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Scripts and Strawberry Milk 📑🍓🥛

©️ my writing is entirely my own, and entirely fictional. please note that while some of my characters maybe be based off of certain individuals, what i write ≠ them in real life, and any similarity with other works is purely accidental. please be kind.

minors dni

one shot: 9k words, angst & fluff with a happy ending. idiots to lovers. Actor Kim Seokjin x Model/Actor female reader.

summary: Y/N accidentally lands the lead role in a major rom-com opposite her childhood best friend—an A-list actor secretly and hopelessly in love with her—the resulting on-set tension forces both of them to desperately blame their racing pulses and lingering glances on "character bleed," until an unscripted, explosive moment finally shatters their mutual denial.

🍓🥛

The milk carton was from a generic brand, lukewarm, and leaking a tiny, sticky stream down the side of Y/N’s palm. She frowned at the scene before her before her gaze fell back on her favorite drink. It would have to do.

"Leave him alone," she had said, her voice cracking slightly on the middle syllable because puberty was an uncooperative bitch, but she stood her ground anyway. Kim Seokjin had been backed against the rusted chain-link fence of the middle school courtyard, clutching his oversized backpack to his chest like a shield.

He was all elbows, oversized blazer, and wide, terrified eyes, completely unprepared for the three eighth-grade boys who had decided his quiet demeanor made him an easy target for the afternoon.

The ringleader sneered, taking a step toward her. "And what are you going to do about it, freshman?"

Y/N hadn't blinked. She had unscrewed the cap of her strawberry milk with a sharp twist, stepped right up to the ringleader's face, and upended the entire sugary, pink contents directly over the boy’s freshly gelled hair before shoving the carton in his mouth. “You talk too much,” she spat.

The courtyard had gone dead silent. The smell of sweet dairy immediately rose into the humid afternoon air. Before the bully could react, Y/N grabbed Seokjin by the sleeve of his uniform blazer, yanked him hard past the paralyzed bullies, and bolted down the alleyway like they were escaping a maximum-security prison.

They didn't stop running until they hit the convenience store three blocks away, chests-heaving, laughing so hard they nearly choked on their own spit. Seokjin, wiping a stray drop of pink milk off his chin, had stared at her like she was a superhero who had just descended from the heavens.

"C'mon," Y/N had wheezed, leaning against the convenience store brick wall. Seokjin blinked, wiping his glasses. "Where are we going?"

"You owe me a strawberry milk," she said matter-of-factly, flashing a grin that had completely rewired the trajectory of Seokjin's entire adolescence.

Some habits, it turned out, survived any test of time. Ten years later, the strawberry milk was no longer bought from a dodgy convenience store shelf with crumpled won notes. It came in sleek, minimalist glass bottles stocked meticulously in the oversized double-door refrigerator of a high-end Hannam-dong duplex lobby—a duplex they shared because separating after university had felt entirely too much like tearing a limb off.

While Seokjin had spent the last decade conquering the theater circuit and exploding into a globally recognized, award-winning A-list actor, Y/N had built an empire of her own as a top-tier South Korean fashion model. Yet, despite the glamour, she harbored a quiet, burning secret: she had secretly auditioned for dozens of acting roles over the past three years, walking away with nothing to show for it except zero callbacks and a bruised ego. Y/N had finally decided to leave that dream behind.

On this particular evening, the studio was still buzzing with the frenetic energy of a wrap party when Y/N finally escaped the dressing room. Wanting nothing more than to leave, she rounded the corner of the hallway toward the freight elevator, head down, stabbing nervously at an iced americano straw.

And of course, because why wouldn’t this happen to her right now of all days, Y/N slammed right into someone chest-first, sending a stack of glossy storyboard papers flying everywhere. A chorus of colorful, dramatic gasps echoed down the corridor. "Oh, I am so-" Y/N started, immediately dropping to her knees to scoop up the scattered papers. "I'm so sorry, my spatial awareness is roughly equivalent to a concussed pigeon after twelve hours in a wind machine."

"My storyboards!" a voice wailed dramatic, theatrical, and laced with absolute panic. Y/N froze momentarily in recognition, her hand hovering over a page featuring a sketch of a brooding corporate boardroom. She looked up. Standing over her was a man in an impeccably tailored designer suit, hair styled to perfection, wearing round-rimmed glasses and clutching a half-empty sparkling water like it was a holy relic.

It was Director Kang, one of the most eccentric, wildly successful hitmakers in the South Korean television industry. The model handed him the stack of papers, eyeing his frantic expression with mild, unimpressed amusement. "Relax. None of your dramatic romance sketches are smudged. Though honestly, if the female lead in this scene is wearing a hat like that, she deserves to fall down those stairs." She joked dryly, referring to a panel she spotted.

Director Kang blinked, clutching the papers to his chest. He stared down at Y/N, sitting cross-legged on the studio floor in an oversized hoodie, looking entirely unimpressed by his multi-million-won reputation. A slow, terrifyingly bright lightbulb flickered behind his eyes. "You," he breathed, pointing a manicured finger right at her nose. "Who are you? Which agency? Are you an actress?"

"Uh model? But off the clock and currently, I'm a tired citizen who just wants to go home and eat tteokbokki," Y/N replied dryly, pushing herself up. "Brilliant," Director Kang whispered, completely ignoring her dismissive tone as he grabbed a discarded business card from his pocket and shoved it into her palm. "Unfiltered. Chaos. Zero awareness of authority without an ounce of malice. You're reading for the lead in “Business Proposal” tomorrow morning. Do not wear makeup. Be ruined."

Before Y/N could blink, he spun on his heel and sprinted down the hallway, shouting happily into his phone.“Was that a prank?” Y/N mumbled to herself watching the man happily run in the opposite direction.

