle like it had personally offended his family lineage.

“what?” juhoon asked immediately, already sounding like he regretted being born into this situation.

“the soda,” seonghyeon clarified without looking away.

“why are you… talking to it?” keonho asked, slowly tilting his head like he was trying to understand a new language.

“it needs to know who’s in charge,” seonghyeon said firmly.

martin, still reading his label like it contained national secrets, gave a small nod as if it was a completely reasonable method.

the editors would later cut to a dramatic close-up of the bottle, then back to seonghyeon, then add cinematic battle music like the soda had just entered its villain arc.

juhoon slowly rubbed his forehead. “we are losing control of reality.”

“we never had it,” keonho replied, gently spinning the bottle again for absolutely no scientific reason.

“you can stop spinning now,” juhoon added.

“no,” keonho said simply.

“why not?” 

“it feels correct.” 

that was apparently the end of that discussion.

“let’s try launching the soda horizontally. for science!” seonghyeon suggested. 

“no,” james yelled from nearby. 

you, meanwhile, were sitting slightly off to the side on one of the crates, bottle in hand, watching everything unfold with the calm expression of someone who had accepted long ago that no amount of logic would ever survive a cortis challenge.

you took another sip.

“are you just going to keep drinking that?” james asked, appearing beside you like he had been trying not to come over but failed anyway.

“it’s mine,” you said simply, glaring up at him.

“it’s a challenge,” he replied, as if that explained everything wrong with the situation.

“it’s also a drink,” you said, aggressively taking another sip for emphasis.

“it’s not supposed to be,” james said, but his voice had already softened a little, like he was losing the argument and he knew it.

“you’re just mad i’m not suffering like the rest of you.” you laughed.

“i am not mad,” james said immediately.

you looked at him; he looked at you. he blinked first.

“you’re definitely mad,” you said.

“i’m focused,” james corrected.

“on me?” 

there was a fraction of a pause too long to be innocent. “on the challenge,” he said quickly, though it came out slightly less convincing than intended.

from across the set, keonho immediately pointed. “ohhh,” he said loudly.

“don’t start,” james warned.

“he’s definitely started,” juhoon muttered.

martin didn’t even look up. “statistically, this is predictable,”

“nobody asked you,” seonghyeon said, still glaring at his bottle like it owed him money.

you just leaned back slightly, watching james carefully try to recover whatever dignity he thought he still had.

“you’re distracting everyone,” he said, gesturing vaguely between you and the growing chaos.

“i’m sitting,” you said, grinning. 

“you’re existing loudly.”

“that’s not a real thing.”

“it is when you do it.”

you smiled a little at that, because unfortunately it landed just enough to be annoying. “you’re smiling,” you pointed out.

“i’m not,” he said immediately.

“you are.”

“i’m not,” he repeated, weaker this time.

“you absolutely are,” you said, leaning slightly closer just to make it worse.

“prove it,” he said, already regretting his words.

you tilted your head towards the cameras without looking away from him. “they already did.”

james froze for half a second, then immediately looked away like he had been physically betrayed by the entire production team.

“i hate this,” he muttered.

“no you don’t,” you said casually.

that made him pause again, just briefly. behind him, seonghyeon suddenly clapped his hands together like he had reached enlightenment.

“right,” seonghyeon said.

everyone turned to look at him. 

“what now?” juhoon asked tiredly.

“we test horizontal soda distance,” seonghyeon announced again, like it was a brand new idea.

“we already said no to that,” james said immediately.

“you said no,” seonghyeon corrected.

“we all meant no,” you added.

“i didn’t agree to anything,” martin said softly, still reading. wait, what the fuck was he still reading anyway? the package didn’t even have that many words. 

“you never do,” keonho said under his breath. “stupid kebab guy.”

you slowly stood up at that point, because unfortunately, once seonghyeon entered his… phase, there was no stopping the descent. “you’re actually going to do this?” you asked, walking closer to the group.

“it’s important data,” seonghyeon said.

“it’s soda,” you replied.

“exactly.”

you stared at him for a moment, then turned slightly to james. “do you hear how this sounds?” you asked.

james exhaled through his nose like he was physically holding himself together. “i hear it,” he said calmly.

