The Library

♡Main: Mrs-I-Have-Too-Many-Biases♡ {The Library} A side blog where I can appreciate all the great stories from fellow writers that I absolutely love and feel like everyone should see!

[ivyues]

Someday ⋅ Bang Chan

Under the Australian sunset, Bang Chan stands in front of his first and current love, one he wants forever.

The sea stretched endlessly before you, waves rolling in a steady rhythm as the salty breeze carried the crisp scent of the ocean. The sky was painted in various hues of orange and pink, a breathtaking view that you desperately wanted to capture.

You adjusted your camera, took a shot, frowned, and adjusted again. The light shifted too quickly. The waves weren’t hitting the shore quite right. You wanted the shot, the one that truly captured how breathtaking this moment was.

Chris stood a few meters away, watching you with a soft smile. He had initially thought you would take a quick snap and be done with it, but here you were, still completely immersed in your craft, completely unaware of the way you fit so effortlessly into the scenery.

He didn’t mind waiting.

If anything, watching you like this – lost in your own world, bathed in the soft glow of the sunset – was enough to make his heart ache in the best way possible.

His eyes traced over your silhouette, the way the golden light kissed your skin, how your hair caught the evening breeze. He had always loved the sea; it was his first love, his childhood. But seeing you here, blending so naturally into a place that meant everything to him, made something settle deep inside him.

A conversation from earlier replayed in his mind.

"She’s good for you, Christopher," his mother had said, her voice warm yet certain. "You bring each other home in ways I don’t think you even realize yet."

He had chuckled then, brushing off the way her words settled deep in his chest, but she hadn’t stopped there.

"Some moments in life… they just tell you when something is right. When it’s time." She had smiled knowingly, eyes twinkling with something unspoken.

At the time, he hadn’t thought much of it. But now, standing here, watching you passionately take a picture of something that had been part of his soul since childhood, he understood.

Because right now, his heart was telling him something loud and clear – when the time came, when he asked you to be with him forever, he wanted it to be a moment like this, right here. Just the two of you, the sea, the sunset, and a love so certain it didn’t need grand gestures to prove itself.

He exhaled softly, shaking his head at the way his heart started to beat a little faster.

You turned then, catching him staring, and grinned. “What’s with you?” you teased, tilting your head.

Chris let out a chuckle, stepping closer. “Can’t I admire my beautiful girlfriend?”

But before you could answer, a mischievous glint sparked in your eyes. You raised your camera again, aiming it straight at his face. “Hold still,” you said playfully, zooming in dramatically and taking a few shots.

He groaned, but he couldn't surpress the grin on his lips. “Oh no, not the close-ups,” he muttered before lunging forward, wrapping his arms around you in a gentle hug to stop you.

You laughed, your camera lowering as you melted into his embrace, wrapping your arms around him. The warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart. He held you close, his chin resting lightly on the top of your head as he pressed a soft kiss against your hair.

After a beat of silence, you murmured, "Okay, but seriously… what’s up?"

Chris smiled, tightening his hold on you for just a second. "Nothing," he mumbled, though his heart screamed otherwise.

Because if he opened his mouth now, he might just end up telling you exactly what he was thinking – that he loved you more than words, that you fit so seamlessly into his world, and that one day, he was going to ask you to stay in it forever, right here.

Well he could do that now, technically. He definitely wanted to... But not today.

Someday he will, definetly.

Before the moment could get too sentimental, a mischievous grin tugged at his lips. Without warning, he bent down and effortlessly threw you over his shoulder.

"Chris!" you squealed, laughing as you lightly smacked his back. "What are you doing?! I wasn't done!"

He chuckled, spinning you around slightly before carrying you farther away from shoreline. "You were taking too long. My parents were gonna file a missing report if I didn’t do something!"

"Put me down, you’re ridiculous!" You laughed, kicking your feet playfully as he held you securely.

He grinned, his heart full as he listened to your laughter mix with the sound of the waves. Yeah. Someday, he was going to make you his forever.

masterlist

[ivyues]

Delirium ⋅ Bang Chan

For once, you get to take care of the one who takes care of everyone.

The keys jingled in Chan’s hand when everyone spilled out of the restaurant in a laughing, stumbling mess.

Not drunk drunk – just loose with the night. Warm from soju and beer, cheeks flushed pink, voices louder than usual, every joke suddenly the funniest thing anyone had ever heard. 

Three rental cars waited beneath the streetlights, still dusty from the beach parking lot earlier that afternoon.

“Okay,” Changbin announced from the other side of the lot, pointing dramatically. “Strong team with me.”

“You mean loud team,” Seungmin said.

“You mean nightmare team,” Jeongin corrected.

You ended up in the second car exactly where you’d expected: Han was already climbing into the backseat, somehow still carrying snacks in his hoodie pocket (and probably in his cheeks as well), Felix sitting beside him with his seatbelt half twisted, and Chan standing by the driver’s door, rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand.

He looked beautiful in the soft, ugly parking-lot lighting. Which was unfair.

Cap low over his forehead. Sleeves pushed to his elbows. Hair messy from wind and seawater. His smile was there, touched with the kind of tired happiness that comes after a day well spent. 

He’d only had one drink hours ago and switched to water after, but the day had been long – sun, swimming, driving, making sure everyone was where they needed to be, checking maps, checking reservations, checking on members, checking on you every ten minutes like you might evaporate.

You stepped closer. “Baby.”

His head lifted immediately. “Hm?”

“Let me drive.”

His eyebrows rose. “You wanna drive?”

“You're tired. And I'm sober too.”

“It’s okay. I can do it.” 

“I know that you can,” you said softly. “But you don’t need to. You’re tired.”

“I’m fine.”

“You just tried to unlock the car with the house key.”

Chan let out a soft laugh, head dropping for a second, and you saw it then: the real exhaustion under the playful refusal. The kind he always ignored.

You reached for his wrist.

His fingers turned instinctively, fingers sliding through yours like they belonged there.

Your voice dropped so only he could hear.

“Chris.”

That did it. It always did.

His eyes flicked to yours.

You reached up, face leaning in towards his, and smoothed a thumb under one of his eyes. “You’ve been taking care of everyone all day. Please let me take care of you for twenty minutes.”

Something in his expression shifted.

Small. Barely there.

That look he only got when you slipped past the leader everyone knew and spoke to the man underneath it all. 

He glanced down at your joined hands, thumb brushing once over your knuckles. Then he sighed through a smile and leaned his forehead against yours. 

From the backseat, Felix made a scandalized little sound. “They’re being cute again.” 

“They can do that any other time,” Han whined. “I wanna fall into bed.” 

Chan huffed a laugh through his nose and pulled back.

“You sure?”

“Mhm.”

“You know the route?”

You nodded and held out your hand.

After a second, he dropped the keys into your palm. 

“Okay.”

You smiled and tipped your head towards the passenger side. “Go on then.”

Chan blinked at you once, clearly too tired to argue, then shuffled around the front of the car without protest. 

As he turned, you gave him a light, friendly smack on the butt. 

He stopped mid-step and turned back, scandalized. “Hey.” 

“Passenger princes don’t talk back, baby,” you said sweetly, opening the driver’s door. 

Chan shook his head under his breath, smiling now despite himself, and slid into the passenger seat. 

You settled behind the wheel, adjusting the seat back from where Chan had it too far for your comfort. His cologne lingered in the fabric, mixed with salt air and the faint scent of sunscreen. 

From the backseat, Han gasped dramatically. “She’s driving?” 

“Oh, you’ll survive,” you said, fixing the rearview mirror until Han's face appeared in it. “If not, you’re also welcome to walk back.” 

He slumped lower in his seat, arms folding across his chest in exaggerated sulkiness. “ ‘was just saying, your driving is kind of scary.” 

“You don’t even have a license,” you said, starting the engine. “Seatbelt, Jisung.” 

“That’s why my opinion is pure,” Han said, reaching for the seatbelt with a pout. “Unbiased. Untainted by experience.” 

Felix laughed so hard he immediately yawned afterward, eyes watering. 

Chan’s mouth twitched, trying not to smile.

–––––

Five minutes later, Han was dead aleep.

The road curved dark and quiet along the coast, the sea only visible in flashes between trees.

Chan sat in the passenger seat with the chair leaned farther back than he ever let himself do. 

But he kept looking at you.

Every time you glanced over, his eyes were already there.

He had one arm folded across his middle, the other tucked between you on the center console where his fingers occasionally squeezed yours. Not out of nervousness, but out of habit.

The boys in the back had gone from loud to silent with shocking speed. 

Han was asleep first, cheek smushed against Felix’s shoulder, mouth slightly open. 

Felix lasted another three songs before his head tipped sideways onto Han’s hair. 

You glanced in the rearview mirror and nearly laughed.

“Look.”

Chan turned his head. 

His smile came slow and helpless.

“They always act tough,” he said quietly, “then become babies after one drink.”

You smiled as well. “You gonna carry them inside later?”

“The hell I will.”

You hummed innocently. “But they’re your babies.”

“They’re adults,” he said at once. “Heavy adults. They just happen to complain a lot and expect to be pampered.” 

“You raised them that way.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

He gave a soft scoff but didn’t argue harder than that. 

Sleep was already pulling at him now, loosening every sharp edge. Without the need to steer, navigate, count heads, answer questions, make decisions, remind people to hydrate, remember where everyone left their bags—

There was nothing left for him to hold up.

No leader face.

No responsibility voice.

Just your boyfriend, warm, happy and slowly falling asleep in the passenger seat. 

His thumb traced over your knuckles once. Twice.

“You’re staring,” you murmured.

“I’m appreciating.” 

“You should rest those eyes, not look at me.”

“Can’t help it. You look really pretty when you drive.” 

You laughed under your breath. “That’s the sleep talking, babe.” 

“No.” His eyes were half closed, voice low and certain. “Been thinking it for ten minutes.” 

“Shouldn’t you be resting?”

He leaned his head back against the headrest. “Can’t.”

“Why?”

“Like looking at you.”

You stopped at a red light. The intersection was empty, traffic signal glowing red over the quiet road.

You looked over at him again. 

He was already looking at you.

Slowly, he lifted his free hand.

His fingers brushed your cheek first, palm settling there gently like he wanted to hold your face for a second before anything else. His thumb swept once across your cheekbone, slow and absentminded. 

Then, he leaned across the console and kissed you.

Soft.

Unhurried.

Sleepy in the sweetest way. 

You froze for half a heartbeat before kissing him back, one hand tightening on the wheel, the other moving to rest on his shoulder.

He was warm, lips slow and gentle on yours.

As he pulled away, your stomach flipped so hard it made you forget where you were. 

When you opened your eyes, it took you a second to remember the car, the road, the sleeping passengers.

You turned your head.

Han was still dead asleep against Felix, entirely unaware of the world. 

Felix hadn’t moved at all, breathing deep, arms wrapped around his folded jacket like a stuffed animal. 

You let out a slow breath and looked back at Chan. 

Who looked impossibly soft like this.

Hoodie half-zipped. Curls messy beneath his cap. Lips parted slightly with sleepiness.

And his eyes – so full of love – it made something in your chest ache.

“Tired?” you asked softly. 

“No.”

“Close your eyes.”

“Can’t.”

“Why?”

“Need to make sure everyone gets home safe.”

Your chest ached in that familiar way.

Even now.

Even here.

Even with his members unconscious in the back and the day finally over, he was still holding the invisible strings of everyone else’s comfort.

You reached over and squeezed his arm.

“I’ve got them,” you said. Then softer, “I’ve got you too.”

He went very still.

Then exhaled like he’d been waiting all day to.

When the light changed, you gave him one last smile before turning back to the road and easing the car forward. 

“You’re cute,” he mumbled after a minute. 

“You’re delirious.”

“Probably.”

“You happy?” you asked.

“Mhm.”

“Why?”

He leaned his head against the window, still watching you.

“My girlfriend’s driving me home~”

You snorted. “That’s all it takes?”

“She’s pretty.”

“Christopher.”

“She smells nice too.”

“You’re half-asleep.” 

“I’m in love.”

The words came so simply, so sleep-heavy and sincere, that your chest tightened.

You squeezed his hand.

“Go to sleep.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He squeezed your hand back once, then his grip loosened as sleep began pulling him under, yet still holding onto your hand like he didn’t know how not to.

masterlist

[hwanghhjinie]

THE FRACTURED CHASE ⏳

HWANG HYUNJIN x READER

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🛸── .✦ angst. fluff. series masterlist!

He kisses you, then pulls away like it meant nothing. When he comes back, desperate to fix it, you’re the one who shuts him out—leaving him chasing a moment he ruined himself.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪🦙❫･━━━━━━ ❜

The studio always feels different after midnight.

You’re used to it. Used to the dim lights, the hum of equipment, the glow of the monitor reflecting off tired eyes. Used to the way creativity comes easier when the world outside finally shuts up.

What you’re not used to—what you’ll probably never get used to—is him.

Hyunjin sits across from you, one leg bouncing lightly, headphones hanging around his neck instead of on his ears. He’s supposed to be listening back to the demo you just finished tweaking, but he hasn’t pressed play in the last five minutes.

Instead, he’s watching you.

“You’re staring,” you mutter, not even looking up from your screen.

“I’m thinking,” he replies.

“That’s not what thinking looks like.”

A pause.

Then, softer, “It is when it’s about you.”

That makes you glance up.

Big mistake.

He’s leaning forward now, elbow on his knee, chin resting against his knuckles—eyes sharp, unreadable, but not in the distant way he usually gets when he’s lost in music.

This is something else. Something too focused. Too intentional.

You try to ignore the way your chest tightens.

“Focus,” you say, gesturing toward the screen. “We still need to fix the second verse. Your pronunciation is off.”

“My pronunciation is fine.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

You sigh, turning your chair to face him fully.

“Hyunjin.”

He straightens slightly, like he’s bracing for a lecture—but there’s a flicker of amusement in his expression.

“Sing it again,” you insist.

He doesn’t move.

“Hyunjin.”

Still nothing.

Instead, he studies you again—slower this time. Like he’s memorizing something he’s about to lose.

“…What?” you ask, quieter now.

He exhales, almost like a laugh—but there’s no humor in it.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Look at me like I’m just… work.”

Your brows knit together. “Because we are working.”

“Yeah,” he says, closing the distance between you in a few unhurried steps. “That’s the problem.”

Your breath catches, but you hold your ground.

“Hyunjin—”

“I keep telling myself it’s just that,” he continues, voice low, almost to himself. “Just late nights. Just songs. Just you correcting me and me pretending I don’t like it.”

He stops right in front of you.

Too close.

“You don’t like it…” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

He tilts his head slightly. “No?”

Your pulse is loud now—too loud.

“Then why do you always stay?” you counter.

Silence. A dangerous kind.

His gaze drops to your lips for a fraction of a second—and that’s all the warning you get.

Because the next thing you know, he’s kissing you.

It’s not hesitant.

Not soft.

It’s sudden, overwhelming—like something that’s been held back for too long finally snapping free. His hand slid up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek with an intensity that felt like he was trying to anchor himself to the moment.

And for a second—or more—you kiss him back.

Because it’s Hyunjin.

Because it’s this moment, in this room, with everything unsaid finally spilling over.

Because deep down, you’ve been waiting for it too.

You let your eyes close, allowing the reality of him to finally override the professional distance you’d worked so hard to maintain.

But as quickly as the fire had started, he doused it.

He pulls away abruptly like he’d been burned by the very heat he’d sought out.

The space between you feels colder than it should.

Your heart is still racing, your lips still tingling, your thoughts scrambling to catch up—but his expression has already changed.

Closed off. Controlled. Gone.

“We shouldn’t,” he says, almost flat. Like he’s reading from a script he doesn’t believe in but is forcing himself to follow anyway.

You stare at him.

“What?”

He steps back, running a hand through his hair, avoiding your eyes now.

“That was—” he starts, then stops. Swallows. “It didn’t mean anything.”

The words land wrong.

Too sharp. Like they were chosen specifically to cut.

You let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “Didn’t mean anything?”

“It was just—” He exhales, frustrated. “A moment. That’s all.”

Right.

You nodded slowly, the realization sinking in like lead in your stomach. You felt the familiar, cold walls of professionalism rising back up to protect you, though your chest felt like it was caving in.

“Okay,” you say.

Your voice sounds steadier than you feel.

“Okay,” you repeat, turning back to your screen like nothing just happened. Like your world didn’t tilt slightly off its axis.

A beat passed. Then another.

He didn't leave, but he didn't move toward you either.

“Play the track,” you add, eyes fixed forward. “We’re wasting time.”

There’s a long pause before you hear the faint click of the mouse.

And just like that, you both pretend it never happened.

But the air in the studio?

It never goes back to normal.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Hyunjin doesn’t remember the drive home.

One second he’s leaving the studio, the next he’s standing in the middle of his apartment, keys still in his hand, the silence pressing in too loud.

The kiss lingers—not just the feeling—everything. The way you froze for half a second before leaning in. The way your breath hitched. It had felt right. It had felt like the final piece of a puzzle he hadn't realized he was building.

And then, his grip tightens around his keys.

“…Idiot.” he mutters under his breath.

He runs a hand through his hair, pacing once, twice, like moving might shake the memory out of him.

It didn’t mean anything.

He actually said that.

A humorless laugh leaves him, sharp and short.

“Yeah. Sure Hyunjin.”

Because if it didn’t mean anything, then why does his chest feel like it’s being squeezed from the inside out?

Why does he keep replaying the exact moment you kissed him back?

Why does he remember the look on your face right after—confused, open, real—before he ruined it?

He exhales hard, dropping onto the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees.

He knows why he pulled away. It wasn’t because it meant nothing but because it meant too much.

You’re not just someone he can mess around with. Not someone he can risk dragging into something messy, complicated—something that could blow back on both of you. You work with them. You’re part of the process, part of the team. One wrong move and everything shifts.

And him? He’s already a mess.

Late nights, pressure, expectations—he barely keeps himself together most days.

The thought of bringing you into that storm—of inevitably hurting you because he couldn't find his own center—terrified him.

His jaw tightened until it ached.

“So I just hurt her anyway,” he whispered to the empty room.

Because that’s what he did.

There was nothing casual about that kiss, and you’re not stupid. You would’ve seen right through it—seen through him.

And instead of owning it, he panicked.

Took something real and reduced it to nothing. His hands come up to cover his face, fingers pressing hard against his eyes.

“Why did I say that?”

No answer. Just the echo of your voice in his head.

Didn’t mean anything?

He can still hear the way you said it—like you didn’t believe him, but you were forcing yourself to anyway.

You hadn't screamed. You hadn't thrown him out. You had just… agreed.

And if you really believed him—if you took those words as your new reality—you would never let him that close again.

And the thought of that?

It makes something twist painfully in him.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Across the city, you’re staring at your ceiling.

Sleep won’t come.

Every time you drifted close to it, the memory of the studio pulled you back. The heat of him. The way his thumb had brushed your cheek like you were something precious. And then the way he pulled away like it was nothing.

You press your lips together, turning onto your side, pulling your blanket tighter around you like that might hold you together.

“What was that?” you whisper to no one.

Was he playing with you?

No—Hyunjin’s not like that. At least… you don’t think he is.

But then why?

Why kiss you like that—like he meant it—and then act like it was just some passing impulse?

Your chest tightens.

“Was it a joke?” you murmur, the thought bitter in your mouth.

You hated that you were even asking the question. You hated that you were dissecting his motives like a lyric sheet. But mostly, you hated how effortlessly you had responded to him. You had kissed him back without a second of hesitation, as if your body had been waiting for his signal for years.

And maybe it had.

You squeezed your eyes shut against the burning behind your lids. “That was so stupid.”

Stupid to let your guard down.

Stupid to blur the line between work and… whatever that was.

You’ve liked him for a while now.

You just got good at hiding it. Tucking it away behind schedules and deadlines and teasing arguments about phrasing and tone.

You convinced yourself it was harmless.

Safe.

Until tonight proved it wasn’t.

Your throat tightens slightly, but you swallow it down.

“Okay,” you whisper, echoing your own voice from earlier.

If that’s what it meant to him—nothing. Then you’ll treat it like nothing too.

You have to.

Holding onto a one-sided hope was a slow-acting poison, and you refused to let it settle in your system.

So you make a decision there, in the quiet of your room, staring at a ceiling that doesn’t give you answers.

You’ll keep your distance.

Keep things professional.

No more lingering looks. No more late-night conversations that drift too personal. No more letting yourself read into the way he says your name or the way he stays just a little longer than he needs to.

You’ll fix this.

Before it gets worse.

Even if it means pretending that something that felt so real, never happened at all.

And somewhere between your resolve and the silence that follows, your chest aches in a way you can’t quite ignore.

But you let it.

Because it’s easier than hoping he’ll come back and say he didn’t mean what he said.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The studio feels normal again.

Too normal. Like nothing ever happened.

You’re already there when Hyunjin walks in—headphones on, back straight, eyes fixed on your screen. There’s a cup of coffee beside you, untouched, and a stack of notes neatly arranged like you’ve been here longer than you actually have.

Like you needed the extra time to build a wall.

He looked at you—or rather, at the way you were pointedly not looking at him.

“You’re early,” he says, voice careful.

“Deadlines don’t adjust for sleep schedules,” you reply, flat, professional.

No glance. No pause.

Just work.

Something in his chest sinks.

“Right,” he mutters, setting his things down a little slower than usual, like he’s waiting—hoping—you’ll look up.

You don’t.

The silence stretches.

He set his bag down with exaggerated slowness, the rustle of fabric and the clink of his water bottle sounding like thunder in the silence.

Usually, you’d fill it. Complain about a melody. Tease him about being late. Say something that would make him roll his eyes but secretly smile.

Now? Nothing.

Just the faint clicking of your keyboard.

“About last night—” he starts.

“Second verse still needs fixing,” you cut in, finally speaking—but not to him. Not really. Your eyes stay on the screen. “You dragged the last syllable again.”

He exhales, frustrated. “Can we not do this right now?”

“We are doing this right now,” you say, calm. Detached. “We’re working.”

His jaw tightens.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.”

That makes you pause—but only for a second.

Then you hit play.

It was loud enough to drown out any further attempts at whatever conversation he’s trying to start—or perhaps just loud enough to give you an excuse not to hear it.

He stared at you, really looking this time, and the realization hit him like a physical blow. The softness was gone. The lingering, playful glances that had been your secret language for months had been erased, replaced by a professional distance so profound it was almost insulting.

He reaches out, stopping the track mid-play.

The sudden silence is sharp.

“Don’t,” you say immediately, a flicker of irritation finally breaking through.

“Talk to me,” he says.

“I am talking to you. Your timing is off—”

“Not about the song.”

Your fingers still over the keyboard.

Slowly, you lean back in your chair, finally looking at him.

And for a split second, he sees it.

That crack—hurt. Barely there, but enough.

Then it’s gone.

Replaced with something colder.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you say.

His brows pull together. “Nothing?”

“You said it yourself,” you continue, voice steady in a way that almost sounds rehearsed. “It didn’t mean anything.”

The words landed with more weight than they had the night before. Because now, they didn't sound like his lie—they sound like they belong to you.

“That’s not—” He stops, running a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding through. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s exactly what you meant.”

“No, I just—” He exhales sharply. “I panicked, okay?”

You don’t react.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he adds, softer now. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it?” you ask.

There’s no edge to your voice.

No anger.

Just a quiet, terrifying calm.

He opens his mouth and nothing comes out.

Because how is he supposed to explain that he kissed you because he couldn’t stop himself and then pushed you away because he was scared of how much he wanted it?

How much he wants you?

“I…” He falters.

And that hesitation? It’s all you need.

You nod once, like something just got confirmed.

“Right.”

“No, wait—”

“It’s fine, Hyunjin.”

He freezes.

Because that tone—it’s the same one you use with everyone else. Accessible but untouchable.

“I get it,” you continue. “It was a mistake. It happens.”

“A mistake?” he repeats, almost disbelieving.

You shrug lightly. “You said it didn’t mean anything. I’m just agreeing with you.”

“I don’t want you to agree with me!” he snaps, stepping closer. “I want you to—”

“To what?” you cut in, standing now, finally meeting him at eye level. “Take it seriously? Read into it? Make it something it’s not?”

His expression shifts, something desperate flickering through.

“It was something.”

Your chest tightens—but you don’t let it show.

“Not according to you.”

“I was wrong.”

The words come out quick. Immediate.

And entirely too late.

You held his gaze for a long, agonizing second. Then, you shook your head, a small, sad smile touching your lips that didn't reach your eyes.

“No,” you say quietly. “You had your chance to mean it…and you didn’t.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

He looks like he wants to say more—like there’s a hundred things sitting at the tip of his tongue, waiting to spill out.

But you’ve already stepped back.

Already putting that distance between you again.

“We have work to finish,” you say, turning away. “If you’re done… we can start recording.”

It’s a dismissal.

Hyunjin didn't move. He stood in the center of the room, watching you shut the door he hadn't even realized you were closing. And the worst part? You weren't slamming it. You weren't yelling or crying or demanding an explanation.

You were just… letting him go.

Like whatever was between you, really didn’t mean anything at all.

And now, he’s the one left chasing it.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

It doesn’t stop.

Even after that conversation, Hyunjin doesn’t back off.

If anything, he gets worse.

