The words are spilling out of my mouth so fast, I might as well get certified as a rapper. Not a good one, just one with too many feelings and no beat. "Pro yapper in the house" would be my catchphrase fr.
I write for funsies, so I am not the most consistent person ever, but I do try to write as much as I can when I have the time for this, since I also need to work and stuff like that. Life is sometimes not the smoothest, so I might be in slumps sometimes. But I’ll definitely keep this organised.
Random talk
The man on the other side -> Seonghwa(ATEEZ) ON HOLD
One night in Seoul -> Jake(ENHYPEN)
The Heart Heist -> Sungchan(RIIZE)
Strangers Under One Roof -> Yeosang(ATEEZ)
Held Between Two Loves -> Ahn Bohyun and Jang Kiyong(actors) ON HOLD
The Love I Deserve -> Intak(P1HARMONY) ON HOLD
A Summer Collision in London -> CORTIS STILL ONGOING
Summary: You crossed paths with CORTIS while they were filming content for their official account. People figured out that the mysterious girl was you, and now a statement was made by the company saying that the speculations were correct. You also start to appear more and more in CORTIS’ content and lives. You're not exactly an influencer, but still everyone has an opinion about you. One that they feel the need to share with everyone under threads on Twitter, Tumblr, TikTok, or even Discord servers. It's ridiculous how much people care. But what happens next?
Pairing: CORTIS x fem!reader
Warnings: fluff, summer vibes, mention of anxiety, reader is a content creator, this is her telling the story, don’t know how to tag, MIGHT HAVE FORGOTTEN SOME THINGS
Word count: 1624
“3 months. That was how long summer break would be. It felt unusual, having it so long. But it’s all because I graduated and am going to college, which means that I’ll start school on the 21st of September instead of the first. But besides the point, I’ll be going on vacation to London with my parents and little brother, which I’m very excited about, I mean… I want to thrift there so badly because I don’t really have a lot of those stores near me. Or at least not that I know of… And also, I saw there were some very cool bangles that they sold there in a shop, so that is one of my goals. Buying jewelry and clothes. Oh, and books, of course.” That was the intro to my little talking video that I posted on my TikTok. I’m not famous, but I do enjoy posting on social media a lot. It is a sort of digital diary where I share my journey to become the best version of myself with those who stumble across my page. It’s fun to talk with those who find me relatable and feel seen because of my content. But this all changed because of that one accident when I was actually in London, which I’ll talk about right now.
I had always been someone who loved people watching or looking at art while I’m outside in public. Probably because I don’t really go outside often and am more of a homebody, but that is beside the point. I had gone to this park that had very nice fountains while my parents were getting breakfast with my brother since I wasn’t really hungry at the time. I get nauseous when I smell food while I’m not hungry or already am feeling nauseous, so my parents allowed me to go out on my own, which doesn’t really happen often since I have anxiety. This is something I have talked about before on my channel, so if you want to know more about that, you can always click on the link in the description.
Anyway, I was sitting on this bench, just people watching as I was listening to music through my… earphones, I think you call it, when I suddenly got called by my dad. He asked me to come back to the hotel so that we could go shopping at this place, which I don’t really remember off the top of my head, but I’ll put some photos up on the screen so you get the vision. After the call ended, I obviously had to leave the park, which was sad because I really liked it.
Now, a fact that you have to know about me is that I look down most of the time when I’m walking, given that I get dizzy very easily, and that is a habit of mine to compensate for that. If I look down, it makes me more cautious about not walking into someone next to me and usually also in front of me, as I can also see people's legs coming closer, obviously. But it’s not like I look down the whole entire time. It’s more of a look-up, look-down, and back-up kind of way with just my eyes, not my head, because that would probably look ridiculous to others.
But back to the story. I was walking, right, when I suddenly felt someone bump into me. I looked behind me instinctively, not necessarily to get mad, but more so to see who bumped into me and, I guess, look annoyed for not watching out well enough. That was the moment I saw Martin. Martin, as in the one from Cortis. I am looking at the camera in disbelief. I thought I was going crazy. Like, hello? What were they doing there, and why did I, of all people, run into them? I genuinely was freaking out internally, but me being me, I tried to stay as calm as I possibly could since I didn’t want to come off as a crazy fan or anything like that. But then he started talking to me, saying that he was sorry and that he was a little too distracted by his friends. That was when I noticed the others of Cortis, and one of them holding a camera up.
I realized that they were probably filming some content but didn’t really know for what. Don’t attack me, okay, I just am chronically offline and not always as up to date with everything that is going on. Coincidentally, that was also the moment Martin noticed that I had my bbyongMING keychain hanging on my bag. He looked up at me with wide eyes and enthusiastically asked me whether I liked listening to kpop and obviously, if someone asks me about kpop, I’m going to be excited. So naturally, I answered by saying, “Yes, I love listening to kpop, but it’s not the only genre I listen to, though.” So then he smiled at me and was like, “Oh, have you ever heard of Cortis then?” I raise my eyebrows in disbelief and tilt my head a little. Have I heard of Cortis? Does this man even know how much I love them? Obviously I have. So I just looked at him, a little perplexed, not knowing if I should answer honestly, but then I just went for it. “Yeah, I know who you are, Martin.”
I don’t know what got into me, because I never talk this confidently to strangers. I mean… he isn’t exactly a stranger, but he is, though. You know what I mean? Then he just widened his eyes a little and gave me this big ass smile that almost seemed to reach his ears before he turned to the others and quite literally yelled, “She knows us guys, we made it,” as if they hadn’t made it before that moment. It kind of was funny, but at the same time, I was scared to my core because of my anxiety. Obviously, I don’t blame him for it. He didn’t know, but it was a little uncomfortable for me in a way, yet not really.