Forty minutes later, the front door of the Hannam-dong duplex clicked open. Y/N kicked off her heels, dropped her bag by the entryway, and dragged her exhausted limbs into the apartment for the first time in 14 hours. "Jin!" she called out, wandering toward the kitchen. "You are never going to believe the weirdo I just met at the studio!" She pushed open the kitchen doors.

Seokjin was standing by the island, wearing a simple oversized hoodie and grey sweatpants, his dark hair falling softly across his forehead. Even off-duty, stripped of red-carpet styling, he looked entirely unfair. Without a word, a condensation-beaded glass bottle of strawberry milk was set right beside her. Y/N’s fingers instinctively curled around it, popping the cap off with a familiar, satisfying pop. She took a long, cold sip, letting the sweet strawberry flavor coat her throat.

"You're a lifesaver, Jinnie" she sighed, finally leaning against the counter. "Long day?" Seokjin asked, his voice carrying that rich, resonant cadence that directors paid millions of won to capture. He stepped closer, his dark eyes scanning her face with a quiet intensity.

"The worst. My feet are dead," Y/N complained, tossing her head back. "And to top it all off, a man in a very expensive suit ambushed me at the studio, told me I had no awareness of authority or whatever, and gave me this." She tossed the business card onto the marble island. It slid across the smooth surface and bumped against Seokjin’s water glass. “Then he runs away laughing and giggling like a maniac…I swear he was pranking me or something.” Seokjin glanced down at it.

The color instantly drained from his face. The easy, teasing smirk vanished, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated shock as he read the embossed gold lettering:

“Kang Ji-hyun, Chief Director, Studio Prism.”

Seokjin looked up slowly, his eyes wide. "Director Kang gave you this?" "Yeah!" Y/N groaned. "Can you believe it? He told me to show up tomorrow to read for some rom-com show. Obviously, I'm going to politely decline because clearly, with my track record, I can't act to save my life, but-"

"Y/N," Seokjin interrupted, his voice dropping an octave, sounding uncharacteristically tight.

"What?"

"The rom-com he's casting right now." Seokjin swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the marble counter so tightly his knuckles turned white. "It's the Business Proposal adaptation." Y/N paused, the glass bottle halfway to her lips. The kitchen went dead silent, save for the low hum of the refrigerator.

"Oh," Y/N blinked. "Well... okay. That's a big show, isn't it? Good for him, I guess." Seokjin stared at her, a strange, dizzy mix of panic, disbelief, and fatalistic amusement crashing over his features. He let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh, running a hand through his dark hair. "Y/N... I signed my contract for it this morning."

Y/N froze. "What do you mean?" Seokjin looked straight into her eyes, the realization finally settling deep into his bones. "I'm playing the CEO. Which means... if you take that audition and get the part..." He swallowed, his voice dropping to a low, breathless whisper. "You're going to be my leading lady."

“Well shit.”

The waiting room of Studio Prism smelled aggressively of expensive espresso and nervous sweat.

Y/N sat in a sleek leather chair, wearing precisely what Director Kang had ordered: zero makeup, a baggy black hoodie, and her hair dragged back into a messy, unbothered claw clip. She was clutching a heavily highlighted script that she had spent the last six hours panic-reading while Jeongyeon, Jihyo, and Ji-eun ran a relentless group chat roast session from their respective schedules.

Y/N’s phone buzzed from where it was tucked in her purse, her group chat with her best friends, their messages causing an indignant snort to escape from her mouth.

📱 Jihyo: just stare blankly at the casting director and tell him you specialize in playing emotionally repressed tree trunks 👍🏼

📱 Ji-eun: if you get it, just remember seokjin has to suffer through press junkets with you for six months. do it for the plot 😁

📱 Jeongyeon: send a selfie i want to see the panic in your eyes 😘

Y/N let out a quiet laugh, locking her phone just as the casting assistant called her name. Stepping into the audition room felt like walking onto a theater stage under a magnifying glass. Director Kang was sitting behind a long wooden table, flanked by two producers who looked exhausted.

"Y/N-ssi," Director Kang said, waving a hand dismissively before she could even bow. "Let’s begin. Page forty-two. The scene where you accidentally ruin the CEO's multimillion-dollar dinner party by dropping a live lobster into his champagne flute."

Y/N blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You heard me. Action."

There was no time to think. Y/N gripped the script, looked dead into Director Kang’s soul, and channeled every ounce of frustration she had felt after twelve hours in a feathered sunhat. She didn't read the lines like a polished actress; she delivered them with the sharp, flat-out exhaustion of a woman who had reached her absolute limit. When she got to the part where her character is supposed to aggressively defend her dignity, Y/N slammed her script down onto the table with a loud thwack, making both producers jump.

"If you ever speak to me about corporate synergy while I am trying to liberate a crustacean," Y/N snapped, her voice deadpan and venomous, "I will personally see to it that your tailored suit becomes its permanent enclosure."

Dead silence filled the room.

Director Kang stared at her. The producers stared at her.

Then, Director Kang slowly took off his round glasses, pressed a hand to his chest, and let out a wheezing, delighted laugh.

"Unfiltered rage. Disdain for capitalism. Absolute disregard for professional boundaries," Director Kang declared, pointing a finger at her. "She’s not acting. That is pure, organic chaos. Give her the contract."

"Wait—what?" Y/N stammered, dropping the character facade instantly. "I didn't even do the lobster part right!"

"You're hired," the producer on the left perked up, already sliding a preliminary schedule across the desk. "We will be in. contact with your agent. Phenomenal work, truly."

An hour later, Y/N was sitting in the middle of a bustling, high-end cafe in Gangnam where the rest of her life was currently being systematically disassembled. She had called an emergency meeting. Seokjin, along with some of his closest actor friends, Namjoon, Jimin, and Hoseok, who were practically fixtures in Y/N’s life after a decade of sharing pizza, late-night script readings, and surviving Seokjin’s terrible dad jokes, were currently occupying an entire corner booth.

