Sam🫰🏻 @madaboutminho - Tumblr Blog

Jul 24

Drinks or Coffee?

Pairing: idol!yang jeongin x uni student!reader

Summary: Following the events of the party, you don’t know where you and Jeongin stand with each other... but you’d like to figure it out. Together.

Warnings: N/A [but stay safe online sweetie pies xo]

Word count: 15.7k.

a/n: I'm so sorry about the delay my babies, but enjoy and lmk what you think in the comments xo

[Part One]

The silence between you stretches until it becomes almost unbearable, and you realise, with a strange sense of detachment, that this is the first silence you've ever shared that feels uncomfortable.

Over five years, there had been countless quiet moments - comfortable ones. The kind where one of you would be studying while the other would be gaming. Hours spent existing together without feeling the need to fill every second with conversation. You'd hear the occasional click of his keyboard, the scrape of your chair as you reached for another textbook, a sigh when one of you encountered something particularly frustrating.

Neither of you had ever been afraid of silence. It had always meant you were comfortable. Safe.

Now... Now it feels like standing on opposite sides of a canyon.

"So..." you say eventually, your voice hoarse from crying. "What was real?"

I.N.’s head lifts, brows furrowed. "What?"

"What was actually real?"

He stares at you. "I don't understand."

"I think you do." You take a shaky breath, trying to keep your voice steady. "Was any of it real?"

"It was all real."

"It can't have been."

"It was."

"You lied to me."

"I hid something."

"You lied. For five years." He winced but didn’t deny it this time. "So don't stand there and tell me everything else was true."

"It was."

Your laugh is short and bitter. "How would I know?"

You watch as he flounders for a response that he simply doesn’t have.

You can feel your feelings shift the longer he stands there unable to answer, and you realise that trust doesn't disappear all at once. It fractures. Tiny crack after tiny crack until suddenly the whole thing collapses under its own weight.

"I don't know what to believe anymore."

"You can believe me."

The words come too quickly, almost instinctively. The second they're out of his mouth, you see regret flash across his face. It’s not that he doesn't mean them, but rather because he realises how impossible they sound.

You shake your head, another tear slipping free. "That's the problem. I did… And look where it got me."

You hadn't meant to cry anymore. You'd thought there couldn't possibly be any tears left after the shock of seeing him, but apparently, you'd been wrong.

You wipe your face angrily with the sleeve of your jumper. "I defended you."

The words leave you quietly, almost absent-mindedly.

I.N. frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I defended you. All this time." You let out a shaky laugh, and his expression slowly changes. "You remember Byul? The one from coffee." He nods, and you continue, eyes fixed on the pavement at your feet. "She asked me what I actually knew about you. I remember thinking it was a ridiculous question." You smile weakly through the tears. "I thought... I know him better than almost anyone. I was actually proud of our friendship."

His eyes glisten as he pleads, "I am too."

"No." You shake your head. "You don't get to say that."

"I—"

"You don't." Your breathing quickens again. "I sat there telling her you were my best friend." His shoulders visibly tense. "I couldn't even explain you properly because..." You laugh sadly. "...because calling you an online friend felt too small."

You remember every word, every thought. Every certainty.

"I told her people wouldn't understand." Your voice cracks. "I said they wouldn't realise how real our friendship was." I.N. closes his eyes, perhaps trying to shield himself from the breakdown happening before his eyes, but you continue anyway. "I was trying so hard to convince someone else that what we had mattered." A sob escapes before you can swallow it back. "And the whole time... I was the only person who didn't know who you were."

"I wanted you to know me."

His voice is so quiet that you almost miss it, and you stare at him in disbelief.

"No."

"I did."

"You wanted me to know part of you."

He swallows. "I wanted you to know the important part."

"Who decided that?" He doesn't answer, so you prod further. "You?" His silence is answer enough. "You decided that the important part wasn't your name."

"I hated my name." The confession catches you off guard, and he lets out a long, tired breath before he continues. "I still do, sometimes." He glances back towards the distant glow of Ji-a’s house before he speaks again, this time quieter. "When people hear ‘I.N.’… They've already decided who I am. They've watched interviews, read articles, and they’ve already decided whether they like me before I've even opened my mouth. Like that’s the real me." His gaze returns to yours, and for a brief moment, he looks almost relieved. "But you didn't. You met me because I made a mistake on a game." He smiles softly as he says, "You called me insufferable."

"I stand by that."

"You rage quit."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

"I disconnected."

"You unplugged your router."

"...There were technical difficulties."

A tiny smile threatens, but you force it away determinedly. The fact that you almost smiled somehow hurts more than anything else, because for half a second... He was just f0xybr34d again. Or... Whoever he'd always been.

"You know what the worst part is?" Your question pulls him back, and he shakes his head slowly so you tell him. "I don't know which memories belong to us anymore."

His brow furrows. "What do you mean?"

"I keep thinking about all the times you disappeared." You count them almost unconsciously. "'Work’, 'travelling', 'busy this week.'" Your chest tightens. "Were you recording? Touring?” When he nods in response, looking ashamed, you brace yourself for the final question.

"Were you standing in front of thousands of people..." Your voice becomes barely audible. "...while I was sat in my tiny flat thinking about telling you about my coursework?"

His jaw tightens. "Sometimes."

You nod slowly. "There it is."

"What?"

"The difference." He looks confused. "You knew everything about my life." Your eyes lower to the floor as you say, "I didn't even know where you spent yours."

I.N. takes a careful step forward - Not close enough to invade your space, but enough so that he no longer has to raise his voice when he says, "I never wanted there to be a difference."

"There was."

"I know."

"You had your whole life."

"And I shared the part that mattered most."

"As judged by you."

His shoulders fall. “Yeah. I guess so."

"You know… If someone asked me yesterday to describe my best friend..." You shake your head, smiling sadly. "I would've talked about your sense of humour. The way you always stayed up when I couldn't sleep. The fact you remembered every exam, every birthday, every tiny thing I'd ever mentioned." Your voice grows quieter. "I would've said you were the safest person I'd ever known. But…" You meet his eyes. "I wouldn't have been able to tell them your real name."

Neither of you moves. The night is chilling off around you, but the person in front of you is too much of a distraction to notice the goosebumps on your arms. You think he does, though, because his eyes flicker with concern when you shiver, eyes glancing quickly at your arms before they meet your eyes again when you speak.

"I don't know how to fit those two things together."

I.N. looks as though he's trying very hard not to cry. "You don't have to."

You blink. "What?"

"You don't have to figure it out tonight." He takes a slow breath. "I'm not asking you to forgive me. I don’t even know if you can. But I'll wait. For however long it takes."

A tear slips down his cheek, and he doesn't wipe it away. You tell yourself it’s the wind in his eyes. It feels less painful that way.

"If the last five years meant as much to you as they meant to me..." His voice falters. "...then they're worth fighting for."

You don't answer, because a part of you wants to believe him. But another part wonders whether believing him again is exactly what broke your heart in the first place.

The adrenaline is beginning to fade into something heavier the longer you stand there, now that the initial shock has nowhere left to hide, leaving only exhaustion behind. You seem to have reached a stalemate, neither of you wanting to talk anymore because there doesn't seem to be anything left to say. At least, not tonight. Not when every answer only seems to create another question when you're still trying to reconcile the man standing in front of you with the voice you've known for five years.

You don't even realise tears are still slipping down your face until a familiar voice cuts through the silence.

"There you are."

You flinch. You turn simultaneously, and Byul is standing halfway down the pavement, her coat hastily thrown over her shoulders. Beside her is Eun-woo, who looks significantly less cheerful than he had inside the party. Relief flashes across Byul's face the second she sees you before her eyes move between you and Noah, and the relief quickly disappears.

"What happened?"

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Byul's expression softens immediately with a murmured, "Oh."

She doesn't ask questions, doesn't demand explanations or make you relive the last twenty minutes. She simply walks over and wraps her arms around you. The gesture breaks whatever fragile composure you'd managed to rebuild, and you bury your face against her shoulder and let out a shaky breath.

"Hey," she murmurs. One hand settles against the back of your head, cradling you closer to her shoulder. "It's okay."

The words shouldn't help because nothing about tonight is okay, yet you find yourself leaning into the embrace anyway.

Across from you, I.N. looks utterly miserable as his eyes briefly meet Byul's. For a moment, neither of them says anything as they share a look.

Byul glances at Eun-woo. "Can you get a taxi for us?"

Eun-woo immediately nods. "Yeah."

His gaze flicks towards I.N. Something unreadable passes across his face. You can’t determine whether it’s protectiveness or suspicion. It could be both. Either way, he doesn't look particularly pleased. He gives you one final concerned look before heading back towards Ji-a's house in search of his jacket and phone. Byul’s car will just have to be collected tomorrow when you’re all sober again.

The silence returns once Eun-woo has gone, but it’s different this time. Heavier in a way.

Byul keeps one arm around your shoulders, a physical, unintentional reminder that you’re not standing here alone. That you still have some normalcy even when you feel like your world’s been flipped upside down in a single night.

I.N. notices it too, and his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. You probably would've missed it if you hadn’t already been looking at him.

Byul follows his gaze back to you and realises that you’re looking back at him, gaze unwavering for the first time all night. A tiny crease appears between her brows, and I.N. immediately looks away.

Strange.

You don't have the energy to think about it.

"Are you okay to go home?" Byul asks gently.

You nod, shake your head. Then nod again.

A tiny, sad smile appears on her face. "Okay,” she murmurs, squeezing your shoulder. "We'll go home."

The man before you finally speaks again. Your name leaves his mouth quietly – carefully - as though he's afraid even saying it might push you further away. You look up, and your heart drops immediately. He looks exhausted by the last half an hour. His hair is a mess from repeatedly running his hands through it, and his eyes are red from unshed tears. His expression is somehow even worse than it had been ten minutes ago.

"I never wanted to hurt you."

The words are simple and honest.

