Summary: when another member walks in on y’all kissing.
Notes: I think I will post and start to write some requests tomorrow so if anyone has requests feel free to send them in!!
The dorm feels softer at night. Lights dimmed, hallway noise low, the kind of calm that only happens when everyone’s winding down whether they admit it or not. You’re curled up on the couch with Keeho, legs tucked under you, his hoodie hanging off your shoulders because at some point he wordlessly pulled it over you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Keeho is talking. He always is.
Something about lyrics, then somehow it turns into a story about Intak being annoying earlier, then a random thought about how cold the dorm gets at night. His arm is draped loosely around your shoulders, thumb absentmindedly tracing the seam of your sleeve while he rambles.
You’re listening, but not fully. Mostly, you’re watching his face—how expressive he gets when he talks, how his eyes light up when he’s passionate, how his voice softens when it’s just the two of you.
“You’re not even hearing me, are you?” he says suddenly, glancing down at you.
You smile. “I am. You’re just distracting.”
He laughs, loud and warm, head tipping back. “Wow. So this is my fault.”
You shift closer, your knee bumping his thigh. “Kinda.”
That’s when you lean in and kiss him.
It cuts him off mid-sentence. For a split second, he’s surprised—then he melts into it like it’s instinct, one hand sliding to your waist, pulling you closer without even thinking. He hums softly, smiling into the kiss like he’s amused you even did it.
“Rude,” he murmurs when you pull back just enough to breathe.
“I do,” he admits easily, leaning in again for another kiss—slower, deeper this time, his thumb brushing warm circles into your side.
The world feels small. Quiet. Safe.
You don’t move right away. Keeho doesn’t either.
Jiung stands in the doorway, grocery bag hanging from his hand, staring at the two of you like he just walked into something he very much did not sign up for.
Keeho opens one eye lazily. “Hey, Jiung.”
Jiung blinks. “I—uh—was gonna ask if anyone wanted ramen.”
Heat creeps up your face, but Keeho just smiles and kisses you again, brief and unapologetic, like he’s proving a point.
Jiung lets out a noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh. “I’m never opening doors again.”
He turns around immediately.
“Love you!” Keeho calls after him.
You laugh, finally burying your face against Keeho’s chest. He wraps both arms around you, chin resting on the top of your head.
“See?” he says smugly. “We’re terrifying.”
“You traumatized him,” you reply.
“He’ll recover,” Keeho says, kissing your hair. “Probably.”
You pull back just enough to look at him. His expression softens instantly, teasing gone, eyes warm and affectionate in a way that makes your chest tighten.
“Hey,” he says quietly. “You good?”
He smiles, leaning in again, pressing his forehead to yours. “Good. Because I wasn’t done.”
He kisses you again—gentler this time, unhurried—like the interruption never mattered.
Jiung’s room always feels calmer than the rest of the dorm. The lighting is warm, soft enough that shadows blur at the edges, and there’s music playing quietly from his phone—something mellow, something he says helps him think.
You’re sitting on the floor together, backs against the bed, legs tangled comfortably. Jiung has his sketchbook open in his lap, pencil tapping lightly against the page as he stares at it like it’s going to talk back.
You glance over. “You’ve been staring at that for like five minutes.”
He smiles without looking up. “I know.”
“Always,” he admits, finally turning toward you. “But it’s okay.”
He sets the sketchbook aside, attention shifting fully to you. Jiung listens like that—completely, intentionally. When you talk, he leans in just a little, like he doesn’t want to miss a word.
You talk about nothing important. Something funny you saw earlier, something that annoyed you, something that made you think of him. He hums softly, nodding along, fingers absently tracing shapes against the floor near your hand.
At some point, without even realizing it, your fingers lace together.
Jiung notices. He always notices.
He looks at you, expression soft, thoughtful. “Can I?”
He leans in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away even though you never do. The kiss is gentle, unhurried, like he’s treating it as something delicate. His hand cups your cheek, warm and grounding, thumb brushing just beneath your eye.
It feels safe. Like home.
He pulls back just slightly, forehead resting against yours. “You okay?”
He kisses you again, deeper this time but still careful, like he’s holding something precious. His fingers tighten just a little in your hand.
Intak stands in the doorway, eyes wide, hand still on the door handle like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
“Oh my god,” he blurts. “I didn’t knock. I should’ve knocked. I usually knock.”
Jiung immediately covers his face with both hands, groaning. “Intak.”
“I’M LEAVING,” Intak says loudly, already backing away. “I’ll knock forever now. I swear.”
Silence rushes back in like nothing happened.
