T-TIME

05’ with far too much time 🐈‍⬛👽

[gongfourzangel]

my little corner of chaos ♡

Hi, I’m T 🐈‍⬛ 20 (’05).

I write BONEKDO fics, including interconnected universe series as well as standalone pieces.

There’s no strict posting schedule here. Once a work escapes the drafting dungeon, I’ll post a rough release timeline so you know what’s coming next.

Requests are always open.

If you’re requesting a specific member, please include a rough scenario or direction. Otherwise, I’ll take creative control, and I’d hate to miss the vision you had in mind.

I write everything from tension-filled slow burn to full 18+ pieces. If a work contains mature content, it will always be clearly tagged and include content warnings. Your comfort comes first. 18 is the legal age where I live, so please keep that in mind HOWEVER i will not be writing about idols that are still under the legal drinking age in south korea.

Boundaries

I will absolutely not write:

- Anything involving minors (idols or MCs)

- Incest

- Bodily waste kinks (scat, watersports, etc.)

- Non-consensual or dubiously consensual dynamics

- Snuff

- Member x member (excluding threesomes)

- Furry content

This list may expand over time. If you’re unsure whether something falls under these categories, please ask before requesting.

Anything else? Let’s talk about it.

Rules

Kindness first. Always.

No hate.

No idol comparisons.

No fanwars.

No unnecessary negativity.

Reblogs and links are welcome and appreciated. Please do not repost my work without credit. I may have time on my hands, but each piece takes effort and intention to create.

This is a safe space for chaos, tension, yearning, and occasionally making questionable fictional decisions.

MASTERLIST

Disclaimer

All works posted on this blog are fictional.

While some stories may draw inspiration from BOYNEXTDOOR performances, stages, or public content, the scenarios, relationships, and events depicted are entirely imagined and should not be interpreted as real.

These are creative works of fiction created for entertainment purposes only.

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My ask box is always open. Fic ideas, reactions, screaming about chapters, or just a random conversation. Come hang out.

— T ❤️

[gongfourzangel]

WRONG NUMBER PART 4

PAIRING - LEEHAN x FMC

Part 3 here

Content : heartbreak??? Sorryyyyyy no spoilers

PLOT : in hopes of winning her over he can’t help but think if he pushed her further away.

WARNING : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

TAGLIST 💬: @snoopymyung @jinviktor @rixarchive @kitykatnumber

(Comment for tl in next part)

WC: 4K reeeaaaalllyy short ik i’ll make it up to you in the next part 🌸

ALL WORKS ARE FICTION

Author : i’m so sorry for the long break from posting i had many different things going on and just couldn’t find the time to sit down and write🌸

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The doorbell rings at 10:58PM

You’re still in an oversized tee and sweats, hair tied up lazily too socially exhausted to worry about your own styling, when you swing the door open to chaos.

“Move, I’m holding carbs!” Yunjin announces, balancing two pizza boxes like a trophy.

Chaewon slips past her with a bottle tucked under her arm. “We brought emotional support.”

Sakura steps in last, eyeing you carefully. “You look suspiciously domestic.”

“I look the same? It’s only been a few weeks,” you scoff, stepping aside.

“You look glowy,” Yunjin corrects immediately, nudging your shoulder as she walks past. “Like… post-kdrama confession glow.”

You roll your eyes. “You’ve had one sip already, haven’t you?”

They settle in quickly. Shoes off. Pizza opened. Pasta containers spread across your coffee table. Tetra makes her rounds for attention, earning dramatic baby voices from Eunchae.

Within minutes the house is loud. Familiar. Easy the feeling that comes from years of friendship.

Halfway through the first slice, Chaewon leans back against the couch.

“So,” she says carefully. “How is the boy team?”You chew slowly “They’re fine.”

Yunjin narrows her eyes. “Fine is never just fine.”Sakura tilts her head. “I think you are gonna be there a bit longer?”

“No way.”you scoff at her

“Have you not seen social media lately? I wouldn’t be surprised if they keep you for the rest of the award season” Yunjin presses. “it’s work,” you shrug. “Different dynamic. Different schedule. Different experiences”

“Different boys,” Eunchae hums.

You throw a cushion at her.

Yunjin grins, leaning forward. “Okay but seriously. You look… happy.”

You hesitate just a fraction too long.

“That’s offensive,” you deflect. “Was I miserable before?”“No,” Sakura says gently. “You were tired.”

The room quiets slightly.

Yunjin softens. “You’re lighter lately.”

You busy your hands with your wine glass. “It’s just a change of environment.”

“Mmm,” Chaewon hums. “Change of environment or change of person?”

You glare at her.

She grins back.

“Is there someone?” Eunchae asks, wide-eyed and dramatic.

“No.”Too quick.

All four of them freeze.

Yunjin’s smile turns dangerous. “Oh there’s definitely someone.”

“There isn’t.”

“There is.”

“It’s nothing.”

Sakura studies you. “Nothing doesn’t make you blush like that.”

You touch your face instinctively.

Heat.

Betrayal.

“Okay,” Yunjin says, scooting closer. “We’re not asking for names. We’re asking for vibes.”

You groan. “You’re all insufferable.”

“Vibes,” she repeats.

You stare at the pizza box like it personally wronged you.

“He’s…” You stop.

Chaewon perks up. “He.”

You shoot her a warning look.

“He’s intense,” you admit quietly.

“Define intense,” Sakura says.

You think about the storage closet.

The way he reacted to another guy talking to you. The way he said if no one had to know.

“He watches,” you say finally.

“Watches?” Eunchae echoes.

“Like he notices everything. Who I talk to. When I leave. If I’ve eaten.”

Yunjin leans back slowly. “Possessive?”

You hesitate.

“Protective,” you correct.

They all exchange looks.

“Same family,” Chaewon says.

You shake your head. “It’s not toxic. He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“Except?” Sakura prompts gently.

You swallow.

“Except make me think about it.”

There it is silence again.

Yunjin speaks softer this time. “Does he make you uncomfortable?”

“No.”

“Does he make you feel pressured?”

“No.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

You exhale sharply. “he’s an idol.”

They all laugh.

“Rena” Yunjin says. “We are also idols, you know how often they date.”

“You know what I mean,” you groan. “It’s messy. It’s public. It’s risky. And we—” you stop yourself.

“We what?” Chaewon pushes.

“We- i mean i would always be watching, never publicly known, like a secret.”

That lands heavier than you meant it to.

Sakura nods slowly. “So you’re scared.”

“I’m realistic.”

“You’re scared,” Yunjin corrects.

You lean back into the couch, staring at the ceiling. “If I let myself think about it, it turns into something. And I don’t know if he means something or if he-” you gesture vaguely.

“Is playing around? ” Eunchae supplies.

You don’t answer.

Yunjin watches you closely. “Do you want him to mean something?”

The question hits clean.

You open your mouth.

Close it.

“I don’t know,” you whisper.

Chaewon hums. “That’s not true.”

You glance at her.

She smiles knowingly. “You just don’t want to say it out loud.”

The room softens again.

Yunjin nudges your knee. “If he’s intense, that doesn’t automatically make it bad. It just means he feels.”

“Or he’s territorial,” Sakura adds carefully.

Your mind flashes to his texts.

Donghyun : Are you home alone?

Donghyun : Is it him?

You push the thought away.

“It’s just adrenaline” you say lightly. “It’ll fade.”

Yunjin snorts. “Chemistry doesn’t glow like that.”

You throw another cushion at her.

Later, after drinking games and far too much laughter, after Eunchae dramatically loses and has to chug water like it’s a championship event, after pizza crusts are abandoned and mascara is slightly smudged.

Yunjin hugs you at the door.

“Text him back,” she murmurs against your ear.

You stiffen slightly. “What do you mean?.”

“It’s been buzzing for the last 3 hours” she smiles

Chaewon squeezes your hand. “Just don’t lie to yourself, okay?”

Sakura gives you a long look. “And don’t let him control the pace.”

Eunchae waves dramatically. “If he’s hot, invite him next time.”

“Goodnight,” you deadpan, pushing them out the door.

The house falls quiet and suddenly every word they said starts replaying in your head.

You look at your phone on the counter the one thing you haven’t touched all night and now it feels like it’s waiting for you.

LEEHAN POV

The dorm is normal, that’s the problem.

Woonhak is half shouting at the TV. Riwoo is stretched out on the floor scrolling. Sungho’s in the kitchen rinsing a glass. Taesan is leaning against the couch, quiet. Jaehyun’s at the table with his laptop open.

I’m staring at my phone, No reply. I flip it over. Flip it back, Nothing.

“You waiting on something?” Woonhak asks.

“No.”Too quick.

Riwoo doesn’t even look up. “You’ve checked it like ten times.”

“I’m bored.”

“You’re a bad liar” Taesan says calmly.

I lean back in the chair. “Hypothetically.”

Groans immediately.

“If someone,” I start, keeping my tone neutral, “was thinking about dating. While active.”

Sungho pauses mid-step. Woonhak’s head snaps toward me. “Dating?”

“In theory.” I stretch, Riwoo smirks. “You? Dating?”

“It’s hypothetical.”

Jaehyun doesn’t look up yet. “Go on.”

“If that person liked someone who isn’t in this industry,” I continue, “what’s the smart move?”

Sungho studies me. “Since when are you thinking about this?”

“I’m not.”

“You just said-”

“In theory.”

Taesan’s eyes lift now. “Is this about you?”

“No.”Too fast again.

Woonhak sits up straighter. “There’s someone.”

“There isn’t.”

“There is.”

“It’s hypothetical.”

Riwoo finally locks his phone and looks at me properly. “If it was hypothetical, you wouldn’t look like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you haven’t blinked in five minutes.”

Silence stretches, I shrug. “I just mean… if you liked someone. And you weren’t sure they felt the same. And you can’t exactly be public about it. Is it smarter to back off?”

Sungho’s expression softens slightly. “Do you like someone?”

I look away.

Jaehyun closes his laptop slowly.

“You have to remember the consequences,” he says evenly.

I glance at him.

“If this becomes real,” he continues, “and people find out, the person outside this industry carries a different weight than we do.”

The room quiets.

“We have management. Media training. Security,” he says. “They don’t.”

My jaw tightens.

“If rumors start, if fans get angry, if people dig into her life,” Jaehyun adds, “she absorbs that differently.”

Woonhak looks between us. “Wait. This is real?”

I exhale slowly.

I didn’t mean to take it this far.

“I don’t want to make someone’s life harder,” I say instead.

Sungho’s brows lift. “So there is someone.”

I stay quiet.

That’s enough.

Riwoo tilts his head. “How long?”

“Not long.”

“Who is she?” Woonhak asks immediately.

I shake my head. “I’m not saying.”

“A trainee?” Sungho asks.

“No.”

“Idol?”

“No.”

“Actress? Influencer?” Riwoo presses.

“No.”

They exchange looks, Taesan watches me carefully. “So she’s not in this world.”

I nod once.

Jaehyun leans back in his chair. “Does she know what comes with you?”

I hesitate.

“Yeah and i think that’s why it’s scary.”

That lands heavier than I expect.

Woonhak frowns. “You think she doesn’t like you?”

I replay tonight.

The unanswered messages.

The silence.

“I don’t know,” I admit, I hate saying that out loud. Riwoo studies me. “Did you fight?”

“No.”

“Then what happened?”

“I might’ve… pushed.”

Taesan’s voice is calm. “Jealous?”

I don’t answer.

Which is answer enough.

Sungho speaks gently. “If you care about her, don’t let insecurity be louder than your feelings.”

Jaehyun nods once. “And don’t forget what I said. If this turns into something, you don’t just carry it. She does too.”

That sits in my chest.

Heavy.

Woonhak nudges my leg with his foot. “You like her a lot, don’t you?”

I stare at my phone lighting up again.

Not her.

The drop in my stomach is sharp.

“…Yeah,” I say quietly.

No teasing this time.

Just a shared understanding.

Taesan’s gaze lingers on me a second longer than the others. Thoughtful. Calculating. Like he’s filing this away, I stand before they can ask anything else. “I’m going to shower.”

“Don’t send another paragraph,” Riwoo calls after me.

Woonhak adds, “And don’t scare her off, hyung.” I don’t respond.

Because I don’t know if I already did and that thought follows me down the hallway.

I wake up before my alarm.

Off days are supposed to feel good. Sleep in. No schedule. No cameras.

Instead I’m staring at the ceiling at 8:12AM like I forgot something important, like we didn’t have one of the biggest stages last night.

My hand reaches for my phone before I’m even fully awake.

No notifications.

I open the chat anyway

Nothing.

My last message sits there exactly where I left it.

Delivered.

Not read.

I swallow.

She probably fell asleep.

She had friends over.

It’s not that deep.

I check her profile.

Active 7 minutes ago.

My stomach drops.

So she’s awake and just not answering me.

I sit up slowly, dragging a hand through my hair.

Maybe she needs space.

Maybe I sounded insane.

I replay the messages.

Are you with someone?

Is it him?

Are you home alone?

God.

Why did I send that.

The dorm is quiet, standard for the day after big performances ,Sungho went to see his family for breakfast ,Jaehyun said he was sleeping in. Taesan’s door is closed. Woonhak’s voice echoes faintly from somewhere down the hall.

Riwoo walks into the kitchen area, still half asleep.

“You’re up early,” he says.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

He glances at my phone.

“You good?”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t look convinced.

“You eating?”

“Let’s order something.”

We sit at the table scrolling through delivery apps. I pretend to debate between two places while checking her chat every few seconds.

Still nothing.

Riwoo leans back in his chair. “You’re checking it again.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Before I can respond, Woonhak bursts out laughing from the hallway.

A loud, full laugh.

Riwoo smirks faintly. “He found something.”

Woonhak appears a second later, phone in hand, grin wide.

“Listen to this,” he says, holding the screen out.

It’s a food reaction video. Dramatic commentary over some convenience store snacks.

I barely register it.

Then he says, still laughing, “Serena has the funniest vids.”

My head lifts before I can stop it.

“She sent that?” I ask.

Too quick.

I lean back immediately, forcing my voice flat. “I mean… she sent it to you?”

Woonhak nods, still smiling. “Yeah. We send each other reels all the time.”

All the time.

He scrolls up slightly to replay a different one.

And I see it.

Her name at the top.

Time stamps.

6:02AM.

7:39AM.

8:11AM.

Multiple messages.

Laughing emojis.

A voice note.

She’s been awake for hours.

And I still don’t have a reply.

My chest tightens.

Riwoo notices the shift in my expression.

He doesn’t connect it to her.

He just sees me go quiet.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I answer immediately.

Woonhak doesn’t notice anything off. He’s too busy laughing.

“She said we should try that place next week,”he adds casually. “She thinks it’s overrated.”

“Cool,” I say.

It comes out steady.

I don’t feel steady.

Woonhak disappears back down the hall, still scrolling.

Silence settles at the table.

Riwoo watches me for a second.

“You’re weird today,” he says.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

I stare at the food app on my phone but I’m not seeing it.

“She hasn’t answered?” he asks casually.

My head snaps up. “Who?”

He shrugs. “Whoever you were texting last night.”

I didn’t realise he noticed that.

“It’s nothing,” I say.

He studies me, then leans back. “If it’s nothing, you wouldn’t look like you’re about to fight the ceiling.”

I look away, He doesn’t push.

“Just don’t overthink it,” he says. “People get busy.”

Busy.

Right.

Busy sending reels.

Busy laughing.

Busy making plans.

I nod like I agree.

But my thoughts are loud.

Did I fuck this up?

Over one night.

Over my own insecurity. I open our chat again still nothing.

My thumb hovers over the keyboard.

I could apologise.

I could act normal.

I could pretend I didn’t spiral or I could wait and risk that the silence means more than I want it to.

I lock my phone.

Set it face down.

And try not to check it again.

I fail thirty seconds later.

I tell myself I won’t look for her

It’s just a normal day at the company. Practice. Meetings. Staff moving in and out like always. Nothing personal. Nothing dramatic.

In the elevator, Woonhak casually holds his phone up to me. “Look. She sent this.”

It’s a photo. Minjae standing in one of the styling rooms holding something oversized and ridiculous, clearly confused.

I recognise the hallway instantly.

“She sent that just now?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral.

“Yeah,” he says. “She’s in today.”

Of course she is.

I nod once. “Cool.”

The elevator doors open and I step out like nothing shifted.

But everything did.

I don’t go looking for her.

That would be obvious.

Instead, I take the longer hallway to the practice rooms. Walk a little slower past the styling area. Pause near the break space like I’m just checking my phone.

I’m not searching.

I’m listening.

Staff voices echo down the corridor. Garment racks rolling over tile. Laughter spilling from a conference room.

“… fitting at three…”

“… tell Serena—”

My steps slow automatically.

“—Serena said the jackets are being steamed.”

My chest tightens.

She’s here. Close enough that her name is moving through the building in passing conversations.

I keep walking.

Don’t turn your head. Don’t look like you care.

I round another corner and pass a group of stylists carrying garment bags.

“Ask Serena , she’s in Studio B right now,” one of them says.

Studio B.

I don’t change direction immediately. That would be obvious.

I take a sip of water. Count to five.

Then I head down the corridor that just happens to pass Studio B.

My heartbeat feels louder than it should.

It’s just a hallway.

The door is half open. Voices inside. Fabric rustling. Someone adjusting something metallic.

And then—

“No, pin it here instead. It’ll sit better on stage.”

Her.

Clear. Focused. Calm.

Like nothing happened.

I stop for half a second too long before forcing myself to keep walking.

Don’t hover. Don’t stare through the doorway like a creep.

She laughs lightly at something someone says.

It hits harder than I expect.

She sounds normal.

Like she didn’t leave me on delivered for almost twenty-four hours.

Like I didn’t sit awake replaying my own messages.

My phone feels heavy in my pocket.

Still no reply.

Did I fuck this up?

Or is she just pretending it didn’t happen?

I make it back to the practice room and set my bag down like everything’s fine.

Taesan glances at me once. “You took the long way.”

“I know.”

He doesn’t question it.

Music starts. We run the first section.

I miss a count.

My focus isn’t on the choreography.

It’s on the fact that she’s one hallway away.

SERENA

Like Yunjin predicted, the offer came the next morning.

“Stay on through the rest of award season,” management had said. “Continuity. The boys are comfortable with you.”

Comfortable.

That word had almost made you laugh.

Now you’re in Studio B with Minjae, garment racks lining the walls, mood boards spread across a long table. Fabric swatches. Stage references. Lighting notes for the next shows.

“This cut will sit better under harsher lighting,” Minjae says, adjusting a sketch.

You nod, marking something down. “We’ll need reinforcement stitching if they’re doing floor work again.”

You keep your tone steady. Professional. Focused.

You don’t check your phone.

You’ve checked it enough.

You know what’s waiting there.

Or rather, what isn’t.

You’d seen his messages last night.

All of them.

You just didn’t open the chat.

If you opened it, you’d have to answer.

And you didn’t trust yourself to answer calmly.

“PD wants to run through concepts in Practice Room 3,” Minjae says, gathering the folders. “You coming?”

“Yeah.”

You grab your tablet and follow him out.

The hallway feels too familiar.

You tell yourself you’re not thinking about him.

You absolutely are.

As you approach the practice room, you can hear music through the door. A bass line. Someone counting.

Minjae knocks lightly and pushes the door open.

The boys are already inside.

Some are near the mirrors, running choreo. One is half singing into a mic to test levels. Someone’s sitting on the floor stretching.

And then there’s him.

Blonde hair catching the overhead lights.

You feel him before you look at him.

You’ve unintentionally avoided him for forty-eight hours.

Different corridors. Different timing. Different exits.

You didn’t mean for it to become avoidance.

But it did.

You step fully into the room, expression composed.

“Morning,” Minjae greets casually.

They respond in scattered hellos.

You keep your eyes moving. PD. Equipment. Stage layout notes on the whiteboard.

Not him.

You’re aware of him anyway.

The way his movement shifts slightly when you enter.

The way the room feels tighter.

You focus on the discussion. Next award show concept. Camera blocking. Quick change logistics. Who needs reinforcement in their jackets. Which choreography moments require flexibility adjustments.

You speak when necessary. Clear. Efficient. Calm.

Like nothing is wrong.

Like you didn’t lie awake replaying his messages in your head.

Are you with someone?

Is it him?

Are you home alone?

Your jaw tightens slightly at the memory.

You understand jealousy.

You don’t understand accusation.

You finish explaining a stage transition and step back as PD continues talking.

Your phone buzzes in your hand.

The vibration feels louder than it should.

You glance down instinctively.

Donghyun: are you avoiding me?

Your stomach drops.

Of course he’d text now.

You can feel him somewhere in your peripheral vision. Not looking at you directly. But aware.

You type before you can overthink it.

Serena: im working

You hit send.

The typing bubble appears almost immediately.

You don’t look up.

You don’t look at him.

But you can feel it.

The tension stretching across the room like a wire pulled too tight.

You tell yourself it’s simple.

You’re working.

That’s the truth.

It just isn’t the whole truth.

The meeting wraps. PD leaves first. Minjae lingers to confirm fabric timelines before heading out.

You’re stacking your tablet into your bag when you feel it.

That shift in the air.

You don’t look up.

You already know.

“Serena.”

Low. Controlled.

Knowing who the voice belongs to you straighten. “Yeah?”

“Can I talk to you?”

It’s neutral enough that no one questions it. The others are distracted. Music starting again. Someone laughing near the mirrors.

You nod once.

He doesn’t wait.

He steps toward the side studio. The smaller recording room off the main space. The same one as before.

You follow.

The door shuts behind you with a soft click.

Silence.

It’s quieter than last time. No adrenaline. No chaos.

Just tension.

He turns to face you immediately.

“You haven’t answered.”

His voice isn’t raised. It’s tight.

You adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder. Calm. “I said I was busy.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

You don’t match his intensity. You don’t need to.

“I know.”

He exhales sharply through his nose. Runs a hand through his blonde hair.

“Are you avoiding me?”

There it is.

Not accusation.

Not anger.

Just something frayed.

You finally look at him properly.

And it hits you.

He looks tired.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

Like he hasn’t slept properly. Like he’s been replaying something over and over.

Your voice softens automatically.

“No. Not on purpose—”

He steps closer without realizing he’s doing it. “Then why does it feel like that?”

You swallow.

Because you didn’t expect him to ask it like that.

“It’s a lot to think about,” you admit quietly.

His jaw tightens.

“A lot of what?”

“You.”

That lands.

“You’re an idol,” you continue, steady. “You’re not just some guy texting me at midnight. There’s consequences to that. For you. For me.”

His expression shifts at that.

You see it.

The spiral. The jealousy. The fear. The what-ifs.

“You think I didn’t think about that?” he says.

“I think you’re used to managing risk,” you reply gently. “I’m not.”

Silence stretches.

You step a little closer now, closing the emotional gap he opened.

“I wasn’t ignoring you to hurt you.”

His eyes search yours. Desperate for something solid.

“I just didn’t know what answering meant.”

That’s the truth.

If you answered, it meant you were stepping into something.

If you didn’t, it meant you were running.

You exhale slowly.

“I needed space to figure out if this is fantasy… or something real.”

The word fantasy makes his shoulders tense.

“It’s not,” he says immediately.

You believe him.

That’s the problem.

He studies your face like he’s trying to memorize the decision forming there.

“So you’re not avoiding me?” he asks again, softer this time.

You shake your head.

“No. I just needed to breathe.”

His hand twitches at his side like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t.

“You scared me,” he admits quietly. “I thought I ruined it.”

Your heart stutters.

“You didn’t ruin it.”

He steps close enough now that there’s barely space between you.

“But you have to understand,” you murmur, holding his gaze, “this isn’t simple for me. You don’t just date. You get watched. Analysed. Torn apart.”

“And you think I’d let that happen to you?” he says, almost offended.

“I think you can’t control everything.”

That makes him pause.

Because you’re right.

And he knows it.

The tension shifts.

Less sharp.

More fragile.

You tilt your head slightly.

“I’m not avoiding you,” you repeat softly.

“But I am thinking.”

His expression steadies at that.

He nods once.

Not satisfied.

But understanding.

And for the first time in forty-eight hours, the air between you doesn’t feel like it’s collapsing.

Nothing is decided.

No labels. No promises. No dramatic declarations that would make this easier to define.

“I meant what I said,” Leehan tells me quietly. “Take your time.”

I study his face, searching for resentment. I don’t find it.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he continues. “Even if you decide this stays… whatever it is. Even if you don’t want to call it anything.”

“And if that’s not enough for you?” I ask.

A small pause. “It wouldn’t be,” he admits. “But I’d rather have you uncertain than not at all.” That does something to my chest I don’t know how to name. He steps back first this time. Gives me space. Lets the moment breathe instead of pressing it further. Nothing is decided but nothing is broken either.

Later that day, I’m in my office pretending to work.

My screen is open. Emails sit unanswered. My mind keeps replaying the way he said I’d rather have you uncertain than not at all.

There’s a soft shift of air behind me.

No knock.

Of course.

“You’ve gotta stop appearing unannounced “ I say, not turning around. “It’s getting weird.”

Silence.

Not the familiar kind.

I swivel in my chair.

Taesan is leaning against the doorframe.

Arms folded. Head tilted slightly. Studying me.

My stomach drops, but my expression doesn’t.

“Oh hey what’s up?,” I say evenly.

One eyebrow lifts.

“Who were you expecting.”

The tone is light.

It isn’t.

I blink once, buying time.

“Minjae,” I answer quickly.

Too quickly.

His eyebrow stays raised.

“Minjae,” he repeats.

“Yeah. He said he’d come by about the schedule.”

Taesan pushes off the frame and steps inside, closing the door behind him with quiet precision.

“He’s efficient,” he says.

“He is.”

“I didn’t see him downstairs.”

I shrug. “You don’t monitor every hallway.”

A faint smile touches his mouth. Not amused. Just aware.

“No,” he agrees. “I don’t.”

He walks slowly around the room, not touching anything. Just looking. Measuring.

“I couldn’t sleep the other night,” he says casually.

I keep my hands folded in my lap. “That happens.”

“So I went for a walk.”

My pulse spikes, but I tilt my head as if mildly interested.

“Fresh air’s good for that.”

“It is.”

A pause

“Especially near the river.”

Shit

I don’t react.

“I hope you didn’t fall in,” I say dryly.

His gaze sharpens just a fraction.

“I wasn’t the one near the edge.”

Silence stretches between us.

He saw.

Not everything.

But enough.

He studies my face like he’s waiting for guilt to surface. For panic. For a crack.

I give him none.

After a moment, he exhales lightly.

“I called Leehan that night,” he says. “Right after.”

My heart stutters once.

“I texted you too. Back to back.”

Testing.

He had been testing.

Seeing who would slip.

“Neither of you mentioned anything,” he continues.

His voice isn’t accusing.

It’s observational.

“There wasn’t anything to mention,” I reply.

He holds my gaze.

Long enough that it feels like he’s weighing the lie.

Or the half truth.

“I’m not mad,” he says finally.

I hadn’t realised I was bracing for anger until it doesn’t come.

“I just don’t like not knowing what’s happening around me.”

Around him.

Around the group.

“I don’t know what you think you saw,” I say carefully.

“I think,” he replies, slow and measured, “that if something is happening, it shouldn’t be reckless.”

Not stop.

Not end.

Just not reckless.

“That’s a big assumption,” I counter.

“Maybe.” His head tilts slightly. “But I know him.”

The room feels smaller.

“He doesn’t do anything halfway,” Taesan adds. “And apparently neither do you.”

My jaw tightens before I can stop it.

“That’s flattering,” I say lightly.

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

Another pause.

“If there’s nothing,” he continues, straightening slightly, “then this conversation never happened.” He doesn’t finish it, He doesn’t need to.

He moves toward the door, hand resting on the handle.

“Oh,” he adds, almost casually. “Minjae left the building 20 minutes ago”

The air leaves my lungs.

He opens the door.

“Be careful, he might be comfortable in the industry but you have nothing to fall back on if people analyse your every move serena, zero privacy” he says, softer now not a threat, warning.

I sit there for a long moment after the door closes. He knows, He’s not angry, He’s watching.

I force myself back into work.

Emails. Call sheets. Fabric approvals. Anything that feels structured enough to quiet my thoughts.

Eventually the building starts to empty. The light outside my office window shifts warmer. Normal. Calm.

I shut my laptop and finally pick up my phone.

A notification waits.

Taesan.

My chest tightens before I even open it.

Taesan: I’ve never seen someone look disheveled while giving fashion advice in a studio. First time for everything.

The blood drains from my face.

Disheveled.

Studio.

My mind flashes back to that night. The alleged soundproofing, The way I fixed my hair too quickly. The way I avoided eye contact afterward.

Another message comes through.

Taesan: I thought stylists were meticulous.

That isn’t teasing.

He knows

Not just the river.

Before that.

My fingers hover over the screen, but I don’t reply.

For the first time all day, I feel exposed.

Not caught.

Seen.

——————————————————————————

T - HIIII i know i know i am so sorry for the lack of contact i’ve had on here for the last month things just got really hectic but hopefully now it’s chilled out i can go back to fueling your curiosities 💬

[gongfourzangel]

Hi guys!!!! Sorry for the delay in posting the next parts of wrong number, i have had loads of personal commitments come up in the last week but i’m hoping to get the next part posted soon!! I have the next 3 parts drafted its just formatting them thank you for being patient 😚😚😚

[gongfourzangel]

Can you add me to the tag list for wrong number please?

Ofcourse ❤️❤️❤️ posting it tomorrow 🤔

[gongfourzangel]

Not fic related. But gongfourz rumoured at PFW next week 😛 maybe smth coming up of they attend for my other gongfourz enthusiasts

[gongfourzangel]

MASTERLIST ♡🚪

Welcome to the drafting dungeon archives.

⸻

✦ Archive Key

(s) — smut - mature content

(f) — fluff - tenderness & romance

(a) — angst - emotional damage

(c) — crack - chaos gremlin hours

✦ Member Abbreviations

SH = Sungho 🐈

RW = Riwoo 🦦

JH = Jaehyun 🐶

TS = Taesan 🐈‍⬛

LH = Leehan 🐰

WH = Woonhak ⛄️

I do write for everyone, but the gongfourz agenda is strong in this house. More member works coming soon, I promise.

✦ Interconnected Universe Series

[BOTTLE GIRL] - TS

Part One (S)

-Part Two (S)

Spin Off

* Clouded want - LH (S) (A)

Status: Ongoing

⸻

✦ Standalone Works

[Wrong Number] - LH

- Part One (S)

- Part Two (F)

- Part Three (s)

Status: Ongoing

✦ Coming Soon

-

♡ Requests: Open

♡ Updates: No fixed schedule

♡ 18 is the legal age where I live

comment for taglists for upcoming works ❤️

[gongfourzangel]

WRONG NUMBER PART 3

Pairing : Leehan idol x non idol FMC

Part 2 here

Content : MDNI, SMUT, P in V, “shhh be quiet pretty”, other idols mentioned, secret situationship. Sneaky sex

Plot: it’s crunch time at the venue, Serena is trying to navigate her now complicated “relations” with a certain blonde headed artist who hates the way other men are around her. Is this going to have a happy ending?

WARNING : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

TAGLIST 💬: @snoopymyung @jinviktor @rixarchive

(comment for next part TL)

Wc : 8k (this part was suppose to be in part 2 but i had restrictions so i split them up 🙏🙏)

ALL WORKS ARE FICTION!

——————ིྀ——————-ིྀ———————ིྀ——————

The green room is loud again when you step back inside.

The red carpet glow still clings to them. Jackets off. Ties loosened. Someone has already claimed the couch with a plate balanced on their knee. Takeout containers are spread across the coffee table like they won something.

“Finally,” Taesan says through a mouthful of food. “We thought you eloped.”

You scoff, slipping your bag onto the chair near the styling rack. “With who exactly?”

“Take your pick.”

Laughter follows.

You scan the room automatically. Checking makeup. Checking collars. Checking if anyone’s sweating through silk.

And then you feel it.

Across the room.

Leehan isn’t eating.

He’s sitting back in the armchair near the far wall, jacket still on, one ankle resting over his knee. Phone in his hand. Blonde hair pushed back slightly from earlier.

Watching you.

Not subtle.

Not pretending.

Just watching.

Your stomach flips in a way you refuse to name.

You busy yourself rearranging something that doesn’t need rearranging.

Your phone buzzes.

You don’t look immediately.

It buzzes again.

You swallow and check.

Donghyun: You look distracted.

You don’t look at him. You type.

Serena: I’m working.

Three dots appear instantly.

Donghyun : Were you?

Your breath catches. He knows.

You glance up. He hasn’t moved. Still staring. Thumb lazily tapping against his phone.

Serena: Yes.

Donghyun: That hallway camera blind spot is popular tonight

Your jaw tightens. He definitely knows.

Serena: You’re paranoid.

Donghyun :I’m observant.

Pause.

Donghyun: Did he touch you?

Your throat goes dry.

Across the room, Taesan is arguing about sauces. Someone laughs too loud. The world continues like this conversation isn’t detonating quietly in your hands.

Serena: No.

You hesitate.

Then add

Serena: Relax.

His reply takes longer this time.

You risk looking up.

He hasn’t taken his eyes off you.

Donghyun : I’m not relaxed.

Your pulse spikes.

Serena: I can tell.

Donghyun : Come here.

You nearly choke on your own breath.

Serena: They’re right there.

Donghyun : I didn’t say sit on my lap.

You bite your lip immediately.

He notices.

Of course he does.

Donghyun: Don’t do that.

Your stomach drops lower.

Serena: Do what?

Donghyun: Bite your lip like that while looking at me.

Heat floods your face.

Serena: You’re imagining things.

Donghyun: I’m imagining a lot of things.

Your mind betrays you again.

His hands. His mouth. The way he takes his time until you’re the one asking for more.

You shift your weight, pretending to reorganize a garment bag.

Serena: You have no self control.

Donghyun: I had control on the carpet.

Serena: Barely.

Donghyun: you were talking to him. Again

There it is again.Possessive. Tight.

Serena: Am i not allowed to talk to people?

That lands.

You see it in the way his jaw flexes.

Then

Donghyun: You have 20 minutes before we have to be ready to sit in the artist viewing area.

Serena: And?

Donghyun: Storage room. End of the hall.

Your heart absolutely slams against your ribs.

You glance around. No one is paying attention. They’re too busy eating and replaying fan reactions.

Serena:You’re insane.

Donghyun: You like that.

You really, really do.

Your fingers hover over the screen.

Serena: This is risky.

Donghyun :So was last time.

The memory hits like a spark down your spine.

He shifts in his chair slightly. Subtle. Controlled.

Still watching you.

Donghyun: Tell me not to go.

You inhale slowly.

Because if you say it, he won’t.

And that control might be the most dangerous thing about him.

Across the room, his eyes darken just slightly.

Your lip finds your teeth again.

Serena: …

He waits.

You don’t type it.

You just lock your phone and pretend to check the time.

His phone buzzes in his hand.

He doesn’t look down.

He’s already smiling.

Quietly.

Confident.

Because you didn’t tell him no.

Coincidentally, you receive a family member’s phone call that requires you to step out of the green room. Or at least, that’s what you let on when you excuse yourself.

The hallway is nearly vacant now. Most staff and talent are finalizing touch-ups or taking a last breath before the show begins. Your heels echo softly against the floor as you walk, just about to check your phone when a strong arm suddenly pulls you into an open doorway.

You’re already smiling by the time his lips crash into yours.

The kiss is punishing. Desperate. Teeth grazing, tongues fighting for dominance. His hand fists in your hair as if he’s been holding himself back for too long.

“Look at you,” Leehan murmurs against your mouth, his voice low and rough. “Smiling, knowing the risks.”

There’s a dark glint in his eyes before he grips your jaw and tilts your head, deepening the kiss until you’re breathless. In one swift movement, he spins you and bends you over a row of spare desks and stacked chairs.

“Who would’ve thought,” he continues, voice thick with appreciation, “the innocent stylist walks around in lace panties with nothing stopping wandering eyes from seeing all of this.”

His hands palm your ass slowly, lifting your skirt inch by inch. You shiver under his gaze.

“So pretty… hmm?” he groans.

His fingers slide beneath the black lace, pushing the fabric aside to reveal your already glistening core. The sound of a zipper fills the small room, followed by the soft swish of fabric. Then you feel him hard and hot rubbing the tip up and down your folds.

“You should call him,” he teases, voice dipping lower. “Let him hear how good you’re feeling.”

You don’t doubt that a part of him means it.

“It’s not like tha— fuck—”

The rest of your protest dies as he slams into you, burying himself to the hilt. The stretch steals the air from your lungs. You bite down on your bottom lip, adjusting, your fingers gripping the edge of the desk.

He starts slow. Deliberate. Torturous.

His hands travel from your breasts to your throat, fingers wrapping there as his pace begins to quicken.

“Just like that, baby. Taking me so good.”

The rhythm turns rabid. The desk scrapes faintly against the floor.

“Fuck- oh m-“ your moans are abruptly cut off when his hand covers your mouth.

The spark that shoots through you is instant.

The risk. The possibility of getting caught.

It only makes you wetter.

“Shhh, pretty,” he breathes, thrusting deep again until your eyes roll and your legs tremble.

He pulls out suddenly, spinning you around and lifting you onto the edge of the desk you were just bent over. He steps between your legs, crowding your space, taking in your wide eyes and the way your lip is trapped between your teeth.

“Fuck, you can’t keep doing that,” he mutters, dragging his thumb over your bottom lip before pushing it into your mouth.

No instruction needed. You suck the digit slowly, looking up at him through hooded lashes.

“Oh fuck,” he groans.

He shifts, aligning himself with your slick entrance again. This time you’re ready, but it always hits different with Leehan. Always deeper. Always heavier.

As he pushes in, your head falls back, pleasure washing over you as he begins to move. Grinding into you. Claiming the space between your legs.

Soon his thrusts grow sloppier. Faster. Desperate.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the movement. His mouth crashes against yours in a rough, dominating kiss.

“Fill me up,” you whisper against his lips.

The sound you pull from him is wrecked.

He works harder, hips snapping into yours with urgency. The final thrusts have you crying out into his shoulder as you feel him spill deep inside you.

But he doesn’t move.

Even two minutes later, he stays there, buried inside you, his head pressed into your shoulder as he breathes you in.

The room is quiet except for your breathing

And his.

He’s still inside you, forehead pressed into your shoulder, fingers gripping your waist like if he lets go the world resets and this didn’t happen.

Your pulse is finally starting to settle.

“Leehan,” you murmur softly.

He exhales against your skin, slow and warm. “Don’t.”

You almost smile. “We have to go back.”

“I know.”

But he doesn’t move.

The hallway outside is silent. Too silent. The kind that reminds you this was reckless. The kind that makes the high feel sharper in hindsight.

His hand slides from your waist to your jaw, gently turning your face toward him. The dominant edge from minutes ago is gone. In its place is something quieter. Something searching.

“Did he touch you?” he asks again, softer this time.

You shake your head.

His jaw tightens anyway.

“He asked you to text him.”

You blink. “You were watching?”

“I notice things.”

You study him for a second. The jealousy isn’t playful now. It’s real. Raw. And strangely… vulnerable.

“You think I’d be here,” you say quietly, “if I wanted him?”

That lands.

His eyes flick down to your mouth, then back up.

“No,” he admits.

Finally, slowly, he pulls out. The loss of him makes you inhale sharply. He adjusts your skirt with surprising care, smoothing the fabric down like he’s erasing evidence. Like he’s trying to put you back together before anyone sees.

He tucks himself away, zipping up, then brushes a thumb under your eye.

“Lip,” he says.

You realize you’ve been biting it again.

He leans in, pressing a slow kiss to your mouth. Not rough. Not punishing.

Claiming.

“Don’t let him think he has a chance,” he murmurs against your lips.

You tilt your head. “That sounds a lot like jealousy.”

He gives you a look. “It sounds like I don’t share.”

Your stomach flips.

A knock echoes faintly down the hall.

“Two minutes!” someone calls.

Reality slams back in.

You hop down from the desk, smoothing your hair, adjusting your expression into something professional. He watches you do it like it fascinates him.

“You’re insane,” you whisper.

“You came,” he replies simply.

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks are warm.

Before you open the door, he catches your wrist.

“If he texts you,” he says quietly, eyes darker again, “show me.”

You hold his gaze.

“And if you keep dragging me into storage rooms?” you counter.

A slow smirk curves his mouth.

“I won’t need to drag you.”

Your breath hitches.

You slip your wrist from his grip and step back into the hallway first, checking both directions. Clear.

By the time you both walk back into the green room, you look composed. Calm. In control.

Taesan glances up from his phone. “Took a while.”

“Family,” you say smoothly.

Leehan walks in behind you, unbothered, fixing his cuff like nothing happened.

But when he passes you, his fingers brush lightly against the small of your back.

Subtle.

Possessive.

And just enough to remind you

This isn’t over.

The artist viewing section is all polished smiles and careful posture.

On the backstage monitor, you watch them seated in their assigned row. Jackets sharp. Hair untouched despite the humidity of lights and bodies. Cameras sweep across them every few minutes, catching reactions, applause, polite laughter.

No phones. No distractions. Just performance even while sitting down.

Leehan sits composed, hands folded loosely in his lap when he’s not clapping. Expression neutral but attentive. He leans toward Taesan once, murmurs something that makes the younger one smirk before quickly straightening again when a camera passes.

He looks calm.

Disciplined.

Untouchable.

Backstage is the opposite.

The quick change room feels almost clinical in comparison. Cooler air. Bright lights. Controlled silence. You’re alone now, setting up for the quick change. Two awards left before they rush back in.

You lay out the stage accessories in order.

Cufflinks paired carefully beside each jacket. Rings aligned in neat rows. In-ears checked and placed exactly where they need to be for fast hands and faster movement.

You double-check the 360 stage adjustments in your mind. No outfit changes between songs. Everything has to be perfect before they walk out.

You pick up Leehan’s cufflinks last.

Cold metal against your fingers.

Your mind flashes back before you can stop it.

The storage room. His hand at your throat. The way he didn’t move afterward.

You set the cufflinks down more firmly than intended.

Focus.

The host announces another winner. Applause echoes through the monitor speakers. The camera cuts to your boys again. They rise briefly to congratulate the group passing by. Polite bows. Firm handshakes. Controlled smiles.

Leehan looks effortless.

Like he isn’t carrying the memory of you pressed against a desk.

Your stomach tightens.

You move to the garment rack, smoothing the stage jackets one more time. Fingers checking seams, tugging lightly at hems. You adjust the placement of his ring by a centimeter, even though it was already straight.

Two awards.

The arena noise swells through the walls when a major category is announced. Even backstage you can feel the vibration under your feet.

You step back and take in the setup.

Everything in place.

Everything ready.

Unlike the tension coiled low in your stomach.

The second-to-last award is announced. More applause. More standing. More bows.

They’re almost done.

You glance at the clock.

Timing it in your head.

How long it will take them to clear the artist section. How long to walk backstage. How much time you have to get jackets on, mics secured, accessories fastened before they head to the 360 stage.

You exhale slowly.

This is the calm before impact.

The final award before their performance is announced.

On the monitor, they sit straighter. Focus sharpening. You know that shift. The internal

switch flipping from spectator to performer.

You reach for Leehan’s jacket, holding it for a moment before placing it back exactly where it belongs.

Two minutes.

In two minutes, the door will swing open.

They’ll flood back in.

And he’ll walk through it like nothing happened.

Like he didn’t have you shaking in a storage room less than an hour ago.

You smooth your expression in the reflection of the mirror.

The door swings open right on cue.

Noise floods in with them.

Adrenaline. Applause still echoing faintly from the arena. The energy shift is immediate. Spectators are gone. Performers are back.

“Two minutes!” the stage manager calls.

The room moves like muscle memory.

Jackets off chairs. Hands reaching for assigned pieces without being told. You step forward instantly, sliding cufflinks into waiting hands, fastening clasps, straightening collars as they rotate around you.

“Mic check,” one of the audio staff says, moving down the line.

They fall into formation near the mirror.

Low hums start first.

“Mm—mm—mm.”

Lip trills. Controlled breaths. Scales under their breath.

Taesan rolls his shoulders, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. Another member shakes out his arms, exhaling hard. Someone mutters the first line of the opening verse just to feel it sit right in their chest.

You adjust Leehan’s in-ear as he stands still for you, jaw relaxed while he runs a quiet scale under his breath.

His voice is steady.

Focused.

Different from earlier.

He clears his throat once and tests a higher note, nodding when it lands clean. You smooth the lapel of his jacket automatically.

“Levels good?” you ask the audio tech.

“Good.”

The stage manager pops their head in again. “Positions in thirty!”

The boys gather in a tight circle in the center of the room.

Hands stack in.

You and the rest of the staff step back slightly but stay close enough to feel it.

There’s a second of quiet.

Then one of them starts the chant. Loud. Sharp. Familiar.

They shout their group name in unison, voices bouncing off the walls. Once. Twice. Louder the third time.

The room erupts.

Staff clap, cheer, whistle.

“Let’s go!”

“Kill it!”

“Have fun!”

Adrenaline spikes through the air like static.

They break the huddle, lining up at the door that leads to stage access. The bass from the arena is louder now. You can feel it through the floor.

One by one, they step out.

High fives from staff. Encouraging pats on shoulders.

Taesan grins at you as he passes.

Riwoo flashes you a quick thumbs up before disappearing down the corridor.

Leehan is last.

Of course he is.

He pauses just long enough for you to adjust something invisible on his sleeve. Professional. Efficient.

Then, as he steps past you

His fingers brush the small of your back.

Hidden from everyone else.

Your breath stutters for half a second.

You keep your expression composed. “Have fun out there.”

He glances over his shoulder.

And winks.

Not cocky.

Not exaggerated.

Just for you.

Then he’s gone.

The roar of the arena swallows him whole as the stage lights flare.

And you’re left backstage heart beating just a little too fast

Watching the monitor as they take the 360 stage.

The lights drop without warning.

The arena inhales as one.

Then the bass hits.

From backstage, the floor vibrates beneath your heels as the 360 stage ignites red signaling the beginning of nice guy. The bar props are moved in by dancers. The camera cranes sweep overhead.

Woonhak opens the stage with his part before meeting riwoo.

The crowd loses its mind.

You watch from the side monitor, arms folded tight across your chest, trying to keep your breathing even.

Taesan and jaehyun make it clean out of the sports car and the camera switches to Leehan.

Your breathing falters as he stares down the barrel of the camera, god he knows he looks good you think as the camera follows, soon sungho joins him and they finish the opening member parts.

Blonde hair catching the strobes. Jaw set. Expression cool and unreadable.

He doesn’t look like someone who had you pinned against a desk earlier.

He looks untouchable.

The chorus hits. Smooth footwork, clean transitions as they rotate around the stage so no side feels ignored. The cameras orbit them constantly, red tally lights blinking as they capture every micro-expression.

He’s locked in.

Every move precise. Every turn deliberate.

And then his vocal line comes.

You know exactly when it’s about to happen. Your body tenses before he even opens his mouth.

His voice cuts through the arena effortlessly. Strong. Controlled. Just a slight rasp at the edge that wasn’t there during rehearsal.

The crowd screams louder.

He steps forward into center position, shoulders rolling with the beat, eyes scanning over the audience like he owns it.

You swallow.

Halfway through the second chorus, they still have the same energy they opened with.

He’s sweating now, just enough to make the blonde strands cling slightly to his forehead.

He looks unreal under the lights.

The dance break hits.

The audience roars with every beat drop.

From your angle backstage, you can see the discipline in it. The breath control. The split-second glances they use to confirm timing.

The kiss transition goes as planned and it leads them into the second song of the performance. Cold Smoke gun shoot off around the stage as the chorus of earth wind and fire blasts though out the arena surprising the other idols seated in the viewing area.

The final chorus explodes.

Confetti cannons fire from the outer rim of the stage. Lights strobe faster. The crowd is on its feet.

He hits the last note steady, strong, not even wavering.

Professional to the very end.

The final pose lands.

Silence for half a second

Then the arena detonates into cheers.

the boys are breathing heavy as the lights fade and the introduction for the next award plays over the sound systems. Rushing to the stage exit and heading into the tunnels.

From backstage, you finally exhale.

Because they nailed it.

As they exit the stage tunnel, flushed and glowing with adrenaline, you can already see it on his face.

The performance high.

And something else underneath it.

The boys spill into the corridor in a rush of laughter and overlapping voices.

“That was crazy,” Jaehyun says, still breathless. “When the lights rotated during the bridge? I could see every section.”

“The fanchants were loud,” Taesan adds. “Like actually loud. I couldn’t even hear my in-ears for a second.”

Woonhak is grinning so hard his cheeks look sore. “The 360 was it. When we turned on the final chorus and everyone stood up? I felt that.”

Leehan walks slightly behind them, rolling his shoulders as staff remove his mic pack. His blonde hair is damp, pushed back messily, eyes still sharp from the stage lights.

He catches your eye.

There’s that small nod again. Not cocky. Just satisfied.

You give him one back.

Back in the green room, the energy slowly settles. Jackets come off. Towels are thrown around necks. Someone has already laid out containers of food. Rice bowls, fried chicken, fruit cups, bottled drinks lined up neatly on the table.