Yet somehow they hurt more than any excuse could have.

You believe him. You believe that he never intended for any of this to happen. You believe he cared - that he still cares.

But none of that changes what happened.

"I know."

His face falls slightly, but not because of your answer, but the way you say it. Like knowing isn't enough, like it doesn't fix anything.

The sound of a car pulling up breaks the moment apart, and Eun-woo leans across from the passenger's seat – much to the dismay of the driver - and asks, "Ready?"

You nod, and Byul guides you gently towards the car. I.N. doesn't follow even though you secretly wish he would. He just remains exactly where he is, though - beneath the streetlamp, watching.

When you glance back one final time before climbing inside, you find him already looking at you. The expression on his face almost makes you stay before you remember the feeling of standing in that hallway. The feeling of realising you didn't know the first thing about the person you trusted most.

You look away first.

The drive home is quiet. Byul doesn't push, and Eun-woo doesn't ask questions even though you suspect they're both dying to know what happened. Instead, Byul simply holds your hand on the middle seat between you both and lets the quiet of the radio fill the silence between you all.

By the time you reach your flat, your head is pounding, your eyes ache, and your chest feels hollow.

"Do you want us to stay?" Byul asks.

You hesitate before shaking your head. "I think I just want to sleep."

Both Byul and Eun-woo look unconvinced, but they nod anyway.

Byul pulls you into another hug across the car and whispers, "Call me if you need anything."

"I will."

Eun-woo gives you a small smile from the front and says, "Get some rest."

You smile weakly. "I'll try."

The second your front door closes behind you, the silence crashes down around you like a suffocating weight. There’s no music or voices. No party. Just you alone in your tiny flat, full of heavy thoughts.

You drop your keys onto the kitchen counter as you kick off your shoes before finally pulling your phone from your pocket. You don't know why you choose to look at it. It could be habit, or it could be hope.

It’s probably self-destruction.

Either way, the screen lights up immediately, and your stomach drops to your feet when you see the notification from Discord. There’s one unread message from the same, familiar username. For several seconds, you simply stare at it. When you finally open the chat, you see that the message is only a few minutes old.

f0xybr34d: What do I need to do?

Two more appear beneath it.

f0xybr34d: Honestly.

Tell me what I need to do for you to forgive me. I'll do it.

You stare at the words until they blur. The cursor hovers over the reply box when you type something, only to delete it straightaway. You feel like you’re stuck in a loop of typing and deleting replies until, eventually, you settle on the only truthful answer you have.

G4m3rg1rl: I don't know.

The typing indicator appears instantly, but you continue before he can answer.

G4m3rg1rl: I can't do this tonight.

The dots appear and disappear more times than you can count as he decides what to say – if he should say anything at all. You imagine him staring at the screen exactly the way you are, waiting and hoping for the right words. Terrified of saying the wrong thing.

Your chest tightens when you realise what you have to do. What you have to say.

Slowly, you type one final message.

G4m3rg1rl: I need space.

This time, the typing indicator doesn't appear immediately, and when it finally does, it lingers for a long time. Long enough that you wonder if he's rewriting the message over and over like earlier. Eventually, when the reply arrives, it’s short.

f0xybr34d: Okay.

Take all the time you need.

You stare at it until your throat burns from unshed tears because even now – even after everything – the response sounds exactly like him.

You lock the screen before you can change your mind, then you crawl into bed fully clothed and stare at the ceiling until dawn begins creeping through the curtains. For the first time in five years, there is no call waiting for you. There’s no message or familiar voice. Just silence that somehow feels louder than anything else.

The first morning after the reveal is the worst. You wake up with swollen eyes, a pounding headache, and a brief, blissful second where you forget what happened. But then your phone catches your eye from where it's sitting on your bedside table, and you remember.

The party. The reveal. I.N.

Or do you still call him f0xybr34d?

Or by his full name, Jeongin?

The knot in your chest returns immediately, and you roll over to bury your face back into your pillow.

All day, your Discord notifications remain stubbornly silent. You know it shouldn’t bother you – you were the one who asked for space – but it does. For once, I.N. listened immediately, and the knowledge should make you feel relieved.

Instead, it just makes the flat feel emptier.

The few days after that pass painfully slowly.

Byul checks on you constantly, whether through messages or by physically appearing at your flat, armed with coffee and snacks. When you are together, neither of you talk about the party much. At least, not initially. You suspect she's waiting for you to bring it up first, but you never do, because every time you think about it, your emotions become tangled together so completely that you can't separate one from another – anger, hurt, betrayal.

But underneath all of that... You miss him.

And you hate yourself for it.

One week later, you're sitting across from Byul in a café near campus when she finally decides to stop being patient.

"You look miserable."

You glance up from your coffee. "Thank you, Byul."

"I'm serious."

"I gathered."

She stirs her drink without taking her eyes off you. "You miss him."

You immediately look away. "No."

"That wasn't convincing."

"I don't miss him."

"Okay."

"I don't."

"Sure."

You glare at her when she raises an eyebrow. When she doesn’t speak again and just carries on staring at you, you decide to wait her out. You won’t be the first to talk. She can’t make you-

"...A little."

"A little?"

You groan. "Fine." The admission feels like pulling teeth. "I miss talking to him."

"There it is."

"It doesn't mean I'm not angry."

"I know."

"It doesn't mean I forgive him."

"I know."

"It doesn't mean—"

"You're allowed to be angry and miss someone at the same time." The simple certainty in her voice catches you off guard, but Byul just takes a sip of coffee before continuing, "Actually, I'd be more worried if you didn't."

You frown. "What does that mean?"

"It means you've spoken to him nearly every day for five years." She sets her cup down. "You don't just switch that off, Y/N."

The second week is much harder. The shock has begun to fade, and what's left behind is habit.

You finish a lecture and instinctively reach for your phone, or you see something funny online, and you almost send it to him before remembering. You hear a song he would've liked, and you make a mental note to tell him before reminding yourself that you aren't talking.

You think that the worst moments are the little ones like that. They tiny things that nobody else notices.

On Thursday evening, your phone buzzes.

Your stomach immediately drops, but the notification isn't from Discord this time. It's a text message from an unknown number. For one ridiculous second, you think it might be I.N. Then you realise that that would be ridiculous because you didn’t even give him your number.

The message is from your mum, instead.

Mum: Have you spoken to Jeongin?

Your chest tightens immediately, and you stare at the screen for a moment, thinking of what to say.

You: No.

Mum: He messaged earlier.

You sit up straighter, and your stomach twists. You really needed to separate these two, you thought to yourself.

Me: Why?

Several seconds pass.

Mum: To make sure you were okay.

Your throat burns unexpectedly.

You: Mum. Don’t.

Mum: Don't what?

You don't answer because you don't actually know what you’re asking for.

Don't tell me that?

Don't remind me he cares?

Don't make this harder than it already is?

Eventually, you put the phone down entirely, leaving your mother unanswered.

Three weeks after the party, you're having the worst day imaginable.

It’s the sort of day where everything goes wrong - you oversleep so you miss your bus. You bomb a presentation you've spent weeks preparing and then receive an email informing you that you've somehow forgotten an assignment deadline.

By six o'clock, you're sitting alone on your sofa, staring at the wall, both physically and emotionally exhausted. Your phone sits beside you, silent. You know exactly what he would say if you were to reach out to him and tell him about your crappy day. You can hear it, word for word, because you've heard variations of it a hundred times before.

One bad day doesn't mean you're failing.

Drink some water.

Have you eaten?

I'm serious. Go eat something.

The memory hurts. You squeeze your eyes shut, and for the first time since the party, you realise something. The thing you miss most isn't the messages. It isn't the calls or even the friendship.

It's being known.

He knew when you were spiralling before you said anything. He knew when your silences meant you were tired versus when they meant you were upset. He knew how to make you laugh, to calm you down, to annoy you, to comfort you.

And suddenly his absence feels unbearable.

You grab your phone, open Discord, but then freeze. Your thumb hovers over his name, your heartbeat pounding loudly in your ears. You know you shouldn't message him just because you’d had a bad day and needed him to tell you that everything was okay. You knew it wasn’t fair to him. It was you who had asked for space. But right now...

Right now, you miss your best friend.

Slowly, before you can overthink it, you type.

G4m3rg1rl: are you awake?

The message sends through immediately, and there’s no chance to take it back. Your stomach drops, and you stare at the screen, counting to three seconds before the typing indicator appears. It’s like he'd been staring at the conversation already. As though he'd never stopped.

Your chest tightens painfully, and then the reply arrives, short and very sweet.

f0xybr34d: always for you.

And easy as that, for the first time in three weeks, the silence is broken.

You stare at the message for a long moment, absorbing the words. It’s been three weeks of silence, of stubbornly pretending that you didn't miss him but reaching for your phone only to remember there was nobody on the other end anymore. And yet somehow, despite everything that had happened, despite the hurt and the anger and the confusion still lingering between you... The response feels familiar and comforting.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard before you sigh softly and type out:

G4m3rg1rl: i had a bad day

The typing indicator appears almost immediately.

f0xybr34d: yeah?

You let out a weak laugh because the answer is so painfully him. It’s less invasive and more an invitation. A space to fill if you wanted to, but no pressure if you didn't.

The words are spilling out of you before you can stop them, and you’re telling him everything about the presentation, the assignment, the missed bus. You’re describing the overwhelming feeling that you're somehow failing at being an adult despite having technically been one for years. You don't realise how much you've written until you finally stop. The message takes up nearly your entire screen, and you cringe slightly, sending a hasty apology.

His reply arrives before you've even finished wincing.

f0xybr34d: for what?

G4m3rg1rl: that was a lot

f0xybr34d: that's kind of how conversations work.

A smile tugs unexpectedly at the corner of your mouth, and it’s the first genuine smile you've had all day. Possibly all week.

G4m3rg1rl: smart arse

f0xybr34d: i see you're feeling better already!