You start laughing, the kind you can’t stop, covering your mouth as Jiung lowers his hands, ears red, eyes crinkled in embarrassment.
“…I told him to knock,” he mutters.
You reach over and squeeze his hand. “It’s okay.”
He looks at you, relief washing over his expression. “I just—are you sure you’re okay?”
Jiung exhales, shoulders relaxing, then he smiles—small but sincere. He scoots closer until your knees bump again, fingers finding yours like it’s second nature.
“…Can we pretend that didn’t happen?”
You laugh softly. “Please.”
He leans in once more, slower now, kissing you like he’s savoring it, like interruptions don’t stand a chance. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, breathing steady.
You smile, knowing exactly what he means.
Theo’s room is one of the quietest places in the dorm. The door is closed, the lights are low, and the noise from the rest of the building feels far away, like it’s happening in another world. You’re standing close to him near the window, the city lights faintly glowing through the glass.
Theo’s talking softly, voice relaxed, about nothing in particular—something funny from practice earlier, a small detail he noticed but didn’t mention until now. He always does that, saves things for later, for when it’s just you.
You nod along, leaning against the desk, watching the way his expression shifts when he smiles. There’s something grounding about him, something that makes everything slow down.
At some point, his hand finds yours.
It’s not rushed. Just fingers brushing, then settling together like it’s always been that way. Theo looks at you, searching your face for a second, making sure you’re comfortable. He always checks.
You squeeze his hand gently.
That’s all the permission he needs.
He leans in, kiss unhurried, warm, familiar. One hand lifts to your jaw, thumb brushing lightly against your cheek as if he’s memorizing the feeling. He kisses you like time doesn’t matter, like there’s nowhere else he needs to be.
You rest your hands against his chest, feeling his steady breathing beneath your palms.
The moment is quiet. Intimate. Safe.
Neither of you pull away immediately. It takes a second for the world to rush back in.
Soul is standing in the doorway, eyes fixed firmly on the floor, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets like he’s trying very hard to be respectful.
Theo exhales softly, almost amused, and pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours for a beat.
“Oh,” Soul nods. “Okay. I’ll go.”
He turns around immediately, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click.
You laugh under your breath, tension melting away. Theo smiles too, thumb brushing your cheek again like the interruption never mattered.
“He’s polite,” you say softly.
He leans in again, kissing you once more—gentler this time, slower, like he’s deliberately choosing to stay in the moment. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, breathing steady.
“You good?” he asks quietly.
He smiles, small and warm. “Good.”
Theo kisses you again, and this time, nothing interrupts you.
With Intak, silence never really lasts.
Even late at night, when the dorm is winding down and the hallway lights are dim, he’s still bouncing—feet tapping, shoulders swaying, humming something under his breath while you sit beside him on the couch. His energy is soft tonight, though, not wild, just restless in that way it gets when he’s comfortable.
He nudges your knee with his own.
You laugh, leaning into him anyway. Intak immediately wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer like it’s instinct. You fit against him easily, like you’ve done this a thousand times before.
He starts telling you about practice—something funny Jongseob said, something Keeho exaggerated, something that definitely didn’t happen the way he’s describing it. His hands move as he talks, animated, expressive, until one settles at your waist without him even noticing.
You tilt your head up. “You’re being extra tonight.”
“Always,” he says proudly.
That’s when he leans in and kisses you.
It’s quick at first, playful, like he’s smiling even as his lips meet yours. When you kiss him back, he hums softly, pulling you closer, kissing you again like he’s chasing the sound of your laugh.
The couch creaks as he shifts, completely unbothered, completely at home.
Intak doesn’t pull away. He just keeps his forehead pressed to yours, smiling.
You glance over his shoulder.
Keeho is standing in the doorway, arms crossed, expression halfway between offended and impressed.
“Wow,” Keeho says. “On the couch. Bold.”
“It’s a couch,” Intak shrugs, finally pulling back just enough to look at him. “That’s what it’s for.”
Keeho squints. “I raised you.”
Intak grins and leans in to kiss you again—slow, deliberate, absolutely just to annoy him.
Keeho groans loudly. “You’re evil.”
You’re laughing too hard to be embarrassed, hiding your face against Intak’s shoulder as he squeezes you closer.
Keeho shakes his head. “I’m telling Seob.”
“Tell him what?” Intak calls after him. “That we’re cute?”
Keeho flips him off without turning around.
You’re still laughing when Intak looks back down at you, grin softening into something warmer, quieter.
“Sorry,” he says, voice gentler now. “Didn’t mean to make it weird.”
You shake your head. “It’s not weird.”