The boys drop wherever there’s space.

Taesan sits on the floor with his back against the couch. Woonhak sprawls across one side like he owns it. Jaehyun is already halfway through his chicken before anyone else opens theirs.

“This is the best post-stage meal we’ve had,” Woonhak declares dramatically.

“You say that every time,” Jaehyun replies.

Leehan sits cross-legged near the coffee table, scrolling now that their phones are back. His expression keeps shifting between neutral and suspiciously pleased.

Your phone buzzes.

donghyun: u saw that right

You don’t look at him. You type back casually.

Serena: I saw you almost miss your mark.

Three dots instantly.

donghyun: almost is the key word

donghyun: i saved it

A second later:

donghyun: did i look good

You fight the smile threatening to give you away.

Serena: Your mic was stable. That’s what matters.

Across the room, he glances up.

Smirks.

Your phone buzzes again.

donghyun: so i looked good

You ignore that one.

The door opens and one of the managers steps in, phone in hand, eyebrows raised in a way that means news.

“Guys. You’re trending.”

Every head snaps up.

“For what?” Taesan asks.

“For everything,” the manager says, scrolling. “Performance clips are blowing up. And the styling.” He looks directly at you. “People are talking about the fits. Especially how they worked on a 360 stage. A lot of praise.”

You blink. “Already?”

“It’s everywhere. ‘Best coordinated look tonight.’ ‘Whoever styled them understood the stage.’ That kind of thing.”

Woonhak immediately points at you. “I told you the layered jackets would hit.”

“They didn’t restrict anything either,” Jaehyun adds. “We could move properly.”

Leehan says nothing out loud.

Your phone buzzes again.

donghyun: told u

donghyun: they only looked that good because of u

Your throat feels a little tight. You don’t answer.

That’s when a temporary staff member slips into the room. One of the newer assistants helping during award season.

She walks straight toward Leehan with a water bottle.

“You were incredible,” she says, a little too brightly. “The blonde under those lights? Insane.”

He looks up, polite smile settling on his face. “Ah. Thank you.”

“No, seriously,” she continues, standing just slightly too close. “When you turned during the second chorus I forgot I was working.”

He laughs softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was just trying not to slip.”

She touches his arm briefly. “Well. It didn’t look like that.”

From where you’re standing, it looks like he’s enjoying it. Not encouraging, not stopping it. Just sitting there with that soft smile, listening.

Your stomach twists.

Fine.

You move toward the couch and sit beside Woonhak.

“You still playing Valorant?” you ask casually.

His face lights up instantly. “Yeah. I ranked up last week.”

“No way. What rank now?”

“Diamond,” he says proudly. “Barely.”

“That’s not barely,” you laugh. “That’s solid.”

“You play at night?”

“Sometimes. If I’m not dead from work.”

“You should queue with me sometime,” he says, leaning in a little. “Our comms would be elite.”

“Only if you don’t rage,” you tease.

Across the room, silence.

Your phone buzzes.

donghyun: u look busy

You don’t look at him.

Serena: We’re talking about games.

A pause.

donghyun: i don’t like games

Another buzz.

donghyun: unless im winning

You can feel his eyes on you now. When you finally glance up, he’s not smiling.

The performance high is still there. But there’s something sharper layered underneath.

Thirty minutes pass like this. Food containers empty. Laughter fades into relaxed chatter. Phones scroll. Makeup gets lightly retouched for camera cuts.

Eventually the manager claps his hands lightly. “Alright, ten minutes. We’re heading back to the artist viewing section.”

The boys groan in unison but start gathering themselves.

Jackets back on. Hair adjusted. Quick mirror checks.

Leehan stands last.

Your phone buzzes one more time.

donghyun:don’t flirt too much

You look up.

He’s already walking toward the door with the others, expression calm, unreadable.

But he doesn’t look oblivious anymore.

And when he glances back at you before exiting, there’s a quiet challenge in his eyes.

The artist viewing area had shifted from tense to loose the second the final performance ended. The boys were sunk into their seats now, jackets slightly undone, hair a little less perfect, riding the high of the night. Another award added to the stack. Best Performance included.

Back in the green room, everything had flipped. What was once chaos was now controlled dismantling. Kits zipped shut. Garments rehung. Managers checking van assignments. Assistants moving quickly, voices overlapping in practiced rhythm.

Minjae gave you a thumbs up. “All your cases are packed.”

So now it was just waiting.

When the show officially wrapped, the hallways flooded instantly. Staff, idols, security, everyone funneling back to their respective spaces. It was loud. Crowded. Hot.

You picked the worst possible time to go grab a drink.

You were wedged between two managers trying to pass each other when

“RENA UNNIE!”

You turned just in time to brace yourself.

Eunchae slipped through the crowd with a grin so wide it nearly knocked the exhaustion off your face. She grabbed your hands like she hadn’t seen you in months instead of a few weeks.

“Unnie ! Wait - who did you style tonight?”

You laughed, still trying to catch your breath. “BoyNextDoor. I was lead today.”

Her eyes went round. “That was YOU?, they are all anyone is talking about.”

Sakura appeared beside her, smiling warmly. “The detailing on the jackets? I noticed immediately.”

“Please,” you huffed playfully, pointing at Eunchae. “Your stage was insane. I almost forgot I was working.”

Chaewon slid into the conversation like she’d been waiting for her cue. “So when are you letting us come over again?”

You blinked. “You’re inviting yourselves now?”

“Yes,” Eunchae answered immediately.

“Tonight?” Chaewon added, hopeful but already half-decided.

You hesitated just long enough to think about the consequences.

Then you smiled. “Tonight’s fine.”

The girls lit up like you’d handed them a trophy.

“Okay we’re coming over,” Eunchae declared, already planning it.

“We’ll text you,” Sakura added gently.

The warmth lingered even as they were ushered along by staff.

It hit you. A sudden prickle.

The slow burn along the side of your face.

You didn’t have to look to know he’d seen it.

But you did anyway.

Leehan stood a few paces back with the members. Not tense. Not outwardly bothered.

Just watching.

His expression was composed. Almost unreadable.

But his eyes lingered longer than necessary.

And behind him, Taesan’s gaze shifted between the two of you, thoughtful. Measuring.

You swallowed.

Tonight was going to be interesting.

The hallway was still a mess of bodies and noise when LE SSERAFIM’s managers reappeared like clockwork.

“Girls, we need to move.”

There was a chorus of quick goodbyes.

“Text us!” Eunchae called, already being steered backward.

Sakura gave you a small wave before security folded around them and carried them down the corridor in a tight formation.

And just like that, they were gone.

The space they left behind closed instantly.

You were swallowed back into the current of staff and talent trying to move in opposite directions. A garment bag brushed your shoulder. Someone’s headset cord snagged briefly against your sleeve before they apologized and rushed off. You tried to step sideways, but there was nowhere to go.

For a second, you were just stuck.

Then a hand slid around your wrist.

Not rough. Not urgent. Just firm enough to steer.

“Excuse us,” Leehan said smoothly to the staff blocking your path, guiding you out of the worst of the crowd.

You barely had time to process before he’d shifted you behind him, creating space with his shoulders alone. A manager muttered an apology as he passed. Leehan didn’t acknowledge it.

He only let go once you were clear of the chaos.

“You’re going to get crushed in there,” he said lightly, adjusting the strap of his bag. “Can’t let my stylist get hurt.”

My

Not our.

You raised a brow. “Your stylist?”

He didn’t smile.

“What were you talking about?”

You laughed automatically, still riding the buzz of the night. “I think I just got trapped into having people over.”

He didn’t laugh back.

Your smile faded completely.

The rest of the walk back to the green room was quieter than it should have been. Not awkward. Just charged. His hand hovered at the small of your back whenever the hallway tightened again, guiding without touching.

By the time you stepped inside, the controlled chaos had resumed. Garment bags lined the walls. Awards sat carefully on the main table like trophies waiting to be admired.

The boys were still in their stage outfits, hair and makeup untouched, adrenaline keeping them upright.

“Quick photos before we change,” the manager called.

They gathered automatically, Best Performance placed front and center. Phones came out. Staff hovered. The room buzzed with leftover excitement.

Then the manager looked at you.

“You were a big part of them winning Best Performance. Your styling told the story.”

You blinked. “Oh—”

“Come here,” he insisted, already motioning you forward. “Hold it. Take one with them.”

The boys parted easily to let you step into the center. The award was placed carefully in your hands.

“Okay, cute one first,” someone said.

You smiled, lifting the trophy slightly.

Sungho to your left.

Woonhak leaning in.

Taesan slightly off to the side.

And Leehan.

Right behind you.

Close enough that you could feel the heat of him even before he moved.

“Alright, one more!” the manager called. “Point at her. Clap for her.”

The boys exaggerated it instantly, fingers aimed at you, playful applause filling the room.

And then

A hand slipped to your waist.

Hidden completely by the bodies around you. Invisible to the camera.

But unmistakable.

His palm settled there like it belonged.

Warm.

Possessive.

You sucked in air through your teeth at the contact. The fabric of your outfit suddenly felt thinner than it was.

He didn’t squeeze.

Didn’t move.

Just held.

The photos snapped in rapid succession.

“Got it!” someone announced.

His hand disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.

The moment dissolved into noise. The boys bowed lightly toward the staff, thanking everyone involved. Compliments bounced around the room. Laughter returned.

You stepped back into your corner, heart still beating faster than it should have been.

As people started packing up for real, a shiver ran through you.

Minjae noticed immediately. “You okay?”

“Just cold,” you muttered.

He shrugged. “I’d give you my jacket but—” He looked down at himself. “Right. Didn’t bring one.”

Before you could wave it off, something heavy dropped over your shoulders.

Black.

Warm.

Far too big.

You almost disappeared inside it.

“You can use this if you like, stylist-nim,” Leehan said casually.

You swallowed. “Thank you.”

Taesan was watching. Not openly. But watching.

Leehan leaned in just enough that no one else would notice.

“I can always come pick it up,” he murmured softly. “Or you can keep it.”

Your brain stalled.

He stepped away before you could respond, disappearing to change into his own clothes.

You stood there, drowning in the oversized bomber, completely speechless.

Eventually, the final dismissal came.

Everyone filtered out toward their respective vehicles. The boys headed toward their vans while you and Minjae walked toward your car.

Taesan slowed slightly as he noticed the two of you moving in the same direction

“Are you guys a thing?” he asked out loud.

Minjae went pale instantly. “What? No. I have a girlfriend.”

You choked on air. “And I’m single. Carpooling is just easier.”

Taesan studied you both for half a second, then nodded. “Hmmm Okay. Bye.”

He stepped into the van.

Leehan followed right after him.

Unbothered.

At least, that’s how it looked.

You were halfway through packing the last case into your trunk when your phone buzzed.

Donghyun: I didn’t like that

You frowned.

Serena: What?

A second later:

Donghyun: When you said you are single.

Your stomach dipped.

Serena: Well, unfortunately you are an idol. Plus does sleeping together really count as seeing someone?

The reply came almost immediately.

Donghyun: And if no one had to know?

Your fingers hovered over the screen.

The parking lot felt suddenly too quiet.

You didn’t answer.

You weren’t sure what that meant.

—————————To be continued———————-

A/N: HIII before you say it, I KNOW THIS IS SUCH A SHORT PART BUT IT WAS SUPPOSE TO BE APART OF PART 2 but i kept getting restricted with it being over 18k total for p2 sorrrryyyy ❤️ hopefully posting p2 and 3 back to back makes up for it hehe - T

[gongfourzangel]

WRONG NUMBER PART 2

Pairing : Leehan idol x non idol FMC

Part 1 here!

Content : Other idols mentioned, possessive Leehan, fluff, crack, a couple dick jokes (no smut in this part)

sp: they are apart of the same team now, someone notices the difference between them but it goes unnoticed by the rest…

WARNING : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

TAGLIST 💬: @snoopymyung @jinviktor @rixarchive (comment for next part TL)

WC : 10K

ALL WORKS ARE FICTION!

—————————-ིྀ———————ིྀ——————————

The drive home felt longer than usual.

Serena kept the radio low, barely listening, her thoughts replaying the practice room in loops.

Taesan’s eyes.

Leehan’s tone.

That ill-timed notification.

By the time she parked, her shoulders ached from holding tension she hadn’t meant to carry.

The second she unlocked her front door—

A loud, offended meow echoed down the hallway.

“Tetra,” she sighed.

The grey blur shot toward her immediately, tail high, voice dramatic.

“I know, I know. I’m late. Call the police.”

Tetra wound around her ankles like she’d been abandoned for weeks instead of hours.

Serena dropped her bag, toeing off her shoes. “You’re acting like I don’t fund your entire lifestyle.”

Another sharp meow.

“Okay, diva.”

She moved to the kitchen, scooping food into the bowl while Tetra narrated the injustice of her temporary starvation.

“There,” Serena muttered. “Luxury dining.”

Silence.

Finally.

The apartment settled into its usual quiet hum. Soft lighting. No mirrors. No eyes watching her reactions.

She showered longer than necessary.

Let the hot water loosen the day off her shoulders. Washed out the faint scent of rehearsal rooms and fabric steam. Stood there staring at nothing.

When she stepped out, she wrapped herself in a hoodie and loose shorts, hair damp, face bare.

Normal.Safe.

She curled up on the couch with Tetra immediately reclaiming her lap like a territorial monarch.

Only then did she pick up her phone.

She finally opened the thread.

Donghyun: You looked comfortable.

Donghyun: He funny?

Donghyun: Careful.

Donghyun: You blush easily.

Donghyun: Don’t let him think he’s winning.

She exhaled slowly.

Winning what?

Her thumbs hovered before she replied.

Serena: You’re dramatic.

The response came almost immediately.

Donghyun: Am I?

She rolled her eyes.

Serena: You missed a cue.

A pause.

Then

Donghyun: Because you were laughing.

Her stomach flipped.

Serena: It was about cake.

Donghyun: Sure.

She shifted slightly, Tetra adjusting with a grumpy chirp.

Serena: You seemed busy too.

Longer pause this time.

The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Donghyun: You didn’t look at me once.

Her breath caught.

That wasn’t entirely true.

But it had felt that way.

Serena: You’re the one who said we shouldn’t make this risky.

A beat.

Then

Donghyun: Watching you with him felt risky.

There it was.

Not “jealous.”

Not “don’t talk to him.”

Just… that. The one thing she had prayed wouldn’t happen between them.

Her heart thudded heavier.

Serena: He’s just nice.

Three dots.

Donghyun: I’m nicer.

She laughed under her breath, shaking her head.

Tetra blinked up at her like she disapproved.

“You’re ridiculous,” Serena murmured unsure if she meant the cat or him.

Another buzz.

Donghyun: When are you coming to see the blonde?

She chewed on her lip.

Serena: You’ll probably be bald.

Donghyun: Rude.

Donghyun: You approved it.

Serena: I approved blonde. Not hair loss.

A pause.

Longer.

Then

Donghyun: Come see if it survived.

Her pulse picked up again.

It wasn’t pushy.

It wasn’t desperate.

It was confident.

And slightly possessive.

She stared at the screen, thumb hovering, knowing that whatever she replied next would set the tone.

Tetra stretched lazily across her lap.

The apartment was quiet.

But her phone felt loud.

Serena stared at the message again

Donghyun: Come see if it survived.

Her first instinct was reckless, Her second was logistical.

He lived in a dorm with five other members, Managers, Staff rotating in and out at random hours.

She actually laughed under her breath.

Absolutely not.

She typed.

Serena: You live in a dorm.

The reply came fast.

Donghyun: And?

She rolled her eyes.

Serena: And that makes it quite literally impossible.

Donghyun: They’re not home yet.

Her heart skipped.

Still.

That wasn’t enough.

Serena: You’re forgetting managers exist.

A longer pause this time.

She imagined him somewhere under harsh salon lighting, bleach processing, scrolling with one hand.

Donghyun: Fine.

Donghyun: Neutral ground.

Her eyebrow lifted.

Serena: Neutral how?

The typing bubble appeared immediately.

Donghyun: Not the studio.

Donghyun: Not the dorm.

Donghyun: Somewhere no one cares.

Her brain started running through options automatically.

She leaned back into the couch cushions, Tetra shifting dramatically.

Late hour. Low traffic. Minimal chance of running into someone from the industry.

Public enough to look normal.

Private enough to talk.

Her thumbs moved slowly.

Serena: It’s almost ten.

Donghyun: And?

She huffed a quiet laugh.

He was impossible.

Serena: You just bleached your hair. You should be resting before it falls out.

Donghyun: If it falls out I need emotional support.

She rolled her eyes.

Serena: You’re so dramatic.

Donghyun: You still haven’t said no.

That made her pause.

Because she hadn’t.

Tetra kneaded into her hoodie like she was trying to anchor her to the couch.

Serena chewed on her bottom lip for a second before typing again.

Serena: There’s a late night café near the river.

Serena: Outdoor seating.

Serena: No one from work goes there.

A few seconds passed.

Donghyun: Send location.

Her pulse kicked.

Serena: You’ll wear a hat.

Donghyun: It’s dark.

Serena: Hat.

Donghyun: Bossy.

Serena: Stylist.

Three dots.

Donghyun: I’ll be there in twenty.

Her stomach flipped hard.

Twenty minutes.

This was stupid. Risky, Completely unnecessary.

She stared at the screen for another few seconds before locking her phone.

Tetra meowed in protest when she gently moved her off her lap.

“I know,” Serena murmured. “Terrible decisions.”

She stood, heart already racing.

Because now it wasn’t hypothetical, it was happening.

The café sat right along the river, soft golden lights strung between poles and reflected in the water below. It was late enough that the dinner rush had faded. Only a few scattered tables were occupied. Couples. A pair of students hunched over laptops. No one paying attention.

Perfect.

Serena arrived first.

She chose a table outside, close enough to the railing that she could hear the water shifting softly against the embankment. Cool air brushed against her bare legs. She pulled her jacket tighter and checked the time.

Four minutes early.

Her phone buzzed.

Woonhak.

She opened the message.

Woonhak: Emergency.

Woonhak: Look at this.

A reel link followed.

She clicked it.

Triple-layer chocolate cake. Glossy ganache. Someone slicing into it in slow motion.

She snorted.

Serena: You’re not serious.

Woonhak: I am always serious about cake.

Serena: You said that about tiramisu too.

Woonhak: Both can exist. Don’t limit yourself.

She smiled, shaking her head, typing back something about sugar addiction.

Another reel came through immediately.

Of course.

She was mid-reply when a deep voice spoke quietly behind her.

“Found ya.”

Her heart jumped into her throat.

She spun in her chair, ready to scold a stranger

And then she saw him.

Beanie pulled low. Hoodie layered under a dark jacket. The lighting from the café barely caught the edge of his cheekbone. Most of his features were softened by shadow.

But she knew.

Even without seeing clearly.

Her smile came automatically.

“You scared me.”

“Good,” he said, stepping around to sit opposite her. “Means you weren’t paying attention.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Or you move like a criminal.”

He pulled the beanie down slightly as he settled into the chair. “Criminal is dramatic.”

“Breaking out of your dorm at night is dramatic.”

He leaned back casually. “Five other members. Not prison and i came from the office”

She huffed a quiet laugh.

For a second they just looked at each other.

Trying to adjust to seeing one another outside fluorescent practice room lighting.

“Let me see,” she said, gesturing to his head.

He hesitated deliberately.

“Hat,” she reminded him.

He smirked but lifted the beanie just enough.

The café light caught it.

Blonde.

Cool-toned. Clean. Slightly brighter than before. It sharpened his features instantly.

Her stylist brain reacted first.

The contrast against dark brows. The way it would hit under flash photography. How it would stand out against charcoal tailoring.

Her stomach reacted second.

“Okay,” she admitted. “It survived.”

“Told you.”

“You’re still one session away from damage.”

“I like how that’s your main concern.”

“It is.”

He studied her face like he was checking for something else there.

Her phone buzzed again on the table between them.

The screen lit up.

Woonhak: We decided. If you don’t bring cake tomorrow we’re judging you.

Leehan’s gaze dropped to it.

His jaw shifted slightly.

She picked it up without thinking.

Serena: You’re dramatic.

Woonhak: Says the woman who almost ordered alone.

She laughed softly at that and typed another reply.

Across from her, Leehan leaned back in his chair.

Silent.

Watching.

“Popular tonight,” he said lightly.

“It’s a group chat.”

“Mhm.”

She glanced up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing.

His eyes flicked down again when another notification came in.

Woonhak: Also Donghyun-hyung owes us dessert if he flakes.

Leehan’s expression changed for half a second.

Small. Sharp

She locked her phone and set it face down this time.

He noticed that too.

“You talk to him a lot,” he said.

Casual tone.

Not casual eyes.

“He sends food reels,” she replied. “It’s literally only been a day, not that deep.”

“He’s funny?”

She paused.

Because she’d already answered that question earlier today.

“He’s nice,” she said evenly.

Leehan looked out toward the river for a moment, jaw tightening slightly.

“I’m nicer,” he said quietly.

She almost smiled.

“You said that already.”

“Still true.”

The air between them shifted.

Not playful now.

Thicker.

Her phone buzzed again.

She didn’t reach for it.

And that was when his gaze lifted back to hers.

The river moved steadily behind him, black water catching streaks of gold from the café lights. For a moment neither of them spoke. The air felt heavier, but not uncomfortable. Just charged.

He leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out slightly. “You come here a lot?”

“Not really,” she admitted. “Only when I need to think.”

“About what?”

“Work. Life. Whether I’m making questionable decisions.”

His mouth curved. “And tonight?”

She glanced at him. “Undecided.”

He laughed softly, the sound low and warm in the quiet.

They fell into an easier rhythm after that. Talking about music that wasn’t on their company playlist. About the worst food they had ever eaten on tour. About how he used to hate blonde hair on himself before debut. About how she almost became a graphic designer instead of a stylist.

It felt normal.

Too normal.

“Do you go out much?” he asked after a while.

“With friends?” She shrugged. “Not really. Everyone’s schedules are crazy. We try, but it’s hard to line up.”

He watched the water for a second before speaking.

“People make time for the ones they want to see.”

It wasn’t accusatory but it landed.

Her eyes flicked to him.

The words sat there between them, heavier than the rest of the conversation.

She forced a small smile. “That’s a very motivational quote of you.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

And that was the problem.

She felt the deeper meaning in it. Felt it tug at something in her chest.

But she ignored it.

Because acknowledging it would make this something bigger than it was supposed to be.

His phone suddenly buzzed on the table.

He glanced at the screen and frowned slightly.

“Taesan,” he muttered, answering it.

He stood, pacing a step away but still within earshot.

“Yeah?”

Pause

“I’m by the river. Just walking. Why?”

Another pause.

He glanced back at her briefly.

Then, “No reason? Okay.”

The call ended quickly.

He stared at his phone for half a second before slipping it back into his pocket and sitting down again.

She didn’t comment.

Instead, she picked up her own phone to check the time.

11:17 pm.

As the screen lit up, a notification banner dropped down.

Taesan: Random question.

Taesan: Can I get your advice on something?

Her stomach dipped.

Of course.

Of course it would be now.

She barely had time to process it before she felt Leehan’s eyes on her again.

Sharp.

Focused.

“What?” she asked lightly.

“Who’s texting?”

“Taesan.”

The shift was instant.

His posture changed. Subtle, but noticeable. Shoulders squaring slightly. Jaw tightening.

“When did you get his number?”

The question came out calm.

Too calm.

She blinked at him. “Woonhak gave it to me. Group chat.”

His eyes searched her face like he was looking for something hidden there.

“He asked for advice?” Leehan pressed.

“That’s what it says.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know yet,” she said, a small edge slipping into her voice. “I haven’t opened it.”

He leaned back slowly, but his gaze didn’t soften.

“Funny timing.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You were just on the phone with him.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

He hesitated.

Because he didn’t actually have a clean answer.

The river kept moving behind them, steady and indifferent.

She unlocked her phone deliberately and opened the message in front of him.

The typing bubble appeared almost immediately on Taesan’s end.

Leehan’s eyes flicked between her face and the screen.

Territorial.

Trying not to be obvious.

Failing slightly.

“You don’t trust me?” she asked quietly.

His gaze snapped back to hers.

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

He held her stare for a second too long.

Then looked away first.

“I just don’t like surprises.”

The air shifted again.

This wasn’t playful jealousy anymore.

It was something closer to possessive instinct.

And she felt it.

The dangerous part was that she didn’t entirely hate it but this was the scenario she didn’t want to happen, work gets messy when relationships grow.

Her phone buzzed again in her hand.

Taesan: where are some good cafes ?

Leehan’s eyes dropped to it before he could stop himself and Serena suddenly understood something very clearly.

This was no longer just about a wrong number.

It was about territory.

And neither of them had agreed to draw boundaries yet

Leehan scoffed lightly. “He’s so obvious.”

“You’re all obvious,” she replied.

He tilted his head. “All?”

She locked her phone and set it back down on the table.

“All of you think you’re subtle.”

He studied her face carefully.

“And you?”

“I’m very subtle.”

He smiled at that.

The earlier edge had faded, replaced with something warmer. Still intense. Still watchful. But no longer defensive.

“Okay,” he said softly. “I believe you.”

The night drifted on with them learning more about each other and their habits. Both of them oblivious to eyes watching, observing.

A couple days later the garment bags arrived just before noon.

Six draft suits. Structured shoulders. Clean lines. Carefully basted seams waiting to be adjusted to perfection.

Serena stood in her temporary office, sleeves pushed up, checking each piece against her tablet where her finalized designs were pulled up. She ran her fingers over lapels, tested the weight of the fabric, checked stitching near the vents.

Good, Very good.

Her phone sat beside her, screen lighting up every few minutes as the group chat buzzed about practice schedules.

She opened her calendar and began slotting in fitting times.

Woonhak first. He moved a lot on stage, she wanted to check shoulder flexibility early.

Jaehyun after that.

Taesan mid afternoon.

Sungho and Riwoo back to back.

She hovered over the last open slot.

6:30 pm.

Leehan

Last.

She told herself it was because his suit required the most precise tailoring. The blonde against burgundy needed exact proportions.

That was partially true.

Her phone buzzed again.

Donghyun: Did you eat?

She stared at the message.

Of all the things he could text her about.

Serena: I’m working.

Three dots appeared immediately.

Donghyun: That wasn’t the question.

She rolled her eyes.

Serena: I’ll eat later.

No response.

She assumed he’d given up.

She was halfway through labeling alteration notes when there was a soft knock at her office door.

She didn’t look up. “Come in.”

The door opened.

Footsteps.

Then the smell hit her first.

Buttery. Sweet.

She looked up.

Leehan stood there in a hoodie and cap, holding a small paper bag in one hand and two takeaway cups in the other.

She blinked.

“What are you doing here?”

He stepped inside casually, nudging the door closed with his foot. “Delivering something.”

He set the coffee and bag on her desk like it was completely normal.

Her brows lifted. “Aren’t you suppose to be doing idol-esk things? Like practice.”

“Break.”

She looked at the bag. “You didn’t.”

He shrugged. “You said you’d eat later, now is later”

She tried not to smile.

Failed slightly.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know.”

He slid one of the cups toward her. “I got the one you ordered the other night at the river cafe”

Her fingers brushed his briefly as she took it

Warm.

She glanced inside the bag.

Two pastries. One almond croissant. One strawberry Danish.

Her stomach betrayed her immediately.

“You’re annoying,” she muttered.

“You’re welcome.”

She laughed softly and took a sip of the coffee.

Perfect.

He watched her the entire time.

Not in a dramatic way.

Just… attentive.

“You should eat,” he said, leaning against the edge of her desk. “We don’t need you passing out on us with a needle in your hand.”

She snorted. “That has never happened.”

“Yet.”

She tore off a piece of the croissant and pointed it at him. “You’re very dramatic.”

“You like that about me.”

She paused for half a second.

He noticed.

Of course he did.

She took a bite instead of answering.

He glanced around the room, eyes landing on the garment bags lined neatly along the wall.

“They’re here?”

She nodded, chewing. “Drafts. Fittings start this afternoon.”

His eyes flicked to her calendar on the desk, half visible.

He stepped closer before she could casually close it.

“Woonhak at one,” he read. “Taesan at three.”

He kept scanning.

“And I’m…” His gaze dropped lower. “Six thirty?”

She didn’t look up. “You’re last.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Why?”

“Because your suit needs the most precision.”

“That sounds fake.”

She finally looked at him.

“It’s not.”

He studied her for a moment, trying to read what she wasn’t saying.

Then a slow smile spread across his face.

“You wanted to save me for last.”

“I wanted to finish the day without distractions.”

His brows lifted. “I’m a distraction?”

She took another sip of coffee. “Eat your pastry.”

He laughed quietly.

But he didn’t move away from her desk.

And she could feel it again.

Territorial. Interested. Testing.

The door handle rattled faintly from the outside as someone walked past.

They both froze for half a second.

Reality.

Workplace.

Five other members.

Staff everywhere.

He straightened first.

“I’ll see you at six thirty,” he said lightly.

She nodded. “Be on time.”

He moved toward the door, then paused.

Turned back slightly.

“Don’t skip lunch.”

Her stomach fluttered again.

“I won’t.”

He gave her one last look before slipping out of the office.

The door clicked shut.

Serena exhaled slowly.

Then looked down at the pastry in her hand.

Still warm. Still sweet and dangerously thoughtful.

The racks were organized precisely.

Left rack: performance looks from the first photo. Bold color, sharper silhouettes, designed to hit under stage lighting.

Right rack: red carpet looks from the second photo. Sleek tailoring, monochrome layers, structured for flash photography.

Minjae stood beside Serena, tablet open.

“First is Woonhak.”

She nodded. “Send him in.”

Woonhak entered already peeking toward the racks.

Performance first.

He stepped out in the grey check suit. Subtle plaid pattern, tailored close through the waist, slightly cropped jacket to keep it youthful. Under stage lights the check would give dimension instead of reading flat.

“Stand straight,” Serena instructed.

He exaggerated posture.

She adjusted the shoulder seam while Minjae crouched to check the trouser length.

“Half inch off the hem,” Serena said.

Pinned.

The waist needed slight tapering to sharpen the silhouette.

Minjae logged it all.

“Red carpet,” she said.

Woonhak changed into his second look. Black tailoring with a clean silhouette, softer layering than the others. Minimal but polished.

She adjusted the sleeve to expose just enough wrist.

“Good proportions,” she murmured.

Logged. Done.

Next was jaehyun

Performance.

Deep blue suit. Strong structure, slightly longer line through the jacket.

He stood composed.

Serena refined the lapel roll and narrowed the waist subtly.

“Relax your shoulders,” she reminded.

Minjae pinned the sleeve adjustment.

Red carpet.

Classic black and white tailoring. Crisp shirt. Clean break at the hem.

She shortened the trousers slightly for sharper flash photography.

Notes finalized.

Taesan swaggered into the fitting room

Performance.

Deep teal suit. Structured but fluid. It sharpened his frame.

Serena adjusted the side seam.

“Quarter inch taper,” she said.

Minjae marked it.

Red carpet.

Black trousers with layered grey knit and structured jacket Slight edge.

She corrected the sleeve stacking and checked the drape across his chest.

Professional. Efficient.

Sungho entered with riwoo to begin the fitting while riwoo sat in a open chaor awaiting his turn

Performance.

Warm camel tan suit. Soft tone, youthful, slightly relaxed shoulder.

She let out a small section at the upper back to allow freer movement for choreography.

Minjae logged the alteration.

Red carpet.

Grey knit layered with black tailoring. Understated but refined.

She adjusted the hem to sit perfectly above the shoe.

Sungho moved to change back into his clothes as riwoo stepped out of the change room

Performance.

Burnt orange suit . Rich and vibrant. It brought warmth to his complexion.

Serena shortened the sleeve slightly and tapered the waist for cleaner lines.

Red carpet.

Grey tailored look, Sleek, slightly softer structure.

“Shorten hem slightly,” she instructed.

Pinned. Logged.

By the time Riwoo left, the room felt quieter.

Only one garment bag remained.

Burgundy.

Minjae glanced at the schedule. “Leehan at six thirty.”

“You can head out,” Serena said evenly. “I’ll finish this one.”

Minjae nodded, gathering the tablet and clipboard.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Silence settled in the fitting room.

6:30 pm.

A knock.

Her pulse shifted.

“Come in.”

And this would be the only fitting without an assistant present.

The door closed softly behind him.

Donghyun stepped inside carrying himself a little too casually for someone who knew he was the last appointment of the day.

“You cleared the room for me?” he asked, glancing around. “I’m honored.”

“You were scheduled last,” Serena replied evenly. “Don’t make it dramatic.”

He smiled like that was exactly what he planned to do.

“Performance first,” she said, gesturing toward the burgundy garment bag.

He changed behind the screen after much debate with the whole “serena i’ve literally been in you” “you have seen me naked before” spiel which almost earned him a look book to the head out of fear of someone overhearing. the quiet rustle of fabric louder now without Minjae’s pen scratching or other members talking.

When he stepped out, the room shifted.

The burgundy fit close through the waist, strong through the shoulders. Against his blonde hair, the color looked deliberate. Bold. Almost dangerous under the fitting room lights.

Serena kept her expression neutral.

“Stand straight.”

“I am standing straight.”

“Straighter.”

He obeyed, but his mouth twitched.

She stepped closer, fingers adjusting the lapel so it rolled cleanly over his chest. The fabric was smooth beneath her hands. Structured but soft.

“You’re staring,” he said quietly.

“I’m assesing.”

“That’s what you said tetra does” he teased, leaning slightly toward her. “Feels personal.”

She ignored that and circled him, crouching slightly to check the trouser break.

“Too long,” she murmured.

“Not the first time you’ve said that one to me .”

She looked up at him flatly.

“Did you just make a dick joke.”

He laughed softly.

When she stood again, they were closer than necessary. Her fingers slid to his waist to mark a subtle taper. The contact was professional, He didn’t move.

“You know,” he said, voice lower now, “most stylists don’t take this long.”

“Most members don’t talk this much.”

“That’s because I’m interesting.”

She snorted. “That’s debatable.”

He leaned slightly closer, enough that she could feel the warmth from him.

“You saved me for last.”

“I already told you why.”

“You didn’t want an audience.”

Her fingers paused for half a second before continuing to pin the seam.

“Red carpet,” she said, stepping back.

He changed again.

When he stepped out in the grey tailored red carpet look, the vibe shifted from bold to sleek. Clean lines. Mature. The blonde looked sharper against the cool tones.

She adjusted the vest front, smoothing it flat against his chest.

“Turn.”

He turned slowly.

“If you wanna wear it next year be my guest continue turning like we have all the time in the world” she mused

“I’m giving you time to admire your work.”

She fought the smile and failed.

“Your ego is exhausting.”

“You like it.”

She stepped in to fix the collar, fingers brushing the side of his neck.

He didn’t look away from her.

“You ate?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

The sincerity in his tone caught her off guard.

She stepped back to regain space.

“You’re done,” she said, collecting her pins.

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t move toward the screen immediately.

Instead he tilted his head slightly.

“Are we still neutral ground only?” he asked.

She held his gaze.

“This is work.”

“And later?”

She didn’t answer right away.

He smiled like he already knew he’d get one eventually.

Then he stepped back behind the screen to change, leaving her alone with the lingering warmth in the room and the very real realization that fitting him was far more distracting than she had planned.

When he emerged in his regular clothes, he paused at the door.

“Text me when you get home,” he said casually.

Like it was normal.

Like it wasn’t loaded.

Then he left.

And Serena stood in the quiet room, staring at the burgundy suit on the rack, trying very hard to convince herself that this was still just for the plot.

Two days before the award show the energy inside the practice hall felt different. The space was massive, booked out specifically for award practices. Black stage tiles lined the floor, taped carefully to mirror the real stage dimensions. Bright colored tape marked camera lanes. X’s dotted the floor for formation changes. Staff moved constantly. Dancers stretching. Managers talking into headsets. The performance director pacing with a mic in hand.

It felt real now.

Serena sat halfway up the temporary bleachers with her tablet resting on her knees, watching the boys walk through spacing for the dry rehearsal.

Even in sweats, even without lighting or costumes, they filled the room.

Her eyes drifted without meaning to.

Leehan was seated on the floor off to the side during a reset, leaning back on his hands. A few of the female backup dancers were around him, laughing at something he’d said.

He looked relaxed. Easy. Blonde catching the overhead lights.

She narrowed her eyes slightly.

Oh, she was absolutely teasing him about that later.

Mr. “When did you get his number?” sitting in a circle of girls.

The irony was too good.

“Serena,” the performance director called.

She stood and made her way down the bleachers to the taped stage area.

They ran through transitions while she watched spacing carefully. She had to see how the performance suits would move under actual choreography. Where jackets might pull. Where fabric might twist during lifts.

Even in rehearsal clothes she could picture it.

She could already imagine the social media edits. The freeze frames. The fancams.

She felt it in her chest.

Pride.

This was hers.

When they finally shifted into the costume rehearsal, the energy lifted another level. Garment bags lined the walls. Stylist assistants moving quickly. Final steam passes.

As they ran the first section in full performance outfits, the room shifted.

The burgundy on leehan under stage lights was exactly what she’d envisioned. The grey check on Woonhak read sharp and dimensional. The colors separated beautifully in formation.

She caught the performance director nodding.

Good.

By the time they broke for lunch, everyone was sweating and slightly overstimulated.

“Serena!” Woonhak jogged over first. “We’re getting sandwiches. You coming?”

Taesan followed right behind him. “There’s a place around the corner. Quick.”

She glanced back toward the floor where Leehan was grabbing a towel.

He looked up at the exact moment Woonhak touched her arm.

His expression shifted almost imperceptibly.

“I’ll come,” she said.

Before the sentence had even fully landed, Leehan was already walking over.

“I’m coming too.”

Taesan blinked. “We didn’t ask you.”

“You didn’t not ask me,” He replied smoothly.

Woonhak laughed. “Okay, okay. The more the merrier.”

They stepped out into the cool air, crossing to the sandwich shop down the block. It was small and busy, filled with the smell of toasted bread and coffee.

They ordered at the counter, teasing each other about who would pay. Donghyun insisted he had it. Taesan argued. Woonhak tried to add extra cookies to the order.

Serena just watched, amused.

They grabbed their takeaway bags and crossed to the park opposite the practice hall, settling at a picnic table beneath a tree.

For a few minutes it was just chewing and silence.

Then the questions started.

“So,” Woonhak said, unwrapping his sandwich. “Have you styled other male idols before us?”

Taesan leaned forward slightly. “Yeah. How many famous people are in your phone?”

Serena swallowed her bite slowly.

She thought briefly about Nico.

No.

Not here.

“I did a short promotion stint with &TEAM in Japan,” she said instead. “Just for a couple of stages.”

Taesan’s eyebrows lifted. “In Japan?”

“Briefly,” she said. “It was more of a trial project.”

Woonhak looked impressed. “That’s cool.”

Leehan had gone quiet.

She felt it.

He wasn’t eating as much now. Just listening.

“You still talk to them?” Taesan asked casually.

“Sometimes,” she replied lightly. “Work connections.”

Leehan finally spoke. “You travel a lot?”

“Used to.”

“And now?”

She met his gaze.

“Now I’m here.”

The answer hung there longer than it should have.

Woonhak, oblivious to the shift, kept going. “Did they listen to you? Because Donghyun barely listens.”

“I listen,” Donghyun protested.

She raised a brow. “Debatable.”

Taesan laughed but there was something under Donghyun’s smile now.

Not jealousy exactly, Assessment, Measuring.

Like he was realizing she had a world outside this building. Outside him.

And for the first time, it wasn’t playful.

Woonhak was still mid-story about almost tripping during the last formation change when Taesan nudged Serena lightly with his elbow.

“So in Japan,” he said, chewing thoughtfully, “were the schedules worse than here?”

“Different,” she replied. “More press. Less sleep.”

Leehans gaze stayed on her.

“You liked it?” he asked.

She shrugged. “It was good experience.”

“Would you go back?”

The question sounded casual.

It wasn’t.

She wiped her hands on a napkin. “If the project was good.”

Taesan nodded. “You seem like someone who’d get a lot of offers.”

Woonhak chimed in immediately. “Yeah. You’re scary talented.”

She laughed. “Scary?”

“In a cool way,” he clarified quickly.

Leehan leaned back slightly on the bench, watching her from the side instead of straight on.

“You’d be hard to replace,” he said.

It slipped out almost lazily.

But it wasn’t lazy.

Taesan glanced at him.

“Replace?” Woonhak repeated.

Leehan took another bite of his sandwich like he hadn’t just said something loaded.

“For the show,” he added. “The styling’s good. Would be annoying to adjust to someone new.”

It was technically harmless.

Professional even.

But his eyes were still on her when he said it.

Not the group.

Her

She felt it settle in her chest.

“You’ll survive,” she replied lightly.

He shook his head once. “I don’t want to.”

There it was.

Woonhak missed it entirely, already asking Taesan about sauce ratios.

Taesan did not miss it.

He looked between them briefly but said nothing.

Serena focused on unwrapping the rest of her sandwich.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Leehan added, tone easy again. “Two days before the show. We still need you.”

It sounded like a joke.

But the way he said we need you felt different from earlier.

Not about the team.

About him.

She finally looked at him fully.

“Finish your food,” she said. “You need energy.”

He smiled slightly.

“See,” he murmured. “You’re already taking care of me.”

Woonhak groaned. “Why does that sound flirty?”

Serena shot him a look. “Eat your sandwich.”

Taesan laughed quietly, but his eyes flicked to Leehan again.

Because the possessiveness wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t obvious.

It was threaded into tone. Into timing. Into the way he didn’t look away first.

And Serena felt it days before the award show and the lines between professional and personal were getting thinner by the hour.

The night before the award show felt strangely quiet.

For the first time in days, there was no rehearsal schedule in front of you. No garment rack to triple check. No last minute tailoring updates lighting up your phone.

You were on your bedroom floor, surrounded by backup styling kits and emergency sewing supplies, mentally running through tomorrow’s timeline for the hundredth time.

Tetra was stretched across your open suitcase like she had personally decided nothing else needed to be packed.

Your phone buzzed.

Donghyun: What are you doing?

You smiled automatically.

Serena: Packing. Overthinking. Normal pre show activities.

Three dots.

Donghyun: Crazy.

Donghyun: I’m coincidentally in your area.

You stared at that message.

Coincidentally.

You huffed a quiet laugh.

Serena: That so?

Donghyun: Mhm.

Donghyun: Would be rude not to say hi.

You glanced at the clock.

9:02 pm.

You knew exactly what he was doing.

And you let him.

Serena: Fine. But if your manager kicks my door down I’m blaming you.

Donghyun: and you call me dramatic.

Ten minutes later there was a soft knock at your door.

When you opened it, he was standing there in a hoodie and cap, hands tucked casually into his pockets like this was normal.

Like he didn’t live in a dorm with five other members and a schedule stricter than yours.

“You really were in the area,” you said.

“I told you.”

“You’re terrible at lying.”

He smiled slightly and stepped inside.

Tetra noticed him immediately.

Her entire demeanor changed.

She trotted across the floor and began circling his legs like she’d been waiting all day.

“You’re joking,” you muttered. “You don’t even greet me like that.”

Donghyun crouched down, scratching behind her ears. “She has taste.”

Tetra immediately flopped onto her side in full dramatic surrender.

“Unbelievable,” you said.

He looked up at you. “She’s cute.”

“You say that about everyone.”

“Not true.”

You both settled on your bed, backs against the headboard, Tetra sprawled shamelessly across his lap like she’d chosen her favorite parent.

You watched him absentmindedly scratch under her chin.

“You know,” you said casually, “I saw you the other day.”

He didn’t look up. “Doing what?”

“Sitting with the dancers.”

He smiled faintly. “Oh?”

“Laughing. Surrounded.”

He finally glanced at you. “You jealous?”

You scoffed. “Please. I was going to tease you.”

“Go ahead.”

“You’re very popular.”

“Am I?”

“With female backup dancers specifically.”

He leaned back slightly, Tetra adjusting with him.

“But I don’t touch any of them.” His eyes fluttered to you, trailing down your body with that smug smirk he so frequently sports.

You tilted your head. “Oh is that true?”

“Mhm,” he said easily. “It is.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully.

“A gentleman.”

He smirked. “Obviously.”

You gestured toward the cat currently melting into him. “Tell that to her. She’s obsessed.”

“She knows quality,” he replied, continuing to pet her like he had all the time in the world.

It struck you then how comfortable this felt.

No rehearsal chaos. No hallway tension. No sneaking glances.

Just the two of you in your room, your cat loudly purring between you.

“You’ve gotten really comfortable with us,” he said quietly after a moment.

“With you guys?” you asked.

“Yeah.”

You thought about it.

A couple of weeks had passed since joining the team. You went from not knowing their names to knowing their quirks and habits.

“I guess I have,” you admitted.

He nodded slightly.

“I’m glad.”

That landed softer than you expected.

You glanced at the time again.

9:46 pm.

“You should go,” you said reluctantly. “I don’t fancy a manager kicking my door down to retrieve their talent.”

He laughed under his breath. “You make it sound apocalyptic .”

“It would be.”

He gently shifted Tetra off his lap and stood.

At the door he paused.

You stepped closer to walk him out.

He leaned in and pressed a quick, warm kiss to your lips. Not rushed. Not heated.

Just enough to linger.

When he pulled back, his hand brushed lightly against your waist.

“See you tomorrow, pretty.”

Your stomach flipped.

“Don’t mess up my styling,” you replied.

He smiled and stepped into the hallway. The door clicked shut. You leaned against it for a second, exhaling slowly. Tomorrow the lights would be brighter. Louder. Cameras everywhere. But right now, it was just you, your cat, and the faint echo of his voice in your head and for once, the nerves about the show felt quieter.

Award show mornings always feel like they start mid-breath.

Serena is up before her alarm, already running through worst-case scenarios in her head instead of outfits. The stage looks are coming separately in a staff van. Today she is on emergency control. Sewing kit. Stain remover. Backup accessories. Fashion tape. Heel grips. Extra mic tape. The bag that fixes everything before anyone panics.

She dresses in a black tee and pleated skirt. practical, allowing movement. Hair tied back. Focus locked in.

By 10am she pulls up outside Minjae’s place. He slides into the passenger seat, adjusting his lanyard. “You look like you’re about to perform.”

“I am. Just not on stage.” He glances at the backseat. “Where are the racks?”, “Coming with Jisung in the van.”

He visibly relaxes. “Bless. I cannot emotionally handle couture in traffic.”

“I haven’t seen you emotionally handle anything.”

“Untrue. I handled that ramen spill last week.”

“You cried.”

“That was steam in my eyes.”

She snorts despite herself.

Five minutes into the drive he groans. “Coffee. I need performance coffee.”

“You are not performing.”

“I am spiritually performing.”

She pulls into a café near the venue. It’s crowded with other staff dressed in black, moving fast, checking phones, already in work mode.

They order iced americanos and breakfast sandwiches and wait near the counter.

Her phone buzzes.

Incoming call - Donghyun

Minjae is too busy reading the pastry display to notice.

She answers casually. “Hi.”

“We just got here,” Leehan says. His voice is steady, professional. “They’re running through the schedule with us.”

“Already?”

“Yeah. Rehearsal order changed slightly.”

She leans against the wall. “It changed?”

“Yeah. We got moved forward in rehearsal order ”

In the background she can faintly hear one of the managers talking and a chair scraping across the floor.

“You close?” he asks.

“Coffee stop. Eight minutes out.”

“Okay.”

There’s a brief pause. Not awkward. Just aware.

“Drive safe,” he adds.

“Mhmm don’t break anything before i get there.”

A small huff of amusement on his end. “You’re not even here and you’re bossing me.”

“Someone has to.”

“See you soon”

The call ends.

Minjae turns around with two drinks. “Ready?”

“Yep let’s go.”

They grab their order and head back to the car.

The arena rises ahead of them like something sealed off from the rest of the city.

Serena follows the signs for staff entry, rolling her window down as security steps forward.

“Credentials.”

She hands over her pass. Minjae does the same, already halfway through his iced americano like he’s not about to spend twelve hours on his feet. The guard scans their badges, checks the backseat, then gestures toward the trunk.

She pops it open. The oversized emergency kit sits there neatly packed. No garment racks today. Those are arriving separately in the staff van. After a quick inspection, they’re waved through.

They park in the concrete underbelly of the arena, where the lighting is dim and the air smells faintly of dust and cables. Staff hurry past in every direction. Headsets. Clipboards. Rolling cases.

Minjae grabs his backpack and one small case. Serena slings the emergency bag over her shoulder and hooks the coffee carrier in her hand.

“You drop mine and I’m switching teams,” Minjae says.

“You don’t have the skill set to switch teams.”

They move through the maze of corridors, following taped signs with the group’s name scribbled in thick marker. The low hum of sound checks echoes through the walls.

When they reach the green room, Serena pushes the door open with her elbow. All six members are inside, scattered across couches and chairs while their manager runs through the updated rehearsal schedule.

They’re dressed in casual everyday clothes. Each of them holding a large white bib with their names printed in bold black letters for camera tracking.

Woonhak looks up first, His entire face lights up

“SEREEEENAAAAAAA!”

He practically jumps off the couch.