You roll your eyes, but just like that, something loosens inside your chest slightly. The hurt is still there, nestled snugly alongside the betrayal, but for the first time since the party, it doesn't feel quite so overwhelming.

You end up talking until nearly one in the morning. You don’t discuss the party or his secret, ignoring all of the things that still sit unresolved between you. Instead, after you’ve talked about your disastrous presentation, he complains about travelling. You accidentally laugh three separate times, and every time it happens, you feel strangely guilty. You feel like, on some level, enjoying his company somehow invalidates your anger.

Eventually, the conversation slows. The pauses between messages grow longer, sleepier. You find yourself staring at the familiar rhythm of it all. The easy back and forth, the way neither of you has to work for conversation, the way five years of friendship still seem to fit together naturally despite everything.

You hate how much you've missed it.

And perhaps that's why the next message catches you so off guard.

f0xybr34d: have you eaten?

You laugh at the familiarity of it.

G4m3rg1rl: there he is

f0xybr34d: what?

G4m3rg1rl: knew we'd get here eventually

f0xybr34d: that's not an answer.

G4m3rg1rl: yes mum

f0xybr34d: good

someone has to make sure you're not just surviving on coffee and spite

The fond exasperation is so familiar that your chest aches. For a brief moment, it's almost possible to pretend nothing happened, but then reality slips quietly back in. Because when your eyes drift to his username… You remember. The smile fades slightly, and you don’t know what to say anymore. You sit and stare at your phone for a while, the conversation suddenly silent. Eventually, another message comes through.

f0xybr34d: what happened?

You'd spent five years learning one another's habits and tells. You're not entirely sure either of you could stop noticing if you tried. You stare at the message, typing carefully.

G4m3rg1rl: nothing

The typing indicator appears and disappears multiple times, and just as you think he’s not going to reply, he sends his message.

f0xybr34d: you're doing that thing

G4m3rg1rl: what thing?

f0xybr34d: the thing where you say nothing when something is wrong

You close your eyes against the truth in his words, unsure of what to say. It had always amused Byul how easily f0xybr34d seemed capable of reading you despite never actually being in the same room. She'd joked more than once over the years that he knew you better than some of the people you'd grown up with. A few seconds later, another message arrives.

f0xybr34d: we don't have to talk about it tonight

Your throat tightens unexpectedly.

G4m3rg1rl: okay

f0xybr34d: but if you ever want to...

i'll answer anything.

You stare at the words, at the promise sitting quietly between them. He’s not offering any excuses or avoiding anything. He’s offering honesty, and for the first time since the party, you believe he means it.

Over the next few weeks, talking becomes easier. It wasn’t back to normal yet, but it was nicer than the silence you’d experienced not long before. There are still awkward moments. Still conversations that end abruptly when one of you accidentally brushes against a sore spot, and days when you're angry all over again.

But you're talking, and that’s enough.

For now.

The friendship begins rebuilding itself slowly, careful in a way it never had to be before. It was like two people attempting to repair a shattered vase without cutting themselves on the broken pieces.

You start to learn real things about Jeongin’s life. He tells you where he is when he travels now, omitting the occasional detail, but it’s still enough for you to no longer feel like you’re speaking to a ghost. He no longer tells you he's busy with work. Instead, he'll send photographs of recording studios and complain dramatically about being forced to wake up before nine in the morning for interviews. He'll complain about airports, early flights, and having to wear uncomfortable clothes for magazine shoots.

He's trying.

And gradually... The anger starts becoming something else. It’s not quite forgiveness, but rather… understanding.

The ‘Eun-woo Problem’ begins entirely by accident, and you don't even realise it's happening at first.

It starts with little things. You'll mention that Byul had come over for dinner, only for I.N. to ask whether Eun-woo had been there too. You'll mention that the two of you went to the cinema with a group of friends, and somehow he'll always ask afterwards whether Eun-woo enjoyed the film.

At first, you don't think anything of it. Jeongin has known about both of them for years. He's heard enough stories to feel as though he's practically met them already.

It's only when Byul begins pointing it out that you start paying attention.

"He's obsessed with Eun-woo."

You look up from your coffee in confusion. "What?"

"He asks about him more than I do."

"No, he doesn't."

Byul raises an eyebrow. "Last week you told him we'd gone shopping, and he asked whether Eun-woo carried your bags."

You blink. "...Did he?"

"YES!"

For the first time, you begin wondering whether she might actually have a point.

It becomes impossible to ignore after that. Jeongin never says anything outright. He's always polite whenever Eun-woo comes up in conversation. He's never rude or dismissive. He just becomes... strange.

It's a Tuesday evening. You're sitting on your bed, laptop balanced precariously on your knees while I.N. rambles about a disastrous radio interview he'd done earlier that morning. It’s the first voice call you’d had since the party, and you’d missed his voice more than you’d ever admit to anyone.

“Then the presenter asked if I'd ever had my heart broken.”

You grin at the indignation in his voice as you ask, “And?”

He huffs down the call, stating, “I nearly choked on my coffee.”

“Smooth.”

“I know.”

You laugh, and the conversation drifts elsewhere – to university and assignments. To your non-existent weekend plans. Normal things that normal friends would discuss. Without thinking, you mention that Eun-woo had spent the afternoon helping you move your desk into your bedroom after you'd somehow convinced yourself it would make the space feel larger.

Several seconds pass as he doesn’t reply. For a second, you think he hadn’t heard you, and you frown, repeating yourself.

The only response you get is, “Oh.”

You stare at the screen, something about the response feeling odd. You knew it wasn’t the most interesting of talking points, but that had never stopped him from turning it into a full-blown conversation before.

“What?”

“Nothing!” he rushes, and you frown even harder.

“Jeongin.” You hear him splutter at the other end of your mic, but you carry on regardless. “You're being weird.”

There’s a longer pause, and you can almost hear the cogs turning in his head as he tries to evade the conversation and fails. You narrow your eyes when all you get is another refusal.

“That's exactly what someone being weird would say,” you mutter.

Eventually you hear a sigh followed by a quiet, “Just surprised he helped.”

You blink. “Why?”

“I don't know.”

“Jeongin-ah.”

“Mm?”

“You're doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where you say nothing when something is wrong.”

There’s silence for a while, and you’re just about to concede defeat when he speaks again,

“That's not fair.”

A smile tugs at your lips. “It absolutely is. Now tell me what’s wrong.”

You hear him shuffle at the other end of the line, clear his throat, and then he speaks again

“I just don't like him very much.”

You sit bolt upright, eyebrows raising in disbelief. He didn’t even know Eun-woo, so how on earth could he just not like him? This wasn’t like him at all, and you were concerned.

“Since when?”

“Since forever.”

You shake your head. “You have literally never mentioned this. You don’t even know him-”

He cuts you off, sounding resigned as he mumbles, “I know.”

“But why?”

Several seconds pass and shock floods you as all you get is a simple “no reason”.

You suddenly feel annoyed by his evasiveness. It reminds you of the five years when you were kept in the dark, clueless about his real life. The situation made absolutely no sense to you. He’d seen Eun-woo once, at the party, and now he’d suddenly taken a dislike to him. He wasn’t acting like the guy you thought you were getting to know, and it frustrated you. You wanted to keep moving forward, not take steps backwards.

“Look, Jeongin. I know you're lying. I don’t know why, but if I’m being honest, it’s bothering me. We’re meant to be best friends, or… At least getting there? And I thought we weren’t hiding things from each other anymore.” You catch your breath at the end of your rant, compose yourself before saying, “So please, why don't you like Eun-woo?”

You’re met with silence again, and you’re just about to end the call when he speaks again. And when he does, it’s not what you were expecting. At all.

“Because he gets to be there when I can’t be.”

You freeze. The words seem strangely heavy, strangely raw in their honesty. Before you can respond, he’s ending the call abruptly, leaving yet another proverbial elephant in the room.

“Forget it. It's stupid. I… I better get going, anyway. I have an early schedule in the morning. I’ll message you.”

As you stare at the screen long after he ends the call, something tells you it isn't stupid at all. And for the first time, you begin wondering whether I.N.’s dislike of Eun-woo has absolutely nothing to do with Eun-woo himself.

Things continue settling into something that almost resembles normality over the next couple of months. You're talking every day again, although perhaps not quite as long as you once did. There are still moments where old hurts resurface unexpectedly, but they're becoming fewer and further between now.

Trust, you've discovered, isn't something that returns all at once. It's built slowly. Patiently. Through hundreds of tiny moments rather than one grand gesture.

And Jeongin has become exceptionally good at providing those moments.

He tells you where he is before you have to ask now. You'll wake up to photographs of airport terminals accompanied by complaints about early morning flights and overpriced coffee. He sends you pictures of recording studios when he's working late and messages complaining about interviews he's been forced to attend.

There are no more vague excuses about being busy with work. No more carefully constructed half-truths.

Just honesty.

And somehow, you've discovered that honesty is infinitely more intimate than secrecy ever was.

The strangest part of all is discovering that Yang Jeongin and f0xybr34d were never really separate people to begin with. Somewhere along the way, you'd convinced yourself that you'd lost one person and gained another.

The reality is considerably more complicated than that.

He's still infuriatingly sarcastic when you're being dramatic about university assignments. He still insists upon reminding you to eat properly whenever you've had a difficult day. He still falls asleep halfway through late-night conversations because he'd forgotten he'd been awake since four o'clock that morning.

He's still Jeongin.

He's simply Jeongin in his entirety now.

And despite everything, despite how difficult the last few months have been, you realise one evening that you wouldn't change that if given the opportunity. The thought terrifies you more than you'd care to admit.

The first time it happens, you don't even realise it's jealousy.

Jeongin is somewhere in Japan promoting his group's latest album when he texts you a photograph from backstage before one of his performances.

The image itself isn't particularly interesting. It's simply I.N. making a face at the camera while someone in the background attempts to fix his hair. You laugh quietly before immediately sending him a message informing him that he looks ridiculous.