At first, it’s small. So small you almost convince yourself it’s nothing.

He starts listening.No more arguing just to get a reaction out of you, no more dragging out takes because he thinks it’s funny when you get annoyed.

Every time you gave a correction, he leaned into the microphone, his eyes searching yours through the glass with a weight that made your pulse stutter.

"Like this?" he’d ask after every adjustment.

Like he’s waiting for your approval.

You keep it clinical. “Better. Again.”

But he still looks at you like that word matters more than it should.

Then it’s quieter things.

You mention—offhandedly—that you didn’t have time to eat. The next day, a familiar takeout bag from your favorite place was sitting on your console. No post it notes scrawled in marker. Just the quiet presence of it. You ignored it for three hours, your resolve hardening even as your stomach growled.

You take one bite. Then another.

And you hate the way your chest tightens when you realize it’s exactly what you like.

Across the room, Hyunjin doesn’t say anything.

But you catch him glancing once—just once. Like that’s enough.

Also, he stays later now.

A few minutes turning into an hour, until he was the only one left in the room with you every single night..

Even when there’s no reason to.

You’ll be packing up, ready to go, and he’ll still be there—leaning against the console, watching you in that quiet way that used to feel comfortable.

Now it feels dangerous.

“You don’t have to stay,” you tell him one night.

“I know.”

“Then go home.”

A beat.

“I will,” he says.

He doesn’t move.

You sigh, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Hyunjin.”

“Walk with me,” he says suddenly.

You freeze.

“We’re going the same way anyway.”

“We’re not,” you reply. “I have somewhere else to be.”

It’s a lie. A bad one.

He knows it and you know he knows it.

But he doesn’t call you out.

“...Okay,” he’d whispered, stepping back to let you pass. He was learning how to respect the space you’d demanded, but he was making sure you felt exactly how much of it he was willing to fill.

The others definitely notice now.

“Hyunjin,” Jisung whispers loudly one day, not even trying to be subtle, “you’re down bad.”

“Shut up.”

“You are,” Changbin adds, grinning. “I’ve never seen you this obedient in the studio.”

“I’m not obedient.”

“You said ‘yes’ five times in a row.”

“That’s called listening.”

“Since when?” Minho chimed in, his voice a sharp blade of amusement.

Hyunjin glares.

Across the room, you kept your head down, your pen trembling slightly against the paper. You could feel Chan watching you. He waited until the others drifted toward the vending machines before he slid into the chair next to yours.

“Are you going to talk about it?” he asked, his voice low enough to stay between the two of you.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Chan.”

He sighed, the sound of a man who had handled enough disputes for one lifetime. “You’re both exhausting. He’s trying, you know.”

“I know.”

“And?”

You flipped a page in your notebook, the paper crisp and final. “And nothing. It doesn’t change what happened.”

Chan studied you, his gaze heavy with the kind of wisdom that comes from seeing too many hearts break in small rooms. “You don’t believe him?”

“I’m starting to,” you said, closing the book with a soft thud. “That’s the problem.”

Chan doesn’t respond right away.

Because that answer? It says more than you intended.

Hyunjin doesn’t stop.

He adjusts himself around you like he’s trying to prove something without forcing it.

He gives you space—but never distance.

He talks to you—but never pushes too far.

He looks at you—always looks at you—like he’s waiting for the moment you’ll finally soften again.

And sometimes, you almost do.

Like when he laughs—really laughs—and it slips out before he can stop it, bright and unguarded, and you forget, just for a second, that you’re supposed to be careful.

Or when he hums a melody absentmindedly, and you instinctively add a harmony under your breath, and your voices blend like they always have—natural.

That pull. That same pull that led to—

No.

You shut it down. Immediately.

Because you remember—You remember the kiss. You remember how real it felt. And you remember him pulling away like it was nothing.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

One night, it breaks.

You’re both alone again.

The others left hours ago, and you told yourself you’d leave earlier this time—but here you are, still sitting across from him, the soft glow of the screen the only light left.

“You’re tired,” he said. It wasn't a question.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I said I’m fine.”

A pause.

Then, softer, “You don’t have to keep doing that.”

“Doing what?” you snapped, finally looking at him.

“Acting like you don’t feel anything.”

Your chest tightened, that familiar, suffocating pressure returning.

“I don’t.”

He doesn’t believe you. It’s obvious.

And that annoys you more than it should.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you say.

“I’m not deciding. I’m seeing.”

“You’re assuming.”

“I’m remembering.”

That hits too close.

You stand abruptly, standing abruptly and shoving your laptop into your bag. “We’re done here.”

“No, we’re not.” He moved faster, intercepting you before you could reach the door.

“Yes, we are.”

“Not until you actually look at me and say you don’t feel anything.”

You laugh, short and sharp. “Why? So you can decide if it’s convincing enough?”

“So I know if I should stop.”

Silence.

That…makes you pause.

Because for the first time, there’s something different in his voice.

Not just persistence or guilt.

Something steadier. Something real.

“If I say it,” you ask quietly, “you’ll stop?”

His jaw tightens.

“If you mean it.”

There it is.

The problem.

You looked up at him, the lie sitting on your tongue like a piece of lead. It was right there. All you had to do was say the words and the pressure would vanish. You could go back to being "the professional" and he would finally leave you alone.

But you couldn't do it.

Because if you said it, you’d be no better than he was that night.

So instead, you shake your head slightly.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs.

You look away first.

And that’s all he needs.

“I meant it,” he says, stepping closer—but not too close. Not enough to scare you off. “That night.”

You don’t respond.

“I just got scared,” he continues. “And I said the worst possible thing I could’ve said.”

Your hands tighten around your bag strap.

“I know you don’t trust it,” he adds. “I understand.”

A breath.

“But I’m not going anywhere.”

That makes your chest ache in a way you don’t want to acknowledge.

“You should,” you say quietly.

“I won’t.”

“Hyunjin—”

“I like you.”

The words were so simple they were devastating. No poetry, no metaphors—just the raw, naked truth. You stood there, caught between the wall you’d built and the person who was slowly, painstakingly dismantling it brick by brick.

You freeze.

Because this?

This is what you wanted.

Once.

Before he made you question everything.

And now that it’s here, it feels heavier than it should.

“I know I messed up,” he says. “I know I don’t get to just fix it because I want to. But I’m not going to pretend it didn’t matter.”

Your throat tightens.

“You can ignore me,” he adds softly. “Push me away. Take your time. I’ll take it.”

A beat.

“Just… don’t tell yourself it was nothing.”

Silence fills the space again. But this time, it’s different.

Because the distance between you? It’s still there.

You’re still resisting.

Still holding the line you drew for yourself.

And Hyunjin? He sees the hesitation.

The crack.

For a moment, neither of you moves.

Then—quietly, almost a whisper—he spoke.

“I think about it every day.”

You blink.

“What?”

“The kiss,” he says. “I think about it every day.”

Your chest tightens.

“Because the truth is,” he says, taking a step closer, slower this time, like he’s giving you every chance to pull away, “it mattered too much.”

Your breath catches.

“I didn’t stay,” he admits. “And I hate that. I hate that the one time I should’ve been honest, I wasn’t.”

He’s right in front of you now. Not touching.

Just… there.

“I don’t want to run from it anymore,” he adds softly. “From you.”

Your heart is pounding so loud it’s almost disorienting.

“You don’t get to say that so easily,” you whisper.

“I’m not saying it’s easy.”

“Then why now?”

“Because you’re slipping away,” he says, and there’s no hesitation this time. No panic. Just truth. “And I can’t let that happen without at least trying.”

Your eyes search his. Looking for doubt, hesitation, or any sign that this is another moment he’ll take back.

But there was none. There was only him.

“You hurt me,” you say, quieter now.

“I know.”

“And I don’t know if I can just forget that.”

“I’m not asking you to forget.”

A beat.

“Just… don’t shut me out because of it.”

Your resolve wavered. You hated the way your heart leaned toward him despite the logic screaming at you to stay back.

You hate that despite everything—despite how careful you tried to be—you still feel it.

Him.

“I tried to move on,” you admit softly.

His expression flickers. “Did it work?”

You shake your head.

“…No.”

That’s all it takes.

The last thread snapping.

Because the distance you built?

It was never as strong as you wanted it to be.

And now, standing this close, with everything finally said

He lifted his hand—hesitating for a fraction of a second, his fingers trembling—then gently, tentatively, he cupped your cheek. His skin was warm, a grounding contrast to the coldness you’d been carrying.

This time, he didn’t rush. He didn’t overwhelm you with sudden momentum.

He gave you time to breathe, to think, and to choose.

Your breath stuttered, but you didn't pull away. You leaned into his palm, a small, involuntary movement that was all the answer he needed.

When he finally leaned in, the kiss was different. It wasn't the desperate, sudden burst from before.

It was careful. Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he moves too fast.

Your eyes close.

And when your lips meet, it was right.

You feel it again—that same pull—but steadier now. Grounded. Real in a way it wasn’t before, because this time, neither of you is pretending.

Your hand finds his shirt, gripping lightly as if to ensure he was still there. And he stayed. He didn't recoil. He didn't break the connection. He held you as if you were the only thing keeping him upright.

When you finally separate, it’s only because you need to breathe—but even then, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his thumb still tracing the line of your jaw.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs.

You let out a small, breathless laugh. “You already tried that once.”

“I won’t again.”

You studied him—really studied him—searching for any trace of the boy who had run away. For the first time since that night, you believed him.

“…Okay,” you whisper.

It’s not a grand declaration.

Not a full surrender.

But as your hand slid into his, your fingers interlacing perfectly, it was enough.

And this time, when he leaned in again, you didn’t wait for him to reach you.

You met him halfway.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

⤷ ゛ TAGLIST ˎˊ˗

@cheribloss @viisstrayy @hanjinology @phoebemebe @kaydxncx @dudettrin101 @doodlebob2005 @vegemitedonut @daphnnie @thatgirlangelb @lee-does-not-know @pvppymin @a2dkive @whitejuliana1204 @skzmatcha @hehebeanis @sunymoon18 @tearsofgenshin @mallowsweethl16 @rianzysworld @goquokkaaa @genders-waterfall @lonleyswing @xallyouneedislovexx @hyuneskkami @lexlikesbts @aghostatheart @savebangchan1997 @angelchannieeee @written-by-music @asesinas @cb97nini9694 @chandlxa @niku0704 @dig1talpup @smuttaburger @casperlikej @rainierii @qu0kkache3ks @hyunjinswife4ever @velvetmoonlght @galaxygurlll

[hwanghhjinie]

THE HIDDEN CHASE ⏳

LEE MINHO x READER

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🛸── .✦ angst. fluff. series masterlist!

His denial makes you think he despises you. But your life improves mysteriously—thanks to him. You’ll never know, but perhaps one day you’ll notice. However, you start to believe someone else is behind the quiet kindness shaping your days—until the truth surfaces.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪🐰❫･━━━━━━ ❜

You’ve worked under JYP Entertainment for almost a year now, assigned to assist with scheduling, coordination, and whatever chaos comes with managing a group like Stray Kids.

You get along with everyone else just fine.

But Minho?

Minho barely acknowledges your existence.

You keep things professional. Clean. You speak when spoken to. You pass him what he needs without expecting a thank you. You don’t look at him longer than necessary.

It works better that way.

One particularly chaotic afternoon, the practice schedule had shifted three times in two hours. You were juggling calls, updating the shared calendar, and trying not to let the stress show on your face.

“Wait, didn’t you say the rehearsal room booking got messed up today?”

You blink, glancing up from your tablet. “Yeah. Someone double-booked Studio B, so I had to request a last-minute switch. We might have to delay—”

“It’s already fixed.”

“…What?”

Seungmin shrugs, scrolling through his phone. “Manager hyung said the other booking got moved.”

You frown. “That… doesn’t make sense. I just checked an hour ago.”

“Guess someone higher up handled it,” he says casually.

You nod slowly, still confused—but relieved.

That’s one problem down.

You don’t see Minho in the corner of the room, quietly slipping his phone back into his pocket after a short call.

It keeps happening.

Small things at first.

A missing file that suddenly reappears in your inbox—perfectly organized, labeled better than you would’ve done yourself.

A scheduling conflict that resolves before you even escalate it.

A last-minute prop request that arrives exactly on time, even though you’re sure you submitted it too late.

At first, you chalk it up to luck.

Then coincidence.

Then maybe… someone else on the team quietly helping out.

You ask around once, casually, during a quick break in the lounge.

“Wasn’t me,” Changbin says, munching on a protein bar.

“I thought it was you,” Chan replies with a small, knowing smile.

Hyunjin just tilts his head, brushing his hair back. “You’ve been doing great lately though. Everything’s running smoother.”

Felix nods enthusiastically. “Yeah! You seem less stressed. It’s nice.”

You laugh it off, but the confusion lingers.

Because it’s not just work.

Your commute gets easier.

The bus that’s usually packed somehow has space when you’re running late.

The café near the building—always out of your favorite drink—suddenly starts having it ready when you walk in, the barista smiling like it’s the most normal thing.

Even your worst days soften at the edges, like something—or someone—is smoothing them out before they can fully fall apart.

One rainy evening, you almost miss the last train home after a grueling day. But when you arrive at the platform, breathless and soaked, the train is still there—doors open, as if waiting just for you.

You start sleeping better.

Smiling more.

Feeling like maybe you’re finally getting the hang of things.

Minho still doesn’t look at you.

Still speaks in short, polite sentences when necessary.

Still walks past you like there’s nothing tying you together but work.

So you don’t connect it.

Not when your forgotten lunch gets replaced with an extra meal someone “accidentally ordered,” left neatly on your desk with a note that simply says “extra.”

Not when your broken pen is swapped out for a new one before you even notice it’s missing, the old one mysteriously gone from the trash.

Not when your name shows up—subtly, quietly—on opportunities you didn’t apply for but somehow got approved for anyway: a short training session on artist management tools, a chance to shadow a senior coordinator.

You never connect it to him.

“Hey,” Chan calls one evening, catching you before you leave. “You’ve been less stressed lately.”

You laugh softly. “Have I?”

“Yeah. It’s good to see.”

You nod, adjusting your bag. “Things have just been… working out, I guess.”

Chan hums, glancing briefly across the room.

You follow his gaze—only to find Minho there, leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone.

Expression unreadable.

Uninterested.

As always.

“Yeah,” Chan says, almost to himself. “Something like that.”

Chan doesn’t say more, but there’s a softness in his eyes that makes you wonder for a split second.

Minho notices everything.

He notices when your shoulders slump under too much work.

When you skip meals because you’re too busy fixing everyone else’s problems.

When your voice gets smaller after someone higher up snaps at you for something that wasn’t even your fault.

He notices the way you rub your temples when a headache starts creeping in.

The faint shadows under your eyes after back-to-back late nights.

He notices.

He just… doesn’t say anything.

Because saying something would mean acknowledging it.

Acknowledging you. And that’s… complicated.

So he fixes things instead. Quietly. Efficiently.

He talks to the right people without mentioning your name. Adjusts schedules under the guise of “group preference.” Reorders files, corrects mistakes, reroutes problems before they ever reach you.

He stays late sometimes, after everyone else has gone, making sure loose ends are tied up so tomorrow won’t overwhelm you.

He tells himself it’s practical.

You’re part of their team.

If you’re overwhelmed, it affects them too.

It’s just logic. Nothing more.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You’re running late, juggling too many things at once—your tablet nearly slipping from your grip, coffee dangerously close to spilling, your mind already racing through a dozen tasks you know are waiting for you upstairs. The elevator had been slow again, and your shoes were still slightly damp from the morning rain you’d rushed through.

And then—

“Careful.”

A hand steadies your cup before it tips over.

You blink, startled, looking up.

It’s one of the newer staff—Jihoon. You’ve seen him around, mostly handling coordination between departments. Quiet, but friendly. He always had a calm energy about him, the kind that didn’t demand attention but somehow earned it anyway.

“Ah—thank you,” you say, exhaling in relief. “That could’ve been bad.”

He laughs softly. “Yeah, you looked like you were about to lose a battle with gravity.”

You smile a little, adjusting your hold. “Wouldn’t be the first time this week.”

There’s a brief pause.

Then he hesitates.

“You’ve been busy lately, right?”

You huff out a small laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“Kind of,” he admits. “But… things seem better now.”

You blink.

“What do you mean?”

He rubs the back of his neck, glancing away for a second—like he’s debating something. His fingers tap lightly against his own folder, a small nervous habit you hadn’t noticed before.

“Just—like your schedules. They’ve been smoother. Less last-minute chaos.”

Your stomach tightens, just a little.

“…Yeah,” you say slowly. “They have.”

Another pause.

Then, carefully, “Did you… have anything to do with that?”

Jihoon freezes.

It’s subtle. Anyone else might miss it.

But you don’t.

His eyes widen just slightly. His mouth opens—then closes.

“I—uh—”

Your heart starts to pick up.

“…Jihoon.”

He lets out an awkward laugh. “It’s not—like—okay, wait—”

That’s not a no.

You step a little closer. “Did you help me?”

“I mean—it’s not a big deal—”

“You did?”

“I just—sometimes—” He exhales, giving in. “I noticed you were struggling. So I thought… maybe I could help a little. Nothing major. Just moving a few things around when I could.”

Something in your chest softens.

“Oh.”

That’s all it takes.

It makes sense, doesn’t it?

The timing. The way things started getting better. The quiet fixes, the subtle changes.

Someone had to be behind it.

And now, you’re looking at him.

“…Why didn’t you say anything?” you ask, softer now.

Jihoon shrugs, a little shy. “Didn’t think you’d notice.”

You let out a small laugh. “I noticed. Eventually.”

He smiles at that—warm, genuine, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly.

And just like that, the mystery settles.

You thank him properly the next day—bringing him a drink from the café downstairs, the same one you’d seen him order once before. His reaction is flustered, surprised, but… happy. He accepts it with both hands, ears turning a faint pink.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” you say simply.

And you mean it.

Because suddenly, everything feels… clearer.

Warmer.

Those small, invisible acts of kindness now have a face. A reason.

A person.

You find yourself lingering a little longer when you pass him in the hallways. Sharing quick conversations during breaks. Noticing how he always seems to time his coffee runs around when you might need one too.

“You’re smiling more these days.”

You glance up at Chan, who’s watching you with a knowing look. The practice room is loud around you both—music still echoing faintly from the speakers, members scattered in various states of rest.

“Am I?”

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s nice.”

You duck your head a little, embarrassed. “Things have just been going well.”

Chan hums, like he wants to say something else.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, his gaze shifts—just briefly.

Across the room.

Minho’s there. Of course he is.

Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His hair is still slightly damp from practice, and there’s a towel slung over one shoulder.

His eyes flick to you.

Then to Jihoon, who’s standing a little too close, laughing at something you’d said earlier.

Then back to you.

And away.

His fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around the edge of his phone.

You don’t notice.

“Hey,” Jihoon says one evening, catching up to you after work. The hallway lights are dimmer at this hour, casting long shadows across the polished floors. “Are you heading out?”

“Yeah,” you reply. “Finally.”

He grins. “Want company?”

You hesitate for half a second.

Then nod. “Sure.”

It’s easy.

Talking to him is easy.

And little by little, you get closer.

Shared lunches during breaks. Quick texts about schedule updates that turn into longer conversations. The kind of comfortable familiarity that builds without pressure.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

You pause, looking up at him.

It’s late again. The building mostly empty, the air quieter than usual. Only the faint hum of the vending machine down the hall breaks the silence.

Jihoon shifts on his feet, unusually nervous. He’s holding his bag strap a little too tightly.

“What is it?”

He exhales, running a hand through his hair.

“I… didn’t just help you because you were struggling.”

Your heart skips.

“…Oh?”

“I mean—I noticed you because of that,” he admits. “But I kept helping because…” He laughs awkwardly. “Because I wanted you to notice me.”

Your breath catches slightly.

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for a while now.”

Something warm blooms in your chest.

It’s… nice. Unexpected. But nice.

You smile, just a little.

“I think it worked.”

He lets out a relieved breath, his shoulders relaxing as he smiles back at you—bright and hopeful.

From down the hallway—unseen, unnoticed—Minho stands still.

He hadn’t meant to overhear.

He shouldn’t be here.

He should’ve left ten minutes ago, after finishing his extra practice reps.

But his feet don’t move.

Not when he hears your voice.

Not when he sees the way you’re looking at someone else.

The soft lighting catches the way your expression shifts—gentle, open, appreciative in a way he’s never seen directed at him.

I’ve been trying to get your attention.

The words echo, sharp and irritating.

Minho’s jaw tightens. Because that’s ridiculous.

Jihoon doesn’t even know half of it.

Doesn’t know about the late-night schedule changes. The conversations with management. The way Minho had memorized your workload better than his own at some point—tracking which tasks drained you the most, which days you tended to forget lunch.

Doesn’t know how many things he fixed before they could ever reach you. The quiet calls. The subtle redirects. The way he’d stayed behind more times than he could count.

And yet, you’re smiling at him like he’s the reason.

Minho lets out a quiet, humorless scoff under his breath.

Of course you’d think that.

He made sure you never knew.

Made sure it stayed that way—clean, invisible, detached.

So what did he expect?

Recognition?

Gratitude?

No. That was never the point. Or at least… that’s what he keeps telling himself.

Then why does it feel like this?

Like something’s gone slightly wrong in a plan he never admitted was a plan.

His chest feels heavier than it should after a long practice day. A dull, persistent ache settles behind his ribs, the kind that no amount of extra dancing or cold showers seems to shake.

He tells himself it’s nothing. Just irritation at misplaced credit. Just the sting of watching his quiet efforts get rewritten by someone bolder, someone who actually spoke up.

But the lie tastes bitter even in his own mind.

He watches you laugh softly at something Jihoon says.

The easy way your shoulders relax around him, the small tilt of your head when you listen—like you’re truly seeing the person in front of you.

And something in him shifts.

He had convinced himself distance was safer. That not acknowledging you meant not risking the complication. Now that choice sits heavy in his stomach, cold and irreversible.

Minho pushes himself off the wall.

Turns.

And walks away.

He had protected your days.

He just hadn’t realized he was breaking his own in the process.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Something changes.

It’s subtle at first—so subtle you almost convince yourself you’re imagining it.

Because things… stop being as easy.

Not completely. Not enough to raise alarms.

Just enough for you to notice.

The smoothness you had grown used to starts to fray at the edges. Small hiccups appear where there used to be none. A delayed approval here, a miscommunication there. Nothing catastrophic, but the contrast makes your shoulders feel a little tighter by the end of each day.

You’re back to double-checking schedules more often.

Fixing small errors yourself.

Following up on requests that, before, seemed to resolve on their own.

It’s not overwhelming—but it’s different.

And the difference sits quietly in the back of your mind, like a half-remembered dream you can’t quite shake.

“Hey, can we move the rehearsal an hour earlier?”

You look up from your tablet, nodding. “I can try, but Studio A is booked—”

“It should be free,” one of the coordinators says absentmindedly, flipping through his notes. “Minho usually adjusts that when he wants more practice time.”

You pause.

“…Minho?”

“Yeah,” he continues, not thinking much of it. “He’s picky with schedules. Always has something to say about timing, room assignments… stuff like that.”

You stare at him for a second longer than necessary.

“I see.”

Your voice stays neutral.

Professional.

But something in your chest shifts—just slightly.

A tiny crack in the assumption you’d been carrying for months.

Minho?

Schedules?

You frown faintly at your screen.

That doesn’t… mean anything.

It’s normal, isn’t it? He’s part of the group. Of course he’d have input.

Of course he’d care about their schedule.

That doesn’t have anything to do with you. Right?

You repeat the thought like a quiet mantra, but it doesn’t quite settle the way it used to.

The next few days, you find yourself… noticing him more.

Not intentionally.

It just happens.

Your eyes seem to find him in rooms without permission. Your ears catch his voice even when he speaks low.

You’re standing near the back of the room, going over a revised schedule, when you hear voices up ahead.

“That slot doesn’t work.”

Minho.

You glance up without meaning to.

He’s standing with one of the managers, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the paper in their hands. His posture is relaxed but decisive, the kind of quiet authority that doesn’t need to raise its voice.

“It’s too tight,” he continues, tone calm but firm. “There’s no buffer between rehearsal and recording.”

“We can manage—”

“No,” he cuts in quietly. “It’ll cause delays.”

There’s a pause.

Then the manager sighs. “Fine. What do you suggest?”

Minho points at something on the sheet.

You can’t see exactly where—but you see the manager nod slowly.

“…That actually works.”

You blink.

Because… that does work. Better than what you had planned.

The adjustment creates breathing room you hadn’t even realized was missing.

You look back down at your tablet.

The revised version updates seconds later.

Cleaner.

More efficient.

Easier.

Your grip tightens just slightly on the edges of the device.

That’s… just him being thorough. Right?

The question feels heavier now.

It happens again.

And again.

A supplier issue you were about to escalate suddenly gets resolved—after Minho steps aside to make a quiet phone call, his voice too low to catch but the result immediate.

A change in filming order that perfectly accommodates a problem you hadn’t voiced yet—suggested by him, casually, like it’s nothing. Like he simply noticed the same flaw you had.

Little things.

Always little things.

But always helpful.

In ways that feel too tailored. Too precise.