Namjoon was analyzing the script like it held the secrets of the universe, Jimin was trying to steal a pastry off Hoseok’s plate while dodging a swift slap to the wrist, and Seokjin looked like he had just been told he swallowed a live grenade.

"She got it," Jeongyeon announced triumphantly, pulling up a chair and slamming her bag down. She and Jihyo had arrived as moral support, flanked by Ji-eun, who was casually scrolling through her phone while ordering an iced tea.

"She got the lead," Jihyo repeated, dropping a heavy arm around Y/N’s shoulders and grinning wickedly at Seokjin. "Congratulations, Jin-ssi. You’re going to be legally obligated to make eye contact with your childhood best friend while pretending she's the love of your life." Seokjin promptly choked on his water.

Following Jihyo's inaccurate and dramatized retelling of the audition, the group turned to Y/N with eyes as big as alien crop circles. "You did what?" Namjoon asked, lowering his napkin, his eyes widening behind his glasses. "You walked in there with zero acting credits and bullied Director Kang into giving you the female lead?"

"I didn't bully him!" Y/N groaned, collapsing into the empty leather seat next to Seokjin and burying her face in her hands. "I yelled at him about a lobster! And now I’m somehow the lead in a romantic comedy,” she paused looking at her best friend of the last decade, “With him." She poked Seokjin sharply in the ribs.

Seokjin caught her hand, his fingers automatically wrapping around hers to stop the assault, though his ears were burning a bright, undeniable red. "Hey, don't take your existential dread out on my ribs," Seokjin muttered, though his voice lacked its usual teasing bite. He looked at her—really looked at her—taking in the flushed cheeks and the chaotic energy that had somehow just 180’d both of their career dynamics.

Hoseok leaned across the table, resting his chin in his hands with a sickeningly sweet, theatrical expression. "Oh, my god. It’s happening. The idiots-to-lovers slow-burn pipeline, but make it a decade overdue."

"Hey, relax not too much," Y/N mumbled against the table. "We're not lovers."

"Well," Ji-eun chimed in smoothly, sipping her iced tea without looking up. "You're both idiots. But at least now you'll get paid millions of won to look longingly at each other under studio lighting."

“Instead of doing it for free.” Namjoon mumbled under his breath. Jimin snorted, leaning back into the booth. "Honestly, I'm just here for the craft services and the inevitable mental breakdown when you two have to film the kissing scenes."

Seokjin stiffened so abruptly he nearly cracked his neck, glaring daggers across the table at Jimin. "There will be no breakdowns. We are professionals. We are actors. This is character work."

"Right. Character work," Jihyo echoed, sharing a razor-sharp, knowing look with Jeongyeon that spoke volumes.

Y/N lifted her head, eyeing Seokjin’s tense profile with a sudden, sinking weight in her chest. He wouldn't meet her eyes, instead staring intently at his water glass as if it contained the meaning of life. Y/N’s frown deepened. Was Seokjin upset? Uncomfortable?

The reality of it settled over the table like a heavy velvet curtain. They weren't just best friends anymore sharing strawberry milk in a quiet duplex. Tomorrow morning, they were stepping onto a set where hundreds of people would be watching them act out an epic love story. Did she just fuck up their friendship?

The conference room at Studio Prism smelled of fresh paper, printer toner, and expensive cold brew.

Director Kang stood at the head of a massive oval mahogany table, aggressively gesturing with a red pen as the main cast and production crew settled into their seats. Y/N sat three chairs down from the director, nervously smoothing out her notes, while Seokjin sat directly across from her—or rather, he would have, if Director Kang hadn't violently intervened five minutes prior.

"What are you doing over there?" Director Kang had barked, pointing a pen at Seokjin when he tried to sit at the opposite end of the table. "You’re playing the most passionately obsessed CEO in television history. Sit next to your female lead so we can feel the chemistry!"

And so, here they were, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the center of the table. Y/N could feel the heat radiating off Seokjin through his crisp linen shirt. Every time he shifted, the subtle, clean scent of his cologne drifted over, making it entirely too difficult to focus on her script.

"Alright, people! Act One, Scene Four," Director Kang announced, clapping his hands together. "Table read begins now. Make me believe it, or I’m switching to a tragic ending where you both get audited by the IRS."

Y/N cleared her throat, scanning her lines. This scene was light, banter-heavy, and purely comedic. At first, it was easy. They had spent a decade trading witty comebacks over convenience store snacks and late-night kitchen counters; reading lines together would feel like second nature, right?

Right?

Y/N had tried very hard to focus on her script. She really had. But it was mathematically impossible when Kim Seokjin was sitting centimeters away, smelling faintly of sandalwood and expensive laundry detergent, looking unfairly devastating in a simple white linen shirt.

As they read through the banter, Y/N had caught herself staring at the sharp, clean slope of his jawline. Wait, her brain had chimed abruptly, half a beat behind her eyes. When did he get cheekbones that could cut glass? I mean, I’ve known him since middle school when he had bangs down to his chin and a backpack full of comic books, but—fuck. Has he always looked like that?

Next to her, Seokjin was having a significantly more violent internal meltdown.

She’s wearing that grey hoodie again, Seokjin thought, his grip on his highlighter turning white-knuckled as he listened to Y/N deliver a snappy comeback to the script. The one that makes her collarbone look like that. Why is she looking at me like that? Is she bored? Does she know I’ve been in love with her since we were fourteen? God, if she looks at my lips one more time while I'm talking, I'm going to ruin our friendship right here in this conference room and kiss her.

Seokjin delivered his deadpan corporate comebacks with smooth, effortless ease, and Y/N fired back with her character's trademark defensive snark. Across the room, Jihyo and Jeongyeon—who had sneaked into the back as "observers"—made exaggerated chef's-kiss gestures.