His response is immediate.

Jeongin: it's because she's burnt me with hairspray three separate times!

You: she?

Jeongin: i feel like you're deliberately ignoring the important part of that sentence

You: who is she?

Several seconds pass before his reply appears.

Jeongin: my stylist?

You: oh

Jeongin: what were you expecting?

You: nothing

Jeongin: you're lying.

You: no comment

You don't think anything of the conversation afterwards. It's only later that evening, when Byul catches you complaining that his stylist seems suspiciously pretty, that she slowly lowers her coffee cup before staring at you in complete disbelief.

"...I'm sorry?"

You stare at her. "What?"

"You've mentioned his stylist's appearance four separate times in the last ten minutes."

"No, I haven't."

"You absolutely have."

You laugh awkwardly before shaking your head dismissively. "She's just very pretty."

Byul's expression becomes infinitely more suspicious. "...And?"

"And what?"

"And why does that bother you?"

"It doesn't."

"You sound unconvinced."

"It doesn't bother me."

She waits patiently for several moments before eventually smiling over the rim of her coffee cup. "You know," she says thoughtfully, "it's interesting that Jeongin becomes irrationally jealous whenever Eun-woo breathes too close to you."

"He isn't irrationally jealous," you say, rolling your eyes.

"He once asked whether Eun-woo was carrying your shopping."

"He was making conversation."

"He asked whether Eun-woo was carrying your shopping in a thunderstorm."

You pause. "Okay. That's fair."

Byul continues as though you hadn't interrupted her. "And now you've suddenly developed very strong opinions regarding your best friend's exceptionally attractive stylist."

You stare at her blankly. "Those things aren't related."

"They're almost certainly related."

"They absolutely aren't."

"If you say so."

She smiles innocently before changing the subject entirely.

You spend the remainder of the afternoon stubbornly pretending that Byul has absolutely no idea what she's talking about. Unfortunately, she's rarely wrong about these things.

It happens again two weeks later. This time, Jeongin is attending some industry event you'd immediately forgotten the name of approximately thirty seconds after he'd explained it to you.

He's complaining throughout the entire evening. Apparently, he's wearing uncomfortable shoes and has been forced into a suit he'd described dramatically as "criminally expensive" despite admitting twenty minutes later that he'd quite liked it once he'd seen photographs.

At some point during the evening, he sends you a photograph of himself looking thoroughly unimpressed beside one of his bandmates. You smile at the image immediately, and the conversation continues naturally afterwards until Jeongin suddenly sends another photograph.

This one isn't of him. It's of the entire table.

And that's when you notice her.

Beautiful dark hair. An impossibly elegant dress that almost certainly costs more than your monthly rent. By the looks of it, she's smiling at something he's said, one hand resting lightly against his shoulder as though she's known him for years. You don't know why the sight makes your stomach twist unpleasantly. After all, she's simply another musician attending the same event - nothing more, nothing less. Jeongin doesn't even seem aware that she's touching him.

So why do you suddenly feel so irrationally irritated by her existence?

You decide it isn't worth dwelling on.

...

Thirty-seven minutes later, you're still dwelling on it.

You: who's that in the photo?

His reply arrives immediately.

Jeongin: which one?

You: the pretty one beside you

There is a considerably longer pause this time before you receive a reply.

Jeongin: there are four women in that photograph

You: the REALLY pretty one

Jeongin: that has somehow made this significantly less helpful

You smile sarcastically at his response. Wonderful. Four REALLY pretty women.

You: dark hair

blue dress

Jeongin: oh

her name's Rose

Something uncomfortable settles low in your chest at how quickly he'd answered, and before you can stop yourself, you're asking another question.

You: do you know her?

Jeongin: me and the guys have worked with her a few times

You: oh... cool

The conversation continues normally afterwards. At least, Jeongin believes it does.

He doesn't notice that you're considerably quieter than usual throughout the remainder of the evening. Or perhaps he does notice and simply attributes it to tiredness. Either way, he doesn't mention it, so you don't either.

Mentioning it would require explaining why another woman's hand resting against his shoulder had bothered you quite so much. And unfortunately, you don't have an explanation you're willing to admit to yourself yet.

The problem with Jeongin's world, you've discovered, is that it's beautiful - painfully so. Everyone seems effortlessly confident. Effortlessly talented. Effortlessly beautiful.

And you simply... don't belong there.

You've known that from the moment you discovered who he really was. Perhaps that's why your insecurities begin creeping in so quietly that you barely notice them at first. It's difficult not to compare yourself when you're suddenly surrounded by photographs of people who seem impossibly perfect. You'd spent five years imagining Jeongin sitting in his bedroom laughing at your terrible jokes and complaining about coursework. The reality is considerably more intimidating. Now, when you think of him, you think about sold-out arenas and magazine covers and red carpets and beautiful women standing beside him.

Somewhere along the way, without ever meaning to, you've begun wondering why someone like Jeongin would ever choose someone like you.

The thought takes root slowly. You've never considered yourself particularly insecure before. Not in this way, at least. But now... Now you find yourself studying photographs online before quickly feeling guilty afterwards. You find yourself wondering whether he smiled at her the same way he'd smiled during your video calls. You wonder whether she knows he forgets to eat breakfast whenever he's particularly busy or that he still can't sleep properly before major performances.

You wonder whether she knows the version of Jeongin that belongs entirely to you.

You're forced to confront an uncomfortable truth far too soon: You don't particularly like the idea of sharing him.

The realisation terrifies you because that's friendship, isn't it? Except... You've never felt particularly possessive over Byul spending time with other people. Nor had you ever cared who Eun-woo decided to date.

So why does Jeongin feel different?

The answer sits quietly at the back of your mind for weeks before you're finally brave enough to look directly at it. When you do, you discover that it frightens you infinitely more than never discovering Jeongin's real feelings ever could.

Because falling in love with your best friend is one thing.

Realising you've been doing it slowly and accidentally for years is something else entirely.

You realised that all this time - all the time knowing him, really - you'd been smiling whenever your phone buzzed unexpectedly in the middle of lectures or before you'd even opened your eyes in the mornings.

It came as absolutely no surprise when your phone buzzed aggressively beside your cereal bowl at eight o'clock on a Wednesday morning, accompanied by a photograph of what appeared to be the world's saddest airport coffee.

What did come as a surprise, however, was how your heart fluttered at the sight of his name on your screen.

The image itself was almost impressive in how miserable it looked. Somehow both burnt and suspiciously grey at the same time, the coffee sat abandoned beside a half-eaten croissant that looked as though it had been through several traumatic experiences before finally arriving on Jeongin's plate.

You: personally, I'd rather drop out than deal with that

You laugh quietly to yourself at his reply.

Jeongin: that's unfortunate considering you're graduating soon

Three dots appear almost immediately before disappearing again.

You: i could always go back

Jeongin: why do that when you could suffer shitty airport coffee?

You: because I have better coffee at home

His response arrives almost instantly.

Jeongin: you're remarkably unsupportive of my dreams

Your smile widens despite yourself.

Some things, it would seem, never changed.

You've long since discovered that Jeongin complains to you more than anybody else in his life. You suspect it's because you've spent the better part of five years encouraging it. Somewhere between late-night university deadlines and tearful phone calls when life became particularly difficult, complaining had simply become another love language between the two of you.

He's never particularly filtered himself around you and you've long since stopped expecting him to.

You: why are you even awake?

it's eight o'clock... in the morning

Jeongin: i'm at the airport.

You: no shit?

Jeongin: it's too early for your sass

You: you're being dramatic

Jeongin: no

i'm being sleep deprived

You smile to yourself as you stand from the kitchen table to refill your coffee. There's something strangely comforting about conversations like these. They're ordinary in a way that still occasionally catches you off guard after everything that happened between the two of you.

Ordinary had become something you'd stopped taking for granted.

You: what's the occasion this time?

The reply takes slightly longer than normal to arrive.

Jeongin: award nomination interviews

Your eyebrows immediately rise in surprise despite yourself.

You: EXCUSE MEEE?

Jeongin: unfortunately, yes

You: WHY ARE YOU SO CASUAL ABOUT THAT INFORMATION?

Jeongin: because I've been awake since four this morning and currently hate everyone involved

You laugh quietly beneath your breath before immediately sending another message.

You: congratulations!!

i'm so incredibly proud of you

and also disgustingly jealous

Jeongin: thank you

i'm disgustingly inconvenienced

(but don't tell Chan hyung)

You can practically hear his voice as you read the response, and it makes you smile despite yourself. Jeongin had always had a remarkable ability to simultaneously be extraordinarily talented whilst complaining relentlessly about every aspect of his career whenever it mildly inconvenienced him.

It's one of your favourite things about him.

The thought settles quietly somewhere within your chest before you can stop it.

Favourite things about him.

There had been a time when admitting something like that to yourself would've terrified you. These days, you've simply stopped questioning why Jeongin had somehow become one of the most important people in your life years ago. Some things didn't necessarily require explanations.

The conversation continues naturally as you make your way across campus towards your morning lecture. He complains dramatically about delayed flights and uncomfortable shoes whilst simultaneously insisting that he doesn't understand why people insist upon attending award ceremonies when pyjamas exist. It's familiar and comfortable and achingly normal.

By the time your lecture has finished two hours later, you've somehow received twelve separate photographs documenting his increasingly dramatic dissatisfaction with airport food and a voice note informing you that somebody had attempted to interview him before he'd been allowed coffee.

You laugh quietly as you unlock your phone once again.

You: i refuse to believe you're a functioning adult

Jeongin: okay so i'm offended by that statement

You: you should be

Several moments pass before another message appears.

Jeongin: i've actually got something to ask you

Something about the unusual seriousness of the message immediately catches your attention, and your fingers hesitate briefly above the screen.

Jeongin: actually

i've been trying to work out how to ask you for nearly four months now

Your eyebrows furrow slightly as you stare down at the screen. Four months?