You tell yourself it’s coincidence. You tell yourself it has nothing to do with you.

The words sound weaker each time you repeat them.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

“Wait.”

Your voice comes out before you can stop it.

Minho pauses.

He’s by the equipment table, adjusting something—something you just noted needed fixing but hadn’t gotten around to yet. His fingers move with the same quiet efficiency you’re starting to recognize.

He glances at you.

Expression neutral.

“Yes?”

You hesitate.

Because now that you’ve stopped him—

you don’t know what to say.

“…That cable,” you manage, gesturing slightly. “I was going to fix that.”

“I know.”

The words come easily.

Too easily.

You freeze.

“…You know?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “It was obvious.”

Your brows knit together slightly.

“Right.”

Silence settles between you—unfamiliar. Because this is… longer than your usual interactions.

The air between you feels thicker, charged with all the things neither of you has ever said.

You study him for a second. He looks the same —calm, indifferent, unbothered. Like always.

His eyes are steady, but there’s something guarded in them now — something you’re only starting to notice because you’re actually looking.

So why? Why does your pulse feel a little faster?

“Thanks,” you say finally, a little quieter.

Something flickers in his eyes. Quick.

Gone before you can catch it.

A brief crack in the mask.

“It’s part of the job.”

Of course it is.

You nod slowly.

“Right.”

After that, it becomes harder not to notice.

Harder not to connect things.

Harder not to… question.

The pattern refuses to stay hidden now.

Every small fix, every quiet intervention, every perfectly timed adjustment feels like it carries his signature — invisible until you started looking for it.

Because the timing. It’s too precise.

Too consistent. Too… intentional.

And Minho. He’s always just there.

Not close. Not obvious.

But present. Like a shadow that only appears when something needs correcting. When you need protecting, even if you never asked.

You start catching him in moments you never paid attention to before.

Like the way his gaze lingers—not on you exactly, but near you. Like he’s keeping track without wanting to be caught.

Or how he steps in just before something becomes your problem, redirecting it so smoothly it almost looks natural.

Or how he already knows what needs fixing before you even say it — as if he’s been paying attention far longer than you realized.

It doesn’t make sense.

Not with the way he treats you.

Not with the distance he keeps.

The short replies. The way he still skims past you like you’re background noise.

The contradiction sits uncomfortably in your chest.

At some point, it stops feeling like coincidence.

The thought has taken root too deeply now, twisting through every small interaction, every resolved issue, every quiet adjustment you once dismissed.

And suddenly, everything starts lining up a little too perfectly.

The pieces you tried to ignore now refuse to stay scattered.

“Wait, this got approved already?”

You stare at the document in your hand, confused. The stamp is fresh, the signature clear — something that should have taken days longer.

“I thought this was pending for another week.”

One of the coordinators shrugs. “Minho brought it up yesterday. Said it would delay things if it didn’t get pushed through.”

You freeze.

“…He did?”

“Yeah,” they say casually. “He’s weirdly involved in stuff like that.”

Weirdly.

You press your lips together, the word echoing louder than it should.

Involved.

In your workload.

In things that shouldn’t concern him.

Later that day.

“Who adjusted the filming order?”

You ask it offhandedly, not expecting much. The question slips out during a quick break in the lounge, half-curiosity, half-testing.

Chan grins immediately. “Take a guess.”

“…Minho?”

“Bingo.”

You blink.

“I didn’t even report it yet.”

Chan’s smile widens, something amused flickering in his eyes. “Yeah. Funny how that works, right?”

There’s a knowing glint there, like he’s been waiting for you to catch on. Like the rest of them have been watching this unfold quietly.

It keeps happening.

Not directly.

Never directly.

But always: Minho did this. Minho suggested that. Minho said it would be better this way.

His name surfaces in conversations you’re not even part of, attached to fixes that feel tailored to your exact pain points.

Even the boys start noticing your reactions.

“Wow,” Changbin says one afternoon, dramatically placing a hand over his chest as he watches you glance toward Minho during practice. “You’re finally paying attention to him.”

You frown. “What does that mean?”

Hyunjin hums, leaning back in his chair with that graceful, observant tilt of his head. “Nothing. It’s just interesting.”

“Very interesting,” Seungmin adds under his breath, not even looking up from his phone but clearly listening.

You narrow your eyes. “You’re all being weird.”

Chan just laughs, not denying it, his eyes soft with something like quiet encouragement.

Across the room, Minho doesn’t react.

Doesn’t look at you.

Doesn’t say anything.

He continues stretching, movements precise and controlled as always.

But his ears turn slightly red.

The color is faint, barely noticeable unless you’re already watching closely. It spreads just beneath the shell of his ear and along the back of his neck, betraying him in the one place he can’t hide.

Jihoon notices the shift too.

Of course he does.

He’s been watching you more carefully these past weeks, the easy warmth between you cooling into something strained.

“You’ve been distant.”

You sigh quietly, not looking up from your work. The spreadsheet on your screen blurs slightly from how long you’ve been staring at it. “Jihoon…”

“I mean it,” he insists, stepping closer to your desk, his shadow falling over your keyboard. “You barely talk to me anymore.”

“I’ve been busy,” you repeat, firmer this time, fingers still typing.

“You’re always busy,” he says, a hint of frustration slipping through, sharper than usual.

You finally look up.

“And I told you that already.”

There’s a pause.

“I just—” he exhales, running a hand through his hair. “I thought things were going somewhere.”

You soften, but only slightly.

The guilt is there, but it’s overshadowed by the growing distance you can’t explain — not to him, not even fully to yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you say honestly. “But I can’t give you that right now.”

His jaw tightens.

“…Right now?”

You hesitate.

“Jihoon.”

That hesitation says enough. It carries the weight of everything unsaid — the way your focus has been drifting, the way Minho’s quiet presence has started occupying more space in your thoughts than it should.

You turn him down. Properly this time.

Clear. Firm. No room for misinterpretation.

The words come out steady, even if your chest feels tight afterward.

It should end there.

But it doesn’t.

The rejection doesn’t land cleanly. Instead, it seems to fuel something stubborn in him.

Because Jihoon… doesn’t really stop.

At first, it’s subtle.

More messages than before — good morning texts that feel heavier, check-ins that linger too long in your notifications.

Waiting for you after work near the exit, casual smile in place like nothing changed.

Dropping by your desk more often than necessary, always with some small excuse — a shared document, a question about schedules.

You brush it off.

Stay polite.

Keep your boundaries clear, repeating the same gentle refusals.

“Just one dinner.”

You sigh, already shaking your head. “Jihoon, I told you—”

“Ten minutes,” he pushes. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“I’m busy.”

“You’re always busy,” he repeats, stepping closer, his voice dropping lower. The space between you shrinks uncomfortably.

Something in your chest tightens.

“I said no.”

He laughs lightly, like you’re joking, like this is still playful.

“Come on. You can spare a little time for me.”

Your grip on your tablet tightens until the edges dig into your palms.

“Jihoon.”

“I’ve been patient,” he continues, voice edging sharper, frustration bleeding through. “I’ve been helping you this whole time and—”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

The words come out before you can soften them.

Silence.

Tense.

Uncomfortable.

The kind that makes the air feel thicker, harder to breathe.

His expression shifts.

Not angry.

But something close.

Hurt mixed with entitlement, a dangerous combination.

“You didn’t have to,” he says. “I did it because I like you.”

“I know,” you reply, steady. “And I’m grateful. But that doesn’t mean I owe you anything.”

“That’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then what are you saying?” you cut in, frustration finally slipping through, your voice rising just enough to echo slightly in the quiet office area.

He steps closer again.

Too close.

The scent of his cologne feels overwhelming now.

“You’re just… brushing me off like I don’t matter.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

“Jihoon, stop.”

But he doesn’t.

His hand reaches toward your arm—

“Is there a problem?”

The voice cuts in—calm, low, sharp enough to slice through the tension instantly.

You both turn.

Minho.

He stands a few steps away, expression unreadable.

But his eyes—they’re fixed on Jihoon.

Cold.

Glacial, almost. The kind of look that makes the temperature in the room drop.

Jihoon straightens slightly. “No. We’re just talking.”

Minho glances at you briefly.

You don’t say anything.

But maybe, you don’t have to.

Your shoulders are tense, your posture rigid in a way that speaks volumes.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

His voice stays even.

Controlled.

But there’s an edge to it now.

Subtle.

Dangerous.

The kind of quiet authority that doesn’t need volume to command space.

Jihoon lets out a small scoff. “It’s none of your business.”

Minho tilts his head slightly, the movement slow and deliberate.

“You’re right,” he says.

A pause.

Then, “But she said stop.”

The air shifts.

The simple statement lands like a line drawn in concrete.

Jihoon’s jaw tightens. “We’re in the middle of something.”

Minho doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.

“Not anymore.”

His stance is relaxed, but there’s nothing casual about it. He’s planted there, solid and unwavering, like he’s prepared to stand between you and whatever comes next for as long as it takes.

Silence stretches.

Heavy.

Uncomfortable.

The kind that makes Jihoon’s persistence feel suddenly small and exposed.

Because Minho doesn’t raise his voice.

Doesn’t make a scene.

But there’s something in the way he stands there—solid, unyielding.

Like he’s not going to move. Not going to back down.

His presence fills the space without effort, protective in a way that feels instinctive rather than calculated.

Jihoon looks between the two of you.

Annoyance flickers across his face.

Then something else.

Something calculating — weighing the situation, the witnesses nearby, the fact that Minho isn’t someone you can easily push past.

Finally, he exhales sharply.

“Fine.” He steps back. “Whatever.”

He throws you one last look—something unreadable lingering there, a mix of resentment and lingering hope—before turning and walking off, footsteps echoing down the hallway a little too loudly.

The moment he’s gone, the tension breaks.

Just slightly.

The air feels lighter, though your heart is still racing.

You exhale, not realizing you’d been holding your breath.

“…Thank you.”

Your voice comes out quieter than expected, a little shaky at the edges.

Minho doesn’t respond immediately.

For a second, you think he’ll just walk away like always — silent, distant, retreating back into his usual shell.

But he doesn’t.

“He should’ve stopped the first time.”

Your brows knit together slightly.

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“You okay?”

The question catches you off guard.

Because it’s gentle. Barely there. But real.

The concern is understated, wrapped in that same calm tone, but you hear it clearly now.

You blink.

“I am now.”

Another pause.

Something unspoken lingers between you — thick with all the observations you’ve been collecting, all the quiet interventions that suddenly feel impossibly intentional.

“Minho.”

He hums softly, waiting. His eyes meet yours steadily, but there’s a new vulnerability there, barely masked.

You hesitate.

Because suddenly—everything you’ve been noticing, everything you’ve been connecting, everything that doesn’t quite make sense—feels a little closer to the surface.

The words hover on your tongue — questions about the schedules, the fixes, the silent protection — but they don’t come out yet.

But instead, you just say, “Thanks. For earlier.”

He nods once.

“It’s nothing.”

It’s not.

You know that now.

The denial feels paper-thin, and for the first time, you’re certain he knows you know.

And as he turns to leave, you find yourself watching him.

Not confused anymore.

Just…curious.

Your eyes follow the line of his back down the hallway, the quiet strength in his steps, and something warm and unsteady settles in your chest.

For the first time, the distance between you doesn’t feel quite so impossible to cross.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You don’t know when it shifts.

Only that one day, you stop second-guessing it.

The doubt that used to hover constantly in the back of your mind simply… quiets. No dramatic revelation. Just a quiet acceptance that settles in your chest like it had been waiting for permission to stay.

Because it’s not just patterns anymore.

It’s him.

The fixes, the adjustments, the quiet protection — they all carry his signature now, and you’ve stopped pretending otherwise.

“Your meeting got moved.”

You look up, startled.

Minho stands beside your desk, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other holding your updated schedule. The paper is neatly folded, his handwriting visible at the top in small, precise notes.

You blink.

“I didn’t get notified.”

“I know,” he says simply, placing it down in front of you. “It conflicted with the recording.”

Your fingers hover over the paper.

“…You fixed it.”

He nods once. “It made more sense this way.”

There’s no hesitation.

No deflection.

No pretending it just happened.

No more hiding behind coincidences or vague “someone handled it” explanations.

You look up at him slowly.

And for the first time—he doesn’t look away.

“Thank you,” you say, quieter now.

Something soft flickers in his gaze — a brief warmth that softens the usual sharpness of his features.

“Mm.”

That’s all he gives.

But it’s enough.

It feels like the first real crack in the wall he’s kept between you for so long.

After that, he stops hiding it as much.

Not completely.

Minho is still… Minho.

Reserved. Careful. Measured.

He doesn’t suddenly become loud or overly affectionate. The changes are small, almost invisible to anyone else.

But now, when something gets fixed, he doesn’t pretend it wasn’t him.

When something goes wrong, he steps in before you even ask, already two steps ahead like he’s been keeping mental track of your workload.

When you’re overwhelmed, things start shifting around you again—only this time, you see it happening.

You see him — the quiet way he speaks to managers in hallways, the subtle notes he leaves on shared documents, the extra practice time he rearranges without fanfare.

“Did you sleep?”

You blink, caught off guard by the question. It comes during a rare quiet moment in the practice room, the mirrors still fogged slightly from earlier dancing.

“What?”

Minho glances at you briefly, then back at the mirror in the practice room, adjusting the strap of his bag.

“You look tired.”

You huff a small laugh. “I am.”

“That’s not good.”

You raise a brow. “Wow. Insightful.”

He ignores the sarcasm, the corner of his mouth twitching just slightly.

“Go home earlier today.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“I have work.”

“I’ll handle it.”

You stare at him.

“You’ll handle it?”

He shrugs slightly. “It’s not hard.”

You let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, the sound lighter than you expected.

“Minho.”

He finally looks at you fully.

And there’s something there now—something steady. Intentional.

A quiet determination that makes your pulse skip.

“I don’t mind.”

Your chest tightens.

Just a little.

The simple offer lands heavier than any grand gesture could have.

You don’t argue after that.

You leave earlier, and the next morning everything is already sorted — clean, efficient, waiting for you like it always used to be, only now you know exactly whose hands shaped it.

Days pass.

And somehow, talking to him becomes… normal.

The kind of normal that still surprises you every time it happens, but no longer feels impossible.

It starts small.

Short exchanges in passing.

Dry comments tossed across the room.

The occasional teasing remark that catches you off guard because — you didn’t know he had that side.

Dry, sharp, unexpectedly playful beneath the cool exterior.

“You’re doing that wrong.”

You look up from the stack of papers, offended. “Excuse me?”

He walks over, takes one look, then fixes it in two seconds, fingers moving with practiced efficiency.

You stare.

“Okay, rude.”

“It was inefficient.”

“You’re inefficient.”

He scoffs softly. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

You smile.

And he almost smiles back.

The corners of his lips lift just enough to count, a rare, fleeting thing that makes something warm bloom in your stomach.

He doesn’t overwhelm you.

Doesn’t suddenly become someone else.

But he lingers more.

Stands a little closer when you’re reviewing schedules together.

Speaks a little longer, letting conversations stretch instead of cutting them short.

Looks at you like he’s… thinking. Like there are words he’s holding back but no longer hiding completely.

And you, you start looking back.

Meeting his gaze without glancing away first. Noticing the small details — the way his hair falls when he’s focused, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with practice room air, the quiet steadiness he carries even when everyone else is chaotic.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The cafeteria is quieter than usual.

You sit across from him, tray half-finished, conversation easy in a way that still feels new. Sunlight filters through the windows, catching on the edge of his jaw as he listens.

“…and then he blamed me for it,” you finish, shaking your head at the memory of a ridiculous meeting earlier.

Minho snorts softly. “That sounds like something he’d do.”

“I literally did his job.”

“Should’ve let him suffer.”

You laugh. “I’m not that mean.”

He glances at you, unimpressed. “You should be.”

“Not everyone can be like you.”

“Good.”

You grin. “See? Mean.”

There’s a pause.

Comfortable.

The kind of silence that doesn’t need filling.

Minho taps his chopsticks lightly against his tray.

“…You’re doing better.”

You tilt your head. “At work?”

He nods.

“Yeah,” you admit. “I think I am.”

A beat.

Then, softer, “…Thanks to you.”

He stills.

Just slightly.

His chopsticks pause mid-air for half a second.

You don’t look away this time.

“I noticed,” you continue. “Everything.”

His gaze flickers up to yours. Searching. Like he’s trying to read how much you truly understand.

“…Everything?”

“Enough.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”

That’s a lie.

He’s very subtle.

He just chose not to be anymore.

Chose to let you see.

Minho exhales quietly, looking down at his tray.

“Took you long enough.”

You laugh softly. “You didn’t make it easy.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“Clearly.”

Another pause.

But this one feels different. Like the space between you is finally shrinking in a way that feels mutual.

And then, the chair beside your table scrapes loudly against the floor.

You both look up.

Jihoon.

His gaze moves between you and Minho.

The proximity.

The ease.

The familiarity.

Something flashes across his face — surprise, then a flicker of something sharper, more bitter.

“Didn’t know you two were close.”

Your smile fades slightly.

“We’re just having lunch.”

“Right.”

His tone says he doesn’t believe that.

It carries an edge that makes the air feel heavier again.

Minho doesn’t say anything.

But he leans back slightly in his chair—not away from you.

Just enough to look at Jihoon properly.

Calm.

Unbothered.

But present.

His posture is relaxed, yet there’s a quiet protectiveness in the way he positions himself, like he’s ready if needed.

Jihoon lets out a short laugh. “You’ve been hard to catch lately.”

You nod politely. “I’ve been busy.”

“With him?” Jihoon asks, a hint of something sharper slipping through — jealousy, maybe, or lingering resentment.

Silence.

Before you can respond, Minho speaks.

“She said she’s busy.”

Simple.

No room for argument.

Jihoon’s jaw tightens slightly.

“I wasn’t asking you.”

Minho shrugs. “You got your answer anyway.”

The response is delivered so evenly it almost sounds casual, but the underlying steel is unmistakable.

The tension creeps in again.

Familiar.

Unwelcome.

It coils around the table like smoke.

You set your chopsticks down.

“Jihoon.”

He looks at you.

“I meant what I said before,” you continue, steady. “I’m not interested.”

A pause.

“I need you to respect that.”

Your voice is calm but firm, leaving no cracks for misinterpretation.

Silence.

Longer this time.

He exhales sharply, looking away toward the windows.

“…Yeah. Got it.”

But it doesn’t sound like he does.

The words feel forced, heavy with unspoken frustration.

He lingers for a second—eyes flicking once more between you and Minho — then turns and walks off, shoulders stiff.

The moment he’s gone, you exhale quietly.

“…Sorry.”

Minho shakes his head once. “Not your fault.”

You glance at him.

“You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Step in.”

A small pause.

“Why?”

The question hangs between you, softer than you intended.

He looks at you. Really looks at you.

And this time, he doesn’t dodge it. Doesn’t deflect. Doesn’t hide behind indifference.

His eyes are steady, honest in a way that makes your heart beat a little louder.

“Because I want to.”

Your breath catches.

It’s simple.

Honest.

And somehow, that makes it heavier than anything else he could’ve said.

No grand explanation. No excuses. Just quiet truth.

You don’t respond right away.

Don’t know how to.

The words settle warmly in your chest, spreading slowly.

Minho picks up his chopsticks again like nothing happened.

But his ears, they’re red again. The faint flush creeps up from his neck, betraying the calm mask he’s trying to keep.

And you, you can’t stop the small smile that forms as you look down at your tray.

Because now, you finally understand.

The distance, the coldness, the careful silence — it had never been hate.

It had been something far more complicated.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You’ve spent weeks—months, even—being on the receiving end of quiet fixes, subtle care, invisible hands making your life easier.

Now that you see it, you can’t unsee it.

And more than that, you want to return it.

To give something back, even if it’s small. To let him feel even a fraction of the steadiness he’s given you.

It takes a bit of effort.

Because Lee Minho doesn’t make it easy.

He doesn’t complain.

Doesn’t ask for help.

Handles everything like it’s nothing — shoulders straight, expression calm, as if the weight never bothers him.

But you notice things now.

The way he stays later than everyone else when something isn’t perfect, repeating movements until they’re flawless.

The way he quietly adjusts formations, reviews footage late into the night, rechecks details no one else would even think about.

The way he carries things alone like it’s natural. Like he’s used to being the one who makes sure everything runs smoothly behind the scenes.

So one night, you stay too.

The building is quieter than usual, only the faint hum of the air conditioning and distant echoes of music from another floor breaking the silence. You move carefully, not wanting to disturb the peace he seems to thrive in.

You fix what you can.

Small things.

Nothing overwhelming.

Just enough to lighten the load you know he’s been carrying without anyone noticing.

You reorganize the practice notes he left scattered across the table, grouping them neatly by song and date.

Update a timing sheet he’s been tweaking for days, smoothing out the overlapping slots he’d been fighting with.

Even leave a short note on top of it:

Adjusted a few things. Hope it helps :)

Your handwriting looks a little nervous next to his precise notes, but you leave it anyway.

You don’t wait around.

Don’t need to.

You slip out before the night gets too late, heart beating a little faster the whole way home.

But the next day.

“You did this.”

You freeze. Slowly turning around.

Minho stands there, papers in hand.

Your papers.

The note is still on top, slightly creased now from being handled.

“Did what?” you try, already failing. Your voice comes out higher than intended.

He lifts the sheet slightly.

“This.”

Your heart starts racing.

“Oh—um—just small things—”

“Why?”

The question is quiet.

Not accusing. Just… curious.

His head is tilted slightly, eyes searching your face like he’s trying to understand a new language.

You open your mouth.

Close it.

Then try again.

“I just thought—you’ve been doing a lot so I—”

You stop.

Because he’s looking at you.

The usual cool mask has slipped, replaced by something warmer, more open. His gaze holds a quiet surprise that makes your stomach flutter.

“I wanted to help,” you finish, voice smaller than intended.

It stretches gently between you, not uncomfortable — just full.

Your fingers fidget slightly at your sides.

“I mean—it’s nothing compared to what you do, I just—”

“You noticed.”

You blink.

“Of course I did.” A pause. Then, quieter, “You think I wouldn’t?”

Something shifts in his expression.

Something that makes your chest tighten.

A flicker of emotion crosses his face — relief mixed with something deeper, like a long-held breath finally being released.

“You really—” he starts, then stops, exhaling softly.

He looks away for a second.

Runs a hand through his hair, the strands falling back messily.

And when he looks back at you, there’s something unsteady there.

Something honest.

Raw in its simplicity.

“You really make it hard not to fall harder than I already have.”

You freeze.

Completely.

The words hang in the air, simple and devastating.

“…What?”

It comes out barely above a whisper. Your pulse thunders in your ears.

Minho freezes too. Like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

The realization hits him a second later, eyes widening just slightly.

“I—”

He clears his throat quickly, composure snapping back into place—but not completely.

There’s still a hint of red on his ears. Still a slight stumble in the way he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“…Forget that,” he mutters, looking down at the papers in his hands like they suddenly became very interesting.

You don’t.

You can’t.

The confession echoes in your mind, warm and impossible to ignore.

He looks away, then back again, something almost teasing slipping into his tone.

Like he’s trying to recover, to rebuild the walls he just accidentally lowered.

“If you keep doing things like this…” he starts, quieter now, “I might—”

He stops.

The sentence dangles, heavy with unspoken possibility.

You tilt your head slightly.

“You might what?”

Your voice is soft, encouraging, a small smile already tugging at your lips.

A beat.

Then, before he can stop himself,

“Start expecting it.”

You smile.

Challenging.

“Maybe I want you to.”

The words come out lighter than you feel, but they land exactly where you meant them to.

That shuts him up.

For a second, he just stares at you.

Like something just shifted in a way he didn’t prepare for.

His lips part slightly, then press together again as if he’s searching for his usual calm and coming up short.

Then, he exhales.

And something in him… settles.

The tension in his shoulders eases, replaced by a quiet acceptance that looks almost relieved.

“Then I’ll say it properly.”

Your breath catches.

The air between you feels charged now, electric in the best way.

Minho steps a little closer.

Not too close.

Close enough that you can see the faint freckles across his nose, the way his lashes cast soft shadows when he blinks.

“Go out with me.”

Vulnerable and steady all at once, eyes locked on yours like this is the one thing he’s sure about.

Your heart pounds.

A rush of warmth floods your chest, making your fingers tingle.

You open your mouth—

“YN!”

You both turn.

One of the managers waves you over from across the hall.

“Meeting. Now.”

The call cuts through the moment like a sudden breeze, practical and urgent.

The moment breaks.

Just slightly.

The bubble around you both pops, but the warmth lingers.

You look back at Minho.

He’s still watching you. Still waiting.

Patient, even now.

And suddenly, you don’t feel nervous anymore. The decision feels as natural as breathing.

You step closer.

Just enough.

Rise slightly on your toes and press a quick, soft kiss to his cheek.

The skin is warm beneath your lips, faintly flushed.

“I will,” you murmur.

The words brush against his skin, quiet and certain.

Then you pull back—smiling—and walk away before you can overthink it.

Your steps feel lighter, heart still racing but in the sweetest way.

Behind you, Minho stands completely still.

Frozen in place like the world paused just for him.

Processing.

His mind replaying the feeling of your lips, the softness of your voice, the way you said yes without hesitation.