She laughs despite herself. “Good morning, drama king.”

“You’re late.” The youngest teases

“It’s barely past ten.”

“Still late.”

She steps fully into the room, greeting the others with easy good mornings and nods, placing the coffee tray on the central table.

Then her gaze finds him… Leehan is leaning back in his chair, rehearsal bib folded loosely in his hands. His hair is slightly messy, pushed off his forehead. Calm. Watching.

He smiles when their eyes meet.

His gaze flicks down to the coffee cups then back up at her one brow lifts just slightly.

She knows exactly what that look means she doesn’t break composure. Just shifts her weight and looks away first, addressing the group instead.

“Rehearsal first, right?”

“Yeah,” Leehan answers. “Run-through in twenty.”

“No hair or makeup until after,” she confirms.

The manager nods.

Minjae drops his bag onto the couch. “Outfits are coming in fifteen. Nobody touch anything when they arrive.”

Woonhak gasps dramatically. “You don’t trust us?”

“No,” Serena and Leehan say at the same time.

Laughter fills the room.

Across from her, Leehan unfolds his bib, still quiet. Still observant, still looking at the coffee.

The arena feels even bigger when the stage sits dead centre, A circular platform surrounded by empty seats rising in every direction. No front. No back. Just exposure, Camera rigs hang like mechanical spiders above it, waiting. Floor managers pace the perimeter where barricades will be. The echo is sharper here. Every instruction bounces.

Serena stands at the outer ring of the rehearsal boundary, walking slowly around the circle as Nice Guy starts. On a 360 stage, there’s no forgiving side. Every seam, every cable, every loose thread can be caught by at least one camera.

She types quickly into her phone.

• Reinforce Sungho’s right sleeve seam, visible during catwalk

• Check woonhak’s back panel stitching, fully exposed during turn sequence

• Secure mic wire flatter along spine

Leehan moves through formation, blonde hair almost glowing under the test beams. Because it’s 360, the blocking is tighter. They rotate constantly. Faces never stay in one direction for long.

She tracks his positioning.

They have to be hyper-aware of right and left now because there is no “front.” Just rotating focal points.

Behind her, a wave of familiar voices approaches.

&TEAM.

They circle the outer barricade area as they wait for their slot, stretching, joking, loosening up. When they spot her, the energy shifts instantly.

“You abandoned us,” Fuma teases.

She scoffs. “You survived.”

Nico drifts closer during the banter, naturally syncing to her pace as she continues walking the perimeter of the stage, He leans in, subtle, like it’s just part of the conversation.

“Why haven’t you texted me?”

She doesn’t stop walking. Her eyes are still following Leehan as he rotates through the outer arc of the circle.

“I lost your numbers.”

A tiny beat.

“Oh.”

No drama. Just soft disappointment.

He peels away briefly, says something to his manager. The manager hands him a scrap of paper with mild suspicion. Nico scribbles quickly, folds it once, twice, then steps back into her orbit.

He presses the folded note into her palm as they walk.

She finally looks at him. “Miss me?” She asked

“Always.” Followed by a quick smile

It lands quietly between them.

And then “Leehan, drift two steps right on the rotation! You’re opening the circle too wide!”

The director’s voice blasts across the arena, amplified and sharp, She turns immediately.

Leehan adjusts, jaw tight. He recalibrates the spacing, shoulders squared. The blonde catches the light as he snaps back into formation, Controlled.

He rotates again and this time, as he passes the quadrant where she’s standing, his eyes flick toward her, It’s quick but in a 360 stage, you notice when someone looks for you he doesn’t break formation. Doesn’t miss timing just refocuses immediately.

Maybe he’s just concentrating, she tells herself.

But she’s suddenly very aware of the folded paper sitting in her pocket while rehearsal continues on.

The green room hums with low chaos.

Steam from a portable steamer curls in the corner. Garment bags hang unzipped along the rack like waiting soldiers. One member at a time rotates through the makeshift changing partition while the rest lounge around in half-done hair and rehearsal sweats.

You stand near the rack, clipboard tucked under your arm, checking cuffs, lint-rolling lapels, adjusting collars as each of them steps out

“Serena , does this make me look broader?” Taesan asks, already knowing the answer, already fishing.

You step closer to smooth the line of his shoulder. “It makes you look expensive.”

He grins. “You always say the right things.”

“Occupational hazard.”

He doesn’t move when you step back. Instead he leans just slightly closer. “You sure you’re not mistaking me for someone else when you compliment me like that?”

You giggle before you can stop it. “Should I be?”

From behind the partition comes the sound of a hanger clattering silence follows as you round the corner to find leehan casually resting against the desk shirt open, blonde hair falling into his eyes, expression carefully neutral.

he leans in close just above a whisper

“You must mix up numbers a lot.”

Dry. Calm. Just loud enough.

You tilt your head toward the partition. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs, adjusting his cufflinks with unnecessary precision, “based on observations i’ve made”

You laugh. It’s bright and pointed. “Is that what this is?”

He doesn’t answer. He buttons his shirt slowly, jaw tight for someone pretending not to care.

You take a step toward Leehan to fix the collar he’s intentionally misaligned. “You sound very calm right now.”

“I am calm.”

You don’t look calm.”

He dips his head so you have to adjust his lapel. Low enough that only you hear

“You should text Nico next time.”

Ah. There it is. But there is no way he figured it out already, deciding the feint unawareness.

“What do you mean?

You smile faintly hoping it’s enough to solidify your confusion. The blonde asses as you smooth the fabric down his chest like nothing’s wrong. Then, as if he could care less Leehan’s voice booms across the green room “Careful. She gets flustered easily.”

Your eyes narrow. “I do not.”

“Oh?” He looks directly at you now, blonde hair catching the overhead light. Quietly he sayd “Should I repeat what you said the other night when I-”

You choke.

Actually choke.

You smack his arm hard. “Don’t you dare.”

He is laughing. Fully. Proud. Triumphant.

“See?” he says, pointing at you. “One sentence.”

You turn away to hide your face, fanning yourself with the clipboard. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he replies smoothly, finally fastening his jacket, “you still haven’t corrected me.”

He looks immaculate now. Blonde, sharp suit, smug expression, You meet his eyes briefly he knows exactly what he did and he’s enjoying every second of it.

The door shuts behind the last of them and the green room suddenly feels hollow the noise goes with them. The teasing. The chaos. The weight of Leehan’s eyes you stand there for a second, listening to the distant swell of crowd noise bleeding faintly through the walls. Red carpet energy. Cameras. Flashing lights. Applause. You exhale.

“I need caffeine,” you mutter to yourself.

The hallway outside is almost bone dry. Staff cleared toward the carpet entrance. Security positioned further down. The kind of empty that feels intentional. Protective. You’re halfway toward the vending area when

“Rena.”

You freeze.

Nico steps out from the corner near the service corridor. No cameras here. No stylists. No managers hovering. Just him. He looks good. He always does. Casual jacket, hands in his pockets, that easy smile he’s practiced for years. “You keep disappearing on me,” he says lightly. You fold your arms, trying to keep it neutral. “I’m working.”

“Mm. You always say that.” He steps closer, less restrained than earlier. “You haven’t texted either.”

“I’m busy and you literally only gave me your numbers again like a couple hours ago.” You half laugh at his lack of patience.

“Too busy to have fun?”

There it is.

His tone drops, familiar. The same one that used to make your stomach flip. The same one that used to mean late nights and bad decisions and hands pulling you into dark corners between schedules.

He leans against the wall beside you, lowering his voice. “You could text me. We could pick up where we left off.”

You should feel it. That spark. That pull. Instead your mind betrays you not Nico’s hands, Leehan’s.

The way he grips your waist like he’s anchoring himself. The slow drag of his lips across your skin. The way he moves like he’s got something to prove and nothing to lose, Your stomach tightens but not because of Nico, Because of blonde hair falling into sharp eyes because of the smirk he wears when he knows he’s ruined you. Because of how he whispered your name like it meant something.

“Serena?” You blink, Oh.

You were staring at Nico while thinking about someone else, That’s new, He studies you now, clearly noticing the delay. “You good?”, “Yeah,” you say quickly, straightening. “Yeah. Just tired.” He pushes a little. “You don’t have to pretend. It was good between us.”

It was

Fun. Easy. Physical, But suddenly it feels… small. You shrug lightly. “It was.” His brow lifts at the past tense. “You sure you don’t want to relive it?” he asks, voice dipping again. “I remember you didn’t complain.” and that would’ve worked before. You smile, but it’s softer. Distant. “I don’t doubt that,” you say. “I just… don’t think I’m in the same place anymore.” He studies you like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.

“You seeing someone?” You don’t answer that, you step back instead, polite but final. “I should get back before they start asking where I am.”

“Serena.” You pause. “If you change your mind,” he says quietly, “you know how to find me.” You nod once But as you walk away, heels echoing softly against the empty hallway, there’s no temptation pulling you back just the memory of a blonde head dipping toward your neck and the faint, dangerous realization that whatever this thing with Leehan is… It’s already shifted the scale

———————-To be continued———————

Part 3 here

AN: hiiii i know this post seems so short but i am literally posting part 3 right after this because for some reason i wasn’t able to put the whole part in without restrictions, it’s weird because i literally posted bottle girl with 13k wc… anywho enjoy ❤️- T

[gongfourzangel]

Part 2 coming tonight! Sorry for the delay i had personal events to attend!!

[gongfourzangel]

WRONG NUMBER

Okay so i was watching behindoor again and this bit lines up with part 2 so… anywho stay tuned - T 😼

[gongfourzangel]

WRONG NUMBER

Part 1

Pairing : Leehan idol x non idol FMC

Content : MDNI, P in V, professional setting, one night stand, coworkers, secret hookup. Other idols mentioned

PLOT : When Serena joins the styling team of a rising idol group, she never expects a wrong number to change everything.

What starts as accidental late-night texts with Leehan quickly turns into something dangerously real. Backstage glances become stolen moments. Teasing turns into jealousy. And the line between professional and personal begins to blur.

Leehan has everything to lose. One scandal could fracture his career, his image, and the group’s future. But the more their connection deepens, the harder it is for him to stay distant, especially when other men stand too close to her.

In an industry built on control and perfection, their secret is the one thing neither of them can choreograph.

WARNING : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

TAGLIST 💬: @snoopymyung @jinviktor @rixarchive

(comment to be tagged in next parts)

ALL WORKS ARE FICTION!

——————————

Sitting cross-legged on the bed, the phone rests in my palm as the Notes app scrolls past half-familiar numbers. Nico’s, somewhere in here. With his career, phones are temporary things. SIM cards rotate. Three numbers at any given time. I stopped asking which one was current a long time ago.

The top line gets copied without much thought, pasted into a new contact, labeled Nico. Easy. Familiar.

The camera roll opens next. Recently taken. I scroll slowly, deliberate now, before stopping on the black lingerie set. Back turned to the mirror. Just enough reflection to hint, not explain. It’s an old favorite. Reliable. A scenario starter.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t put myself into a self-proclaimed celibacy just to get work done. Weeks of deadlines and restraint, telling myself it was discipline, not avoidance. But they’re finished now. Submitted. Finally done.

Which means I can officially break the drought.

The photo sends. I don’t reread the message. Don’t give myself time to reconsider. The phone is dropped beside me as my eyes close.

Me: tomorrow? I miss you.

Waking to the soft purr of my cat as she paws at my arm. Feeding time. I stretch, blinking into the morning, stumbling out of bed and into the lounge with Tetra weaving between my legs like I might forget her.

As soon as the food hits the bowl she lunges. Anyone would think she’s starved, the way she acts around meals. My own stomach answers back, loud enough to push me into autopilot. The freezer opens. One of the meal-prepped breakfast burritos comes out.

I collapse onto the couch with it once it’s heated, scrolling through Instagram as I eat. Food vlogs. GRWMs. Travel clips. The usual background noise of mornings at home. Tetra jumps up beside me, persistent, hopeful, aiming for my breakfast. She miscalculates, teeth clicking uselessly against the plate instead. I laugh, nudging her away and scratching behind her ears as she pointedly looks elsewhere, embarrassed by her own greed.

That’s when I remember the text from last night. The conversation opens easily, muscle memory more than intention. One reply waits there.

: who is this?

I frown, chewing slowly. Confused, but not alarmed. He’s done this before. Back when we were both starting out, back when names didn’t carry weight yet, he used to joke about fans finding his number, about needing to be careful. An intern and a trainee, killing time between schedules, pretending we weren’t both just tired people in borrowed spaces.I assume this is the same thing. Him playing it off. Acting clueless when he knows exactly who’s in the photo.

Serena: wow. playing dumb already? that was faster than usual.

Nico : …sorry? I think you might have the wrong number.

Serena: mhmm. sure i do. last time you said that you still showed up.

Nico : I don’t think that was me.

Serena: could’ve fooled me. you’re usually better at pretending you don’t recognise me in your favourite colour.

Nico :…my favourite colour?

There’s a pause. Long enough to register. Long enough to make her smile.

Serena: black lace. mirror. you know the one you love to put me in-front of.

Nico : Okay. I’m pretty sure that wasn’t meant for me.

Serena: that’s disappointing. because I was very much in the mood to be used tonight.

Another pause. Typing dots appear. Disappear. Come back.

Nico : I think you have the wrong number.

A beat

Nico : But… I don’t mind filling in for whoever it was meant for. If you don’t.

Her stomach flips. Heat creeps up her neck. The slight realisation hits her that she did just send nudes to the wrong number and it wasn’t Nico playing with her. Nonetheless she continues.

Serena: wow. bold for a stranger.

Nico?: You started it.

Fair.

Serena: Serena.

Donghyun: Donghyun.

The name settles strangely. Familiar in a way she can’t place.

Serena: well. you already know what I look like.

A beat.

Then an image comes through.

It’s a mirror selfie, taken in what looks like an elevator. He’s holding his phone up with one hand, the other relaxed at his side. Short, slightly tousled brown hair frames his face, soft but sharp in a way that feels intentional. Black-rimmed glasses sit low on his nose, eyes focused on the screen rather than the mirror. He’s dressed simply , a black t-shirt, silver rings, a thin chain bracelet , nothing flashy, but nothing accidental either.He looks… attractive. Annoyingly so. And familiar in a way that refuses to settle, like a name on the tip of her tongue that won’t surface.

Have I seen you before?

Donghyun: Now it’s even, right?

Her thumbs hover over the screen. Still don’t know how I managed to text the wrong person. Still not sure why I haven’t stopped. Definitely curious.

Serena: well I mean technically you just got a free peep show. for all I know you could be an axe murderer.

Donghyun: I guess you could say my job keeps me from committing crime more than the average citizen.

A breath of laughter escapes before she can stop it. That’s… not an answer.

Serena: didn’t realise I accidentally sexted the president.

Donghyun: Not even close. But if that makes this less mortifying for you, be my guest. I meant it, by the way.

Her brow furrows.

Serena: meant what?

The reply comes quicker this time.

Donghyun: If you need someone to play substitute guy for you.

Heat creeps up her neck.

I should stop this.

I’m not stopping this.

Serena: oh. mhmm.

The pause afterward is deliberate. Not hesitation. Choice. She exhales slowly, phone warm in her hand. For the plot, she decides.

Serena: what are you doing tonight?

The idea of meeting someone completely random sends a small thrill through her. A little reckless. Not as defensive as she probably should be.

This is how people end up in documentaries, she thinks, and still waits for the reply.

Donghyun: I get off at 8, so anytime after that I’m free.

Her eyebrows lift.

That’s… convenient.

Serena: wait that’s like perfect. I get off at 7. if you still want to meet at like 9 or 10?

She holds her breath, suddenly aware of how fast this has moved. Too fast? Or just honest?

Donghyun: I’m in.

Her mouth curves into a smile before she can stop it.

Serena: perfect. I’ll text you the address tonight. looking forward to meeting you, mr substitute.

She locks the phone, setting it face-down on the counter like that will contain the feeling blooming in her chest. Anticipation. Curiosity. The faintest hum of nerves.

A notification chimes almost immediately. She hears it. Ignores it.

I’m already behind, she tells herself, grabbing her bag and heading back into the room to get ready. There will be time to check it later.

Probably.

The phone vibrates once more on the counter, insistent, waiting.

Grabbing her bag, she bends to kiss Tetra’s head, scratching behind her ears until the cat melts into the floor, purring loudly in protest.

“Behave,” she murmurs, already backing toward the door.

The drive to work is short. Fifteen minutes, give or take. Long enough to mentally sort through the day ahead. Wardrobe try-ons for award season. A Vogue shoot. A meeting to finalise look books for the next comeback. The usual controlled chaos. Heavy workloads came with the job, but at least the people she styled were people she genuinely liked.

Friends, even.

She’d been an intern when they debuted. All of them awkward, tired, trying to prove something. Interns and trainees learning the building at the same time. Now she’s a co-stylist, and they’re an internationally known girl group. In a way, they grew up in the company together.

The music fades mid-song as the call tone rings through the car.

manchae 🧚‍♀️

She smiles, answering as she signals into the parking structure.

“Where are you?” Eunchae asks immediately.

“Pulling in now,” Serena says. “Just parking.”

“We’re in the practice room,” Eunchae replies. “Don’t get lost.”

“As if,” Serena snorts. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

The call ends as she parks. Engine off. Bag slung over her shoulder.

She enters through the staff parking area, the familiar chill of concrete and fluorescent lights settling over her. Her keycard swipes green. Access granted. Routine.

The elevator doors slide open just as she reaches them. She steps inside and pauses as a group of seven guys file in behind her.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Effortlessly filling the space.

She shifts to the front corner without a second thought. Idols are a constant in her life; faces blur together after a while. A couple of them wear the usual hoodie-and-mask combination, caps pulled low. Others don’t bother. It barely registers.

Thank god for privacy screens, she thinks, angling her phone closer as she opens the unread message from Donghyun.

Donghyun: do I get to request things? I was thinking a nemo onesie would be hot.

Oh my god.

A laugh slips out before she can stop it. She catches herself just in time, lips pressing together, eyes dropping to the floor.

Do not look unhinged in front of strangers.

If she looks at the phone again, she’ll break. So she doesn’t. Instead, her gaze drifts around the elevator as it rises. The soft hum. The mirrored walls.

Have I been in this one before?

Surely it looks familiar enough.

The doors edge closer to the 12th floor the presence behind her still irrelevant.

For now.

The practice room door slides open to familiar noise. Music low in the background. Laughter cutting through it.

“Unnie,” Eunchae says immediately, spotting her. “You’re late.”

“I’m on time,” Serena replies, dropping her bag by the wall. “You’re just dramatic.”

Yunjin snorts from the floor. “She says that every time.”

Chaewon tosses her a towel. “Coffee?”

“Already had two,” Serena says. “I’m operating on faith now.”

It’s easy in here. Always has been. She remembers when it wasn’t. when she was an intern hovering near the walls, terrified of touching anything without permission, and they were rookies pretending not to be nervous. Somewhere between fittings and late nights, the lines blurred. They grew together. Learned the building together. Now they bicker like sisters and work like clockwork.

She moves around them instinctively, checking hems, tugging fabric straight, making mental notes. Award season is creeping closer. Everything needs to be sharper, cleaner, more intentional. The Vogue shoot. The look books. The fittings that never quite end.

By the time the wardrobe walk-through wraps, her earlier mental checklist feels very real again.

Lunch sneaks up on her.

She heads down to the cafeteria, tray in hand, barely halfway through choosing something tolerable when a familiar voice cuts in.

“Serena.”

She turns to see one of the PDs, a clipboard tucked under his arm. Beside him is her other co-stylist, already nodding like this has been decided without her.

“We need to outsource you to another team for the upcoming MAMA Music Awards,” the PD says. “Their stylist moved to SM. It’s short notice and temporary, unless you do a perfect job and they refuse to let you go.”

Her co-stylist jumps in easily. “I’ll finish LE SSERAFIM’s looks for it. I promise they are in great hands.”

Serena pauses for half a second, long enough to register the shift, then nods. “MAMA is a big show.” Serena breathes out an unsure sigh. “But,” she follows, “I’ve now heard they’re down a stylist, and that would be a neglect of my powers.”

“Great,” the PD says with a smile, already moving on. “We’ll coordinate schedules.”

They leave her standing there, tray still empty.

It’s only as she finally sits down, food untouched, that it hits her.

She didn’t ask which group.

That’s tomorrow’s problem, she decides calmly. She’ll find out when she visits them.

For now, she eats.

On the way to the department room to collect last-minute supplies for the Vogue shoot, she finally caves.

Professional mindset temporarily abandoned.

Serena: do you want the options?

The reply sends before she can overthink it. She doesn’t slow as she walks, already selecting photos from her camera roll. Eight this time. Different angles. Different poses. Legs folded up. Knees braced. Straddling the edge of something just out of frame. Lying back, spine curved just enough to suggest intention. The lingerie shifts in colour. black, deep red, muted neutrals but the focus stays on how she’s positioned, not what she’s wearing.

She smiles faintly at the thought of someone opening a text this risky in public. In a workplace, no less.

The response comes fast.

Donghyun: fuck.

That’s enough.

She locks her phone without hesitation and slips it into her bag as she pushes open the department room door. The switch flips instantly. Shoulders straight. Expression neutral. All business.

To anyone watching, there’s no hint of the life she lives outside of schedules, fittings, and deadlines.

Just Serena.

Co-stylist.

Professional.

The final meeting of the day wraps at 6:50, and she wastes no time. Chair pushed back. Bag slung over her shoulder. Pace quicker than usual as she heads for the door.

Only when she reaches the hallway does she slow.

Why are you excited, dude?

The thought lands, uninvited. She exhales through her nose, pulls out her phone, and texts anyway.

Serena: I just finished. here’s the address. text me when you’re on your way.

She attaches it, thumb hovering for half a second before hitting send. Still looking down at the screen, she rounds the corner-

And bumps straight into someone.

“Oh- sorry!” she blurts automatically.

The figure in front of her, hood pulled low, gives a small bow in response. Polite. Reflexive. She doesn’t bother looking up properly. She’s already stepping aside, already moving again. Whatever his face looks like is irrelevant.

Everyone’s in a rush tonight.

She heads straight for the elevators, the familiar descent into the carpark swallowing her whole.

The door barely clicks shut before Tetra announces herself, a stream of insistent meows weaving through the apartment like she’s been waiting all day just for this moment.

“I know,” Serena murmurs, toeing off her shoes as she bends to scoop her up. “I missed you too.”

She doesn’t linger. Bag dropped. Lights flipped on. Straight down the hall and into the bathroom, shedding the day as quickly as she can. The shower steams up fast, heat washing over her shoulders, the familiar scent of soap cutting through the lingering air of meetings and hallways and other people’s expectations.

Work is done, she tells herself as she rinses.

This is mine.

She dries off and pulls on a dark red lingerie set, the colour deep enough to feel deliberate. Not costume. Choice. Over it goes a black pleated skirt and a cropped cardigan, soft and deceptively innocent. Balanced. Controlled.

Back in the living room, she settles onto the couch, Tetra hopping up beside her as if invited, curling warm against her thigh. Serena exhales, phone face-up in her hand now, no pretending she isn’t waiting.

The buzz comes at 8:40 on the dot.

Donghyun: on my way.

Her stomach flips.

This is new, she thinks, lips curving despite herself. A stranger. No expectations. No history weighing it down. Just curiosity and the quiet thrill of doing something for no reason other than wanting to.

She scratches behind Tetra’s ears absently, eyes flicking to the door, anticipation settling in her chest.

Tonight feels different.

And she can’t wait.

The knock comes right on time.

The door opens and she has to recalibrate.

He’s taller than she expected. Broad in a way that feels earned, not exaggerated, shoulders filling the doorway with an easy confidence that makes the space feel smaller. There’s something solid about him, something quietly dangerous in how relaxed he looks, like strength he doesn’t feel the need to announce.

Okay.

Attractive is an understatement. Distractingly so.

He looks real in a way she didn’t brace for. Not curated. Not distant. Just… present. Close enough to register details she hadn’t imagined, warmth in his eyes, a mouth that looks like it knows how to smile and mean it.

And still there’s that tug. A faint sense of familiarity that won’t quite resolve. Like she’s passed him before. Like she’s seen this face in passing, never long enough to place it.

Not recognition. Just the echo of it.

“You’re real,” he says, half-joking.

She exhales softly, stepping aside. “Unfortunately.” she replies, stepping aside. “You can come in.”

He barely takes two steps inside before Tetra appears, tail high, chirping like she’s known him her whole life. She flops dramatically at his feet, rolling onto her back without hesitation.

He laughs, startled. “Wow. I’ve been chosen.”

“She rarely does that,” Serena says dryly. “Traitor.”

He crouches easily, long limbs folding without effort, scratching Tetra’s stomach as she melts completely.

“She’s got good instincts,” he says, glancing up at Serena. “I’m very trustworthy.”

“Bold claim for a man who asked for a Nemo onesie.”

He straightens, eyes flicking pointedly over her outfit. The skirt. The cardigan. The way she’s standing just a little too confidently.

“No onesie,” he sighs. “I’m devastated.”

She hums, fingers drifting to the buttons of her cardigan. Slow. Deliberate. Undoing just one.

A flash of dark red beneath.

“Yeah,” she says calmly. “Couldn’t find it.”

His jaw tightens. Just slightly. He swallows.

“…that’s tragic,” he manages.

Her lips curve.

The air shifts. Thicker now. Charged. Like something has already started and neither of them is pretending otherwise.

Behind them, Tetra purrs loudly, entirely satisfied with her choices.

They end up on the couch without quite deciding to. Close enough that she can feel his warmth, his knee angled toward hers, the space between them intentional rather than cautious.

He glances at her, expression easy but attentive. “Do you have any ground rules?”

The question is calm. Respectful. It catches her off guard more than anything else tonight.

She considers it for a beat, then shakes her head. “I’m fine with everything.”

His gaze lingers, checking. Not pushing.

“What about kissing?” he asks. “Eye contact?”

Her breath hitches before she can stop it. She smiles, slow and honest.

“Yeah,” she says. “If you want me shaking. makeouts and eye contact are my biggest turn-ons.”

Something darkens in his eyes. Interest sharpening into something heavier.

“Good to know.”

She tilts her head. “What about you? Any rules?”

“No,” he says easily. “None.”

The answer settles between them, quiet and mutual. Permission without pressure.

For a moment, neither of them moves. The air thickens, anticipation humming low and insistent. Serena becomes acutely aware of how close he is, how solid he feels beside her, how his attention hasn’t wavered once.

Stop thinking, she tells herself.

She leans in first.

The kiss is deliberate. Unrushed. Her hand finding his collar as she closes the distance, lips brushing his just long enough to feel his inhale before committing.

That’s where it shifts.

That’s where everything else begins

hungry, lips bruising, tongues thrusting without preamble. His hands gripped her hips, yanking her onto his lap in one fluid move. She ground down, feeling his cock harden against her through their clothes, the friction sparking urgency. Breath mingled hot and ragged; she bit his lower lip, drawing a low growl from him. Momentum built fast no pauses, no second thoughts.

She broke the kiss just enough to stand, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the bedroom, her pulse hammering. The hallway blurred in her periphery, bodies brushing with every step, the heat between them coiling tighter. At the door, he spun her around, hands sliding under her thighs to lift her up against the frame. His mouth claimed hers again, deeper, more demanding, as he pressed his erection into her core through the fabric barrier.

Control shifted in that instant his strength pinning her there, grinding slow and deliberate. She hooked her legs around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders, the pressure building low in her belly. He carried her inside without breaking stride, the door clicking shut behind them like a final seal on the deal.

He lowered her onto the bed, eyes locked on hers, dark and unyielding. As she arched up to peel off her top, his gaze dropped to the black lace lingerie hugging her curves. Admiration flashed in his stare raw hunger, not some sappy bullshit. “Fuck” he muttered, voice gravel-rough, stripping off his shirt to reveal taut muscle.

He moved over her, hands roaming with purpose, unclasping her bra and shoving it aside. His mouth latched onto her nipple, sucking hard while fingers teased lower, slipping under her panties to circle her clit. Skill showed in the way her body responded hips bucking involuntarily, breath hitching as wetness slicked his touch. He worked her open, two fingers thrusting in rhythm, curling just right to hit that spot that made her thighs tremble.

Their eyes met, his intense, holding hers captive. “Look at you, already soaking for it” he said, voice low and approving, thumb pressing firmer on her clit. She gasped, the praise hitting like fuel, her walls clenching around his fingers. He didn't let up, watching every twitch, every moan that escaped her lips. “Those sounds keep making them.”

He stripped her panties down her legs, shedding his own clothes in the same motion. Positioning himself between her thighs, he entered her slow at first, filling her inch by inch, eyes never leaving hers. The stretch burned good, her body yielding to the intrusion.

She shifted then, rolling her hips to guide him deeper, urging the angle change. He caught on, hooking her legs over his shoulders for leverage. The new depth slammed home immediate, overwhelming. “Shit—yes” she vocalized, the word ripping out as he bottomed out, hitting deeper than before. Her back arched, fingers twisting in the sheets.

Pace shifted from controlled thrusts to ruthless, hips snapping with force. Each drive jolted her, building tension that coiled and snapped. Sweat slicked their skin, breaths syncing in harsh pants. His eyes bored into hers, unrelenting.

“You're taking it so well—fuck” he praised, voice strained, watching her unravel. The words pushed her closer, control fracturing.

Too much… deeper…can't..

Intensity peaked, her body seizing as climax hit, walls pulsing around his cock. He followed seconds later, thrusting through it, eyes locked. “ just like that mmhmm perfect.”

He pulled out, rolling to the side. Bodies separated, breaths evening out in the sudden quiet.

“Wow,” he said, echoing the stunned haze in her mind.

She nodded, staring at the ceiling, the air cooling between them.

Serena lets the thought surface without chasing it. She’s glad the number was wrong. Glad it was Donghyun and not Nico. Nico had been easy, familiar, fun in a way that never asked for more. This was different, not deeper, just lighter. Maybe it helped that Donghyun had been a stranger until a few hours ago. No history. No expectations.

“You can shower if you want,” she says, sitting up. “Use the ensuite. I’ll use the guest one.”

He looks at her as she climbs off the bed and heads for the closet, grabbing a change of clothes for later and a towel from the shelf. It’s efficient, unselfconscious. No rush, no lingering. Just movement.

“Do you want to keep doing this?” he asks.

She pauses only long enough to register the tone. He doesn’t sound attached. He doesn’t sound distant either. More like he’s curious. Maybe even hoping she’ll say yes.

She turns slightly. “Now that I’ve proved you aren’t a axe murderer?”

“Mhm,” he says, nodding with a short chuckle.

“Nights are usually when I’m free” he adds casually. “Except probably a little less over the next couple of weeks.”

She sees him file that away. She does the same. “That’s so weird,” she says after a beat. “I just received a project that will keep me pretty busy as well.”

Donghyun thinks for a second, then stands. “Our schedules practically match each other.”

She hums, noncommittal, and heads for the bathroom.

The shower is quick. Practical. By the time she’s done and back in fresh clothes, the apartment feels reset. When she steps into the lounge, Donghyun is on the couch, giving Tetra absent pats while she purrs leans into him like she’s known him forever.

“Hmm” Serena says mildly, mentally noting that tetra likes him unlike nico, it took her 3 weeks to be comfortable with him.

Tetra doesn’t care.

“Are you hungry?” Serena asks.

Donghyun checks his phone. “It’s 11:30.”

He stands, already reaching for his jacket. “I should head out.”

“Yeah,” she says easily. “That makes sense.”

There’s no awkward pause. No question hanging in the air. He says goodbye to her, then to Tetra, who watches him leave like she might follow if given the chance.

The door closes.

Serena sits down beside Tetra, scratching behind her ears while the quiet settles back in. She orders food, eats on the couch, and doesn’t think about him while she does. When she finally heads to bed, it’s with the simple satisfaction of a night that went exactly as it was meant to.

Just sex. Nothing more.

Walking into the elevator, Serena exhales slowly, mentally preparing herself to start fresh with the new group she’s been assigned to style for the upcoming MAMA Music Awards. New floor. New team. New slate.

She steps out onto a company floor she rarely finds herself on, scanning for the PD she met yesterday.

“Serena, hi!” he calls, spotting her immediately. “The boys are all here. We’ll introduce you, then you can sit in on the run-through so you can plan outfits accordingly.”

She nods, already logging the information mentally. Boy group. Okay. It’s been a while since she styled anyone outside of LE SSERAFIM, but at least they’re giving her time to adjust to the group dynamics and performance concept. That helps.

She follows him into the practice room, music already spilling through the open door. Serena sets her bag down near the wall and pulls out her iPad, opening her notes app as she starts tracking silhouettes, movement, colour ideas.

She pauses, glancing up. “Do you have previous sizing lists I can use?”

The PD nods and signals to a staff member. “I’ll have them sent to you.”

“Perfect, thank you.”

She’s skimming the list when the PD claps his hands, calling out to the room. “Alright, gather around. I have someone to introduce. For MAMA, we’ve brought on a new stylist. She usually works with LE SSERAFIM, but we asked her to style you this time, so please treat her well and cooperate. Serena, say hi.”

She lifts her head, professional smile already in place, eyes sweeping over the six boys standing in front of her.

“Hi, it’s nice to—”

Her gaze stops.

Oh.

Oh my god.

The words finish themselves on instinct. “—meet you. I hope we can collaborate well on this together.”

Donghyun is already staring at her, the same flicker of recognition flashing across his face. Shock. Then something carefully neutral.

No one else notices. No one clocks it.

“Okay,” the PD says, oblivious. “We’ll start the run-through in fifteen minutes.”

As the group disperses, Serena immediately steps back. “Sorry, I just need to use the bathroom.”

“Of course,” the PD replies without looking twice.

She turns the corner and presses her palm to her forehead.

“Oh my god,” she mutters aloud.

Of course. Of course the guy she hooked up with last night is part of the group she’s styling. The familiarity clicks into place all at once why he’d looked familiar, why his name had sounded like something she’d heard floating around the company halls.

She exhales sharply.

So much for starting fresh.

Serena has just stepped into the hallway when she hears his voice.

“Guess our schedules really were matched,” Donghyun says easily from behind her. He slows to her pace, stopping a careful distance away. “Turns out we work in the same building. Just different floors.”

She stills for half a second, then turns, immediately scanning the corridor. A stylist disappears around the corner. A door closes down the hall. Clear for now.

“We can act like that never happened if you want,” she says quietly.

Donghyun tilts his head, actually considering it. Then he smiles, confidence settling back into place like it always does.

“Why would I do that?” he says. “I went through sooooo much effort to prove I’m not a murderer.” He adds, without missing a beat, “And Tetra already likes me.”

She exhales a soft laugh before she can stop herself. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Persistent,” he corrects.

Her expression sharpens just enough to bring it back to reality. “Okay. But we have to at least try to be careful.”

He nods immediately. No argument. “Yeah. Of course.”

She hesitates, then adds, more amused now than tense, “When you first told me your name and sent that photo, I kept thinking it sounded familiar.”

“My stage name’s Leehan,” he explains. “Donghyun’s my birth name.” He shrugs. “Honestly, if you knew I was an idol, I might’ve scared you away.”

He chuckles lightly.

“Fair point,” Serena says, filing that away and very deliberately not thinking about the other idol she’d been seeing before a wrong number rewrote her week.

Footsteps approach from the far end of the hall.

They step apart instantly, distance snapping into place like it’s rehearsed.

“I’ll see you in the run-through,” he says, already shifting back into work mode.

“Yeah” she replies.

He walks off without looking back.

Serena waits a beat longer, then exhales slowly.

Careful, she reminds herself.

Nothing more than that.

The music kicks in while Serena is mid-conversation.

She’s standing near the side wall with her iPad tucked under her arm as one of the production staff flips through a clipboard beside her.

“So there were a few things confirmed this morning,” the staff member says over the bass. “Lighting’s going cooler for the second half. More contrast. And” she glances down at her notes, “Leehan’s hair is being dyed blonde closer to the show.”

Serena’s pen stills for half a second.

“Blonde,” she repeats, neutral, already recalculating.

“Yeah. Not platinum,” the staff member clarifies. “More cool-toned. Clean.”

“That’ll change how he reads on stage,” Serena says automatically, eyes lifting to the formation as the boys move. Leehan is near center again, dark hair catching the overhead lights as he turns. She tilts her head slightly, imagining the difference. Blonde would sharpen him. Pull focus. Especially under cool lighting.

She makes a note. Textures over colour. Control contrast.

“Also,” the staff member continues, “they want the styling to feel tailored. Elevated. Nothing too loose and i am aware we have limited time but i’ve been reassured in your abilities to deliver trend setters.”

“That works,” Serena replies, already there. She watches the choreography with a sharper eye now. Oversized is officially out. Sleeveless knits. Structured vests. Layered tailoring that moves cleanly with the body. The reference images she saw earlier slot neatly into place.

The PD calls for a reset.

As the boys shift positions, Serena’s gaze lifts again and catches Leehan mid-turn.

Eye contact.

Brief. Unintentional. Immediately broken.

She looks back down at her screen, scrolling as if she hadn’t felt it. Beside her, the staff member keeps talking, unaware.

“With the blonde, they’re hoping he stands out without overpowering the group,” she says.

“Then we balance him,” Serena answers quietly. “Let the cut do the work, not the colour.”

She watches him again, more critically now. Not him, the lines of his shoulders, the way fitted trousers would emphasise movement without pulling attention. Blonde will make him sharper. The styling has to ground him.

The run-through starts again.

Serena moves a few steps closer to the mirror wall for a better angle, jotting notes quickly. In the reflection, she catches Leehan watching her not directly, but through the glass. His expression is composed, professional.

Aware.

The music swells.

She looks away first, refocusing on another member’s footwork, on hems and proportions and stage presence. When the choreography ends, the PD claps once.

“Good. We’ll take five.”

The boys scatter, grabbing water, towels. The staff member beside Serena nods. “I’ll send you the updated notes.”

“Thanks,” Serena replies.

Leehan passes by on his way to the bench.

“Stylist-nim,” he says politely, tone neutral.

She meets his eyes just long enough. “Good run.”

He nods and moves on.

Serena exhales slowly once he’s gone, fingers tightening briefly around her pen before she relaxes.

After four more choreography run-throughs, the PD finally called a thirty-minute break. The room slowly emptied as dancers stretched and staff filtered out. Serena gathered her bag and the rest of her things, then turned to the few staff members still lingering.

“Does anyone want anything from the convenience shop?” she asked.

A chorus of polite no thank-yous followed. She nodded and headed for the door.

At the elevator, she stopped short. A familiar silhouette leaned casually against the wall, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie.

“Where are you off to?” Leehan asked, a quirked smile playing on his lips.

“Convenience shop. I really want gummies,” she said as she stepped inside the elevator.

Leehan followed her in and pressed the lobby button.

Confused, she looked at him. “Where are you going?”

He leaned back against the rail, smirking. “I also want gummies. And Taesan wants an energy drink.”

She pouted but nodded, her attention shifting as the elevator doors slid open again.

A third figure stepped inside, one she knew all too well.

“Hi, Rena,” Nico said smoothly as he entered.

“Hey, Nico,” she replied, professional and measured, as he took up the space behind her. Leehan stayed quiet, but Nico clearly did not mind the extra set of eyes.

“I switched my phone again,” Nico added casually.

Serena cringed inwardly, mentally scolding herself and silently praying Leehan would not connect the dots.

“I didn’t notice,” she replied, her tone cool.

“Oh really? Hmm. Okay.”

The rest of the ride down was painfully awkward. Nico nodded at Leehan, who returned the gesture with a polite smile. When the doors opened into the lobby, Serena cleared her throat and stepped out. Leehan followed close behind. From the absence of footsteps, she assumed Nico had gone down to the car park.

“Are you two close?” Leehan asked as they passed through the gates and into the foyer, his voice nearer now.

“What makes you think that?” she asked, glancing back at him.

He looked at her like the answer was obvious. “He just nicknamed you. And you did the same.”

He laughed, clearly feeling like he had caught onto something.

“Oh. Yeah,” she said lightly. “I styled them for part of their Japan promotions.”

It was not exactly a lie, but it was not the full truth either. She had styled them. She and Nicholas also had more than just a professional relationship. It was, after all, the reason she had accidentally texted Leehan instead of Nico in the first place. He did not need to know that.

Leehan nodded and pulled his hood up as they stepped outside.

“How long have you been at HYBE?” he asked as they rounded the corner.

“Two years. I joined as a styling intern and have been part of the LE SSERAFIM team since. A couple of borrowed stints in between.”

“I see,” he murmured.

She hesitated before asking, “Do you guys not have a curfew at night?”

Considering he had been at her place for hours, it felt like a fair question.

“Not really. Only the nights before schedules. Even then, we just need a manager with us in case we run into fans or get followed.”

“That sounds scary,” she said, cringing at the thought of being watched constantly.

“Yeah, it kind of is. But if we react negatively, it gets spun into being ungrateful to fans.”

Her chest tightened at that. She felt a quiet sympathy for people in the industry who were never allowed to voice discomfort, especially when it came to their privacy, or the lack of it.

They pushed through the glass doors of the convenience store, the bell chiming softly above them. The fluorescent lights were a sharp contrast to the dim hallway they had just left.

Leehan grabbed a basket immediately and glanced at Serena. “So. Gummies. What kind?”

“The good kind,” she replied. “If I see you reach for those sour worms, I’m judging you.”

He smirked, already doing exactly that. “Judging me how?”

She leaned closer, voice lowering. “Harshly. Publicly. Emotionally.”

He laughed and tossed them into the basket anyway. “You sound experienced.”

“Careful,” she said, arching a brow. “That could be taken the wrong way.”

“Oh, I meant it that way,” he replied easily, eyes flicking over her face.

They moved down the aisles slowly, the basket filling with gummies, chips, and an energy drink Leehan insisted Taesan would complain about if it was the wrong brand.

Serena picked up a bottle of iced coffee and turned it over in her hands. “These taste like regret.”

“Yet you’re still holding it.”

“Much like some of my life choices.”

He hummed. “Feeling called out.”

She shot him a look. “You should.”

At the checkout, he leaned in while the cashier scanned their items. “You always this bossy?”

“Only when people need it.”

“And do I need it?”

Her lips twitched. “I haven’t decided yet.”

On the walk back, their shoulders brushed more than necessary, conversation slipping into quieter, teasing territory. By the time they reached the building again, Serena was mid-sentence when a voice cut in sharply.

“Leehan!”

They both turned.

One of the dancers stood a few steps away, phone already in her hand, smiling far too brightly. “You should call me sometime.”

Serena blinked, surprise flickering across her face before she could stop it. She knew idols reputations well enough. It caught her off guard to see it play out so blatantly, especially here.

Leehan’s expression barely changed. “I won’t,” he said flatly.

The dancer laughed as if it were a joke. “Come on.”

“Not the time or place,” he replied, already turning away.

The dancer huffed but eventually walked off, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.

Serena glanced at him as they continued toward the practice room. “You’re popular.”

He smirked “That’s one word for it.”

Back inside, the dance practice room was still empty, the mirrors reflecting only the two of them. Leehan set the drinks down and exhaled before speaking again.

“She’s an ex-fan,” he said, almost casually. “Got close through events. Tried the same thing with pretty much all of us.”

Serena looked at him. “And?”

“And none of us caved,” he added. “Managers shut it down fast.”She just nodded, picking at the plastic of her drink.

“Sorry you had to see that,” he added, quieter now.

“It’s fine,” she said. Then, after a beat, “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

He studied her for a moment, unreadable. “Yeah. Neither was I.”

The room settled into a calm silence, charged but comfortable, the kind that lingered just long enough to feel intentional.

“If it commonly happens what made you reply to mine?” You question breaking the comfortable silence.

“The usual texts are along the lines of marry me / please vist __ , not alot of them sext me. And plus i had a feeling it was accidental because you had said i miss you. Bent over infront of a mirror” he smirks saying the last bit and you palm your forehead.

Before you can retort, the door slides open.

Taesan pokes his head in, scanning the room. “Please tell me you remembered my drink.”

Leehan jerks his chin toward the bag. “Bottom. Don’t act desperate.”

Taesan grabs it and immediately clocks you, grin widening. “Oh- hi. How are you liking our team?

You laugh despite yourself. “Barely surviving.”

“Same,” he says easily. “If you ever need backup, I volunteer.”

Leehan scoffs. “You flirt with everyone.”

“Only when it works,” Taesan replies, eyes still on you.

You shake your head, amused. “You’re both impossible.”

Taesan lifts his can in salute. “See you later, stylist-nim.” And just like that, he’s gone.

The door shuts.

Leehan exhales through his nose, amused. “He’s bold.”

“You encourage it,” you say, packing up.

He steps closer, voice low. “I was first in line .”

You pause, glance up at him. “Technically you were 2nd.”

He smirks “by all means go text that other guy

If you don’t find me -“he flexes his hand and rolls his wrist “and certain talents i recall your body loving”

You roll your eyes at him as you look back towards your half opened ipad screen.

Night comes fast.

The building feels different after dark. quieter, more serious. You’re in a conference room now, mood boards spread across the table, staff leaning in as you explain silhouettes, fabrics, colour stories. Work-mode Serena. Controlled. Professional.

Your phone vibrates once in your pocket.

You ignore it.

Then again.

You glance down just enough to see the contact read Donghyun and a photo preview.

Your breath catches.

It’s nothing explicit, just him in grey sweats, head cut out of frame, hand resting casually where it shouldn’t be, posture relaxed like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Heat rushes straight to your face.

You lock your phone instantly and force yourself to keep talking, heart racing.

When the meeting finally wraps, you gather your things quickly, eager for air.

The hallway is dim, lights low, footsteps echoing. You’re halfway to the exit when a hand catches your wrist and pulls you gently but firmly into a studio.

The door shuts.

Before you can speak, a palm covers your mouth not rough, not forceful. Familiar.

Your eyes adjust and you see him.

Leehan, close, towering, expression unreadable but eyes dark with intent.

He lowers his hand slowly, watching your face.

“Relax,” he murmurs.

Then, softer, unmistakably pleased

“Hi, pretty.”

The room feels very small.

His eyes locked onto hers, dark and intense, as he backed her against the soundboard, body pressing hard against her curves.

prying her lips apart with two thick digits, shoving them deep until she tasted the salt of his skin. Serena's eyes widened, but she sucked instinctively, her tongue swirling around them as he thrust shallowly, watching her with that predatory gaze. 'So pretty,' he murmured, voice rough with need, pulling his fingers free only to crash his lips against hers in a bruising kiss. Their tongues tangled fiercely, breaths mingling hot and urgent, eye contact unbroken even as he devoured her mouth.

Rough hands roamed her body, yanking her shirt up to expose her breasts, pinching her nipples until she arched into him with a whimper. He broke the kiss just long enough to growl, 'Need you now,' before shoving her skirt up and ripping her panties down her thighs. Serena's pussy throbbed with anticipation but couldn’t help worrying about getting caught. already slick as he freed his cock from his jeans, thick and hard, veins pulsing. He spun her toward the couch but paused, deciding against it, instead lifting her onto the edge of the desk for now.

He decided against the desk, the couch.. he wanted her under him first. With a swift motion, he carried her to the worn studio couch, laying her back roughly. Serena's legs spread wide as he positioned himself between them, his cock nudging her entrance. Their eyes met again, hers pleading, his commanding, and he thrust in deep with one brutal stroke, filling her pussy completely. She cried out, nails digging into his shoulders, but he silenced her with another kiss, lips grinding together as he started pounding into her.

The missionary rhythm was relentless his hips slamming forward with need, cock stretching her walls with every rough plunge. Serena's body jolted beneath him, breasts bouncing, and he captured her gaze, holding it while he fucked her harder. 'So pretty like this,' he panted against her mouth, breaking for air only to dive back in, tongues battling as sweat beaded on their skin. He pushed his fingers into her mouth again, loving how she hollowed her cheeks, sucking them while her pussy clenched around his shaft. The wet slap of flesh echoed in the studio, her moans vibrating against his digits.

Leehan's free hand gripped her thigh, hiking it higher to drive deeper, hitting that spot inside her that made her eyes flutter. But he wouldn't let her look away 'Eyes on me,' he demanded, thrusting savagely, their stares locked in raw intensity. Kisses peppered her lips, her jaw, each one rough and claiming, as he felt her tightening, close to the edge.

'Not yet,' he rasped, pulling out abruptly, his cock glistening with her arousal. He flipped them, sitting back on the couch and hauling her onto his lap. Serena straddled him eagerly, her hands on his chest as she sank down onto his length, taking him inch by inch until he was buried deep in her pussy. She rode him hard, hips grinding in circles before lifting and dropping, the couch creaking under their weight.

Leehan's hands clamped on her ass, guiding her rhythm, but she set the pace now bouncing faster, her breasts brushing his chest with each descent. Their eyes never wavered, the connection electric as she fucked herself on his cock. He leaned up for a kiss, capturing her lower lip between his teeth, then soothing it with his tongue. 'So pretty riding me,' he groaned, fingers slipping back into her mouth. She sucked greedily, saliva trailing as she moaned around them, her pussy fluttering.