You: Jeongin you're worrying me

Jeongin: sorry

You smile softly to yourself as you continue walking across campus. Whatever he's attempting to ask you clearly matters to him. You've learnt enough over the years to recognise when he's nervous, and, despite the distance between the two of you, some things have always translated remarkably well through a screen.

Jeongin: would you come?

You stop walking entirely, and the person behind you barely avoids crashing into you. You can't bring yourself to care when you've just received a message like that.

You: to the awards?

Jeongin: no

There is another pause before the rest of the message appears.

Jeongin: to the tour

For several moments, you simply stare at the words on your screen. This felt different from anything you guys had done together. Yes, you'd been best friends for years, but you'd only seen each other in person once,and it had gone terribly.

You: Jeongin...

Jeongin: you don't have to say yes!!

Another message immediately follows before you've had the opportunity to respond.

Jeongin: actually that's a lie

i'd very much like you to say yes

You laugh softly beneath your breath at the honesty of it.

You: why?

The question isn't intended to challenge him. If anything, it's born almost entirely from curiosity. He'd spent five years carefully keeping this part of his life separate from everything else. Even after discovering who he really was, you'd remained firmly on the outside looking in. You've never particularly blamed him for that. Not entirely. After everything that had happened, you'd understood better than most why he'd been afraid.

This time, his response takes considerably longer to arrive. When it finally does, your heart aches unexpectedly as you read it.

Jeongin: because I don't think I've ever really let you into this part of my life before

You feel your expression soften immediately, but he's already sending more messages.

Jeongin: and if we're rebuilding things, I'd quite like to do it properly this time

Your breath catches slightly at the honesty in his words.

You: what things?

This time, the response is immediate.

Jeongin: everything.

It's such a simple answer and yet somehow it steals the breath from your lungs entirely.

Everything.

He's asking you to step into a world you've only ever caught fleeting glimpses of through photographs and late-night conversations. A world that has always belonged to 'I.N. from Stray Kids' rather than simply... Jeongin.

Somehow, despite the nervousness beginning to settle heavily within your chest, you realise you've spent five years waiting for exactly this without ever knowing it. Because despite what you'd spent years convincing yourself of, I.N. and Jeongin had never really been two different people at all.

Slowly, a smile begins spreading across your face as you finally begin typing your reply.

You: i'd love to come

The response arrives so quickly that you suspect he hadn't stopped staring at the conversation whilst waiting for your answer.

Jeongin: really?

You laugh quietly beneath your breath.

You: really.

Three dots immediately begin appearing and disappearing several separate times before his final response arrives.

Jeongin: i've been wanting to ask you for months

Something warm settles quietly within your chest as you read the message because somehow, despite everything he'd accomplished and everything he'd become, Jeongin was still nervous about asking his best friend to come to his concert.

And maybe, just maybe, you'd never loved him more for it.

"You've done what?" Byul all but screeches, abandoning both her shoes and her handbag by the front door as she rushes into your living room.

You physically wince as she throws herself down beside you on the sofa, her expression hovering somewhere between delighted and mildly offended.

"He's invited me on tour."

"No," she corrects immediately, pointing accusingly in your direction. "I heard that part. What I didn't hear was why I wasn't informed immediately."

You laugh quietly despite yourself, shaking your head fondly as she reaches for one of the takeaway containers she'd so thoughtfully brought with her.

"Because it happened this afternoon."

"And you've spent the entire afternoon keeping this information from me?" she gasps dramatically, placing a hand over her chest in mock offence. "After everything we've been through together?"

"It's been approximately four hours, Byul."

"An eternity."

You smile despite yourself as she begins unpacking enough takeaway food to comfortably feed an entire family.

One of your favourite things about Byul had always been her remarkable ability to make difficult situations feel lighter. She'd been there throughout every later stage of your friendship with Jeongin —the late-night Discord calls she'd walked in on more times than either of you could count, the countless stories you'd shared over the years and, more recently, the aftermath of discovering that the boy you'd unknowingly fallen asleep talking to almost every night for five years was considerably more famous than you'd ever imagined.

She'd held you whilst you cried after the party and celebrated quietly beside you when the two of you had finally begun finding your way back to one another.

If anybody understood what this moment meant, it was Byul.

"So?" she asks excitedly, nudging your shoulder gently with her own. "When are you going?"

"The first show is in a few weeks."

"And?"

"And what?"

"How excited are you feeling on a scale of one to irrationally emotional?"

You hesitate briefly before laughing quietly under your breath. "Somewhere between mildly terrified and violently anxious."

"Ah," she nods knowingly. "So irrationally emotional then."

You laugh despite yourself before your expression softens slightly. "I'm excited too," you admit quietly. "I think I'm just..." You hesitate briefly before finally continuing, "I'm nervous."

Byul's expression immediately softens. "What are you nervous about?"

Everything, you almost answer immediately. Instead, you laugh weakly before taking a sip of your drink. "I don't know."

"You do know."

It's never really been possible to lie to Byul for very long. Somehow, after a couple years of friendship, she'd become almost as capable of reading you as Jeongin was.

You suspect that's probably concerning.

"I just..." You pause, trying to find the right words to explain something you've struggled to articulate for years. "I don't belong there."

There's a brief moment of silence before Byul places her takeaway container down entirely. "Oh, sweetheart."

"No, I know it's ridiculous."

"No," she interrupts gently. "It's sad."

Your eyebrows furrow slightly in confusion. "What is?"

"The fact you've spent the past few months believing that."

You look down at your hands then, suddenly finding the conversation considerably more difficult than you'd anticipated. It's strange, really. Jeongin had spent years unknowingly becoming one of the safest people you'd ever known, and somehow he'd still managed to leave you feeling entirely out of place within his world.

You've never blamed him for it. The truth is, he'd never made you feel as though you didn't belong. Ever since his identity had been revealed, he'd tried his best to include you in his crazy life as much as possible.

"It's difficult to explain," you admit quietly after several moments of silence. "I know Jeongin. That's never been the problem."

"No," Byul smiles softly. "The problem has always been 'I.N. from Stray Kids.'"

You laugh quietly under your breath at how accurately she'd summarised an unhealthy amount of complicated emotions in a single sentence.

"Maybe."

"No maybe about it." She shifts slightly on the sofa before continuing. "Do you know what I find funny about this entire situation?"

"What?"

"You've spent the past few months pretending I.N. and Jeongin are two different people."

Your smile softens immediately at the familiarity of the statement. It was becoming increasingly apparent that everybody in your life had collectively decided this particular lesson required repeating until it finally settled within your stubborn little brain.

"Apparently everyone has decided to tell me that recently."

"Probably because we're all tired."

"Of what?"

"Listening to you pretend otherwise."

There's no judgement in her voice as she speaks. Only affection. She'd listened to you excitedly recount late-night conversations with f0xybr34d long before either of you had become brave enough to admit quite how important the other person had become. Before you knew his real identity.

If anybody had earned the right to call you out, it was Byul.

"The boy who remembers how you take your coffee is Jeongin," she continues softly. "The man who has started sending flowers to your flat every time you've had a bad day because he wants to put a smile on your face is Jeongin."

You smile quietly to yourself at the memory. It had been entirely unexpected the first time he'd done it and had somehow become a tradition afterwards, despite your increasingly dramatic protests that he absolutely didn't need to continue spending ridiculous amounts of money on flowers.

"The idiot who stayed awake until four o'clock in the morning talking you through a panic attack before his own performance the following day is Jeongin." You feel your expression soften immediately. "The man who called your mum on her birthday because she'd accidentally admitted she'd forgotten to buy herself a card from all of you and felt guilty about it is Jeongin."

Your breath catches in your throat, your expression dropping into pure shock. "...What?"

Byul immediately looks horrified. "Oh."

"Oh?"

"...You didn't know that?"

"No?"

For perhaps the first time in your entire friendship, Byul suddenly appears desperately interested in avoiding eye contact with you altogether.

"BYUL."

"Apparently that's another thing we're telling you today."

"What do you mean he called my mother?"

"Exactly what I've just said."

"When?"

"Last year."

"LAST YEAR? WHY?"

She blinks at you in surprise, as though the answer should've been painfully obvious. "Because she was upset?"

You stare at her silently for several moments. "He remembered my mum's birthday?"

"He remembers your dentist appointments," Byul laughs quietly. "Quite frankly, I'm more surprised when he forgets things about you these days."

You aren't entirely sure what to say to that. You've long since stopped finding it unusual whenever Jeongin remembers things you've long since forgotten mentioning yourself. Somewhere throughout five years of friendship, he'd quietly memorised all of your favourite things without either of you ever really acknowledging it. He remembers how you take your coffee and which restaurants you avoid whenever you're particularly overwhelmed because they're simply too loud. He remembers that thunderstorms make it difficult for you to sleep and that you'll inevitably survive almost entirely on chocolate and caffeine whenever university becomes particularly stressful. You'd simply never stopped to consider that perhaps he paid attention because he wanted to.

Byul laughs quietly beside you before gently taking your hand. "The Jeongin you know isn't separate from the version everybody else sees," she says softly. "He's the same person. You've simply had the privilege of knowing him better than most people ever will."

The words settle somewhere deep within your chest.

You've spent so many months separating Jeongin from I.N. that you've never really considered how unfair that distinction might actually be. As though one version of him was somehow more deserving of being loved than the other.

There had never been two different people.

There had only ever been Jeongin.

"Besides," Byul continues with a grin slowly spreading across her face, "I'm fairly certain I've never met anybody more in love with another person than Jeongin is with you."

You nearly choke on your drink. "BYUL!"

"No, I'm serious."

"We've had this conversation before."

"And I'll continue having it until one of you develops enough common sense to realise you're both desperately in love with each other."

You laugh despite yourself before shaking your head fondly. "You're impossible."

"No," she smiles warmly, squeezing your hand gently, "I'm observant." Her expression softens slightly as she continues. "He's not inviting you because you're just anybody in his life," she says quietly. "He's inviting you because you're one of the most important people in it."