Slowly, his hand lifts to his cheek. Touching the spot you kissed. Fingers lingering there as if to make sure it was real.

“…Wow.”

It slips out under his breath. Quiet, almost disbelieving.

And for once, Lee Minho doesn’t even try to hide the smile spreading across his face.

It starts small — just the corners of his mouth — then grows into something genuine and bright, the kind of smile that reaches his eyes and softens every sharp line of his usual expression. He ducks his head slightly, still touching his cheek, letting the moment settle deep in his chest.

For the first time in a long while, the weight he usually carries feels a little lighter.

Because now, he knows you’re carrying some of it too.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

⤷ ゛ TAGLIST ˎˊ˗

@cheribloss @viisstrayy @hanjinology @phoebemebe @kaydxncx @dudettrin101 @doodlebob2005 @vegemitedonut @daphnnie @thatgirlangelb @lee-does-not-know @pvppymin @a2dkive @whitejuliana1204 @skzmatcha @hehebeanis @sunymoon18 @tearsofgenshin @mallowsweethl16 @rianzysworld @goquokkaaa @genders-waterfall @lonleyswing @xallyouneedislovexx @hyuneskkami @lexlikesbts @aghostatheart @savebangchan1997 @angelchannieeee @written-by-music @asesinas @cb97nini9694 @chandlxa @niku0704 @dig1talpup @smuttaburger @casperlikej @rainierii @qu0kkache3ks @hyunjinswife4ever

[gingerayen]

ρꪊ᥇ꪶ꠸ᥴ ρꪖꪀ꠸ᥴ - ᦓᛕƺ ꪮꪻᲖ

Synopsys: some breakup rumours and how the internet and the kids react. Yeah, this one is kinda meh, I don't think I will be continuing this series anymore.

Part 4 of this series: TikTok Trends That Reveal Your Relationship, You Appear in SKZ Content, You Take Over Bubble

Let me know what you think!

᥇ꪖꪀᧁ ᥴꫝꪖꪀ - ꪀꫀ᭙ ᦓᛕƺ ρꪶꪖꪗꫀ᥅

Chan lives for the panic he is able to cause in Stayville with the smallest of actions. He loves rage-baiting his fans, deceiving them with little white lies, or by simply posting something so outrageously… how shall we phrase this?… heated? Heated… that he sends the whole fandom into a horny frenzy.

When, on a random Tuesday, out of nowhere, a new SKZ Player episode pops up—and to everyone's surprise, it's Chan's song this time around—the fans are excited to listen to "Deep Dive." Everyone knows Chan is utterly down bad for his girlfriend; he made an entire album of love songs for her as a Valentine's Day gift, so this one must be about her and his deeply rooted feelings for her. Right???? RIGHT???

WRONG.

It's an angsty, sensual R&B song with an unreliable narrator who simply enjoys the pleasure of things without taking feelings into consideration—a good-for-nothing jock who manipulates for his own pleasure.

This is not something a deeply in-love, sweetheart boyfriend, “gotta go kiss the wifey,” would put out there—especially if he and the aforementioned wifey are still together. So the public jumps to the only logical conclusion: they broke up.

Twitter goes crazy that day:

"NOT BANG CHAN FUMBLING OUR MOTHER I KNEW THIS WAS TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE" "OUR PARENTS ARE DIVORCED. SOMEONE PLEASE CHECK ON THE KIDS" "Guys, if they really broke up, we should respect their privacy." "DEEP DIVE IS A BANGER BUT AT WHAT COST?????" "How does one go from 'I’ll go on the stairmaster because my girlfriend is on it' to singing about hating commitment and coldly using others for their own enjoyment?" "MEN AIN’T SHIT AND BANG CHAN JUST PROVED THAT"

Chan doesn't hesitate to sweep into the conversation with damage control. He goes on Bubble, and he's just as provoking and annoying about this as he usually is:

I got scolded by wifey ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ To be fair, I asked permission to release that particular song She said it was No. 1, charting-for-months category She is a HUUUGE The Weeknd fan, wanted to write something similar Never again Wifey’s too important yep yep Even Jessica scolded me It was nice knowing you, STAY Jessica is on her way to beat me with a slipper please tell wifey I love her

ꪶꫀꫀ ᛕꪀꪮ᭙ - ꪀꫀ᭙ ᥴꪖꪻ ᦓ꠸ꪻꪻꫀ᥅

Minho has absolutely no idea what mayhem he caused. He was just casually talking about his new cat-sitter on Bubble and how Soonie, Doongie, and Dori seem to hate their guts. He finds it absolutely hilarious—after all, he is responsible for raising three mischievous rascal babies who shamelessly play favorites, particularly when it comes to you, and only listen to three people on this earth: Minho, his mom, and his beloved—you.

At first, he doesn't even notice a shift in the online sphere, until he's called over by Seungmin in the green room, who just decided to scroll through FANS to kill the idle time between his hair and makeup session.

Funnily enough, the insider social media platform is filled with funny edits of Soonie, Doongie, and Dori causing mayhem around the new cat-sitter—protesting to get you back as their caretaker, lighting the JYP building on fire with Minho and div1 inside, and so on.

The text posts are not so funny, though. Everyone is convinced that this new character in Minho’s and the kitties’ lives has replaced his beloved and cherished-by-the-masses girlfriend:

"guys maybe she’s just busy??? like let’s not jump to conclusions" "THEY BROKE UP AND THE CATS ARE IN MOURNING" "no because imagine being the new cat-sitter and getting jumped by three tiny menaces who are loyal to another woman" "if she’s gone i’m going with her idc i’m not staying in this economy without the loml" "this is worse than a breakup announcement because WHY ARE WE FINDING OUT THROUGH THE CATS" "HE DIDN’T EVEN SAY ANYTHING ABOUT HER. NOT EVEN A “she’s busy today” NOTHING. SILENCE." "IN THE STREET INTERVIEW SHE CALLED HER HIS CAT SITTER. NOW HE'S CASUALLY TELLING US ABOUT A NEW ONE?????? THAT MEANS ONE THING IN KOREA"

Minho gets fed up quite quickly with the chaos going on, so he simply decides to put everyone jumping to conclusions in their place:

LEE KNOW replied to a post "IN THE STREET INTERVIEW...": ↪ It means my girlfriend is travelling with us on this tour.

ᥴꫝꪖꪀᧁ᥇꠸ꪀ - ꪀꫀ᭙ ᦓρꪮꪻ꠸ᠻꪗ ρꪶꪖꪗꪶ꠸ᦓꪻ

It seemed like a good idea at first: making your Spotify account public so that STAY can access your playlist and see what songs you're listening to at any time of the day.

They loved your Bubble recommendations, often asking for songs for certain moods and moments, and they really seemed to enjoy the curated playlists you created based on the requests they made on Bubble or what you saw online.

However, this time around, making your “currently listening” available for the people who followed your profile didn’t seem like such a good idea: your friend was going through a breakup, and they asked you to go on a road trip, where you're blasting angsty, post-breakup, you-don’t-know-what-you’ve-lost, I’m-better, fuck-you songs back to back to back.

Of course, Twitter goes absolutely ballistic, as some update account dedicated to your Spotify keeps posting the songs playing, with timestamps and all:

"NOT THE “CURRENTLY LISTENING” BEING A CRY FOR HELP" "WHY IS EVERY SONG ABOUT BREAKUPS HELLO?????" "WHY HAS TRAITOR BY OLIVIA RODRIGO BEEN LOOPING FOR THE PAST 10 MINUTES????" "this is a villain origin story in real time" "if they broke up i don’t believe in love anymore actually" "NOT TOLERATE IT CHANGBIN HOW COULD YOU DO THIS?????" "JULY???????? DID HE CHEAT ON HER??????" "Not even a week ago, she referred to Changbin as a walking green flag, and now we get this????? Poor girl, she must have gotten played hard." "c'mon guys she's probably just in her feels, he looks at her as she hung the moon, there's no way they broke up"

Your “shout the lyrics as loud as you can to feel better” session is interrupted by a call from your boyfriend.

“Little bunny,” Changbin sounds frantic, and you kind of panic once you hear the genuine fear in his voice, “are you planning to break up with me?”

“What the hell?” you exclaim. “Of course not, where did you get that idea from?”

“Well, STAY on Twitter think something happened, because you keep listening to heart-wrenching breakup songs, and at first I found it funny, but now I started doubting myself.”

You giggle and explain the situation to him, assuring him that you don’t plan on breaking up with him anytime soon. You can hear him relax on the other side of the line, and he offers to join you for your singing session so he can also help support your friend.

Your friend ends up posting on their story—showing the three of you in the car—thanking you for being their support system, both you and your boyfriend. You repost it to your own account, and STAY seems to calm down after that.

ꫝꪗꪊꪀ꠹꠸ꪀ - ꪀꫀ᭙ ᥇ꪮꪮᛕ ᥅ꫀᥴꪮꪑꪑꫀꪀᦔꪖꪻ꠸ꪮꪀ

It starts innocently enough. Hyunjin is just casually scrolling through FANS when someone asks him for a book recommendation. Something emotional. Something meaningful. Something that “hurts a little but heals you after.”

And Hyunjin, being Hyunjin, delivers.

He recommends a book about a devastating, all-consuming breakup—the kind of love story that collapses slowly, painfully, beautifully, until there’s nothing left but memory and regret.

He doesn’t think much of it. It’s just a book he liked. It made him feel things. That’s it.

But STAY, of course, do not take it as “just a book recommendation.”

Within minutes, Twitter is spiraling:

"HE RECOMMENDED A BREAKUP BOOK. IT’S OVER." "HYUNJIN WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO US ON A TUESDAY" "someone check on his girlfriend RIGHT NOW" "WAIT. DID THEY BREAK UP AND THIS IS HIS WAY OF PROCESSING" "I refuse to believe a man in love recommends THIS unless something is WRONG" "he really said “read this and suffer with me” 😭" "guys, he basically told us a romance novel about their first meeting, he's not announcing his breakup like this" "the fan asked for an emotional book, he recommended one. don't jump to conclusions yet."

Hyunjin goes into dance practice not knowing about the chaos he caused. It's until I.N walks up to him, asking what he posted on FANS, because the internet is going crazy.

Hyunjin checks his phone multiple times, the internet has indeed turned a simple book recommendation into a full-scale relationship investigation, complete with timelines, “clues,” and someone analyzing the metaphorical meaning of his last Bubble message from three days ago.

He puts the phone down.

“…It’s just a book,” he says weakly.

Jeongin raises an eyebrow. “Tell that to STAY.”

Hyunjin reaches for his phone again, suddenly a little less relaxed.

More posts load in.

People are now connecting his recommendation to unrelated photos, old livestream comments, and something about “sad eyes in the last TikTok dance challenge.”

A few hours later, he posted an art dump, all of the pictures and paintings portraying the same two, very recognizable figures - you and him - all passionate and in love, with a very cheeky, but straightforward caption "she makes all the heartbreak remain fictional".

ꫝꪖꪀ - ꪀꫀ᭙ ᦓꪶ꠸ρ ꪊρ

Han Jisung is media-trained, okay?

He learned in his eight years of being an idol to dodge bullets like “Who’s this song inspired by?” or “What does this lyric mean?”—even the infamous “What’s your ideal type?”

So sue him if he messes up once his relationship is revealed and, for once, it’s not a PR disaster with the clear instructions “deny, deny, deny!”—and those same questions come up just like that.

Because after mind-altering classes of “I’m focusing on my career” and “STAY are my number one priority” and the worst of them all, “STAY is my girlfriend,” it is pretty damn hard to answer, “Do you share your songs with your girlfriend before releasing them?”

No one who knows Han Jisung in person bats an eye when his answer starts like, “I mean, IF I had a girlfriend—HAD—HAVE—whatever—”

However, the biggest issue is, STAY don’t know him in person. And a blabbering response like this leads to one agreed-upon conclusion across the fandom: Han Jisung is newly single. Him and his girlfriend, who fuels him with radioactive-looking drinks, have broken up.

And oh boy, does the internet go livid:

"HAN JISUNG EXPLAIN YOURSELF RIGHT NOW" "he really said girlfriend in past tense and thought we wouldn’t notice" "HE STUTTERED. MEN ONLY STUTTER WHEN THEY’RE LYING" "if I had—had—have—whatever OH MY GOD HE’S GOING THROUGH IT" "guys maybe he just misspoke??? like let’s be rational" "he went through all three tenses like he was picking one that hurts the least" "WHY IS NOBODY CHECKING ON HIM"

If you think Han Jisung was stressing during that interview, well—nothing actually compares to his situation once he sees the discourse online. What if his girlfriend is now mad at him for his horrible, horrible slip-up?

His first thought is to call her. And boy, oh boy—is she laughing at him and his panic. Because why would she be offended, when Jisung is the most perfect boyfriend and she knows everything is going great between the two of them? And she knows how anxious he gets in these situations; she understands him on a deeper level, because of course she does. She is perfect—Jisung’s thoughts exactly.

Once he’s sure he didn’t accidentally break up with his girlfriend on live television, he rushes home and practically shoves his phone into her hands, knowing she’s the best one to handle damage control on his Bubble account:

HELLO BABY QUOKKAS YOUR MOTHER QUOKKA IS HERE AGAIN You have nothing to worry about, Little Quokka had a terrible slip-up I'm not going anywhere He's terribly sorry for scaring you He gets confused like that sometimes ISN'T HE SO CUTE WHEN HE'S ALL CONFUSED? God, I hope he never figures anything out He just fell asleep on the couch Big day for a little guy like our Hammie He needs his rest hahaha

ᠻꫀꪶ꠸᥊ - ꪀꫀ᭙ ꪖᥴꪻ ꪮᠻ ᛕ꠸ꪀᦔꪀꫀᦓᦓ

Paris is loud in a different way than Seoul.

Not chaotic—just constant. Cameras clicking, people talking over each other in a dozen languages, stylists rushing past like it’s a timed event. Felix stands in the middle of it all like he belongs there, dressed in something soft and expensive, blonde hair catching every flash like it was made for it.

He’s glowing. Like he's utterly untouchable.

The interviewer is smiling too, clearly a fan.

“Felix, you’ve had such an incredible year,” she says, mic angled perfectly, voice warm. “Music, touring, brand deals left and right, you're the most sought out person here at fashion week… and fans have also loved seeing more of your personal life lately.”

He nods politely, dimples deepening, bowing lightly out of reflex.

“Thank you. I’m really grateful.”

“And speaking of that,” she continues, casual—too casual—“we’ve all seen how supportive your girlfriend has been. How is she doing?”

It’s an easy question. It should be the easiest question. Felix doesn’t even hesitate.

He smiles—soft, automatic.

“She’s doing fine, I hope so.”

There’s a singular moment of hesitation between the two very distinct parts of his response. The first one says everything is alright—not just with you, but with your relationship. However, that little “I hope so,” that small addition, shifts the entire narrative. It implies uncertainty—that he hasn’t spoken to you lately to know for sure that you’re, in fact, doing fine. It also suggests that maybe there is something that could influence your apparent “doing fine” status, but despite that, he hopes you’re doing fine.

It sounds like an ex-boyfriend trying to mask the hurt of a breakup by going, “I wish them the best.”

At least, that’s what the internet thinks:

"I HOPE SO?????? FELIX WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU HOPE SO" "no because that pause was LOUD" "I’M SORRY BUT THAT’S A BREAKUP ANSWER" "that sounded like a man who does NOT have access to his girlfriend anymore" "that’s something you say about your EX" "he could’ve just said 'she’s doing well' AND MOVED ON" "guys maybe he just meant like… generally??? like wishing her well???" "WISHING HER WELL IS CRAZY"

He doesn't think about it twice, just moves on to the next media outlet out there, waiting to score a quick interview with him.

The huge influx of notifications is not new to him either. It's always like that during fashion week, tagged pictures, multiple stories, the Stray Kids account reposting everything, STAY's going crazy over his looks. Just the usual.

But when he opens his phone to see a genuinely worried message from Chan, asking if the two of you broke up, he checks the link his leader has sent without hesitation.

Once he watches back the interview, he clearly understands the public outcry. What he said is exactly what you say when someone asks about your ex.

Suddenly, he gets a message notification from you, and he relaxes.

"Lixie, I AM, in fact, doing fine. You don't have to hope anymore, Sunshine Boy."

A few hours later, when he's asked about his well wishes by an interviewer at the Louis Vuitton after party, he proudly reads out your message aloud, confirming that the two of you are actually doing really good.

ᦓꫀꪊꪀᧁꪑ꠸ꪀ - ꪀꫀ᭙ ᦔꪖꪻ꠸ꪀᧁ ᥅ꪊꪑꪮ᥅

It all starts really silly—exactly where it began. On TikTok.

The girl—your ex-friend, the one who appeared in the video where your relationship with Seungmin was exposed—posts a ten (10!!!!!!!)-part rant series where she describes how you “stole” Seungmin from her… but now she’s hooking up with him as revenge.

It’s hilarious at first. No one takes her seriously. Anyone who’s seen the initial TikTok video saw how disgusted Seungmin was by her. Moreover, Seungmin has always been an advocate for loyalty and has expressed it multiple times—that it takes him a long time to warm up to people, but once he does, he never lets them go.

Not only would he not cheat, but he would judge and cut out anyone insinuating such things from his life without a second thought.

Which he did—on camera.

So the first couple of days go by with the two of you, and most of the internet, laughing at her sorry ass.

However, the tables turn once a Dispatch article is published about the situation, complete with paparazzi pictures of the two of them together.

It takes you one single look to realize something is very wrong. For some reason, Seungmin has one less finger than in reality, one of his eyebrows is slightly pixelated, and he has three legs—due to the picture trying to resemble a walking motion, something that seems to have caused some trouble for the AI tool used to generate this “proof.”

Sadly, not everyone on the internet is able to tell when something is computer-generated, and despite the ridiculousness of the situation, people start believing it:

"NOT DISPATCH CONFIRMING IT?????" "oh this just got VERY serious" "wait why does that actually look real…" "GUYS zoom in on his HAND??? why does he have FOUR FINGERS" "no because why does he have THREE LEGS I’M CRYING" "guys please use your brains that man is GLITCHING" "I don’t know what to believe anymore" "first the TikToks now THIS???" "she said they were hooking up and now there’s proof" "what if she was telling the truth the whole time…" "Trying to set up Seugmin, who openly expressed that he's against AI, using a clearly AI-generated picture is absolutely mental. "

Seungmin does the most hilarious thing he could possibly do to respond to the allegations: he posts two Instagram stories.

The first one is a picture of his feet, with a wiggly “1” and “2” drawn next to each one.

The second picture is his hand, turned upward, fingers spread out—each one of them numbered from 1 to 5. In the palm of his hand sits your significantly smaller one, with a little heart drawn on top in your favorite color—the one he always uses when something is related to you.

Yeah, it’s quite obvious what was going on, even for the ones falling for the AI images.

꠸.ꪀ - ꪀꫀ᭙ (?) ᥴꪮꪖꪻ

In hindsight, Jeongin should have known the damage he would cause by posting the pictures.

He recently bought a coat—the exact same one from Bottega that he once gave to you and never asked for back. The internet knew about the coat: how he was a gentleman by giving it to you so you wouldn’t be cold on a date night, how he fell in love with the way it looked on you and never minded you keeping it forever.

What the internet does not know is that he bought the coat again for himself, after Bottega requested that he wear it to the airport. He didn’t quite have it in him to ask for it back, even for one appearance, so he did what he believed was the more reasonable option: he purchased a new one. Same exact color, same model. Easy peasy, right?

Well… not really.

He posts on Instagram first, showing off his outfit. Then he does the whole airport-walk shebang like he’s supposed to.

Then he gets on a plane.

And while he’s up there, completely offline, the internet explodes—speculating that the coat from your outfit-check video, the one that revealed your relationship, the one where you were talking so highly of Jeongin and how the two of you share clothes, has been officially returned to him. Which clearly means… breakup.

The fashion couple is officially over. And somehow, to the people of the internet, it makes perfect sense:

"HE GOT THE COAT BACK. IT’S OVER." "no because WHY would he suddenly have THAT coat again" "'we share clothes' yeah NOT ANYMORE APPARENTLY" "this is why I never trust happiness" "guys what if she gave it back to him… like officially…" "I knew it. I KNEW something felt off lately" "you don’t just take back clothes in a healthy relationship" "that’s a man who has accepted the breakup"

Not even two days later, a new TikTok is posted to the official Stray Kids account: the two of you are wearing the exact same outfit, each wearing your own coat. And as the two of you go through each piece of clothing you're wearing and all the accessories, as soon as you name the matching pieces of jewelry, Jeongin points out with a knowing, mischievous smile, the key difference between what you two are wearing: the diamond ring on your ring finger.

[strrykais]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝

⤷ ゛ ⋮ ⌗ ┆ 𝒊dol!𝓒han × 𝓨outuber!𝓡eader ˎˊ˗

᭙ʜᴇɴ ⸝⸝ chan finally decides to make a move on his recent crush, his friends convinced him he could have a chance. except you turn him down thinking he was a fake account pretending to be him.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ │ smau, humor, fluff, cursing, very romantic chan, very chaotic reader

⟶ [ 𝐤𝐚𝐢’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ] kinda inspired by that lady who did like a 9 part series about thinking she was messaging chan… ♡ ︎ [ 𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢 ]

permanent taglist : @skysole @bironment @hyunjinniemylove @deadpoetical @222brainrot @hanjisdoll @ysljoon @fairyssongs @jeonginsfavglazer @written-by-music @cb9711 @pufflambby @blackberryybee @weird-bookworm

[linoxpudding]

Sisterhood - Bang Chan

summary: when you and your fiancé get into a fight, his sister takes your side

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader

genre: fluff, humor

word count: 972 words

a/n: as promised here's some fluff after all the angsts, based on this request ♡

Masterlist

~°~

You were visiting Chan’s childhood home in Australia, just a little trip to celebrate your engagement. His parents had gone out for dinner. His younger brother was in his room gaming. Hannah was half-asleep on the couch while scrolling through her phone, and Berry was padding around the house.

You and Chan were elbow-to-elbow in the kitchen, washing the dishes together. The atmosphere was serene with the warm water flowing, plates softly clinking while some soft music played in the background and it was almost cute—until he opened his damn mouth.

“I mean, it’s not that deep,” he said, rinsing a plate. “You’re just too sensitive sometimes.”

You froze, the dish soap slid off your hands then slowly you turned to look at him.

“Excuse me?”

Chan didn’t catch the red alert in your tone. “Like, not in a bad way…just that you take things too personally. It’s not always about you, y’know?”

You set the plate down a little too hard and cross your arms.

“Christopher Bahng,” you said calmly, “if you value your ability to sleep tonight, you might want to rethink what you just said.”

“I’m just saying,” Chan continued, not reading the room at all, “you overthink stuff and make drama out of nothing.”

Hannah paused her scrolling and looked toward the kitchen, her eyebrows raised in curiosity. The tension between you and Chan was so thick, she could feel it from the couch.

You narrowed your eyes. “So, let me get this straight. I voice a concern, and your first instinct is to call me sensitive?”

“I’m just saying it’s not always that serious.”

“Shut up, Chan!”

Silence. Like you could hear the silence. Even Berry stopped padding around.

Chan’s mouth opened, offended. “What—?”

“Shut. Up.” you repeated, tone sharp as a knife. “You do this every time. You brush me off and act like I’m the one being dramatic when you can’t communicate like a grown adult”

Hannah perked up from the couch, eyes sparkling. She threw her phone down and yelled, “You go, girl! Yeah, tell him to shut up!”

Berry barked excitedly, tail wagging as if she’s saying she’s also in your team.

Chan’s eyes widened as he turned to his sister. 

“Stay out of it!” Chan glared at her.

“NO,” she shouted back. “She’s making valid points.”

You smiled at Hannah. “See? Even your sister agrees with me.”

“You’re my sister! Why are you cheering for her?!” he whined at Hannah.

“Because this is a historic moment,” Hannah grinned. “Like bro, you never let anyone talk to you like that. Finally someone’s calling you out, and it’s my future sister-in-law? I’m THRIVING.”

Chan gestured at her wildly. “You’re supposed to be on my side! I’m your brother!”

“Exactly,” she said. “And I’ve wanted to say this to you for years. Let her finish.”

You tried not to laugh as you watched the siblings bicker.

Chan’s expression softened as he turned to you, voice low and sincere. “Baby, I’m sorry. I genuinely didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Before you could answer, Hannah threw up her hands, dramatically gasping. “She’s not falling for this! Nope. You get away every time, Channie oppa.”

She stood up suddenly and approached you. “Y/N, c’mon you’re sleeping with me tonight.”

You blinked in surprise, then grinned. “I’d love that, Hannah!”

Chan’s jaw dropped like Hannah just committed a federal crime. “Why are you being a homewrecker right now?!”

Hannah squinted her eyes at him and said, “Because you don’t deserve her and her cuddles tonight. This is your punishment, now go sleep alone.”

“I can’t believe this,” he muttered. “My own blood turned on me.”

You threw the dish towel at his chest. “Think before you speak next time, fiancé.”

“Babe—”

“Nope,” Hannah cut in. “Don’t ‘babe’ your way out of this.”