But then, the script turned.

It was the first moment in the script where the characters had to drop their armor. Where the banter stopped and the underlying tension had to bleed through the dialogue.

Y/N lowered her script a fraction of an inch, reading her character's line: "Why are you doing this? Why do you even care what I do?"

When it was Seokjin's turn to reply, the easy, breezy confidence in his voice vanished.

He didn't just read the line; he turned his head, his dark eyes locking directly onto Y/N's. The room around them seemed to evaporate.

"Because," Seokjin read, his voice dropping an octave, rich and dangerously low, "some things aren't a game. And I'm tired of pretending I don't care when I'm losing my mind watching you walk away." Deep down Seokjin knew he hadn't been acting. He had been looking at the girl who once poured strawberry milk on an eighth-grader's head to defend him, the girl whose laugh echoed in every happy memory he owned, and not one damn word had been a lie.

Y/N had quickly shaken her head, dragging her gaze back to the page. Focus. That’s your best friend. The guy who brings you strawberry milk when you’re sad. The guy who had to move some of his alpaca stuffy collection into your room because his ran out of space. The guy who makes you laugh on the worst days in the world. The guy who sings your favorite idol songs with you when you’re having Living Room Karaoke with your friends. The guy who cooks your favorite food better than a Michelin chef. The guy who inspires you to be the best version of yourself. The guy whose laugh fills an entire room. The guy who blinks rapidly when he’s surprised or you have the audacity to sass him. The guy who’s nose crinkles when he’s eating food he likes. The guy who yells at the screen while playing games and yaps so fast his breath control rivals Marshall Mathers. The guy whose ears turn strawberry red when he’s shy or proud. The guy who is the most down to earth person you’ve ever met. The guy who will drop philosophy on you and not even realize he changed the trajectory of your life. The guy who spaces out right before he cracks a joke. The guy who refuses to take himself too seriously. The guy who y/n has spend half of her life with…

Oh fuck, Y/N thinks. I’m fucked.

Director Kang blinked, completely unaware of the existential crisis happening between his two leads, and slammed his pen down in delight. "Brilliant! Perfect! The tension is palpable! We start principal photography tomorrow!"

She hates it, a voice screamed in Seokjins head as he desperately looked away and stared at his script, schooling his expression. She thinks I'm laying it on too thick. She's terrified I'm making a fool of myself over our friendship. I have to lock it down.

And Y/N, staring at the sudden, icy wall he had slammed up between them, felt her heart sink through the floorboards. See? There it is again. He's disgusted. He hates having to say romantic lines to me. He's counting down the days until this drama wraps so he can go back to treating platonically.

Principal photography, it turned out, was a waking nightmare of slow-burn torture.

What started as a confident table read quickly devolved into a psychological obstacle course once the cameras started rolling. Because they were playing lovers, the script demanded physical proximity, and every single scene felt like a livewire. By week three, the sets were grander, the lights were harsher, and the distance between fiction and reality had completely collapsed.

It happened during a late-night shoot in an alleyway set meant to look like downtown Seoul, dusted with artificial winter snow. The cameras were rolling on a classic K-drama trope: a heated argument that forces the main characters into agonizingly close quarters. "Cut!" the assistant director shouted over a megaphone. "Reset in five! Jin-ssi, Y/N-ssi, stay in position!"

On screen, Seokjin’s character had just backed Y/N up against a brick wall, his hands braced on either side of her head, caging her in while delivering an impassioned plea. In reality, the cameras were capturing a wide shot, which meant they had to hold the position while the crew adjusted the lighting rigs.

Neither of them moved.

Y/N stood frozen against the cold brick, her chest rising and falling. Seokjin was standing inches away, his hands planted flat against the wall, his arms trembling just a fraction. "You're shaking," Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the lighting generators, her eyes flicking up to meet his.

Seokjin’s jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. He looked down at her, really looked at her, with an expression so agonizingly raw and completely stripped of his usual actor's mask that it made Y/N’s heart skip a violent beat. He's terrified of touching me. He's trapped here because of our friendship, and every second he has to pretend to want me is pure agony for him.

Unbeknownst to her, Seokjin was fighting a catastrophic internal war.She's stiffening up, Seokjin panicked internally, his fingers curling into the brickwork. She hates this. She's counting down the seconds until the director yells cut so she can get away from me. I'm making her uncomfortable. I'm ruining everything.

Convinced that his overwhelming, desperate love was bleeding out of him and making her miserable, As soon as the director gave the ‘OK’, Seokjin abruptly shoved off the wall. He dropped his hands, stepped back as if he had been burned, and forced a rigid smile to his face.

Y/Nlet out a shaky breath, pressing her cold hands against her face. He must wish anyone else but me was standing here right now, she told herself, the internal ache blooming into a heavy, suffocating weight. She begged the universe that her decision to take the role didn’t obliterate the bond she had with Seokjin.

The green room of Studio Prism looked less like an actor’s lounge and more like an interrogation chamber.

Seokjin was pacing a hole into the industrial carpet, aggressively running a hand through his hair. Lounging across the sofa, Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jungkook watched him like he was a particularly entertaining reality TV trainwreck.

"I’m telling you, it’s just the script," Seokjin insisted, his voice pitching up just a fraction too high as he stabbed a finger at the air. "The character is written as fiercely devoted. If it looks intense on monitor, that is a testament to my range. I am a classically trained, highly decorated professional actor. It’s called craft, guys."

Namjoon slowly lowered the bottle of water he was holding, giving Seokjin a look of profound, unimpressed exhaustion. "Hyung. The cameras weren’t rolling on Tuesday when you spent twenty minutes pacing outside Y/N's dressing room because she complained about a headache, and you forced the prop master to source a very specific brand of strawberry milk from three neighborhoods away."