He then took my hand, which, OMG, that is crazy, before he led me to the others so that they could ask me about myself, because obviously neither he nor the others knew anything about me. They asked me what my name is, where I’m from, how old I am, what hobbies I have, my music style, and most importantly, who my bias is. That was the moment that I really froze up. I didn’t know what to say, because I was scared of what else they would ask after I told them who my bias was. No. I didn’t want that. Lucky me, my dad decided to call me again to ask where I was, making me remember where I was going in the first place, so I told him I got held up but that I would be back soon. I hung up, and the others just looked at me as if I was an alien because they didn’t know what I just said in my mother tongue. It only clicked a few seconds later to me why they were looking at me like that, so I told them why my dad called me. They immediately apologized for distracting me and holding me up. Then I was asked whether I had any social media platform that I could share with them, since they wanted to keep in contact with me.
It confused me as to why they would want to keep in contact with me. I mean… Why? So I just looked at them, dumbfounded, and they just started laughing. Eventually, I did give them my Instagram, TikTok, Snapchat, Discord, and even my personal Twitter account, because God forbid I give them my spam account where I repost kpop, drama, or just freaky things. Hell no! So uhm, yeah. That is where it all started.
Days later, I went on Twitter, and it was just full of Cortis and this mysterious girl that they met in London. That was when I realized that they kept the footage in the video and also kept talking about me even on lives and such. They had also started following me on all platforms with their own personal accounts, which is insane. Also, before I continue, yes, I did get permission from them and the company to talk about this and address our communication and all of that. So. At some point, fans started to connect some things that Cortis said about the girl to me and started comparing the girl from the video whose face was blurred out to my own videos. By comparing my voice and my fashion style, they got convinced it was me. They’re not wrong, but I didn’t know if the guys would’ve gotten in trouble if I confessed that it was me. Instead, I kept denying it, although people also knew that I went to London around the same time as them. To them, it was just too much of a coincidence for it to not be me.
Now I can finally talk about it openly, since the company has already issued a statement confirming that it was indeed me and that the speculations were correct. They also gave me permission to go out with them, as in going out in public and hanging around them, even in official videos or lives. When I heard that, I quite literally cried, not because I was sad, but rather because I was grateful to get that kind of opportunity since, no matter what, I am and always will be a COER.
teachers now lament that students can't read anymore, not even short articles, and how the judge and jury of the future are nonexistent. which means us spite-driven writers and insatiable fic readers both tackling 300k stories (instead of using bot summaries) will save the world. which also means extremely horny fandoms will take over entire legal systems and journalism #getready
So I was in some kind of major life slump, but it finally is here. I hope you like it, @dreamerliya.
I probably will be taking a while before posting anything new since exams are coming up soon 😭 I don't know how those will go, but I will definitely graduate, I'm sure of that. After my graduation, I will have all the time to write the series that I was writing for ATEEZ since last summer. I still have so much to do for that, but I guarantee you, it is AMAZING.
Summary: A week apart feels much longer for Keeho and his girlfriend when he travels to Italy with his members. While exploring quiet streets, bookstores, and sunlit balconies, Keeho finds himself thinking about her constantly, wishing she could experience everything with him. He sends her photos, voice notes, and eventually a postcard with a simple message.
Pairing: Keeho(P1HARMONY) x fem!reader
Warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, fluff, suggestive, established relationship, domestic Keeho, pet name "Jagi", lovesick behavior, yearning, summer vibes, touch-starved lovers, don’t know how to tag, MIGHT HAVE FORGOTTEN SOME THINGS
Word count: 4244
The sun in Italy felt different. It was warmer and softer, like it was trying to tell a story. Keeho leaned against the balcony railing of the house he rented off with his members, overlooking a narrow street painted in gold by the late afternoon light. Somewhere below, someone was playing music. It sounded slow and, in a way, nostalgic. He didn’t recognize the song, but it stayed with him anyway. He pulled out his phone, hesitating for a second before opening the notes app.
Day 3 in Italy, he typed. I think I finally understand why people fall in love with this place. It wasn’t just the architecture or the food, though the pasta really was as good as everyone said. It was the way time seemed to stretch here. No one rushed. No one chased the clock. Even the way the leaves from the trees fell felt like it was taking its time. Only three days have gone by, yet it feels like he has been here for an eternity already. He constantly thought about her, sent her messages, and when the timing was right for both of them, called her. Keeho loved listening to her talk. He didn’t really care that she was yapping on and on without letting him speak because he loved her voice and the way she looked so cute when she was telling her stories.
Earlier that morning, he had wandered through a quiet street lined with small shops. He didn’t plan where he was going, just walked. At one corner, he found a tiny bookstore, the kind that looked like it hadn’t changed in decades. It was the kind of store that she would have loved if she were here. Inside, somewhere along the books and stationery, there was a stack of postcards. Keeho picked one up. It showed a faded painting of the same street he had just walked through. On the back, blank space waited patiently, like it had been saving itself for something important. He bought it without thinking. He wanted to write them to her, although he didn’t quite know if he was going to send them out or just give them to her when he got back home from this trip.
Now, standing on the balcony, he turned the postcard over in his hands. The blank side of it was screaming at him to write it full or at least write the things that had happened while he was there. After a moment, he started writing. “I wish you were here.” He paused, then laughed quietly to himself. It sounded cliché, like something out of a movie. But it was true. Because somehow, in the middle of this beautiful place, his thoughts kept drifting back to the people who waited, who supported him, who made every place feel a little more like home. To the love of his life, she was one of a kind and never let him think badly about himself. He really misses her already, despite it only having been three days. But he is just so used to seeing her every day that it makes it hard not to miss her.
The sky slowly turned shades of pink and orange. The music below his balcony faded, replaced by the soft hum of the evening. Keeho set the postcard down beside him on the small table and looked out at the horizon. “Next time,” he said softly, as if someone could hear him across the distance. “Next time, I’ll bring you with me.”