He smiles, relief clear, and pulls you back in, resting his chin on the top of your head.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I like this.”
He kisses you again—less playful this time, more lingering—like he’s settling back into something familiar.
Soul likes quiet moments the most.
Not the awkward kind—just the soft, calm kind, where nothing is demanded of him and he can exist without trying too hard. His room is dim, curtains half-drawn, a faint glow from his lamp spilling across the floor. You’re sitting on his bed beside him, shoulders brushing, the air warm and still.
He isn’t talking much. He rarely does when he’s comfortable.
Instead, he hands you his phone, showing you a video he saved earlier—something silly, something he thought you’d like. You laugh softly, and the sound makes his lips curve up just a little, like that alone was worth it.
You give the phone back and your fingers linger against his.
Soul notices immediately.
He looks at your hands first, then up at you, eyes searching your face carefully. When he reaches out, it’s slow, like he’s making sure you won’t pull away. His fingers lace with yours, warm and a little tentative.
You squeeze his hand. “Yeah.”
He leans in, kiss gentle and careful, like he’s holding something fragile. His other hand rests lightly at your waist, barely there at first before settling more confidently when you kiss him back. His breath stutters just a little, and you can feel the way he relaxes when he realizes you’re not going anywhere.
The moment feels small in the best way. Just you. Just him.
“I didn’t see anything,” Theo says quickly, voice rushed. “I swear.”
Soul pulls back instantly, ears bright red, eyes wide like he’s been caught doing something illegal.
“It’s okay,” you say softly, squeezing his hand.
Theo nods way too fast. “Cool. Love is real. I’m leaving.”
The door shuts for good this time.
Soul exhales slowly, shoulders dropping as he leans forward until his forehead rests against yours.
You smile, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He looks at you for a long second, like he’s committing the moment to memory, then leans in again—this time a little less hesitant, a little more sure.
When he pulls back, he stays close, fingers still laced with yours.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
“For being patient with me.”
Your chest tightens. You lean in and kiss him again, slow and reassuring.
He smiles after—small, soft, real.
And nothing interrupts you this time.
The dorm is loud tonight—music bleeding faintly through walls, someone laughing down the hall, footsteps coming and going—but Jongseob’s room feels like its own little pocket of quiet. You’re sitting on his bed, back against the headboard, legs stretched out while he’s half-turned toward you, laptop forgotten somewhere beside him.
He’s telling you about a verse he rewrote earlier, voice calm but animated in that way that only happens when he’s talking about music. His hands move when he explains things, fingers tracing invisible beats in the air, and you catch yourself smiling just watching him.
You’ve seen him on stage—sharp, confident, commanding—but this Jongseob is softer. Comfortable. The one who leans into your shoulder without thinking, who pauses mid-sentence just to rest his forehead against yours.
You reach up and fix the collar of his hoodie, a small, absentminded gesture.
“What?” he asks, smiling already.
“Nothing,” you say, leaning in.
The kiss is easy. Familiar. He kisses you back without hesitation, one hand settling at your waist like it’s always belonged there. You can feel him relax immediately, shoulders dropping, breath softening as the world narrows down to just the two of you.
When you pull back slightly, his forehead follows yours.
“You’re distracting,” he murmurs.
“You were the one rambling,” you tease.
He laughs quietly and leans in again, this time slower, more intentional. His thumb brushes small circles against your side, grounding, warm. There’s no rush. No pressure. Just closeness.
Keeho stands in the doorway, mid-step, eyes wide like he’s just walked into a crime scene.
“…Oh,” Keeho says faintly.
Jongseob pulls back instantly, already sighing. “Hyung.”
Keeho blinks between the two of you. “You’re— you’re kissing??”
You bite back a laugh, half-embarrassed, half-amused.
“We’ve been dating,” Jongseob says evenly, rubbing the back of his neck. “For months.”
Keeho clutches his chest. “I leave you alone for five minutes and you’re grown.”
Jongseob groans. “Hyung, please.”
Keeho shakes his head, backing out of the room like he’s just seen too much. “I need time. I need space. I need to process.”
And then you laugh—really laugh—covering your mouth as Jongseob drops his head back against the wall.
“I warned you,” he says tiredly.
“He’s dramatic,” you reply.
“He’s always like that,” Jongseob mutters, but there’s a fond smile tugging at his lips.
He looks at you again, expression softening immediately, like the interruption never mattered. He reaches out, fingers brushing yours, tentative in a way that’s oddly sweet.
“…We were in the middle of something.”
He leans in again, slower this time, kissing you like he’s making a point. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, breathing steady.
You nod, already knowing it always is.