For perhaps the first time since Jeongin had asked you to come, the nervousness settling heavily within your chest begins slowly giving way to something else entirely.

Excitement.

Because maybe Byul was right. Maybe you'd spent so long convincing yourself that you didn't belong in Jeongin's world that you'd forgotten something infinitely more important.

Jeongin had spent five years quietly making a place for you within it.

And perhaps it was finally time you stopped being afraid to step into it.

The weeks leading up to the concert pass considerably faster than you would've liked.

You discover rather quickly that Jeongin becomes almost unbearably excited whenever he's looking forward to something. It isn't necessarily something you'd never noticed before—five years of friendship had certainly provided enough opportunities to witness his enthusiasm over relatively mundane things—but you'd perhaps underestimated just how much he'd wanted you there.

Three days after inviting you on tour, he'd called to ask whether you'd booked your train tickets despite the fact he'd already informed you no less than seven separate times that his manager had insisted upon arranging absolutely everything.

Five days afterwards, he'd sent you approximately twenty-seven photographs of potential outfits before finally admitting that he'd only intended on purchasing one jumper and had somehow become distracted in the process.

A week later, he'd called you from a hotel room at almost midnight simply because he'd seen a café during an interview earlier that day that reminded him of one you'd spent months attempting to convince him to visit whenever he had the time.

"It's literally just coffee," you'd laughed quietly, smiling down at your phone as you'd settled more comfortably amongst your pillows.

"No," he'd corrected immediately. "It's coffee that comes with tiny biscuits shaped like ducks."

"Oh."

"Exactly."

You'd paused briefly before smiling softly to yourself. "...We're absolutely going there together when you're home."

"See?" he'd laughed warmly down the phone. "I knew you'd understand."

It was ridiculous, really. Somehow, despite sold-out arenas and award nominations and international flights, Jeongin had remained almost embarrassingly easy to please. Sometimes you forgot that.

More accurately, you thought sadly to yourself one evening as you listened to him complaining dramatically about his manager forcing him to attend yet another interview, perhaps you'd simply spent too much time convincing yourself that Jeongin and 'I.N. from Stray Kids' couldn't possibly be the same person. You were slowly beginning to realise just how wrong you'd been. The more time passed, the more difficult it became to separate the two versions of him you'd so stubbornly created within your own mind.

There had only ever been Jeongin.

He'd simply been waiting patiently for you to realise it.

"You've gone quiet," his voice suddenly interrupts your thoughts one evening, immediately drawing your attention back towards the conversation.

"What?"

"You've been suspiciously silent for approximately forty-three seconds."

You laugh quietly under your breath. "You counted?"

"You should know by now that I'm exceptionally dramatic."

You smile despite yourself as you tuck yourself more comfortably beneath your duvet.

"You've had a difficult day?" he asks softly.

It's moments like these that still occasionally catch you off guard. Somehow, after five years, Jeongin had become exceptionally good at recognising the subtle changes in your voice whenever something was bothering you. You aren't entirely sure he even realises he's doing it anymore.

"No," you smile softly. "I've just been thinking."

"Dangerous."

"Rude."

"Entirely accurate."

You laugh quietly before continuing. "About you, actually."

There's a brief moment of silence before he laughs softly down the phone. "Should I be concerned?"

"Potentially."

"Oh good."

You smile despite yourself at the warmth in his voice. "I think..." You hesitate briefly before continuing, suddenly finding it considerably more difficult to articulate your thoughts aloud than you'd anticipated. "I think I've spent a lot of time making assumptions about what your life looks like."

The silence that follows isn't uncomfortable. If anything, it feels thoughtful somehow. "What sort of assumptions?" he eventually asks quietly.

You smile sadly to yourself. "That I didn't belong in it, I suppose."

You hear him sigh softly down the phone before speaking again. "I don't think there's ever been a version of my life that didn't have a place for you in it."

The honesty of the statement steals the breath from your lungs entirely. "Oh."

He laughs quietly under his breath at your response. "That's usually my reaction whenever I accidentally say something emotionally vulnerable, too."

You shake your head fondly despite knowing he can't see you. "You really mean that?"

"Of course I do." His answer is immediate. "There are people I've known for years who have no idea how I take my coffee. You've known my favourite takeaway order since I was nineteen."

Something warm settles quietly within your chest. "You remember my mum's birthday," you point out softly.

There's a moment's silence before he laughs nervously down the phone. "Byul told you then?"

You ignore the question, saying, "You called her."

"She sounded upset."

"That wasn't really my point."

"Oh."

You can't help laughing quietly at his response. "Why did you do it?"

The answer comes so naturally that you're almost certain he doesn't realise how significant it sounds.

"Because she's important to you."

It's such a simple explanation - like it somehow answers everything - and perhaps it does.

He's always loved people through you. He's remembered birthdays, celebrated achievements, and quietly included the people important to you among those he cared about because he'd never really known how to separate the two. You aren't entirely sure whether he's in love with you or whether he simply loves remarkably deeply as a person. At this point in your friendship, you're beginning to suspect it might be both.

"You really are ridiculously lovely sometimes," you laugh softly.

"Only sometimes?"

"Mm," you tease gently. "The remaining ninety percent of the time you're irritating."

"That feels unnecessarily judgemental."

Your conversation continues long after midnight that evening. It always does these days. You've long since stopped questioning when talking to Jeongin became one of your favourite parts of the day.

By the time the morning of your departure finally arrives, you've somehow managed to convince yourself that travelling across the country was infinitely preferable to actually stepping foot inside the arena itself.

The train journey feels manageable. Exciting, even.

The concert itself is considerably more terrifying.

"You look nervous."

You glance up from your suitcase to find Byul leaning casually against your bedroom doorframe, arms folded comfortably across her chest as she watches you reorganise your bag for approximately the fourth time that morning.

"I'm not."

"You've folded the same jumper six separate times in the last twenty minutes."

"...That's circumstantial evidence at best."

"No," she laughs quietly. "It's practically a confession."

You smile weakly before abandoning your current attempt at appearing entirely relaxed. "What if everybody hates me?"

"Impossible."

"What if I say something embarrassing?"

"Statistically inevitable."

"Byul!"

"What?" she laughs warmly. "You've known Jeongin for five years. If saying embarrassing things was enough to make somebody dislike you, he'd have blocked you before your twentieth birthday."

Despite yourself, you laugh quietly under your breath.

"What if I don't belong there?"

The question leaves your mouth considerably quieter than you'd intended, and Byul's expression immediately softens.

"We've had this conversation already."

"I know."

"And?"

"And apparently I'm stubborn."

"Painfully so." She smiles warmly as she walks further into your room before sitting comfortably beside you on the edge of your bed. "Do you know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think you've spent five years earning your place in Jeongin's life and somehow still haven't realised it." You smile sadly down at your hands. "You don't earn friendships, sweetheart. You simply have them." She pauses briefly before continuing. "Besides, if we're being entirely honest, I'm fairly certain Jeongin would've moved mountains to make sure you felt comfortable coming today."

The thought warms your chest unexpectedly because you know she's right. He's spent weeks reassuring you without ever making you feel foolish for being nervous. He's sent photographs, made lists of places he wants to take you whilst you're visiting, and repeatedly reminded you that you're coming to spend time with him rather than 'I.N. from Stray Kids'.

It isn't lost on you that he's probably considerably more nervous than you are.

"You're going to be alright," Byul smiles softly. "You know that, don't you?"

For perhaps the first time since agreeing to come, you realise that you do. Because Byul is right. You're not travelling across the country to meet somebody new today. You're travelling across the country to finally step into a world that your best friend has been quietly making room for you within for the past five years.

And suddenly, the thought doesn't feel quite so frightening anymore.

Your phone buzzes softly beside you as you're zipping your suitcase closed.

Jeongin: good morning

You smile immediately at the message.

You: morning

A second message appears almost instantly afterwards.

Jeongin: are you nervous?

You laugh quietly beneath your breath.

You: terrified actually

Jeongin: excellent

You: how is that excellent you little sadist?

Jeongin: it means you care

You smile softly down at the conversation before another message appears.

Jeongin: i can't wait for you to be here

Something warm settles quietly within your chest as you read the words for a second time. It's ridiculous really. After five years of friendship, he still somehow manages to say things that leave you momentarily breathless.

You: me too x

And for perhaps the first time since agreeing to come, you realise that you mean it entirely.

The concert is somehow louder than you'd imagined it would be.

You aren't entirely sure why that surprises you. Stray Kids had sold out the venue months ago, and you'd spent the better part of the afternoon watching an endless stream of people wearing tour merchandise making their way excitedly towards the arena doors.

Still, nothing could have prepared you for experiencing it yourself.

The atmosphere is almost electric. Thousands upon thousands of conversations blend together around you as people excitedly discuss favourite songs and previous concerts they've attended, all whilst music echoes softly throughout the arena before the show begins.

It's overwhelming in the best possible way.

And perhaps most surprisingly of all, it's impossible not to smile.

You'd always known Jeongin was talented. Five years' worth of late-night phone calls had often included snippets of songs he'd been particularly excited about or voice notes he'd sent whilst laughing about forgetting lyrics he'd spent three days writing. You'd watched interviews and performances online before. You've listened to every album he's ever released and spent more money than you'd care to admit on limited edition vinyl simply because he'd sounded particularly proud of one of the songs included.

You've become his biggest supporter. The difference now is that you're no longer supporting from behind a screen. Tonight, you're here.

When you finally see him, he's leaning casually against a wall backstage, scrolling absent-mindedly through something on his phone whilst occasionally glancing towards the entrance. You don't realise you're smiling until he finally looks up; the moment he spots you, his entire expression softens.

It's ridiculous really—the effect he somehow manages to have on you with a simple expression.

He smiles immediately before abandoning both his phone and any pretence of remaining where he currently is, making his way quickly towards you.

"Hi."