The sun in Italy felt different. At least, that’s what he had told me. I reread the message again, curled up on my bed, my phone resting just inches from my face like it might somehow bring him closer. My room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a bedside lamp, the quiet stretching across the walls in a way that felt heavier than usual. Outside my window, the sky had already started fading into muted shades of gray-blue, the evening settling in without much resistance. Nothing like the golden warmth he had described. But when I closed my eyes, I could almost see it.
My fingers hovered over the screen before I started scrolling again, slower this time, like I was afraid of reaching the end of something I wasn’t ready to let go of. Photos of narrow streets that curved into the distance like they were leading somewhere important, blurry pictures of food he insisted I had to try someday, a no, seriously, this one changed my life, and a random photo of a cat sitting on a windowsill because it “reminded him of me,” which I still hadn’t decided how to feel about. Then there were the voice notes, scattered between messages like little pieces of him he had left behind for me to find.
I pressed play on one again, even though I already knew exactly what he was going to say.
“—and you would love this place, I’m serious. It’s so you. There’s this tiny bookstore I found today—” I smiled before the message even finished, my chest tightening in that familiar way that had become impossible to ignore lately. He always did that. Took something small, something fleeting, and somehow tied it back to me like I was part of everything he experienced. Like I belonged in the spaces he moved through, even when I wasn’t there. It made the distance feel smaller and somehow unbearably bigger at the same time.
I hadn’t expected to miss him this much. It had only been three days, which felt ridiculous when I tried to think about it logically. Three days without his random texts showing up exactly when I needed them, three days without him calling just to sit in silence together, three days without him interrupting me halfway through a story just to laugh at something I said five minutes ago. Three days without him, and yet everything felt off, like something essential had been quietly removed from the rhythm of my life without warning.
My phone buzzed suddenly, breaking through the stillness, and my heart reacted before my mind had the chance to catch up. His name lit up the screen, and I opened it immediately, almost too quickly, like I was afraid it might disappear if I waited. A picture. A postcard. I stared at it, my breath catching just slightly as my eyes traced the image. A warm-toned Italian street, sunlight spilling across cobblestones, shadows stretching lazily as if even they had nowhere urgent to be. It looked exactly like everything he had been trying to describe to me, like a place that existed just a little bit outside of time. Another message came through. A second picture, but now with the back of it. My gaze dropped instantly to the words written there, my heart already reacting before I even fully processed them. I wish you were here. A soft, breathless laugh slipped out of me as I covered my mouth, like that might somehow contain the way my chest suddenly felt too full. “Of course you wrote that,” I whispered under my breath, shaking my head slightly even as my lips curved into something softer. It was cliché. Predictable. So completely him. And yet, it didn’t feel like something out of a movie. It didn’t feel exaggerated or forced or written just for the sake of saying something romantic. It felt real because I knew he meant it.
I leaned back against my pillows, still staring at the image, letting my thoughts drift in the way they had been doing all day. I could see him there without trying too hard, leaning against the balcony he had told me about, one arm resting loosely against the railing. The late afternoon sun catching in his hair, softening the edges of him in a way that cameras never quite managed to capture. His expression quieter than usual, like the world had finally slowed down enough for him to exist in it without being pulled in a hundred different directions.
I could almost hear the music drifting up from the street below him, something slow and a little nostalgic, the kind of song that lingers longer than it should. I could picture the way he would pause while writing, tapping the pen lightly against the postcard, his brows slightly drawn together as he tried to find the right words. And for just a moment, it didn’t feel like imagination. It felt real enough to reach for. My fingers moved before I could stop them.
Then bring me with you next time. But until then, keep writing to me like this. I think I’m starting to fall in love with Italy, too, just because you’re there. But maybe even more with you than I already was before. I stared at the message for a second, my thumb hovering just slightly before I pressed send, my heart picking up pace the moment it disappeared from my screen. The silence that followed felt heavier than it should have, stretching just long enough to make me aware of it. And then my phone rang.
I didn’t hesitate this time. “Hello?”
There was a soft rustle on the other end, followed by his voice, quieter than usual, like the distance between us had softened it. “Hey.”
It was enough to make something in my chest tighten all over again. “You called fast,” I said, shifting slightly under my blanket, pulling it closer around me without thinking.
“You replied fast,” he answered, and I could hear the small smile in his voice even without seeing it.
There was a pause, the kind that didn’t need to be filled right away.
“I saw what you wrote,” he said after a moment.
“Yeah?” I asked softly.
“Yeah.” Another small pause, then more quietly, “I meant what I wrote, too.”
My breath caught just slightly. “I know.”
“No, I mean it,” he continued, his voice dipping lower, more thoughtful. “Everywhere I go, I keep thinking about you. Like, this would make you laugh, or you’d love this place, or you’d definitely complain about something here.” A soft huff of laughter followed. “It’s kind of annoying.”
I smiled into my pillow. “Annoying?”
“Yeah,” he said, but there was warmth threaded through every word. “Because you’re not here.”
The honesty of it settled somewhere deep, quiet but heavy in the best way.
“I miss you,” I admitted, the words coming out softer than I expected.
“I know,” he said gently. “I miss you too.”
We stayed like that for a while, talking without any urgency, letting the conversation drift naturally between small details and nothing at all. He told me about the street below his balcony, how the music had changed, how someone nearby had been laughing for the past five minutes straight like nothing else in the world mattered. I told him about how quiet everything felt here, how even my room seemed different without his voice filling it the way it usually did. At some point, I shifted until I was fully lying down, my head sinking into the pillow as my eyes grew heavier.
“Are you tired?” he asked, his voice softer now.
“A little,” I murmured.
“Stay on the phone with me.”
It wasn’t really a question.
“I was planning to,” I whispered, a small smile forming even as my eyes slipped closed.