"I was... maintaining my character's hydration synergy," Seokjin stammered, his ears turning bright red.

Jungkook snorted, leaning back against the cushions. "And yesterday? When we were all sitting at craft services, and she wasn't even looking, you stared at her profile for a solid three minutes like you were watching the Mona Lisa burn down. Was that also just craft?" Seokjin froze. He opened his mouth, closed it, and frantically searched his brain for a defense. Then, like a drowning man grabbing a floating twig, he clutched onto the excuse he had been telling himself in the mirror every morning.

"It's... it's just character bleed," Seokjin muttered defensively, crossing his arms and refusing to meet their eyes. "The lines are getting blurred, alright? That's all. It's totally normal for actors to experience minor psychological overlap when they play love interests."

Yoongi let out a long, dry sigh, resting his chin in his hand. "Suuuuuure. Character bleed. Let me guess: your character has been helplessly, pathetically in love with her since middle school too?"

"Shut up," Seokjin hissed, though his red ears gave the entire game away.

Meanwhile, in the women’s dressing room, a very different kind of interrogation was taking place. Y/N was aggressively pacing back and forth, sipping strawberry milk (courtesy of Kim Seokjin of course) clutching a pillow to her chest like a shield while Jihyo, Jeongyeon, and Ji-eun watched her from the couch with matching expressions of sheer disbelief.

"I'm losing my mind," Y/N whispered, her eyes wide with panic. "We had to film a scene where he looks at me, and I swear to god, I thought my heart was going to punch its way out of my ribs. Since when does he look at me like that? Since when is he that devastating?"

Ji-eun took a slow sip of her iced tea, blinking lazily over the rim. "Y/N-ah. Have you considered the radical, terrifying possibility that you are completely, head-over-heels in love with your best friend?"

Y/N let out a shriek of absolute denial, throwing the pillow onto the couch. "Are you insane?! I cannot be in love with Seokjin! He’s my best friend! We share a duplex! He remembers how I take my coffee and I’ve seen him throw up after eating spoiled squid! If I fall in love with him, our entire lives explode!"

"Okay, first of all, gross on the squid," Jeongyeon winced. "Second of all, that man is literally prime husband material. You guys would be great together. Plus, the rest of the country is literally taking bets on when you're going to make out."

"Eh? He would never like me like that," Y/N argued, her voice dropping into a small, miserable tone as she slumped into a chair. "He looks at me on set sometimes and looks so stressed out. He's just trying to survive working with me. If things feel weird, it’s... it’s probably just character bleed. You know? The script is making us overthink everything because our characters are supposed to be in love. Acting like this with your best friend just messes with your head.”

Jihyo, Jeongyeon, and Ji-eun all stared at her in silence for seven full seconds. Then, Jihyo slowly facepalmed and deadpanned, "Bruh."

"What?!" Y/N defended herself, her cheeks flaming. "Character bleed?" Ji-eun snorted, shaking her head. "You have been side-eyeing his shoulders for ten years, Y/N. You are not experiencing character bleed, you're experiencing a decade-delayed awakening."

Before Y/N could launch into another frantic round of denials, a production assistant banged on the door. "Five minutes to camera! Backlot sequence, let's go!"

Out on the backlot, the artificial snow was falling again in soft, quiet flakes.

The crew was setting up for the climax of the sequence. This was the moment the internet was supposed to obsess over: the emotional breaking point where the characters are supposed to cross the line from banter to raw, undeniable longing to a high-stakes, breathless kiss.

Seokjin was already standing on his mark, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, jaw clenched so tight he looked carved out of stone. Y/N walked onto the set, her heart hammering a frantic, furious rhythm against her ribs. She stopped two feet away from him, keeping her chin up and her expression carefully, brilliantly masked in cool indifference.

"Ready to pretend to be hopelessly in love with me for the camera, Seokjinnie?" Y/N jokes, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness to cover up the terror clawing at her throat. Seokjin’s jaw tightened even further, a dark, complicated flash of hurt crossing his eyes before he slammed the iron door shut on it. He forced a thin, unbothered smile, terrified that showing any real emotion would make her run away.

Across the perimeter of the set, half-hidden behind a lighting truck, Jihyo, Jeongyeon, Ji-eun, Namjoon, Jimin, and Jungkook were huddled together like spectators at a gladiatorial arena, whispering furiously.

"Ten thousand won says he snaps and confesses," Jungkook whispered. “Hyungs texted in the group chat if Y/N confesses first they’ll double it!”

"Ten thousand says he kisses her," Namjoon muttered back as their attention locked onto the scene playing out not far from them.

“Twenty thousand says she kisses him,” Jongyeon smirked, earning a laugh from Jimin. “You’re on.” He replied as their attention locked into the scene unfolding in front of them.

The artificial snow drifted down around them like frozen ash, catching in the dark wool of Seokjin’s coat and settling softly against the crown of Y/N’s hair. The crew was scurrying around the edges of the alleyway set, making final adjustments. The sound operator was checking his audio pack; the assistant director was holding his clipboard, waiting for the all-clear.

In a matter of minutes, the director was going to call action, and they would have to step back into the rigid, scripted rhythm of their characters—the banter, the fake friction, the emotional distance.

Y/N stood pressed against the cold brick wall of the alleyway. Her heart was hammering a furious, painful rhythm against her ribs. She was so tired of the walls, so tired of the lingering looks, and so exhausted by the terrifying weight of loving her best friend while he looked at her like she was a burden he was forced to endure.

Unable to keep quiet for one more second, she lifted her chin, her eyes flashing with a mix of hurt and raw, unfiltered frustration. "Are you ever going to talk to me about it?" Y/N whispered, her voice trembling in the cold air, completely ignoring the crew bustling around them. "I'm sick of watching you look at me like I'm a chore you have to survive. If you hate working with me this much—if you can't even stand being in the same room without pretending—just tell me. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Across the backlot, huddled behind the lighting truck, Jihyo, Jeongyeon, Ji-eun, Namjoon, Jimin, and Jungkook froze. "Wait," Namjoon muttered, leaning forward. "Did they start filming?"