She looped her arm through yours and started guiding you away, “Come on, Y/N. We’re having a girls’ night. I’m talking facemasks, hot gossip from work, and stuffing our faces with snacks. Oooh snacks— wait let me grab some.”

She let go of you and started rummaging aggressively through the kitchen cabinets. You couldn’t help but smile at her determination, your heart softening a little. When you glanced back, you saw Chan leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, staring at you sadly.

You stepped closer to him, “You want to marry me, right?”

“Of course,” he answered immediately.

“Then you don’t get to dismiss me like I’m overreacting. We solve problems together. No gaslighting. No brushing off. If I tell you something bothers me, it means I trust you enough to be vulnerable about it.”

“Yes baby… you’re right. I’m sorry. That was a dumb thing to say.” He wiped his hands and stepped toward you. “Really. I didn’t mean to make you feel invalidated.”

You just looked down.

Chan pulled you into a warm hug. “I’ll do better. Promise.”

You let him hold you for a second, then whispered in his ear, “Damn right you will.”

“You’re not sensitive. You just feel things deeply, and that’s one of the things I love about you,” he said before pressing a kiss on your forehead gently.

Hannah raised her head from the pantry. “But you’re still sleeping alone tonight.”

Chan threw a kitchen towel at her without looking.

You just chuckled, “You’re lucky you’re cute. And that your sister’s on my side.”

Hannah yelled from the pantry, “I found the Cheetos! Let's go!”

Chan threw his head back with a groan. “She’s mine, Hannah!”

Hannah popped her head out, balancing bags of popcorn and chips in one hand and cookies and drinks in the other. “Not tonight, she’s not. You had your chance, Mr. Big Mouth.”

You gave Chan a wink and followed her, and Berry followed right behind you, making it clear whose side she was on.

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[hwanghhjinie]

MASCOT RIVALRY 🧸

SKZ REACTION — jealous of their own SKZOOs

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🛸── .✦ fluff. crack.

You obsess over SKZOO mascots, hugging and taking pics with them, while they get jealous and competitive—desperate to prove they’re cuter than their own mascots.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪skz❫･━━━━━━ ❜

: ̗̀➛ CHAN

Chan thought it was cute at first. Adorable, even—how your eyes lit up the second you saw Wolf Chan waddling toward you.

But then you squealed.

Like—full volume. Hands flapping. The kind of squeal he hasn’t heard directed at him in… a while.

And before he could even process it, you were already hugging the mascot—tight.

Like rent was due and Wolf Chan was paying it.

“Chan, look! He’s so soft!” you giggled, squishing the mascot’s cheeks and burying your face in its fluffy chest.

Chan blinked. Slowly.

“…I’m literally right here.”

You didn’t hear him.

You were too busy asking the staff, “Can I take a picture with him? Please please please!”

The staff inside the suit awkwardly nodded, and suddenly you were posing—peace signs, cheek-to-cheek, even doing a heart pose while cooing nonstop.

Chan’s eye twitched.

He walks over, still smiling—but it’s that tight, patient leader smile that hides the growing sulk.

“Y/N,” he says, voice calm. Too calm. “You done… cheating on me?”

You laugh. “It’s just Wolf Chan!”

He leans down slightly, whispering in your ear,

“I am Wolf Chan.”

Cue you freezing mid-squeeze.

“…Oh.”

“Yeah,” he nods, folding his arms and tilting his head. “And I don’t remember getting a hug like that today. Or any kisses. Or cheek squishes.”

Now he’s the one sulking while you panic, trying to hug both of them at once— one arm around the mascot, the other reaching for real Chan.

He gently pries you off the mascot with the most exaggerated pout. “Okay, that’s enough. Wolf Chan has places to be. Important wolf… things.”

Then he pulls you into his own arms, squeezing you tighter than you squeezed the costume. “See? Real Chan hugs are better.”

: ̗̀➛ MINHO

Minho watched the entire thing like it was a crime documentary.

You spotted Leebit and immediately ran—ran—past him without a second glance.

“…Wow,” he muttered, hands in pockets, already judging.

Next thing he knows, you’re standing in front of the mascot, cooing like it’s an actual baby bunny.

“OMG Hi… you’re so cute… look at those little teeth…”

Minho’s eye twitched hard.

Then you hugged Leebit. Not just hugged—squeezed, rocking side to side like you were reuniting with a long-lost child.

Minho inhales sharply through his nose.

“Yah.”

No response.

You’re now asking the staff, “Can I take a picture with him? He looks so soft!”

Minho walks over, taps your shoulder with one finger.

“Am I invisible today?”

You blink up at him innocently. “…No?”

“Then why are you acting like I don’t exist and flirting with a giant rabbit?”

You laugh. “It’s you!”

He deadpans. “Clearly not enough if the costume version gets better treatment.”

Then he grabs your wrist, pulls you to him smoothly, and without warning—wraps his arms around you from behind, locking you in place.

“Take a picture of this instead,” he tells the staff, resting his chin on your shoulder.

Now he’s the one clinging like a possessive cat.

And Leebit is just… standing there, awkwardly waving one paw.

“…You’re jealous of yourself,” you whisper, trying not to laugh.

“I’m jealous of your suddenly very low standards,” he replies, tightening his hold.

: ̗̀➛ CHANGBIN

You saw Dwaekki and immediately yelled, “MY BABYYYYYY!”

Changbin nearly choked on his protein drink.

“Your what?”

Too late. You were already hugging Dwaekki, squishing his round plush cheeks like fresh dough and rocking him side to side.

“Look at his little face!! I can’t—he’s so cute I might actually cry!”

Changbin puts a hand on his chest, offended.

“…I make you cry too. Usually from laughing at my raps.”

You ignore him completely, now posing with Dwaekki—feeding him a fake snack, making the staff inside pretend to munch happily.

Changbin watches in pure disbelief.

“…So this is what I’ve been replaced with. A chubby pig-rabbit.”

He marches over, dramatically crossing his arms beside you.

“Y/N, remember when I wrote songs for you? When I rapped with passion? When I let you squish my real cheeks?”

You shove Dwaekki toward him with a grin. “Take a picture with us!”

He freezes.

“…Us?”

“Yes! Family pic!”

He sighs, completely defeated… but still pouts the entire time he poses, flexing one arm while side-eyeing the mascot.

Then he starts scooping you up in a bridal carry while side-eyeing the mascot. “No more. From now on, all cuteness aggression goes to the real Dwaekki — me. Squeeze these cheeks!”

: ̗̀➛ HYUNJIN

Hyunjin expected admiration.

What he did not expect was you abandoning him mid-sentence the moment Jiniret walked in.

You gasped like you saw a celebrity.

“OH MY GOD—”

“Baby, I’m literally—”

Too late. You were already hugging Jiniret, stroking its long fluffy body and gently squishing its ears.

Hyunjin stares. Completely blank.

Then you kiss the mascot’s cheek.

That’s it. Game over.

He walks over slowly, dramatically placing a hand on his chest like he’s been mortally wounded.

“I see,” he says softly, voice full of fake sorrow. “So this is how it ends. Replaced by my own ferret.”

You laugh. “Hyunjin—”

“No, no,” he interrupts, waving a hand. “Stay with your new favorite. I’ll just stand here… heartbroken.”

You’re now taking endless selfies with Jiniret, completely feeding into the chaos while the staff inside poses dramatically.

Hyunjin turns to the staff.

“Please capture my heartbreak as well.”

He ends up standing beside you in every picture—face tilted, eyes full of exaggerated sadness, one hand dramatically placed on your shoulder.

Later, he pulls you close, resting his forehead against yours with a pout.

“You didn’t even kiss me today.”

“…Do you want one?”

“Obviously.”

: ̗̀➛ JISUNG

The moment you saw Han Quokka, you LOST IT.

“HE’S SO ROUND!!”

Han immediately clutches his chest like he’s been shot.

“EXCUSE ME?!”

But you’re already hugging the mascot, giggling uncontrollably and squishing its big cheeks.

“Look at him! He’s literally perfect—so squishy and happy!”

Han squints hard. “…I’m right here. Also perfect. Also squishy.”

You ignore him and start taking pictures—posing dramatically, even spinning the mascot around in circles.

The staff inside is struggling to keep balance and not fall over.

Han walks over, deeply offended.

“You’ve never spun me like that.”

“Because you’d fall!”

“I would NOT—”

He grabs your hands and tries anyway—spins once and almost trips over his own feet.

“…Okay maybe.”

You’re laughing so hard you can’t breathe.

He pouts, then suddenly wedges himself between you and the mascot, arms spread wide.

“Take a picture with the real quokka now.”

Now you’re sandwiched between two quokkas.

“…This is getting weird,” you say, still giggling.

“Choose,” he replies, puffing his cheeks.

“…I refuse.”

He gasps dramatically, betrayed to his core.

: ̗̀➛ FELIX

Felix thought this would be wholesome.

He was very, very wrong.

You saw BbokAri and immediately went, “MY CHILD.”

Felix freezes. “…Your child?”

You hug the mascot like a protective mother, shielding it from imaginary danger and fixing its little bow.

“WAHHH. You’re so fluffy and sunshiney…”

Felix blinks slowly.

“…What am I then? Chopped liver?”

You don’t answer. You’re too busy taking pictures and making the staff inside do cute little wing flaps.

Felix pouts, cheeks puffed out.

“Love, I am BbokAri.”

You gasp. “…Then why are you not this cuddly 24/7?”

He pauses, thinking.

“…I can be.”

Next thing you know, he’s clinging to you—arms wrapped tight, cheek pressed against yours, refusing to let go.

“Am I cute now?” he whispers in that deep voice.

“…Very.”

“More than the chick?”

You hesitate for half a second.

“…Y/N.”

“…Yes.”

He smiles, satisfied, but still side-eyes the mascot suspiciously.

: ̗̀➛ SEUNGMIN

Seungmin watches quietly.

Too quietly.

You’re baby-talking PuppyM like it’s a real puppy.

“Such a good boy!”

Seungmin raises one brow.

“I’ve never heard that tone before. Ever.”

No response. You’re hugging PuppyM tightly, even grabbing his hand and walking together with the mascot while the staff plays along perfectly.

Seungmin sighs the longest sigh known to man.

“Unbelievable.”

He walks over, gently taps the top of your head.

“Y/N.”

“Wait, I’m bonding—”

“With what exactly?”

“My puppy.”

He smiles. That scary, polite smile.

“I’m your puppy.”

“…You bite sometimes.”

“And yet, here I am. Still loyal.”

You laugh.

He suddenly leans closer, voice low.

“Do you want me to bark too?”

“…Don’t you dare.”

He smirks. “Thought so.”

But later, he still sneaks in and hugs you just a little tighter than usual, mumbling, “Good boy rights belong to me.”

: ̗̀➛ JEONGIN

Jeongin thought it would be funny.

Until you tightly hugged FoxI.Ny and swayed side to side like it was your soulmate.

“YOU’RE SO CUTE I CAN’T BREATHE—”

Jeongin’s smile drops instantly.

“…Am I a joke to you now?”

You’re giggling, taking pictures, even holding the mascot’s hands and swinging them.

The staff inside waves cheerfully.

Jeongin crosses his arms, sulking.

“Can you believe that this is what I have to compete with?”

You walk over, still holding the mascot’s hand.

“Jeongin, look how cute!”

“I see. I see everything.”

He walks up, gently pries your hand away from the costume.

“Okay, give him back.”

“No—”

“Yes.”

He pulls you closer instead, wrapping his arms around you.

“You can’t replace me with a plush fox.”

“…Watch me.”

He gasps, dramatically offended, eyes wide.

“Meanie.”

But he still ends up taking pictures with you—standing very close, making sure he’s the one you lean into, ears practically twitching with jealousy.

[lovecase]

HEATWAVE ℘ LEE KNOW's!

ɞ . abstract. you’re determined to be the "perfect" partner, even if it means slow-cooking in silence under minho's heavy blankets. minho, however, has other plans, proving that there’s nothing he won’t do to make sure you’re comfortable—even if it means cranking the ac and losing his favorite snuggling weather. ɞ . warnings / tags. fluff. mild sensory overload/discomfort. anxiety. ɞ . note. requested by @kittmoonie!

minho’s bedroom was usually kept at a temperature he considered "optimal for cat snuggling," which essentially meant it was a fortress of heavy blankets and controlled chill.

normally, you loved it. there was something undeniably cozy about being buried under a weighted duvet with minho’s arm draped over your waist and at least one cat—usually dori—curled up at the foot of the bed.

but tonight, the air felt stagnant.

you shifted your legs, trying to find a cool patch of sheet, but every inch of fabric felt like it had been sitting in a dryer for an hour. your skin was clammy, a fine sheen of sweat making your tank top cling to your back in a way that was starting to make you feel genuinely claustrophobic.

you didn't want to move too much; minho was a relatively light sleeper, and you knew how much he valued his rest between dance practices.

still, the heat was becoming unbearable. your heart was doing that annoying, fast-paced thumping in your chest, partly from the physical discomfort and partly from the sheer embarrassment of the situation. you felt... gross. un-cute. definitely not like the effortless partner you wanted to be in these quiet, domestic moments.

you tried to slowly peel minho’s arm off your waist. he made a soft, disgruntled sound in his sleep, his fingers twitching against your hip. you froze, holding your breath until his breathing leveled out again.

just get up, get some water, and stand in front of the open fridge for five minutes, you told yourself.

you moved an inch. then another. just as you were about to swing your legs over the side of the bed, a hand clamped firmly back onto your waist, pulling you flush against a very warm, very solid chest.

and then, dori decided to help. the cat, who had been sleeping near your feet, decided he needed a change of scenery and hopped directly onto your stomach.

you let out a muffled "oof," and that was it. the delicate balance of sleep was broken.

minho stirred, his arm tightening around your waist for a second before his eyes blinked open, dark and heavy with sleep. he didn't move his head, just shifted his gaze to yours in the dim light.

"why are you wrestling with the cat at 3 a.m.?" he mumbled, his voice gravelly and thick. “and where are you going?" minho’s voice was thick with sleep, deep and raspy in a way that usually made your stomach flip, but right now just added to the heat radiating between you.

"nowhere," you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. "go back to sleep, minho."

he didn't. instead, he shifted closer, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. he took a deep breath, then immediately pulled back, his eyes fluttering open in the dark.

"you're burning up," he noted, his hand moving from your waist to your forehead. his palm felt incredibly cool against your skin, and you subconsciously leaned into the touch before catching yourself. "are you sick? do you have a fever?"

"no, i'm not sick," you muttered, looking at the far wall instead of him. the embarrassment was hitting full force now. "i'm just... i'm hot. like, really hot."

minho sat up slightly, propping himself on one elbow. he reached over to turn on the bedside lamp, the dim amber glow illuminating the room. he looked at you—really looked at you—taking in your flushed cheeks and the way you were trying to pull the collar of your shirt away from your skin.

"you're sweating," he said, his tone shifting from sleepy to concerned.

"i know, i'm sorry," you squeaked, covering your face with your hands. "it’s so embarrassing. i feel like a literal radiator. please don't look at me, i probably look like a mess."

there was a beat of silence. you expected a joke, or maybe for him to complain about the sheets getting damp. instead, you heard the soft thud of the duvet being tossed to the foot of the bed.

"hey," he said, his voice softer now. he gently pried your hands away from your face. "why didn't you say something? you've just been laying here suffering?"

"you were asleep! and it’s a weird thing to wake someone up for. 'hey, i’m slightly overheated and sweaty, can we fix the vibes?' it’s gross, minho."

minho let out a short, dry chuckle. he sat up fully, stretching his arms over his head before looking back at you with an expression that was halfway between amusement and genuine fondness.

"you think i care if you're sweaty?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "i spend ten hours a day in a practice room with seven other guys. i know what 'gross' looks like. you just look like you're melting, which is actually kind of pathetic and cute."

"i am not cute when i'm melting."

"debatable," he murmured. he slid out of bed, his feet hitting the floor with a quiet patter. "stay there. don't move."

you watched him disappear into the hallway. a minute later, you heard the clinking of ice cubes and the sound of the kitchen faucet. when he returned, he was carrying a tall glass of ice water and a damp washcloth.

he sat back down on the edge of the mattress and handed you the glass. "drink. all of it."

you took a long, grateful sip, the cold water shocking your system in the best way possible. while you drank, minho took the washcloth and began to gently pat your face and neck. he was being incredibly methodical about it, his touch light and careful, as if he were cleaning one of his cats.

"better?" he asked, his eyes tracking the movement of the cloth.

"yeah," you whispered, feeling your face heat up for a completely different reason now. "you don't have to do this, minho. i can do it."

"shut up," he said, though there was no heat in it. "i'm already awake. plus, if you pass out from heatstroke in my bed, it’s going to be a lot of paperwork."

he moved the cloth to the back of your neck, holding it there for a moment. the relief was instant. you closed your eyes, letting out a long sigh you hadn't realized you were holding. when you opened them again, you caught him watching you. he wasn't smirking or looking for a way to tease you; he just looked... soft.

"you're so shy about the weirdest things," he said, dropping the cloth into a small bowl he'd brought. "you'll tell me if i'm being an idiot, but you won't tell me you're uncomfortably warm?"

"it's different," you defended weakly. "it’s a physical thing. i didn't want you to think i was... unhygienic."

minho rolled his eyes, a familiar, grounding gesture. "we've been together how long? i've seen you with the flu. i've seen you after a hike. i think we’re past the 'perfectly manicured' stage of the relationship."

he stood up again, heading over to his dresser. he rummaged through a drawer for a second before pulling out one of his oversized, thin cotton t-shirts. he tossed it at you.

"change into that. it’s thinner than what you're wearing. i’m going to go crank the ac down a few degrees."

"minho, you'll freeze! you hate the ac that low."

he paused at the door, looking back over his shoulder. the light from the hallway caught the sharp line of his jaw and the slight messiness of his hair.

"i'll live," he said, his mouth twitching into a small, private smile. "i'd rather be a little cold than have you sitting over here vibrating with embarrassment because you're warm. besides, it just gives me an excuse to hoard the blankets later."

while he was gone, you quickly swapped your shirt for his. it smelled like him—that clean, slightly woody scent that always made your heart ache a little. by the time he came back, the room was already beginning to feel significantly cooler.

he climbed back into bed, but instead of pulling the heavy duvet back up, he reached for a thin, decorative throw blanket at the end of the bed. he settled back against his pillows and patted the space next to him.

"come here."

you slid over, resting your head on his chest. he felt much cooler now, his skin refreshing against yours. he wrapped one arm around you, his fingers tracing aimless patterns on your shoulder.

"still embarrassed?" he teased, his voice vibrating against your ear.

"a little," you admitted, hiding your face in his side. "but mostly just tired now."

"good. sleep. if you get hot again, just kick me. or tell me. i'm not going to think you're gross, you dummy."

you hummed in response, the tension finally leaving your body. the silence of the apartment settled back in, punctuated only by the low hum of the now-hardworking air conditioner.

just as you were drifting off, you felt minho lean down, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

"for the record," he whispered, thinking you were already asleep. "you're cute even when you're a radiator."

you didn't say anything, but you couldn't help the small, sleepy grin that spread across your face as you finally, comfortably, fell into a deep sleep.

🏷️ ( general ) : @beautifulsharkgoatee @susu6944 @emilywjinnie @emotionalstrawberries @babythisisourcinema @maliatate96 @sapphirewaves @iconicallyher @fussel9913 @yawwni @inlovewithstraykids @unlikelypainterpeacekitten @foppishitudinality @gadriezmannsgirl

🏷️ ( sfw ) : @stvrlosts

[yxngbxkkie]

like father, like son (h.h)

i saw this cute tik tok of a little boy and needed to write something 🫢 it's short but it's cute as fuck 🥹 dad!hyunjin would be so adorable! i hope you like it 🩷

feedback is greatly appreciated 🥰

~

You're sitting on the picnic blanket you and Hyunjin brought, munching on some grapes as you watch him and Jun playing. You find yourself smiling in between bites, really glad that your baby boy shares Hyunjin's features the most.

“So cute,” you whisper to yourself, reaching for your phone to capture a photo. You grab Hyunjin's camera after, peeking through the viewfinder before taking another.

You go back to eating grapes after, humming in delight at the taste. The three of you are out celebrating Jun's second birthday, and Hyunjin had suggested going on a picnic.

“Hyune,” you call out your husband's name, gaining the taller man's attention. “Bring him over to eat!”

“Okay!” He yells back to you before crouching beside his son.

You shuffle through the picnic basket, grabbing the food you prepared for Jun. You set it on a plate for him, looking up to see if they are coming.

Jub runs towards you, a stem in his hands to which you assume was a dandelion beforehand. Your heart flutters in your chest as he runs up to you.

“Oh,” Jun mutters, noticing the empty stem.

“I love it, baby,” you giggle, taking the stem from him anyway.

He looks up at his father, who brought another one with him. Hyunjin crouches beside him and hands him the dandelion. “Give it to momma,” he whispers loud enough for you to hear, meeting your gaze.

His dark eyes light up, and he holds it out to you. “Why thank you, baby,” you grin, taking the flower into your hands.

Jun takes a couple of steps forward, being cautious of the food on the blanket before kissing your cheek. You pout slightly, feeling your heart bursting at his affection.

“I love you so much,” you whine, setting the dandelion down before kissing his chubby little cheeks. “Eat, okay?”

He nods his head and sits down beside you, grabbing the food items on his plate. Hyunjin sits on your other side and nudges your side. You glance over to him and notice the single rose between his fingers.

“This one's from me,” he whispers, planting a couple of kisses on your cheek.

“Is it make mommy cry today?” You ask while taking the red rose.

Hyunjin laughs, and he shakes his head. “We just wanted to show our appreciation for you, angel,” he tells you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“God, I love you,” you kiss his lips once, resting your forehead on his.

“I love you, too. So much that it hurts my heart,” he whispers while bringing your hand to his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat.

“Momma,” Jun calls out to you, capturing both you and Hyunjin's attention. You look over at your son, seeing him hold one of his grapes out to you.

You lean away from your husband, getting closer to the little boy. “I've already had some grapes, baby. You eat it,” you usher him, running your fingers through his hair.

Hyunjin takes some pictures of the two of you, wanting to capture this sweet moment. Jun continues to hold the grape out, wanting you to take it anyway. He grunts cutely, moving his arm up higher.

“Fine, fine,” you giggle, taking the grape from his fingers. You bite into it, humming cutely at the two year old. “Thank you, my baby.”

“He's like you when you find something that tastes good,” Hyunjin laughs, grabbing some food from the basket.

You playfully roll your eyes as Jun kicks his feet, munching on the sandwich you made. “I take complete offense to that,” you mention, smacking his chest.

Hyunjin groans, rubbing his chest after. “I didn't say it was a bad thing! It's cute, angel,” he defends himself with a cute pout.

“Dada,” Jun interrupts your playful argument, making the two of you look at him again.

His eyes look up at his father, a grape between his tiny fingers. Hyunjin coos, clapping his hands a bit before moving to take it from him.

“Thank you, baby boy!” He says excitingly, kissing the top of his head before eating the grape.

You giggle at your husband's sounds, grinning at the man. “Is that how you look and sound when I do it?” You tease, reaching over to pinch his cheek.

A blush covers his cheeks, gently pushing your hand away from him. “Shut up, maybe,” he mumbles, earning another giggle from you.

“How did I get so lucky?” You question out loud, looking from Hyunjin to Jun.

His hand grabs a hold of your free hand as you mess with Jun's hair. “By just being you, angel. Jun's lucky to have a wonderful mother like yourself,” he whispers into your ear before placing one more kiss on your cheek.

~

tagging: @strawboorybunny @reddesert-healourblues @spacegirlstuff @moon0fthenight @foxinnie8 @like-a-diamondinthesky @prettymiye0n

[emithecharmer]

He is in Love

Hyunjin's eyes never strayed from your sleeping form, snuggled in his arms, head tucked away into his chest. He didn't look up while his members talked about the new song, or even when the food got there, no. You'd crawled into his arms when you first arrived and he would stay there as your bed until you woke up. He didn't complain when the others made fun and cooed, even taking a picture or two. All he did was smile fondly, leaning back into the couch, softly taking you down with him and pulling you closer by your thighs. He looked up and met his leader's eyes, smiling with a lovesick expression.

"I'm going to marry her." Hyunjin said simply, freezing when he felt you move in your sleep. The guys all laughed at his expression, but Chan felt his heart swell at the thought of Hyunjin having someone.

They all loved you, you were kind- and just as sassy and dramatic as Hyunjin. You were there when they had bad days, and you'd learned recipes from home and would cook when you had the chance, leaving them with a week's worth of homemade food.

Hyunjin had picked out the ring two months after he'd asked you out. His mom had told him when he was little, that he'd know when he found his person. And he did, he knew from the second he'd kissed you for the first time. He knew that he'd see your same, beautiful smile, walking down the isle one day. He knew that your pure heart would provide kind children and that you'd be a wonderful mother. He knew that your hands would be even more precious with a ring adorning them. He knew that your hair would shine in the sun as you two watched the sunset together.

And more than anything, he couldn't wait to spend the rest of his life with you, his person. His you.