There was a quiet movement on his end, fabric brushing softly against the phone. “I’m still on the balcony,” he said. “It’s darker now.”
“Tell me what it looks like.”
And he did. He described the way the sky had deepened into a dark blue, how the warm tones had faded but hadn’t completely disappeared, how lights had started turning on one by one along the street below, casting soft glows against the buildings. His voice slowed as he spoke, each word more drawn out than the last, like he was gradually slipping into the same quiet space I was.
“Next time,” he murmured after a while, his voice heavier now, softer in a way that made it clear he was getting tired too. “I’ll bring you with me.”
A small smile tugged at my lips. “You better.”
He let out a quiet, sleepy laugh. “Yeah… I will.”
The conversation faded after that, not ending so much as dissolving into something quieter. Neither of us rushed to say goodnight. Neither of us wanted to be the first to hang up. I could hear his breathing through the phone, slow and steady, and without thinking, mine began to match it.
“I wish you were here,” he mumbled faintly, the words slightly slurred with sleep.
My chest softened instantly. “I’m right here,” I whispered back, barely audible.
The distance didn’t disappear, not really, but it stopped feeling so overwhelming, like it could actually be crossed if we wanted to. At some point, Keeho moved to his bed as well, and without either of us realizing exactly when it happened, we fell asleep like that, connected by a quiet call, breathing in sync, existing in the same moment despite being miles apart.
The apartment felt different that day. It was as if the walls themselves were holding their breath, like even the light filtering through the windows had settled into something softer, more expectant. I had been moving through it all morning without really thinking, cleaning things that were already clean, adjusting objects that didn’t need to be moved, pacing without realizing I was pacing. Every small task felt like something to hold onto, something to keep my hands busy while my mind stayed somewhere else entirely. With him.
My phone had barely left my hand. His last message still sat open on the screen, simple and almost underwhelming compared to everything it had done to me. Landed. That was it. No extra words, no explanation, no unnecessary details. Just that. And yet my heart had been racing ever since. Time didn’t pass normally after that. It stretched, slowed, folded in on itself in the same way he had described Italy, except this time it was restless. Every sound made me look up. Every passing second felt louder than it should have. I told myself to sit down, to wait, to act normal, but I couldn’t. My body wouldn’t listen. By the time I heard the door, I was already standing. I didn’t remember getting up. Didn’t remember crossing the space between my room and the hallway. It was like my body had moved on instinct alone, drawn toward something it had been waiting for all week. The sound of the lock turning cut through everything else, sharp and clear, followed by the soft click that somehow echoed louder than it should have. And then the door opened.
For a second, everything stopped. Neither of us moved. He looked the same and not the same at all. Maybe it was the way he stood there, shoulders slightly tense like he had been carrying something all the way home and hadn’t set it down yet. Maybe it was the way his eyes found mine immediately, no hesitation, no adjustment, like he had been searching for me before the door even opened. Or maybe it was just the fact that he was here, real, present, close enough to touch. Not a voice through my phone. Not words on a screen. Him.
“Keeho—” I didn’t even get to finish saying his name, because he was already moving. The distance between us disappeared in seconds, crossed too quickly to think about, and then his arms were around me, pulling me in with a force that knocked the breath from my lungs in the best way. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was real. Like everything he hadn’t been able to do for the past week had been waiting for this exact moment. The impact pushed me back half a step, but I didn’t resist it. My arms wrapped around him immediately, instinctively, my fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt like I needed something solid to hold onto, something to prove this wasn’t just another moment I would replay later through a screen.
“You’re back,” I breathed, the words softer than I expected, almost like saying them too loudly might break something. “I’m back,” he murmured, his voice low, right next to my ear, warm and steady and unmistakably real. For a moment, neither of us moved. We just stayed there, holding onto each other like the past week had stretched longer than it should have, like letting go too soon might undo everything we had been waiting for. I could feel his breathing, uneven at first, then slowly even out, could feel the way his grip tightened just slightly, like he wasn’t quite ready to loosen it yet. And I wasn’t either. When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far. Just enough to look at me, just enough to see me properly, but not enough to create any real distance. His hands stayed where they were, firm at my waist, like he needed that connection just as much as I did.
Something shifted in that moment. His gaze moved across my face slowly, taking in every detail like he was committing it to memory, like he was making up for every second he hadn’t been able to look at me like this. There was something softer in his expression, something less guarded than usual, like the distance had stripped away everything unnecessary and left only this. “You look the same,” he said quietly. A small breath escaped me, half a laugh, half something else. “That’s not very impressive.” A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it didn’t fully form, like his focus was somewhere else entirely. “No, I mean—” He shook his head slightly, searching for the right words and not quite finding them. “You look like home.” The words landed deeper than I expected. Settling somewhere inside me, warm and steady and impossible to ignore.
My hand had moved without me noticing, resting lightly against his chest, right over his heartbeat. It was steady, grounding, real in a way nothing else had felt all week. I let my fingers press just slightly, like I needed to feel it properly, like I needed to confirm that this wasn’t something I had imagined into existence. “You took long enough,” I said softly, though there was no real accusation in it. “I know,” he replied just as quietly, his thumb brushing faintly against my side, the touch barely there but enough to send a subtle awareness through me. Then, after a brief pause, his voice dropped even lower. “I missed you more than I thought I would.” My gaze flickered, dropping for just a second before returning to his. “You said that every day.” “Yeah,” he murmured, his thumb moving again, slower this time, more deliberate. “And I meant it every time.” The space between us wasn’t empty anymore.
It wasn’t distance. It was something else entirely. “You really should’ve brought me with you,” I said, softer now, the words almost teasing but not quite. He let out a small breath, his gaze flickering to my lips before returning to my eyes. “Yeah,” he said, stepping just slightly closer, his hands adjusting at my waist, pulling me in just enough to erase whatever space had been left between us. “I should’ve.”