“and?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“and i hate it,” he admitted honestly.

“same,” you agreed.

“thank you,” he replied immediately, like that was the first normal interaction he had all day.

“but.”

“yn, no,” he said firmly. 

“but—”

“don’t,” he warned. 

you ignored him anyway. “it could be funny, you know.”

“that’s how it starts.”

and unfortunately, that was all it took—because five seconds later, you were standing in the line too, bottle in hand, while juhoon looked like he was questioning every academic principle he had ever trusted, keonho was already bouncing on his heels, martin was carefully measuring nothing, seonghyeon looked victorious for reasons no one understood, and james was standing slightly too close to you for someone who claimed he was ‘focused on the challenge’.

“if this goes wrong—” james started quietly beside you.

you looked up at him. “it will.”

he exhaled. “yeah,” he said, walking away to focus on his bottle. “it definitely will.”

nearby, martin was somehow becoming redder by the minute, and it had nothing to do with carbonation, physics, or any of the science juhoon had been desperately trying to explain earlier. it was entirely because the entire group had collectively decided that his new name was “tomartin,” and they had decided that calling him that only once was not nearly enough.

“tomartin,” seonghyeon called out, far too pleased with himself.

“stop,” martin said immediately, reading a new label like it might protect him from emotional damage.

“tomartin,” keonho repeated, walking past him just to say it again.

“please,” martin said, voice already going slightly higher, which only made it worse.

“tomartin,” juhoon added, without even looking up.

martin finally snapped. “i’m trying to focus,” he said, loudly enough that the bottle in his hands almost shook.

the editors zoomed in on his face at that exact moment.

his cheeks were already fully red, his expression somewhere between genuine distress and deep regret for ever agreeing to appear in this challenge in the first place.

and then, as if the universe wanted to make it worse, the editora would later add a caption: TOMARTIN LEVEL 78  (,,>﹏<,,)

“i’m serious,” martin said again, weaker this time.

“tomartin,” seonghyeon added instantly.

“stop,” martin whined, barely holding on now.

“tomartin,” keonho said, leaning slightly closer.

martin made a sound that could only be described as the emotional equivalent of a system crash. his face somehow became even redder.

you were standing slightly off to the side with your bottle, watching the entire situation unfold like it was a nature documentary you had not signed up for but were now invested in anyway.

“he’s going to combust,” you said quietly.

“he’s already halfway there,” juhoon replied, not even looking up from his own bottle experiments.

“tomartin,” seonghyeon whispered again, just to be cruel.

martin pointed at him without looking. “if you say it one more time,” he said slowly, “i’m leaving the industry.”

that, somehow, made everyone laugh harder. 

and right in the middle of it, james entered what could only be described as his most dangerous form—competitive. which meant he stopped being subtle, stopped being normal, and started behaving like every second was a personal evaluation of his entire existence.

every few minutes, he would just appear beside you without warning, like a glitch—a very serious, very focused, very good-looking glitch.

he would inspect your bottle first, then inspect you. then sigh like you were both equally suspicious.

“what are you doing?” he asked.

“nothing,” you replied.

“that’s not a strategy,” he said immediately.

“maybe it is,” you said calmly.

“it isn’t.”

“we’ll see.”

he stared at you for a second longer than necessary, like he was trying to figure out if you were genuinely unbothered or just chaos in human form. then he walked away.

only to come back five minutes later with the exact same energy.

“what about now?” he asked.

“still nothing.”

“you’re impossible.”

“thank you.”

“not a compliment.”

“i know.”

and somehow, that made him pause for half a second longer than usual, like he was re-evaluating whether you were actually winning or just making him lose, except this time, things went slightly wrong in a different way. because when keonho shook his bottle too aggressively in the background, it sprayed a fine mist of soda into the air, and a few droplets caught the light before drifting straight into your face—just enough to hit your eye properly and make you flinch immediately.

“oh,” you said softly, stepping back a little.

“what happened?” seonghyeon asked.