The roughness built, his hips bucking up to meet her slams, cock spearing deep while she ground down. Kisses turned frantic, open-mouthed and sloppy, breaths ragged between locked gazes. Serena's pace faltered as orgasm hit, her walls spasming around him, but she didn't stop, riding through it until he followed, thrusting up hard and flooding her with hot cum.

They collapsed together, still connected.

For a second neither of them moved. The studio lights felt too bright. The air too thin.

Serena was the first to laugh.

It wasn’t loud. It was disbelieving. Slightly hysterical.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, staring up at the ceiling. “We just had sex. In the building.”

Leehan huffed a lazy laugh against her shoulder, still catching his breath. “You say that like we committed a felony.”

“We kind of did.” She shoved lightly at his chest, finally shifting, the reality settling in. “What if someone heard us?”

He leaned back against the padded wall, grin slow and smug, and lifted his hand to tap behind him.

A dull thud.

Another tap.

“Soundproof,” he said simply.

She blinked. “…You’re kidding.”

He tapped again for emphasis. “Recording studio. I scream in here for a living.”

Her eyes widened as the implication sank in. “You knew.”

He didn’t deny it. He just gave her that infuriatingly pleased look.

“You are actually insane.”

“And yet,” he murmured, reaching for his discarded shirt, “you’re the one who climbed on top of me.”

She grabbed her clothes and threw them at him. “Shut up.”

But she was smiling.

The mood shifted as they started getting dressed. Reality creeping back in piece by piece. Zippers. Fabric. The hum of the building outside the insulated quiet.

Serena tugged her top down and glanced at him through the mirror. “Okay but… are we insane?”

“Probably.”

“No, I’m serious.” She crossed her arms. “Is this… something we’re doing? Workplace hookups? Because that feels like a scandal waiting to happen.”

Leehan paused mid-button. The teasing softened slightly.

“It’s risky,” he admitted. “You’re staff. I’m… me.”

She raised a brow. “You’re you?”

“You know what I mean.”

She did. Idol. Public image. Contracts. Chaos.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I don’t regret it.”

Her stomach flipped at that.

“But,” he added, brushing a strand of hair from her face, “we don’t have to make a habit of almost getting caught.”

“Almost?” she scoffed. “I’m still convinced someone’s reviewing CCTV footage somewhere.”

He laughed again, softer this time.

A knock at the studio door made them both freeze.

They locked eyes.

“You’ve got to be joking,” she hissed.

Leehan checked his phone. “Relax. I told Taesan he could stop by.”

She blinked. “You what?”

“He just needs to ask something.” He tilted his head at her. “You mind?”

She exhaled slowly, smoothing her hair in the mirror. “No. I don’t mind.”

A beat.

“Do I look like I just—”

“Yes,” he said immediately.

She smacked his arm.

He opened the door.

Taesan stepped in mid-sentence. “Yah did you—” He stopped.

His gaze landed on Serena.

Then on Leehan.

Then back on Serena.

The pause stretched just a fraction too long.

“Oh,” Taesan said.

Leehan didn’t miss a beat. “She came to ask what colours I think suit me with blonde.”

Serena nearly choked.

Taesan blinked. “Blonde?”

“For the awards,” Leehan said smoothly, like this had been the plan all along. “We talked about it.”

Serena caught on instantly.

“Yeah,” she added, stepping forward like a professional instead of someone who had been very unprofessional ten minutes ago. “The concept’s sharper this year. Tailored suits. Blonde will stand out better under stage lighting.”

Taesan looked between them, processing.

“You’re actually doing it?” he asked Leehan.

Leehan shrugged, sliding his hands into his pockets. “That’s why she’s here. Final call before I commit.”

Serena nodded once, calm, composed. “If we’re debuting it at the awards, it has to be intentional. Not random.”

Taesan hummed, now fully buying it. “Dude blonde again… that’s going to cause chaos.”

Leehan smirked. “That’s the point.”

Serena avoided eye contact.

He turned back to Leehan to ask his question, something about a schedule change and choreography timing. Serena kept her expression neutral, heart still thudding like she’d committed espionage.

When they finished, Taesan glanced at her again. “We’re heading to eat. You should come.”

“Oh— no, that’s okay,” she said quickly. “I’ve got some things to finish.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Thanks though.”

They all left the studio together anyway, the hallway suddenly feeling far too exposed.

The elevator ride down was cramped. Serena stood between them, hyperaware of Leehan’s hand brushing hers once. Twice.

Taesan leaned casually against the wall. “So… are you single?”

The question was so blunt it almost made her laugh.

Leehan’s jaw tightened just slightly.

She kept her tone easy. “Yep. Single.”

Taesan hummed thoughtfully. “That’s good.”

“For who?” she teased.

He just grinned.

The elevator dinged at the lobby. The doors slid open.

Taesan stepped out first.

Leehan lingered half a second longer, turning just enough so only she could see his face.

He mouthed it clearly.

Text me.

And winked.

Then he was gone.

Serena stood there alone as the doors closed.

In the parking lot, she sat in her car without starting it.

Hands still on the steering wheel.

The building loomed in front of her, glowing softly against the night.

She had accidentally texted the wrong number.

Accidentally sent photos.

Accidentally hooked up with him.

And now she had just had sex inside her workplace with a member of the group she was styling.

“For the plot,” she muttered to herself.

But this didn’t feel like a joke anymore.

It felt dangerous.

And she couldn’t decide if that terrified her…

or thrilled her.

The next afternoon

Serena sat cross-legged on the floor of the styling room, surrounded by fabric.

Suit samples were spread out in a careful semicircle around her lay charcoal wool, midnight navy, a deep espresso brown that almost read black under fluorescent lighting. Swatches pinned to boards. Notes scribbled in the margins. Her laptop balanced precariously on a garment box as she adjusted a digital sketch for the final award look.

Sharp shoulders.

Tapered waist.

Clean lines.

If Leehan was going blonde, the silhouette had to carry authority. Blonde softened him under stage lights. The tailoring would need to do the opposite.

She zoomed in on the lapel and dragged the shade slightly cooler.

No warmth. No softness.

Her phone sat face down beside her.

She hadn’t checked it in twelve minutes.

Which was embarrassing.

She reached for the deep green sample, pressing it between her fingers. Structured. Expensive. Safe.

Safe was good.

Safe didn’t involve being pinned against soundproofed walls.

Her stomach flipped at the memory anyway.

Focus.

She shifted to her mood board, adjusting the placement of reference images award show lighting tests, past BND red carpet silhouettes, screenshots of Leehan’s last blonde era. The contrast between then and now made her pause.

He’d looked younger then.

This time would be sharper.

More deliberate.

Her cursor hovered over the file name.

BND_MAMA_AWARDS_FINAL_v3.

She exhaled slowly and began cleaning up the layers before exporting. Final edits. No room for mistakes. This was the presentation version management would see.

Voices drifted faintly down the hallway outside.

She ignored them.

Breathing deeply as she walked through through the hallway, files in hand en route to present her designs.

Management had loved it.

Not politely liked it. Not “we’ll think about it.”

Loved it.

The sharper tailoring. The controlled palette. The decision to debut Leehan’s blonde at the awards. They’d called it bold. Strategic. Mature.

Serena had nodded through the praise like her heart hadn’t been pounding for entirely separate reasons.

After the meeting, she’d walked the finalized design boards straight to the styling department, dropping off printed copies and a detailed list of fabric requirements, fit notes, and tailoring references.

“Priority,” she’d said simply. “We’ll need fittings scheduled as soon as the hair change is confirmed.”

Now, with everything officially approved, there was nothing left to adjust.

Which meant she had no excuse to avoid the practice room.

The hallway felt longer than usual as she approached it. The bass of the instrumental track thudded faintly through the walls.

She pushed the door open only to find

Silence.

The members were sitting in a loose circle on the floor, stretching lazily, waiting for staff and backup dancers to arrive.

No choreography. No chaos.

Just them.

Woonhak spotted her first.

“Stylist-nim!” he grinned, lifting a hand in an exaggerated wave.

Serena smiled automatically and waved back. “Don’t call me that.”

“It’s respectful,” he protested.

“You sound eighty.”

The room chuckled lightly.

Leehan didn’t.

He was sitting opposite Woonhak, arms resting loosely over his knees, watching the exchange with an unreadable expression.

Not annoyed.

Not amused.

Just watching.

Serena moved toward the row of chairs lining the mirrored wall and took a seat near the end. She leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, pulling her phone out like she had something urgent to check.

She didn’t.

She just needed somewhere to put her eyes.

The room filled with quiet conversation.

Water bottles rolling across the floor. Someone laughing about a missed step earlier. Taesan leaning back on his hands, gaze drifting lazily around the room.

Drifting.

Landing.

Staying.

She could feel it without looking.

Her phone screen blurred slightly as she scrolled through nothing.

Jaehyun’s voice cut across the room casually.

“Donghyun.”

Leehan looked up. “Hm?”

“Who was in your studio yesterday?”

Serena’s lungs forgot how to function.

Her thumb jerked against her screen.

Don’t react.

Don’t react.

Don’t—

She coughed lightly, disguising the way her throat had closed up.

Heat crept up her neck anyway.

She shifted in her chair, tucking her hair behind her ear as if that explained the sudden flush across her cheeks.

Across the circle, Taesan was already looking at her.

Not obvious.

But not subtle either.

Leehan didn’t hesitate.

“Serena,” he said evenly. “She came to ask about colours for the awards. Since I’m going blonde.”

His tone was calm. Measured. The exact same explanation he’d given before.

Jaehyun blinked. “Oh. That’s it?”

“What were you expecting?” Leehan replied lazily.

Jaehyun shrugged. “Heard laughing.”

A few of the members smirked.

“Maybe you’re lonely,” Leehan shot back smoothly.

The circle dissolved into light teasing.

Serena forced a small smile, still staring at her phone like this conversation had nothing to do with her.

Taesan didn’t laugh.

He nodded slowly.

“Right,” he said.

But when Serena finally glanced up—just briefly—their eyes met.

And she saw it.

He didn’t fully believe it.

Not the way he’d nodded just now.

Not the way his gaze flicked from her slightly pink cheeks… to Leehan’s too-composed expression… and back again.

It wasn’t accusation.

It was calculation.

The door swung open then, staff and backup dancers filtering in, breaking the moment apart.

Energy shifted instantly.

Music blasted.

Everyone stood.

Serena exhaled quietly as choreography

positions were taken.

Leehan moved into formation.

But before the music started, he glanced toward the mirror.

Not at his reflection.

At her.

Just once.

And this time his expression wasn’t unreadable.

It was warning.

Careful.

Taesan stepped into position beside him.

And when he caught Serena looking

He smiled.

The run-through restarted once everyone was in position.

Serena stayed seated near the mirrored wall, notebook resting loosely in her lap. She wasn’t there to weigh in on timing or transitions. That wasn’t her lane.

But she still watched.

Especially during the camera transition.

Woonhak stepped forward on cue, leaning into the lens for the kiss beat that would bridge into the next track. The staff paused the music immediately after.

“Again. Slower,” someone called from behind the camera rig.

The members reset.

The empty chair beside her shifted slightly.

“Does he always commit that hard to the camera part?” Minjae, the intern stylist, asked quietly.

Professional. Neutral. No familiarity.

Serena smiled faintly. “He has to. If you hesitate on that beat, it looks awkward.”

Minjae nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense.”

They continued talking softly — fabric structure, how much stretch the trousers needed for that transition, whether the jewel-toned jackets would wrinkle under repeated spins.

At one point Minjae muttered, “If that clip goes viral, it’s going to be because of that move.”

Serena laughed before she could stop herself.

Across the room, Leehan missed his cue.

“Donghyun,” Taesan said under his breath without looking at him.

“Got it,” Leehan replied, resetting.

The music restarted.

Break.

Water bottles cracked open. Towels dragged across damp skin. Staff moved in to adjust equipment.

Serena stood. “I’m grabbing something from the vending machine. Want anything?” she asked Minjae.

“I’ll survive,” he grinned.

She slipped out into the hallway.

The quiet felt cooler out there. Less charged.

The vending machine hummed at the end of the corridor. She pressed her forehead lightly against the glass for a second before selecting a canned iced coffee.

You are being normal, she told herself.

You are acting normal.

The machine clunked. She bent to grab the can—

And nearly collided with a solid chest when she turned around.

Leehan.

Of course.

He didn’t look breathless. Didn’t look rushed.

Just there.

Blocking her path back toward the practice room.

“Having fun?” he asked casually.

Too casually.

She blinked up at him. “Of course.”

His gaze dipped briefly to the can in her hand before lifting back to her face.

“Mhm.”

She arched a brow. “Mhm what?”

“Just seems like you are.”

There it was.

Not accusatory.

Not joking.

Just edged.

She tilted her head. “We were talking about suit construction.”

“Looked funny for suit construction.”

She exhaled softly, refusing to take the bait. “You missed a cue.”

His jaw flexed slightly. “I didn’t.”

“You did.”

Silence hung between them for a second too long.

She shifted the topic deliberately.

“So when are you dyeing it?”

His eyes flickered. “Tonight.”

“After practice?”

“Yeah.”

She made a dramatic face. “You know your hair’s going to fry off eventually, right?”

He scoffed lightly. “It won’t.”

“You’ve bleached it how many times now? You’re one session away from debuting bald at the awards.”

A corner of his mouth twitched despite himself. “If I go bald, it’s your fault.”

“How is that my fault?”

“You’re the one who approved it.”

She smiled. “I got told blonde i didn’t approve your impending hair loss.” She shook her head.

He stepped slightly closer.

Not enough to be inappropriate.

Just enough to feel intentional.

“If I go bald,” he murmured, “you’re fixing it.”

“With what? A miracle?”

“With your hands.”

Her stomach flipped traitorously.

She rolled her eyes, stepping around him. “Get back to practice before you miss another cue.”

He watched her walk a few steps ahead.

Then followed.

They entered the practice room separately.

She first.

He a few seconds later.

Serena returned to her chair beside Minjae, who immediately leaned in again to continue whatever they’d been discussing.

Leehan took his position on the floor with the members.

Taesan noticed the staggered re-entry.

He noticed the shift in Leehan’s posture too.

Sharper.

More alert.

When the music started again, Leehan didn’t miss a single count.

But every time the formation turned toward the mirrored wall..

His eyes found her.

And this time, she didn’t laugh at anything the intern said.

The final run-through ended with the track cutting abruptly mid-beat.

For a few seconds no one moved.

Then the members collapsed wherever they were standing.

Flat on their backs. Spread out across the polished floor. Chests rising and falling hard as they tried to pull oxygen back into their lungs.

The room smelled faintly of sweat and hairspray.

Serena hadn’t moved from her chair.

She’d sent Minjae off ten minutes earlier with a list of tie textures to source — matte silk, subtle jacquard, nothing too reflective under flash photography.

Now she was hunched slightly over her phone, one leg tucked under her, scrolling.

Macarons.

Molten chocolate cake.

Strawberries dipped in glossy syrup.

A slow-motion video of someone breaking open a cream-filled croissant.

Her stomach growled.

She zoomed in on a video of someone dusting tiramisu with cocoa powder like it was a religious experience.

“You look serious.”

She jolted slightly.

Taesan stood in front of her, hair damp and pushed back off his forehead, a towel slung loosely around his neck. His breathing had mostly evened out, but a faint flush still coloured his cheeks.

“I’m debating something important,” she said solemnly.

“Oh?”

“Whether it’s socially acceptable to order cake at 4pm.”

He considered that with dramatic seriousness. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Are you sharing?”

She laughed.

“I didn’t say I was ordering it.”

“But you want to.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I might.”

He dropped into the chair beside her, still slightly winded. “What are we talking? Cheesecake? Brownie? Something dangerous?”

She tilted the phone toward him. “Look at this.”

He leaned closer.

“Okay i get it” he said immediately. “You can’t show people that and not follow through.”

“You’re not helping.”

“You’re welcome.”

Their laughter blended easily. No tension. No weight. Just light conversation after a long rehearsal.

Serena found herself studying him briefly.

He was funny.

Easy to talk to.

Not pushing.

Not leaning too close.

If anything, she got the sense he was careful. Like he was deliberately keeping his posture neutral. Hands to himself. Voice measured. Testing a line but not stepping over it.

Interesting.

“You draw a lot ,” he said lightly looking over the files that were on the seat he now occupies

“And you dance a lot.”

“That’s my job.”

“Exactly.”

He smiled at that.

Woonhak suddenly rolled over onto his stomach and scooted closer like a curious cat.

“What are we ordering?” he asked immediately.

“We’re not ordering,” Serena protested.

“Why are you talking about cake if you’re not ordering?” he demanded.

Taesan pointed at her. “That’s what I said.”

Woonhak leaned up on his elbows. “If you order, I’m in.”

“You two are terrible influences.”

“Correct,” Taesan replied.

Across the room, Leehan lay on his back, one arm draped over his eyes.

He wasn’t asleep.

He was listening.

The laughter.

The way her voice lifted slightly when she teased Taesan.

The way Taesan leaned closer to see her screen.

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

Woonhak was now trying to negotiate flavours like it was a business deal.

“If we get tiramisu and chocolate cake that’s balanced.”

“That’s not what balanced means,” Serena said.

“It is in my heart.”

She laughed again.

And that was when Leehan sat up.

He didn’t rush over

He walked.

Slow. Casual.

He stopped just behind them, close enough to see the screen over Taesan’s shoulder.

“What are we planning?” he asked.

His tone was light.

Too light.

Serena glanced up at him. “We’re not planning anything.”

“Mm,” he hummed. “Sounded like a meeting.”

“Important one,” Taesan replied easily. “Cake logistics.”

Leehan’s gaze dropped to Serena’s phone.

“Tiramisu?” he asked.

She blinked. “How did you—”

“You zoomed in three times.”

Woonhak snorted.

Leehan crouched slightly, resting his forearm casually on the back of her chair.

Not touching her.

But close.

“If you’re ordering,” he added, eyes still on the screen, “you should get something better than that.”

Her eyebrow lifted. “Excuse you?”

“Too safe.”

“Oh? And what’s not safe?”

His eyes flicked to hers.

“Something richer.”

The air shifted for half a second.

Taesan noticed.

Woonhak didn’t.

Before Serena could respond, the practice room door opened.

“Donghyun,” his manager called. “We need to go. Hair appointment.”

Right.

Blonde.

Leehan straightened slowly.

“Don’t fry it off,” Serena said before she could stop herself.

He smirked. “If I go bald, I’m blaming you.”

“Unfair.”

“Text me if you order.”Leehan said it lightly.

Too lightly.

Serena barely reacted outwardly, but she felt it, the way the words landed differently now that Taesan was sitting right there

Because Taesan had heard it.

Not vaguely.

Not in passing.

Clearly.

His gaze flicked between them for half a second before Leehan turned and followed his manager out.

The door shut.

Woonhak suddenly pushed himself upright.

“Oh! Wait.”

Serena looked at him. “What?”

“If you’re ordering, you don’t even have our numbers.”

Her pulse spiked.

Across from her, Taesan didn’t move.

He just watched.

Woonhak was already fumbling for his phone. “We should make a group chat. For food emergencies.”

“That sounds very serious,” Serena said lightly.

“It is.”

Taesan’s mouth twitched faintly.

Serena felt her own phone vibrate in her hand.

She froze.

One vibration.

Then another.

Her screen was still unlocked from TikTok.

And unfortunately, still angled slightly outward.

She didn’t need to check to know who it was.

Because she’d felt the pattern before.

Woonhak was talking, distracted. “What’s your number? I’ll just add you.”

Serena quickly rattled it off, trying to subtly tilt her phone toward herself.

Another buzz.

Taesan’s eyes dropped to her screen.

Not aggressively.

Just naturally.

Curious.

A banner notification slid across the top.

Donghyun: Don’t look so happy.

Her heart nearly stopped.

She swiped it away too quickly. Too deliberately.

Woonhak looked up briefly. “Oh, are you busy?”

“No,” she said a little too fast. “Just— spam.”

Taesan didn’t say anything.

But he’d seen it.

Not the content fully.

Just enough.

The name. Donghyun.

His gaze shifted to her contact screen a moment later when Woonhak said, “Okay, I’ll add Donghyun too.”

Serena swallowed.

Because that’s when the realization landed visibly on Taesan’s face.

Woonhak tapped through his contacts. “There. Now you have his number.”

Serena’s phone buzzed again.

A new contact share notification.

Donghyun.

Taesan leaned back slowly in his chair.

Processing.

Because she already had a thread with that name.

He’d seen it.

And Donghyun had texted her before Woonhak “gave” her the number.

The timeline didn’t match.

But Taesan didn’t react.

Didn’t look at Leehan’s empty spot on the floor.

Didn’t look at her accusingly.

He just folded his arms loosely and smiled faintly.

“Now it’s official,” he said lightly.

Serena forced a small laugh.

“Yeah. Official.”

Woonhak grinned, satisfied. “See? Easy.”

Taesan’s eyes met hers again.

Not sharp.

Not confrontational.

Just aware.

He knew she already had Leehan’s number.

He just didn’t know why.

And he wasn’t about to say it in front of the others.

Serena’s phone buzzed once more in her palm.

This time she didn’t look.

She couldn’t.

Because if Taesan saw the screen again.

If he saw the contact thread already established.

If he connected it to the studio- oh god

She wasn’t sure what would happen next.

“Cake?” Woonhak asked, oblivious.

Serena nodded faintly. “Maybe.”

But her thoughts weren’t on dessert.

They were on the unread message sitting in her notifications.

Woonhak was already debating flavours out loud, entirely unaware that a small social bomb had just gone off two feet away from him.

Taesan leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him.

Relaxed. Too relaxed.His gaze drifted to her phone again, then to her face.

Not suspicious.

Curious. Calculating.

“You’re popular today,” he said casually.

She forced a shrug. “Group chats are aggressive.”

“Mhm.”

He didn’t push.

Didn’t smirk.

Didn’t hint.

Which somehow felt worse.

Because if he’d teased her, she could’ve deflected.

Instead, he just filed it away.

Staff started calling for cleanup. Bags zipped. Water bottles rolled across the floor. The casual end-of-day noise filled the space.

Serena stood slowly, slipping her phone into her bag without checking the notifications.

Control the situation.

Don’t act like there is one.

“Are you heading out?” Taesan asked as he stood too.

“Yeah. I’ve got a fur child that needs to be fed before she burns down the building.”

“Busy,” he said chuckling lightly.

“Always.”

He nodded once.

Then added, almost absentmindedly, “You and Donghyun talk a lot?”

Her spine stiffened.

But she kept her expression neutral. “Work stuff. Blonde. Styling.”

“Right.”

That same small nod.

Not accusing.

Not convinced either.

Woonhak bounded over again. “We’re going to eat. Final call.”

Serena smiled. “Go. Before you pass out.”

Taesan watched her for another half-second.

Then he smiled too.

“See you tomorrow.”

And just like that, it was over.

Except it wasn’t.

In the hallway later, as they split directions, Taesan walked slightly behind the others.

Quiet.

Thinking.

He’d heard Leehan tell her to text him.

He’d seen her phone light up with Donghyun’s name before the contact was shared.

He’d seen her swipe it away too fast. None of that proved anything. But it didn’t match. And Taesan was patient. He didn’t need answers immediately. He just needed to watch.

Meanwhile, in the parking lot

Serena finally unlocked her phone.

Five unread messages.

Donghyun: You looked comfortable.

Donghyun: He funny?

Donghyun: Careful.

Donghyun: You blush easily.

Donghyun: Don’t let him think he’s winning.

Her stomach flipped, Winning what?

She glanced back at the building instinctively because now there were two different kinds of danger growing. One was jealous. The other was observant. And only one of them was quiet about it.

———————-To be continued——————————-

Part 2 here

A/ Hiiiiiii so i finally managed to get around to splitting parts up hehehe this willl be one of 3-5 parts for this overall storyline :) i’ll be releasing eps every 2nd day. Also i apologise for the formatting and mixed POV i didn’t realise i was doing it half the time😺- T

. Any predictions for what happens next?

[gongfourzangel]

WRONG NUMBER

(IDOL FIC)

Leehan x non idol FMC

I just finished writing what i assumed would be part one….. unfortunately it would be impossible to put everything in one post so i’m splitting it into multiple parts yet again (pls don’t hate me) I ALWAYS finish the full story before deciding on parts so my final wc is starting to feel like the 40-50k region. I’m excited to share this BUT it will take a bit of time to finish 🫡 wish me luck

Comment for taglist when i post 🫡

[gongfourzangel]

CLOUDED WANT

BOTTLE GIRL SPINOFF - read Bottle Girl here! !!!

PAIRING - Leehan x Jiyeon (FMC)

Would recommend reading bottle girl first to understand context.

FEATURING : Bottle girl universe characters!! Taesan +y/n (renamed Areum for the spinoff), Jaehyun, Sungho, Shinyu.

CONTENT - smut, jealousy, crack, 420, mentions of familial negligence and abuse. Alcohol consumption

Read warnings under plot!

PLOT : when a newly added face to the friend group leads to a one night stand. Jiyeon swells in self doubt and draws on her usual cold shut off when she’s hurt, can she fix herself again?

WARNINGS : MDNI!!!! Weed , vaping, heavy alcohol consumption, jealousy, misunderstood intentions, breeding kink go brrr, p in v, spitting, mentions of childhood familial abuse and negligence.

——-——-:-⋆｡˚𓆝｡˚⋆𓂃 ⋆｡˚ 𓇼 ⋆｡˚𓂃⋆｡˚𓆝｡˚⋆-:————-

Smoke ribbons through the games room and against my wishes. Again…he’s changed the music from my tried and true R&B playlist to lo-fi study beats.

Honestly, in the three days i’ve known Leehan, he’s managed to piss me off in every single interaction. Either by mocking me outright or by completely destabilising some of my genuinely amazing theories.

“I mean, I’m very flexible,” Leehan says, one eyebrow raised.

I actually flinch before laughing. “Thanks, because we all needed to know how flexible you are in bed.”

I roll my eyes when he follows it with, “I can show you.” Areum and Taesan do absolutely nothing to help my argument.

“Get a room,” I all but whisper, and of course Leehan hears.

“Or we could get a room instead,” he says, and somehow I don’t notice he’s closer than before.

I grab the nearest pillow and launch it at his head, taking a deep inhale of the joint in my hand. If I had to guess, maybe number four of the day.

He recovers slowly, laughing, checking to make sure Taesan is still fully distracted with my best friend before looking back at me. “I’m only kidding, love.”

My expression almost falters at the pet name, but I recover fast. I look at him through hooded eyes. He is hot, but I attract way too many bad experiences to know better.

Maybe just one time?

You look at him again, dragging the same joint deep. His expression is calm, almost resigned, like this is all familiar territory. That ease rolls off him in waves, even though up until Saturday you’d never met him. It feels comfortably dangerous.

When you glance back at Areum and Taesan on the couch, practically fused together, you make a decision.

“Okay, I’m down,” you say, quiet enough that only Leehan can hear.

He picks up on it immediately. A smirk creeps in, subtle but unmistakable. “Mm. Okay. Let me find a way for us to go.”

You can almost see the gears turning as he starts calculating an excuse to get you both out of the games room.

Leehan suddenly straightens, squinting dramatically toward the hallway. “Wait.”

You follow his gaze, already confused. “What?”

“Do you feel that?”

Areum blinks. “Feel what?”

Leehan’s eyes widen. “The vibes. The fairies.”

Taesan snorts before he can stop himself.

Catching on, grabbing a couple more joints, you’re on your feet, solemn as anything, committing fully to the bit. “Yeah. They’re calling. From the other room.”

“Calling?” Areum repeats, deadpan.

“Urgently,” Leehan nods. “Might be a whole situation. Could take a while.”

You have to physically hold back laughter as the two of you start toward your usual room in Areum’s house, leaving scoffs and silent cheers behind. Unbeknownst to you, Taesan and Areum had been waiting for the two of you to cave, exchanging looks every time the tension edged a little too close to snapping.

As the door clicks shut behind you, you pass the joints to Leehan before cracking the bay window, kicking off your slippers and climbing onto the bed beside him. He lights it and takes a slow inhale.

You can’t help but laugh. “Fairies, really?”

He grins, clearly proud of himself passing it to you “They totally believed it. I could so be a cult leader.”

You laugh again, shaking your head. “Oh yeah. Tooooootally.”

Something in his eyes shifts as he watches your lips while you take a drag of the joint.

“Do you want to try something?” he asks, his voice different, softer in a way you haven’t heard before.

“Sure,” you say without much hesitation.

He takes the joint from your fingers and leans closer. “Open your mouth, love.”

You do. He inhales, then leans in until he’s close enough that you can feel his breath. Smoke spills from his mouth in a slow, cloudy ribbon, straight into yours. You inhale it, hold it, then exhale.

When you look back at him, he’s still watching you, expression unreadable

“Good girl,” he says when he realises you’ve caught him staring at your lips.

You swallow, already deciding how this is going to play out. “My turn.”

He watches closely as you climb onto his lap, straddling him. His hands settle on your thighs, lazy, like he’s deliberately not claiming more than that. You inhale, then lean in. He parts his lips just enough for the smoke to pass, and you let it drift into him.

You don’t pull back. Neither does he.

Somewhere in the movement, your shorts ride up, baring more skin than you meant to. You don’t notice until his hands shift, warm and sure, coming to rest on your exposed ass.

Staring at each other this close makes it impossible not to notice how attractive he is. You can feel how toned he is beneath your hands, fingers tracing lazy lines across his abs. The thought hits you fully formed.

You shift slightly passing the joint to him before reaching off to the side for your phone. “I’m taking a photo, because that is hot.”

He doesn’t protest. Instead, he draws more smoke into his mouth, his free hand sliding to your back and guiding you closer. He exhales a soft, dancing cloud into your mouth just as you snap the picture, the moment caught exactly as it feels.

You lean back as you exhale toward the window, settling a little heavier on him while you check the photos. Your pulse kicks as you squirm slightly when they turn out exactly how you imagined.

A low, strained groan slips from Leehan as his head tips back. “Stop moving, love,” he mutters, breath tight. “You’re about to make this difficult.”

Realisation hits all at once. You still, biting your lip as you clock exactly what all your shifting and teasing has been doing to him. The air between you goes heavy, charged

Still very much on his lap, fueled by the purple haze coursing throughout your body, you lean in. “Never said I wanted easy.”

Your words ignite something feral in Leehan, his toned body tensing beneath you like coiled steel, every muscle rippling under his shirt as he grips your hips harder. The purple haze swirls in your mind, turning the dim room into a throbbing mix of colors and heat, making your skin buzz with electric need , your thighs spread wide over his lap, panties already soaked from his smoke swap idea grinding down against the thick bulge of his cock straining in his jeans.

Leehan's eyes flash with dark hunger as he watches you, his brown hair falling messily over his forehead. He tsks “all this and i haven’t even kissed you yet” he purrs, voice rough and commanding, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck and yank you down into a bruising kiss. His tongue invades your mouth, dominating every stroke, tasting of smoke and sin while the haze amplifies every sensation, the wet slide of his lips, his other hand palming your ass shamelessly, You match his intensity, sucking on his tongue, your nails exploring his shoulders under his shirt as you rock your hips faster, chasing the friction that makes your clit throb.

He breaks the kiss with a wet pop, smirking up at you. “Fuck, so pretty” he breathes out, His free hand cracks down on your ass, the sharp smack echoing in the room, sending a jolt of pain-laced pleasure straight to your core. You gasp, arching into it, loving the sting as it spreads heat across your skin. “Mhmm” you moan, grinding harder, feeling his hard length twitch against you. The haze makes it all feel surreal, like your body's on fire, every nerve screaming for more, no thoughts about the consequences.

Leehan chuckles darkly, his fingers kneading the flesh of your ass , squeezing hard enough to bruise. 'Good girl. But I want you screaming my name.' In one fluid motion, his toned arms flex as he moves, lifting you effortlessly with him, your legs wrapping around his waist. He lays you flat on your back, the purple rush making the world tilt and spin in the best way, your head light and pussy aching. stripping off his shirt to reveal his chiseled abs and defined chest, every inch of him sculpted and powerful.

You scramble up to your knees pulling your shorts off, tugging at his belt, but he bats your hands away, in full control. 'On your back, love. Spread those legs for me.' You obey, the haze urging you on, no room for second thoughts or regrets, you want this raw and reckless. He shoves his jeans down, his thick cock springing free, veined and throbbing, pre-cum beading at the tip. Your mouth waters, but he climbs over you, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while the other yanks your panties aside.

'Look at that pretty pussy, all wet and ready,' he taunts, rubbing the head of his cock along your slick folds, teasing your entrance. “You want it hmm” he says sliding up and down your glistening folds “Fill you up with my cum until you're bred full” , the dirty words making your walls clench in anticipation. You buck up, trying to take him in, but he smacks your thigh hard. 'Patience, You'll take what I give.'

The haze turns everything hazy and intense as he thrusts in suddenly, stretching your pussy wide around his girth. You cry out, the burn mixing with bliss, your body high and hypersensitive. He doesn't hold back, pounding into you in missionary, his hips slamming forward with brutal force. The headboard bangs against the wall

thud, thud, thud

in rhythm with his thrusts, the sound fueling the wildness. 'Fuck, love, you're so tight. Squeezing my cock like you need it to breed you,' he grunts, releasing your wrists to snake his hand around your throat, squeezing slightly as you whimper under his control.

You match his pace, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, your nails raking down his toned back. 'Harder please” you beg, the purple haze making you bold, every slam of his cock hitting that spot inside you that builds pressure fast. He obliges, his pace relentless, sweat glistening on his muscles as he drives into you. 'That's it, love. Cum on my dick. Let me feel you milk me.'

The first orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your pussy spasming around him, walls fluttering as you scream his name. Waves of pleasure ripple through your body, the haze intensifying it until stars burst behind your eyelids. But he doesn't stop, flipping your legs over his shoulders to go deeper, the headboard banging louder. 'One more, love. Gonna make you cum again before I breed this pussy.' His hand slips between you, thumb circling your clit roughly while he leans in to kiss you, the eye contact ignites a deeper fire in you, opening your mouth he doesn’t need guidance as he spits and watches you swallow, the mix pushing you over the edge a second time.

Your second climax hits harder, body shaking, juices soaking his cock as you clench down. “Mmm fuck please..want..your cum please” you babble out broken, no cares about tomorrow, just the raw need pulsing through you. He growls, thrusts erratic now, his toned body tensing. “Take it all, love.”With a final, deep slam, he buries himself to the hilt, cock pulsing as hot ropes of cum flood your pussy, his breeding fantasy coming true in the heat of the moment.

You both collapse, panting, making the afterglow feel endless. His hand strokes your cheek as he stays inside you, plugging his seed. he murmurs “such pretty noises” and you smile regrets be damned

After resting just long enough to stop panting, and careful not to disturb anyone if Taesan and Areum are still in the games room, you sneak across the hall to the bathroom.

When you make it back to the room, you find Leehan sitting up against the headboard puffing the half lit joint “I want the photos,” he says, eyes flicking to you as you return.

“Mmhmm, I’ll send them, but I need your number to do that,” you reply, dangling your phone toward him.

“That’s supposed to be my line,” he mutters, but he takes the phone anyway, adds his number, and names the contact sexiest fish ever.

You take your phone back, laughing at the newly created contact, and send him the photos.

Both of you get up and check your appearances before heading back down the hall. You try to hide the way you’re limping, but of course Areum notices. Taesan speaks first. “So, how were the fairies?”

You blush hard as Leehan deadpans, “Great, actually.”

Areum all but chokes, covering her face with her hands. “Oh my god, I— I can’t even look at you.”

You quickly find a comfortable spot to sit and continue smoking, hyper-aware of the new source of attention coming from the brown-haired man seated beside you.

Thursday 29th October.

You’re about to take another bite of your burrito when your phone dings.

Sexiest fish ever 🐠 : wyd?

Ji 🐈 : just out at lunch with a friend 🌯

Sexiest fish ever 🐠 : Areum?

Ji 🐈: i do have other friends outside of them yk?

Sexiest fish ever 🐠 : mm if you say so

You let out a quiet laugh, more exasperated than amused, and flip your phone face down on the table.

“Trouble?” Shinyu asks, glancing up from his food.

“Something like that,” you reply. “Someone new.”

Shinyu hums knowingly. “Figures.”

“That was fast.”

He shrugs. “You’ve always been consistent.”

You narrow your eyes. “That’s not a compliment.”

“It’s not meant to be,” he says easily, then adds, “You attract bad people. You always have.”

You scoff. “That feels unfair.”

“I’m not blaming you,” Shinyu says. “I’m stating an observable pattern. Remember elementary school? Middle school? That weird phase right after graduation?”

“Okay, first of all, rude. Second, those were isolated incidents.”

“They were consecutive,” he corrects. “With no healthy recovery period.”

You reach for your drink, stalling. “This one isn’t even that bad.”

Shinyu raises an eyebrow. “Your phone has buzzed three times in under a minute.”

As if on cue, it vibrates again against the table.

You don’t look at it.

Shinyu sighs. “See? They always start subtle. Curious. Possessive-adjacent. Then suddenly you’re explaining yourself for existing.”

You grimace. “You make it sound so bleak.”

“I lived it from the sidelines,” he replies. “Someone had to notice.”

You shake your head, half-smiling despite yourself. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re predictable,” he says, softening. “Which is why I’m asking.”

You look up at him. “Asking what?”

“Are you actually happy,” Shinyu says, “or are you just used to dealing with people like that?”

Your phone buzzes again.

You turn it screen down without reading it.

“I’m thinking about it,” you say quietly.

Shinyu nods, accepting that for now.

“So,” you add, forcing a lighter tone, “are you coming to the club this weekend or not?”

He smiles. “Nice deflection. Maybe. I’ve got tutoring Friday night and Saturday morning, but if we finish early, I might.”

“That’s still not a yes.”

“It’s a hopeful maybe.”

You laugh, the tension easing just a little.

Locking the door behind you, you kick your shoes off and let them fall wherever, the quiet of your apartment settling in now that you’re alone. The post-food haze hits all at once. You’re halfway to your bed, already planning a nap, when you finally check your phone.

Six unread messages.

All from him.

Sexiest fish ever 🐠 : so ur busy

Sexiest fish ever 🐠 : didn’t realise lunch took this long

Sexiest fish ever 🐠 : hope ur having fun

Sexiest fish ever 🐠 : lol don’t worry about it

Sexiest fish ever 🐠 : wasn’t that serious

Sexiest fish ever 🐠 : enjoy ur night

You stare at the screen, brow furrowing. Each message reads more careless than the last, like he’s shrugging through the phone, but the timing gives him away. Too fast. Too many. You scroll back up, rereading them, trying to work out when the tone shifted.

Confused, you toss the phone onto the bed and flop down beside it. The ceiling blurs slightly as you blink.

After a minute, boredom wins. You grab your phone again and open Instagram, thumb lazily flicking through stories.

Areum and taesan watching movies at home. Jaehyun in the library, Someone’s concert clip.

Then his name appears.

Your stomach drops before the story even loads.

23m ago. It’s dim lighting, clearly taken at night. Music in the background. His thigh fills most of the frame, familiar jeans, and then you see it. A girl’s legs draped comfortably over his lap, bare skin against denim, her toes flexing slightly like she belongs there.

No faces. No explanation. Just enough.

You feel stupid for how quickly it clicks.

He liked the idea of you being an option, not a choice.

Your chest tightens, regret crawling in behind it. Not heartbreak exactly. Something sharper. Consequences you hadn’t fully considered until now.

You lock your phone and let it fall beside you again, staring at the ceiling, restless energy replacing the sleepiness from earlier. Lying here alone suddenly feels unbearable.

You don’t want to think. You don’t want to analyse. You just want to feel wanted without conditions, without mixed signals, without

pretending you don’t care.

Your phone lights up again.

Not him.

Someone else.

You glance at the screen, lips pressing together as a slow, dangerous idea settles in.

Maybe a distraction is exactly what you need tonight.

Waking up on Friday morning was anything but peaceful. You decided against ruining your mental health further with another one-night stand just to get over the last. You rolled lazily onto your back, scrolling through your phone, only to spot an unread message from Leehan.

Sexiest fish ever 🐠: hey wyd today?

You rolled your eyes and typed back.

Ji 🐈: nothing.

You chewed your lip as you hit send, then forced yourself out of bed. If you stayed there any longer, you’d start overthinking, and he was the last thing you needed taking up space in your head.

Opting to stay in and chill before chaos incarnate took full form tomorrow, you swaddled yourself in a blanket and assembled a carefully selected pile of snacks. Curled up in the living room, you lazily scrolled through Disney+ recommendations before settling on Percy Jackson.

You were midway through binging episode four when a call cut straight through your relaxation.

Areum baby ❤️ flashed across the screen as your phone buzzed.

You answered without hesitation. “Hi, love.” You didn’t bother hiding your sleepy, rotting-on-the-couch voice.

“Hi babe, whatcha doin?” she chimed, and the tone told you everything. She was planning something, and you already knew you’d probably go along with it.

“Mm, nothing. Just living in Camp Half-Blood and rotting.”

You sat up on the couch, groaning as your joints protested.

“Let’s go to dinner and maybe drinks.”

It sounded like a question, but coming from her, it definitely was not. More of a you cannot say no, I know where you live situation.

Against your original plans of rotting for the day, you sighed in defeat. “Where and what are we wearing?”

You stretched as she replied, “Let’s try that new place around the corner from Serenade.”

After deciding on the theme for the night, the call ended, and you finally dragged yourself up to start getting ready to go out.

Tying your heel straps mid-calf, you give yourself one final once-over in the mirror. Little black dress, heels, jacket for the cold night breeze.

Keys, wallet, face card. Check, check, and check.

You climb into the Uber, more ready to sleep than to socialise, but who are you to turn down food and drinks mixed with bad decisions and morning regrets. You arrive at the new bistro bar, thank your driver, and step out of the backseat.

Ring ring.

“Hey, I just got here. Where are you?” you ask into the phone.

“We’re inside. Just tell the hostess my name,” she replies.

You nod, then pause.

“We?”

You were under the impression this was a regular girls’ dinner.

“Yeah, I invited Taesan and Leehan. I ordered you a drink as well.”

Great. Of course he’s here. Why wouldn’t he be.

Fuck my life.

You square your shoulders before answering, “Great. I’ll see you in a second.” Ending the call, you move towards the doors.

I am so getting stoned after this, you mutter under your breath.

You find the hostess stand, and she guides you through the restaurant to a booth tucked away on the mezzanine. As you approach, Areum notices immediately.

“Oh my god, thank you. I am always obsessed when you wear this number,” she says, her attention on your figure enough to make you forget the concept of male validation entirely.

Her outburst pulls Taesan and Leehan out of their conversation. Taesan, ever the nice guy, gives you a smile and a casual, “Hi, Ji,” as you settle in beside Leehan. He hasn’t said a word to you, hasn’t even stopped staring.

You decide to ignore it.

“Oh my god, Sex on the Beach,” you say, pulling the drink towards you. “Marry me, please. I’ll treat you good.”

Areum snorts.

Areum’s snort fades into the low hum of conversation, and the table settles into something deceptively normal. Easy laughter, shared plates, stories that drift nowhere important. Leehan and I act like we didn’t sleep together, like it never happened. If Taesan notices anything off, he doesn’t say it.

Leehan slips effortlessly into his usual tone, relaxed and cocky.

“So,” he says, nudging his glass toward the centre, “is this the part of the night where we all admit we’re ordering too much?”

“You like saying that a lot,” Areum replies.

He grins. “Because it’s usually true.”

I keep my focus on the menu, neutral. Unbothered.

Plates start arriving in waves. Pasta, seafood, bowls passed hand to hand. More drinks follow, condensation pooling on the table. The conversation grows louder, warmer. Leehan leans closer than necessary when he speaks, voice dipped just enough to feel private.

“You look good tonight,” he says quietly, eyes lingering.

I don’t meet his gaze. “Thanks.”

“That’s it?” he asks, amused. “No comeback?”

I take a sip of my drink. “Did you ask a question?”

He laughs under his breath, clearly entertained. Taesan is mid-story, Areum fully invested. Neither of them notice the way Leehan’s knee brushes mine under the table, testing.

I stand. “I’m going to vape.”

Outside, the night air is cool against my skin. I breathe out slowly, tension easing as I pull out my vape

“Running away again?”

I don’t turn. “I said vape. Not flee.”

Leehan joins me anyway, leaning against the railing like he owns the space.

“You’re no fun anymore,” he says lightly.

“I’m plenty fun,” I reply. “Just not for you.”

He smiles, unbothered. “You used to like when I pushed.”

I glance at him, calm. “I used to tolerate it.”

There’s a beat. Then he steps closer, voice dropping.

“Still tempting though.”

I take another pull, unfazed. “You mistake familiarity for permission.”

He studies me for a moment, something sharper behind his eyes. Then the grin returns.

“So after dinner,” he says casually, “you want to hang out? Just us.”

I exhale the strawberry cloud and face him fully.

“I’m already booked out with someone,” a obvious lie “But maybe you can ask your girlfriend.”

The smile slips, just briefly.

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

I shrug. “That sounds like a conversation for someone else.”

Voices drift out from inside, Areum laughing loudly. I turn back toward the door.

“Food’s waiting,” I say.

This time, I walk in first.

The table is louder now. Glasses clink every few seconds, Areum’s laugh carrying across the booth as she leans too far into Jiyeon’s shoulder.

“Okay i’m not that drunk but has this song not already played like 7 times ?” Areum says, squinting at the speaker like it personally offended her.

“I should be a DJ,” you reply, lifting your drink. “Cheers to that.”

They clink, sloppy and off beat.

Across from you , Leehan nudges his untouched glass further away, already halfway through his second soda. Taesan watches the interaction quietly, elbow resting on the table, eyes flicking between Jiyeon and the growing telltale flush in her cheeks.

“You two are pacing yourselves horribly,” Leehan says.

Areum points at him, nearly missing. “You’re just jealous because you’re sober.”

“I’m not jealous,” he says easily. “I just like remembering my nights.”

Taesan hums in agreement. “Same.”

Jiyeon lets out a laugh that fades too quickly, her fingers tightening around the glass. She stares at the condensation for a second too long.

He likes remembering his nights? I’ll believe it when i see it.

Areum notices immediately. She always does.

“Hey,” she says, voice dropping as she leans in. “You good?”

Jiyeon blinks, then looks up, eyes glassy but sharp in that unfiltered way alcohol brings. She exhales a laugh, short and humorless.

“Ohhhh yeah,” she says. “Just another bad decision I’m now realising.”

The table goes quieter.

Leehan’s smile softens. “what decision?”

Jiyeon waves him off, already shaking her head. “Nope. Not sober-conversation material.”

Taesan shifts closer, forearm brushing the edge of the table near hers. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

Areum frowns, protective even through the haze. “But if you do want to talk, I’m right here.”

Jiyeon looks between them, lips pressing together like she’s deciding whether to pull back or lean in. She sighs, resting her head briefly against Areum’s shoulder.

“Can someone just promise me I won’t regret tonight more than I already do?”

Leehan raises his hand. “I can promise snacks and a safe ride home.” Nope. Not happening. Not with you

Taesan nods. “And zero judgment.”

Deciding not to show your cards you let out a small laugh, softer this time. “Okay,” . “That helps. A little.”

Hours pass, multiple drinks empty, Restaurant noise low, calmer.

Taesan clocks it before anyone else says it.

Jiyeon is drunk drunk. The loose kind. The quiet-before-the-fall kind.

She is slouched into the couch cushions like gravity has personally offended her, eyes half-lidded, glass abandoned on the table sometime ago. Areum sits beside her, still upright, still coherent, watching Jiyeon with a crease between her brows.

“Alright,” Taesan says, already standing. “We’re calling it. Home time.”

Areum nods easily. “Yeah. I’m good to go.”

Jiyeon hums something noncommittal, head tipping back against the couch.

Taesan grabs his jacket. “I’ll take you home Angel.”

As they move toward the door, Areum pauses, turning back. She fishes her phone out, squints at the screen, then sighs.

“I can’t,” she admits, embarrassed. “I can barely see straight. I’ll book Jiyeon an Uber when I get home.”

Leehan, leaning against the counter, straightens. “I can drive her.”

Areum looks relieved immediately. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he says without hesitation. “It’s fine.”

She rattles off the address, repeating it twice to be safe. Leehan nods, commits it to memory.

“Thank you,” Areum says, genuine. Then quieter, “She’s just… been having a time.”

Leehan doesn’t comment. He just nods again.

The car ride is quiet at first.

Jiyeon sits in the passenger seat, seatbelt on but slouched sideways, forehead resting against the cool glass of the window. Streetlights slide over her face in soft intervals. Leehan keeps his eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel, jaw tight in a way he hasn’t noticed himself doing.

“You okay?” he asks gently.

“Mmm,” she murmurs. A beat. Then, “I make really bad choices.”

Leehan glances over briefly. Her eyes are closed.

“In men,” she adds, as if clarifying. “And in life. Mostly men though.”

He exhales quietly through his nose. “Yeah?”

She nods against the window, the motion clumsy. “It’s like I see the red flags and go, wow. That looks warm.”

There’s a thin, humourless laugh that escapes her. It fades quickly.

Leehan waits. He doesn’t push. Doesn’t fill the space.

“Anyway,” she continues after a moment, voice softer now. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I’m fine.”