"No," Jungkook whispered, his eyes widening. "The cameras aren't even rolling yet.”

On set, Seokjin stopped breathing. His chest heaved under his heavy winter coat. He heard the raw, breaking ache in Y/N’s voice—heard her accusing him of hating this—and the fragile, painstakingly built fortress of his self-control completely imploded.

She thinks I hate it?

Every agonizing second of the past month, every sleepless night spent fighting his own feelings, every terrified thought that he was making her miserable—it all crashed down on him at once. He wasn't a professional actor right now. He was just a man desperately in love with his best friend who couldn't bear to hear another second of her believing she was unwanted by him. Unwanted by him? Not a chance in heaven or hell.

Seokjin was done waiting. He didn't care that they had a job to do and he didn’t care who was watching. He needed to act and he needed to do it now. Before the director could even think to yell action, Seokjin stepped into her space, grabbed her face with both trembling hands, and crashed his lips down onto hers.

It wasn't a movie kiss, wasn’t like any kiss he’s been contacted to do on film. This was fierce, desperate, and laden with ten years of unsaid history. A decade of fear and yearning. It wasn’t fireworks and rockets, it was coming home. After so many years spent dreaming of this moment, Seokjin was finally kissing his best friend and she was home, she was safety, she was finally his.

Y/N let out a sharp, startled gasp against his mouth, her hands flying up to grip the lapels of his coat as reality violently shifted. There was no director shouting, no script dictating the movement, just Seokjin, kissing her like he was suffocating and she was the only oxygen left in his universe.

The entire set plunged into absolute, stunned silence.

Behind the lighting truck, Jihyo clapped both hands over her mouth, while Jungkook immediately pulled a bill out of his pocket and shoved it into Namjoon’s hand. On the perimeter of the set, the assistant director raised his arm, opening his mouth to shout Action!, only to freeze, blinking stupidly at the monitor.

Director Kang slowly lowered his clipboard. He looked at the two of them wrapped tightly together in the artificial snow, completely lost in each other before a single camera had even started recording. A slow, brilliant grin spread across the director’s face. He turned to the bewildered camera operator, waved a hand dismissively at the script, and whispered into the quiet night air:

"Don't call action yet. Just... start rolling right now."

The silence on the backlot hung heavy and electric, broken only by the steady hiss of the snow machines and the frantic, synced rhythm of their breathing.

Y/N’s fingers were still tightly knotted into the heavy wool of Seokjin’s coat, as if letting go meant waking up from a dream she had spent a decade too afraid to have. When Seokjin finally pulled back just a fraction, his forehead resting gently against hers, his eyes dark, wide, and brilliantly undone, the mask was completely gone.

"I don't hate it," Seokjin whispered, his voice thick and trembling, his thumb softly brushing away a stray tear on her cheek that she hadn't even realized was there. "Y/N... I have never, ever hated a single second of being with you. I was just terrified that if you knew how long I've been in love with you, I'd lose you."

Y/N’s breath hitched, her heart doing a violent, dizzying flip. "You... you've… huh?"

"Since the middle school courtyard," Seokjin breathed out a wet, disbelieving laugh, finally letting all the heavy, suffocating weight of the past decade roll off his shoulders. "Since you poured sticky strawberry milk all over an eighth-grader's head and told me we were leaving."

A watery, breathless laugh bubbled up in Y/N’s throat, and she hit his chest with a weak, affectionate shove. "I am such a dimbass... I thought you were disgusted by me!"

"Disgusted by you?" Seokjin shook his head, a blinding, radiant smile breaking across his face, the kind of smile that made the whole world melt away, before he captured her lips in another deep, thoroughly unscripted kiss. “Baby, I’m crazy about you.”

Behind the lighting truck, the collective group of friends finally broke the spell. "Okay, that's it, I'm crying," Jihyo announced loudly, shamelessly wiping a tear from her eye while Jeongyeon patted her back.

"I win, losers!" Jungkook cheered, triumphantly waving a wad of cash at Namjoon and Jimin, who were grinning like proud parents.

Director Kang cleared his throat loudly, stepping out from the shadows of the monitor with a theatrical wipe of a tear from his own eye. "Well," the director called out across the silent backlot, his voice echoing in the winter air. "That was objectively the best unscripted romantic lead chemistry I have ever witnessed in thirty years of filmmaking. But if you two lovebirds are quite finished making out in the snow... we do still have a show to shoot."

Y/N flushed a brilliant, burning crimson, pulling back just an inch, though she didn't let go of Seokjin’s coat. Seokjin just laughed, wrapping a secure arm around her waist and pulling her tight against his side as he looked over at the director, ears red and a grin that reached his eyes. “Our sincerest apologies, Sir.”

Seokjin looked back down at Y/N, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the top of her head. “We’ll talk later. We have all the time in the world.”

The black van slid smoothly to a stop in the underground parking garage of their Hannam-dong duplex, the heavy tires crunching softly against the concrete.

Inside, the atmosphere was a delicious, electric haze of post-confession exhaustion and floating-on-air disbelief. When they stepped out into the quiet chill of the garage, Seokjin didn't let go of Y/N’s hand. In fact, his fingers remained firmly laced with hers the entire elevator ride up, their reflections side-by-side in the mirrored walls looking less like wary co-stars and more like two people who had finally dropped a hundred-pound weight off their chests.

When the front door clicked shut behind them, the silence of the apartment felt entirely different than it had yesterday. It wasn't the heavy, suffocating silence of miscommunication anymore. It was warm, domestic, and ripe with ten years of unspoken history finally dragging into the light.