The word leaves him accompanied by a smile so warm that it immediately feels like coming home.

"Hi."

For several moments, neither of you seems entirely sure what to do next. Five years of friendship, and somehow you're still occasionally awkward around one another. It's oddly comforting.

Jeongin laughs quietly before shaking his head fondly. "I've spent approximately six hours deciding whether hugging you immediately would seem too enthusiastic."

You laugh quietly under your breath. "And what conclusion did you come to?"

"That I don't particularly care."

He doesn't give you an opportunity to respond before wrapping his arms comfortably around you, pulling you gently against his chest as though this had always been the most natural thing in the world.

Somewhere above your head, you hear him laugh softly. "You've absolutely no idea how excited I've been about today."

Something warm and impossibly soft settles quietly within your chest at the admission. "You've only mentioned it approximately four hundred times over the past three weeks."

"That feels dramatically inaccurate."

"It isn't."

You feel him laugh quietly before stepping back slightly, his hands remaining gently around your shoulders as though reassuring himself that you're actually here.

"It's good to see you," he admits softly.

You smile warmly up at him. "It's good to see you too."

The truth is, it always is.

"How are you feeling?" Jeongin asks quietly, ushering you to one of the private viewing areas he'd insisted upon arranging for the beginning of the concert.

You smile softly over at him. "Nervous."

He laughs warmly beside you. "You aren't even performing!" he teases.

"Exactly," you laugh quietly. "That sounds considerably less stressful."

He smiles at that before glancing briefly around the slowly filling arena. "You don't have to stay here if you don't want to."

"What do you mean?"

"If you'd rather watch from backstage or somewhere quieter then that's absolutely fine too."

Something soft settles warmly within your chest at the immediate concern in his voice. He'd spent weeks preparing for this moment, and somehow he's still considerably more concerned about whether you're comfortable than he is about performing in front of forty thousand people.

You aren't entirely sure that will ever stop amazing you.

"No," you smile reassuringly. "I want to be here."

His expression immediately softens at that. "Good."

There's something vulnerable hidden carefully within the single word. Something you've become increasingly good at recognising over the years.

He really had wanted you here. More than that, you think quietly to yourself as he smiles softly over at you; he'd wanted to share this with you.

"You know," he laughs quietly after several moments of comfortable silence, "I've just realised I've been considerably more nervous about you enjoying tonight than I have been about performing."

Your eyebrows rise immediately in surprise. "Really?"

"Mm."

"Why?"

He looks almost confused by the question. "Because it's important to me."

The answer is so painfully him that it momentarily steals the breath from your lungs. He's not nervous that you'll think differently of him afterwards or because he's worried something might go wrong. Jeongin has never particularly cared about those things. No, he's nervous because sharing something important with you has somehow become infinitely more significant than the thing itself.

"You really are lovely sometimes," you smile softly.

He laughs quietly beside you. "Only sometimes?"

"The remaining ninety percent of the time you're irritating."

"That feels unnecessarily judgemental."

Before you're able to continue teasing him further, somebody appears at the entrance to the room informing Jeongin that he needs to begin making his way backstage with the rest of the group.

You immediately smile sympathetically as his expression transforms into one of barely concealed betrayal. "I've been here twenty minutes."

"You've actually been here three hours," you point out helpfully.

"That feels irrelevant."

"It isn't."

He sighs dramatically before reluctantly standing from his seat. "This feels like a human rights violation."

"I don't think that's what human rights are."

"Agree to disagree."

You laugh quietly as he makes his way towards the door before suddenly stopping. When he turns back towards you, there's something impossibly soft hidden within his expression.

"Thank you for coming."

The sincerity in his voice catches you entirely off guard.

"You don't have to thank me."

"I know," he smiles warmly. "I wanted to." There's a brief pause before he continues considerably quieter than before. "I'm really glad you're here."

The truth is, you don't quite know how to respond to something like that. Not when it's delivered with such effortless honesty. So instead, you simply smile softly back at him. "I'm really glad I'm here too."

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then Jeongin laughs quietly before shaking his head fondly at himself. "This is probably significantly more emotional than conversations should be immediately before a concert."

"Potentially."

He smiles warmly one final time before disappearing backstage, leaving you alone with a heart that suddenly feels impossibly full. It's strange, really. Five years ago, neither of you could've imagined a moment like this. You wonder whether nineteen-year-old versions of yourselves would believe you if you told them where you'd eventually end up. You suspect they probably wouldn't.

The lights dim unexpectedly throughout the arena only moments later, immediately drawing your attention back towards the stage. The crowd's reaction is immediate. Forty thousand people erupt simultaneously, and suddenly you understand why Jeongin had laughed whenever you'd attempted to compare online performances to attending one of their concerts in person.

There simply isn't a comparison to be made.

The sound is deafening. Excitement seems to radiate from every corner of the arena as anticipation settles heavily amongst the crowd around you.

And then they walk onto the stage.

You'd spent months watching Jeongin perform through screens and photographs and grainy videos sent to you at unreasonable hours of the morning because he'd become particularly proud of something he'd written. None of them compare to this, though. The arena erupts immediately as forty thousand people begin screaming his name.

Suddenly, for the very first time, you understand what everybody else sees when they look at him.

He's beautiful beneath the stage lights. Effortlessly confident as he laughs warmly at something shouted from somewhere amongst the audience before thanking everybody for coming in a voice you've loved listening to for five years.

He's extraordinary.

The thought settles quietly within your chest before you're able to stop it. It's not because he's famous, or because forty thousand people know every word to every song he's ever written.

He's extraordinary because he's Jeongin.

Because somehow, despite all of this, he'd remained impossibly kind and endlessly thoughtful and wonderfully himself throughout it all. He's still the boy who remembers how you take your coffee. He's still the person who stayed awake until four o'clock in the morning talking you through panic attacks and university deadlines and difficult days.

He's still Jeongin. Still f0xybr34d.

The tears begin unexpectedly during the third song. You don't even realise they're falling until you're hurriedly laughing at yourself whilst attempting to wipe them away before anybody notices. This wasn't what you'd expected. You'd expected to be intimidated, perhaps. Overwhelmed, certainly. You hadn't expected to feel quite so overwhelmingly proud.

It's almost difficult to adequately describe the feeling settling within your chest as you watch him perform. Pride hardly seems significant enough to encompass it all. You realise that Jeongin had quietly become the person he'd always wanted to be whilst still including you in his life, whether you knew it or not.

And now, somehow, you're finally here to witness it yourself.

Forty thousand people are screaming his name, and all you can think about is the boy who sends you photographs of ugly airport carpets because he knows they'll make you laugh. Because before he was I.N., he'd been f0xybr34d. And despite everything else he's become, you don't think he'll ever stop simply being that to you.

For perhaps the first time since discovering who he really was, you realise something that leaves your chest aching softly with affection: You aren't intimidated anymore. You're proud - painfully, overwhelmingly proud.

By the time the final song comes to an end, you're almost certain you've spent more time crying than you have doing anything else that evening.

You aren't entirely sure when it happened. Somewhere between watching forty thousand people illuminate the arena with the lights from their phones and listening to Jeongin laugh with his bandmates through forgetting part of his own speech halfway through the concert, something inside of you had shifted quietly into place.

You've always been proud of him. That had never changed.

The difference was that you'd always viewed his achievements through a screen before now, but tonight, for the very first time, you'd been there. Somehow, despite everything you'd built this moment up to be inside your own mind, it had still simply felt like Jeongin.

He was brighter beneath the stage lights, perhaps. More confident than the boy who had once spent three hours complaining about an essay deadline over Discord when the two of you were nineteen. But he was still undeniably himself. The same Jeongin who had turned up at a party to surprise you for the first time, just because you'd been worrying about it. The same Jeongin who still couldn't hide whenever he was emotionally vulnerable and inevitably covered it with sarcasm moments later.

Always Jeongin.

You don't notice yourself smiling until somebody quietly clears their throat beside you.

"He's going to be absolutely insufferable when he discovers you've been crying, by the way."

You laugh quietly beneath your breath before glancing over your shoulder towards his manager, who has somehow become one of your favourite people over the course of approximately twenty-four hours.

"Should I be concerned?"

"Absolutely." He smiles warmly before gesturing towards the backstage entrance. "Come on," he laughs quietly. "He's been asking approximately every seven minutes whether you've enjoyed yourself."

The confession immediately warms something impossibly soft within your chest. "Really?"

"Mm." He smiles knowingly at your expression. "Really."

You aren't entirely sure why the admission surprises you anymore. Perhaps because you're slowly beginning to realise that he has spent five years loving you loudly enough for everybody else to notice, whilst somehow remaining entirely oblivious yourself.

The thought is simultaneously comforting and mildly embarrassing.

The backstage corridors are considerably quieter now that the performance has finished. There's still a comfortable buzz of excitement lingering throughout the venue as people move efficiently between rooms, carrying flowers and equipment, and congratulating one another quietly in passing.

It's strange, really. Somehow you'd expected this world to feel intimidating. Instead, it feels remarkably warm. You aren't entirely sure whether that's because of Jeongin or whether he'd simply managed to surround himself with people as lovely as he is.

Probably both, you decide quietly to yourself.

You barely make it halfway down the corridor before somebody immediately smiles in recognition.

"Oh! You're finally here."

The woman approaching you can't be much older than you and immediately wraps you in a gentle hug before you've entirely processed what's happening. "It's lovely to finally meet you properly," she smiles warmly. "We've been hearing about you for years."

You blink in surprise. "...You have?"

"Unfortunately," Jeongin's manager sighs dramatically beside you. "At this point I know more about your dissertation deadlines than I do my own employees."

You laugh quietly despite yourself. "I'm beginning to find this mildly concerning."

"Oh sweetheart," another voice laughs warmly from somewhere further down the corridor. "We're considerably past mildly concerning."

The comment is accompanied by another member of Jeongin’s team appearing around the corner carrying what appears to be entirely too many flowers.