“did it get in your eye?” juhoon asked, already sounding like he was preparing for another disaster.

you nodded slightly, blinking fast as your eye started to sting and water a little. before anyone else could properly react, james was already moving—not rushed; not panicked; just immediately there, like he had decided this was no longer part of the game.

“don’t rub it,” he said quietly.

“i’m not,” you replied, blinking again.

“wait,” he instructed, already turning slightly. he walked a few steps away, then came back with a bottle of water from the side table, uncapping it quickly but carefully. “here,” he said, softer now, “look up a bit.”

you did, still blinking.

he didn’t make a big scene of it, just tilted the water gently, letting a small, controlled stream wash near your eye rather than dumping it all at once—like martin might have done—his focus completely fixed like everything else in the room had stopped existing.

“tell me if it stings,” he said slowly. 

“it’s fine,” you said after a second, voice quieter than before.

“okay,” james said, still watching closely anyway.

he paused, then dabbed lightly with his hand, not your face directly, just carefully checking again like he didn’t trust the situation yet.

“better?” he asked.

you blinked a few times.

“yeah,” you said.

behind him, seonghyeon was still yelling ‘tomartin’, martin was still visibly fighting for his life, and keonho had already started shaking his bottle again like nothing had happened. but james didn’t move immediately. he just stayed there for a second longer than necessary, watching to make sure you were actually fine.

“you’re still red,” james said quietly, “martin’s twin.”

“yeah,” you replied, blinking once more, “keonho almost murdered my face with soda.”

“idiot,” he said instantly, without thinking.

“him or me?” you asked lightly.

“him,” he replied without hesitation, which made you smile a little. 

he exhaled, stepped back slightly, and finally remembered the rest of the chaos existed again. “this is why we can’t have normal challenges,” he muttered.

“you love it,” you said.

“i don’t,” he said automatically, but he was already smiling again anyway.

eventually, the challenge shifted into the stealing game, which, in theory, was supposed to be the simplest round of all, but in practice immediately became the point where every remaining shred of structure in the room quietly left.

the objective was straightforward enough—protect your bottle while everyone else tried to steal it, except the moment the round started, everyone collectively forgot the ‘protect’ part and defaulted to pure chaos instead.

juhoon attempted strategy, immediately assigning positions and calling out angles like this was some kind of tactical simulation, only for nobody to listen past the first sentence—why the fuck did he think you were going to listen to him when he was the target? you, personally, thoroughly believed he was stupid. 

martin attempted negotiation, stepping forward like he was about to propose peace terms, but the second he opened his mouth and realised everyone was looking at him, he turned so red that even the staff started laughing in the background.

“we can talk about this,” martin said carefully.

“tomartin is negotiating,” seonghyeon reported instantly.

“no,” martin said, already breaking.

“tomartin is flustered,” keonho added, walking right past him.

martin physically gave up mid-sentence.

keonho attempted violence, which mostly involved sprinting directly at whoever tried to steal his bottle, without any long-term planning or regard for personal safety. he soon switched to giving up, and moved towards the life-sized martin cutout, opting to talk to him with sincerity.

“it’s tiring to stand for so long, isn’t it, jagiya?” he whispered to the cardboard, placing it horizontally in his lap and patting it. “i’ve got you. please just don’t ignore me.” he pouted.

meanwhile, seonghyeon attempted something that could only be described as chaos, shouting phrases and fake threats that contradicted themselves every two seconds while occasionally forgetting what he was supposed to be doing.

and james, for reasons that made perfect sense only to him, immediately targeted you way to efficiently. your round started, bottle secured in your hands, posture steady, already bracing for impact.

“go, go, go,” keonho shouted, immediately lunging forward.

“get it,” martin added, following far too closely behind.

“why are you both yelling?” you asked, twisting your body away as they both missed in completely different directions.

the bottle stayed perfectly upright, barely even tilting.

you shifted it behind your back, then to your side, then back into your hand again, every movement smooth, controlled, almost annoyingly stable.

“how is she doing that?” seonghyeon asked, genuinely offended.

“look at her grip,” james said, squinting.

“she’s evolved,” keonho said, immediately trying again and failing again.

“she’s become one with the bottle,” martin added, still slightly traumatised from earlier.