"Sit," Seokjin murmured, tugging her gently toward the living room sofa before she could even kick off her boots.

He didn't disappear into his room or hide behind a script. Instead, he vanished into the kitchen for two minutes and emerged holding two cold, glass bottles of strawberry milk. He handed one to Y/N, popped the cap off his own, and sat down right next to her, pulling his knees up so he could look at her properly.

"Alright," Seokjin said softly, a quiet, awestruck smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Ten years. You’re telling me you spent ten years thinking I was just... what, putting up with you?"

Y/N flushed, taking a long sip of the sweet, cold milk to hide her face. "You were always so cool! You went straight from university theater into big-name acting projects, and I was just... stumbling around photo shoots yelling at directors about lobsters. I genuinely thought you were just trapped in a friendship out of pity and childhood nostalgia."

Seokjin let out a low, incredulous laugh, reaching out to gently trace the back of his knuckles along her jawline. "Pity? Y/N, I have saved every movie ticket stub from every movie we’ve ever seen together since we were thirteen. I kept the receipt from the convenience store the day you dumped milk on that kid's head."

Y/N’s eyes widened, her chest swelling with a warmth so fierce it practically hurt. "You didn't."

"I did," Seokjin whispered, his voice dropping an octave, rich and entirely sincere. "And every single day on that set, when I thought you hated being near me, I felt like I was losing my mind. I was so scared that if I slipped up, If I told you I love you more than my soul can take, I'd ruin the best thing in my life."

"That’s how I felt! I thought you were uncomfortable pretending to be in love with me… and then I realized that hurt so much because I’m in love with you," Y/N said softly, leaning into his touch and resting her forehead against his. "We're idiots."

"Certified idiots," Seokjin agreed, smiling against her skin right before he leaned in and kissed her again—slow, unhurried, and completely secure in the knowledge that the woman he loved, really loved him too. He could get used to this.

The red carpet outside COEX Mall was a sensory overload of blinding camera strobes, the deafening roar of thousands of fans, and reporters shouting names over one another. Backstage in the green room, however, it sounded less like a high-profile movie premiere and more like a chaotic group chat come to life.

"Namjoon-ah, I swear to God, if you step on my shoes one more time before we walk out there, I am cutting you out of my will," Seokjin warned, glaring with no real heat as he nervously adjusted his black silk bowtie for the fourth time.

Yoongi didn't even look up from where he was slouching on the sofa, playing a mobile game. "Hyung, your blood pressure is currently hitting numbers that concern even me. Breathe. You're an A-list actor, not a man walking the green mile."

"He can't breathe," Jimin chimed in, strutting over with a grin and pretending to check Seokjin's pulse. "Look at him. The man has been in love with his best friend for a decade, and tonight he’s going to walk out in front of fifty million live-stream viewers and make it official. He's about to hyperventilate."

"I am not hyperventilating," Seokjin snapped defensively, though his hands were shaking as he tried to button his jacket. Right on cue, the dressing room door swung open, and the girls walked in. Jihyo and Jeongyeon swept through the doorway like an elite security detail, followed closely by Ji-eun, who made a beeline to Yoongi.

And then, Y/N stepped into the light.

She wore a breathtaking, minimalist ivory silk gown that hugged her silhouette, her hair swept back in a wet look. She looked every bit the high-fashion icon she was, and somehow entirely like the chaotic woman he fell in love with who had fearlessly thrown her precious strawberry milk on a bully’s head in his defense.

Seokjin stopped dead in his tracks. The entire room of chattering fell into instant, teasing silence. Jungkook slowly lowered his phone, whistling low. "Okay. If hyung drops on the carpet tonight, someone make sure I inherit his gaming collection.”

Y/N walked right up to Seokjin, a wicked, fond glint in her eyes as she reached out to straighten his lapel. "Looking sharp, CEO-nim,” She joked in character. “Try not to look too terrified when the cameras find us, Seokjinnie.”

Seokjin caught her hands, his fingers lacing tightly through hers. All the nervous jitter vanished, replaced by that quiet, devastating warmth that belonged only to her. Right in front of all their friends, he lifted her hand and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her knuckles.

"I'm not terrified of anything anymore," Seokjin murmured, a genuine, blinding smile breaking across his face. "Only of losing you.”

"Get a room!" Taehyung yelled from across the couch, tossing a crumpled scarf at them, while Hoseok clutched his heart dramatically. "My romantic soul can't handle this level of domesticity!”

Minutes later, the flashbulbs were a wall of pure white light. When Seokjin and Y/N stepped out onto the red carpet together, the crowd erupted. They didn't do the stiff, distant poses of professional co-stars. As they reached the center of the press wall, Seokjin instinctively slid a warm, secure hand around Y/N’s waist, pulling her flush against his side, his earls blazing bright red.

A reporter in the front row shouted over the din: "Jin-ssi! The internet is going crazy with speculation, are you and Y/N-ssi actually together off-screen?!"

Seokjin didn't use an evasive PR smile. He didn't hide behind a character. He looked straight into the lenses, his arm tightening securely around Y/N's waist, and let out a bright, unbothered laugh that was entirely, quintessentially Seokjin.

"I stopped pretending months ago," Seokjin called back smoothly, pulling Y/N just a fraction closer. "Took us ten years, but yes. She's stuck with me."

As the flashbulbs exploded like rolling thunder around them, Y/N grinned, leaning her head against his shoulder as frantic questions sounded from the reporters.

The heavy iron gates of the middle school didn't squeak anymore; they groaned with a quiet, well-oiled finality as Seokjin pushed them open.

He held out a set of silver keys on a brass ring, jiggling them with a triumphant, boyish grin that completely erased the high-fashion actor exterior.