"You cried at her graduation photographs," she points out casually whilst walking past him.

Your heart momentarily stops altogether. "...What?"

There is absolutely no hesitation before Jeongin’s manager immediately confirms the accusation. "Mm. Approximately twenty minutes before an interview."

"I DID NOT CRY."

The offended voice appears from somewhere further down the corridor moments before Jeongin himself rounds the corner, stopping abruptly the moment he notices you standing there. He’s closely followed by the other members of his group who all see the expression that immediately softens across his face, stealing the breath from your lungs entirely.

It's ridiculous really—the effect he somehow still manages to have on you after all this time.

"You absolutely cried," his manager continues conversationally. "It was actually quite emotional."

"THAT'S IRRELEVANT TO THIS CONVERSATION."

You laugh quietly as Jeongin finally makes his way towards you, immediately pulling you gently into his arms the moment he's close enough to do so. "Did you enjoy it?" he asks softly, sounding considerably more nervous than somebody who had performed in front of forty thousand people only an hour earlier.

You laugh quietly against his shoulder. "More than I think I have the words to explain."

The tension immediately leaves his expression at your answer. "Good."

Jeongin has always felt his emotions so honestly that it's occasionally startling to witness. You've spent years hearing him become endlessly excited over the people he loves being happy. In person, it’s ten times as jarring. Sometimes, you think he'd gladly rearrange the world if it meant making somebody important to him smile.

He steps back slightly before smiling softly down at you, murmuring, "You're crying again."

You scoff wetly. "Not at all.”

He smiles, eyebrow arching before he takes your hand to lead you further backstage. You catch the other members’ eyes, and the leader – Chan – just grins at you, waving you off.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of introductions, congratulations, and more conversations beginning with some variation of "it's lovely to finally meet you.” By now, you've entirely stopped finding it surprising whenever people know things about you that you've never personally told them yourself.

They know your favourite flowers because Jeongin once spent twenty minutes complaining that they weren't in season before your birthday. They know about your university course, your love of terrible reality television, and the fact that you can't cook anything more complicated than pasta without immediately creating some form of domestic emergency.

At one point, somebody asks whether you've finally managed to convince Jeongin to eat breakfast consistently, causing Han, Felix and Changbin to laugh simultaneously before informing you they'd created an entire betting pool surrounding the likelihood of that particular achievement.

It's strangely overwhelming, but not because they're being unkind or because you feel unwelcome. It’s quite the opposite, actually. It feels like they’re welcoming you home. And suddenly, you're confronted by a truth you'd somehow spent months avoiding.

You were wrong.

You'd spent months since the party convincing yourself that there wasn't a place for you in Jeongin’s world, whereas the reality was infinitely simpler than that.

There had always been one.

Even if it was just a friendship forged online, Jeongin had quietly made sure of your place long before you'd ever been brave enough to step into it yourself. You think that's one of the loveliest things anybody has ever done for you.

It takes approximately three hours for you to realise that Yang Jeongin is something of a public menace backstage. You aren't entirely sure what you'd expected beforehand. Professionalism, perhaps. Calm and collected in the way he'd always appeared throughout interviews and public appearances.

Instead, he's spent the better part of the evening stealing food from your plate whenever he believes you aren't paying attention, dramatically introducing you to absolutely everyone he passes despite the fact you've repeatedly informed him that simply saying hello would've been perfectly sufficient and somehow managing to spend twenty uninterrupted minutes complaining about the uncomfortable shoes he'd been forced to wear during the concert.

Some things, it would seem, never change.

"You know," his manager laughs quietly as Jeongin disappears momentarily in search of coffee for both of you, "this is probably the calmest he's been after a performance in years."

You laugh softly beneath your breath as you glance down at the mug Jeongin had insisted on finding for you specifically because he'd decided all of the others were unnecessarily ugly. "Really?"

"Oh absolutely." He smiles knowingly before continuing. "Usually, he's bouncing off the walls for approximately three hours afterwards."

The image immediately brings a smile to your face. "I'm choosing to pretend I didn't hear that."

"Please don't. We've all suffered enough."

You laugh quietly at that as Jeongin finally reappears carrying considerably more snacks than either of you had requested. "What are we pretending she didn't hear?" he asks suspiciously as he places the food down on the table before immediately sliding one of your favourite chocolate bars across towards you.

"Nothing."

He narrows his eyes immediately. "Interesting."

"It's really not."

You laugh quietly to yourself as Jeongin sits comfortably beside you, his shoulder nudging gently against your own as though he'd been sitting there his entire life.

It's something you've become increasingly aware of over recent months. Jeongin had always been affectionate in small ways—the late-night phone calls and good morning messages and making sure you eat. Since meeting in person, however, he'd become softer somehow. More affectionate than he'd ever been before. Perhaps it was simply because he'd spent so many years existing primarily through a screen.

You'd never thought much of it - Jeongin loves loudly. That's simply who he is. You aren't foolish enough to mistake that for something romantic now. He would have admitted it by now, you think.

"I'm offended, by the way," Jeongin announces suddenly, successfully interrupting your thoughts.

"That's unfortunate."

"I've just realised you've been crying throughout approximately seventy percent of my concert."

"Oh, we're discussing percentages now?"

"We are."

"Then I'd like to point out that approximately ninety percent of those tears were entirely your fault."

He smiles softly at that, suddenly looking considerably younger and more innocent. "Good."

The answer catches you entirely off guard and your eyebrows shoot to your hairline in surprise. "What?"

"I wanted you to like it."

There's something impossibly vulnerable hidden carefully within the admission that causes something warm to settle quietly within your chest.

"I loved it."

He smiles then—that impossibly soft smile reserved almost exclusively for moments when he's particularly happy—and suddenly you understand entirely why forty thousand people scream his name whenever he walks onto a stage.

It's impossible not to love Jeongin when he's looking at the people important to him as though they've hung the moon.

You quickly decide that's a considerably more dangerous thought than you'd like to examine further.

"Oh!" somebody suddenly exclaims excitedly as they make their way over towards your small group. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

You glance up to find a beautiful woman smiling warmly in Jeongin’s direction before immediately wrapping him in a tight hug. She's stunning in the sort of effortless way you've always envied in other women. Long dark hair falls comfortably over her shoulders and she's somehow managed to look impossibly elegant.

It's mildly unfair, really.

"It's good to see you," Jeongin smiles warmly as he hugs her tightly in return.

"You too," she laughs quietly before finally turning towards you. "And you must finally be her."

The words immediately catch your attention. "...I'm sorry?"

She laughs softly at your confusion. "He's only spent the better part of five years talking about you."

There's that sentence again.

You aren't entirely sure you'll ever become accustomed to hearing it.

"Oh," you laugh quietly. "I'm beginning to realise that."

"I'm Sofia," she smiles warmly as she gently pulls you into a hug before either of you have properly introduced yourselves. "It's lovely to finally meet you."

She's every bit as kind as she is beautiful and, somehow, you think that only makes things considerably worse. You immediately like her.

It's terribly inconvenient.

The conversation flows naturally between the three of you as Sofia recounts increasingly ridiculous stories from accompanying Jeongin over the years.

"He cried over a duck once," she informs you conversationally.

"He was injured!"

"He was limping."

"THAT'S AN INJURY."

You laugh loudly at his increasingly dramatic attempts to defend himself. "Please tell me somebody has photographs."

"Several."

"This conversation feels unnecessarily hostile."

It's lovely, really. Watching Jeongin surrounded by people that love him almost as fiercely as you do. You're beginning to realise that he's built something remarkably beautiful throughout the years you've spent unknowingly separate from it all.

He deserves every wonderful thing that's found him.

Still, you can't help noticing how beautiful Sofia is whenever she laughs at something Jeongin says. Nor can you ignore how naturally she reaches for his hand whilst excitedly recounting some disastrous interview they'd attended together several years ago.

She loves him.

The thought settles heavily within your chest before you're able to stop it. It might not be romantic. You don't know her well enough to make that judgement. But she undoubtedly loves him. Then again, don't most people? Jeongin has always been painfully easy to love.

"Are you alright?" Jeongin asks quietly beside you, immediately drawing your attention back towards the conversation.

You smile reassuringly at him. “Of course."

And it's true. Mostly.

You aren't upset. Nor are you jealous exactly—not in the way Byul would undoubtedly accuse you of being if she were currently here. No, it's something considerably quieter than that. Insecurity, perhaps? Because sitting here watching beautiful, talented people laugh comfortably beside Jeongin suddenly reminds you of every insecurity you'd quietly carried with you over the years.

This is his world. These are his people. Beautiful musicians and sold-out arenas and magazine covers. And you're simply... You.

The thought settles heavily within your chest despite every conversation you've had over recent weeks attempting to convince yourself otherwise. Perhaps Byul had been right when she'd said you were painfully stubborn.

"It's lovely finally putting a face to all of the stories," Sofia smiles warmly towards you later that evening.

"Oh God," you laugh quietly. "Should I be concerned?"

"Very much so."

Jeongin immediately points accusingly in her direction. "You're remarkably mean to me."

"No," Sofia laughs softly. "You've just been in love with the same girl for five years."

The world seems to stop entirely around you, and silence settles heavily across the table. Your heart momentarily stops beating altogether before immediately beginning again considerably faster than before.

"What?" the word leaves your mouth considerably quieter than you'd intended.

Sofia physically pales almost immediately.

"...WHAT?"

You glance between the increasingly horrified expression settling across her face and Jeongin’s which has become positively murderous in approximately three seconds.

“Oh shit,” she whispers, and you’re turning back to Jeongin, trying to read the answer in his eyes.

He just laughs nervously and says, “Sofia, you’ve got it all wrong.”

a/n: I'm so sorry this part took so long and that it ended on a cliffhanger. I wrote too much for one single post, but I've already queued the final part for tomorrow, my babies, so you won't have to wait long. I'm hoping to get back to writing more regularly again now! (But don't hold me to that.)

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