[bangchanluvs]

back tattoo ! bangchan .

back!tattoo bangchan who thinks long and hard about his tattoo, not wanting to mess up his back.

back!tattoo bangchan who picks out a piece that covers his shoulders and some of the middle of his back.

back!tattoo bangchan who’s perfectly prepared, he knows the risks and he’s ready to take them on.

back!tattoo bangchan who wants you to tag along , but doesn’t want to have you sit for so long not doing anything.

back!tattoo bangchan who’s somewhat calm throughout the whole thing, reaching for your hand maybe twice , and letting out a few whiners of pain.

back!tattoo bangchan who could get it done in one session , you having to hold him as you walked out of the tattoo shop.

back!tattoo bangchan who made quick work of taking care of his tattoo, paranoid of it not healing right.

back!tattoo bangchan who would check himself out in the mirror when it didn’t hurt to flex anymore.

back!tattoo bangchan who was hurt emotionally when he couldn’t lay on his back for god knows how long.

back!tattoo bangchan who doesn’t show off his tattoo often , but you always try to get an extra peak when he changes clothes or even takes his shirt off for a second.

“you’re sneaky.” you just giggle.

back!tattoo bangchan who sends you videos of his back of him working out at the gym, all sweaty and flexed, but it doesn’t matter, it’s a gorgeous sight.

authors note > sorry guys writers block kills me so bad

[intothemelodramatic]

[𑣲] I Take You as My Wedded— ↳ Hyunjin (STRAY KIDS) x Reader genre: romance / fluff / slight angst / idol!au wc: ~3.5k summary: after years of loving each other in secret, hyunjin finally makes it official—but one accidental moment during a livestream exposes their marriage, pulling their quiet love into the spotlight. ➛ @fics-lovebot hope you like it!!! <33

— 🍋: HELP I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED WIHTOUT FINISHING THE FORMATTING HELPPPPPPPPLPLP. anyways... so I WANNA DO A FULL VERSION OF THIS SPECIAL 😭😭😭😭 pls i feel so crazy when i say that Hyunjin screams romance.

The ring never left your finger.

Not when you slept.

Not when you showered.

Not even when you absentmindedly played with it during quiet mornings.

And Hyunjin noticed.

Every single time.

𖹭

Wedding planning was something.

Chaos.

Absolute chaos.

"You cannot be serious," you said, staring at the tablet.

Hyunjin sat across from you, legs crossed, completely calm.

"I like it."

"You picked three venues."

"I couldn’t decide."

"You booked all of them."

He shrugged. "Options."

You dropped your head into your hands.

"This is insane."

A pause.

Then his hand reached across the table, gently pulling yours away from your face.

His thumb brushed over your ring.

Soft. Absentminded. Loving.

"We can cancel two," he said quietly.

You peeked at him. "You swear?"

A small smile.

"...Probably."

You narrowed your eyes.

He laughed.

𖹭

The members made everything worse.

—or better.

Depending on who you asked.

"Do NOT let Hyunjin pick the flowers," Seungmin said flatly.

"Why?" you asked.

"He’ll make it look like a royal funeral," Minho added.

"I have taste," Hyunjin argued.

"You have drama," Jisung corrected.

Felix leaned toward you, whispering, "He cried looking at peonies yesterday."

"I did not—"

"You did," Jeongin grinned.

Chan just smiled softly from the corner.

"He’s just happy."

Hyunjin went quiet for a second.

Then glanced at you.

And yeah—

He was.

𖹭

Dress shopping was supposed to be simple.

It wasn’t.

You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the fabric slightly.

The room was quiet.

Too quiet.

"Well?" you asked softly.

No answer.

You turned—

And froze.

Hyunjin stood there.

Completely still.

Eyes wide.

Like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

"Say something," you laughed nervously.

He didn’t.

He just walked closer.

Slow. Careful.

Like you might disappear.

His hand lifted—

hesitated—

then gently touched the fabric at your waist.

"...This is it," he whispered.

Your heart skipped.

"You’re sure?"

He looked at you like the answer was obvious.

"I’ve never been more sure about anything."

𖹭

The wedding day arrived too fast.

Too real.

Too everything.

Hyunjin stood at the front—

Hands clasped.

Shoulders tense.

"Hyung, breathe," Felix whispered.

"I am breathing."

"You look like you’re about to faint," Jisung added.

"I’m not going to faint."

Minho leaned in.

"If you faint, I’m filming it."

"Don’t you dare—"

The music started.

Everything stopped.

You walked in.

And the world went quiet.

No noise.

No people.

No pressure.

Just—

Him.

Waiting.

His eyes softened instantly.

That same look.

The one from the first time he saw you in the dress.

Like nothing else existed.

Like nothing else ever would.

𖹭

The ceremony as beautiful, able to make the coldest person cry.

Extremely romantic, specially when the moment had finally arrived.

"I do," he said softly looking into your eyes.

Without hesitation.

Without doubt.

Like he’d been waiting his whole life to say it.

You smiled through tears.

"I do."

The kiss was soft.

Not rushed.

Not overwhelming.

Just certain.

Like everything that led to that moment had been worth it.

𖹭

After that everything should’ve been calm.

Private.

Quiet.

It wasn’t.

Life always has a funny way to show it.

And it happened on a random night.

Hyunjin was live on Instagram.

Hair messy.

Hoodie on.

Relaxed.

"Hi, stays" he smiled softly at the camera.

Comments flooded instantly.

"Have you eaten?"

"What did you do today?"

"Show us your room!"

He laughed lightly.

"You’re all so nosy."

He started talking about some moments of his year until that night.

Everything normal.

When he decided turn the tablet to his cellphone screen to show some of the moments.

Casual.

Unaware.

Photos.

Art.

Random screenshots.

Notes.

Then—

He swiped.

Too far.

Silence.

For half a second.

But it was enough.

You.

A candid photo.

In your wedding dress.

Laughing.

Head tilted slightly back.

Eyes bright.

Completely unaware of the camera.

Beautiful.

Hyunjin froze.

Eyes widening—

And then—

click

The screen went black.

Locked.

Too fast.

Way too fast.

"...Anyway," he said, voice suddenly tight.

Comments exploded.

"What was that???"

"GO BACK"

"WHO WAS THAT"

"WAS THAT—"

Hyunjin laughed nervously.

"I think my tablet is lagging."

"LAGGING MY ASS"

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Let’s talk about something else—"

"HYUNJIN."

He sighed.

Smiled.

Soft.

Fond.

"...Goodnight," he said—and ended the live.

𖹭

The internet broke.

Completely.

"HYUNJIN IS MARRIED???"

"WHO IS SHE???"

"THAT GIRL IS INSANE—"

"HELLO??? SHE’S GORGEOUS???"

"THAT WAS HIS WIFE???"

News spread like wildfire.

Articles.

Threads.

Edits.

The photo—

Everywhere.

Non-fans were the loudest.

"I don’t even stan but WHO IS THAT WOMAN???"

"She looks like a literal painting."

"That candid??? ARE YOU KIDDING???"

"He won. He literally won."

Fans were divided.

Love.

"She makes him so happy."

"He looks softer lately."

"If that’s who he chose, I trust him."

Hate.

"She's trapping him."

"Why marry so young"

"I’m heartbroken."

𖹭

Hyunjin read everything.

Of course he did.

Late at night.

Phone glowing in the dark.

Scrolling.

Scrolling.

Scrolling—

Until—

Your hand gently took the phone from him.

"Enough," you said softly.

He looked up at you.

Tired.

Quiet.

"...I didn’t mean for it to happen like that."

"I know."

"They’re saying things about you."

You smiled a little.

"They’re also saying nice things."

He exhaled.

Still tense.

You leaned closer.

Resting your forehead against his.

"I chose this too, remember?"

A pause.

His hand found yours.

Ring against ring.

"I just don’t want you to get hurt."

"I won’t," you whispered.

He searched your face.

Like he needed to be sure.

Then—

He pulled you into him.

Tight.

Protective.

𖹭

The next day—

He posted.

No caption.

Just a photo.

You.

Again.

But this time—

Intentional.

Standing beside him.

Hands intertwined.

Rings visible.

No hiding.

No fear.

The internet exploded again.

But this time—

He didn’t look away.

Because no matter how loud the world got—

He still came home to you.

Still held you the same way.

Still whispered the same words at night—

"I’d choose you again."

And this time—

He wasn’t hiding it.

[gingerayen]

ꪗꪮꪊ ꪖρρꫀꪖ᥅ ꠸ꪀ ᦓᛕƺ ᥴꪮꪀꪻꫀꪀꪻ - ᦓᛕƺ ꪮꪻᲖ

Synopsys: after your relationship is revealed through viral TikTok videos, the SKZ members don't mind including you in their official content.

Part 2 of TikTok Trends That Reveal Your Relationship.

Word count: around 800-900 words each.

ENJOYYYY!!!!

Bang Chan - Racha Log

Chan was annoyed to be woken up by his manager: they had a day off, he was finally free from the studio as he had submitted the last version of the album yesterday, a few days before the deadline. He thought he could enjoy one (1) day of lazing around, sleeping in until late, cuddled up to you, eating good food, watching anime, without having anything to worry about.

However, One Label had a very different idea, as the manager slowly started describing a concept for Racha Log, with Hannie and Changbin cooking for him so they could thank him for all his efforts. The idea was nice, but he really wanted to say no so he could spend his time resting and cuddled up to you. As the manager insisted, he could only respond with low groans, which led to you starting to move around, trying to remain in his embrace and the lull of sleep for a little longer. He pulled you closer to his chest, his phone still to his ear, but he wasn't actually paying any attention to the words of the middle-aged man on the other side of the line. He hummed lowly, pressing a loving kiss to the top of your head while running his hand soothingly over your back.

Then a certain sentence hit his ear, making him perk up: "The filming crew will be at your house in 30 minutes; they will be setting up in the kitchen."

"My girlfriend is over, and her stuff is all over the place. What do you want me to do about that? Are we sure we cannot postpone this?" Chan asked.

"Let it be, you've already been exposed, and the reactions are surprisingly positive. So she or her stuff can be in the content, we don't mind."

And Chris was ready to take full advantage of that. Still mad about his day off being ruined, he was on a mission to mention you as much as he could.

First, when the boys arrived, all loud and excited, he made sure to shush them, saying that you were sleeping in the bedroom and must not be woken up.

After Jisung dropped the pan and spilled all the water, every time he picked up something of yours—specifically your mug—Chan warned Han not to drop it, because it was your favorite.

At one point, while the two mischief-makers were trying to cook, a small, tired little "Channie?" could be heard from the hallway.

His ears perked up, and he pushed himself up to look behind the cameras, trying to get a glimpse of you. But he didn't hesitate for long—he stood up and left the room, the cameras still rolling, still mic’d up—and walked over to you, embracing you and pulling you close to his chest.

"Morning, little one. We're filming a Racha Log in the kitchen—Jisung and Changbin are cooking," he explained in a whisper, leaving little kisses across your face. He was completely unaware that his voice was being picked up crisp and crystal clear due to the mic clipped to his hoodie collar.

"What a tragedy. I really like this kitchen—too bad they're gonna set it on fire," you mumbled, and Chan laughed out loud.

"Noona, what did you say?" Jisung shouted, curious about what made Chan wheeze like a hyena.

Your boyfriend looked at you with sparkling eyes, filled with mischief, as he shouted back, translating your English words so everyone in the room could hear:

"She said that she's going to mourn this kitchen, as the two of you will inevitably set it on fire."

That caused the other two to start laughing as well, and the staff behind the cameras covered their mouths to muffle the sound of their laughter.

You watched the whole thing on the Stray Kids official YouTube account, and you were surprised to see that they didn't cut out the part where Chan was missing from the kitchen, and they didn't remove the audio picked up by his mic—most probably because there was nothing happening on screen at that point. But now, millions of people would get a glimpse into your and Chan's relationship.

Ironically, right when the laughter calmed down from your comment, the camera suddenly zoomed in on Changbin, who was smelling something funky in the air. "Hey, what's burning?" he asked, and the video cut to them eating at the table, chatting.

STAY would never know about them burning your favorite dish towel, which Han had accidentally left too close to the open burner, heating up their soup. Oopsie.

Comment Section: “The editors cutting RIGHT AFTER ‘what’s burning’ is SUSPICIOUS” “The ‘morning, little one’ ??? excuse me while I pass away” “Did anyone else catch how fast he got up?? That man TELEPORTED” “The way she sounds half asleep but still roasting them” “FREE THE LOST FOOTAGE” “So we’re just gonna ignore the fact that something DEFINITELY burned???”

Lee Know - Music Video

Lee Know was absolutely pleased by that street interview video of you going absolutely viral and exposing your relationship. He wanted to go public about you for a long time, but every time he brought it up, the company rejected him. However, now that the cat was out of the bag, he could show you off at any chance he wanted to, because people were absolutely in love with your dynamics, a good number of comments under every single piece of content shared by their official account being about wanting to see more of the two of you.

But Minho is an absolute menace, and he wouldn't give them the luxury of getting what they wanted too easily. No vlogs with you, no bubble messages, no pictures...

However, he made it his life mission to teach you the choreography to their newest song, Do It, and he already checked with management that you could appear in the music video as a background dancer.

Once the MV goes live, he is disappointed to see that no one actually notices that it's you dancing beside him at one point. Not. One. Soul.

But he has one more chance: as they record MV reaction, he is absolutely pleased at Jisung's "Look at Noona, she absolutely ate this dance up! Look at her go!"

Now the entire timeline is flooded with screenshots of you in the music video, the way at one point Minho turns towards you and smiles cheekily. Everyone seems absolutely stupid for not noticing you at first, until Jisung points it out to everyone.

More craziness follows, as the MV behind is posted, and snippets of you and Minho perfecting a few moves last minute are left in, a moment of him taking your face into his hands as he whispers inaudible encouragements to you, trying to calm your nerves by being his soft, caring self. Or the moment you wrap up filming the sequences of them dancing with the backup dancers, he picks you up to twirl you around to show how proud he is of you for nailing a whole thing like a professional.

It is safe to say that the internet goes ballistic over the two of you.

Comment Section: “I DID NOT NOTICE HER THE FIRST TIME I FEEL STUPID” “Cheeky smiles at her mid-dance… kill me now” “That twirl moment? I replayed it 20 times already” “The way the internet exploded after this? Legendary” “This is why STAY can’t sleep peacefully” “MINHO IS TOO GOOD TO HER 😭”

Changbing - Album Recording

There had been a lot of stress for 3Racha. Despite submitting their album on time and having it approved by the board and management, they were forced to redo two songs within a short timeframe of just two days, all while their schedules were completely packed with rehearsals for their encore concert.

Changbin had texted you to eat dinner on your own because he would be staying late. You knew what that meant—him getting even more irritated from being forced to order food, which would throw off his macro goals. He had promised STAY he would reveal his abs, and he was working hard to finally feel comfortable enough to do so.

Since you had already cooked and were always looking out for him, you decided to pack some of the food—enough to feed three hungry mouths—and walk over to the JYPE building to deliver it yourself.

You didn’t plan on staying long, just dropping off the food, maybe leaving a peck on your boyfriend’s lips, and heading home to wait for him.

You also didn’t expect to step into the studio with way too much food in your hands and find 3Racha laughing like maniacs while listening to Changbin trying to do the “Divine” outro instead of Chan.

“Why does it sound like someone is being tortured in here?”

Both Chan and Jisung looked at you, laughing even harder at your comment, while from the booth you could hear your boyfriend exclaim, “Is my bunny here? Or am I hearing things from hunger???”

As he stepped out of the small recording cubicle, he spotted you instantly, his eyes going wide—but there was absolutely no hesitation as he rushed over, wrapping his strong arms around your shoulders and pulling you into a tight embrace. Someone might say it looked like he was suffocating you, but contrary to popular belief, this was your favorite place to be, squished by your boyfriend’s massive biceps.

“I brought you guys food!” you exclaimed, and all of them immediately attacked the paper bag in your hands, quickly checking the bento boxes you had packed—starting from the multigrain rice, all the side dishes, down to the delicately grilled meat.

“Bunny, you’re the best girlfriend in the world, you know that, right?” he said, pulling you into a discreet kiss, whispering a soft “I love you” so only you could hear his meaningful words.

More than half a year went by, and you forgot about this moment entirely—until a video of the Do It Recording Behind appeared on the Stray Kids YouTube channel, and you were suddenly faced with yourself on screen, capturing the moment you had saved the day by dropping off food for those three doofuses.

Comment Section: “Imagine cooking for these three goofballs… absolute hero” “She’s feeding the band and his heart at the same time” “LOOK AT HIM RUSHING TO HER 😭 MY HEART” "HELLO???? We get the recording behind half a year later and we also get a glimpse of Binnie and his girlfriend???? WHAT A TIME TO BE ALIVE!!!" "Seriously, who got fired at JYPE?" "Whoever resurfaced this ancient footage... you deserve a raise!!!"

Hyunjin - Hyun.e's Holiday

Hyunjin loved filming content for STAY; for him, it came easily—never an effort or extra work. He already documented everything through photos, videos, and painting. The only struggle was not including the footage he had of you.

He wanted to show you off, to shout his relationship from the rooftops, to let the whole world know that he had finally found the romance he had yearned for over the years—openly telling his audience, or at least those who listened, how much he wanted to find his soulmate, his other half.

So he was surprised to see a message from the editing team and his manager, asking if he had any footage of you that he would like to include in his vlog of visiting Hokkaido with his family, since they were aware that you had been part of that trip as well.

After the positive response to the TikTok video of him enchantingly explaining how the two of you met, it seemed like their management had become a bit more easygoing about what he could post and what could be included in official content.

He mentioned that some of the videos he had taken with or of you would be included, but upon watching the Hyun.e’s Holiday episode, you were surprised to see your own face on a YouTube channel with tens of millions of subscribers.

The first moment lasted barely two seconds—him on the plane, looking absolutely mesmerizing, and you asleep on his shoulder, as he gently tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

Then there was a clip of you excitedly making snow ducks, lining them up on a concrete box by the side of the road, and you could hear him cooing at your excitement, finding it absolutely adorable.

There were a few minutes of other small moments from your trip where you didn’t appear, but afterward came a nearly one-minute-long clip of you talking to Kkami in a baby voice, telling him that he wasn’t a puppy anymore, and that no matter how uncomfortable it was, he had to wear a coat so he wouldn’t get sick in the cold. Meanwhile, you were trying to put a miniature Guess puffer jacket on the dog, who was wriggling out of your hold with all his might.

“Isn’t that right, Kkami? This mean lady is trying to make you uncomfortable, like her life depends on it. That’s right!” The clip was even funnier because Kkami kept yapping back at you, as if agreeing with your words while you nodded along.

Then came a cut to a moment filmed by Hyunjin’s dad: the two of you walking together in front of them, your arms linked through his, Kkami’s leash in his free hand as the puppy trotted beside you. The three of you looked like an established little family.

The last clip of the vlog showed the two of you saying goodbye to Kkami back in Seoul, as you parted ways with his family.

As other video recommendations popped up on your screen, you couldn’t help but give in to the warmth in your chest, knowing that it had been Hyunjin’s own decision to shape this vlog around the two of you—giving STAY a glimpse into your love, while still keeping most of it just for yourselves.

Comment Section: “HELLO??? WHEN DID THIS TURN INTO A ROMANCE FILM???” “He tucked her hair so gently 😭” “He finds EVERYTHING she does adorable I can’t” “Kkami arguing back like he pays rent LMAO” “I came for travel content and was called single in every language out there”

Han - SKZ Talker

Ever since that TikTok video of the two of you came out, Jisung wanted you to join them whenever they left the country for a performance. Before, he had been too anxious, knowing that if you were seen too many times in his proximity, people would be able to connect the dots and reveal your relationship.

He wanted to protect you—especially your mental well-being—knowing that some people were far too comfortable criticizing someone they knew nothing about online, ironically hiding behind profile pictures of him and the anonymity the internet had given them.

He really did not expect an unplanned street interview to go this viral, but he was relieved to see the overwhelmingly positive feedback from people finding out he had been happily taken.

Traveling with them more often for performances meant that a lot of footage had been filmed for SKZ Talker with you in the background. However, at the beginning, the editors worked hard to cut you out or blur your face so it would seem like you were just a staff member.

Until Hyunjin caught you and Jisung sleeping peacefully on one of the couches in the green room, tangled into each other—you lying on top of your boyfriend, your hand gently placed over his heart, his face buried in your hair, his buff arms, exposed by the tank top he was wearing, wrapped around your shoulders, keeping you close to his chest.

“STAY, look at this~” Hyunjin cooed, zooming the Talker camera in on the two of you. “Our baby Quokka found his forever companion. Look how cozy they are… awe, I want to bite them, they’re so cute.”

In the distance, you could hear Changbin going, “Aegyo!”

“My wife, why don’t we nap like this together?” Changbin asked Hyunjin, as the dumpling boy rolled his eyes, irritated by the loud, high-pitched tone his hyung used.

“Because you snore,” he replied simply, looking at the other male with wide eyes.

“Keep it down, you’re gonna wake them up!” Minho hissed as he noticed you fidgeting lightly. The two roommates disappeared instantly, knowing that if they woke you up with their bickering, they wouldn’t be able to escape the porang porang Linos wrath.

Needless to say, STAY were loving the content in the Talker episode, completely enchanted by how comfortable the two of you looked—glued to each other on the tiny couch, napping unbothered while chaos ensued around you.

Comment Section: “The way he’s hugging her like a teddy bear… I’m UNWELL” “HER HAND ON HIS HEART??? EXCUSE ME???” “Hyunjin really said ‘I want to bite them’ SAME” “Changbin got rejected in 4K while they’re sleeping peacefully” “The real talent is staying asleep in that environment” “He looks so safe with her… I can’t do this today”

Felix - A YouTube live feat. Seungmin and I.N.

It was after an award show, and the three youngest were bored. It was late, but the adrenaline from winning the daesang and performing on one of the biggest stages in K-pop was keeping them awake. So they decided to do a live, this time on YouTube, as the staff had prepared some games for them to play.

They had printed cards, and they had to choose between the things pictured on them. All of them were having fun, laughing, and messing around with each other, while overseas, you were struggling to fall asleep without your boyfriend.

You were completely unaware of the live, as you didn’t have YouTube notifications turned on—but you knew Felix was awake, because he’d sent you a cute sticker of a teddy bear holding a love heart just minutes ago.

So you didn’t hesitate to call, and all three boys were startled by the ringing. They had a protocol of putting all phones on silent and Do Not Disturb during lives, but Felix had set your calls to go through with sound every time. You were aware of his schedule, so you never called while he was busy—but he panicked slightly, realizing it was late and you must know he was live.

“Sunny, hello?” he answered the phone. He stepped outside of the camera view, but his voice was still picked up by the microphone.

“Everything alright?” Only one side of the conversation could be heard, but the viewers got déjà vu—the situation was eerily similar to that one viral video of the two of you. This time, they were seeing his side.

“I’m live, Sunny, I’m sorry, but I can’t talk right now. But I’ll call you back soon, alright? I’ll yap until you fall asleep to my voice, how does that sound, hmmm?”

He chuckled. The other two boys were being smug, making faces toward the camera. At one point, Seungmin acted like he needed to throw up from the sheer cuteness evident from what they could hear from the phone call.

“Wanna say hi?” they suddenly heard, and Felix stepped back in front of the camera, making a show out of putting his phone on speaker.

“Hi Seugminnie and Jeonginnie!” Your syrupy sweet voice rang through the speakers, and the boys greeted you back enthusiastically. “Hiiiiii STAY!” you added.

The live comments went crazy, and Felix smiled. “They’re all saying hi back!”

You giggled. “But I really gotta go now, Sunny! Love you, talk to you later, love you!”

“Love you, baby! Can’t wait for your call!”

The call went dead, and the boys went back to their silly little game as if nothing had happened. But STAY were going absolutely wild over the tiny crumbs of interaction they had witnessed between the two of you.

Comment Section: “The way he said ‘I’ll yap until you fall asleep’… I’M DEAD” “He’s literally softest human alive 😭” “ Not Seungmin pretending to throw up from cuteness" “Their faces during this call??? priceless” “The live chat went WILD, I was crying reading it” “She says ‘love you’ and he literally melts" "Didn't Chan mention once that they MUST put their phone on silent and dnd while live? How did her call go through? IS SHE HIS EMERGENCY CONTACT???"

Seungmin - SKZ Code

Sometimes, when filming went longer than expected, and the two of you had plans, Seungmin would invite you inside the set so you could sit down and not get cold outside. It was more convenient, and you really enjoyed watching him do his thing—especially if they were filming something fun.

Like today: SKZ Code. You were definitely not dressed for the occasion or to be caught on camera—the two of you had planned to go buy groceries after this because your fridge was empty, and it would’ve been too much for you to carry alone. You also enjoyed these mundane chores with Seungmin; he had an impeccable sense of humor, and all these daily tasks suddenly became a comedy show with him there. You were dressed casually—put together, but in a very simple way—nothing fancy, no bold or heavy makeup.

You arrived quietly, taking in the set, decorated like a school, all the boys dressed as schoolchildren, with pigtails, glasses, backpacks, and so on. They did look adorable, but at the same time very laughable, as these grown men in their mid-twenties were given different tasks to complete against each other and the clock in the corner of the room. The whole place was full of chaos, all of them trying to shout over one another, and then Seungmin’s eyes landed on you, his face lighting up as he smiled widely, acknowledging your presence.