It was a small movement. But it changed everything. My breath caught before I could stop it, the shift subtle but immediate, like something had clicked into place without either of us saying it out loud. Neither of us spoke. We didn’t need to. The silence wasn’t empty. It was full of everything we weren’t saying, everything that had been building quietly over the past week. His hand shifted slightly again at my waist, his grip tightening just enough to be noticeable, to pull me that fraction closer that made it impossible to ignore how close we already were. I could feel the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the way it had changed, slower, deeper, like he was just as aware of this as I was. “Do you know how many times I thought about this?” he murmured, his voice low, almost rough around the edges. My own came out softer than I expected. “About what?” “This,” he said quietly. And then his gaze dropped again.
His gaze lingered on my lips for another beat, the air thick with unspoken possibilities. Then, slowly, deliberately, he lowered his head. His breath ghosted across my mouth first, warm and soft, a question more than an action. The subtle scent of him, something clean and uniquely him, filled my senses. "Jagi," he murmured against my skin just before his lips finally met mine. It was gentle at first, tentative even. His hand at my waist tightened slightly as if anchoring himself to me, while his other hand came up to cup the back of my head gently. The kiss deepened slowly as he seemed to savor the moment. My hands instinctively moved to his neck, my fingers tangling in his hair as I kissed him back.
His lips moved against mine with a growing urgency, his kiss becoming more insistent. A soft groan escaped him as he felt my fingers in his hair, his own hand sliding from the back of my head to cradle the side of my face. He pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against mine. "Jagi," he whispered, his voice husky and laced with a need I'd never heard from him before. "I want... I want you." The words were spoken against my lips, barely audible but clear in their intent. His hand on my waist tightened further, pulling me flush against him as he sought my mouth again. This time, the kiss was hungry and demanding, filled with weeks of pent-up longing. His other hand gripped my hip possessively as he pressed me back against the wall.
I giggled slightly after breaking our kiss. "Keeho, you have me. It has only been 3 weeks, yet you are so desperate. Did you miss me that much?" I said as I let my hands cup his soft cheeks. His eyes fluttered open at the sound of my giggle, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "Desperate?" he echoed, his voice laced with amusement and something deeper, more profound. "Jagi, I've been counting down the minutes until I could hold you again." He leaned into my touch, turning his head slightly to press a kiss to my palm. "Three weeks felt like an eternity," he murmured, his gaze locked with mine. "Every day without you was torture." His hands slid from my hips to rest on my shoulders, then slowly trailed down my arms until our fingers intertwined. He lifted our joined hands to his lips, kissing my knuckles softly before continuing. "I missed your laugh, your smile, your everything." His thumb brushed over the back of my hand as he spoke. "But most of all," he said quietly, stepping closer until our foreheads touched again, "I missed you. Just you."
"You're so cute," I said, smiling and booping our noses together. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, the sound vibrating against mine. "Cute?" he repeated, his voice a warm murmur against my lips. "I think you're the one who's cute." His hands moved from our joined fingers to cup my face again, thumbs brushing gently over my cheekbones. He leaned in closer, our noses still touching as he mirrored my playful gesture. "But if being cute means I get to hold you like this," he whispered, his gaze dropping to my mouth for a brief moment before meeting my eyes again, "then I'll take it." His grip on my face tightened just slightly as he tilted his head, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth. "You have no idea how much I've wanted to do that," he admitted quietly when he pulled back. Without waiting for another response, he shifted one hand from my face to wrap around my waist again.
"Come on, let's go to bed," I said, taking his hand and leading him towards the bedroom. His eyes widened slightly at the suggestion, a mix of surprise and excitement flickering across his face. He followed willingly, his hand tightening around mine as we walked towards the bedroom. Once inside, he paused for a moment, taking in the familiar sight of our bed. His gaze then shifted to me, drinking me in as if he was seeing me for the first time. "Jagi," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "I've missed this so much." He stepped closer to me, his free hand coming up to cup my cheek gently. "I've missed you so much," he corrected himself, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. "Every night without you felt incomplete." His other hand released mine only to wrap around my waist, pulling me flush against him. He rested his forehead against mine, our breaths mingling in the small space between us. "Tell me what you want," he murmured. "Just you," I said, repeating his words from earlier. His heart skipped a beat at my words, a soft smile spreading across his face. "Just me," he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. "That's all I ever want."
Summary: The dream I once had when I had a fever.
Warnings: it's crazy, fever dream, 1D, Micky Mouse, Caroline Jones, don’t know how to tag, MIGHT HAVE FORGOTTEN SOME THINGS
Word count: 449
It’s like I’ve fallen asleep inside a neon fairytale that keeps rewriting itself with every heartbeat. One moment, I’m drifting through a glowing castle straight out of a dream, fireworks painting the sky in soft pinks and electric blues, and the next, the chandeliers flicker to life like stage lights. The marble floors begin to hum, bass vibrating through them, and suddenly the castle isn’t just a castle, it’s a concert arena.
The princes aren’t animated anymore. They’re idols, sharp, luminous, impossibly real, moving in perfect synchronization like they’ve rehearsed in this enchanted hall for centuries. Their voices echo off the walls, layered harmonies wrapping around me like silk. I catch glimpses of familiar faces, members who feel like they’ve stepped straight out of a K-pop stage, their energy magnetic, their presence unreal but somehow comforting.
Then, like a memory rushing back all at once, One Direction bursts through the grand doors, laughing, glowing, alive with that chaotic warmth they’ve always carried. Their voices blend effortlessly into the music, like they were always part of this world, like this dream was waiting for them. It’s not just a performance, it’s a reunion, a collision of timelines where nothing is lost.
I turn, and the enchanted forest beyond the castle walls has transformed. The trees sway like a sea of fans, leaves shimmering like lightsticks in the dark. Even Mickey Mouse is there, somehow, standing on a glowing platform, waving a lightstick and cheering like this is the most natural thing in the world.