“why is she so ergonomic?” juhoon shouted.

“she’s built like a forklift,” seonghyeon replied immediately.

“what does that even mean?” juhoon asked.

“no idea,” seonghyeon admitted.

you kept moving, dodging, rotating the bottle in a way that somehow kept it perfectly stable no matter how much chaos was happening around you, while the boys continued their very enthusiastic but extremely unsuccessful attempts to steal it.

and then the room collectively changed energy because james appeared, and everything, immediately, got louder.

“oh no,” keonho said.

“oh yes,” seonghyeon said at the exact same time.

before you could even fully register it, james was already behind you, arms wrapping around your frame from behind in one clean movement, your back gently meeting his chest as he secured you in place. the reaction was instant.

“boooo!” keonho shouted.

“favouritism!” seonghyeon added.

“his bias is showing,” someone else added, though nobody was sure who.

james ignored all of it completely, eyes fixed forward like none of it existed.

“you’ve got good bottle control,” he said calmly.

“thank you?” you replied, slightly confused but not resisting.

“but,” he added.

you immediately tensed. “but what?”

his chin hovered just slightly near your shoulder, close enough that his voice dropped without him trying. “gotcha.”

and then he started shaking you—not the bottle. you.

up. down. up. down. to the sides. as if you were somehow the human equivalent of the soda.

“james!” you screamed immediately.

“you are the bottle now! smart move, james!” seonghyeon encouraged. 

“stop,” juhoon yelled. 

“you have become the soda!” keonho screamed excitedly. “me next?”

martin actually sat down on the ground beside his life-sized cutout like his body had given up entirely.

and somehow, despite everything, james’ stupid strategy worked—the bottle slipped from your grasp. seonghyeon and keonho both lunged again at the exact same time, and this time one of them actually got it.

the round ended in absolute chaos. james finally loosened his grip and let you go, and you immediately turned to face him.

“you cheated,” you accused.

“i innovated,” he replied.

“that’s not innovation.”

“it got results.”

you opened your mouth, then closed it again, because unfortunately, that was technically correct.

james was about to say something else when his expression shifted slightly, the teasing fading just a little. he glanced at you properly now, not competitive anymore, just checking.

“are you dizzy?” he asked after a moment.

you blinked once. “only a little,” you admitted.

his brows knit slightly. “i went too hard,” he said, quieter this time, more to himself than anyone else.

you shook your head quickly. “no, i’m fine,” you said.

he didn’t look fully convinced, so he stayed close for a second longer, just watching you carefully, like he was trying to make sure you weren’t about to fall over in the middle of everything.

the camera, somewhere off to the side, slowly zoomed in without anyone asking it to.

the noise of the room faded slightly behind you two. james lifted a hand briefly, hovering like he was deciding whether to check your face again, then gently tapped your shoulder instead, grounding and careful.

“tell me if it gets worse,” he said. “sorry.”

“i will,” you replied softly. “don’t worry.”

there was a pause again. this time, he nodded once. “okay,” he said. and only then did he step back into the chaos, like he hadn’t just accidentally turned the entire challenge into something that felt suspiciously like a drama scene.

the editors, of course, made sure of it later. somehow, between the screaming, the soda, and martin still recovering on the floor, they would add a slow k-drama soundtrack over the footage of you both anyway with the caption: princess yn and knight james of cortis (˶ˆ𐃷ˆ˵)

☆

the final challenge arrived like it had been announced in a completely different universe, with dramatic music, over-serious camera angles, and the kind of tension that suggested this was no longer a soda experiment but a sanctioned event with consequences.

every one of you gathered in a rough line, bottles in hand, techniques already ‘finalised’ which in reality meant juhoon had tried and failed to explain physics for the last time, keonho had decided physics was optional, seonghyeon was still beefing with his bottle on principle, martin was quietly accepting that ‘tomartin’ was now his permanent identity, and james was standing slightly too close to you.

coco, your favourite manager, stepped forward with a clipboard and a smile that immediately made everyone nervous.

“right,” she said brightly, clapping her hands once, “in this corner, we have juhoon, who is trying very hard to make science happen even though the universe is actively ignoring him.”

juhoon gave a small, exhausted wave.