He hums in response. Noncommittal. Safe.

The rest of the drive passes in fragments. Half-finished thoughts. Mumbled sentences that trail off before landing anywhere. Leehan listens without dissecting, without asking the question sitting heavy in his chest.

They pull up outside her apartment building.

Jiyeon blinks, disoriented. “Oh.”

She opens the door too fast, nearly tipping forward. Leehan is out of the car immediately, a hand steadying her elbow.

“Careful,” he says.

She laughs weakly. “I’m graceful.”

The walk to the entrance is slow. Jiyeon stumbles once, then again, shoes scuffing against concrete. Leehan keeps close, guiding without gripping, his hand hovering at her back.

Inside, she pats at her jacket pockets. Once. Twice. Her movements grow frantic.

“Nope. Nope. Nope.” She frowns at her bag like it has personally betrayed her. “I had them. I swear I had them.”

“It’s okay,” Leehan says calmly. “Take your time.”

She does not take her time.

“I always lose things,” she mutters, voice wobbling. “Keys. Phones. People.”

That last word slips out quieter than the rest.

Leehan reaches gently into the outer pocket of her bag, the one she hasn’t checked yet. His fingers close around cold metal.

“Jiyeon,” he says softly.

She looks up, eyes glassy, unfocused. “Yeah?”

He holds the keys up between them.

Her shoulders sag in immediate defeat. “Oh.”

For a moment she just stares at them, then lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a laugh and almost like a sob.

“See?” she says, voice small. “Bad choices.”

Leehan hands the keys back to her carefully, his fingers brushing hers for half a second longer than necessary.

He stands close as Jiyeon fumbles with the lock, keys clinking too loud in the quiet hallway. She misses the slot once, twice, groans under her breath.

“Stupid— hold on—” she mutters.

“Here,” Leehan says softly, steadying her wrist just enough to guide the key in.

The door is halfway turned when another door down the hall creaks open.

“Oh!” an older woman steps out, cardigan wrapped tight around her shoulders, eyes bright with recognition. “Jiyeon-ah? Is that you?”

Jiyeon freezes, then turns, smile breaking across her face instantly. “Mrs. Han.”

The woman peers between them, takes in Leehan’s hand near Jiyeon’s, the late hour, the careful closeness. Her lips curve knowingly.

“Is this your boyfriend, Yeonie?”

Jiyeon bursts into laughter, loud and unfiltered, leaning back against the door for balance.

“Nope,” she says easily, waving a hand. “He has a girlfriend already.”

The words land sharper than her laugh suggests.

Leehan’s hand drops back to his side. His expression doesn’t change much, but there’s a flicker, quick and gone, like something braced for impact.

Mrs. Han blinks, surprised. “Oh! I see.”

Jiyeon is still smiling, but it wobbles at the edges. She focuses very hard on the key again, twisting it with more force than necessary.

“He’s just being nice,” she adds, quieter now. “Making sure I got home.”

Mrs. Han nods, already retreating. “That’s good. You should rest, dear. Don’t stay up too late.”

“Goodnight,” Jiyeon sings softly.

The neighbour disappears back into her apartment, door clicking shut.

The hallway falls silent again.

Jiyeon finally gets the door open. She pauses with one hand on the handle, shoulders slumping like something has drained out of her.

“Sorry,” she says, not looking at him. “She’s… nosy.”

“It’s okay,” Leehan replies. His voice is even. Too even.

She risks a glance at him then. In her unfocused, drunk way, she catches it anyway. The tightness in his jaw. The way his eyes won’t quite meet hers.

“Goodnight, Leehan.”

“Night, Jiyeon.”

Stumbling around the entryway, I try to kick off my heels, only to realise they’re wrapped tight around my calf. I sigh in defeat and give up, padding into the bedroom instead. I slouch onto the mattress, letting my weight sink in, the room tilting unpleasantly with me.

I sit upright again, slower this time, blinking hard until the dizziness eases. The world sharpens just enough. I reach down, finally unwrapping the cursed heels and dropping them to the floor. Hair up next, fingers clumsy but determined as I twist it into a messy tie.

Game plan. Take off makeup. Shower. Doomscroll in bed.

One deep, steadying breath later, I’m back on my feet.

LEEHAN POV

I wait until I’m back in the car before pulling my phone out.

21 🐠: got jiyeon home safe. heading back now.

I send it, lock the screen, and pull away from the curb.

The drive back feels longer than it should. The streets blur past, turns I’ve taken a hundred times handled on instinct. All I can hear is her voice in my head. Not loud. Not sloppy. Just sad. So sure of herself when she laughed and said I had a girlfriend, like it was already decided. Like it didn’t hurt her to say it.

I don’t get it.

By the time I get home, my chest feels tight in a way I can’t shake. I kick my shoes off, drop my keys, and find my weed pen where I left it. I don’t bother turning the lights on. I sink into the couch and exhale slowly, smoke curling up into the dark.

The door opens not long after.

“You back?” Taesan asks.

“Yeah.”

He shrugs off his jacket. “Areum’s good. She passed out almost immediately.”

“Good,” I murmur.

He joins me on the couch. I take another drag, hold it, then let it out with a long sigh.

“I don’t understand her.”

“Who?” Taesan asks, glancing over.

“Jiyeon.” I keep my eyes on the wall. “She keeps saying I have a girlfriend. I don’t.”

Taesan frowns. “Did you say that?”

“Multiple times,” I say. “She won’t budge. And why would I sleep with her if I was in one. I hate cheaters.”

He goes quiet.

Then—“Dude. Your story last night. From the shoot.”

I blink, confused, and take another pull without thinking when he adds “Sam’s legs were in frame on your lap”

And then it clicks.

“Oh fuck.”

I rake my hands through my hair and groan, leaning back. “Oh fuck.”

Taesan grins. “See. I always said captions are important.”

“Shut up,” I groan.

Then something heavier settles in.

“She… it was me,” I say quietly. “Fuck.”

“What was you?” he asks.

“The reason she got wasted,” I answer. “Why she looked so sad talking about bad decisions. It was because of me.”

The post. The setting. Letting it sit there, letting her assume.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” I mutter. “Her thinking I’m some fuckboy. Or her drinking herself under to get over it.”

Taesan just looks at me for a second. “Go to bed or else you’ll smoke yourself under as-well”

I do.

My room is dim, lit by the blue glow of the huge fish tank lining one wall. I drop onto the bed, phone already in my hand. I scroll mindlessly until I stop.

Her story.

A photo of her and Areum in a booth, smiling. But her eyes look tired. Sad, if you know where to look.

always makes me feel whole 🥂❤️ @sugar_withteeth

My chest tightens.

I don’t think. I just type.

Sexiest fish ever 🐠: i don’t have a girlfriend.

I turn my phone off immediately after, set it face down, and stare at the ceiling until the hum of the tank and exhaustion finally pull me under

Halloween always feels louder before it starts.

I adjust the cream fabric at my shoulder, crown already slipping crooked as I check my reflection one last time. Poseidon. It’s fine. The costume isn’t the point.

When I step up to the group, I clock Jiyeon immediately. Police officer.

She’s mid-laugh, eyes bright, costume sharp in a way that feels intentional. Not dressed to blend in. Dressed to be seen. My gaze sticks before I can stop it, heat settling low in my chest.

I look away. Then back again.

People are talking around us. Areum matching with Taesan. Jaehyun is losing his mind over outfits. None of it really lands. My focus keeps snapping back to Jiyeon like a magnet.

Inside the club, everything compresses into noise and light. She doesn’t look sad if anything she looks more certain in her actions tonight.

Serenade is packed, Bodies press close, costumes colliding, bass rattling through my ribs. We all sit at the table. Drinks start appearing faster than they should.

Jiyeon sits across from me, leaning forward when she laughs. Every time she glances my way, my stomach tightens, then loosens again. I nurse my drink, trying to stay present. Trying not to read into every look.

Jaehyun’s failing spectacularly at getting numbers. I half-listen, arm slung around his shoulder when I joke about showing him how. It earns a laugh, breaks some of the tension in my chest.

For a moment, the night feels easy.

Then Jiyeon disappears.

At first, I tell myself it’s nothing. Bathroom. Bar. Dance floor. I don’t track her movements. I shouldn’t.

When she comes back, she’s not alone.

The guy’s in a Scream mask, arm already wrapped around her waist like it belongs there. She’s laughing loud, pulling him along without hesitation.

Something in my chest drops hard.

She leads him to the booth and sits on his lap. Not tentative. Not shy. Like she wants it seen.

I look away.

My fingers tighten around my glass. I drain it and pour another shot without thinking. The burn is sharp and grounding. Easier than watching her touch someone else.

She leans back against him. Her hand rests on his shoulder. The mask dips close to her ear and she laughs again, head tipping back.

I take another shot.

I tell myself it’s none of my business. We’re not anything. She can do what she wants. I don’t get to feel like this. Not when my thoughtless post is the reason she is acting out.

Doesn’t stop it.

The empty glasses in front of me start stacking. I’m aware of it in a distant way. A choice I’m making on purpose.

Taesan’s hand catches my wrist as I reach for another.

“Slow down,” he says.

“I’m fine,” I answer automatically.

He watches me for a second. “If you’re that upset, go find someone else.”

A short laugh slips out of me. It doesn’t sound right. “I’m not upset.”

Across the table, Jiyeon finally looks at me. Just briefly. Her eyes flick to the glasses, then back to my face. Something unreadable crosses her expression before she turns back to the guy and laughs louder than before.

My jaw tightens.

I knock back another shot anyway.

The bass drops heavier. Fog crawls across the floor. The room feels too tight, too loud, like it’s pressing in on my ribs.

Then hands are on shoulders.

“Outside,” Taesan says, firm.

Areum is already there, looping her arm through Jiyeon’s and steering her away. Jiyeon laughs as she stands, exaggerated, barely sparing me a glance.

The cold air outside hits hard.

My head buzzes, chest tight. Taesan turns to face me.

“What’s going on with you?”

I open my mouth.

Nothing comes out.

Across from us, Jiyeon is already arguing quietly with Areum, posture defensive, something hurt flickering through her irritation. I look away before she catches me watching.

I don’t know how the night shifted this far.

I just know it did and now we’re all outside, pretending it isn’t about exactly what it’s about.

Taesan doesn’t ask.

He just looks at me, then nods toward Jiyeon. “Go talk to her.”

I don’t argue.

Jiyeon stands a few steps away, arms crossed, posture tight, Areum still beside her. I can feel the wall she’s put up even before I open my mouth.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” I snap.

She turns instantly. “He isn’t my boyfriend. And why does it concern you?”

Behind me, Taesan sighs. “Here we go.”

“You brought him back to the table,” I say, jaw tight. “Sat on his lap.”

“And?” she shoots back. “You were busy drinking like you wanted to disappear.”

We talk over each other for a moment, sharp and circular, both defensive, neither actually saying what we mean.

Then she stops.

“If you want whatever this is to continue,” she says, voice firm, steady in a way that makes my chest tighten, “speak now—or I’m leaving and going back to someone who will actually talk to me.”

She turns to walk away.

“Wait.”

She stops.

“It’s not that I don’t want whatever we are to happen,” I say, quieter now, forcing myself to slow down. “I just don’t know if you’d like me when we’re both sober.”

She turns back, hurt flickering across her face. “What?” Her voice cracks slightly. “You think I wouldn’t?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” I reply immediately. “I remember you telling me you always end up hurt. I don’t want to be the one who does that to you.”

Her expression softens, confusion edging out the anger.

“Then why did you post that story,” she asks quietly. “You and that girl.”

I nod slowly. I know exactly what she means.

“I act part time,” I say. “It was part of a scene in a shoot.”

She freezes. “A… scene?”

“Yeah,” I continue, steady now. “We were styled together. It wasn’t personal. Nothing happened.”

“You didn’t say that,” she replies, searching my face.

“I didn’t think I needed to,” I admit. “I didn’t realise how it would look without context.”

She processes that in silence.

“So you’re not seeing her.”

“No.”

“You don’t have a girlfriend.”

“No.”

The air between us shifts. Less sharp. Less guarded.

“Then why wouldn’t you just tell me,” she asks quietly. “Why let me think I was stupid for wanting more.”

“I didn’t know you thought that,” I say. “You brought someone else back. I thought you were done with me.”

Her mouth tightens. “I did that because I thought you already had someone.”

We both go still.

The truth sits between us, uncomplicated and stupid.

She exhales first. “We’re idiots.”

A quiet laugh slips out of me. “Yeah. Seems like it.”

She hesitates, then looks up at me. “Come over after.”

I blink. “Tonight?”

“Yes,” she says, decisive now. “We’ll talk properly. Smoke. I don’t want to keep doing this halfway.”

I nod before I can overthink it. “Okay.”

Then, because I can’t help myself, I add, “Should I invite Scream Mask Guy too, or—”

She smacks my arm. “Shut up.”

I grin.

We head back inside together. Jiyeon parts to go see Areum and her boss at the bar.

At the table, after Areum eats Kamy’s reputation whole, the whole table is back in motion. I don’t clarify anything with Taesan. I don’t need to. He sees it in the way Jiyeon slides in beside me, the way her knee presses into mine and stays there.

The guy in the Scream mask is gone.

I don’t see him again for the rest of the night.

Her fingers brush my wrist when she reaches for her drink. My thumb rests briefly against her thigh when the bass drops. Quiet. Intentional.

When the night finally ends, we leave separately.

Different excuses. Different directions

But later, my phone buzzes.

Ji 🐈: don’t be late.

And for the first time all night, nothing feels unclear.

JI

After switching into comfy smoke clothes and pulling out more fluffy blankets, I’m on the couch rolling a couple joints for me and Leehan’s hangout. The earlier talk clarifying everything still sits with me. I’m annoyed at myself for getting so upset in the first place, for not just asking instead of shutting him out and blocking every friendly advance he made.

Just as I set the tray of goodies down, the doorbell rings.

I get up and head to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open to find Leehan standing there in sweats and a hoodie, no trace of his earlier sea god costume. He holds up a couple of paper bags, grease already seeping through the bottoms like an offering.

“I bought food.”

I smile immediately. “I can see that.”

I gesture him inside and tell him to lock the door behind him as I head back to the living room, settling onto the couch and reclaiming the tray so I can keep rolling. He follows, taking in the space before sitting beside me.

“I like your place,” he says easily. “I love the vibe.”

“Thanks,” I say, patting the couch. “Me and Areum decorated it together in senior year of high school.”

He sits, close but not crowding, and I pass him a joint. He lights it and offers me the first puff before leaning back.

“Okay,” he says, exhaling slowly. “I need guidelines for questions.”

I glance at him. “Like what?”

“Like how deep can the questions go?”

I look down at the tray, at the neat little lineup of joints, then back at him. “I’m fine with everything, to be honest. It feels easier when people know the whole you and not just the glorified parts.”

He nods, serious. “Okay. But if anything feels too hard, don’t push yourself to explain.”

I smile, genuine this time. “Deal.”

I take a hit, then gesture between us. “Okay, my first question for you is what food you’ve deemed smoke friendly.”

His face lights up immediately. “Oh, I have thought about this extensively.”

“Of course you have.”

“Greasy food is elite,” he starts, already digging into one of the bags. “Anything fried, anything salty. Sweet stuff is good but only after. These,” he adds, pulling out fries, “are essential.”

I laugh and steal a few, nudging his knee with mine. “Respectable list.”

He counters with, “What about you?”

“Honestly?” I say, chewing. “Anything I can eat with my hands without dropping ash on it.”

“Valid.”

We snack and smoke in between questions, the conversation settling into something easy. I ask him what he’s studying and his answer comes out without hesitation.

“Marine science.”

My eyebrows lift. “That makes so much sense.”

He grins. “Yeah? I get that a lot.”

“What made you choose it?”

“My hometown,” he says. “I’m from Busan. Coastal kid through and through. I grew up around the ocean. It kind of raised me.”

I hum thoughtfully, taking another drag. “Okay, your turn.”

“How long have you lived here?” he asks.

“Four years,” I reply. “I moved out of my house the second I was legally allowed with Areum’s help and never looked back.”

He doesn’t pry, just nods. “That takes guts.”

“What about siblings?” I ask him, casually, like it won’t boomerang back at me.

“I have an older sister,” he says. “She’s terrifying and amazing.”

I smile. “That tracks.”

More small questions follow. Favorite snacks. Worst classes. Dumb habits. We pass the joint back and forth, fingers brushing occasionally, crumbs gathering on the coffee table, smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling.

Then he asks, carefully, “Do you have siblings?”

I pause.

Family has always been a rough subject, one I usually dodge or joke my way around, but something about the way he asks makes it feel wrong to lie.

I take a breath. “This is heavy, so buckle up.”

He shifts closer, concern softening his face. “Hey, it’s okay. Take your time.”

“I have three other siblings,” I start. “I’m the second youngest out of four. Not memorable enough like the first, not precious like the last.”

I stare at my hands as I speak, words tumbling out now that I’ve started. “I was often ignored. Recitals missed. Sleepovers declined. I lived in the shadow of my younger and older siblings my whole life.”

I swallow and keep going. “One time I stayed with Areum for a fortnight before coming back and they never realised I wasn’t there.”

Leehan lets out a quiet breath beside me.

“They got more cruel when I entered high school,” I continue. “I was my mother’s punching bag and my dad blamed every inconvenience on me. Ignored me. In family photos I was always pushed to the side, dressed differently. There were no baby photos of me in the house. I slept on the couch. Never got gifts.”

My chest tightens but I push through. “My parents didn’t come to my graduation. But Areum never let me feel alone. I’ve known her since I was three. We’ve been inseparable since. She’s like my blessing.”

I finally look at him. “When I moved out, I went no contact. Not that it mattered. It’s been four years and none of them even tried reaching out.”

There’s a heavy sigh from Leehan, thick with emotion. He looks at me, eyes earnest.

“I’m so sorry you went through that.”

I smile, small but real. “Hey, it builds character.”

That earns a weak laugh from him, the tension easing just a little. He nudges me gently with his shoulder. “You shouldn’t have had to be that strong.”

“Probably,” I say, taking another hit. “But here we are.”

We shift back into lighter territory after that. He tells me more about Busan, about growing up near the coast, early mornings by the water, how the ocean made him curious about everything living inside it. I listen quietly, a small part of me aching with jealousy over the warmth of his home life, but I don’t let it show.

I let it go.

Instead, I keep asking questions. I tease him about becoming a fish whisperer, steal the last fry, and we dissolve into that soft, stupid kind of laughter that only shows up when you’re very high and very comfortable. The sky outside the window slowly shifts, black to navy to that pale washed-out blue that means morning is coming whether we’re ready or not. Neither of us mentions it at first. We’re zoned out, shoulders pressed together, trading jokes that barely make sense, smoke long gone but the warmth still lingering.

At some point the conversation slows, stretches. I stare at the light creeping across the floor and then glance at him.

“Can I ask something without it being weird?” I say.

He hums, eyes half-lidded. “We are way past weird.”

I breathe out. “Do you want a relationship?”

He turns his head to look at me properly. “Do you?”

I think about it for a second, honest with myself before answering. “I don’t want fast,” I say. “I prefer safety and trust.”

He nods immediately, like that answer makes sense to him. “Yeah. Me too.”

We don’t label it. We don’t define it. We just agree to see each other, to hang out, to feel it out in that strange in-between space where nothing is promised but nothing feels forced either. It feels calm. It feels right.

A yawn sneaks up on me and I don’t even try to stop it.

Leehan smiles. “Okay. It’s bedtime.”

We shuffle toward the bedroom, both moving slow and loose. I change into something soft while he lingers by the door, already half turned like he’s about to head back out. I look at him, suddenly aware of how quiet the apartment feels.

“Do you want to stay the night?” I ask.

He hesitates, gentle. “Are you sure?”

I blink at him, then laugh. “Leehan, did you forget you have literally been inside me. Cuddles and sleeping should be easy.”

He breaks into laughter, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fair point.”

I toss him spare clothes and he changes quickly before climbing into bed with me. He pulls me close without asking, like it’s instinct, and I fit against him just as easily. The sun keeps rising outside, light spilling in as my eyes finally drift shut.

We aren’t together. We aren’t officially anything. But the comfort, the ease of it, the way neither of us feels the need to pull away, feels like reassurance enough.

Fin.

——-——-:-⋆｡˚𓆝｡˚⋆𓂃 ⋆｡˚ 𓇼 ⋆｡˚𓂃⋆｡˚𓆝｡˚⋆-:————-

Authors note : hiiii thank you for all the love in the bottle girl series so far i am excited to expand it with more hopeful spinoffs but before i continue i will be doing non related bnd works. This took a long time to get out due to christmas, new years AND overseas family visiting but its finally out! As of today when i’m typing this 6/02/26 its oneulman i love you day 🚪❄️❤️. I hope you all enjoyed and my reqs are open for all members, if there is any confusion i am happy to clear it up, thank you for reading so far.

-T

[gongfourzangel]

Writing leehan and jiyeons spin off rlly has me questioning if i want to be evil or not

[gongfourzangel]

BOTTLE GIRL P2

Pairing - TAESAN x FMC

Content - smut, fluff, sneaky sex, p in v, intoxicated sex, all consenting adults, smoking, jealousy not related to the mcs, love making, alcohol consumption, weed smoking , vaping

READ WARNING UNDER PLOT!!!!

Wc - 16k ~~~ PART 1 HERE -

PLOT- She begins seeing the mysterious new VIP customer expecting little more than a passing connection, but instead finds a steadiness she’s never had before. He’s attentive, patient, and deeply present, offering a kind of care that makes her life feel calmer, fuller.

As their relationship grows, she wonders if she’s finally learned how to accept stability—or if she’s simply afraid to trust something that feels this good. He would do anything for her, and for once, that promise feels less like a threat and more like a choice.

WARNINGS - smoking (🚬 & 🍃) , alcohol consumption, Vaping is also mentioned frequently. Toxic exes, jealousy,

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

~ ⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹ 🎀 ⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹ ~

Groaning as your alarm screams 10:00 a.m., you roll over, squinting as sunlight spills across the bed to greet you far too enthusiastically. Monday.

It’s been two days since you and Taesan slept together, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the absence of him — not just physically, but in the quiet spaces. The bed feels bigger. Colder.Empty.

You press your face into the pillow with a sigh.

“I cannot believe I slept with a customer,” you mutter to the ceiling. “Oh god.”

A beat.

“…But he was so good,” you add aloud before you can stop yourself.

The admission sends a slow shiver through you, memory tightening its grip — the way his hands felt sure, the way he moved like he knew exactly what he was doing, exactly what he wanted. Your nerves spark at the recollection, body responding before your brain can intervene.

You groan again, dragging a hand over your face. “Get it together.”

As if thinking his name too loudly has summoned him, your phone chimes from beside you.

A single notification lights up the screen.

Taesan 💋: Good morning, angel.

You smile at the screen like an idiot.

Way too long passes while you debate what to say — thumb hovering, brain overthinking — before you decide to play with him a little.

Y/nie 💋: umm who is this?

You barely have time to lock your phone before the typing bubble pops up instantly.

Laughing softly to yourself, you leave it face-down on the bed and head for the bathroom before you can second-guess it. The shower heats quickly, steam fogging the mirror as you step under the spray, letting the water ground you.

Friends today. Normal plans. Normal you.

But even as shampoo rinses through your hair, your mind betrays you — flickers of him slipping in uninvited. His voice. That look. The way “angel” felt a little too natural coming from him.

When you step out, towel wrapped around you, your phone lights up again on the counter.

You don’t check it right away.

You get dressed. Dry your hair halfway. Let yourself breathe.

Only then do you pick it up.

Three new messages.

All from Taesan.

And suddenly, Monday doesn’t feel quite so quiet anymore.

You unlock your phone, heart giving a stupid little jump as his messages fill the screen.

Taesan 💋: Wow.

Taesan 💋: That’s cold. I give you one “good morning” and you erase me from existence?

You bite your lip, smiling.

Another one comes through almost immediately.

Taesan 💋: Okay, rude. I’ll play along.

Taesan 💋: Hi, this is Taesan. Tall. Red hair. Allegedly memorable.

You laugh out loud, shaking your head as you finish pulling on your shoes.

Then — revenge.

Taesan 💋: Actually, wait.

Taesan 💋: If you don’t know who I am…

Taesan 💋: Guess I’ll just have to reintroduce myself next time I see you.

Your stomach flips.

You type back before you can overthink it.

Y/nie 💋: Bold of you to assume there will be a next time.

The typing bubble appears instantly. Disappears. Appears again.

Taesan 💋: Angel.

Taesan 💋: You don’t get to say things like that and expect me to behave.

You pause, fingers hovering, pulse steady but quick.

Y/nie 💋: Is that a threat?

His reply is slower this time — deliberate.

Taesan 💋: No.

Taesan 💋: That’s me warning you.

You lock your phone, cheeks warm, heart thudding in a way that feels equal parts nervous and thrilled.

Friends. Distraction. Normalcy.

But as you grab your bag and head out the door, one thought settles comfortably in your chest.

The brunch place is already buzzing when you arrive — all clinking cutlery and sunlight bouncing off mismatched plates. Someone’s dog is tied up outside. Someone else is laughing too loudly two tables over. It feels safe. Normal.

Jaehyun’s already there, waving like he booked the place himself. Sungho’s halfway through a coffee, Jiyeon scrolling her phone with one hand while stealing fries from Jaehyun’s plate with the other.

“You’re late,” Jiyeon says without looking up.

“I’m exactly on time,” you reply, sliding into the booth. “You just got here early to judge me.”

Sungho nods solemnly. “It’s a hobby.”

Menus are barely glanced at before everyone orders the usual. Coffee appears. Then more coffee. The conversation immediately derails.

Jaehyun launches into a dramatic retelling of his morning commute like he survived a war.

“The man next to me was eating a boiled egg. On public transport.”

“That’s criminal,” you say.

“Straight to jail,” Jiyeon agrees.

Sungho leans back. “I once saw someone eat tuna from a can on a bus.”

You gag. “Why would you say that to me before I eat?”

The food arrives — too much, as always — and the table fills with plates and noise and overlapping voices. Jokes fly easy. Someone spills syrup. Jiyeon steals your hash brown and doesn’t even pretend it was an accident.

You’re mid-laugh, fork paused in the air, when Jaehyun clears his throat.

In a way that immediately makes you suspicious.

“So,” he says casually. Too casually. “Hypothetical.”

“No,” you say instantly.

“Just hear me out.”

Sungho’s already smirking. Jiyeon looks up, alert. “Oh this is about to be stupid.”

Jaehyun ignores her. “I know a guy.”

You stare at him. “Here we go”

“He’s nice,” Jaehyun continues. “Normal. Cute. Stable job.”

“Not happening”

“He asked if I had any single friends.”

Jiyeon’s eyes flick to you. “Oh?”

Jaehyun leans forward. “And I thought of you.”

The table goes quiet.

Not awkward. Just… attentive.

You set your fork down carefully. “I’m not going on a blind date.”

“Why not?” Jaehyun asks immediately.

“Because I don’t want to.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“It absolutely is.”

Sungho squints at you. “You never say no to free food.”

Jiyeon tilts her head. Slowly. “Wait. Since when are you not into this stuff?”

You take a sip of coffee, buying time. “I’m just… not feeling it right now.”

There it is.

The shift.

Jaehyun leans back, folding his arms. “Okay. Why.”

“Yeah,” Sungho adds. “What happened.”

Jiyeon grins. “Who is he.”

You choke slightly. “There is no he.”

Three pairs of eyes bore into you.

“That was too fast,” Jiyeon says.

Sungho nods. “And defensive.”

Jaehyun points at you. “You literally hosted a smoking night two days ago and now you’re allergic to dating?”

You groan. “Can we not do this?”

“Nope,” Jiyeon says cheerfully. “Interrogation mode.”

Sungho slides your plate closer to himself. “We have leverage.”

You glare at him. “Give that back.”

“Talk.”

You exhale, shoulders slumping just a little. “I’m just… seeing where something goes.”

Jaehyun’s eyebrows shoot up. “Something.”

Jiyeon’s smile turns sharp. “With who.”

You refuse to answer.

That’s all it takes.

“Oh my god,” Jiyeon breathes. “There is someone.”

Sungho laughs. “Wow. She’s cooked.”

Jaehyun leans forward again, triumphant. “So. Not a blind date.”

You sigh, defeated. “Not a blind date.”

They exchange looks — equal parts smug and thrilled.

“Okay,” Jiyeon says, already vibrating with curiosity. “But we’re circling back to this.”

You pick up your fork again, muttering, “I hate all of you.”

They just grin.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, uninvited and persistent, Taesan’s name flickers — bright, unresolved, and very much the reason you said no.

Jaehyun’s phone buzzes just as Jiyeon opens her mouth to resume whatever psychological warfare she’s planning.

He glances at the screen. “Oh— speak of the devil.”

Sungho squints. “Which one.”

“Leehan.”

You stiffen for exactly half a second.

Jaehyun answers on speaker before you can object. “You’re alive.”

“Barely,” Leehan replies, winded. “I’m outside a café arguing with Taesan about whether pancakes are a breakfast food or a lifestyle choice.”

“They’re both,” Jaehyun says without missing a beat. “Where are you?”

“Like… two streets away.”

Jaehyun looks around the table, already smiling. “Pull up.”

Your stomach drops. Your face does not.

Leehan gasps theatrically. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah. We’re already eating.”

“Say less.”

The call ends.

You lift your cup and take a very normal sip of coffee. Your hands do not shake. You are calm. You are an actress.

Jiyeon’s eyes flick to you. Narrow. Curious.

“You good?” she asks sweetly.

“Never better,” you reply, equally sweet.

Sungho leans in. “Liar.”

Two minutes later, chaos arrives.

Leehan appears first, practically vibrating, sunglasses on indoors for no reason. “HELLO BRUNCH PEOPLE.”

“Take those off,” Jaehyun says.

“No.”

Taesan follows behind him — casual, composed, hands in his pockets. He looks rested. Annoyingly good. His eyes meet yours for a fraction of a second.

Nothing happens.

No smile. No pause. No recognition.

If anyone were watching closely, they’d miss it entirely.

“Hey,” he says easily, nodding at the table.

“Hey,” you say back, matching his tone perfectly.

Jiyeon watches this exchange like it’s a tennis match.

Leehan slides into the booth next to Sungho, immediately grabbing a fry. “Oh hell yeah. These are the good fries.”

“You didn’t order them,” Sungho says.

“That’s never stopped me.”

Taesan pulls up a chair, sitting opposite you. Safe distance. Civil. You focus very hard on your plate.

“So,” Leehan says, scanning the table. “Why does it feel like I walked into a documentary about judgment.”

Jaehyun grins. “Because we were.”

“About who?” Leehan asks.

All eyes swing back to you.

You sigh. “This feels targeted.”

Jaehyun leans back, innocent. “I just think y/n should go on the blind date.”

You choke. Fully. Violently.

Sungho pats your back far too hard. “Drink water, not lies.”

Across from you, Taesan freezes.

Not dramatically. Not obviously.

Just long enough.

Leehan looks between you all. “Wait. What blind date.”

“No blind date,” you say quickly.

“Yes blind date,” Jaehyun corrects.

Taesan clears his throat, finally moving again. “What… kind of blind date.”

You kick Jaehyun under the table.

He winces. “OW. With a guy I know. He’s normal.”

“That’s subjective,” Jiyeon says.

Leehan lights up. “Oh my god. Are we matchmaking?”

“No,” you say firmly.

“Yes,” Leehan says louder.

Taesan stays quiet, expression unreadable, eyes flicking briefly to you before returning to Jaehyun. “And she said no?”

“Yes,” Jaehyun replies. “For mysterious reasons.”

You smile tightly. “I just don’t feel like dating.”

Leehan gasps. “She’s evolving.”

Jiyeon hums. “Or hiding something.”

Taesan lifts his cup, takes a slow sip, then says calmly, “Some people just don’t want to be set up.”

You could kiss him.

You do not.

Jaehyun points between the two of you. “Wow. Look at you, being reasonable.”

Taesan shrugs. “I try.”

Leehan squints. “Why does this feel like when your parents argue politely in front of guests.”

You snort.

Taesan’s mouth twitches.

Jaehyun groans. “Y/n, please. Just go on the blind date.”

You recover instantly this time. “Absolutely not.”

Taesan nods once. “Fair.”

Jiyeon whips her head toward him. “Why do you care.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “I don’t. I just respect autonomy.”

Leehan bursts out laughing. “AUTONOMY.”

Sungho shakes his head. “This table is insane.”

The conversation derails into Leehan ranking brunch foods by “vibe,” Jaehyun roasting Jiyeon’s taste in men, and Sungho stealing everyone’s drinks.

Jiyeon squints at you suddenly, spoon paused mid-air like she’s just connected two very annoying dots.

“Wait,” she says slowly. “Didn’t you literally just say you were seeing how something works out?”

You freeze.

Just for a breath.

“So,” she continues, eyes bright now, “is this mystery guy hot?”

You want to pass away.

Across the table, Taesan straightens — subtle, but immediate — like someone just turned the volume up on a conversation he absolutely wasn’t listening to until now.

Leehan gasps. “Oh this just got good.”

Sungho grins. “Answer the question.”

You clear your throat. “That’s— subjective.”

Taesan tilts his head, resting his chin in his hand. Calm. Interested. Way too comfortable.

“What’s he like?” he asks, casually.

You glare at him.

He smirks — small, smug, infuriating — like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Fine.

You take a breath. “He’s… tall.”

Taesan raises a brow. “That narrows it down.”

Leehan snaps his fingers. “She likes tall men. Groundbreaking.”

You continue, committing now. “Uh. Broad shoulders.”

Taesan blinks.

Sungho sits up. “Okay.”

Jiyeon leans in. “Go on.”

“He’s quiet,” you add thoughtfully. “But not in a boring way. More like… observant.”

Taesan shifts in his chair.

Jaehyun squints at him. “Why are you suddenly sitting like you’re in a job interview?”

“I’m not,” Taesan says quickly.

You smile sweetly and keep going. “He’s kind of intimidating at first.”

Leehan whistles. “Oh she’s GONE gone.”

“And,” you add, throwing the grenade, “he’s weirdly good at cooking.”

Taesan actually straightens fully now. “Cooking?”

Sungho points at him. “Why did you react like that.”

“I didn’t.”

“You absolutely did.”

Jaehyun snaps his fingers. “WAIT. Is it someone from work?”

“No.”

“Mark?”

“No.”

“Sungho?”

“Absolutely not.”

Sungho looks offended. “I can cook.”

“You microwave,” Jiyeon says.

Leehan suddenly gasps. “Is it the weed dealer.”

Everyone turns to you.

You choke. “WHY would it be the weed dealer.”

“I don’t know your life,” Leehan shrugs.

Jiyeon turns to Taesan, eyes sharp. “Do you know anyone who’s tall, intimidating, quiet, cooks, and has broad shoulders?”

Taesan doesn’t look away from you. Not this time.

“Maybe,” he says slowly.

Your jaw tightens. You fight the urge to kick him under the table. Or lunge across it. Either.

Leehan slams his hands down. “I CAN FIX THIS. We should all hang out. Group setting. Casual. Let fate do the work.”

“No,” you and Taesan say at the exact same time.

Silence.

Then—

“Oh my god,” Jiyeon breathes.

Jaehyun points between you. “That was weirdly in sync.”

You grab your coffee. “You’re all delusional.”

Taesan smiles into his cup, smug as hell.

And you swear, if this brunch lasts five more minutes, you might actually lose your mind.

The conversation at the table drifts back into noise — Jiyeon complaining about portion sizes, Sungho ranking brunch spots like it’s an Olympic sport, Leehan loudly misunderstanding everything on purpose.

You take the opportunity.

Your phone buzzes quietly in your hand as you type.

Y/nie 💋: Having fun, are you?

Across from you, Taesan’s phone lights up. He glances down, the corner of his mouth lifting before he can stop it.

You roll your eyes.

A second later, your phone buzzes again.

Taesan 💋: You should introduce me to this mystery guy.

Taesan 💋: Maybe he can cook something for me.

You almost laugh out loud.

Almost.

Instead, you inhale, eyes flicking up at him — his expression calm, smug, absolutely enjoying this. Fine. If he wants to play, you’ll play.

You look over at Jaehyun. “Hey,” you say casually. Too casually. “What’s his name again?”

The table goes silent.

Jaehyun freezes like you’ve just asked him to solve world peace.

“…Oh my god,” he says slowly. “You wanna go?”

Jiyeon’s jaw drops. “EXCUSE me?”

Sungho leans back. “This escalated.”

Leehan slams a hand on the table. “I KNEW IT. I KNEW BRUNCH WOULD FIX HER.”

You smile and nod. “Sure. Why not.”

Jaehyun looks like he’s witnessing a religious event. “I’ll text him RIGHT now.”

Your phone buzzes against your thigh.

You glance down.

Taesan 💋: Do it.

Taesan 💋: I dare you.

You look up.

Taesan meets your gaze — eyes dark, amused, something sharp beneath it — like he’s challenging you to blink first.

You don’t.

You lock your phone and take a sip of coffee, perfectly composed.

Across the table, Taesan exhales a quiet laugh and shakes his head, already resigned to whatever chaos this is about to unleash.

And you sit there, heart racing, knowing full well:

You just made things infinitely worse.

And somehow… way more interesting.

Once plates are mostly cleared and the caffeine has kicked in, you lean back slightly and glance around the table.

“So,” you say casually, “what’s everyone doing today?”

Jaehyun answers first, already exhausted. “Lectures. Real ones. The kind I can’t skip.”

You wince. “My condolences.”

Sungho lifts his cup. “I’ve got training this afternoon. New security.”

Jiyeon grins. “You love that.”

“I tolerate it,” he corrects.

“And you?” you ask Jiyeon.

She shrugs. “Nothing. Blissfully unemployed for the day.”

You nod approvingly, then shift your attention to the two newest faces at the table.

Leehan beams. “I’m free.”

Taesan nods. “Same.”

The table pauses for just a second — not awkward, just the kind of quiet where plans start forming.

“Well,” you say slowly, “since some of us are tragically busy and some of us are not—”

Jaehyun groans. “Don’t include me in whatever this is.”

“—we should talk about Saturday,” you continue.

Jiyeon’s eyes light up immediately. “Halloween party.”

Leehan’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh.”

Sungho leans back. “Right. That’s this weeks club night”

“We still need costumes,” you add. “Which means shopping.”

Jiyeon turns to you instantly. “Together.”

“Obviously.”

Leehan looks between you all, already intrigued. “Like… group shopping?”

You smile. “If you’re brave.”

He laughs. “I’m absolutely in.”

Taesan glances at him, amused. “You didn’t even ask what we’re doing.”

Leehan waves it off. “I trust the process.”

Sungho watches this exchange, then looks at Jaehyun. “You collect interesting people.”

Jaehyun smirks. “I know.”

“So,” you say, standing and slinging your bag over your shoulder, “anyone who’s free and hasn’t committed to a costume yet can come.”

Leehan raises his hand immediately. “I have an idea.”

Jiyeon narrows her eyes. “That never ends well.”

“I want to be a fish.”

Silence.

You blink. “A… fish.”

“Yes,” he says earnestly. “Just a fish.”

Taesan laughs under his breath. “He’s been very committed to that idea.”

You glance at Jiyeon, who is already smiling. “Okay,” you say. “Sure. Let’s find you fins.”

Leehan lights up like this is the best news he’s heard all day.

Jaehyun shakes his head. “I leave you people alone for five minutes—”

Sungho stands. “Send updates.”

You gesture toward the door. “Alright. Costume shopping it is.”

As you head out with Jiyeon, Leehan, and Taesan falling into step beside you, it feels easy — like the kind of spontaneous plan that ends up being the highlight of the week.

And maybe, just maybe, the start of something more complicated than costumes.

The bell above the costume shop door jingles as you all pile in, immediately hit with the smell of plastic packaging and cheap fabric. Racks overflow with glitter, faux leather, wings, masks — an overwhelming amount of bad decisions waiting to happen.

Leehan barely makes it three steps inside before his eyes light up.

“Oh my god,” he says reverently — and then he’s gone.

You watch him sprint straight toward a section labeled WATER CREATURES, arms already reaching out like he’s being called home.

“Of course,” Taesan mutters.

Jiyeon doesn’t even look that way. She’s already scanning the nearest adult only rack with intent. “Okay. I want hot,” she announces. “Like illegal-in-three-countries hot.”

You snort. “Bold goal.”

She pulls out something shiny and tiny. “Thoughts?”

“That’s not a costume,” you say. “That’s a suggestion.”

“Exactly.”

You start tossing ideas back and forth — dramatic, impractical, increasingly questionable. Corsets. Thigh-highs. Things with straps that absolutely should not be trusted. Jiyeon nods seriously through all of it, mentally constructing something scandalous and unstoppable.

From across the store, Leehan’s enthusiasm dies in real time.

“…No.”

You look over to see him standing in front of a sad, half-empty shelf. He lifts up a tiny orange costume, the tag dangling.

“This is a child’s Nemo,” he says quietly.

Jiyeon bursts out laughing. “Leehan, be serious.”

“They don’t have any adult fish,” he says, wounded. “What kind of discrimination—”

“Be a sexy fisherman,” you suggest.

He glares. “That’s not the same.”

He trudges back toward you, defeated, hands shoved in his pockets. “This place hates me.”

Taesan pats his shoulder once. “You’ll survive.”

Leehan sighs, then looks at you. “What about you? What are you gonna be?”

You pause, glancing between two nearby displays — one red, one white.

“I’m stuck,” you admit. “Devil or angel.”

“Cliché,” Jiyeon says immediately.

“I know.”

She brightens. “But hear me out — angel, but make it slutty.”

You choke on a laugh. “That’s just… fallen angel.”

“Exactly,” she says, already grabbing sheer fabric and wing options. “Or devil, but subtle. Less horns, more attitude.”

As she keeps talking, layering ideas, you feel it — the shift. Taesan’s been pretending to be busy with a rack nearby, flipping through masks he clearly doesn’t care about.

But he’s listening.

You catch his reflection in a mirrored pillar — eyes flicking up when Jiyeon describes straps, wings, silhouettes. Calculating. Matching.

He clears his throat, casual. “Angel or devil?”

You glance at him. “Yeah.”

He hums, thoughtful. “Either way,” he says, eyes meeting yours for half a second too long, “you’re gonna cause problems.”

Jiyeon grins. “Oh, he gets it.”

Leehan squints between the two of you. “Why do I feel like I’m missing something?”

“You are,” you and Jiyeon say in unison.

Taesan goes back to browsing — but now it’s different. Focused. Like he’s already planning how to stand next to you when the night comes.

Matching, without matching.

You should’ve known better than to let Jiyeon talk uninterrupted.

She drapes leather options over her arm like she’s curating an exhibit. “Okay, hear me out,” she says, eyes lit with dangerous enthusiasm. “Fallen angel. Not tragic. Hot.”

You squint at the pile. “That looks… illegal.”

“Borderline,” she corrects cheerfully. “Which is the point.”

She starts assembling it right there — black leather wings instead of white, a fitted top with straps that definitely exist for aesthetics only, and a skirt so short you actually laugh when she holds it up.

“That’s not a skirt,” you say. “That’s a belt”

Jiyeon beams. “Same thing.”

Leehan peers over. “You can’t even sit in that.”

“I don’t plan on sitting,” you reply automatically, then freeze.

Jiyeon gasps. “See? She gets it.”

You hesitate for maybe half a second longer, then sigh. “Okay. Fine. It’s cute.”

“It’s lethal,” Jiyeon corrects, already dragging you toward the fitting area.

As she keeps tweaking — boots, accessories, a subtle halo that looks more ironic than holy — you feel eyes on you. You glance up to find Taesan pretending to study a rack of masks, jaw tight, attention very obviously split.

He doesn’t comment. Doesn’t need to.

The look on his face says he’s already recalculating everything.

Leehan shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’re committing to this.”

You shrug. “For the plot.”

“For chaos,” Jiyeon adds.

Taesan finally looks over, slow and deliberate. His gaze flicks from the outfit to you, then away again like he’s restraining himself from saying too much.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “That checks out.”

Taesan lingers near the entrance while you and Jiyeon finalize your pile, scrolling on his phone with a kind of forced patience.

“I’m just gonna order mine online,” he says casually, slipping the phone into his pocket. “Less chaos.”

“Mmm,” Jiyeon hums, unconvinced. “You just don’t want us judging.”

“I don’t need judgment,” he replies. “I need accuracy.”

You catch his eye and smile. He looks away a second too late.

Leehan, meanwhile, has rebounded spectacularly from his earlier disappointment. He emerges holding a bundle of white fabric and a plastic gold crown like he’s found religion.

“I’ve decided,” he announces. “Sea god.”

Jiyeon squints. “That’s… not a fish.”

“It’s adjacent,” he says defensively. “Ocean-coded.”

You nod. “The togas work. Very dramatic.”

“Thank you,” he says, pleased. “I will be serving wrath.”

Jiyeon tosses a pair of handcuffs into her basket next. “Sexy policewoman,” she declares. “Corrupt, obviously.”

“Obviously,” you echo.

Jokes keep flying as you head to the checkout — Leehan arguing about whether gods wear shoes, Jiyeon insisting she needs three different belts “for authority,” you trying not to laugh as the cashier rings everything up with admirable neutrality.

Bags in hand, you step back out into the daylight, the air cooler than inside the store. The parking lot hums quietly, afternoon settling in.

You glance between them, tone casual but hopeful. “So… you guys wanna come back to mine?”

There’s a beat.

Leehan lights up instantly. “Like Saturday?”

You grin. “Like Saturday.”

“I’m in,” he says, already walking toward the car. “I call couch rights.”

Jiyeon laughs. “Same. I’m down.”

Taesan nods, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Yeah,” he says easily. “Sure.”

It sounds relaxed. Nonchalant.

But when you catch his gaze, there’s something unmistakable there — the same spark from before, tucked carefully beneath calm restraint.

You turn toward your car, smiling to yourself.

Round two is already in motion.

Back at your place, everything softens.

Shoes get kicked off near the door, the house settling into that familiar quiet that only comes after a long day. Jiyeon makes a beeline for you immediately.

“I cannot smoke in real jeans and a blouse” she announces. “Do you have loungewear I can steal?”

“You basically live here,” you say, already heading toward your room. “Yes.”

She reappears a minute later in an oversized tee and soft shorts, arms spread. “I feel spiritually aligned.”

You change too — into something comfortable, worn-in a cute tank and a flowy skirt — then head back out to find the boys already claiming the couch. Taesan takes one end, Leehan sprawled across the other, half upside down.

You drop into the bean bag with a quiet thump just as Jiyeon sets herself up at the coffee table, rolling tray out like it’s ceremonial.

“Okay,” she says, cracking the grinder. “Slow rotations today.”

Leehan watches her hands intently. “I respect the craft.”

“You don’t respect anything,” you reply.

She rolls carefully, unhurried, licking the paper and smoothing it shut with precision. “This one’s for vibes,” she says, lighting it.

The joint starts its lazy circle.

Leehan takes one pull and immediately sighs. “You ever think about how conspiracies only exist because people don’t nap enough?”

Jiyeon squints at him. “You’re already gone.”

“They don’t want us sleeping,” he adds solemnly.

Taesan chuckles under his breath, accepting the joint next, exhaling slowly. He smokes controlled, steady — like he knows exactly where his limit is.

Jiyeon suddenly points at you. “Can we talk about your worst men?”

“No.”

“Yes,” she insists. “The one who ghosted you after three dates but still watched all your stories.”

Taesan raises an eyebrow. “That’s criminal.”

“It was traumatizing,” you say.

Leehan nods sagely. “Men fear accountability.”

The conversation drifts — bad dates, weird hookups, the universal red flags — until Jiyeon tilts her head at Taesan.

“Okay, real question. Why do you have rich energy?”

Taesan laughs. “That’s not a thing.”

“It is,” she says. “You’re calm. That’s money.”

He shrugs. “My family’s in music. Labels, management. I produce, too. That part’s mine.”

“Oh,” you say softly. “So you’re actually talented.”

He smiles at you. “Allegedly.”

Leehan suddenly sits up. “So if music controls emotions… does that mean your family controls society?”

“No,” Taesan and Jiyeon say in unison.

Leehan sinks back down. “Okay but think about it.”

The joint comes back around. Smoke thickens. Laughter settles into something warmer, slower.

Taesan glances over at you, relaxed, eyes soft. “You good?”

You nod, smiling. “Yeah.”

Time dissolves the longer you sit there.

Conversation drifts in lazy loops — things that don’t matter but feel important when you’re this high.

“I just think,” Jiyeon says, stretched out on the floor, “it’s deeply unfair that I’m hot and single.”

Leehan gasps. “This is a crisis.”

“It’s a drought,” she corrects. “A spiritual one.”

Leehan perks up immediately. “I could fix that.”

She snorts. “You?”

“Absolutely,” he says, serious. “I’m very attentive. Emotionally available. Mildly flexible.”

You lose it — giggling so hard you have to curl into yourself on the bean bag.

Taesan watches you with a quiet smile. “She’s gone.”

“I’m fine,” you wheeze. “I just— why did you say mildly flexible?”

“Honesty builds trust,” Leehan replies.