Suddenly, Seungmin was given the task of completing a word puzzle while untying a pair of headphones. He quickly stood up, acting as if he was looking at the words presented to him by the staff; however, he sneakily passed you the headphones, knowing that your slightly longer nails would give you a significant advantage in untying them. One of the cameras panned to you as you quickly worked through the tangled mess, while Seungmin struggled to be louder than his bandmates, who suddenly grew suspicious of him getting up and moving closer to the cameras. You could see Lee Know getting up from his seat with an irritated, “Yah, Kim Seungmin…” so you worked the cables a little more hurriedly, and with one final pull, they fell completely straight. In the meantime, Seungmin finished the word puzzle and quickly accepted the headphones you handed to him, a mischievous smirk on his lips. He raised his hand in victory as the director announced that he had won the episode, earning the chance to enforce a punishment on the others.

In the excitement of his victory, Seungmin ran over to you, shouting, “THANK YOU, JAGIYA, YOU’RE THE BEST,” as he placed a big, loud smooch on the top of your head.

You were surprised to see yourself on the Stray Kids YouTube channel, despite management asking both you and Seungmin for permission to use the footage of you helping him in the official episode. However, for you, the most prominent moment was him spotting you and being caught on camera—how his face lit up and his focus shifted, even if only for a second, entirely onto you. It made your heart do somersaults.

Comment Section: “Lee Know sensed the cheating from across the room like a shark” “HIS FACE WHEN HE SAW HER 😭😭😭” “HE DID NOT JUST USE HIS GIRLFRIEND AS A CHEAT CODE” "She didn't even question it, she just helped him cheat without a word, your honor, they are meant for each other" “This wasn’t their first crime together and it shows” “He didn’t even think twice about going to her”

I.N - 2 kids room ft. Chan

The episode was filmed right after the Fit Check video went viral, sweeping across the internet. Even people who had no idea who your boyfriend was were talking about it—about your dynamic, and how evidently in love the two of you were.

The company liked the overwhelmingly positive public perception of your relationship, so they were ready to milk every crumb they could put out to feed the hype. They included the viral video as a talking point for Jeongin’s and Chan’s episode of 2 Kids Room.

“So, you and your girlfriend went viral the other week. How do you feel about that?” Chan asked.

“It was funny at first, really. When it was filmed, we had no idea it would blow up like this. The creator was fairly small, and this became their most-watched video in just a few hours.”

“It’s a very heartwarming video. She talks about you like you hung the stars, so pleased with all the pieces you share, and then you show up, dressed to match her perfectly, all smiley and smug.”

Chan noticed Jeongin go crimson red. He’d watched that video numerous times himself—he loved every single moment of it: how adorable you were, how you lit up when you spotted him, everything.

“Yeah, well, it turned out very nicely. I’m also glad STAY liked it, and they seem very fond of her. It means a lot to me.”

“You’re so whipped by her—I’m genuinely so happy for you, that you’ve found someone as loving as her to have in your life.”

Chan giggled, enjoying how easily he could fluster the youngest just by talking about you.

“Yeah, she’s the best,” he said shyly.

“When’s the next fit check from her though? People are asking for it.”

“Aish, I told her to ride the wave and start her own TikTok account, but she says she’s more comfortable keeping her privacy as much as possible,” Jeongin explained. “And I respect her wishes. She did allow me to talk about this on here, so don’t worry, STAY—no boundaries are being crossed.”

“What a gentleman you are, hyung-nim. We raised you well!” Chan wiped away his nonexistent tears as Jeongin smiled at the camera like a pleased fennec fox.

And STAY ate it up.

Comment Section: “He’s so whipped… I love seeing him like this 😭” “Chan is just sitting there giggling" “He lights up talking about her, I’m crying” “I literally rewatched the fit check 10 times just to see them together” “The internet collectively melted watching this episode” “The way Chan wipes nonexistent tears he's so unserious"

[hyunienohanashi]

── .✦ jealousy on tour with bsf!minho.

⟢ ┆ lee minho x reader. f2l. fluff. slight angst.

⟢ author’s note: hello, everyone! this was a request made by @hykwrld for the prompt “You’re mine. God help me, I don’t care what we call it—you’re mine.” taken from this prompt list. i changed it up a little bit, and i kinda dragged the story a lot, but i couldn’t just let go of the chance to write f2l!lino. i hope you like it!

[gingerayen]

ꪻ꠸ᛕꪻꪮᛕ ꪻ᥅ꫀꪀᦔᦓ ꪻꫝꪖꪻ ᥅ꫀꪜꫀꪖꪶ ꪗꪮꪊ᥅ ᥅ꫀꪶꪖꪻ꠸ꪮꪀᦓꫝ꠸ρ - ᦓᛕƺ ꪮꪻᲖ

Synopsys: I think the title says it all, random viral tiktok video styles and how they expose your relationship with each skz memebr separately.

Word Count: around 800-900 each

Warnings: none, I guess?

ENJOY!

᥇ꪖꪀᧁ ᥴꫝꪖꪀ - ᭙ꫝꪖꪻ ᦓꪮꪀᧁ ꪖ᥅ꫀ ꪗꪮꪊ ꪶ꠸ᦓꪻꫀꪀ꠸ꪀᧁ ꪻꪮ

It’s a rainy mid-February day, and Seoul looks as gloomy and worn out as you feel. You weave through crowded streets, a plastic bag cutting into your fingers—far heavier than it looks—and you’re fairly certain everyone within a five-meter radius can smell the cardamom clinging to the takeout pho inside. You look frazzled, distracted, rushing—because you are.

Somewhere across the city, there’s a 28-year-old overworked producer who, according to information you received exactly twenty-five minutes ago, hasn’t slept in thirty-two hours and hasn’t eaten in fifteen.

Your headphones are on, a universal don’t talk to me signal. Unfortunately, not everyone knows how to read.

You glance up—and freeze.

A young man stands in front of you, microphone in hand. Another guy is filming him. And now, apparently, you. He’s talking, so you slide one headphone off and offer a polite smile.

“Sorry—could you repeat that?”

“Hey ma’am,” he says cheerfully, “what are you listening to right now?”

Oh. You’ve seen this before. Online.

You stop walking and pull out your phone, mostly because you weren’t even paying attention to what was playing. But the second the screen lights up—hand-drawn album art of two figures holding hands, boxed in by tiny love hearts—a wide smile blooms across your face.

“Uh… it’s a song my boyfriend made,” you say, a little shy. “It’s called Forever Peony. It’s, um— not released or anything.”

“Oh?” The interviewer’s eyes light up. “So he made it just for you?”

You laugh softly, your cheeks warming. “Yeah. He made me a mini album for Valentine’s Day.”

You tilt your phone toward him, and his expression instantly melts.

“That is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,” he exclaims. “Wow. Is he a producer?”

“Yeah,” you smile. “He’s in the industry.”

He asks if he can hear a snippet. You disconnect your headphones and hold your phone closer to the mic. Soft guitar spills out first, then gentle piano—and then Chris’ voice. Warm. Earnest. Singing about love wrapped in a flower bouquet metaphor, tender and sincere, the kind of song that feels like it was written with a smile and a racing heart.

“It’s beautiful,” the cameraman says. “Are you on your way to see him right now?”

You grin without even meaning to. “Yeah. He’s been trapped in the studio for days—needs pho to survive.”

You lift the bags for emphasis.

“Well, thank you so much for participating,” the interviewer says. “Hope your guy makes it big.”

“My pleasure,” you reply. “I hope so too.”

You continue toward the JYPE building, rain tapping softly against the pavement.

Chan lights up the second he sees you, praising you for bringing his favorite food—again—without him ever having to ask.

“Oh,” you say casually as you settle onto his lap, “I ended up in a TikTok street interview today.”

His eyes widen instantly. “You did?”

You nod, distracted by the little mole nestled between perfectly groomed brows. “They asked what song I was listening to.”

“And?” he prompts.

“Well… it happened to be the one my beloved boyfriend wrote for me.”

He laughs, cheeks tinting pink. “Scandalous. Did you let them play it?”

“Absolutely not,” you say, smiling as you kiss his cheek. “That song’s just for me.”

He sighs dramatically. “Damn. I was kind of hoping it’d leak so I could dedicate it to you publicly.”

Unfortunately—or maybe not—the interview does drop.

And the comments explode:

“That’s Bang Chan’s voice for sure!!!” “The music player says CB97—did his relationship just get leaked like this?????” “Imagine getting a whole album of love songs written by Bang Chan for Valentine’s Day, girl, you hit the jackpot.” “This video just called me single in every language.” "THIS VIDEO WAS NOT APPROVED BY DIV1 I'M TELLING YA."

ꪶꫀꫀ ᛕꪀꪮ᭙ - ᥴꪖꪶꪶ ᦓꪮꪑꫀꪮꪀꫀ, ꠸ᠻ ꪻꫝꫀꪗ ꪖꪀᦓ᭙ꫀ᥅, ꪗꪮꪊ ᧁꫀꪻ ꪑꪮꪀꫀꪗ

You’re walking around your office building, your lunch break almost over. You’ve got a couple of minutes left, the weather is nice, and you can’t stop thinking about going for a walk with Minho in the park near your shared apartment—the one you visit together all the time.

Your train of thought is interrupted by a stranger: a young woman followed by a small camera crew. She approaches you politely and asks if you’d like to take part in their street interview/challenge thing.

At first, you try to get out of it, not wanting to be late for work. But then you notice the disappointed look on her face as she mutters under her breath about how they’re having no luck and how everyone keeps turning them down, so you decide to accept to make her day.

“Okay, that’s great!” she beams instantly, excitement lighting up her face. “So here’s the concept: I’m offering you 50,000 won if you call the last person you talked to on the phone. If they answer, you get the money. If they don’t, you have to send them a message saying you got arrested and need to be bailed out. Deal?”

“Sure,” you answer politely—though you’re not entirely sure how this will go. The last person you called was Minho, but that was a couple of hours ago, during a break between schedules. You don’t know if he’s busy or not, and honestly, the last thing you want is to prank him. He already has enough on his plate; you don’t want to give him an unnecessary headache.

“So, who are we calling?” the interviewer asks.

“My boyfriend, Minho,” you smile easily, not even thinking twice about saying his name. After all, Minho is a pretty common name in Korea.

“Do you think he’ll answer?”

“I really don’t know. He’s a busy guy—we’ll see.”

You listen as the phone rings. Once. Twice. Three times. You’re already convinced it’s going to voicemail when the ringing suddenly stops.

“Noona! Wait a second, I’m bringing the phone to Mimo hyung!”

Jisung’s overly excited voice fills the line, and you can vividly picture him sprinting across the room with Minho’s phone—just like you used to do as a kid whenever someone called your dad.

“Jagiya? Is everything alright?” Minho asks, right after thanking Hannie for grabbing his phone.

“Yeah, Min. I just won some money to take you out to dinner,” you explain, smiling to yourself. Beside you, the interviewer claps excitedly, clearly loving the chaos that is your boyfriend, his friend, and you.

“…Am I supposed to understand that?” he asks, his voice thick with confusion.

“You’re never beating the pabo allegations, love.”

“Rude,” he replies. “And here I was, ready to offer to pay for dinner so you could keep the money you won.”

“Nah, babe. This one’s on me.”

“Good. Otherwise, people might start thinking you’re with me for the money,” he says, pure sarcasm dripping from his voice. You can practically see him rolling his eyes.

“Says the guy whose friends constantly remind me that I’m his personal cat sitter.”

“We both know you’re their mom,” Minho says smoothly. “Don’t ever underestimate yourself like that, jagiya.”

The whole crew is laughing now. The interviewer quickly explains that this was for a TikTok challenge and thanks Minho for participating. He responds politely, and with a quick, “I love you—talk later,” he hangs up.

“Your boyfriend is hilarious,” the girl tells you, still smiling.

“Thank you,” you grin back. “Please cut that part out, though—otherwise his ego will inflate significantly.”

When the video goes up, the comments explode with people loving your dynamic:

“My oh my, never thought Lee Know could find a girl who matches his freak this perfectly.” “JISUNG CALLS LEE KNOW MIMO HYUNG—MINSUNG IS SO REAL.” “It’s so funny how their relationship got exposed like this and they don’t give one single fuck.” “Lee Know’s girlfriend spending the money she won on him is so sweet. I want a girlfriend like that too.”

ᦓꫀꪮ ᥴꫝꪖꪀᧁ᥇꠸ꪀ - ρꪮꪶ꠸ꪻꫀ ᥴꪖꪻᥴꪖꪶꪶ꠸ꪀᧁ

You're walking down the streets of Los Angeles, hand in hand with Changbin, your boyfriend. Stray Kids are on tour in the city, and on his free day he asked you to come with him while he did a little shopping, taking advantage of the fact that you flew out to see him after such a long time apart.

He’s confident he won’t be recognized here. Even in Korea he manages to fly under the radar sometimes, so he holds onto your hand tightly as the two of you wander through the evening streets.

It’s dark out, and you’re heading to dinner—both dressed casually, but still put together.

Suddenly, a sharp whistle cuts through the air, followed by the crackle of a megaphone.

“Damn girl, you look like someone I would trust with the aux!”

You burst out laughing instantly. You’ve seen the videos this guy makes online.

“You sure can!” you shout back, grinning.

Changbin, however, looks a little startled beside you. He didn’t really understand what the guy said—just the whistle and the flirtatious tone—and his expression hardens immediately. His jaw tightens as he turns, clearly ready to walk over and teach the guy a lesson about how impolite it is to catcall a woman like that.

Especially one who is very clearly taken.

But before he can take a step, the guy points the megaphone toward him.

“Damn dude, you look like you could easily bench press your girlfriend!”

Changbin’s eyebrows furrow for a moment—processing—but then he breaks into a proud smile.

He raises his arm, flexing slightly, his hand still laced with yours. The gesture shows off not only his biceps, but also your interlocked fingers.

The guy whistles loudly into the megaphone again, drawing the attention of a few people around you who start turning their heads in your direction.

Once the little show ends, Changbin casually wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head—a small moment that’s definitely caught on camera.

“What was that?” he asks, still a bit confused.

His chest is slightly puffed out though, clearly proud of the compliment he just received from a stranger on the street.

“Oh, that guy’s pretty famous on TikTok,” you explain. “He calls it polite catcalling. It’s actually really fun—people love it.”

Changbin looks down at you, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

“So we’re going to be in a TikTok video?”

“Yeah, Binnie baby, most likely.” You tilt your head at him. “Does that bother you? Are you going to get in trouble?”

He shakes his head almost immediately.

“No, I don’t think so.” His arm tightens around you slightly. “I want to show off my baby girl anyway.”

His voice is confident, final in a way that makes warmth spread through your chest.

Once the video goes up, Stayville is in shambles, comments filled with surprise and shock from all the fans:

"Not Changbin casually revealing he’s taken in a random TikTok 💀" "Why did I find out about Changbin’s girlfriend from a polite catcalling video 😭" "The way he immediately flexed AND showed their interlocked hands… oh he’s PROUD proud." "The arm around her shoulders and the head kiss??? Yeah that’s his girl." "Okay but they look really cute together." "Polite catcalling accidentally exposing K-pop relationships is crazy." "Respectfully… I would also trust her with the aux."

ꫝ᭙ꪖꪀᧁ ꫝꪗꪊꪀ꠹꠸ꪀ - ꪖ᥅ꫀ ꪗꪮꪊ ᧁꪊꪗᦓ ꪖ ᥴꪮꪊρꪶꫀ? ꫝꪮ᭙ ᦔ꠸ᦔ ꪗꪮꪊ ꪑꫀꫀꪻ?

You and Hyunjin are halfway across a wide intersection in downtown Tokyo when the light changes and the crowd begins to move again, people spilling off the sidewalks in loose waves. Cars idle on both sides of the street, headlights glowing in the dimming evening light, the air warm and full of city noise—distant music, engines, bits of conversation carried by the breeze.

Hyunjin walks beside you at an easy pace, long strides slowed down just enough to match yours. Your fingers are loosely intertwined, swinging gently between you as the two of you weave through the crowd. He looks relaxed tonight. A black cap sits low on his head, strands of pale hair escaping around the edges. He’s dressed simply—loose black pants, a soft sweater, the kind of outfit that somehow still looks effortlessly elegant on him. Every now and then, someone glances in his direction, but no one lingers long enough to recognize him.

He likes moments like this. Moments where he can just exist next to you without the weight of being watched.

Once you reach the other side of the street, someone jogs up beside you.

“Hey, sorry! Excuse me!”

Both of you slow down instinctively.

A guy with a small handheld camera and microphone steps slightly into your path, smiling apologetically.

“Quick question for a street interview—are you two a couple?”

The reaction from Hyunjin is immediate. His hand tightens around yours, and in the same motion, his arm slides around your waist, drawing you a little closer to his side. It’s subtle but instinctive, protective in a way that feels almost reflexive. His posture straightens slightly as his eyes flick from the microphone to the camera, then back to the interviewer. There’s a brief moment where he studies the situation, measuring it. Then he answers.

“Yes.”

His voice is calm and low, steady but unmistakably certain. The interviewer grins, encouraged by the answer.

“Nice! Okay, follow-up question then,” he says, raising the microphone slightly. “How did you two meet?”

For a second, Hyunjin looks like he might just laugh it off. His gaze drops to the pavement, and he exhales softly through his nose like he’s debating whether the story is worth telling to a stranger with a camera. Then he glances at you. The guarded tension in his shoulders melts away almost instantly, replaced by a softness that spreads through his expression like sunlight breaking through clouds.

“Oh,” he says quietly. The corner of his mouth lifts. “That’s actually a beautiful story.”

Hyunjin turns slightly toward the camera, though his arm remains firmly around your waist. Even as he starts speaking, his eyes keep drifting back to you, as if the story only really makes sense when you’re part of the moment too.

“We met in a café,” he begins, his voice softening into that dreamy cadence he slips into whenever he talks about things he loves.

“I was sitting by the window with my sketchbook.”

His hand lifts briefly, mimicking the motion of holding a pencil, his fingers moving through the air like he’s drawing invisible lines.

“I felt very inspired that day,” he continues, smiling faintly. “But nothing was coming out right.”

He pauses, looking down at you.

“You remember, I showed you my sketches afterwards, they were afwul,” he says, the words half a question, half a quiet statement.

You nod your head no, clearly showing oyur disagreement. The sketches were amazing, naturally. A small laugh escapes you. Hyunjin’s eyes brighten immediately, encouraged.

“You were sitting two tables away,” he continues, his voice gaining warmth as the memory unfolds. “You had this book in front of you—”

He tilts his head slightly, searching for the right description.

“—but you weren’t actually reading it.”

The interviewer chuckles softly, but Hyunjin barely notices.

“You were just staring out the window,” he says, gesturing lightly toward the city street around you. “Like your mind was somewhere far away.”

He looks back at you again, and for a moment his expression turns almost shy.

“The light from the window was hitting you like this—”

He moves his hand slowly through the air, illustrating the angle.

“And it looked…” he hesitates, smiling to himself. “Like a painting.”

Your face warms instantly. Hyunjin notices. His grin grows a little brighter.

“I kept trying to sketch,” he continues, laughing softly now, “but every time I looked down at the paper, my hand would stop moving.”

His eyes flick toward you again.

“Because I kept looking at her instead.”

The interviewer lets out a low impressed “wow,” but Hyunjin is already lost in the memory.

“You didn’t know who I was,” he adds, almost proudly.

You shake your head in confirmation. “No idea.”

“So I thought…” he continues, tilting his head thoughtfully, “maybe that was better.”

His voice grows softer again. He pauses, smiling as if replaying the scene in his mind.

“Eventually,” he says, “you stood up and walked over to my table.”

You laugh immediately, covering your mouth.

“That’s not exactly how it happened.”

Hyunjin gasps, placing a dramatic hand over his chest.

“It is exactly how it happened.”

You shake your head again, still laughing.

“I asked if you were actually drawing or just staring.”

The interviewer bursts out laughing. Hyunjin turns back toward the camera, eyes sparkling.

“See?” he says triumphantly. “She noticed.”

He looks down at you again, the affection in his gaze almost overwhelming.

“And then we talked.” His voice softens. “For three hours.”

The city noise seems to fade for a moment as he says it.

“And after that,” he continues gently, “I kept finding excuses to go back to that café.”

His thumb brushes lightly along your side where his arm rests around you.

“Luckily,” he adds, glancing down at you once more, “she kept showing up too.”

There’s a quiet pause. The interviewer blinks between the two of you, clearly caught off guard by the sincerity of the story.

“Wow,” he finally says. “Okay… that might be the most romantic answer I’ve ever gotten.”

Hyunjin just smiles softly. He raises your intertwined hands and leaves an affectionate kiss on the back of your palm without even thinking about the camera still pointed at him.

“Well,” he says simply, his voice warm with quiet certainty, “it’s a romantic story.”

The comments under the video are everything one would expect:

"WAIT A DAMN MINUTE THAT’S HYUNJIN FROM STRAY KIDS.” "His eyes literally sparkle when he talks about her." “Bro said ‘how did you meet?’ and he gave us a whole romance novel.” “He really said she looked like a painting… that’s the most Hyunjin sentence ever.” “Okay but boyfriend Hyunjin hits different.” “He didn’t tell us how they met he told us how he fell in love.”

ꫝꪖꪀ - ᥴꪖꪀ ꠸ ᧁꪊꫀᦓᦓ ꪗꪮꪊ᥅ ᠻꪖꪜꪮ᥅꠸ꪻꫀ ꪖ᥅ꪻ꠸ᦓꪻ?

The small convenience store near the JYPE building is almost empty this late at night. Fluorescent lights buzz quietly overhead, reflecting off the glass refrigerators filled with colorful drinks and neatly lined rows of snacks. Outside, the street is calm—just the occasional car passing and the low hum of the city settling down.

You’re standing a few steps away from the entrance, scrolling through your phone while waiting for Jisung to come back out. He’d insisted on running inside himself.

“Stay here, I’ll get the drinks,” he had said, already halfway through the automatic doors before you could protest.

Now you’re leaning casually against the metal railing by the storefront when someone approaches you.

“Hi! Sorry to bother you.”

You look up to see a guy holding a camera and a small microphone, smiling politely.

“I’m doing a quick street challenge,” he explains. “I have five minutes to guess someone’s favorite artist. If I get it right, I win.”

You laugh softly.

“That sounds stressful.”

“It is,” he says dramatically. “But it’s fun content.”

You glance back toward the convenience store door briefly, then shrug.

“Okay.”

He grins immediately and turns slightly so the camera catches both of you.

"So, is your favorite artist international or Korean?"

"Korean, but some say he's British." you joke.

"Okay, are they a group or a solo artist?" the interviewer asks, clearly confused by the British comment.

"I would say both."

"Oh, interesting," he adds, "Male or female?"

"Male."

This is a moment the automatic doors open behind you with a swoosh, and Han steps out with two cups in his hands, a hazelnut coffee with strawberry milk for you and something green for him, something that looks radioactive.

"Oh, what's up?" he asks, looking like a confused hamster, sipping on his radioactive drink through a straw, boba eyes wide and curious. He extends your drinks towards you, and you smile up at him.

"Thank you, jagiya!"

"Oh, this is your boyfriend?" the interviewer asks, "Do you want to join in? I'm trying to guess her favorite musical artist in 5 minutes."

"Interesting..." Han says, a coy smile on his face, as he steps behind you, crouching down slightly to rest his chin on your shoulder as he awaits the next question.

"Is your artist famous?"

"I would say he's well known, yeah." the interviewer observes as Han is trying to decipher which of your top artists you must be thinking about, while your free hand, the one not holding the drink, raises up to him, your fingers running through his fluffy hair. His eyes close instantly as he relaxes into you even more, his nose buried into your hair.

"Internationally or only in Korea?"

"Internationally."

"He's in a group. Is the group big?"

"Yeah, they have a decent-sized fanbase."

"Is it... BTS?"

You smile widely, because despite his face being hidden and his voice muffled, you can hear Jisung snorting lightly.

"No."

"OH EXO??"

"No."

"Is it a third-gen group?"

No."

"Fourth?"

"Yes."

"Stray Kids?"

Han's face lifts instantly, looking at you with wide eyes, trying very hard not to give himself away. But he knows, he realised you're thinking about him. Your smile widens, and you turn your face towards him to leave a small peck on his chubby cheek.

"Yes, he's in Stray Kids." you say to the interviewer.

"Ok, is he a producer?"

"Yes."

"Is it Bang Chan?" Jisung snorts and mutters something similar to 'imagine you and Channie hyung'. You laugh out at his remark, and the interviewer looks more confused than ever.

"No, it's not Bang Chan." Han says confidently, and you nod in agreement as the guy with the mic keeps glancing at you.

"Is it Han?"

"It is Han." Jisung exclaims, starting to clap in a quick rhythm.

"You kinda look like him, that's how I guessed right," the interviewer says, and your boyfriend starts cackling like a hyena on crack. You try to calm him down, but Jisung is a menace, and he can't control his emotions.

"Thank you, sir. It's an honor to be compared to the great and amazing Han Jisung of Stray Kids, gamsahamnida!" he states, and he starts bowing in exaggeration.

The interview wraps up soon after, but the camera catches one last moment as the two of you walk away down the quiet street.