“next,” she continued, turning smoothly, “we have martin, who is my favourite stress case of the day, and who is doing very well considering he is being emotionally attacked on all sides.”

martin made a tiny sound of despair but looked mildly comforted anyway.

“then,” she said, voice softening instantly, “keonho, who is absolutely not allowed to get hurt, okay, everyone? because he has already tried to climb a table earlier and i’m still recovering from that.”

keonho immediately saluted like he was both honoured and vaguely guilty.

“seonghyeon,” coco continued, tone shifting into fond exasperation, “who is loud, incorrect, and somehow still confident enough to scare me.”

seonghyeon bowed dramatically.

“yn,” she said next, and her entire tone softened again, “who i adore, who behaves like she is calm but is actually the reason i need coffee after every shoot.”

you waved, smiling.

“and james,” coco finished, glancing at him, “who is pretending he’s not competitive but is absolutely the most competitive person standing here.”

james exhaled through his nose. “that was unnecessary.”

“it was accurate,” coco replied without hesitation. he had no comeback because it was accurate.

all six of you stood in position, bottles ready, dignity already gone somewhere during the previous rounds.

the producer asked who wanted to go first. before anyone else could speak, james lifted a hand and pointed directly at you.

“yn,” he said immediately.

“no,” you replied just as fast.

“yn,” he repeated.

“why?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“princess privilege,” he said simply.

there was a pause, followed by immediate chaos.

“princess privilege,” seonghyeon repeated like it was law.

“princess privilege,” keonho echoed, already grinning.

“that’s not a thing,” martin said.

“it is now,” james said.

“it absolutely isn’t,” you replied.

“it is,” he insisted.

martin, already resigned to fate, quietly added, “princess privilege.” you slowly covered your face.

“i hate all of you,” you said.

“go,” james said, pointing at you like it was both an order and an encouragement.

you walked forward slowly, bottle already feeling heavier than it actually was, mostly because everyone behind you had gone quiet in that rare, collective way that only happened when they knew something was about to either go incredibly right or incredibly wrong, and in this case, it might be both.

you stopped in front of the staff, tilting your head slightly as the producer raised the question like it was something serious and scientific.

“any strategy?” the producer asked. you looked down at the bottle for a moment, turning it slightly in your hand, then you glanced up at the group behind you where juhoon still looked like he was debating something in his head, keonho was already bouncing on his heels, seonghyeon was grinning like he was about to witness a disaster on purpose, martin looked faintly resigned to fate, and james was watching you like he already knew what you were going to say.

you looked back at your bottle again. “violence,” you said calmly.

there was a beat of silence that stretched just long enough to feel intentional. then one of the staff members nodded like they had been expecting that exact answer all day.

“fair,” they said.

another added almost immediately, “reasonable.”

and a third, without hesitation, followed with a chime of “honestly expected.”

behind you, james let out a quiet laugh, head tilting back slightly as if he had genuinely been waiting for you to say that since the beginning of the entire challenge.

“that is not a strategy,” he said, still smiling.

“it is now,” you replied without looking at him, like that settled the matter completely.

you tightened your grip on the bottle, rolled your shoulders once, and then started shaking it—properly this time. not cautiously, not experimentally, but with full commitment, like the bottle had  wronged you at some point in the last hour and you were personally settling a score.

up and down first, controlled but sharp, then faster, then angled slightly as you stepped into it, shifting your weight so it turned into something almost rhythmic, almost choreographed, but entirely unhinged in intention. sideways next, then a quick rotation, then a series of small jumps that made the bottle look like it was vibrating out of fear rather than pressure, and at one point even juhoon physically stepped back like he was trying to stay out of the path of the consequences.

“what is she doing?” keonho asked, already retreating a little.

“she’s terrifying,” seonghyeon said immediately, without hesitation.

“she’s been terrifying,” martin added quietly, as if this was just a confirmed fact at this point.

“why is she built like that?” juhoon asked, watching your grip like he was analysing a phenomenon.

“built like what?” keonho asked.