And then I notice her, Coraline Jones, standing just at the edge of the scene, her blue hair catching the neon glow. She watches everything with that quiet, knowing expression, like she understands this strange stitched-together reality better than anyone else. The door behind her flickers for a second, like it might lead somewhere darker, but it never fully opens. Not here. Not in this version of the dream.
Sneakers melt into glass slippers beneath my feet, glowing with every step I take. The air smells like sugar and electricity, like childhood and late-night concerts blending into one feeling I can’t quite name. Somewhere above, fireworks burst again, but now they pulse in time with the music.
More figures appear, animated heroes, idols, pop stars, all sharing the same space without question. No one seems out of place. No one feels like they don’t belong. And that’s the strangest part. It isn’t chaotic. It isn’t overwhelming. It feels right, like every world I’ve ever loved has been layered together into one shimmering, endless moment. A concert without an ending. A fairytale without rules. Magic, pop, and nostalgia aren’t separate anymore. They’re all singing the same song.
Summary: Going on a date with Intak was something you never expected to happen, let alone for him to confess his love for you. But what do you do when you’re not ready for a relationship yet?
Pairing: Intak(P1HARMONY) x fem!reader
Warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, fluff?, scolding troublemakers, suggestive, sex toy reference, sort of humiliation, guilty P1H, don’t know how to tag, MIGHT HAVE FORGOTTEN SOME THINGS
Word count: 2761
By the time I get home, it’s early evening. I open the door with my key and push it open, slowly. Then I stop. The living room looks like a crime scene. Packages are everywhere. Torn opened boxed are scattered across the floor, the couch, and the table. I close my eyes briefly, hoping for everything to be gone once I open them again. But when I open them again, everything is still there. The sex toys I had very intentionally kept in the boxes and in my nightstand drawer so that they wouldn’t find them are now very much not in there anymore.
From somewhere deeper in the house, I hear hushed voices. “...Do you think she’s home yet?” “No.” “She would’ve said something.’ ‘But what if she didn’t?” Then silence followed. The floor creaks under my step as I walk to the dresser that stands in the hallway to put my keys down. I don’t raise my voice. Just a simple, “I’m home,” was enough. A loud thud rang. Someone definitely hit something. A muffled curse follows, confirming my suspicion. As I stand there, I hear rapid footsteps before I see all of them appear. The second they see me, they stop in their tracks and turn into absolute disasters. They just stare at me with big eyes like literal puppies that were begging for forgiveness after breaking something. Slowly and deliberately, I step further into the room. Over the mess that was the evidence of their wrongdoings. I set my bag down next to the kitchen counter without breaking eye contact. “...Wow.”
Keeho is the first to try. “Okay,” he says carefully, hands half-raised like I might actually attack him. “Before you—” “No.” He stops immediately like a good boy, making me satisfied. My gaze drifts across all of them. Intak is standing front and center like he got pushed there or knows that he deserves to be the main target. His ears are already red, and his hands flex at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. He doesn’t look away. Points for that.
I gesture vaguely to the room. “Explain.” “...We’re sorry,” all of them say at once, flat, immediate, and sincere. I raise an eyebrow. “That didn’t sound like an explanation.” Theo tries again, weaker this time. “It was an accident?” I just look at him. “...That sounded like a lie,” he corrects himself. I nod, “I thought so.” I take a slow step forward. Something crunches lightly under my shoe, packaging. “Let’s try this again. Who started it?” Instant betrayal as five heads turn straight to Intak. He exhales once as if he expected it. “...I did.” I tilt my head slightly. “You.” “...Yeah.” “Walk me through your thought process.” Behind him, Keeho mutters, “There wasn’t one—” I don’t even look at him. “Do you want to be next?” “...No.”
Silence again as all eyes are back on Intak. He swallows. “We were looking for chargers,” he starts. “You all have chargers.” “...Yeah.” “And?” He hesitates before he commits to continuing. “I opened the drawer.” “And?” “There was a box.” “And you thought,” I prompt, “opening a sealed box in someone else’s room was a good idea.” “..No.” “Yet you did it anyway.” “...Yes.” I nod once. “Good. We’re making progress.”
Behind him, Soul suddenly blurts out, “He also pressed the buttons.” A strangled noise leaves Intak. “Why would you—” “You said to be honest!” Soul defends before Intak could finish his sentence. “Everything.” I cut in. They both shut up instantly. I look back at Intak. “You tested them.” He closed his eyes briefly. “...Yes.” “And broke them.” “...Some of them.” Then, very quietly from Jongseob, “Several.” I hum and take another step closer. Now there’s barely any space between us. Up close, he looks worse. Flustered and guilty, holding eye contact anyway. “I’m going to ask you one more question,” I say. “Okay.” “Did you stop at any point and think this might be a bad idea?” “...No,” he says honestly.
None of them breathes. “You,” I point at Intak, “are responsible for replacing everything that got damaged since you started it.” He nods immediately. “Okay.” “You don’t know what anything is.” “...I’ll figure it out.” “Good.”
I shift my gaze to the others. “The rest of you—” They straighten like they’ve just been called into formation. “—are cleaning this entire mess.” There are no complaints nor hesitation, just immediate, frantic nodding. “Now,” I add. They move instantly. Soul nearly trips over himself, grabbing packaging. Jongseob starts stacking boxes with surgical precision. Keeho disappears and comes back with trash bags like he’s trying to redeem his entire existence. Theo sighs dramatically, but he’s already picking up sex toys. And Jiung crouches down in the middle of the mess, very carefully placing some back into their boxes like he’s diffusing a bomb, his expression far too calm for someone this involved in the crime.