Jiyeon eyes him. “What are your credentials?”

“Great listener,” he starts counting on his fingers. “Strong opinions about breakfast. Will bring snacks without being asked.”

Taesan hums. “That last one matters.”

The conversation somehow slides into relationships — the soft stuff.

“I like flowers,” Jiyeon says suddenly. “But not as an apology.”

“Yes,” you nod emphatically. “Flowers as punctuation, not damage control.”

Leehan points at you. “Acts of service, though?”

You sit up a little, eyes bright. “Oh my god. Acts of service.”

Taesan tilts his head. “Noted.”

You don’t even process it — you’re too busy laughing as Leehan abandons the couch and flops dramatically onto the bean bag beside you.

“What’s your favourite—” he pauses, thinking hard, “—theoretical position?”

You blink at him. Then burst out laughing again. “Why is that how you phrased it?”

“Because I’m respectful.”

Jiyeon immediately sits up. “I’m listening.”

“It’s not even about the position,” you say, waving your hands vaguely. “It’s about the vibe. Like— logistics matter.”

Leehan nods like this is gospel. “Angles. Physics.”

“I could demonstrate,” he adds casually, glancing at Jiyeon.

She squints. “You are bold.”

“Confident,” he corrects.

You’re crying laughing now, words spilling out half-formed, thoughts derailing before they finish. “I’m so hungry. Why am I hungry. I want— I don’t even know what I want.”

Taesan’s already on his phone.

No one notices at first.

Jiyeon keeps talking. Leehan keeps flirting. You’re rambling about noodles and fries and something sweet and salty at the same time.

A few minutes pass before you stumble onto the couch next to him.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

Taesan locks his phone and shrugs. “Ordering food.”

You stare at him. “I didn’t ask.”

“I know.”

There’s a beat.

Something warm settles in your chest that has nothing to do with being high.

“Oh,” you say softly, smiling. “Okay.”

The clock on the wall flicks over to 4:00 PM

The bickering starts up again almost immediately.

Leehan and Jiyeon are nose-to-nose on opposite ends of the room, voices overlapping.

“I’m just saying,” Jiyeon insists, arms crossed, “shower sex is a lie sold by movies.”

“That’s because you’re not committing,” Leehan fires back. “You have to believe in the process.”

You glance over at Taesan, both of you already smiling.

“How long before they cave?” you murmur.

You tilt your head thoughtfully. “Jiyeon’s very stubborn, so… maybe two weeks?” You throw her a look. “I believe in you.”

Jiyeon scoffs. “Traitor.”

Taesan snorts, leaning back. “At this rate? I give it a month. If death by Jiyeon doesn’t get him first.”

He nods toward them just as their argument escalates.

“It’s uncomfortable,” Jiyeon says loudly. “Slipping. No footing. Someone always hits an elbow.”

Leehan gestures wildly. “That’s a skill issue.”

You and Taesan freeze at the same time.

Shower sex.

There’s the briefest pause — just long enough for you to feel Taesan’s hand settle against your thigh, grounding and warm, like muscle memory.

“It depends on height,” he blurts suddenly, without thinking. “Very fun, in my opinion.”

Silence.

Your eyes almost fall out of your head before you burst into giggles, doubling over on the bean bag.

“Oh my god,” you wheeze.

Leehan whips around. “Okay, we get it,” he says, pointing at Taesan. “You bang. And you’re tall. Jeeez.”

Jiyeon howls with laughter. “I hate all of you.”

Taesan groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean—”

“You absolutely did,” you say, still laughing, nudging his knee with yours.

The tension snaps back into something lighter, easier — teasing instead of loaded — but Taesan’s hand doesn’t move from your thigh.

And somehow, that says everything.

Food helps. Always does.

Containers are spread across the table, half-eaten, abandoned, reclaimed. The room feels lighter somehow — fuller — joints still making their slow, lazy rotation as the high evens out into something warm and buoyant.

You’re floating. Properly floating.

At some point — you’re not entirely sure when — you’ve migrated back over, limbs rearranging themselves without conscious thought until you’re draped across Taesan’s lap again like it’s where you naturally belong. One leg slung over his, the other tucked in, weight settling comfortably.

No one notices.

Thank god.

Leehan is mid-rant about how time isn’t real. Jiyeon is laughing too hard to contribute anything useful. The room is a blur of voices and smoke and crumbs.

Taesan’s hand rests on your thigh, absent at first — just there. Then it starts moving, slow and thoughtless, tracing lazy patterns like he’s half-unaware he’s doing it. Circles. Lines. The occasional squeeze when you shift.

You hum softly, eyes half-lidded, sinking further into him.

“You comfortable?” he murmurs, just for you.

“Mm,” you reply, voice light and floaty. “Very.”

His thumb presses once, deliberate now. Not enough to draw attention. Just enough to make your stomach flip.

Across the room, Jiyeon squints. “Why do you look like that?”

You don’t even open your eyes. “I’m enlightened.”

Leehan nods solemnly. “She’s reached peak.”

Taesan chuckles quietly, His hand stills for a moment — then resumes, slower this time, like he knows exactly what he’s doing and also doesn’t care who might notice.

But no one does

Another rotation passes. The music creeps louder at some point — not enough to be disruptive, just enough to fill the gaps between conversations. Everyone’s mostly zoned out now, drifting in and out with the occasional outburst from Leehan that makes Jiyeon snort-laugh before sinking back into her own head.

You’re gone. Fully.

At some point, Taesan shifts beneath you and suddenly you’re flopped fully onto his lap, the movement abrupt enough that you flail slightly, arms lifting as if you might actually tip over.

“Oh—” you gasp, laughing quietly, immediately glancing toward the others.

No one notices.

Leehan is mid-sentence about something that makes absolutely no sense. Jiyeon’s eyes are half-closed, nodding along anyway. You force your focus for a second — grounding yourself just long enough to confirm what you already know.

You’re safe.

So you lean back into him.

Taesan’s chest is solid behind you, warm and steady. You start drawing lazy shapes in the air with your fingers, tracing invisible lines to the rhythm of the music. You shift again, trying to get comfortable — once, twice —

His hands come to your hips, firm but gentle.

“Stop moving, angel,” he murmurs low, breath brushing your ear. “Please.”

It clicks then — what your restlessness has been doing to him.

“Oh,” you mumble, heat rushing to your face. “Mmhm.”

You still, settling properly this time, weight relaxing into him as you turn your attention back toward the room, pretending nothing’s happening.

Behind you, Taesan exhales.

A second later, you feel it — a soft kiss placed just beneath your hairline, barely there. Then another, slower, lingering at the back of your neck.

Your breath catches despite yourself.

You don’t turn. Don’t move. Just let the feeling wash over you — the quiet affection, the restraint, the way he makes it feel like this moment exists only for the two of you, even with friends right there.

The music hums on. Smoke curls lazily through the room.

And you stay exactly where you are, heart full, body warm, loving every second of it

Another hour passes before Taesan’s composure starts to crack.

It’s subtle at first — his hands shifting where they rest on your hips, thumbs pressing in a little more deliberately, fingers flexing like he’s testing how much he can get away with. You feel it immediately, a quiet awareness sparking low in your stomach.

You tilt your head back just enough to murmur, “You’re getting bold.”

“Am I?” His voice is soft, innocent in a way that convinces no one. His hands slide a fraction higher, thumbs grazing your waist. “You’re still sitting here.”

You bite your lip, pointedly not moving. “Because I’m comfortable.”

He huffs a quiet laugh against your neck, breath warm. “You’re dangerous.”

Across the room, Leehan suddenly straightens, squinting dramatically toward the hallway. “Wait.”

Jiyeon follows his gaze, immediately catching on to whatever bit he’s about to commit to. “Do you feel that?”

You blink. “Feel what?”

Leehan’s eyes widen. “The vibes. The fairies.”

Taesan snorts before he can stop himself.

Jiyeon’s already on her feet, solemn as anything. “Yeah. They’re calling. From the other room.”

“Calling?” you echo, deadpan.

“Urgently,” Leehan nods. “Might be a whole situation. Could take… a while.”

You glance at Taesan, whose mouth is pressed into a thin line, clearly fighting a grin. His hand gives your hip a slow squeeze — possessive, amused.

“Mmh,” you say. “Fairies. Right.”

Jiyeon grabs Leehan’s wrist. “We should go now. Before they disappear.”

Leehan pauses, looking back at the two of you — you perched on Taesan’s lap, his arms very obviously wrapped around you. He raises a brow.

“Don’t wait up,” he says sweetly.

The door clicks shut behind them.

The silence that follows is immediate — thick, charged, unmistakable.

You don’t even get a chance to comment before Taesan’s hands are back on you, firmer now, sliding along your sides as he leans forward. “They’re not subtle,” he mutters.

“Neither are you,” you whisper, turning just enough for your noses to brush.

His eyes drop to your mouth. “I was being good.”

You smile. “You were trying.”

That’s all it takes.

He pulls you in, mouth finding yours with a heat that’s been building for far too long. It’s slow at first — controlled, deliberate — like he’s still aware there were other people here seconds ago. His hands anchor you to him, one at your waist, the other sliding up your back, holding you close like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You melt into it, fingers curling into his shirt, the kiss deepening as restraint finally gives way.

For a moment, nothing else exists — not the music, not the smoke, not the closed door down the hall.

Just the two of you, tangled together, exactly where you’ve been all night — only now, finally, allowed to act on it.

The haze of weed smoke lingered in the air, wrapping around you and Taesan like a warm, fuzzy blanket on the couch. Your lips crashed together in a sloppy, desperate kiss, tongues tangling as the high made every touch electric. His hands roamed your sides, turning you until you were straddling his lap, the world outside fading into nothing but the heat building between you.

You ground down against him instinctively, feeling the hard bulge of his cock straining through his jeans. A soft moan escaped your lips into his mouth, and he swallowed it with another deep kiss, his fingers digging into your hips. The couch creaked faintly under your movements, but the distant hum of voices from the other room reminded you to stay quiet. Taesan's eyes darkened with that mix of lust and something sharper as he broke the kiss, his breath hot against your ear.

"Shh, baby," he whispered, his palm sliding up to cover your mouth gently but firmly. "Can't let them hear how needy you are for me. Not after you were so ready to go on that date with some other guy." His words carried a hint of edge, a subtle reminder that stung just enough to make your core clench. But his free hand guided your hips, encouraging you to rock against his clothed dick, the friction sending sparks through your body.

You whimpered against his hand, the sound muffled as you slid back and forth on his lap, the denim rough against your soaked panties. The weed amplified everything—the slow burn in your veins, the way his praise twisted with that jealousy. "That's it, angel," he murmured, his voice low and intoxicating. "Show me you only want this. Grind on me like you can't get enough." His thumb brushed your cheek, tender even as his hips bucked up to meet your rhythm, making you gasp into his palm.

The pressure built fast, your body aching for more. You pulled his hand away just enough to capture his lips again, kissing him hungrily, tongues sliding wet and urgent. "Taesan... please," you moaned between kisses, your voice breathy and hazy. "I need you inside me. Now."

He groaned into your mouth, his fingers fumbling with his zipper in the dim light. "Fuck, baby, you're so desperate," he said, the words laced with that teasing bite, like he was punishing you for even thinking about anyone else. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, throbbing against your thigh as he shoved his jeans down just enough. You didn't waste a second, lifting to push your panties aside, sinking down onto him with a shared, shuddering moan.

"Oh god, yes," you breathed, your walls stretching around his length as you took him deep. The high made it all feel surreal, every inch of him filling you like it was the only thing that mattered. You started riding him slow at first, rolling your hips in a lazy circle, your hands braced on his shoulders for leverage. His mouth found yours again, kissing you messily, all teeth and tongue as you picked up the pace.

Taesan's hands gripped your ass, guiding you up and down his cock, but he didn't let you take full control for long. "Look at you, angel," he whispered against your lips, thrusting up sharply to meet your descent. "Riding me like a little slut who knows she fucked up. But you're mine now, aren't you?" The degradation was soft, wrapped in his husky tone, making your pussy clench tighter around him. You moaned loudly, forgetting the risk, your head falling back as pleasure coiled hot and tight.

"Taesan... fuck, harder," you gasped, capturing his mouth once more, the kiss turning frantic. Your tongues battled as he slammed up into you, his cock hitting that spot deep inside that made stars burst behind your eyelids. The couch springs protested with each thrust, but the weed dulled the edges, leaving only the slick slide of him inside you, the wet sounds of your bodies connecting.

"Mmm, baby, you're so wet for me," he praised, his voice rough with need, nipping at your lower lip. "Moan for me—let me hear how much you want this cock." You did, a string of breathy cries spilling out as you bounced on him, your breasts pressing against his chest. "Yes, oh fuck, Taesan... don't stop," you whimpered, grinding down to take him fully, your clit rubbing against his base with every roll.

He fucked up into you relentlessly now, his hips snapping with a rhythm that had you trembling, a moaning mess in his arms. One hand tangled in your hair, pulling you back for another devouring kiss, swallowing your cries as his cock pulsed inside your clenching heat. "That's my angel," he growled softly, the words a mix of possession and sweetness. "Taking me so good, like you were made for it. Forget that date—you're here, creaming on my dick instead."

The high peaked with your orgasm, crashing over you in waves as you rode him through it, walls fluttering around his length. "I'm cumming... Taesan!" you moaned out into his mouth, kissing him sloppily, tongues messy and desperate. He followed seconds later, thrusting deep one last time, spilling hot cum inside you with a low groan that vibrated against your lips.

You collapsed against him, both panting, lips brushing in lazy, post-climax kisses. The weed haze settled back in, warm and satisfied, the world outside still oblivious as you clung to each other on the couch.

You stay pressed to him a moment longer, forehead dropping to his shoulder as reality seeps back in.

Then it hits you.

“Oh my god,” you whisper suddenly, lifting your head just enough to look at the hallway. “Leehan. Jiyeon.”

Taesan hums, still lazily tracing circles on your thigh. “What about them?”

Your eyes widen. “They were— they’re in the other room.” You sit up a fraction, panic blooming fast. “What if they heard everything?”

He snorts, the sound vibrating through you. “Angel.”

“No, I’m serious,” you groan, burying your face in your hands. “I’m actually going to pass away. I can never look either of them in the eye again.”

Taesan laughs properly now, arms tightening around you to keep you from spiralling. “Relax,” he says, amused and far too calm. Then, with a grin you can hear in his voice:

“I heard the headboard bang the wall before we even started kissing.”

You freeze.

“…You’re joking.”

“I am absolutely not,” he says, still laughing. “They committed first.”

That earns a muffled scream as you smack his chest weakly. “That makes it worse!”

He catches your wrist, kisses your knuckles, soft and grounding. “Hey. They went in there to do exactly what we literally just did. We’re adults. Mostly.”

You peek back toward the hallway again, then sigh, slumping back into him. “I hate that you’re right.”

“I know,” he murmurs, smug. His thumb resumes its slow, absent-minded strokes along your hip, touch warm and familiar now instead of electric. “Besides… if they heard anything, that’s on them for having terrible timing.”

You laugh despite yourself, the tension finally easing.

You barely make it upstairs before you’re both dissolving into nervous laughter, hands swatting at each other as you fumble toward the bathroom.

“Shower. Now,” you hiss, half-mortified, half-giddy.

“Already ahead of you,” Taesan says, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere that is definitely not the hamper.

The shower is quick and inefficient—too much laughing, not enough coordination. You rinse, scrub, rinse again, both of you moving with the shared urgency of people very aware that you are not alone in the house. By the time you’re done, your skin’s still warm, hair damp, cheeks flushed for reasons that have nothing to do with steam.

You throw on whatever’s closest. Taesan runs a hand through his wet hair once, twice, like that might undo anything.

It does not.

Downstairs, the living room feels exactly the same—music low, lights soft, smoke hanging lazily in the air like it never noticed your absence. You drop back onto the couch beside Taesan, immediately tucking into his side, fingers already finding his sleeve like muscle memory.

You’ve just taken your first drag when footsteps sound down the hallway.

You look up.

Jiyeon appears first.

Her hair is wrecked—not messy in a cute way, but tangled, clearly raked through and forgotten about. Her lips are swollen, pinker than they were before, and when crosses through the threshold into the games room she does so carefully, rolling her weight like she’s mildly sore.

Leehan follows, just as disheveled. Hoodie half-zipped wrong, hair sticking up in several directions, mouth tugged into a lazy, satisfied grin.

You freeze.

Then immediately cover your face with both hands.

“Oh my god,” you squeak, already giggling. “I can’t— I actually can’t look at you.”

Taesan, entirely unhelpful, glances between them and deadpans,

“So. How were the fairies?”

Jiyeon lets out a bark of laughter that turns into a groan. “Shut up.”

Leehan squints at the two of you, eyes narrowing—not at Taesan’s words, but at how close you’re sitting. How your leg is tucked under his. How Taesan’s hand hasn’t left your thigh since you sat down.

He pauses.

Then slowly grins.

“…Wait a second.”

Your giggling gets higher-pitched. Taesan squeezes your leg once, like he’s bracing himself.

Leehan points between you. “No. No, don’t tell me—”

“I knew you would take my advice of stoned sex” Jiyeon suddenly perks up

You fully bury your face into Taesan’s shoulder, mortified and laughing so hard it’s hard to breathe.

“JIYEON,” you gasp. “OH MY GOD.”

Taesan is laughing too now, shoulders shaking. “That’s… incredibly specific.”

She crosses her arms, smug. “I’m never wrong.”

Leehan just shakes his head, still grinning. “Wow. So that’s why you two disappeared at the same time.”

Taesan glances down at you, voice low and amused. “We thought we were subtle.”

You peek up, eyes wide. “We were not subtle.”

The room dissolves into overlapping laughter, accusations, teasing—comfortably chaotic, warm, and familiar. The music hums on, the smoke curls higher, and you stay right where you are, tucked into Taesan’s side, no point pretending anymore.

Jiyeon exhales slowly, smoke curling from her lips as she leans back against the arm of the couch. Her eyes flick between you and Taesan, sharp despite the haze.

“So,” she says casually, dragging the word out. “How long has this been going on for?”

Your stomach flips. You glance at Taesan, who’s already smiling — relaxed, unapologetic — one arm slung comfortably behind you.

“Since Saturday,” you admit, rubbing at your sleeve like it’s suddenly fascinating.

Leehan’s head snaps up so fast you’re surprised he doesn’t give himself whiplash.

“Saturday?” he repeats. “IS THAT WHY YOU NEVER CAME TO BED THAT DAY?”

Taesan laughs, full and unbothered, tipping his head back against the couch. “Yeah,” he says easily. “That would be why.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Jiyeon screams.

“I FUCKING KNEW IT,” she shouts, pointing wildly between the two of you. “I’VE KNOWN YOU FOR LONG ENOUGH TO KNOW WHEN YOU ARE FRESHLY BANGED.”

You fold forward with a mortified groan, covering your face as Leehan howls with laughter, nearly dropping the joint.

“Freshly banged is CRAZY,” he wheezes. “That’s criminally observant.”

Jiyeon smirks, taking another drag. “Please. You both walked downstairs glowing like you’d been baptised.”

Taesan squeezes your thigh reassuringly, amused. “Well technically i-“ is all he gets out before you slap a hand over his mouth screaming horrified “OKAY MOVING ON” elbowing him hard in the side as he laughs.

she replies. “So what — are we telling the others or—?”

They all look at each other for a second before Leehan grins.

“No. No way. Let’s not tell Sungho or Jaehyun until Halloween.”

Jiyeon perks up immediately. “Oh my god, yes.

Let’s see how long it takes them to clock it.”

Taesan nods. “They’re either going to notice immediately or not at all.”

“Jaehyun will notice,” you say quietly. “Sungho will be oblivious until someone literally spells it out.”

Leehan gasps. “Ooooh, predictions!”

He immediately launches into a string of dumb, high questions — what if they think you’re just really into personal space, what if they assume Taesan’s just touchy now, what if Sungho thinks it’s a bit — each one worse than the last.

More joints get passed. The laughter settles into something softer, the night stretching comfortably around you. Eventually, fatigue creeps in, limbs heavy, eyes drooping.

Jiyeon stands first, tugging Leehan up by the sleeve. “Bed. Before he asks another question.”

“Goodnight, lovers,” Leehan sings, wiggling his eyebrows.

You groan again. Taesan just laughs, fingers lacing with yours as you stand.

The house grows quiet as everyone disappears into the rooms — Taesan with you, Leehan with Jiyeon — the night finally easing into something slow, warm, and settled.

Waking Saturday morning comes with that familiar, annoying disappointment — the empty space in your head where Taesan had been all week. Monday to Wednesday he’d practically lived here. Lazy, hazy days blurred together: Halloween movies looping in the background, bowls of candy you swore were for trick-or-treaters steadily disappearing, and you sprawled on the floor trying to decide between “hot scary” or “sexy and lethal” for your costume.

“Why can’t I be both,” you’d sighed dramatically, holding up two outfits.

Taesan, half-asleep on the couch, barely cracked an eye. “You are both. Problem solved.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“It’s extremely helpful. You’re just choosing to ignore my genius.”

You’d thrown a sock at him. He caught it without looking and smirked. Insufferable.

Mornings had been slow and soft — waking tangled in his arms, his face buried into your neck like he was determined to fuse with you. Every time you tried to move, he’d tighten his grip.

“Taesan,” you’d mumble, voice muffled by his hoodie sleeve. “I need to pee.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

“Let me go.”

“No.”

You never made it out of bed quickly anyway. Especially not after the Scream marathon attempt. You’d lasted maybe ten minutes into the last movie before completely losing interest in the screen.

“Is this the one where—” Taesan started.

You leaned over him, cutting him off with a kiss. “Shhh. I don’t care.”

He laughed against your mouth. “We paid zero attention to this.”

“False,” you said. “I paid attention to you.”

“Wow. Multitasking queen.”

Eventually you’d end up downstairs, barefoot and half-awake, stretching as you headed to the kitchen. Breakfast was always simple — toast, eggs, whatever you could be bothered making while Taesan leaned against the counter stealing bites and commenting like a food critic.

“This egg is overcooked.”

“You made it.”

“Still.”

Now it’s 4:45 Saturday afternoon, Too quiet. Too empty. You rinse your plate and load the dishwasher, grabbing a glass of water when your phone dings. Instinctively, your heart lifts — Taesan?

It drops just as quickly.

Bossman lee 🐯- hey just wanted to let you know your new client from last week booked out 3 tables and requested you, jaehyun and jiyeon to work the tables. Is that okay for you?

You frown, rereading it. New client… three tables? A weird thought flickers — Taesan? — but you shake it off. You’ll ask him later.

Fave worker y/nie 🥳 - yeah of course we can do that! So are we all just on that client today?

You set the phone down to finish putting dishes away when another ding comes almost immediately.

Bossman lee 🐯 - yep just Han Taesans tables tonight, we have more than enough workers tonight to even triple staff each booth so dw too much and have fun! It’s halloween :) see ya soon y/n.

You freeze.

“…Han Taesan?” you echo to the empty kitchen.

A slow smile spreads across your face as you shoot back a quick reply.

okay sounds fun see ya soon bossman

You head upstairs with that loose, floaty laziness that always sneaks in before work — the calm before the chaos. Shoes abandoned halfway down the hall, hoodie kicked off without ceremony, you flop face-first onto your bed and grab your phone.

You don’t even hesitate.

Y/nie 💋 - 3 tables tonight huh? Good thing they assigned Kayla with you tonight?

You grin to yourself, already predicting the reaction. Poking the bear is half the fun.

Your phone lights up instantly.

Taesan 💋 - no.

Another buzz.

Taesan 💋 - i specifically told your boss i only want your team. why would i want a random girl and then run the risk of you getting creepy customers.

Another.

Taesan 💋- absolutely not you are on my table i don’t care what he says.

Another, rapid-fire.

Taesan 💋 - matter of fact let me text him again.

You sit bolt upright and lunge for the screen.

Y/nie 💋- I’M KIDDING 😭 yes you have me i was just testing your patience 😙😙

The reply takes a beat longer than the others.

Taesan 💋 - bad timing then angel

You frown, confusion settling in for barely half a second—

knock knock.

The sound is muffled but unmistakable, echoing through the house.

Your heart jumps.

Your phone buzzes again.

Taesan 💋- knock knock

You skip down the stairs, heart thudding as you silently pray he doesn’t bolt after you like he did on Tuesday — when you’d joked about heading out for a blind date and nearly got tackled in the hallway.

You swing the front door open and there he is.

Taesan stands on the porch with a box tucked under one arm, the other hand braced casually against the doorframe. Whatever smug expression he’s wearing says gotcha long before he opens his mouth.

You flash your most innocent, meek smile… then immediately backpedal.

“Nope,” you murmur, turning on your heel and retreating into the games room. You hear the door shut, his footsteps following at an unhurried pace — like a predator who already knows you’re not getting far.

The box hits the floor with a dull thump just before his arms wrap around your middle. He pulls you flush against him, mouth warm at your neck, lips brushing skin in a way that makes you melt despite yourself.

“Play nice, hmm?” he murmurs, voice low, amused — fully aware of your antics.

“Mmm… maybe,” you reply, turning in his arms to face him.

But the question still sits there, buzzing in your chest.

“Three tables,” you say, tilting your head. “Really?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Well, if I booked out the rest of your section, then you could all just drink and hang out with us. Actually enjoy Halloween.”

He watches your face carefully — the way your confusion melts into something softer, something warmer.

“…You booked out our sections,” you say slowly, “and requested us specifically just so we wouldn’t have to work much?”

He nods. Simple. Like it was the most obvious decision in the world.

Your chest tightens. You lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek before turning toward the box, curiosity bubbling.

“What’s this?” you ask, lifting the lid.

Inside: black wings. Harnesses. Leather straps.

Metal accents.

“For now?” you say, grinning, that idiotic smile already forming. “Didn’t realise you wanted me tied up,” you add, wiggling your eyebrows.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes — but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth.

“I want many things when it comes to you, angel,” he says smoothly, “but we can totally use them after tonight. It’s part of my costume.”

He looks way too proud of himself.

“Oh?” you say, squinting at the combination. “And you areee…?”

“Well,” he says, smirking, “you’re a fallen angel. So I’m a fallen archangel.”

It clicks.

Your eyes light up. “Oh my god — you’re matching me??”

You start skipping in place, excitement spilling over.

“Yeah,” he says, arms crossing as he watches you fondly. “Couldn’t have you in leather straps with no purpose and a skirt without showing people you’re no longer available.”

He steps closer, fingers brushing your waist.

“Hence the matching.”

You bubble at his possessiveness, melting into his touch before continuing, “How many people are on your tables tonight?” you ask curiously.

“Usual suspects—me, Leehan, Woonhak, Riwoo, and a couple of Woonhak’s friends,” he says, jotting the names down. You smile, glancing at the clock as it’s about to chime five.

Raking a hand through your hair, you breathe deeply before saying, “Okay, time to start getting ready.” You look up at him. “I might need help with the skirt.”

He tilts his head, amused. “I’m sure I can manage.”

And with that, he follows you upstairs, box in hand.

The bedroom is already messy—costume boxes open, lashes on the dresser, brushes scattered like casualties. Taesan sits on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on his knees, trying very hard not to move.

“If you blink,” you warn, leaning in with a steady hand and liner poised, “I’m starting over.”

He groans dramatically. “That feels like a threat.”

“It is,” you say sweetly, sweeping white pigment across his lids. “An archangel deserves precision.”he mutters. “This feels unfair.”

You snort. “Feels unfair to me. I’m trying to work and you decided to be—” you gesture vaguely at his face “—that.”

He opens one eye. “That?”

“Disgustingly handsome,” you deadpan. “Close it.”

He laughs but obeys, shoulders shaking. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Immensely,” you admit, adding shimmer along his cheekbones. “If the club doesn’t combust tonight, it’s a missed opportunity.”

By the time you’re done, you lean back to admire your work. Red and gold catching the light, sharp lines softened just enough. He looks ethereal. Ridiculous. Dangerous.

You whistle. “Yeah… no. This is criminal.”

He stands, checking himself in the mirror. “Oh wow,” he says slowly. “I’d let me into heaven.”

“I’d let you ruin my life,” you reply without thinking.

He turns, eyebrow raised.

Later, you’re standing in front of him, hands on your hips as he crouches slightly to deal with the stubborn clasp. The skirt is winning. Barely.

“Why is this thing engineered like a puzzle box?” he mutters.

“Fashion hates women,” you say solemnly.

He gives it another careful tug. “If this snaps, I’m pretending it was intentional.”

“You break it, you buy me a new one.”

He laughs. “Deal—oh—wait—got it!”

You both freeze.

“…Did you actually?” you ask.

“I think so,” he says, sounding proud and shocked at the same time. You twist, check, then break into laughter. “Oh my god. You did.” He grins, triumphant. “Archangel. Problem solver.” You do your makeup next, Taesan hovering, offering deeply unhelpful commentary. “If I die tonight, tell them it was worth it.”

At 8:50 on the dot, he checks the time and exhales. “Okay. I should head down.” He grabs his jacket, gives you one last look that lingers. “Don’t take too long.” “You’ll survive,” you say, tugging on your boots once he’s gone. A minute later, you add the thigh garter as an afterthought, adjust it, then head downstairs.

Taesan turns when he hears you, stops dead.

“…We could just,” he says slowly, eyes flicking over you, “stay in tonight.”

You laugh, stepping closer. “Absolutely not.”

He sighs, already defeated. “Yeah. Worth asking.”

Taesan drives with the radio low, one hand relaxed on the wheel as the city slides past the windows. The two of you make easy small talk—nothing heavy, just filling the space with familiarity.

You let out a soft laugh. “It’s Halloween. At Serenade. I’m bracing for absolute mayhem.”

“Fantastic,” he replies dryly, though the corner of his mouth quirks up. “Guess we’re not sleeping anytime soon.”

It doesn’t take long before the club comes into view, lights already glowing against the dark. He pulls over and parks, turning to you before you both get out.

“I’m gonna head back to mine and Leehan’s place, drop the car, then we’ll Uber back,” he says. “Easier than fighting for parking later.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” you nod.

You both step out, popping the trunk. You grab your bag and carefully lift your wings, tucking them under your arm. Before he can say anything else, you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“See you inside,” you murmur.

He blinks, then smiles. “Don’t cause too much chaos without me.”

“No promises.”

You make your way toward the club as he pulls away. Even though doors won’t open for another hour, a line has already formed, stretching down the street. Halloween always does this. And you know this isn’t even a quarter of the people who’ll be cycling in and out of Serenade tonight.

You spot Sungho with surprising ease. He’s gone for a tactical, all-black military vibe—impossible to miss. Noticing you, he turns and leans in to pull you into a quick hug.

“Hey,” he says, pulling back. “You’re here early.”

“Yeah,” you reply, eyes already flicking toward the forming line. “I wanted to see all the decorations before they inevitably get wrecked by an overflow of drunk people.”

He snorts, then gives you a once-over, eyes landing on the wings in your hands. “Are you a bird?” he asks, pointing.

You scoff. “I knew you wouldn’t get it. No—I’m a fallen angel.” He pauses, then nods slowly. “Ohhhhh. Yeah, okay. I see it now.” “Obviously,” you say, rolling your eyes with a smile.“I’ll be back out in a bit,” you add, already stepping toward the entrance. Sungho nods. “Alright. See you inside.” You turn and head in, wings tucked close.

You’ve always loved how empty the club feels before doors open, but holiday events make it something else entirely. Halloween is your favourite. Decorations hang from the high ceilings—paper bats, torn gauze, strands of fake cobwebs stretching between beams. Fog machines sit idle near the entrance, waiting to flood the floor later. A giant spider looms above the DJ stand, legs splayed wide like it’s ready to drop, and the booths are roped off with red caution tape that glows faintly under the lights.

The bar, as always, is the most overdone. Hanging dolls sway slightly as you pass, fake cobwebs strung from the light fixtures, bottles backlit in eerie reds and purples. Every member of bar staff is already in costume, laughter carrying softly through the otherwise quiet venue.

You wander slowly, taking it all in, until you spot Jiyeon—and you honestly pause, surprised she’s even awake at this hour. Normally she’s a last-minute whirlwind.

She’s dressed as a sexy policewoman: cropped top, short skirt, hat tilted just right. Handcuffs glint at her hip, thigh-high platform boots completing the look like it was made for her.

She spots you immediately and whistles loud enough for it to echo through the empty club.

“Holy fuck,” she says, eyes dragging over you with open admiration. “You look good.”

You laugh, glancing down at yourself before meeting her gaze. “You literally picked it out for me, babes.”She grins, clearly pleased with herself. “And yet—you somehow made it illegal.” You scoff, stepping closer. “Please. You could wear a trash bag and make it couture.” “True,” she says easily, looping an arm around your shoulders. “But tonight? We’re winning.”

Arms still over shoulders as you both head through the staff door and down the hallway toward the staff room.

You hear muffled grunts coming from the staffroom before you push through the door.

“Why the fuck won’t it—oh. Hi, girls,” an exasperated Jaehyun says, tail flicking behind him.

Jiyeon snorts immediately. “Are you a furry, Jae?”

You think the same thing but bite it back as you put your bag away. Jaehyun looks deeply offended.

“I’M A GUMIHO, NOT A FUCKING FURRY,” he snaps, still focused on the fox ear clips that absolutely refuse to cooperate. He tries one more time before giving up completely and sinking onto the bench.

“Can you guys help me, please? If I try again, I’m launching it through the closest wall,” he says, clearly pissed off.

You and Jiyeon laugh, each of you grabbing an ear and positioning them exactly where he wants. You clip them in place, adding extra hairpins to keep them secure.

“Thank you, pretties,” he says, checking himself out in the mirror.

“Someone’s gotta help you out, Jae,” Jiyeon replies, patting his shoulder. You laugh, then suddenly remember—

“Oh SHIT, yeah, I forgot to tell you guys,” you say. “Taesan booked out three tables and wants us on them. Only one will actually have people, but he wanted us to have fun and actually enjoy Halloween, so he booked out our whole section. Just relax tonight.”

Jiyeon whoops. “FINALLY I CAN GET PAID TO PARTY.”

Jaehyun, ever confused, blinks. “Oh my god… I think I’m in love with him.”

You laugh. “I’m gonna go grab our staff stuff from the office. I’ll meet you guys at the booths.”

They both agree, and you head out, strapping your wings over your shoulders as you climb the stairs.

“Hi, bossman,” you say, entering the office to find Mark covered in fake blood, vampire teeth poorly but proudly applied.

“Hi, y/nie. You all set for tonight?” he asks, nodding approvingly at your wings.

“Yeah, everyone’s here. I just came up to say hi and grab our in-ears and radios,” you say, picking up three of each. You pause, glancing back at him. “Are you gonna come down tonight?”

You figure the costume means he’s planning to interact downstairs.

“Yeah, I’ll pop in occasionally to see how it’s going,” he says, flicking his attention back to his computer screen—which you already know has the floor CCTV pulled up.

“Oki, well stop by our section and we’ll do shots with you,” you say, opening the door.

“Have fun!!” Mark shouts as you head out.

You make your way back down the stairs into the still-empty venue, beelining for your section where Jaehyun and Jiyeon are already sitting in a booth, bickering about something useless. Probably.

“Five,” Jaehyun says stubbornly.

“Five?” Jiyeon scoffs. “For you? Jae, you’d be lucky to get two on a very lucky day.”

You’re not even confused when you ask, “Are you betting on how many people are gonna ask for your number again?” as you slide over their in-ears, radios, and Halloween light-up staff lanyards.

Jaehyun slips his in-ear up through his shirt and nods. “She always doubts my game,” he says, mocking Jiyeon with exaggerated wide eyes.

She almost smacks him over the head. “I’m being realistic.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” he mutters.

You get Jiyeon to help pull your in-ear through the back of your corset top, double-checking that the radios work.

“Outside?” Jaehyun asks.

You both follow him out, collecting Sungho as usual before heading toward the smoking area

You’re all in the middle of guessing customer costumes when your phone rings. Thinking it’s Mark, you answer without looking and put it straight on speaker.

“Hey babe, where are you?”

You pale instantly, ripping the phone off speaker as you scurry away, only to hear Jaehyun screech behind you, “I’M SORRY? DID I JUST HEAR BABE?”

Mortified by the timing but not even slightly scared, you answer Taesan quietly. “We’re in the smoking area, and judging by Jaehyun’s reaction… we don’t have to act anymore.”

You hear him chuckle before he replies, “Okay. Me and Leehan will be there in a sec.”

“Oki,” you answer sweetly, and the call ends.

When you walk back over, you decide to play dumb. Jaehyun has completely lost the plot, while Sungho is fully trying to convince him he misheard.

“No, I swear the person said ‘hey, mate,’” Sungho says, reassuring no one but himself.

You and Jiyeon share a look before flicking your attention back to Jaehyun—just in time to watch him almost implode as strong arms wrap around your middle, pulling you back against a firm chest.

“Hey, angel,” Taesan murmurs, voice low and far too close. You have to fight the urge to melt into him. Instead, you turn slightly to look at him.

“Hi,” you smile, turning back to the group—only to be met with doom-ridden expressions, not just from Jaehyun but Sungho too.

“YOU—” Jaehyun splutters, nearly giving himself whiplash as his gaze snaps between the two of you. “WOOOOOWWWWW. And you’re matching.” He grins wildly, and you genuinely can’t tell if he’s about to cry or scream. “And you both look good??”

“Hello, stoner peoples,” Leehan says as he approaches.

After your encounter on Monday, when Jiyeon told you Leehan was hot, you’d refused to believe her. But now—seeing him wrapped in cream fabrics, a crown perched on his head, intricate swirls drawn up his exposed arm—you glance at Jiyeon with a very clear oh… I believe you now look, subtly giving her a thumbs up

After explaining the Taesan situation to Jaehyun and Sungho, Jiyeon decides everyone should probably take outfit photos now rather than later—before they risk looking absolutely wasted in them and missing half their costumes.

“Okay, Miss Fallen Angel, it’s your turn,” Jaehyun says, dragging you toward what he’s decided is the best photo spot before immediately slipping into photographer mode. “Yeah, like that—wait.”

He suddenly speedwalks over to Taesan and tugs him along too. “Matchy photo time,” he announces, already crouching down on the ground, phone poised and ready to snap.

“If you guys don’t give me credit for these photos when you post them, I will unfriend you,” he warns as you review the shots.

He really does have a talent for angles and lighting, you think—until the smile on your face falters slightly. “I don’t know if I’ll post.”

Jaehyun looks confused, but before he can say anything, Taesan does. “Why not? It’s Halloween,” he says, genuinely trying to understand.

“No, I mean—I’ll post my outfit,” you clarify, “but I don’t know if you’d be comfortable with me posting our matching photo too.” You don’t want to accidentally offend him; you’d rather ask than regret it later.

He scoffs. “I would love nothing more than for you to post our matching photos. Doesn’t count if no one sees it, right?”

Smiling, you agree, typing up an Instagram draft and checking with Taesan one last time before tagging him in the photos—and Jaehyun in the caption—before finally hitting post.

The club is packed; you can barely move through the floor as costumes collide and bodies sway. Fake blood smears against glitter, wings brush past horns, and every strobe flash freezes someone mid-laugh or mid-grind. Usually for Halloween you expect quite the crowd, but this easily has to be the busiest Halloween you’ve experienced at Serenade.

You’re now sat in the booth next to Taesan, laughing at Jaehyun, who is all but failing at getting phone numbers—most of the girls he’d asked had instead given him their guy friends’ numbers.

“Have a shot, Jae. It can’t be that bad,” you say, sliding a tequila shot toward him across the sticky table.

Leehan wraps a solemn arm around Jaehyun’s shoulder, face far too serious for the situation. “I can show you how?”

That earns a dramatic slump from Jaehyun. “Yes, yes, I would love to see Triton get phone numbers,” he says, sarcasm dripping from every word.

Leehan straightens immediately, offended. “First of all, I’m Poseidon same throne but Very different energy.”

Taesan snorts, nearly spilling his drink. “Yeah, mysterious and emotionally unavailable—perfect for Halloween.”

Jaehyun knocks back the shot in one go, slamming the glass down. “If I get one more number that belongs to someone named ‘Minho (boyfriend)’ I’m retiring.”

Right on cue, a girl in a black lace witch hat leans over the booth. “Hey, um—” she pauses, glancing between you all, “—is he single?” She nods at Leehan.

Leehan blinks, slow and confused. “Me?”

Jaehyun shoots upright. “DON’T ANSWER THAT.”

Taesan loses it, laughing as the bass drops harder and the lights flicker red like a heartbeat. Someone howls near the bar, fog spilling across the floor as a remix of Thriller bleeds into the next track.

You lean back into the booth, shaking your head. “It’s actually cursed tonight.”

Leehan finally smiles, soft and unreadable. “Maybe Halloween just has favourites.”

Jaehyun groans, burying his face in his hands while the crowd surges again around the booth, costumes brushing past as the night only gets louder, darker, and messier.

Jiyeon soon reappears with a guy wearing a Scream mask hooked around her arm. “I’ve returned,” she gleams, already halfway into the booth as she pats the seat beside her for her newfound arm candy to join.

You and Taesan share a look—one of those quick, wordless exchanges—before both of you glance at Leehan.

He’s looking everywhere but at Jiyeon.

The lights catch the sharp line of his jaw as he tips back another shot, throat working, eyes fixed on anything that isn’t her laughing too close to someone else. The empty glasses in front of him are starting to stack in a way that feels intentional.

You bite back a smile, leaning into the booth, watching the tension like it’s part of the entertainment. Free show, front-row seats.

Jaehyun, meanwhile, is completely oblivious.

“I swear to god,” he says, scrolling through his phone, “I have never been rejected this consistently in my life. I’m starting to think it’s the costume.”

Taesan reaches out just as Leehan’s fingers curl around shot number six. “Dude—slow down,” he cuts in. “If you’re that upset, just go find someone for yourself.”

Leehan lets out a short laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not upset.”

Jiyeon glances over then, eyes flicking between Leehan and the growing pile of empty glasses, something unreadable crossing her face before she looks back to the masked guy and laughs a little louder than necessary.

You catch Leehan’s jaw tighten.

Jaehyun looks up finally, clueless. “Wait—upset about what?”

No one answers him.

The bass thumps harder, fog crawling over the floor like smoke from a graveyard, and Leehan finally looks at Jiyeon—just for a second—before knocking back the shot anyway.

You lean back, thoroughly entertained. Halloween really does bring out the monsters.

You’re collecting more bottles and shots for the group with Jiyeon and Jaehyun when Jiyeon sighs—quietly, but enough to catch your attention. There’s that bothered look on her face again.

“What’s wrong, Ji?” you ask, concern lacing your voice, though part of you can’t help wondering if her mood has something to do with the brown-haired sea god currently seated in VIP 1.

She lets out another heavy sigh before leaning in, careful to keep Jaehyun out of earshot. “I honestly don’t know,” she admits. “I don’t know if he wants a proper relationship with me, or if it was just a one-off stoned hookup.”

You get it—you literally lived it last week. “He being… scream-mask guy?” you offer.

She smacks your arm immediately. “Oh god, no. He’s just a distraction,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’m talking about Leehan.”

You smile, your suspicions confirmed. “Can’t hurt to ask, right? Get him to say exactly what you are to him.”

She frowns, then quickly schools her expression. “I think I’m just worried it won’t be what I expect.”

You look at her with sympathy before adding, “Believe it or not, the exact same thing was running through my head with Taesan—but he asked first.”

She makes an exaggerated ohhh face, then squares her shoulders and reaches for the tray of shots. “Okay. Just ask,” she mutters, repeating it like a mantra as the three of you head back to the booth, weaving through the surge of bodies and doing everything possible to avoid spilling a single drop.

You drop back into the booth after pouring everyone another round, your in-ear buzzing with security checks and callouts from other sections. Taesan’s arm is draped across the back of you, his hand settling possessively on your hip, fingers idly playing with the top of your skirt.

“She’s confused,” you murmur to him, jerking your head toward Jiyeon, who’s handing shots out to Woonhak’s friends with that perfectly primed bottle-girl smile.

He follows your gaze. “So is he.”

You laugh softly. “How bad?” you ask, flicking your eyes toward Leehan, who clearly didn’t take Taesan’s earlier advice and is now scowling at the men on the dance floor staring a little too long at Jiyeon.

“Tremendously,” Taesan replies.

You breathe out a laugh before standing. “You bring him out. I’ll take her. Meet in the smoking area.”

He nods, salutes you, and says, “Good luck, soldier.”

You return the salute, then sway over to Jiyeon, gesturing toward the exit. She catches on immediately and follows you outside.

The second Jiyeon spots Taesan exiting with Leehan trailing behind him like a pissed-off cat, she whips around to you, whisper-screaming, “You traitor.”

You grab her wrist briefly, hissing back, “Talk to him,” before abandoning her entirely and heading toward Taesan—who looks to be dealing with the exact same reaction from Leehan.

The symmetry would’ve been funny if it wasn’t about to be messy.

You and Taesan linger nearby—close enough to hear, far enough not to hover—as their conversation unfolds.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Leehan snaps.

Taesan sighs beside you. “Here we go,” he mutters under his breath.

Jiyeon fires back without missing a beat. “He isn’t my boyfriend. And why does it concern you?”

Your palm connects audibly with your forehead. “God, why are they both as stubborn as each other,” you murmur.

The bickering continues, sharp and circular, until Jiyeon finally reaches her limit. “If you want whatever this is to continue,” she says, voice firm, “speak now—or I’m leaving and going back to someone who will actually talk to me.”

A beat passes.

She turns on her heel, clearly intending to walk back inside, when Leehan speaks. “Wait.”

She stops.

“It’s not that I don’t want whatever we are to happen,” he says, quieter now. “I just don’t know if you’d like me when we’re both sober.”

She turns back to face him. “What?” Hurt creeps into her voice. “You think I wouldn’t?”

He exhales, steadier than he’s sounded all night. “I remember you saying you always end up hurt. I don’t want to be the one who does that to you.”

Jiyeon smiles—soft, real—and the moment you see it, you and Taesan exchange a look before turning back toward the entrance.

You got them to the door.

What they do with it now is up to them.

Inside, it’s a struggle to move through the crowd—expected, but never easy. By the time you and Taesan reach the table, you find Jaehyun sitting with Riwoo, animatedly explaining the thought behind his costume.

A glance at your phone—1:00 a.m.

You excuse yourself without ceremony and head to the staffroom to touch up your makeup. As you finish, Mark walks in, shots already in hand.

“Ah, here you are. Come on—call the team to the bar. Let’s take some shots.”

You double-check your reflection, then follow him out, passing the message through the radio as you walk. Soon enough, both Jaehyun and Jiyeon appear. Mark clears his throat, already halfway into a speech.

“Tonight’s been busy, successful—but most importantly, it’s been nice seeing you guys actually having fun. So as a sign that we should have even more fun—bottoms up.”

He raises his Fireball shot and downs it without hesitation. Smiling, the three of you follow suit, yelping as the cinnamon burn carves a warm path down your throat.

As you head back toward the booth, Jiyeon’s voice cuts through the noise.

“Um—who the fuck is that?”

She’s pointing.

Your eyes follow her finger to a figure dressed in white, halo glowing faintly under the lights, sitting on Taesan’s lap—kissing him.

Your vision sharpens, and you’re already moving toward the booth.

You’re seconds from losing it when Taesan shoves her off him, rage painting his features.

“Kamy, I said get the fuck off me,” he snaps, wiping his mouth with clear disgust.

You scoff, staring down at her where she’s landed on the floor. “You are fucking unbelievable.”

She spits back immediately. “You’re a slut—who the fuck do you think you are? Taking what’s mine.”

She reaches for Taesan again, and he shifts further away from her without hesitation.

“Leave. Now,” you say, exhaling slowly.

She’s livid. “Don’t tell me what to do. Do you know who my father is?”

The words slap the air, and you fight the urge to laugh at the spoiled-brat cliché. Instead, you kneel in front of her, voice low and lethal.

“I don’t give a fuck who your father is. You can get up and leave on your own, or I’ll throw you out myself.”

You glance back at Taesan, then return your attention to her.

“Looks like he isn’t yours anymore either, babe. Take the hint.”

You stand, turn, and sit squarely in Taesan’s lap.

“You can go now,” Taesan adds, his tone bored, almost amused.

Kamy shrieks, but ultimately decides against making a bigger fool of herself. She storms out of the booth.

You have a feeling this isn’t over.

Over the radio, you murmur, “Sungho—military man, you’ve got a white angel exiting. Blacklist her. I don’t care what she says—do not let her back in.”Taesan’s hand settles against your back, grounding you. You don’t say anything, just relax into him.Jiyeon, however, is fuming. “And why are you so okay with another girl kissing your man?”If looks could kill—Taesan would’ve been a casualty “Relax,” he says calmly. “She didn’t kiss me. I would never subject myself to that form of torture.” “That was Kamy,” you add. “His psycho ex. I met her last week.” Understanding dawns on Jiyeon’s face. You don’t even notice Leehan’s returned until he speaks up. “Y/N didn’t just meet her,” he says proudly. “She smacked her so hard even I flinched.”“She called me a cheap whore,” you shrug. Jiyeon laughs, shaking her head. “This really has been the most eventful month,” she says, sliding into the booth beside Leehan.