“like she knows what she’s doing,” juhoon replied.

james, still clearly amused, just shook his head slightly as he watched you continue. “don’t stop her,” he said.

“why not?” seonghyeon asked.

there was a brief pause where james looked between you and the group, still smiling in disbelief.

“because i want to see what happens,” he admitted.

that alone seemed to make everything worse. you stopped abruptly. the bottle was vibrating so intensely it looked like it had developed its own nervous system and was actively reconsidering every decision that had led it here.

you glanced sideways once, just briefly, and caught james still watching you, no longer teasing now, just focused, and he gave you the smallest nod, like a silent permission that you absolutely did not need but somehow still felt.

then you twisted the cap. a soft hiss made everyone lean in instinctively.

and then boom!

the soda launched straight upward in a clean, violent column, not spraying, not fizzing out gently, but rising like it had been released from something that could no longer contain it, shooting into the air so fast and so high that for a moment it didn’t even look real.

the reactions were instant and priceless.

“no way—!” juhoon shouted, immediately breaking into laughter as he bent forward.

“it’s still going—!” seonghyeon yelled, pointing upward like he was tracking something historic.

“what did she even do—?!” keonho joined in, taking a step back to protect himself.

martin made a sound somewhere between a scream and surrender before literally sitting down because his body had decided it could not process any more of this. “what the hell.”

and through all of it, you just stood there, watching the arc of soda rise into the sky, then breaking into proper laughter, not surprised or shocked, just satisfied, like you had already known exactly how this would end.

james just stared for a moment longer than everyone else, expression unreadable at first, then slowly shook his head as if accepting defeat in real time.

“well,” he started.

“well,” you repeated, still smiling as you looked at him.

he exhaled through his nose, a faint laugh still lingering. “you won,” he said.

“yeah,” you replied simply.

behind you, the others still attempted their turns, because pride was a dangerous and irrational thing:

juhoon’s barely moved at all.

“not as high as yn’s,” seonghyeon called immediately.

juhoon dropped his head. “i want to leave this planet.”

keonho’s attempt went sideways and splashed him instead, which only made you laugh harder from the side.

“unlucky. it’s okay, aegi,” you mocked, clapping once lightly.

“don’t enjoy that,” keonho said, pointing at you, though he was also laughing.

martin’s was modest at best, barely rising before fizzling out.

“try again,” james said quietly from beside you, though his tone was far less serious than before.

“no,” martin replied instantly.

seonghyeon’s somehow curved in the wrong direction entirely.

“no chance,” you added, still smiling.

and by the time james stepped up, even he had already accepted it. he looked at his bottle, then at you, then back at the bottle again like he was still considering whether there was any possible universe where he could beat what you had just done.

“this is still your fault,” he said.

“this is still my victory,” you corrected.

he let out a small breath, shaking his head slightly, but there was no real frustration left in it anymore, just acceptance of his loss., and the faintest trace of a smile he wasn’t even trying to hide now.

finally, the prize was announced, and it was almost anticlimactic in theory, because all it meant was that the winner could choose the thumbnail for the video. but the moment the producers said it, something in the field shifted like everyone suddenly understood that this was actually the most dangerous power anyone could be given.

the producers looked at you first. the boys immediately looked at the producers, then they looked at you again, but this time with visible concern.

“i have an idea for the thumbnail,” you said slowly.

there was an immediate pause, like the entire set had collectively braced for impact while the staff exchanged glances and the camera operators went very still.

even juhoon stopped thinking for a second, which was rare. “why are you smiling like that?” he asked cautiously.

“i think you’ll like this one,” you said.

“no we won’t,” seonghyeon replied instantly.

“yes, you will,” you said calmly.

“no,” keonho said.

“yes,” you repeated.

“no,” martin added.

“yes,” you insisted.

“this is not how voting works,” juhoon said weakly.

“it is now.” you grinned.

and somehow, that was the end of the discussion.

three minutes later, the entire production team was visibly suffering, the producers looked like they had accepted fate, the camera operators were trying not to laugh too loudly and the editors, somewhere in the control room, had already mentally titled the video. because standing in front of the camera, in a perfectly straight line, were all five boys, arms stretched out horizontally like some kind of extremely unstable conveyor belt, all waiting in confusion and regret.