“Let’s just… put everything back the way it was,” he mutters, mostly to himself. Keeho shoots him a look. “That’s not how this works.” Jiung doesn’t even look up. “I’m choosing to believe in second chances.” “Those are not second-chance items,” Jongseob says under his breath, knowing well enough from a past experience with a friend's toy. It makes him shiver, remembering how he found out his friend was gay, not that he is against it, but just the way he found out was not exactly nice. Soul holds something up. “Where does this one go?” “Not in your hand,” Jiung replies immediately, finally glancing up. “Give it here.” Soul hands it over like he’s surrendering evidence. Jiung takes it, sets it down carefully, then pauses. “…I don’t actually know where it goes.” Theo snorts. “Great system.” Jiung exhales quietly, then straightens a little, brushing his hands together like that solved anything. “Okay. New plan. We just… make it look less like a crime scene.” Keeho gestures around. “It is a crime scene.” “…A softer one,” Jiung insists.
From across the room, I watch all of this unfold in silence. “Guys.” They freeze instantly, then slowly look up. “…Yes?” “Add yourself to the list.” “…What list?” “The one of people paying for replacements.” They don’t even argue. Just nods once, solemnly. “…That’s fair.” “But,” I continue, “that’s not the punishment.” Theo is the first to risk it. “…That’s not the punishment?” “No.” Keeho exhales slowly. “Okay. That feels… worse.” “It is.” Soul looks between everyone. “Are we in big trouble?” “Yes.” “Okay.” I take a step back, just enough to put all of them in my line of sight again. Then I gesture, lightly, to the mess. “Since you were all so curious,” I say, tone deceptively calm, “you clearly have an interest.” Six expressions immediately shift into varying degrees of alarm. “…No,” Jongseob says quietly. “I’m going to give you an opportunity,” I continue over him, “to demonstrate that curiosity in a productive way.” Theo squints. “That sentence is terrifying.” “It should be.” Keeho points slightly. “Wait. What does that mean?” “You’re going to help me replace everything.” “We said we would—” Jiung starts. “Not financially,” I clarify. That stops him. “…Oh.” I fold my arms. “You’re going to research. Properly.”
“No,” Theo says immediately. “Yes.” “No, I don’t think—” “You opened them, so you take responsibility,” I remind him. “…That’s fair.” Jongseob rubs his face. “What exactly does ‘research’ mean?” “It means,” I say, very clearly now, “you’re going to figure out what each item is, what it does, and what a suitable replacement is.” Soul’s eyes widen. “We have to, like, know?” “Yes.” Keeho lets out a quiet, horrified laugh. “Oh, this is evil.” “Thank you.” Jiung looks like he’s already accepted his fate. “…Okay. That’s reasonable.” Theo turns to him. “No, it’s not.” “It is,” Jiung insists. “We caused the problem.” “That doesn’t mean we need a lesson.” “It absolutely does.”
I let them argue for exactly three seconds before speaking up, “Phones out.” They stop instantly. “…Now?” Soul asks. “Now.” They take their phones slowly and hesitantly. Like they’re all acutely aware of what they’re about to type. Except one. I glance back. Intak hasn’t moved. “Not you,” I say. He looks up immediately. “…Still me?” “Still you.” “…Okay.” I take a step toward him again, lowering my voice just slightly, enough that the others have to try harder to hear. “You’re with me.” “Oh, that’s worse,” Keeho whispers. Theo nods. “That’s so much worse.” Jongseob mutters, “He’s actually done.” “Should we help him?” Soul whispers. “No,” Keeho says immediately. “We should not get involved.” I ignore them. My focus stays exactly where it was.
“While they figure things out,” I say quietly, “you’re going to explain your choices to me. In detail.” His ears go red again. “…Choices.” “Yes.” “I didn’t make choices.” “You pressed buttons, that’s a choice.” He exhales slowly. “…Okay.” I tilt my head slightly. “Convince me you’ve learned something.” Behind us, chaos resumes in whispers. “Wait, what is this called?” “I am not typing that!” “You have to!” “Why does it have reviews?!?” “Oh my god, it has ratings!” I don’t even glance back. “Go on,” I prompt softly.
“Oh, that’s—” Keeho starts under his breath, already stepping back. “Nope,” Theo cuts in immediately, grabbing his phone like it’s a lifeline. “We’re doing our part.” “Yeah,” Jongseob mutters, eyes already scanning his screen, “we’re contributing from over here.” Soul gives Intak a small, deeply apologetic thumbs up before turning away completely, hunching over his phone like he’s about to study for an exam he didn’t prepare for. Jiung shifts quietly to the side, still crouched, but now with his phone in hand as well, calm, focused, deliberately not looking up. They create space, enough to make it clear they’re not getting involved any further than they already have. Then they go quiet to listen.
Intak exhales slowly, like he’s trying to gather thoughts he definitely didn’t plan on explaining out loud. “…I didn’t think it would… do that,” he starts. “What, exactly?” I ask. His ears get worse. “…Turn on.” Behind him a choked sound. Someone definitely almost laughed. “Focus,” Keeho whispers sharply.
I don’t even react, just watch him. “You didn’t think it would turn on,” I repeat. “…No.” “And when it did?” “I thought I pressed something wrong.” “So your solution,” I say calmly, “was to press more things.” He winces. “…Yes.” There’s a beat of silence. Behind him, Theo mutters, barely audible, “That’s actually insane.” Jongseob murmurs back, “I just found something worse.” “Do not say it,” Keeho warns. I tilt my head slightly, still focused on Intak. “And when it didn’t stop?” “…I panicked.” “Mm.” “And then they started—” he cuts himself off. “They?” I prompt. He closes his eyes briefly. “…Multiple.” From behind us, Soul whispers, “Why are there so many kinds…” Jiung, calm as ever, murmurs, “Scroll less. Focus more.” I don’t break eye contact. “And at no point,” I continue, quieter now, “did you consider putting them down.” He hesitates. That’s new. “…No,” he admits.