The night continues—drinks flowing, music blaring. Somewhere between 2:30 and 3:00, you finally shed your wings after struggling through the crowd, snagging them on random people’s costumes one too many times. Now you’re leaning against the booth, watching the crowd slowly thin as people filter toward the exits, shielding their eyes from the venue lights.

“I’m so glad there’s only one of these nights a year,” you breathe, shaking your head.

Jaehyun, of course, can’t help himself. “Don’t forget—New Year’s is in two months.” You almost hit him. Almost. “God, don’t remind me.”

Woonhak and his friends have already taken off. Riwoo finishes a phone call, says his goodbyes to the group, and heads for the exit, leaving only the usual suspects in the booth.

“Tomorrow, you can all come over to smoke,” you announce. “My social battery died at, like, 1:30.”Jiyeon speaks up. “That’s fine—I’m going to see someone after work.” You nod. Jaehyun follows immediately. “Sungho and I are gonna try that new 24/7 burger place anyway.” “I’m going home to sleep,” Leehan says. It sounds suspicious—especially given the way his eyes keep flicking toward Jiyeon, who’s suddenly very interested in the table. Blushing. You clock it all before speaking again. “Okay. I’ll see you all tomorrow.” You gather the last stray cups and napkins, then leave the group, heading toward the staffroom to grab your bag.

As you step outside the venue, you spot Taesan leaning against the wall, mid-conversation with Jaehyun and Sungho. He notices you almost immediately, a smile tugging at his lips. “I booked the Uber—it should be here soon.” You nod, doing your best not to look like a completely whipped lover.

The Uber smells faintly of air freshener and stale energy drinks, the city lights streaking past the windows as the car pulls away from the curb. Taesan sinks back into his seat beside you, legs stretched out, shoulders finally relaxing now that the night is over. “Well,” he says after a beat, “Leehan is absolutely not going home.” You snort, turning toward him. “Not a chance. Man said ‘I’m going to sleep’ while staring at Jiyeon like she’d just hung the moon.” Taesan laughs, low and warm. “He didn’t even try to be subtle.” “I give it ten minutes before he’s at her place,” you add. “Max.”

“Five,” Taesan counters. “He’s weak.” You bump your knee against his, smiling. The conversation drifts easily after that—small jokes, half-formed thoughts, the comfortable kind of talking that doesn’t need to go anywhere important. The adrenaline from the shift fades, replaced by that familiar end-of-night calm. The ride is short. Too short, almost. The Uber slows in front of your place, pulling to the curb as the city noise softens around you. Taesan glances over, relaxed, eyes warm in the dim light, and you realize how easy this feels—no tension, no questions.

The house is dark and quiet when you step inside, the downstairs still and untouched, as if it’s already asleep. You move through it on autopilot, fingers lacing briefly with Taesan’s as you head for the stairs. Each step up feels like shedding another layer of the night. Upstairs, your room is warm and familiar. The ensuite light clicks on softly, steam soon blooming against the glass as the shower runs. Everything is unhurried. Water, warmth, shared space. You move around each other with the kind of ease that only comes from comfort—no words needed, just presence. Afterward, clean and loose, you slip into soft clothes. Taesan pads after you into the bedroom, hair still damp, the air carrying that fresh, just-showered calm. You climb into bed together, blankets pulled up, bodies fitting naturally. The TV casts a low glow across the room as a movie starts, something easy, something you’ve probably seen before.

Taesan’s arm finds you. You settle in. Your body drawn closer to his with every passing minute. He turned his head, eyes locking onto yours with a warmth that made your heart skip. Leaning in, he pressed your lips in a tender kiss, pulling back just enough to murmur, 'You are beautiful.' Heat rushed cheeks, a deep blush coloring the skin as you gazed at him, feeling exposed yet cherished. Without a word, the distance closed again, lips meeting his in a slow, lingering kiss. It started innocently, mouths brushing softly, breaths mingling in the quiet room. But as tongues touched, the kiss deepened, a quiet hunger building between them.

Taesan's hand found your waist, fingers tracing the curve of the hip through the thin fabric of the shirt. Arching into him, hands roaming up his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the palm. The movie's dialogue faded into irrelevance as positions shifted, bodies aligning instinctively. He guided you gently onto her back, settling between the legs with a careful ease that spoke of the intimacy. Looking up at him, eyes half-lidded with desire, he smiled softly before capturing the lips once more. His kisses trailed down the neck, light and reverent, as he tugged the shirt up and over the head, exposing bare skin to the cool air. A shiver ran through, not from cold, but from the way his gaze lingered on your perked up tits, hands following to cup them gently. Thumbs brushed over the nipples, coaxing them to harden as a soft sigh escaped. Emboldened, hands reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it off to reveal the smooth planes of his torso. Fingers explored him, tracing the lines of his muscles while he worked on the shorts, sliding them down the legs along with your panties. Now fully bare beneath him, a rush of vulnerability mixed with excitement washed over. Taesan paused to shed his own pants, his cock already hard and pressing against your thigh as he returned.

He kissed deeply, one hand supporting his weight while the other dipped between your legs. Fingers found the folds, slick with arousal, and stroked slowly, circling the clit with feather-light pressure that made the hips lift toward him. A moan slipped into his mouth, the body responding eagerly, wetness gathering as he teased the entrance. 'I need you,' you whispered against his lips, voice breathy and pleading.

Taesan nodded, eyes dark with the same longing. He positioned himself at the core, the tip of his cock nudging against your entrance. With a slow, deliberate thrust, he entered, inch by inch, filling completely. Gasps came at the sensation—walls clenching around him, warm and welcoming, as he bottomed out.

He held still for a moment, letting adjustment happen, foreheads pressed together. Then, movement began, pulling back almost all the way before sliding in again, each thrust measured and deep. Legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, hands gripping his shoulders as pleasure built in waves. The rhythm was unhurried, passionate strokes that made every ridge and vein of him feel safe.

His mouth ventured from your lips to your boobs, lips closing around the nipple to suck gently, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak. back arched, a whimper escaping as the dual sensations overwhelmed. Taesan's pace quickened just slightly, hips rolling against hers, grinding his pelvis against the clit with every push. Thrusts met his, bodies slick with sweat, the bed creaking softly under them.

Tension coiled tighter in the core, breaths coming in short pants as you clung to him. Taesan lifted his head to kiss again, swallowing the moans as he drove deeper, his own release approaching. 'Come with me,' he breathed, voice rough with need.

That was all it took. Shattering happened around him, pussy pulsing as orgasm crashed through, waves of ecstasy making the body tremble. Taesan followed seconds later, burying himself to the hilt as he came, hot spurts filling. He collapsed gently on top, hearts racing in unison, bodies still joined as aftershocks rode out.

In the quiet aftermath, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your lips, a soft, unguarded smile lingering between you. You returned it easily—content, sated—as the forgotten movie continued to play on, its glow flickering gently over the room while the night settled around you both.

- FIN

AN : hi y’all!!! Can you tell i had to reformat a-lot bc of the block limit 😐 i’m sorry if parts look a bit odd IT’S THE ONLY WAY I COULD FIT THE WHOLE THING IN proofreading this has become my new found hell i am sorry if there are any typos 💔 thank you for the love on P1, reqs are open for other bnd members 🤍

Merry christmas to those who celebrate 😙❤️ - T

[gongfourzangel]

Bottle girl p2 takes place through halloween i’ll post the costume references for both taesan and y/n after i release p2

[gongfourzangel]

BOTTLE GIRL

Pairing : Taesan x FMC

Content : slight slow burn ,angst, smut (FILTHY), possessive TS,

18+ content : spitting, marking, p in v, oral (both receiving), squirting, HARD DOM TS, kissing, degrading + praise, name calling.

WC: 18k ~~ PART 2 HERE

READ WARNINGS UNDER PLOT!!!

~ ⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹ 🎀 ⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹ ~

Plot : A VIP team leader at one of the city’s busiest clubs ‘SERENADE’ is assigned a new client—routine, nothing she hasn’t handled a hundred times. But the moment she meets him, she feels her professionalism start to slip. There’s something about the way he watches her, quiet and intent, like he’s fighting the same battle she is. The kind of look that makes her wonder if she’s imagining it, or if he’s just better at hiding the pull between them.

Now she’s juggling rowdy customers, club politics, and the chaos of the night… all while trying not to crack under the weight of a tension neither of them is acknowledging out loud. Because if she’s right about what’s simmering beneath the surface, then this new client isn’t just dangerous for business—he’s dangerous for her self-control.

————————————🎀—————————————

WARNING - This is a slight slow burn in terms of how long it takes to get to the absolute FILTH but i promise it’s needed for character dynamics and context. smoking (🚬 & 🍃) , alcohol consumption, assault (SHORT), Vaping is also mentioned frequently

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

————————————🎀—————————————

9:20pm Saturday 24/10/2025

“I know, I know — I’m on my way in now!” was all you heard from Jiyeon before she hung up on you. Still slightly annoyed at your friend’s lack of time management, you checked makeup before stepping out of your car to rearrange your short black dress and making the short walk to the club.

You greeted security as you passed the already-forming line outside the venue. “Hey, Sungho,” you said with a warm smile to the head of security—one of your closest co-workers aside from your best friend, Jiyeon and those under your lead.

“Hey, Y/N,” he replied, clearly happy to see you. “Where’s the other one?”

Sungho raised a brow, noticing Jiyeon’s absence.

“Oh, you know Jiyeon. She probably overslept and forgot we had multiple tables tonight,” you chuckled, observing the line as you mentally prepared yourself for another chaotic night at Serenade.

“Hah, yeah, I wouldn’t put it past her. Oh—by the way!” He jerked his head toward the entrance before continuing. “Mark wants to see you.”

Confused, you asked, “Is it bad?”

He almost laughed at your worry, easing the pit forming in your stomach. “Didn’t seem like it. I think it has something to do with your VIP tables.”

Still unsure but with no choice, you thanked him before heading into the club.

It’s almost a stark contrast—going from an empty club to one filled at full capacity. After a quick glance around the vacant venue, you head behind the bar and slip through the staff-only door into the back hallway. As you climb the stairs to the top floor, you immediately regret your decision to wear heels instead of your tried-and-true knee-high boots.

You knock on the manager’s office door before entering, finding Mark behind his desk double-checking bookings and stock orders.

“Hey, you wanted to see me?” You stop in front of your boss’s desk as he looks up from his laptop and takes in your presence.

“Yeah, I just wanted to give you your VIP folder.”

Even more confused, you tilt your head. “I already have my folder. I got it on Wednesday?”

As if a lightbulb switches on in his mind, he nods. “I know. Sorry—I forgot to text you yesterday about a cancellation. You still have four tables tonight, but with one of your team members on leave, we moved one of your regulars into a different section. So you have three regulars and one new client.”

Breathing a sigh of relief that it’s only one new client, you take the folder from his outstretched hand.

“How many am I leading tonight?” you ask, already mentally rearranging sections and aware you’re down a team member.

“You have Jiyeon, Jaehyun, and Kayla volunteered one of her new team members to fill the empty spot temporarily.”

Okay—manageable. Within ratio- You can work with that.

“Is there anything I need to know about the new client?” you ask, curiously eyeing the closed folder in your hand.

“Not too much from what I checked, but if any problems come up, just alert me on comms. I’m up here all night prepping for the Halloween event next week.”

Nodding in understanding, you turn on your heel and head over to the box of earpieces, radios, and lanyards, grabbing yours as well as your team members’. As if he’d forgotten to mention something earlier, Mark quickly speaks up just as you reach the door.

“Oh—also, since this is a new client, could you please personally do this table?” he almost begged.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll put the other three on our regulars. Easy peasy!” You shoot him a quick smile before heading out the door, back down the stairs, and into the staff room you passed on the way up.

Entering the room, you find Jaehyun putting his bag away.

“Hi hi, Jae,” you say excitedly as you walk over to him.

“Hi, Y/nie. Did you just get in?” he asks, turning fully to face you.

“Yeah, I just came down from the office.” You smile and shake the still-unopened folder in your hand. His eyes immediately latch onto it, confusion coloring his expression as he looks back up at you.

“New client?”

You almost laugh at the way he says it, like you’ve just handed him terrible news. “Yeah. I haven’t gone through the preference list yet, but let’s head to our tables and do a briefing before prepping.” You quickly put your things away, hang up your jacket, and follow him out of the staff room and into the still–vacant venue.

You sit inside VIP Booth 4 and spot Jiyeon nearly eating shit as she practically throws herself through the entrance and into the staff door.

Laughing at her desperation, you check the time on your phone. 9:45 PM.

“She really doesn’t change, does she?” Jaehyun says through breathless laughter.

“She’s a creature of habit—our Jiyeon,” you muse, still laughing before composing yourself as a new face approaches.

“Hi, Y/N. My name is Celaena. I’m under Kayla’s management, but I’m very happy to be helping out your team for the meantime,” she says with a full eye smile.

You warmly return it. “Hi, Celaena. It’s very nice to meet you, and I’m excited to welcome you into our team!” Taking in the girls long lavender hair and fit frame.

Someone clears their throat beside you, and you already know exactly what’s coming. Rolling your eyes, you look to your right—of course, Myung Jaehyun is already oozing smiles and confidence.

“Hi, Celaena, I’m Jaehyun. Nice to meet you. May I ask how long you’ve been working at Serenade for? I’m sure I’d remember seeing such a pretty face.”

Your eyes almost fall out of their sockets as you gawk at your friend’s blatant confidence. Looking back at a flushed Celaena, you watch her clear her throat before answering.

“Thank you so much, but um—tonight is actually my first bottle service shift. I was a promoter for a couple months before Kayla asked if I wanted to do bottle service.” Almost nervously, she looks down and fidgets with her hands.

“Oh, I see. Well, no worries—we can help you learn the ropes. And of course, never be afraid to ask questions. We were all once where you are now. No need to be nervous!” Jaehyun reassures her, and you nod in agreement before inviting her to sit down for the briefing.

Right on cue, Jiyeon bursts back through the staff door, hopping on one foot as she straps on her heels.

“Hi—oh my god, I’m here!! Sorry! I had to grab my dry cleaning and my uber got lost!”

You laugh at your best friend as she stumbles her way into the booth, greeting Celaena as she plops down beside her.

Going through the regular vip folders and client info briefly before switching into your team leader mode, you relay the earlier information about the new client and the three regulars.

“Jiyeon, I want you to take Minhyuk’s group in Booth 2.”

She smiles as you pass the folder across the booth to her. Already familiar with Minhyuk, she doesn’t bother checking preferences, only skimming his guest list before returning her attention to the group.

“Jaehyun, I want you to take Fuma’s group today in Booth 4, and I’ll put Celaena with Lia in 3. I’m gonna need both you and Jiyeon to help out Celaena throughout the night.”

Both of your friends nod and start going through their folders as you hand Celaena her Client folder so she can get familiar with the lists and preferences.

Jiyeon and Jaehyun head to the office to collect wristbands for their clients’ guest lists while you start explaining the folder to your new team member.

“The first two pages are client info—from their usual bottle purchases and preferred presentation times to their arrival times. The third page is their guest list. Keep this page with you when you go collect guests from the VIP line so you can verify names. If anyone requests one of our team members by name, tell Sungho in security to pass it through comms. It saves you from running in and out.”

You walk her through how to collect bottles from the bar, how the earpiece works, and how to use the radio before she studies her folder a little longer.

Jiyeon and Jaehyun return with their client wristbands before starting to set up.

“Who’s the new client?” Jiyeon asks, jutting her chin toward your folder.

You suddenly realize you haven’t even opened it yet. Flipping it open, you read the info.

“Han Taesan,” you say over your shoulder while taking in his profile.

He sounds legit so without much thought you continue reading. As expected, the file is mostly empty aside from the basic info he filled out when booking the table. You sigh, already knowing this is going to be a long night of asking questions and filling in the blanks of the otherwise bare preference list.

You flip to the guest list and count how many wristbands you’ll need. Then you take Celaena with you up to the office to collect them and get ready for open.

By 10 PM, all of the tables are set up and ready for clients. The club opens at 10:15, so with the extra time your team has, you all head outside to the smoking area with Sungho in tow. Pulling out your vape, you stare up at the stars and inhale peach-ice–flavoured stress relief.

“You know, I’ve heard about Taesan on campus,” Jaehyun says as you exhale, looking toward him curiously.

“Yeah, the girls always talk about him in class. Apparently he’s hot,” Jiyeon adds, practically smirking at you before Sungho chimes in.

“Y/N can bag him for sureeeeeee.”

He tries not to laugh, taking in your blank stare.

“Guys, come on. He’s a client. No relationships with customers is like… a given. No?” you say, with very little confidence, staring at your friends leaning against the wall.

“Fun is fun. You never know, Y/N,” Jaehyun says, nudging Jiyeon and puffing his vape.

You take in his statement quietly, zoning out as you watch the line for the club grow and wrap around the corner.

“Whose house are we doing it at tonight?” Sungho asks, looking around the group.

You almost laugh in his face—because of course it’s going to be your house. You have the supply and the space, as usual.

“Do what?” Celaena asks, surveying the group.

You glance at everyone’s reactions before answering.

“After close, we go back to my place and smoke. Then Jaehyun usually orders a lot of food for us, and we hang out till we fall asleep or everyone goes home. Wanna come??”

She hesitates, then asks, “But… aren’t you guys smoking now?”

Confusion paints her face.

Jaehyun jumps in before you can respond.

“We smoke weed at Y/N’s place! It’s a huge stress relief after dealing with nagging customers and pushy people.”

Celaena finally understands. “Ahh, I see. Thank you for the invite, but I miss my cats too much. Maybe next time!!”

You smile at her and extend the offer for any time she needs some relief. Then you check the time and start heading back inside.

“Who isn’t drinking tonight?” you ask your friends as you all walk toward the club.

“I’m not,” Jaehyun replies. “Want me to drive?”

It’s like he predicted your question, and you smile, nodding.

“Okayyyyy, Myung Uber is back in business.”

Your friends visibly pale before a chorus of:

“Oh god.”

“I’d rather Uber.”

“Nope.”

You laugh as Jaehyun snickers at their lack of faith in his driving ability.

“IT WAS ONE TIME!”

“Twice, actually, Jae… but let’s hope there isn’t a third,” you say, patting him as you walk past and head into the entrance. Everyone breaks off to their respective VIP tables.

11pm

I was making my rounds through the club, chatting with customers, when “VIP 1 has arrived” crackled through my earpiece. Excusing myself from a conversation about which other patrons they thought were hot, I swung by the host table to grab the guest list and headed for the entrance.

Cold air slapped me in the face as I breached the exit of the club, immediately scanning the street for Sungho. After hunting down the broad-shouldered blonde, I asked him where my clients were. He pointed behind me.

I turned—ready to switch into my usual professional smile—and froze for half a second.

They weren’t just standing there.

They were watching me.

And not with the bored, impatient look most VIPs carried. No—this was different. Their eyes trailed over me slowly, deliberately, as though they were taking inventory of every detail before 3 of them went back to conversing with eachother. The red haired one in front of the group didn’t return to the conversation however, Heat crept up the back of my neck despite the cold.

I straightened the guestlist sheet in my hands, trying to ignore the way my pulse jumped. Approaching them“Good evening,” I said, but my voice came out a shade lower than intended. His attention didn’t waver—if anything, it sharpened.

The red haired one took a step slightly closer, enough that I caught the faint scent of something warm and expensive, something that didn’t belong in the cold night

“Han Taesan?” you ask as you reach the group, plastering on your most harmless, I-definitely-don’t-bite expression so you don’t spook potential new clients. At the sound of your voice, all four of them turn toward you—then almost in unison, their eyes shift to the redhead who still hasn’t stopped staring you down.

Ofcourse he had to be hot one you think as you face the redhead.

“Yeah?” Taesan replies, sounding almost confused that you’re addressing him directly. His brows lift slightly, as if he hadn’t expected you to look him in the eye, let alone say his name.

Unphased, you continue. “Is this everyone? I had six on the list.”

Your gaze skims over the group again—four bodies, not six.

“Yeah, we had two cancel last minute,” Taesan says, finally processing that you aren’t just some random girl wandering up to flirt with him and his friends.

“Okay, no problem. Did you want me to leave the two slots empty in case you find people to enter later?” you ask.

He glances back at his friends; they all shake their heads. The movement is quick, silent, practiced. A collective no.

“Just us,” he says, turning his attention back to you fully this time.

And something shifts.

It’s subtle—barely there—but you feel it.

The kind of shift where a man goes from not paying attention to paying attention specifically to you.

His eyes hold yours a heartbeat too long.

Not aggressive.

Not cocky.

Just… aware.

You feel every inch of the space between you, hyper-charged and humming with the low thump of the club’s bass. You keep your expression neutral, professional, but the air has thickened just enough to make you swallow once before speaking.

“Alright then,” you say, voice steady even though his gaze tracks the movement of your lips before flicking back to your eyes. “Follow me, and I’ll get you all set up.”

When you turn, you can feel it—Taesan’s attention lingering on the line of your back, the sway of your walk. Not in an obvious, disrespectful way. No, he’s more controlled than that.

But controlled doesn’t mean harmless.

You lead them toward the entrance checks, acutely aware of the warmth of their presence behind you… and the single pair of eyes that seems just a little more focused than the rest

.“Alright. I just need to see your IDs.” You say with wavering confidence

As they start pulling their IDs out you lead them over to Sungho for the check, your hand brushing against warm forearms as you fit each wristband snugly into place. They watch you as you work—quiet, curious, and far too attentive for a group that usually comes in half-drunk and loud.

Once cleared, you guide them inside. The club heat hits immediately, thick with perfume and humidity. You direct them toward the cloakroom, your palm at the small of one back to keep the group together, pretending not to notice the way someone inhales softly at the contact.

Then you weave them through the pulsing sea of bodies. Bass thumps through the floorboards, through your shoes, through your ribs—until you finally reach the velvet-roped booth reserved just for them. They slide in, settling with the sort of lazy confidence that only comes with money and attention.

Unable to talk over the pounding music, you step into the booth, squeezing yourself between the edge of the seat and Taesan. His thigh brushes yours, warm and impossibly solid. You tap his shoulder, trying to keep it professional.

He doesn’t hear you at first. You try again.

And again.

Then he finally turns—leaning in without hesitation, closing the gap so quickly your breath catches. He’s practically breathing down your neck, his presence tall, imposing, and far too aware of the effect he’s having.

“Hm?” he murmurs.

Just one syllable—yet it slides down your spine like warm honey, dangerous and slow. You swear your pulse stutters. You force your expression back into neutral professionalism even as every nerve lights up.

“Which bottles did you want, and when?” you ask, trying to sound unaffected.

Taesan doesn’t retreat. If anything, he leans closer, his voice brushing your ear.

“Start with two bottles of Alizé Bleu… and anytime soon, preferably.”

The way he says preferably shouldn’t feel like a hand at the back of your neck—but it does.

Snap out of it.

Snap out of it.

You rise from the booth a little too quickly, putting much-needed distance between you and him. The moment the cool air of the bar hits your face, you exhale—quiet, steadying yourself—as you step up to collect their bottles.

You spot Jaehyun at the bar and ask him to help you bring the bottles and juices over to your clients. He can tell you’re a bit out of sorts, so he agrees without question.

When the two of you reach the table again, you set the bottles down and start arranging the juices, ready to pour—until a voice stops you.

“Donghyun?” Jaehyun says from your side.

Confused, you glance at him, then follow his gaze just in time to see who he’s addressing.

“Jaehyun?” says the brown-haired guy sitting next to Taesan. The moment they register each other, both of them light up in recognition. The brown-haired guy immediately gets to his feet and greets Jaehyun enthusiastically.

You stare, thoroughly thrown off.

They know each other?

Of course they do.

Your mind flicks back to what Jaehyun said earlier—about hearing Taesan’s name around campus.

Another wave of confusion hits you, and you turn to the brown-haired guy.

“Did I miss your name on the list? I don’t remember seeing a Donghyun.”

He picks up on your confusion right away.

“Oh—no, I was on there under Leehan. My friends call me Donghyun.”

Realisation clicks into place, and the knot in your brows eases.

“Ohhh, that makes more sense now.”

But now that the confusion settles, something else creeps in—a prickling heat along your spine.

You turn.

Taesan is watching you again.

Not casually.

Not distractedly.

Watching.

His eyes track your face as if he’d been waiting for you to look back. The chaos of Jaehyun and Donghyun catching up fades into background noise, the music pulsing somewhere far behind it. All you can register is that steady, unblinking attention.

The kind that feels like a hand at the small of your back.

The kind that feels… focused.

On you.

And only you.

Before you can even process the weight of Taesan’s attention, Jaehyun suddenly wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you toward him and Leehan.

“This is Y/N,” he announces proudly. “She’s my team leader—and you’re some lucky-ass people to have her as your bottle girl tonight.”

He beams at you, praise dripping from every word. You return the smile automatically, warmth rising in your cheeks—but not because of Jaehyun’s arm or the compliment.

It hits you a second later:

You completely forgot to introduce yourself earlier.

Too much energy spent on managing the group…

And far too much of your attention pinned to one particular redhead who keeps giving it back.

As soon as the thought crosses your mind, you feel Taesan’s gaze flicker over you again—brief, sharp, assessing—like he noticed exactly where your attention had gone

You turn to see him watching the crowd—shoulders relaxed, expression unreadable. For a moment, you think maybe you imagined the way he’d been staring at you earlier.

But just as you start to turn back toward Jaehyun, you catch it.

The corner of Taesan’s mouth—

a subtle lift, barely there,

but unmistakably a smirk.

Not cocky.

Not mocking.

More like he knows exactly why you forgot to introduce yourself…

and exactly who had your attention instead.

Heat pricks across your skin before you can stop it.

He doesn’t look your way again, not directly—

but the smirk stays, a quiet, private curve meant for you to notice.

You tune back into the conversation with Jaehyun and Leehan just in time to hear Jaehyun inviting him to smoke with you guys after close.

Leehan pauses, then glances at you—checking, almost politely, if it’s alright for him to tag along.

There’s no reason to object. He seems genuinely nice, and if he and Jaehyun are already friends, then an extra person shouldn’t be a problem. You give him a small nod of approval, and his face brightens instantly.

Even as you respond, a part of your awareness stays pulled toward the booth—toward the redhead who hasn’t said a word but somehow manages to occupy the entire edge of your attention anyway.

What is going on? You think to yourself.

Jaehyun wraps up his conversation and notices his own table scanning the room for him. After a quick, “See you soon,” he heads back across the floor, slipping into the crowd.

You refocus on your group, pushing the distraction of moving bodies and loud music aside. With practiced ease, you reach for the bottles and start pouring out Alizé lemonades for the four guys, lining each glass in front of them

The moment the drinks begin to fill, the table seems to settle—conversation softening, attention shifting toward you.

And without even looking up, you can feel it again.

That warm, steady awareness coming from one specific direction.

Suddenly, you become acutely aware of how low-cut and short your dress is. The realization hits like a warm flush, and you straighten instinctively, smoothing your posture as if that alone could disguise the sudden self-consciousness prickling across your skin.

“Do you guys need anything else for now?” you ask, voice steady despite the faint heat creeping up your neck.

A chorus of “No, that’s perfect, thank you,” rises from the group.

You give them a polite smile and excuse yourself.

The moment you turn, you make a beeline for the female washrooms—heels clicking, heartbeat quickening—needing a second away from the table, away from the redhead whose silent attention somehow feels like it’s tracing every inch of your exposed skin.

You run into Jiyeon in the washroom, and—unsurprisingly—she’s already buzzing about the new clients. The second she sees you, she drags you toward the mirror like she’s been waiting to pounce.

“You cannot tell me you wouldn’t climb that tree of a man,” she says, dead serious as she checks her makeup.

You freeze, because the image she just planted in your head is… well.

Dangerous.

You press your lips together, debating whether you should even let your mind go there. The last thing you need is to indulge the exact thought you’ve been trying to shake off—especially when the “tree” in question keeps looking at you like he already knows what you’re thinking.

You clamp your mouth shut, refusing to let Jiyeon’s question bloom fully into a fantasy, but the damage is already done. The image rises anyway—uninvited, impossible to ignore.

Taesan.

Tall enough to block out half the room when he stands.

Broad shoulders straining the fabric of his black shirt, jacket sleeves rolled just high enough to reveal veins running along his forearms.

Hair a shock of red under the club lights, messy in a way that looks intentional, expensive, touchable.

And those eyes—sharp, hooded, constantly tracking the room like he’s bored by most of it…

except when they land on you.

You inhale slowly, fighting the warmth creeping down your spine.

Because when he looks at you, it’s not casual.

It’s not curious.

It’s not even flirtatious.

It’s focused—like he’s studying the shape of you, trying to decide what he wants to do with the knowledge.

Like he’s already imagined the answer.

Like he knows you have too.

You grip the edge of the sink, grounding yourself as Jiyeon continues fussing with her lip gloss, blissfully unaware of the storm she’s stirred up in your head.

You tell yourself to breathe.

To get it together.

To not think about the way Taesan’s smirk curves like he’s already read every thought you aren’t supposed to be having.

But God—

he makes it so, so difficult.

You check the time on your way back to the group

12:10 p.m.

Just under three hours before close.

Three hours before you can get home, decompress, and finally shake Taesan out of your head.

You reach the table to find only Leehan and Taesan seated, talking quietly between themselves. The other two—Lee Riwoo and Kim Woonhak, if you remember correctly—are nowhere in sight. Probably dancing or at the bar.

You don’t think much of it and pour both men another round before turning your attention to the crowd. Bodies sway under the lights; a couple is making out a little too aggressively near the speakers, and you quickly avert your eyes—only to catch sight of Sungho entering the venue, surveying the room with that usual no-nonsense look.

“Hey, Y/N—are you allowed to drink with us?” Leehan calls over to you.

You turn back to the table. Both he and Taesan are looking at you now—Taesan with that same glint of curiosity mirroring Leehan’s, but deeper… heavier… like he’s wondering not if you’ll drink, but how you’ll look doing it.

“Of course I can,” you say. “I just don’t get absolutely sloshed. Learned that lesson already.”

You think back to the night Jiyeon got so drunk with clients that Sungho had to physically carry her out. Never again.

Leehan grins and pats the seat next to him.

Thankfully, it’s not the one beside Taesan, so you sit and pour their drinks—then your own. They wait politely for you to take your first sip.

You down the drink quickly, feeling a welcome warmth spread through your chest. Confidence melts back into your skin, smoothing every tense edge.

“Can we vape inside?” Leehan asks, leaning in so you can hear him over the bass.

You consider it for a moment—just a moment—before remembering the no-smoking rule.

“I’m about to head out to the smoking area anyway,” you tell him, tilting your head toward the entrance. “If you wanted to join.”

You leave the invitation open.

Not just for Leehan.

For the redhead next to him, too.

Leehan immediately agrees and stands, brushing off his jeans.

But before you move, you feel it.

A shift.

A presence.

You glance up just in time to see Taesan rising from his seat—slowly, deliberately—as though he’d been waiting for the excuse. He doesn’t say a word. He just steps out from the booth and falls in behind the two of you.

Trailing after you.

You push through the crowd and make it back outside past the entrance and step into the smoking area, the cool night air a relief against your warm skin. Leehan pulls out his vape and crouches beside you, already exhaling a sweet cloud into the air.

You glance up—

and there he is.

Taesan.

Pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket with one hand, lighter flicking open with practiced ease. The flame briefly illuminates his face—sharp jawline, the curve of his mouth catching in the light. He inhales, slow and steady, the ember glowing at the end of the cigarette.

He looks unfairly good doing it.

Dangerously good.

As if smoking was designed specifically for him.

“Are you sure you don’t mind me coming over later?” Leehan asks, checking one more time to make sure you hadn’t answered out of politeness.

“Of course I’m sure!” you say, laughing softly. “My place has way more space than the five of us need—and you’re also Jaehyun’s friend. Honestly, we didn’t think he even had friends outside of us.”

You giggle through the last part, smiling at Leehan. He returns it easily, warm and open, before turning back to his vape.

You shift slightly—and immediately regret it.

Your dress is even shorter than you remembered, riding up your thighs as you crouch.

Before you can adjust it, something warm and heavy settles across your knees.

You look down.

A leather jacket.

And when you look up to see who placed it.

Taesan.

He had placed it over you without hesitation.

No words.

No show.

Just an instinctive movement, like he’d been watching and decided he didn’t like the idea of you sitting out here cold or exposed.

You almost flinch at the unexpected gesture, the intimacy of it.

“Thank you,” you murmur, adjusting so the jacket covers your legs more fully.

You ease into the silence.

Leehan chats casually between puffs beside you.

But Taesan?

He doesn’t speak.

He doesn’t mingle.

He doesn’t even pretend to be absorbed in his cigarette.

He stands there—lean, imposing, cigarette between his fingers—

simply watching you.

Not possessive.

Not inappropriate.

Just… tuned in.

Focused in a way that makes the air between you feel warmer than the jacket on your legs.

Like he’s studying the way you talk to his friend.

The way you smile.

The way the jacket sits over your thighs-

You and Leehan were deep in a stupidly funny conversation about being stoned—specifically, the weird habits you both apparently share when you’re high. The moment he mentioned that he and Taesan smoke together often, you couldn’t help but picture the two men acting exactly like you and your friends: giggly, snack-obsessed, and absolutely useless.

“I swear, the moment the munchies hit, Doordash becomes a religion,” you laughed.

“Yummiest food available only,” Leehan agreed with a solemn nod, which made you both crack up again.

Your joint laughter was cut short by the sharp click of heels approaching.

“Hi, baby,” a blonde girl cooed as she made a straight line for Taesan.

You and Leehan exchanged a look. He rolled his eyes so hard you’re surprised they didn’t fall out. “Here we go again,” he muttered—just loud enough for her to hear.

The girl’s face twitched in irritation as she threw Leehan a side-eye, but she didn’t stop. She leaned up and placed a kiss on Taesan’s cheek—though it barely lasted a second before he shoved her back gently but firmly.

“What the hell are you doing, Kamy?” he exhaled, his voice thin with contained anger.

Kamy blinked innocently, lashes fluttering like she thought that alone could hypnotize him. “What do you mean, babe?”

Babe?

So this is a girlfriend?

So he just… stares at other women while in a relationship?

Noted.

“You know exactly what I mean,” he said, calm but burning. “We broke up six months ago because you cheated.”

Your earlier judgment evaporated instantly.

“But I miss you,” she whined, voice syrupy. “It meant nothing.”

“Oh, I’m sure it did,” he said. “Just like the four others you cheated on me with. And you funded every one of your little adventures with my wallet.”

Leehan let out a low, incredulous scoff beside you. He looked just as fed up as Taesan.

Kamy’s mask cracked; desperation slipped in. “I always made it up to you, didn’t I?” she pleaded, trying to sound seductive.

Taesan shut his eyes for one long, controlled second—and when he opened them, the softness was gone.

“Enough, Kamy Leave and stop contacting me.”

He stepped past her without another glance, moving toward you and Leehan like he needed distance immediately.

“Y/N. Donghyun. Let’s go,” Taesan said, voice clipped as he positioned himself behind you as you carry his jacket draped over your arms, Leehan fell into step at your side, and you moved as a unit toward the club.

You could hear her heels behind you—too close, too insistent—but you honestly didn’t care.

Not until she scoffed.

“Wow. Such an upgrade, Taesan,” Kamy spat. “Cheap hookers now, is it?”

You stopped so abruptly Leehan nearly bumped into you.

Before the insult even finished leaving her mouth, you’d already spun around. Your palm connected with her cheek in a sharp, perfect crack that echoed across the parking lot. The impact was so clean and satisfying it almost startled you.

“Watch your mouth,” you said, voice calm in a way that was far more threatening than shouting. “You don’t know the first thing about me. And from what I see? The only cheap hooker here is you.”

Leehan let out a low “atta girl” under his breath, but you didn’t look away from Kamy.

You turned to leave—done, finished, uninterested in dragging this out.

But Kamy wasn’t.

She shrieked and lunged for you, hand raised, aiming for the back of your head—

—and she might’ve made contact if a hand far stronger than yours hadn’t caught her wrist mid-swing.

Red haired and tall.

He yanked her back so hard her heels scraped across the ground, forcing her off balance.

“Touch her, Kamy,” he said, voice deadly quiet, “and I swear to God I will send every one of your little… deviations to your father. Then he’ll know the real reason we broke up—not the sob story you fed him.”

Kamy froze. Completely. Like the words alone had slammed her spine into ice.

Taesan released her wrist with disgust, turning away from her as if she were nothing more than noise in the background.

When his eyes met yours, something softened—just barely.

You gave him a small nod. A silent thanks, without making a big deal out of it.

Then you turned on your heel and headed back toward the club with renewed purpose. Leehan flanked your side immediately, like it was instinct. Taesan fell into place behind you again—closer this time, like he wasn’t willing to risk any more surprises.

For a moment, walking between them, their presence forming a protective barrier around you, you felt something strange ripple through you.

It felt strangely comfortable being this close to people you had just met tonight. But you had no problem keeping them as friends instead of just new clients.

After the earlier clusterfuck, the three of you returned to the table to find that Riwoo and Woonhak had also come back—with company. Four pretty girls you’d chatted with earlier were now squeezed around the table, laughing with them. Of course they’d befriend the most attractive customers, you think to yourself, chuckling.

The night rolls on with easy banter and surprisingly comfortable conversation. You start piecing together their personalities: Woonhak is loud but undeniably funny; Riwoo has this observant charm, always present even when he’s quiet; Leehan reminds you of your closest friends—unserious, warm, instantly comforting. And Taesan… well, he doesn’t talk much in the group. He just watches, listening, occasionally laughing or rolling his eyes at his friends’ stupid debates. You admire that about him more than you want to admit.

By 1:36 AM, half a bottle remains. You make your way to the empty seat beside Taesan, planning to ask if he wants to order a few more. The moment you sit, he turns toward you.

“Hey, di—”

“Hey. I’m sorry for earlier.”

You blink, slightly taken aback that he’s the one apologising. You shake your head. “No, no, it’s okay. If anything, I should be apologising for hitting her.”

He scoffs. “Honestly, I couldn’t care less about Kamy or her wellbeing. She had her chance and chose to lie to me for a long time.” His eyes hold yours, steady and sincere. “I’m genuinely sorry she said that about you, and that you got caught up in it.”

Your chest softens at the sincerity, and you smile to lighten the mood. “What’s a fun night out without a little drama, right?”

It pulls a quiet chuckle out of Taesan—warm, real, and just for you.

“Sorry, I cut you off—what were you saying?” he asks, realising he’d interrupted you earlier.

“Oh, right. Um—there’s half a bottle left. Did you want to order another one?” You jerk your chin toward the half-empty Alizé bottle sitting in its casing. His eyes follow your gesture, and after a quick scan of his slightly–tipsy friends, he decides, “I’ll just get shots if they want to drink more.”

You nod. “Perfect.” With that, you turn back toward the crowd and rise from the seat.

Jiyeon and Jaehyun head over shortly after, both looking exhausted.

“Like—is he serious?” Jiyeon huffs, staring back at her table full of drunk college upperclassmen.

“You’re lucky you just got drunk clients,” Jaehyun groans. “Fuma’s group has had girls making out with them all night.” He grimaces, refusing to look back at his own table.

You laugh at their misery. “Guess I got lucky, huh?”

You immediately regret it—the way both of them stare at you like you just said something insane.

“Hehe—sorry.” You throw your hands up in surrender.

“Anyway, I want shots. Let’s go,” Jiyeon declares, grabbing both your hands and dragging you toward the bar.

Two tequila shots with lime are passed over the counter to you and Jiyeon. You clink once and down them without hesitation.

Jaehyun watches the two of you with dramatic concern. “Oh, you two are gonna wake up with the worst post-high headaches tomorrow.”

Laughing at Jaehyun’s concern, you set the shot glass back on the counter and turn—only to slam straight into a wall.

Or… at least a breathing wall.

“Oh my god, I’m so—” You look up.

Of course. Why wouldn’t it be him?

Taesan looks down at you with that quiet amusement he gets when the universe hands him something entertaining. “It’s okay,” he says, voice low, while Leehan and Riwoo stand flanking him like his chaotic backup dancers.

“Wanna do shots with us, Y/N?” Leehan asks, already tossing an arm over Jaehyun’s shoulders and dragging him into the group like an unwilling hostage.

“Sure, sure,” you grin, then glance at the utterly bewildered Jaehyun. “What? You said you’d drive.”

He gives you the most dramatic eye-roll you’ve ever seen, and you laugh before turning back to the bar to order another round of tequila shots for the group.

After downing the shots, the group scatters in different directions, leaving just you and Taesan lingering at the bar. You feel a slight buzz humming under your skin, but you’re otherwise perfectly fine.

“Boyfriend?” Taesan asks suddenly.

You blink at him, confused. “Who? Me?”

He tilts his head toward the direction Leehan and Jaehyun disappeared.

“Jaehyun???” You almost choke on your own breath. “Oh, hell no. That kid is too much for me.” You grimace, then shake your head quickly. “Don’t get me wrong—I love the guy. But like… a sibling. Not a love interest.”

You say it with absolute clarity, and Taesan nods as if the answer is exactly what he expected.

Before you can say anything else, his hand comes to rest on the small of your back—warm, steady—guiding you gently out of the path of an incoming group of rowdy guys stumbling toward the bar.

He doesn’t say anything about it.

And you don’t, either.

The both of you head back to the table, still buzzing from your shots. Laughter blends into the bass thumping through the club, you notice the dj switch out with another and you know it’s 2AM, you lean toward the group.

“I’ll be right back—just going to check in,” you say, touching Leehan’s shoulder lightly before slipping away.

The hallway to the office feels quieter than the rest of the venue, but the buzz in your limbs reminds you you’re still riding those drinks. You push open the office door and shut it behind you.

“Hey, Y/N—are you good?” Mark asks, looking up from the monitors.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you breathe out, straightening your dress. “I just came to do a check-in.”

“Good timing.” He stretches back in his chair. “We’re at full capacity, so I told Sungho to close the line for now and start doing a sweep for anyone too drunk inside.”

You nod, shifting your weight. “Oh, okay, cool… any fights tonight?” You try to sound casual, but your eyes flick over his expression, searching—checking if word about the situation outside has somehow made it back to him.

He shakes his head. “Mm, no. Nothing so far. Why?”

You decide instantly it’s better not to open that door. It wasn’t on club property, Kamy wasn’t a customer, and you’re not trying to escalate something that already fizzled.

“Nah, nothing. That’s all.” You smile, turning toward the exit.

“Oh—hey,” he calls before you reach the door. “How’s the new client?”

You pause, letting your expression soften. “They’re good. Very kind and respectful.”

Mark gives a satisfied nod. “Good to hear.”

You take that as your cue to leave, slipping back into the noise and neon glow of the club—your heartbeat already syncing back to the music, and your mind drifting toward the table waiting downstairs.

Making your way back out through the staff door, you step into the wall of heat, music, and bodies. The crush of people on the dance floor is thicker than before, and you angle your way through, eyes locked on your table in the distance. You’re ready to push through the last cluster of dancers when a hand clamps around your arm and yanks you back so hard your breath catches.

You spin, coming face-to-face with a guy whose cologne would’ve been pleasant if it wasn’t drowned in the stench of alcohol. His eyes are glassy, unfocused, predatory.

“Hey, sexy,” he slurs, leaning in far too close. “Why don’t you come with me? I’ll show you a good time.”

A wave of disgust rolls through you. You try to yank your arm free, but his grip is iron-tight—drunkenly fueled and far stronger than yours. Panic flares, but training flicks on autopilot as your free hand reaches your radio. You thumb the switch over to broadcast all.

“Sungho—need assistance. Now,” you manage, voice steady despite your racing heart.

But the guy isn’t waiting. He pulls you flush against his chest, his hands roaming places they shouldn’t even be near. You push at him, nails digging into his wrist, but he doesn’t budge.

You wish—desperately—that you could knock him hard enough to send him back a few centuries. But every attempt is useless. His grip bruises. His breath is hot on your cheek.

And then suddenly—he’s gone.

Ripped off you with such force you stumble backward, catching yourself on a solid chest. Before you can even turn to see who steadied you, the drunk lunges again, spit flying as he snarls, “She’s mine!”

You twist around—and freeze.

Taesan stands in front of you, rage carved into every line of his face. Not the quiet, amused expression he’d worn earlier. Not the reserved politeness. This is pure, lethal fury.

“Don’t touch her,” he bites out, voice low and shaking—not with fear, but with restraint.

The guy lunges again, but this time Sungho appears like a shot, catching him mid-swing. And the moment Sungho registers the situation—that you were groped—his expression shifts into something dangerous. He hauls the drunk out with no struggle at all.

Air rushes back into your lungs.

Your knees wobble, and the arm around you tightens slightly—steady, grounding. You turn and find Leehan behind you, hands gentle where everything else tonight had been forceful.

Then your gaze lifts back to Taesan.

His chest is rising and falling fast. Jaw tight. Eyes still burning.

“Thank you,” you breathe, the words small but heavy with meaning—for both of them.

Taesan doesn’t respond immediately. He just looks at you, the fury slowly melting into something else entirely. Something protective. Something he can’t quite hide.

And Leehan gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, as if silently saying: You’re safe now.

Come on y/n what the hell is going on tonight, a toxic ex, a drunk customer AND a hot new client? No not hot, maybe? Okay yea—STOP.

You can practically feel how unhinged you look to the duo while you have a full-blown internal meltdown, but you shake it off and head back toward the table like nothing happened. Leehan motions for you to slide into the inside of the booth, and you genuinely appreciate the small act of care. You plop down with all the grace of an off-balance cat, limbs everywhere, and lean back until you’re staring up at the club’s laser-striped ceiling.

A heavy sigh rolls out of you, loud enough that Taesan’s head tilts your way.

“Are you okay?” he asks, looking equal parts concerned and like he’s bracing for you to go full psycho.

“Yeah, I’m good. Nothing like getting groped at work,” you offer with a sarcastic smile.

His expression darkens. Not the confused, soft-hearted look from earlier—this one is sharp. He glances toward the entrance where Sungho had just dragged your assaulter into the night, then shares a look with Leehan.

And that look is not friendly.

Before you can even sit up properly, they both get ready to stand.

“Are you guys okay?” you ask, eyebrows up, but Taesan’s eyes are locked on the door, a quiet burn behind them like he’s already imagining what he wants to do to the guy.

It clicks.

They’re about to go out there and do something very… counterproductive to Sungho ever letting them back into this club.

Your face goes pale and the words explode out of you:

“No—no, it’s okay, I’m okay! And besides, Sungho told me over the earpiece the cops were doing a cap check when I called for help, so even if you went out there the guy is already gone.”

They both freeze, shoot another glance at each other—this time more resigned—and ease back into their seats like two large dogs being told to sit

After multiple check-ins from your friends and customers, the rest of the night rolls out smoothly. By the time the clock strikes 3 , you’re practically bouncing on your feet, ready to go home and decompress with your friends.

“Hey, should we wait outside for you guys?” Leehan asks, looking just as excited at the prospect of hanging out.

“Yeah, sure—just wait out front. We should only be like ten minutes,” you reply.

With a nod and a collective inhale like he’s bracing himself, he gestures toward the exit before heading out.

“Are you okay, for real, y/n?” Jaehyun asks as everyone gathers their bags in the staff room.

You nod, mumbling a quiet “mhmm,” before adding, “Nothing new. I promise I’m okay, guys,” trying to reassure them as you sling your purse over your shoulder and head out with Jiyeon and Jaehyun in tow.

You find Sungho at the door, saying goodbye to his team while signing off the security list for the night.

“Are we all ready?” he asks.

Nodding, you glance around instinctively, searching for Leehan. You spot him leaning against the wall a little way down from the entrance—and as you get closer, you notice another body beside him, cigarette glowing faintly in the dark.

“Hey, guys. You all set—?” you start, but before you can question why the redhead is there, Leehan answers for you.

“Woonhak and Riwoo were absolutely shitfaced, so we got them an Uber home,” he says, jerking his head toward Taesan. “Now that leaves you to struggle with us two.”

Taesan looks completely unbothered by the amount of alcohol you know he consumed—calm, composed, and very much not upset that a certain redhead will be joining you.

You try to mask your excitement. “Sounds like more fun to me,” you say, instinctively rubbing your palms up and down your arms.

Was it always this cold at 3: 15a.m.?

“Okay, let’s sort out cars,” Sungho says. “Who drove in today?”

Only you and him answer.

“Jae said he’d drive my car,” you say, mentally recalculating the extras you’ve acquired through the night. “So that leaves two seats in my car, and then Sungho can bring one more.”

“SHOTGUN WITH SUNGHO!” Jiyeon practically screams, earning a collective wince.

“Holy fuck, thanks, Ji. I definitely didn’t want to hear tomorrow,” Jaehyun grimaces, side-eyeing her.

“What? It’s not my fault I fear for my life every time you drive,” she says defensively.

You can’t help but silently pray you actually make it home physically intact.

“Okay, meet y’all there,” Sungho says as the group splits up in the parking lot, heading toward the two cars.

“Who wants to sit in the front?” Jaehyun asks the three of you.