“why are we doing this?” seonghyeon complained immediately.

“because i won,” you said simply.

“this doesn’t answer my question,” seonghyeon added.

“it answers mine,” you replied.

there was a pause where everyone just accepted that logic was no longer part of the process. you were gently lifted into position onto their outstretched arms—you looked like a log in their hands—and somehow it immediately became clear that each of them had been assigned a very specific role in this questionable structure.

martin was stationed near your head, and he looked like he had already mentally resigned from the group.

“don’t drop me,” you said casually.

“why would you say that?” martin asked instantly, eyes widening in panic.

“interesting reaction,” you replied.

“stop talking, please,” martin said, voice cracking slightly.

“tomartin,” seonghyeon called from somewhere.

“no,” martin said immediately, without even looking.

juhoon was supporting your shoulders, and he looked like he was actively trying to calculate the structural integrity of the situation instead of engaging with it.

“this is actually a very inefficient distribution of weight,” he said seriously.

“nerd,” you replied.

“i’m being serious.”

“nerd.”

“i’m literally helping you stay upright,” he added.

“nerd,” you said again, completely unbothered.

“i hate this group,” he muttered.

directly in the centre, of course, was james—because of course it was. he had insisted on it.

“no, i should stand here,” he had said earlier.

“why?” seonghyeon had asked.

“best balance,” james had replied immediately.

“you made that up,” you said.

“nope. it’s a whole thing,” he said.

“you absolutely made that up,” you repeated.

“no,” he insisted again.

“james,” you said.

“no,” he replied instantly.

now his arm was wrapped securely around your waist, not loosely, not awkwardly, but firmly in a way that made it very clear he had zero intention of letting you tilt even slightly out of place, and every time the group shifted or someone laughed too hard or keonho so much as breathed incorrectly, his grip adjusted automatically like it was instinct.

you felt it before you even noticed it properly—a steadying pressure that was quiet, careful, and always just there.

“comfortable?” james asked quietly, his voice lower now that he wasn’t performing for everyone else.

you glanced up at him. “yeah.”

“good,” he replied immediately.

“you’re acting like i’m fragile,” you said dryly.

“you’re horizontal. anybody in your position would be considered fragile,” he reasoned.

you paused, then nodded slightly. “fair.”

he huffed a small laugh at that, still not looking away from making sure you were actually stable.

meanwhile, keonho had been assigned to hold you near your knees, a position he had immediately taken as a personal invitation to cause problems.

“this feels weird,” keonho said.

“then stop poking my leg,” you replied.

“i wasn’t poking.”

“you literally were.”

“i was testing stability.”

“keonho,” you warned.

“for science,” he added quickly.

“juhoon, hit him,” you ordered simply.

“gladly,” juhoon replied instantly, reaching to smacking the back of keonho’s head.

“wait—”

and seonghyeon, of course, had your feet, which he did not deserve under any circumstance.

“why do i get the feet?” seonghyeon complained.

“because you’re annoying,” you said.

“that’s discrimination,” he argued.

“that’s justice,” you corrected.

and even now, there was james—still steady, still holding you securely at the waist, still annoyingly calm in the middle of everything.

“you good?” he asked again after a moment, quieter this time, like he was checking in just in case.

“yeah,” you said, looking at him briefly.

his expression softened slightly at that answer, like he was satisfied but still not letting go of the responsibility.

“don’t move too much,” he added.

“i’m not moving,” you said.

“good,” he replied. then, after a pause, almost absentmindedly, he added, “i’ve got you.”

you blinked once at that, then looked away like it was nothing, while you tried to ignore the heat rushing to your face. you did not want to get called martin’s twin again.

“i know,” you said. but the way he tightened his grip slightly right after, just to adjust your balance again, made it feel like he was taking the role very seriously anyway.

behind you, chaos continued as expected. you, meanwhile, just relaxed completely into the ridiculous formation, looking up slightly at the camera with a satisfied smile like this was exactly how winning was supposed to feel.

the photographer had officially reached a point of emotional collapse, standing slightly off to the side with the camera raised while trying very hard to maintain professional composure, even though nothing in front of him could remotely be described as normal anymore.