"Three weeks of negotiations with the Seoul Metropolitan Office of Education, two personal phone calls to the principal, and a signed NDA promising I wouldn't let you tear down the west wing," Seokjin said, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Turns out being a nationally recognized actor has its perks. Welcome after hours, Y/N-ssi."

Y/N stared at him, her chest swelling with a sudden, overwhelming rush of affection as the cool autumn wind carried the familiar scent of old floor wax and worn paper down the dark, empty corridors.

They stepped inside, the building wrapped in a profound, echoing silence. Without needing to be led, Y/N walked beside him, their shoulders brushing as they drifted down the familiar hallway.

"I still can't believe you actually got the keys," Y/N murmured, her fingers automatically brushing against the lockers. "Are we going to get arrested?"

"If we do, I'll blame it on method acting," Seokjin teased, sliding his hand into hers, lacing their fingers together naturally.

As they rounded the corner toward the old arts wing, Seokjin’s steps slowed. A soft, reminiscent smile touched the corners of his mouth. "You know... this hallway smells exactly the same. Like damp coats and floor polish."

"And absolute terror," Y/N added, laughing softly. "Remember when we had to share that one terrible dressing room for the middle school musical?"

"Oh, god," Seokjin groaned, stopping in his tracks and rolling his eyes heavenward. "Don't remind me. I was cast to play the romantic lead opposite you in The Sound of Music, and I spent the entire opening night convinced my fake sideburns were going to fall off live on stage."

"You were a phenomenal Captain von Trapp," Y/N defended him playfully, stepping in front of him and walking backward as she led the way. "Stiff, terrified, and sweating profusely. It was peak romance."

"I was sweating because I spent every waking second of rehearsals trying to figure out how to talk to the girl who had just dumped dairy products on a bully's head for me," Seokjin retorted, his voice softening as they reached the double doors of the school auditorium.

He pushed the heavy doors open.

Inside, the auditorium was pitch black, save for a warm, amber cascade of stage lights that Seokjin had clearly rigged ahead of time. The empty velvet seats stretched out into the shadows like a sleeping audience. "Come here," he whispered, leading her down the center aisle and right up onto the wooden stage where they had stood a decade ago as nervous, awkward kids.

He didn't stop center stage, though. Instead, he guided her backstage, through the dim, familiar maze of prop closets and old flats, until they pushed open the heavy fire exit door that led directly out to the secluded brick courtyard behind the cafeteria; the exact spot where it had all started.

Y/N stopped dead in her tracks, a sharp, disbelieving gasp slipping past her lips.

There, in the center of the courtyard under the sprawling branches of an ancient maple tree, was a low wooden picnic setup. Fairy lights were strung delicately through the autumn leaves, casting a warm, golden glow over a plaid blanket piled high with all of her absolute favorite foods: spicy tteokbokki from their favorite late-night cart, crisp mandu, and nestled neatly in the center, a chilled glass bottle of the exact, generic-brand strawberry milk they had shared the day they met.

Y/N turned to look at him, her eyes shining with sudden, bright tears. "Jinnie... you didn't."

"I did," Seokjin whispered, his playful demeanor melting away, leaving behind a raw, terrifying sincerity. He pulled her gently down onto the blanket, pouring two paper cups of the strawberry milk before looking at her with a gaze so heavy and devoted it made her heart ache.

They sat in comfortable, emotional silence for a long moment, sharing the food that tasted like history, letting the weight of the past ten years settle around them like a warm blanket.

Finally, Y/N set her cup down, turning to face him fully on the blanket. She reached out, her fingers gently tracing the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the familiar pulse jumping beneath his skin.

"You know," Y/N said softly, her voice thick with emotion, "for the longest time, I thought maybe you were just passing time with me. I thought you were this untouchable, brilliant actor who somehow kept me around out of sheer habit and pity."

Seokjin’s breath hitched, and he opened his mouth to protest, but Y/N shook her head, giving him a small, tender smile.

"Let me finish," she whispered, her eyes shining. "I spent years hiding behind sarcastic comments while secretly drooling over your pouty lips and heavenly shoulders because I was terrified that if I admitted how much I needed you, I would ruin the safest place I had in the world. But being here, in the exact spot I first saw that awful bowl cut... I realized I haven't just loved you since filming, Seokjin. I have loved you from the very first second you let me drag you to that convenience store.”

Seokjin swallowed hard, his eyes bright with unshed tears. The witty, unflappable man the world knew completely vanished, leaving only the boy who had loved her silently for a decade.

"You were always my favorite plot twist, Y/N-ah," Seokjin murmured, his voice cracking slightly as he reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out a small, dark velvet box, holding it between them. Y/N gasped, tears dancing down her cheeks to meet her smile. "When we were kids, I didn't know anything about the future, or anything about love. I just knew I wanted to stay close to you. And every day since then, you’ve been my home, my anchor, and my favorite person in the entire universe."

He took her hand, pressing a lingering, reverent kiss to her knuckles before getting onto one knee in front of her.

"I’ve known for a very long time that you are my soulmate." Seokjin whispered, his voice steadying, rich and entirely unreserved as he popped the velvet box open, letting the ring catch the soft amber glow of the fairy lights. "I can only live my life with you as my permanent co-star. Will you marry me, Y/N?"

Y/N let out a wet, watery laugh, as she threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking them both over into the picnic basket. "Yes," she sobbed softly against his collarbone, her voice fierce and absolute. "Yes, you absolute idiot. Let's do it."

Seokjin let out a breath that sounded half-laugh, half-sigh of pure relief, pulling her flush against his chest. When he slipped the ring onto her finger and captured her lips in a deep, lingering kiss under the autumn maple tree, the ten years of waiting, of missed cues and mutual panic, finally melted away into a happily ever after that was entirely, perfectly theirs.

And it tasted sweet, like strawberry milk.

FIN.

thank you for reading 🦋

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