Hannie is animatedly rambling beside you, half thrilled and half offended.

“That was so cool, but also—how did he not recognize me? I literally gave him every clue!”

You laugh, letting him complain while he gestures wildly with his green drink.

Then suddenly he stops mid-sentence.

“OHHH—LOOK!”

Before you can even ask what he’s talking about, he grabs your hand and drags you toward a small gacha shop down the street.

You follow him easily, smiling wide as he excitedly pulls you inside, completely enchanted by your expressive, chaotic, endlessly lovable boyfriend.

A few days later, Jisung gives you his phone, the brightness of the screen hurting your eyes as he shows you his favorite comments:

"you kinda look like him’ AND HE STARTED BOWING LMFAOOOOOO" “the way she called him jagiya and he didn’t even react like it was normal???? oh they’re REAL real” “him melting when she started playing with his hair… bro is GONE” “she seems so sweet though… the way she smiled at him 😭” “Han: tries to stay lowkey Also Han: ‘IT IS HAN!’” “he’s offended he didn’t get recognized I’m crying” “this is how we find out??? from a random street interview???”

ᠻꫀꪶ꠸᥊ - ᭙ꫝꪮᦓꫀ ᥇ꪮꪗᠻ᥅꠸ꫀꪀᦔ ꪻꫀ᥊ꪻᦓ ᥇ꪖᥴᛕ ᠻ꠸᥅ᦓꪻ

It was actually your friend’s idea—the one with a pretty decent following on TikTok.

You had all gone out for drinks, a simple girls’ night that slowly drifted into boredom after a while. That’s when she suggested making a video: a challenge where everyone texts their significant other at the same time to see whose partner replies first.

It sounded harmless enough.

You were pretty sure you were going to lose.

Felix was in Paris for Fashion Week, and over there it was the middle of the day. His schedule was probably packed, because for some reason he simply couldn’t stop working. Ever.

If you had to guess, you thought one of your friend’s husbands would win—especially the one who had been left home alone with their five-month-old baby for the first time.

Still, you wanted to participate.

Despite the public knowing you were dating Felix from Stray Kids, you were fairly confident most of the girls at the table didn’t actually know who your boyfriend was. They all knew you’d been in a relationship for over a year, but his identity had stayed pretty secretive. Only your closest friends knew the truth. You’d avoided telling anyone else—some of them had a tendency to gossip a little too much.

So the plan was simple.

Everyone sent the text at the same time.

Then you placed your phones on the table, screens locked but facing the camera. The filming was done on one of your single friend’s phones—the only one not participating in the challenge.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. All the screens stayed dark.

Then, to your complete surprise, your phone lit up first.

The screen revealed your wallpaper: the two of you wearing clay skincare masks, cheeks pressed together. Your dimples showed, and your eyes had nearly disappeared from how wide you were both grinning.

The message banner read:

“Is everything alright, sunny? You don’t usually text during girls’ night.”

The girls immediately started reacting behind the camera.

But before anyone else’s phone could light up, yours did again.

This time it was an incoming call.

On the screen appeared the contact name:

Fefi 💛🌻💛🌻

And the contact photo filled out the display—one you had taken of him while he was asleep in your shared bed one afternoon. It had been golden hour, sunlight spilling through the curtains and illuminating his freckles and soft blond hair. The picture almost looked unreal, like he was glowing, something ethereal.

“Okay, Y/N clearly wins this one!” your best friend announces excitedly from behind the camera. “Now answer your boyfriend—he seems very adamant!”

You laugh and grab your phone from the table, stepping outside the bar to find a quieter corner. You don’t want anyone overhearing the conversation.

Inside, the girls keep filming as more notifications finally start appearing on the other phones.

You answer the call.

“Are you okay, sunny?” Felix asks immediately.

His voice sounds soft, a little concerned.

“Of course, baby,” you laugh. “We just did that TikTok challenge where we test whose partner texts back first. And we won, Felix!”

Your voice comes out slightly louder than usual, the couple of drinks you’d had making you more excited than necessary.

“That’s amazing, sweetie,” he says warmly. “Send me the video once it’s posted, okay?”

“I will. But how did you reply so fast? I thought you’d be busy with schedules.”

“Not today,” he explains. “They let me sleep in so I wouldn’t get dark circles from jet lag. I was just waiting for my breakfast to be delivered to the hotel room and I got bored, so I was already on my phone.”

“That makes sense,” you say with a small smile. “I’m glad you got some good sleep.”

You talk for another minute, exchanging soft “I love you” and “I miss you” before finally hanging up.

When you step back inside the bar, your friends are still laughing over the challenge and the incoming messages on their phones.

You slide back into your seat, a warm smile lingering on your face.

You can’t wait for your boyfriend to come home.

Once the video goes online, your friend texts you about the comment section, worried that people are figuring out that you're dating Felix:

“FELIX CALLED IN 10 SECONDS??? BRO WAS STRESSED" “THE CONTACT NAME ‘FEFI 💛🌻💛🌻’ I’M SOBBING” “him being at fashion week and STILL replying first… boyfriend of the year” “STAYS WE LOST HIM” “meanwhile my boyfriend replies after 6 business days" “the contact photo being him asleep??? HELLOOO???!!!!!” "oh JYPE is shaking in their boots, there's no way this is how we find out about Felix being taken"

ᦓꫀꪊꪀᧁꪑ꠸ꪀ - ρꪖ᥅ꪻꪀꫀ᥅ ꪶꪮꪗꪖꪶꪻꪗ ꪻꫀᦓꪻ

You're walking down Seungsu-dong with a friend, doing some shopping after a pleasant brunch during which you got a chance to catch up.

She wasn't your best friend in the world, but you two were close enough to hang out at least once a month, and you introduced her to Seungmin as well, and the two got along quite nicely.

You're stopped by a dude, he seems friendly enough and he puts out his phone, which is used as a microphone, asking if you're willing to participate in a video. You really don't want to, but your friend is stoked, as she knows the channel and the content they make. "C'mon, it would be fun!" she says and you agree, to make her happy.

"Are you in a relationship?" the guy asks you, and you nod your head yes. "Are you?" he turns to your friend, who answers no.

"Do you want to test your partner's loyalty?" the guy asks you and you're starting to feel uncomfortable. You trust Seungmin with your life, you don't need to test his loyalty. He would never cheat on you, so you politely refuse. However, your friends starts nagging you, trying to convince you to say yes. You're feeling cornered and uncomfortable, so you quickly say yes to get out of this mess as soon as possible.

The guy explains how your friend is going to call your boyfriend and try to hook up, and see what he reacts. You zone out, you really don't want to be there, but you're awakened when you hear Seungmin's voice from your friend's phone speaker.

"Yoboseyo?" he says, in his typical, very polite voice. He never answers for unknown numbers, but you had given a few of your friends' numbers to him, considering you tend to forget to charge your phone and like this, he still has a way to contact you or for you to reach him.

"Hello, Seugmin-ssi! How are you?" your friend says in a sweet voice, and you feel slightly icky at the way she's currently presenting herself in front of this interview guy and your boyfriend.

"I'm busy. Is y/n okay?" he asks, still polite, but his voice very monotone.

"I'm not with her anymore." she explains "I was wondering if you'd be down to upgrade and maybe have ramen with me at Han river tonight?"

You're looking at her in disbelief; she seems like she actually means it, and your stomach turns.

You're waiting on Seugmin's reaction. To your suprize the line is already dead. He hung up without a word.

Then you feel your own phone ringing and you turn it to the camera, proud of yourself, showing off your boyfriend's contact photo (one of him with Berry, Chan's doggo). You knew he wouldn't do anything shady, so you're smiling proudly.

"BABY!" he says, voice frantic. "Are you still with y/f/n?" he asks.

The interviewer shakes his head, signaling to you what answer you should give to your boyfriend on the other end of the line.

"No, Minnie, I just left." you say, your voice soft.

"I'll call you right back!" he says, and hangs up just as quickly as he hung up on your friend.

However, her phone rings again. And the caller ID says Seungmin.

"Oh, I've seen this before!" the interviewer says. "The boyfriend makes sure the girls are not together, so he doesn't fall for a trap, then calls back the best friend. Textbook behaviour!"

Your heart sinks. Is this really what's happening?!

You urge your friend to answer the phone, and she does, putting it on speaker.

"Y/f/n listen to me carefully: you are a terrible person. My girlfriend, whom you just left after a hangout, thinks super highly of you, because she truly believes you to be a good friend for her, but I knew from the start that you are trouble. So I'm going to give it to you straight: I will never betray my girlfriend like that, because I love her more than anything, and I could never stoop so low to even look at another person, especially not someone like you. Please refrain from ever talking to me or my girlfriend ever again." he says, not even giving her a chance to talk and hangs up.

"Wow! That was very... blunt." the interviewer guy says, and you're sporting a proud smile again, thankful for your boyfriend's way with words.

Your phone is ringing again, you answer this time, not putting it on speaker, just listening to what he has to say.

"Pretty girl, you're never hanging out with that snake again, you hear me?" he rants "What does she mean she wants to have ramen with me, does she not know what that entails???!!! Let me tell you, baby, I'm not having ramen with anyone that's not you, so please, for the love of god do not be friends with that crazy lady anymore, ok?"

You laugh, and Seungmin knows it's kind of an agreement.

"You're very sweet, Minnie, but it was a prank. We're doing some kind of street interview challenge."

"I don't care, baby, did you hear how her voice went all seductive and shit? It was disgusting. Please come to the studio, I need your soft whispers to make me forget her screeching voice."

"Sure, babe, whatever you want."

You leave the interviewer and your friend behind, ready to go see your boyfriend.

The video is posted anyway, and the comments are all...interesting:

"THAT IS KIM SEUNGMIN OF STRAY KIDS. HE HAS A FUCKING GIRLFRIEND?" "NOT SEUGMIN CLOCKING THAT CRAZY WOMAN FOR BEING SUCH A SNAKE AND A PICK ME!!!!!" "I want Seungmin's girlfriend to post that pic she has for a contact photo, I've never seen it before, and I need it in 4K." "Can we talk about how gentlemanly and loyal Seungmin is?"

ꪗꪖꪀᧁ ꠹ꫀꪮꪀᧁ꠸ꪀ - ᭙ꫝꪖꪻ ꪖ᥅ꫀ ꪗꪮꪊ ᭙ꫀꪖ᥅꠸ꪀᧁ (ᠻ꠸ꪻ ᥴꫝꫀᥴᛕ)

You were walking toward your meeting spot, where you and Jeongin had planned a low-key barbecue date in the city. Nothing fancy—he’d simply texted you earlier saying he’d finished work sooner than expected and wanted to take you out.

You had spent almost an hour on FaceTime with him before leaving your apartment, the two of you putting together outfits that matched just enough to be cute without looking too obvious.

What you didn’t expect was someone stopping you in the middle of the street.

“Excuse me,” a guy says, holding a microphone and a small camera. “Would you mind describing your outfit for a quick video?”

You blink in surprise.

You’ve seen videos like this before, but you never imagined you dressed unique enough to get stopped for one on the streets of Seoul. Still, you shrug with a small smile and begin explaining.

“So,” you say, gesturing down at yourself, “I’m wearing this skirt I thrifted last minute before my first date with my boyfriend.”

You lift the hem slightly.

“These tights are from Uniqlo—they’re the thermal ones, so they keep me warm even if the night gets chilly.”

You tap your ankles next.

“And these leg warmers were knitted by my boyfriend’s mom. She made them for me.”

The interviewer nods, clearly impressed already.

“My shoes are from Maison Mihara Yasuhiro. My boyfriend actually got us matching pairs.”

You smooth the fabric of your top.

“This top is from a little boutique in Kyoto. And my jacket is actually my boyfriend’s.” You grin. “He has this Bottega coat in a bunch of different styles and colors. When he first bought this one he was obsessed with it, but he gave it to me one night when I got cold. I never gave it back—and now he says it suits me better anyway.”

The interviewer laughs softly.

“And the jewelry?”

“Oh!” you say, lifting your hand. “This is the Dandelion set from Damiani. My boyfriend bought it for me too. They’re actually his favorite pieces—and he has the same ones.”

“I would love to meet this boyfriend of yours,” the interviewer jokes. “He must have impeccable style.”

“Oh, he definitely does,” you say proudly. “Fun fact—he helped me put this whole outfit together.”

You glance up the street. Then your face lights up.

“Oh—there he is!”

Jeongin is walking toward you. He always does this—if he arrives earlier than you, he walks toward the train station so you’ll meet faster instead of waiting around. You wave enthusiastically. The moment he spots you, his whole face brightens.

He doesn’t notice the microphone or the camera at first—and even if he did, he probably wouldn’t care. He walks straight up to you and pulls you into a warm hug, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

“Hi,” he murmurs.

Then he finally notices the camera.

“Oh—what’s this?” he asks curiously.

He’s wearing a nearly identical outfit: the same shoes, the matching jewelry, a similar jacket, black jeans, and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes.

“This gentleman asked me to do a video presenting my outfit,” you explain.

Jeongin’s eyebrows lift in mild suspicion, but he can tell immediately that you’re comfortable. His expression softens into a playful smile.

“Well,” he says, gesturing toward you proudly, “it is a fire outfit, if I may say so myself.”

The interviewer laughs.

“Dude, you two look amazing together. How long have you been dating?”

Jeongin answers instantly, without hesitation.

“More than three years.”

He slings an arm around your shoulders.

“Thanks for the opportunity, bro,” he adds with an easy grin, “but we gotta dip. I’ve got dinner reservations with this beautiful lady.”

The interviewer apologizes profusely for keeping you so long, waving as the two of you walk away down the street.

A few steps later, Jeongin nudges you gently.

“So,” he asks with a proud smile, “how was your first street interview?”

He doesn’t even consider that the interaction might reveal your very carefully hidden relationship to STAY. He’s far too busy being happy that he got to show off his girlfriend.

The comments under the video are exactly what you'd expect:

“WAIT IS THAT I.N FROM STRAY KIDS????” “THE MATCHING SHOES AND JEWELRY I’M SCREAMING” “the outfit matching but still looking natural is actually impressive” “The Bottega coat, damiani jewelry and mihara shoes… jeongin really spoils her” “this man dressed her himself and you can tell” “the way he walked straight to hug her before noticing the camera 😭” “the interviewer has no idea what he just posted” “Jeongin: tries to keep relationship private for years Also Jeongin: ‘yeah we’ve been together 3 years 😌’”

[gingerayen]

᥇ꪊꪻꪻꫀ᥅ᠻꪶꪗ ᛕ꠸ᦓᦓꫀᦓ - ᥇ꪖꪀᧁ ᥴꫝꪖꪀ

Synopsys: Did I see the latest Racha Log where Hannie zoomed in on Chan's eye? Yes. Did I get cuteness aggression from his insanely long lashes? Also yes. Am I gonna make it everyone's problem by writing a 2k-word piece about it? Absolutely yes.

Warnings: the reader is mentioned to have worked out with Chan

Genre: FLUFF

ENJOOOOY!!!!!

Nights like this are rare. Chan is home early for once, after a workout he convinced you to join. Your bellies are full of kimchi jjigae, the good kind that warms you all the way to your fingertips.

Chan is still in the shower, and you're already tucked beneath the duvet, curled comfortably into the mattress. The lingering scent of vanilla from your lotion hangs softly in the air around you, mixing with the crisp smell of clean linen that wraps around your freshly moisturized skin. Your muscles feel heavy, pleasantly sore from the workout earlier, and the coziness of the room makes it dangerously easy to sink deeper into the pillows.

Everything is perfect, the only thing missing is the man of your dreams.

You reach for your phone, squinting slightly at the brightness. Thirteen minutes. Chan has been in the shower for thirteen minutes now. That's six minutes longer than his usual routine, which means he's either zoning out under the hot water again or overthinking something in that beautiful, busy brain of his.

All your body yearns for is to cuddle up to him, maybe put on your comfort series—something that always makes both of you laugh and giggle. You’ve seen it enough times that you wouldn’t even feel guilty if you ended up getting lost in each other or simply falling asleep.

Honestly, both of those outcomes feel very possible tonight.

Chan worked out extra hard today, and you followed his lead. Your body is exhausted in that satisfying, heavy way, though your limbs ache, and your eyes keep fluttering closed for longer stretches, the more time passes without him.

You’re nearly asleep when the bathroom door finally opens.

A small cloud of steam rolls out into the bedroom, and from the middle of it emerges a very shirtless Chris.

He looks hot and soft at the same time in a way that should probably be illegal. His hair is still damp, messy curls clinging to his forehead and falling loosely around his pretty face. Tiny droplets of water trail down his neck and across his shoulders, catching the candlelight and making his skin glow. His eyes are a little droopy, relaxed from the heat of the shower, and his lips curve into that easy, sleepy smile the moment his eyes find you.

You look tiny on the massive king-sized bed—ridiculously oversized, really. Big enough to fit the entirety of Stray Kids, as thoroughly proven during one particularly chaotic test.

Chan pauses for a second, just standing there, quietly taking in the sight of you tucked away in his bed like something small and precious. The sheets look impossibly soft, the duvet puffed up invitingly around you like a warm nest.

Anyone else might have approached gently.

But Chan is, unfortunately, a menace. Without warning, he suddenly sprints the last few steps and launches himself onto the bed. The mattress dips dramatically with a loud poof, and you shriek, scared he might crash land on you.

But even in his chaos, Chan is careful. There's so much space on the mattress—seriously, how big is this thing, and why did an insomniac think he needed this behemoth of a bed?—that he manages to land beside you instead of on top of you.

He's giggling and excitedly lifts the duvet just enough to slip under it, his long arms instantly reaching out for you, curling around your waist, pulling you so close to his bare chest that not even a needle could slip between the two of you.

Chan smells deliciously sweet.

His skin radiates comforting warmth, his heartbeat steady. One of his hands lazily caresses your stomach, the slow motion soothing your sore muscles. His plump lips rest against your forehead, while his other hand slips into your hair at the back of your head, gently keeping you close.

“Hello, little one,” he whispers.

His voice is rough—probably from singing and recording guides all day while finishing a few songs for their next album. But the usual tension in his shoulders is gone tonight. Tomorrow is one of his rare days off, a small reward for the work he’s put in. For once, he can fall asleep with you in his arms and sleep in without feeling even the tiniest bit guilty.

“Hi, honey,” you murmur. “How are you feeling?”

“Soooo good,” he mumbles, stretching the words as he sinks deeper into the mattress. “I could stay right here forever.”

He rolls onto his back, pulling you with him until you’re draped halfway over his chest. His breathing is slow and even beneath you, his chest rising and falling as the back of his head melts into the pillow. Loose curls fall messily around his face.

You tilt your head up to look at him, your chest filling with quiet contentment. Your heartbeat quickens as the familiar thought crosses your mind again—how lucky you are to have someone like him.

Your gaze lingers on the details of his face: the gentle curve of his nose, the small mole on his eyebrow, his soft, plump lips.

His eyes, his warm, chocolate coloured eyes, are closed. That’s when you notice something else - his eyelashes. Long and thick, they fan against his pale cheeks, fluttering slightly like tiny, feathery wings. It almost feels unfair how pretty they are—usually hidden beneath the smoky stage makeup they pile onto him. Up close like this, they look almost unreal.

Your hand moves before you even realize it. Carefully, so carefully, you lift your thumb and brush it against his cheek—just beneath those ridiculous lashes.

They flutter instantly. You gasp.

“Chan,” you whisper, voice already dissolving into a squeak.

His nose scrunches a little at the sound, but his eyes stay closed. “Mm?”

Your thumb brushes them again. Lightly. Just the faintest touch.

The lashes tickle your skin as they move. You let out a tiny, strangled giggle.

“Your eyelashes,” you whisper, like you’ve just discovered something groundbreaking. “They’re—”

Another giggle bursts out of you, higher this time.

Chan’s eyes crack open slowly, sleepy and confused. “What?”

You shake your head quickly, biting your lip as another squeaky laugh escapes you. Your thumb goes back to his cheek, tracing the soft line beneath his eye before tapping lightly against those soft, feathery lashes again.

They flutter. You squeak. Chan startles a little beneath you.

“What are you doing?” he asks, already starting to laugh, voice still raspy with sleep.

“They’re so fluffy!” you whisper-shout, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Look at them!”

He blinks up at you, lashes—traitorously—fluttering again. You make a sound somewhere between a gasp and a squeal and gently poke them again with the tip of your thumb.

“Ah—!” Chan jerks his head back slightly, laughing now. “That tickles!”

“They’re so cute,” you whine softly, completely helpless as your fingers come up to cradle his face. Your thumbs hover near his cheeks like you’re restraining yourself from poking them again. “Chan, they’re literally like little wings.”

“What wings?” he snorts, cheeks already turning pink.

“Your eyelashes!” you squeak again, unable to stop smiling. “They’re so long!”

He lets out a shy, breathy laugh, one hand sliding up your back as if to hide his face in your shoulder—but he can’t, because you’re still half draped over him.

“You’re being weird,” he mumbles, embarrassed.

“I’m not!” you protest immediately, giggling again.

Your thumb sneaks forward one more time and lightly brushes the tips of his lashes. They flutter. Chan’s whole face scrunches as he breaks into helpless giggles, shoulders shaking beneath you.

“Stop!” he laughs, trying to turn his face away, but your hands hold him gently in place.

“I can’t!” you whine. “They’re so pretty!”

“Pretty?!” His voice squeaks a little as he laughs, clearly flustered now. “They’re just eyelashes!”

“No they’re not,” you insist softly, eyes shining as you admire them again like they’re the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen. “They’re perfect.”

Chan groans quietly and drops his hands over his face for a second, laughter muffled behind his palms.

“You’re bullying me,” he accuses weakly.

You gasp dramatically. “I am not!”

He peeks at you through his fingers, cheeks flushed pink, curls messy against the pillow.

“You’re literally attacking my eyes.”

“I’m appreciating them,” you correct, completely serious.

Chan lets out another shy laugh, clearly unable to handle the attention. His hands slide back down to your waist, pulling you closer against him until your cheek presses against his chest.

“Stop looking at them,” he mutters, still giggling.

You tilt your head up immediately. His lashes flutter again when your eyes meet. You squeak. Chan groans and hides his face in the pillow this time, laughing helplessly while his arms tighten around you.

“You’re impossible,” he mumbles.

“There is one thing you can do for me,” you say coyly, a cheeky smile spreading across your face, “and I promise I’ll stop freaking out about your lashes, pretty boy.”

Chan narrows his eyes immediately.

“Oh, no…” he sighs dramatically. “I know that face. You cooked up some evil plan against me and my eyelashes that apparently give you cuteness aggression.”

“Hey!” you protest, lightly flicking his right pec.

He yelps softly.

“It’s not an evil plan, you doofus,” you huff. “I just want butterfly kisses.”

“...Butterfly kisses?” he repeats slowly, brows knitting together in confusion.

You stare at him.

“What, you have bunyips in Australia but no butterfly kisses?”

Chan bursts into loud laughter, instinctively throwing his head back. Your hand instantly flies behind his head so he doesn’t bump it against the headboard. His crinkled eyes flutter open, and you squeak again as you observe those otherworldly lashes flutter again.

“What do my eyelashes have to do with bunyips?” he asks through laughter.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” you say patiently, cupping his cheek. “But everything to do with butterfly kisses.”

“Okay,” he says, still smiling, curiosity softening his voice. “Could you explain to me what those are, little one? Because if they involve kisses, I can promise you I’ll gladly give you an infinite number of them.”

Your eyes widen with excitement.

“Well,” you explain eagerly, “butterfly kisses are when you flutter your eyelashes against the other person’s skin.”

Chan pauses. You can practically see the idea blooming in his head. Then his entire face lights up.

“Oh.”

Before you can even react, he uses his strength to roll the two of you over, suddenly hovering above you. His curls fall forward into his eyes, blending with those ridiculously long lashes that started this entire situation.

You stare up at him, already giggling.

“Well,” he announces proudly, “I shall deliver all the butterfly kisses I can, ma’am.”

And deliver he does. He leans down and gently presses his face close to your cheek, fluttering his eyelashes against your skin. You immediately squeal.

“Oh my God—!”

He starts laughing too, shoulders shaking as he keeps going. Next comes your other cheek. Then your collarbone. Then your tummy. Each time his lashes brush your skin, you burst into helpless giggles, squirming beneath him from the ticklish feeling. Chan is no better, laughing right along with you at how ridiculous—and adorable—this whole situation has become.

“You asked for this!” he giggles as he attacks your stomach with another round of fluttering lashes.

“I didn’t know it would tickle this much!” you protest between laughs.

Eventually, he makes his way back up, brushing butterfly kisses across your cheeks again, slower this time. Gentler. Finally, he lifts himself slightly, hovering over you. His eyes crinkle with the huge smile stretching across his face, curls messy, cheeks flushed from laughing.

“I love you so much,” he whispers softly. “You silly, silly girl.”

He doesn’t even wait for you to respond.

He just leans down and presses his lips to yours, warm and soft, melting closer against you as if he can’t quite get close enough.

"There won't be a day from now on when you're not getting a butterfly kiss from me, little one!" he states once your lips part, his voice soft, but oh so serious.

And as he presses one last butterfly kiss to your cheek, you realize with absolute certainty that you’ve created a monster—and you couldn’t possibly love him more for it.