“okay, everyone, look here,” he said, voice strained with hope.

nobody looked, because at that exact moment, keonho laughed. it wasn’t even anything dramatic, just a small breakdown laugh that somehow carried the full weight of the entire day, and it immediately triggered a chain reaction.

your knees wobbled slightly in the structure.

“hey,” juhoon said immediately, shifting his grip.

which made seonghyeon panic for no reason at all. “don’t drop her,” he said, voice suddenly high.

“i’m not dropping anyone,” juhoon snapped back.

martin made a small noise like his soul briefly left his body.

“tomartin’s malfunctioning,” keonho said instantly.

“stop,” martin said.

“tomartin overheating,” seonghyeon added.

“stop,” martin repeated, weaker.

“tomartin.exe has stopped responding,” keonho finished, absolutely delighted with himself.

“i hate you all,” martin said flatly, which only made everyone laugh harder.

the photographer clicked the camera out of instinct. then again, and again. because every time he tried to get a ‘normal’ shot, something worse happened immediately after.

in one frame, seonghyeon was mid-argument with juhoon about ‘structural ethics of human balancing’ which nobody had asked for.

in another, juhoon was genuinely explaining weight distribution to a staff member who looked like they had only asked where the restroom was.

in another, keonho was laughing so hard he had forgotten he was part of the supporting system keeping you off the ground entirely.

and in nearly every single shot; james was not looking at the camera. he was looking at you—not dramatically or performatively, just consistently, like the camera was an afterthought and you were the actual subject of the frame.

you noticed it once, then again, then again, until it became impossible not to.

“james,” you said quietly, not turning your head fully, “you’re supposed to be looking forward.”

“i am,” he replied immediately, which was a complete lie.

“that’s not forward,” you said.

“it is. my forward,” he said.

you huffed a small laugh, and his expression shifted slightly, like that was the reaction he had actually been waiting for.

the photographer noticed too. (of course he did.)

he leaned slightly to one side, trying to find an angle where both of you were visible without the rest of the chaos ruining everything, and muttered under his breath, “they’re going to use this frame later, i just know it.”

“try to look at the camera,” the photographer said louder. nobody did. because keonho started laughing again, which made seonghyeon lose balance slightly, which made juhoon tighten his grip, which made martin whisper, “i think this is it for me.”

“don’t say that,” you said immediately, trying not to laugh yourself.

“it’s already happening,” martin replied.

“tomartin, stay with us,” seonghyeon said.

“do not call me that,” martin said, exhausted.

“tomartin,” keonho added softly.

“i will leave this group,” martin said firmly.

in one of the photos, you were laughing properly, head tilted slightly back, while james was still looking at you instead of the lens like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“i think we got it,” the photographer said finally, lowering the camera like he was surrendering.

“finally,” juhoon muttered.

“did we?” keonho asked.

“no,” martin said immediately.

“yes,” james said, still not looking away from you. you glanced at him again.

“you’re still not looking at the camera,” you said.

“i am.”

“you are literally not.”

he paused for half a second, then very slowly said, “the camera is optional.”

you laughed under your breath again, and the photographer physically sighed like he had just witnessed a problem he couldn’t fix.

later, when the final thumbnail was chosen, it would somehow be worse and better than anyone expected—five boys arranged like chaotic medieval knights holding a very amused princess in a perfectly absurd horizontal formation, martin visibly red and suffering, juhoon mid-analysis, keonho laughing like he had no survival instincts left, seonghyeon mid-complaint, and james positioned exactly where he insisted he should be, still looking at you instead of the camera.

the editors’ final touches, of course, included zoom-ins, sparkles, and entirely unnecessary heart effects whenever james breathed near you.

when the video finally went up, the comments agreed on one thing almost instantly.

first place: your soda explosion.

second place: james’ inability to act normal around you.

and third place, eternally, undeniably: 🍅 tomartin 🍅 who, despite everything, never recovered from that nickname for the rest of the entire video.

© hyuneskkami ❦