You immediately step back. Leehan answers with a simple, “Okay, I will—but I really don’t want to die, please, Jae.”

You breathe a sigh of relief and head toward the back seat just as Taesan slides in from the other side.

The trip is short, and somehow you arrive back at your place in one piece. The drive is filled with laughter—conversations between the boys about smoking habits and the absolute ordeal of getting Riwoo and Woonhak into an Uber. You listen along, laughing when it feels right.

Once parked, you unlock the front door, the boys trailing behind you. The second you cross the threshold, your shoulders drop, tension melting away.

“If you wanna sleep over, there are three guest rooms,” you say casually. “So feel free.”

You give Leehan and Taesan a quick tour, ending it at your bedroom before gesturing in random directions .

“Look around. I’m just gonna wash up quickly.”

Pulling an oversized black hoodie over your frame and slipping into matching shorts, you pad down the hall in your bunny house slippers toward the games room. Everyone’s already there — draped across couches, sunk into bean bags, mid-conversation and comfortable.

Your entrance barely registers with the room.

It registers with Taesan.

His eyes flick up automatically, sweeping over you without an ounce of subtlety — the hoodie, your bare legs, the softness of you in your own space. He swallows and looks away just as quickly, jaw tightening like he’s annoyed with himself.

You drop beside Jaehyun without hesitation, swinging your legs across his lap and leaning back with a satisfied huff.

“Alright,” you announce, stretching slightly, “let’s get this shit started. I deserve it.”

Jiyeon cheers, already on her feet. She heads to the cupboard and returns with purpose, setting rolling papers, filters, a grinder, and a pen in the middle of the group like it’s a ritual. You toss her the bag of weed on instinct and reach for the pen.

Just before it reaches your lips, you glance around the room.

“Oh — and no more asking if I’m okay,” you add lightly. “I promise I’m good.”

Taesan shifts.

You inhale.

The effect hits almost instantly — a warm buzz unfurling through your chest, tingling down your spine. You exhale slowly, letting yourself sink into it, lips curving as the feeling settles.

When you open your eyes, Taesan’s already watching.

Not openly — not like before — but close enough that when your gaze catches his, he doesn’t look away straight away. His expression stays neutral, but something tighter sits beneath it.

The room slips easily back into noise — Jiyeon mid-story, Leehan cutting in with commentary, Sungho already grinding weed like it’s muscle memory. Laughter overlaps, smoke curls upward, soft and lazy.

But the space between you and Taesan feels different now — charged, deliberate — like he’s acutely aware of where you are, who you’re touching, and exactly how much he’s pretending not to care.

And it’s only just begun.

A joint is rolled, paper smoothed and sealed before Sungho lights it. It moves around the circle, to Jiyeon thenJaehyun and when Jaehyun leans forward to pass it along, your legs slide a little higher on his thighs as your reach forward to claim it.

Taesan’s jaw tightens.

He’s stretched out on the opposite couch, arm slung over the backrest, posture relaxed in a way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His gaze flicks from your legs to Jaehyun’s hand, then back to your face — sharp, controlled.

You feel it anyway.

The awareness sits warm in your chest, low and electric.

After leehans drag the joint finally reaches Taesan, he takes it slowly, fingers deliberate. He inhales without rush, shoulders dropping as smoke fills his lungs. You shouldn’t be watching.

You are.

The way his lips part.

The quiet confidence in how still he stays.

The exhale — steady, controlled — smoke clinging to him like it knows where it belongs.

Your stomach flips, heat pooling in a way you pointedly ignore.

Taesan lifts his eyes mid-exhale.

Catches you looking.

The room keeps talking. Someone laughs. The lighter clicks again as another paper gets rolled. But the moment stretches anyway, taut and silent between you.

His gaze flicks pointedly to where your legs rest across Jaehyun’s.

Then back to your face.

Something dark — unmistakably jealous — flashes there before he looks away, passing the joint on like nothing happened.

Jaehyun leans closer to you, voice easy. “You good?”

You nod, eyes still lingering across the room. “Yeah.”

Across from you, Taesan shifts, posture tightening just slightly as if he’s holding himself back from something. The distance stays in place — physical, deliberate —

—but it does nothing to dull the pull.

Smoke thickens. Another joint is sparked.

And even from opposite sides of the room, with your legs draped over someone else entirely, Taesan’s attention stays fixed on you —

like the night’s daring him to say something first

Jiyeon claps her hands once, sharp and excited.

“Alright,” she announces. “Smoking games. Same rules as always — you answer, you hit. You dodge, you double it.”

Leehan lights up immediately. “Oh this is dangerous.”

Sungho groans. “Why do we do this to ourselves?”

You’re still stretched across the couch when the first round starts, head tipped back against the cushion, legs loosely draped where Jaehyun’s been sitting. Taesan hasn’t looked away since the pen hit your lips, his attention flicking every time someone laughs too close to you.

The pen gets passed. Questions stay light at first — embarrassing stories, worst highs, stupid crushes — enough to loosen everyone up.

Then Leehan tilts his head, eyes glinting.

“Okay,” he says, pointing between Jaehyun and Taesan, “I dare you two to switch seats.”

The room reacts instantly.

“What?” Jaehyun laughs. “Why?”

“Because I said so,” Leehan shrugs. “And because I’m bored.”

Jiyeon grins. “Do it.”

Jaehyun looks at you, amused. “You cool?”

You lift one shoulder. “Sure.”

Taesan’s already standing.

He doesn’t rush it — just moves with that quiet decisiveness of his, stepping forward as Jaehyun shifts out from under your legs. For half a second, there’s nowhere for you to put them.

Then Taesan sits.

Your legs settle automatically across his lap.

The change is immediate.

Taesan’s posture stiffens for a heartbeat before he adjusts, one hand bracing lightly on the couch, the other hovering like he doesn’t quite know where to put it. His thigh is warmer than Jaehyun’s was — solid, grounding.

Jaehyun drops into Taesan’s old seat, eyebrows lifting like he’s clocked everything at once.

“Oh,” he says. “That makes sense.”

Taesan finally lets his hand rest — not gripping, not loose — fingers settling carefully at the back of your calf. The touch is light, deliberate. He doesn’t look at you when he does it.

You feel it anyway.

The game continues.

Bottle spins. Lands on Jiyeon. She smirks and aims straight for you.

“Truth,” you respond and like she’s just won the lottery she says. “Who was your first kiss?”

The room stills just enough to notice.

You don’t hesitate. “Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “We were kids. It barely counts.”

Taesan’s fingers tighten.

Not much. Just enough.

“Still counts,” Leehan says immediately. “A kiss is a kiss.”

“How old?” Sungho asks, curious.

“Twelve,” you shrug. “Maybe thirteen.”

Taesan exhales slowly through his nose, gaze fixed somewhere ahead. His thumb starts moving — slow, absent — tracing once along the back of your calf like he needs something to do with his hands.

You glance toward him. “You okay?” you ask, worried he might be greening out by the way his face is fixed in an absent-minded daze.

He looks up then, eyes dark, unreadable.

“Yeah,” he says evenly. “Just listening.”

his hand shifts — firmer now, palm settling more fully against your shin, grounding you there. Possessive without being obvious.

You don’t move away.

Jiyeon claps again, delighted. “Next question!”

The room exhales, laughter creeping back in — but the air’s changed. You can feel Taesan more now, the weight of your legs on his lap, the steady pressure of his hand.

When the pen comes back around, Taesan leans in slightly, voice low, meant only for you.

“Ancient history?” he murmurs.

You tilt your head, just enough that your knee presses more fully into his side.

“Very.”

His thumb presses once, slow and intentional.

“Good,” he says quietly.

The game keeps going.

Under the smoke and laughter, it sits heavy — right where your legs rest across Taesan’s lap, daring anyone to call it out.

After another rotation Leehan’s already spiralling about food. “I’m telling you, if we don’t order soon I’m gonna start hallucinating flavours.”

“That’s not how hunger works,” Jiyeon laughs.

“It is for me.”

You shift slightly, calves sliding against Taesan’s thighs. He stills immediately, then exhales, hand tightening just enough at your shin to ground both of you. His thumb presses once, slow and controlled, like he’s reminding himself to behave.

“I could really go for something cold,” you say absentmindedly. “Or sweet. Or both.”

Taesan hums, noncommittal. “You sound undecided.”

You glance down at him. “Helpful.”

Sungho looks between you. “You gonna get something, or just talk about it?”

You sigh, finally lifting your legs. “I’m grabbing a drink before I start overthinking it.”

Taesan’s hand lingers a beat longer than necessary before letting go.

You don’t notice him follow.

The kitchen is brighter, quieter — the hum of the fridge replacing the chaos you’ve left behind. You open it, bending in, letting the cold air wash over you as you reach for a drink.

“You always escape when things get loud?”

You startle slightly, then relax when you see Taesan leaning against the counter, arms crossed, you watch his eyes flick from your a

Ass back to your face watching you like this was inevitable.

“I live here,” you say, shutting the fridge. “It’s allowed.”

He smiles faintly. “Fair.”

You take a sip, eyes on him. He’s closer than before — not crowding, just intentionally within your space.

“You vanished pretty fast,” he adds.

“You followed pretty fast.”

A beat.

His gaze drops briefly — not to your eyes — then lifts again. Deliberate.

“Didn’t want to miss anything.”

You gesture lightly with your drink. “Want some?”

He shakes his head. “I’m good.”

You tilt your head, a grin tugging at your lips. “If you wanna taste,” you say casually, like it’s nothing, “just ask.”

It’s meant as a joke.

Taesan doesn’t laugh.

Instead, he steps closer — close enough that the air shifts, close enough that you can smell smoke and something warm beneath it. He leans in slightly, voice low.

“You shouldn’t say things like that unless you’re prepared,” he murmurs.

Your pulse jumps. “Prepared for what?”

His eyes flick to your mouth. “For someone taking you seriously.”

For one charged second, it feels like he might close the distance completely.

Then he straightens, restraint snapping back into place.

“We should go back,” he says easily. “Before they start speculating.”

“They already are,” you reply, smiling.

Back in the games room, Jiyeon looks up immediately. “Wow. That was suspiciously timed.”

Leehan squints. “Why do you both look like you just had a conversation I wasn’t invited to?”

Taesan sits, calm as ever. “Kitchen’s intense.”

You settle back beside him, your legs finding their place across his lap again without discussion. His hand hovers your thigh before moving back to your shin familiar now, steady.

Another joint gets lit. Food plans resume. Laughter fills the room.

But Taesan leans in, mouth near your ear, voice just for you.

“Next time,” he says quietly, “don’t joke unless you mean it.”

His thumb presses once more and the action sends hot need straight to your core.

The tension stays exactly where it is — thick, unspoken, and very much alive.

The game rolls on, laughter coming easier now — louder, messier — as confessions start spilling out unchecked. Someone admits to a fantasy that has Sungho choking on his drink. Leehan nearly falls off the bean bag laughing. And then Jiyeon opens her mouth.

You stare at her.

“…You’re joking.”

She grins, completely unapologetic. “I’m absolutely not.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, covering your face. “I did not need to know that.”

Taesan laughs under his breath beneath you, chest vibrating just enough that you feel it through your legs. The room feels hotter suddenly — too hot — the hoodie clinging in a way it hadn’t earlier.

You shift, fanning yourself once. “Okay. I’ll be right back. I need to change — this hoodie is way too hot.”

You lift your legs off Taesan’s lap, already half-standing when Sungho blinks at you.

“Just take the hoodie off then,” he says, genuinely confused.

You stop. Blink at him.

“Sungho,” you say patiently, pointing at him, “love — when girls wear big hoodies at home, there’s usually nothing underneath.”

The room explodes.

“Oh—”

“NOPE.”

“WHY would you SAY that?”

You laugh harder, swaying slightly, hands already reaching for the hem. “Or,” you add brightly, “I guess I could just take it off.”

You barely get your fingers under the fabric.

Suddenly, the ground disappears.

“TAESAN—”

He lifts you clean off your feet like it’s nothing, tossing you over his shoulder in one smooth motion as the room erupts into screaming.

“NO—”

“Y/N KEEP IT ON.”

“PUT HER DOWN—”

You’re laughing so hard it hurts, gripping onto him as he carries you toward the stairs. “You’re so dramatic,” you giggle. “I was joking!”

“Absolutely not,” he says firmly, but he’s laughing too.

He carries you all the way upstairs, sets you gently on your bed like you don’t weigh a thing. You’re still grinning, breathless, hoodie rumpled, hair everywhere.

He shakes his head, amused. “You’re trouble.”

“Thank you,” you reply sweetly.

Taesan turns toward the door, clearly intending to leave — to be responsible, to regain control.

High confidence surges through you, bold and reckless, backed entirely by the buzz thrumming through your veins.

“And if I told you,” you say casually, leaning back on your hands, eyes never leaving him,

“that I said that just to get you up here?”

He stops.

Slowly, Taesan turns back around.

The laughter downstairs fades into background noise. His gaze drops to you — sprawled on your bed, hoodie still very much on — then lifts back to your eyes, dark and unreadable.

“You really shouldn’t say things like that,” he says quietly.

You smile. “Why?”

He steps closer — not touching, not yet — close enough that the air changes.

“Because,” he murmurs,

“you don’t actually know how hard it is for me to walk back out that door.”

“Then don’t” you say flicking your gaze to his lips as he closes the door and advances on you and before you can compose yourself he’s standing in the space between your legs. “Tell me to stop and i will”

He says it with a raw, predatory hunger in his eyes that hits you hard, sending a violent jolt straight through your core., looking up at him through hooded eyes, biting your lip before saying “well if you won’t kiss me i guess i’ll have to go ask jaehyun for round 2-“ you don’t even finish before he is on you, lips fighting for dominance, he slides his hand up your throat before dragging his thumb down your bottom lip for him to have more access, you give it to him, moaning at the assault “fuck don’t make those sweet praises unless you want me to ruin you right now with all your friends downstairs so they can hear how much of a slut you are hmm?” You open your legs more for him to fit and grind yourself on him in the process earning a groan from taesan “easy baby, don’t want me to think you’ve been having these thoughts all night hmm?” You light up after hearing the petname “don’t care” you mumble out and deepen the kiss. Lewd makeout sounds fill the space as his hands roam your body and under the hem of your hoodie, you break the kiss finding your mouth dry from smoking, frowning you look up at taesan panting “dry mouth” as if this was a sign to head back to the group, taesan leans back and braces himself on his arms “open your mouth princess” he commands and you follow eagerly staring up at him as he spits into your mouth before continuing the assault, moans slip out of your mouth at the action. If you weren’t wet before you DEFINITELY are now. His hand starts venturing towards your ass as your legs straddle him from underneath. Fondling the skin before he starts a torturously long journey towards the hem of your shorts, but Ofcourse before he can continue a voice cuts through the moment.

“FOOD’S HERE!”

Leehan’s shout carries up the stairs, slightly muffled by the closed bedroom door.

You groan in unison.

Taesan squeezes his eyes shut for a second, then lifts himself off you, pacing once like he’s trying to shake the feeling from his bones. He drags a hand through his hair, jaw tight as he forces himself back into something resembling composure.

You stay where you are, breath shallow, already missing the warmth you hadn’t realized you’d memorized.

“Get changed,” he says, voice still rough around the edges. “Quick. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

You hum softly, eyes never leaving him. “Mm. And you’re sleeping over tonight.”

He pauses at the door, glances back at you — really looks — the corner of his mouth lifting like he’s lost the argument before it even started.

“That was never not happening, baby.”

Then he’s gone, door opening and closing, footsteps retreating down the hall.

A second later, you hear his voice drift up faintly from downstairs.

“She tripped on the carpet.”

You scoff, offended. “Liar,” you mutter to yourself, laughing under your breath.

Standing there with mussed hair and clothes slightly askew, you finally shake yourself back into motion. You change quickly — trading the hoodie for a cropped black baby tee deliberately unassuming — though it does nothing to slow the heat still humming under your skin. You take a breath, smooth your hair as best you can, and head back downstairs like nothing just happened.

The games room is louder now. Bags rustle. Someone’s arguing over sauces. The smell of fried food cuts clean through the lingering smoke.

“There she is,” Jiyeon says, immediately clocking you. “You took suspiciously long.”

“I almost died of heatstroke,” you reply easily, dropping onto the edge of the couch. “Tragic.”

Leehan tosses you a fry. “You’re welcome.”

Across the room, Taesan doesn’t look at you right away. He’s leaned over the coffee table, sorting containers, jacket hanging on the back of the seat, jaw set like he’s still putting himself back together. The restraint is obvious — maybe only to you — but you feel it anyway.

Sungho eyes the two of you. “Why do you both look… different?”

“We don’t,” Taesan says immediately.

You smile into your drink.

The group settles into eating, conversation jumping everywhere at once — Jiyeon recounting a past hookup disaster, Leehan dramatically rating the food, Jaehyun laughing at sungho’s exaggerated reaction to the burger he just tried . Normal. Easy. Almost convincing.

Taesan finally glances your way.

Just once.

It’s brief. Measured. But it lands heavy — a quiet check-in, a reminder. His knee bumps yours under the table, accidental enough to pass, deliberate enough to mean something. You don’t move away.

Later, when the noise rises again and attention shifts, he leans in slightly, voice low so only you can hear.

“You good?”

You meet his eyes, calm on the surface, everything else still buzzing. “Yeah.”

A pause.

“Good,” he says, softer. His knee stays right where it is.

The night stretches on — food disappearing, joints being passed, laughter rolling warm and unguarded. But every so often, you feel his gaze, feel the tension tug back into place like it never really left.

And when you catch his eye again, he smirks — just enough to promise this isn’t over.

The night stretches the way only good ones do — unhurried, hazy at the edges, stitched together by smoke and half-finished conversations.

Joints keep getting rolled without anyone really announcing it. Someone always just… does it. Sungho by habit, fingers quick and practiced. Jiyeon slower, more deliberate, licking the paper like it’s a ritual. Leehan tries once, messes it up, declares it “artistic” anyway and that pens are his go to.

They circulate lazily — light, inhale, pass — the rhythm easy and familiar. Ashtrays fill. Windows crack open. Someone switches playlists without discussion, the music melting into background warmth.

You watch people hit their peaks in real time.

Leehan sprawls out on the floor at some point, staring at the ceiling fan like it’s telling him secrets. “I think I just unlocked a new level of thinking,” he murmurs.

Jaehyun laughs. “You said that an hour ago.”

“Yeah but now I mean it.”

Jiyeon is curled into the corner of the couch, knees tucked up, giggling at absolutely nothing before suddenly going quiet, eyes glassy and unfocused. “Guys,” she says softly. “My body feels… very soft.”

Sungho nods like this is serious information. “Yeah. You’re there.”

You’re somewhere in between — floating but grounded, buzz steady instead of overwhelming. A joint finds its way into your hand and you take a slow pull, exhaling toward the open window. Outside, the sky has started to shift — not quite light yet, but no longer fully dark.

Taesan sits across from you now, posture looser than before, elbows resting on his knees. He smokes slower than the others — measured inhales, controlled exhales — like he knows exactly where his limit is and refuses to cross it. Every so often, his eyes flick to you, checking in without words.

At one point, the joint makes its way to him and you watch — the way his lips close around it, the way his shoulders relax as he exhales. Something about it pulls at you, low and familiar, and you look away before he catches you staring.

“Sun’s coming up,” Jaehyun says eventually, glancing out the window.

Sure enough, the room starts to glow softly — pale blue bleeding into gold. Everyone groans like it’s an accusation.

“No way,” Leehan says. “We just sat down.”

“You’ve been horizontal for forty minutes,” Jiyeon replies.

Someone laughs. Someone else sighs contentedly. The energy has shifted now — slower, heavier, blissfully tired. Peak stoned, drifting toward that quiet aftermath where words thin out and presence is enough.

Taesan moves closer, settling beside you without comment. Your shoulders brush. He stays there.

Outside, the sun keeps rising.

Inside, the smoke thins, the night loosening its grip — but the warmth, the tension, the memory of it all stays curled comfortably in your chest,

“Okay,” you say, clapping your hands once, the sound gentler than intended. “Judging by the state of everyone, I’m gonna say… everyone’s staying over.”

You glance around the room, taking stock.

Leehan answers by nodding solemnly before immediately lying flat on his back again, eyes locked on the ceiling fan like it’s mid-monologue. “I support this decision,” he murmurs.

You giggle. “Yeah, figured.”

You start pointing as you talk, slipping easily into host mode. “Jae and Sungho, you guys can take your usual room downstairs.”

Sungho gives a lazy thumbs-up. Jaehyun barely reacts — already halfway gone, head tipped back against the couch, eyes heavy.

“Jiyeon,” you continue, “you can take the other room downstairs too.”

She hums sleepily. “Bless.”

“And,” you add, glancing upstairs, “Taesan and Leehan can have the room up there. It’s usually empty anyway, because Jaehyun likes company so the green demons don’t get him, which means he ends up with Sungho.”

Jaehyun lifts his head just enough to protest. “They’re not demons,” he mumbles. “They’re just… loud thoughts.”

Leehan snorts talking directly to the fan. “See? Haunted.”

Laughter ripples through the room again, softer now — slower, weighed down by exhaustion and the last of the high.

You look back at Jaehyun, who’s clearly about two minutes from completely knocking out, and gently nudge his knee. “Go lie down before you pass out sitting up.”

He squints at you. “You’re bossy.”

“You’re welcome.”

As people begin to shuffle — grabbing blankets, shoes kicked off wherever — Taesan lingers near the couch, watching the room settle. When his eyes meet yours, there’s something calm there now. Warm. Still charged, but quieter — like an ember instead of a flame.

“Need help with anything?” he asks casually.

You smile. “Just don’t let him fall asleep on the stairs,” you say, nodding toward Leehan, who hasn’t moved.

Taesan laughs under his breath. “I’ll handle it.”

The house slips into that in-between state — not fully asleep, not fully awake — as footsteps fade and doors close softly. Outside, the morning light creeps in, pale and forgiving.

And for the first time all night, everything feels settled. Comfortable. Familiar.

You gather the empty food bags and carry them into the kitchen, dropping them onto the bench before moving quietly toward the fridge. You bend, reaching in for another bottle of peach iced tea.

You’ve barely straightened when you feel it — a presence settling in behind you.

Hands find your hips, firm and familiar, fingers spreading like they already know the shape. His voice follows, low and unmistakable.

“You really shouldn’t be bending over like that,” Taesan murmurs, “with this many men in the house.”

You don’t pull away. Instead, you lean back into him just enough to tease, feeling his grip tighten in response. Slowly, deliberately, you straighten and turn to face him.

You twist the cap off the bottle and take a sip — then fumble it on purpose. The cold tea spills, trailing down your collarbone and soaking into the front of your shirt.

“Oops,” you say lightly.

Taesan’s eyes track the droplets without shame before lifting back to yours, dark and intent.

“I guess I have to shower again now,” you add innocently, batting your lashes.

He exhales through his nose, half a laugh, half something else. “That’s tragic.”

You step out of his grip, slipping past him with a smile. “It would be even more unfortunate,” you say over your shoulder, “if a tall redhead happened to join me.”

Then you’re already moving — padding up the stairs toward your room, heart pounding, fully aware of the pause behind you.

You don’t look back.

You don’t need to.

The mirror is already fogged as you strip down and step into the shower, sighing softly as the hot water welcomes your body. Steam curls around you, the sound of it drowning out everything else until it feels like you’re suspended in your own quiet world.

You tilt your head back, letting the water run through your hair, shoulders loosening as the tension finally begins to melt away.

Then you hear it.

The ensuite door opens.

You don’t turn around. Already knowing.

The air shifts — warmer somehow — another body step in behind you. Taesan’s presence fills the space immediately, solid and unmistakable, his chest warm against your back even before he touches you.

“You’re trouble,” he murmurs, close to your ear.

You smile, eyes still closed. “You followed me.”

His hands settle at your waist, slow and deliberate as they roam and he peppers kisses along your neck and shoulder“You invited me.”

Water spills over both of you now, steam thickening, the world narrowing down to the press of his body and the steady rhythm of the shower.

“We should probably behave,” he whispers against your ear.

You laugh softly. “Probably.”

You both know it’s a lie. The moment the word leaves your lips, you spin away, stepping back just enough that he’s left alone beneath the direct spray. Water cascades over him as he takes you in fully — eyes dragging slowly from your chest, your tits lifted and unapologetic, down your body until his gaze lingers long enough to make his breath hitch, tension pulling tight through him.

You don’t miss a thing either.

Water slicks down Taesan’s torso, catching in the hard lines of his abs, carving shadows where muscle meets muscle. His shoulders are broad enough to block the spray behind him, droplets clinging to his skin like they’re reluctant to leave. Wet hair hangs into his eyes, darker now, heavier — and the look he gives you from beneath it is openly hungry, unguarded in a way you haven’t seen all night.

Your eyes continue down and you swallow when you see his cock Hard, needy and wanting attention.

His jaw tightens as his gaze drags back up your body, slow, deliberate, like he’s memorising you. Like he’s trying to behave and failing in real time.

“Fuck,” he breathes, barely audible over the water.

You step closer, close enough that heat replaces the chill between you, close enough that your skin almost brushes his. His hand lifts — hesitates — then settles at your waist, thumb pressing in with quiet intent, grounding and claiming all at once.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” he murmurs.

You tilt your head, lips curling. “Maybe.”

The distance vanishes as he guides you back against the cool tile of the shower wall, his mouth claiming yours in a deep, unyielding kiss. A moan escapes you, vibrating straight into him, while your arms wind around his neck, pulling him nearer. His hands slide downward, cupping your ass with a firm squeeze before delivering a sharp smack that draws a sharp gasp from your throat. He nips at your lower lip, breaking the kiss just enough to whisper, “Jump up, princess.”

Without hesitation, you brace against his shoulders and leap, wrapping your legs around his waist to straddle him. He catches you effortlessly, strong arms supporting your weight as your mouths crash together again in fervent exploration. The tip of his cock brushes your clit with each subtle shift, sending sparks of need through you. Emboldened, you rock your hips, grinding shamelessly against him, eliciting a deep groan from the redhead.

“Not yet, baby,” he says, his tone laced with restraint.

You whine in protest, the sound raw and pleading. “But I want to taste you,” you murmur, your voice trembling. “Please, Daddy.”

The pet name draws another groan from him, deeper this time, as desire flickers in his eyes. He lowers you gently to your feet, the water cascading over you both. “How can I say no when you ask so nicely?”

His words hang in the humid air, a surrender wrapped in command. You sink to your knees on the slick shower floor, water streaming down your body as you gaze up at Taesan with wide, innocent eyes that belie the hunger churning inside you. His cock stands rigid before you, thick and veined, the head glistening under the spray. You lean in, parting your lips to drag your tongue along the underside, savoring the salty taste mixed with the clean rinse of water.

A low moan rumbles from his chest as you swirl your tongue around the tip, then take him into your mouth, sucking gently at first “fuck me “ he groans raw and filled with lust. Your hands grip his thighs, fingers digging into the firm muscle as you bob your head, taking more of him with each pass. He threads his fingers through your wet hair, not pulling yet, just holding, guiding your rhythm. “That's it, princess,” he praises, voice husky. “Suck Daddy's cock like the good little slut you are.”

The degrading words send a thrill through you, making you moan around his length, the vibration drawing a hiss from him. You look up again, eyes locked on his, all wide-eyed innocence as you hollow your cheeks and push forward, letting him slide deeper until he hits the back of your throat. Gagging slightly, you pull back, saliva trailing from your lips to his shaft, but you dive in again, eager to please. Your moans fill the space between slurps, needy and unrestrained, echoing off the tiles.

Taesan's grip tightens, hips bucking forward as he starts to thrust, fucking your mouth with controlled force. “Fuck, look at you,” he growls, praise laced with filth. “Such a perfect cocksucking whore, taking it so deep for me.” You whimper, the sound muffled by his cock, tears pricking your eyes from the stretch, but you keep staring up at him, innocent gaze unwavering even as he drives harder, the head breaching your throat. Your throat convulses around him, milking his length, and you moan louder, the vibration making his thrusts stutter.

He pulls back just enough to let you breathe, strings of spit connecting your swollen lips to his throbbing cock. “You're doing so well, baby,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheek in a tender contrast to his words. “My pretty baby, choking on Daddy's dick like you were made for it.” Emboldened, you suck him back in, hollowing your cheeks as he resumes, fucking your throat with deeper strokes now, his balls slapping against your chin with each plunge. Moans spill from you uncontrollably—high-pitched and desperate—mixing with the wet sounds of your mouth working him over.

Your free hand slips between your legs, but he notices, shaking his head with a smirk. “Not yet, princess. Earn it.” You whine around him, the denial heightening your ache, but you obey, focusing on the way he swells in your mouth, his breaths coming ragged. He thrusts faster, groaning your name, until suddenly he yanks you off with a pop, your lips red and slick. “Up” he commands, hauling you to your feet.

As he pulls you upright, your hand darts to your clit without thinking, fingers circling the swollen nub frantically under the warm cascade. The relief is immediate, a gasp tearing from your throat as pleasure sparks through you. Taesan watches, eyes dark with lust, his cock twitching against your thigh. “Greedy baby,”he mutters, but there's approval in his tone. He shuts off the water, the sudden silence amplifying your soft moans as you rub yourself harder, legs trembling.

then scoops you up effortlessly, carrying you out of the shower and into the bedroom. The cool air hits your damp skin, raising goosebumps, but his body heat chases them away. He tosses you onto the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight, and you sprawl there, fingers still teasing your clit, chasing that building edge. Taesan looms over you, his tall frame casting a shadow as he climbs on, ready to claim more

Taesan’s eyes rake over you, dark and predatory, as you lie sprawled on the bed, fingers still circling your clit with desperate urgency. The room smells of steam and sex, the air thick with anticipation. He grabs your wrist, yanking your hand away just as your hips buck toward release. “Did I say you could touch that pretty pussy?” he growls, voice low and commanding, pinning your arms above your head with one large hand. His red hair falls damp across his forehead, framing the sharp hunger in his gaze.

You squirm beneath him, a bratty whine escaping your lips. “But, I need—“ He cuts you off with a firm slap to your inner thigh, the sting making you gasp and arch up, your soaked folds exposed and aching. “You'll get what I give you, princess. And right now you are gonna sit here and be a good girl while i worship you.” He releases your wrists but shoots you a warning look—don't move—as he shifts down the bed, hooking your legs over his broad shoulders.

His hot breath fans over your core first, teasing, before his tongue flicks out to trace your slit from bottom to top, lapping up the slick arousal that's been building. You moan loudly, the sound raw and unrestrained, your hands fisting the sheets as he spreads your thighs wider. “Shh,” he murmurs against your skin, the vibration sending sparks through you. “Quiet we don’t need the house to know what we are doing, do we, princess?” The words are a taunt, laced with that hard edge of dominance, and you bite your lip to stifle another cry, even as your body betrays you by clenching in need.

He dives in fully then, mouth sealing over your pussy, tongue plunging deep inside you with a wet, obscene slurp. Spit mixes with your juices immediately, his saliva dripping down your folds as he eats you like a man starved. He sucks on your clit hard, teeth grazing just enough to make you jolt, then soothes it with broad, flat licks. Your moans turn into whimpers, high and needy, as he works you over—tongue thrusting in and out, fucking your hole while his lips tug at your swollen nub. Drool spills from his mouth onto your thighs, slick and messy, coating everything in a glossy sheen.

“You taste so fucking good,” he rasps between laps, pulling back briefly to spit directly onto your clit, watching it mix with your wetness before rubbing it in with his thumb. “Pretty baby dripping for Daddy's tongue.' You try to push against his face, bratty impatience flaring, but he pins your hips down with bruising force, holding you still. “ stay put, or I'll stop and make you beg.” The threat works; you submit with a frustrated groan, letting him control the pace.

He rewards you by doubling down, tongue circling your entrance before spearing inside again, deeper this time, curling to hit that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. Spit trails from his chin as he devours you, the wet smacks of his mouth against your pussy filling the room. You look down, catching his eyes—intense, unyielding—and the sight of him between your legs,wet red hair tousled, makes you moan louder, unable to hold back. “Taesan... please...” you plead, voice breaking.

He chuckles darkly, the sound humming against your core. 'Please what? Hmm? Use your words love” His fingers join in, two thick digits sliding into you alongside his tongue, stretching you as he pumps them roughly. More spit—right onto where his fingers disappear inside you, easing the glide, making everything filthier “oh my fuck- god” You babble out as you thrash, moans turning into cries, the pressure building fast under his relentless assault.

he warns again, nipping your clit sharply. 'Careful, we wouldn’t want them to hear how I'm wrecking this tight little hole, princess. Or how you're going to gush for me like a good slut.' The degrading praise pushes you closer, your body coiling tight. He sucks your clit into his mouth, fingers curling hard against your walls, tongue flicking nonstop. Spit everywhere—dripping down his wrist, soaking the sheets beneath your ass. “I’m gonna - fuck- fuuuuck”

It hits you like a wave, the orgasm crashing through with a force that has you screaming despite his words. Your pussy clamps down on his fingers, and then you're squirting—hot, clear fluid spraying out in pulses, drenching his face and chest. He doesn't pull away, lapping it up greedily, tongue extended to catch every drop as you ride the high, body shaking, moans dissolving into sobs of pleasure. “That's it, good girl soak me” he growls, voice muffled by your release. “Such a messy, perfect whore.”

Finally, he eases off, lips shiny with your cum and his spit, crawling back up to hover over you. Your chest heaves, legs trembling around him, but the brat in you sparks again—you reach for his cock, stroking it lazily. 'More, Daddy?' you tease breathlessly. He smirks, grabbing your chin to force your gaze to his. 'Oh, princess, we're just getting started.'

Before pressing his lips to yours allowing you both to taste the lewd activities you both partook in. Moaning loudly when he moves down to your neck to leave marks “just for me baby, only me” he says fondling your tits while his mouth continues peppering hickeys along your chest, neck and collarbone. You are a mumbling mess from all the release he’s giving you, “need you” you manage to whine out as he lifts his head and come back up to kiss you,

He dragged the tip of his cock painfully slow up and down you folds before pushing in, moaning out at the stretch before he shuts you up with his mouth and slipping in to the hilt, “fuck baby” he groans deep and guttural, your eyes roll biting down on your lips before begging him to continue “just like that please” he obeys and starts drilling into you at a controlled pace, your head rolls to the side rendered speechless and a whining mess, taesan grabs your jaw and makes you look at him before he pushes your bottom lip down, signaling for you to open, he spits into your mouth makes you swallow before pushing twi fingers into your throat, you suck on his digits staring up at him wide eyed occasionally rolling your eyes and whimpering out from your pre occupied mouth “mhmm i know baby” you nod moaning louder as his thrusts become feral and his control snaps.

“Where baby” he continues the eye contact as he pounds into you relentlessly filling the room with lewd wet slapping sounds as you squirt on his unstopping cock crying out, “fill me up- please” before pulling his head down to kiss him hungrily to which he welcomes. His breathing gets more ragged as he groans more and more in your ear “take it baby” earning him a moan from you as he slams into you fully sheathed by your pussy “fuck me” he draws out looking down at you before capturing your lips again. He pulls out and you feel his cum dripping from your pleasured hole, stars fill your eyes as he inserts his fingers and pumps in and out so his cum comes gushing out of you before he comes back up to your face and without any instruction you open your mouth, sucking eagerly and cleaning both of your fluids off his fingers while he stares at you somehow even darker than before.

“Good girl”he says crawling next to you and resting against the headboard as you crawl towards him eyes still full of lust, climbing onto his lap you straddle yourself. “My turn” is all you say before grinding yourself down on his cock enough to elicit a guttural growl out of him “mmm such a hungry slut hmm” he says palms exploring your ass as you shamelessly grind along his shaft moaning at the friction. You lift up just enough to line your entrance up and without warning sink back down, his reaction is immediate - head rolled back and throat on display, cursing, you start riding him hard, feeling your own high approaching as you bounce, mindlessly babbling sweet “mmms” and “oh my god” out as you slam down on him again and again, as your own climax approaches you start rubbing your clit only to be stopped by taesan who replaces your hand with his and rapidly starts on your clit, your eyes roll as you lift off his cock just in time for your juices to come gushing out onto his thighs before pushing right back down on him. The room is filled with praises and moans as you continue to slam down on his shaft, thighs burning and taesan notices when you slow down, he just re adjusts so that his back is now on the bed instead of the headboard, he pulls your head down towards his to kiss you mercilessly as he begins pounding into you from under, hitting every spot possible, if they didn’t know what you were doing before they definitely do now. But honestly you were alot more focused on the redhead ruining you. “Let it go baby” taesan coos in your ear as he continues his rampage. You shut your eyes tight enough to see stars as your final wave rolls through you almost screaming as you collapse onto taesan who has just started reaching his high aswell “i know i know just a little more hmm?” his thrusts get more erratic as he greedily takes your mouth into his and bites down on your lip as he fills you yet again biting down another scream as he bottoms out in you, savouring the warmth radiating off him you look down at him before lifting yourself up off him and rolling over

“fuck that was… wow” you say rendered speechless “yeah i know i definitely did not think you were into that” he says rolling to face you as his fingers traced lines and swirls up your waist. “Well clearly you misjudged me” you say before getting off the bed “i’m gonna shower for real if you want to join” you say looking back over your shoulder and trying not to stumble as you disappearing through the ensuite door.

You were slightly disappointed when you didn’t immediately hear taesan follow you in but it didn’t take long for him to join you, this time no lust and all the care and attention you crave.

He cleaned you up, making sure you weren’t upset about him marking you. When you shrugged it off with a quiet, “It’s not like anyone will see them,” he shot you a sharp look.

“Like fuck they won’t,” he muttered, fingers already tilting your chin up. “Actually—let me make more. Higher on your neck.”

You laughed, trying and failing to slip from his grasp as he chased your skin with soft, lingering kisses, dotting your throat until you were breathless and pliant beneath him.

When you finally finished up in the shower and stepped back into your room, you noticed the bedsheets had been stripped and tossed into the laundry basket, fresh ones pulled tight in their place. The small, domestic gesture made you smile.

You climbed back into bed still naked, but not exposed—settling against him instead. As he followed, his arms draped easily around your frame, and you relaxed into his body, fitting there like you belonged, warmth and contentment sinking in as the morning sun glowed through

He goes quiet for a moment, breath steady at your back, thumb tracing absent circles along your arm. You think he’s drifting off until he speaks, voice low and careful.

“Can I ask you something?”

You hum in response, already tense in anticipation.

“This,” he gestures vaguely between the two of you, fingers pressing a little more firmly into your side, “what do you think this is?”

You swallow, staring at the wall ahead of you. “I don’t know,” you admit. “That’s kind of what I’ve been wondering too.”

He shifts, propping himself up slightly so he can see your face. “You think I just want… no strings?” There’s a faint edge to his tone, something wounded he isn’t quite hiding.

You hesitate, then nod. “I mean—maybe? I just didn’t want to assume you wanted more and make it weird.”

His brows knit together immediately. “Fuck,” he exhales softly, shaking his head. “That’s not—” He stops, choosing his words carefully. “That’s not how I feel about you.”

You turn fully toward him now, searching his face. “Then what do you feel?”

For a second he looks almost sad, like the question itself hurts. “I like you,” he says plainly. “More than I planned to. And it kind of sucks that you think I wouldn’t want you emotionally too.”

Your chest tightens. “I didn’t think you wouldn’t want me,” you say quickly. “I just didn’t want to be the one who wanted more.”

Silence settles between you, thick but not uncomfortable. He reaches up, brushing his thumb under your jaw, grounding you.

“So,” he says, quieter now, “what if we keep seeing each other? Properly. Not pretending this is nothing.”

Your heart stutters. “And the strings?”

“They can be there,” he answers. “Just… maybe not for everyone else to see yet.”

You smile, small but genuine. “Yeah. I can do that.”

He pulls you closer then, forehead resting against yours. “Me too,” he murmurs.

This time, when you settle back into his arms, he scoffs softly, a grin in his voice.

“I can’t believe I bagged a bottle girl.”

You twist just enough to look at him. “This bottle girl will walk out of this room if you say it again,” you warn, already half-laughing as you try to pull away.

You barely make it an inch before he grabs you, dragging you back against his chest with an indignant laugh of his own. “Hey—come back here,” he says, arms locking around you as you squirm, both of you laughing into the sheets until the moment dissolves into breathless quiet.

Eventually, you settle again, your back flush to his front, his chin resting lightly atop your head. His hold this time is unguarded, sure.

And it feels different—less uncertain, more deliberate.

Like something unnamed but agreed upon, quietly beginning in the dark.

Around 9 a.m., barely two hours after you’d both finally fallen asleep, Taesan stirs beside you. The room is quiet in that fragile morning way, light leaking in through the curtains. He props himself up on one elbow, eyes still heavy.

“Hey,” he whispers softly, brushing his thumb along your arm to wake you just enough. “I’m gonna slip back into the room with Leehan. Before anyone starts doing headcounts.”

You let out a sleepy huff, eyes still closed. “Mm… okay,” you mumble, rolling closer to the pillow. “Be sneaky.”

He smiles at that, leaning down to press a brief kiss to your temple before carefully disentangling himself and slipping out.

You wake again properly maybe forty minutes later, body sore in that slow, content way. After stretching across the bed like a cat warmed too long in the sun, every limb pleasantly heavy , you pull on soft shorts , an oversized tee—and pad downstairs,hair still caught between dry and damp.

The games room looks like a crime scene.

Jaehyun is sprawled across the couch sideways, one leg dangling off the edge, arm flung dramatically over his face. Sungho is on the floor with his back against the cabinet, staring blankly at nothing. Jiyeon is half-curled on a beanbag, scrolling on her phone with narrowed eyes.

“Why is the house so loud,” Jaehyun groans, even though no one’s talking.

Sungho squints at him. “You’re literally the one breathing aggressively.”

“I’m dying,” Jaehyun replies.

You clear your throat. “Morning.”

Three groggy heads turn toward you.

Jiyeon’s eyes sharpen immediately.

Uh oh. Damn our best-friend bond.

Sungho nods at you. “Hey. Do you think cereal counts as a real meal?”

“Yes,” Jaehyun says instantly. “If it’s eaten with intention.”

Jiyeon, however, stands up and walks straight toward you, arms crossing. “Why do you look like that?”

You blink. “Like what?”

She tilts her head, studying you far too closely for someone who allegedly got no sleep. “I know that look.”

You scoff. “You literally don’t.”

Jaehyun squints. “Why do you both look like you’re about to fight?”

“We’re not,” Jiyeon says, eyes never leaving you. “I’m just… observing.”

You lean casually against the doorframe. “Observing what?”

She opens her mouth, then pauses. Frowns. “Nothing.”

You smile sweetly. “You sure?”

She groans, running a hand down her face. “God, maybe I’m just tired. You just look—relaxed. Suspiciously relaxed.”

Sungho snorts. “Everyone looks suspicious before coffee.”

Jiyeon shakes her head. “Yeah. Yeah, no. I’m overthinking.” She squints at you one last time. “Unless I’m not.”

You shrug. “You probably are.”

That seems to do it—she turns away, muttering something about never trusting vibes before 10 a.m.

Footsteps sound on the stairs a moment later.

Leehan appears first, freshly awake and immediately dramatic. “Okay but what are we eating?”

Jaehyun groans. “You woke up like that?”

“I know right?” Leehan says proudly. “I’m starving.”

Taesan follows behind him, hair still messy. His eyes flick to you without thinking—quick, instinctive—before he catches himself.

It doesn’t go unnoticed.

Jiyeon narrows her eyes again. “…Huh.”

Leehan flops onto the couch. “I vote food. Any food. now.”

Sungho stands, stretching. “You don’t vote. You don’t cook.”

“I contribute emotionally,” Leehan argues.

Jaehyun points weakly toward the kitchen. “If someone makes eggs I will actually leave.”

“Good,” Sungho replies. “More eggs.”

Taesan ends up leaning against the counter near you, close but careful. His hand brushes yours once, accidental enough to be deniable. You don’t pull away.

Leehan gasps, breaking you from the moment, hand flying to his chest. “Excuse you, I contribute emotionally,” he repeats, louder, like it might make it more valid.

Jaehyun lets out a long, suffering noise and slumps further into the couch. “You people don’t understand. Eggs after a night like last night is a hate crime.”

Sungho snorts, opening the fridge. “You say that every time.”

“And every time I’m right,” Jaehyun says dramatically, pointing at the ceiling. “My stomach is on life support.”

Leehan pops up instantly. “Okay but—hashbrowns. Hear me out. Crispy. Golden. Saving lives.”

Sungho closes the fridge and looks at him flatly. “We don’t have hashbrowns.”

Leehan’s face falls. “Why would you say that to me.”

“We have bread,” Sungho adds.

“That’s not helping,” Jaehyun groans. “That’s just toast propaganda.”

Taesan shifts beside you, voice calm but amused. “We could order breakfast.”

Leehan whirls toward him. “Yes. Finally someone with sense. I want hashbrowns. Non-negotiable.”

Sungho raises a brow. “You’re not paying.”

Leehan points between you and Taesan. “One of them looks like they slept well. That’s suspicious money energy.”

Jaehyun squints at you. “Actually—yeah. Why do you look… refreshed?”

You shrug casually. “Hydration.”

Jiyeon, from the beanbag, lets out a sharp laugh. “That’s bullshit.”

Jaehyun sits up slightly. “Wait—what does that mean.”

“Nothing,” Jiyeon says too quickly. “I’m just saying—hydration is a lie sold by Big Water.”

Leehan claps his hands. “Focus. Breakfast. If I don’t get hashbrowns in the next ten minutes I’m going to start biting people.”

Sungho points a warning finger at him. “You bite anyone and I will throw you outside.”

“Worth it,” Leehan replies without hesitation.

Taesan’s fingers brush yours again, this time lingering half a second longer. He leans in just enough to murmur, “He’s not joking.”

You bite back a smile.

Jaehyun flops back dramatically. “If Leehan bites me, tell my story. Tell them I died hungry and misunderstood.”

Jiyeon throws a cushion at his head. “You’re not dying.”

“I am spiritually,” he replies, muffled.

The room fills with overlapping voices—arguing, laughing, mock-threatening—Sungho trying to regain order, Leehan chanting “hashbrowns, hashbrowns” under his breath, Jaehyun groaning like a Victorian child.

Taesan clears his throat, cutting through the noise just enough to be dangerous. “Okay. I’ve made an executive decision.”

Everyone pauses.

Slowly, he lifts his phone. The DoorDash app is already open, cart empty and waiting like a loaded weapon.

All hell breaks loose.

“Oh my god,” Leehan gasps, scrambling to his feet. “Hashbrowns. I want hashbrowns. Extra crispy. If they’re not crispy send them back.”

Sungho reaches out to grab the phone. “You don’t even know where we’re ordering from.”

“I don’t care,” Leehan says. “Find somewhere that respects potatoes.”

Jaehyun sits bolt upright. “NO eggs. I swear to god if I see an egg I will throw myself into the pool.”

“That’s dramatic,” Jiyeon says.

“That’s a promise,” Jaehyun replies solemnly.

Sungho rubs his temples. “Why are you all shouting.”

Taesan laughs “One place get whatever you” want.

Leehan suddenly points accusingly at Taesan. “ONE order?” he repeats, scandalised. “You are literally loaded. Like eat the rich loaded.”

Taesan blinks. “That’s not—”

“We could have multiple orders,” Leehan insists. “This is a capitalist choice you’re making.”

Jiyeon snorts. “He’s right but I hate that he is.”

Sungho grabs the phone next. “No. One order. I’m not dealing with five delivery drivers.”

Jaehyun leans forward dramatically. “This is oppression.”

Taesan laughs under his breath at the chaos he just welcomed“One order. Be reasonable.”

“No,” Jiyeon and Leehan say at the same time.

Jaehyun gestures weakly at the screen. “Add orange juice. I need vitamins or I’ll perish.”

Sungho stares at him. “You had three energy drinks last night.”

“And look where that got me,” Jaehyun gestures at himself again.

Leehan jabs the screen. “Two hashbrowns. Actually—three. One for emotional support.”

Sungho swats his hand away. “You’re not getting three.”

Taesan meets your eyes over the chaos, mouth twitching. He mouths, worth it?

You bite back a laugh and nod.

Jiyeon hands the phone back. “Order before someone adds something illegal.”

Taesan gets your order as-well as his and taps place order just as Leehan yells, “WAIT—did we add sauces?”

Too late.

Groans erupt, cushions fly, Jaehyun collapses back onto the couch like a fallen hero.

Taesan pockets his phone, victorious. “Food’s coming.”

Cheers break out, Leehan throwing his arms up. “I knew today would be good.”

And as the chaos dissolves into laughter, Taesan’s hand finds yours again—steady, quiet, yours alone in the middle of the mess.

Jiyeon watches the exchange, then slowly shakes her head.

“Nope,” she mutters to herself. “I’m tired. I’m seeing things.”

You smile into your sleeve, letting the noise and warmth of the morning settle around you—whatever this is staying safely, quietly yours.

~ Fin

AN: hiiiiiiii my first fic after a loooooonnggggg time of being retired from writing, i’m sorry if there are any typos 😞😞😞 i have been so busy lately but i’m also thinking of turning this into a ongoing series :).. reqs open !!!