I let the silence settle over him. Then I take one small step closer. “So,” I say, voice low and steady, “your defense is that you got curious… pressed things you didn’t understand… and then kept going.” When I put it like that, it sounds worse, and he knows that. “…Yes.”
Another pause. Behind us, the whispering fades again. They’re listening now. Actually listening. I hold his gaze for a second longer. Then I smile. “Interesting.” His shoulders tense slightly. “Because from where I’m standing,” I continue, “that doesn’t sound like an accident. It sounds like a series of very deliberate bad decisions.” He exhales. “…Yeah.” Behind him, Keeho mutters, “He’s really committing to this.” Theo whispers back, “He has no survival instincts.” I ignore them. “Question is,” I say, just a little softer now, “what you think that earns you.” He blinks. “…I don’t know.” “Then let me help you.” I take a step closer. Now there’s no space left to misread this. “You don’t just pay for it,” I say quietly. “You fix it.” “…How?” “You’re going to help me go through everything you broke,” I say. His expression shifts just slightly. “And you’re going to learn exactly what each one is,” I continue, “what it does, and why you shouldn’t have been pressing random buttons.”
“Oh, that’s worse,” Theo whispers. “Way worse,” Keeho agrees. Soul mutters, “He has to get taught…” Jiung, quiet and thoughtful, adds, “…That’s fair.” I don’t look away from Intak. “Out loud,” I add. His ears go completely red. “…Out loud.” “Yes.” “…With you?” “Yes.” Behind him, Jongseob quietly goes, “Oh, he’s done.” I tilt my head slightly. “Starting with,” I say calmly, gesturing lightly toward the mess, “the ones you tested.” “…Okay.” I take a small step back, just enough to give him space to move without giving him an escape. “Pick one.” He bends down, very carefully, like the object might somehow judge him too. He picks one up. Doesn’t look at me yet. “…I don’t know what this is.” “Exactly. That’s why we’re starting here.” Behind us, the room has gone completely quiet now. Five people pretending to research and very obviously listening to every word. I fold my arms lightly. “Go on,” I prompt.
He stares at it for a second longer. Like if he looks hard enough, it’ll explain itself. It doesn’t. “…It’s…” he starts, then stops. Behind him, someone very quietly whispers, “Don’t say something wrong.” “I don’t know what to say,” he admits under his breath. I don’t help him immediately. After some seconds, I speak up. “What do you think it is?” I ask. His grip shifts slightly, careful, hesitant. “…I don’t know,” he repeats, a little more strained this time. “Try.” “…It’s something you… turn on?” “Technically not wrong,” Theo whispers. “Shut up,” Keeho breathes. I tilt my head. “Something you turn on,” I repeat. “Very specific.” His ears burn. “…I don’t know how to describe it.” “Then learn.” I uncross my arms slowly and step just a little closer, not enough to invade, just enough to make it impossible for him to ignore me. “Look at it properly,” I say. He does. “Buttons,” I continue calmly. “What do they do?” He swallows. “…Speed?” “Good. And?” “…Different… settings.” “Better.” “He’s improving,” Jiung murmurs quietly. “I hate this,” Jongseob whispers. I ignore them. “Now,” I continue, “what is it for?” He freezes. “…You know,” I add, softer now, but not kinder. His ears go completely red. “…Yeah.” “Say it.”
“…It’s for…” He stops. Starts again. “…It’s for… stimulation.” A quiet, approving hum leaves me. “See?” I say. “That wasn’t so difficult.” “Oh my god,” Soul whispers. Keeho mutters, “He actually said it.” Theo: “Growth.” I don’t look away from Intak. “Now,” I continue, tone steady, “what kind?” His head snaps up slightly. “…What kind?” “Yes.” “No,” he says immediately. I raise an eyebrow. “No?” “…I don’t… no.” “That’s unfortunate.” Another step closer. Now it’s very clear this isn’t optional. “You pressed the buttons,” I remind him. “You tested it.” His expression tightens. “…I didn’t test it like that.” “Then this is your chance to understand what you tested.” “He’s never recovering from this,” Theo whispers. “Not a chance,” Keeho agrees. I tilt my head slightly, watching him. “Well?” I prompt. He looks back down at it. Then back at me. Then down again as if he’s trying to choose the less embarrassing option. There isn’t one. “…I don’t know what kind,” he admits. I nod once. “Then I’ll help you.” His eyes flick back to mine immediately. “…Okay.”
I reach out. Not touching him, just the object in his hand. Carefully adjusting it so he’s holding it properly. His breath catches slightly. “This,” I say calmly, “is why you don’t press random buttons without knowing what you’re holding.” “Repeat it.” He blinks. “…What?” “Repeat it.” “Oh, that’s evil,” Keeho whispers. Intak’s gaze flickers, then settles again. “…I don’t press random buttons,” he starts. “Without?” “…Without knowing what I’m holding.” “Good.” I let go before stepping back slightly, just enough to give him space but not relief. “Next one.” Behind him, five people immediately look back down at their phones like they’ve just been caught eavesdropping. Soul whispers, “We’re never opening anything again.” Jiung hums quietly. “Lesson learned.” Theo mutters, “Speak for yourself. I like that shit.” “Hyung!” Jongseob warns. Keeho just sighs. “We’re all paying for this.” “Pick another,” I say. This time, Intak doesn’t hesitate as long.
Im very new to this and have NO idea if there’s a way to go about this. But I just want to show appreciation & ask if you can write more P1harmony. The keeho/theo writing gave me LIFE! Im keeho biased mostly but love them ALL
Just wanted you to know it brought me joy & really made me reevaluate & question how I approach the world as myself and how authentic Iv been. I’m very much online but am I me? Just…. You made me think 💭 and that’s what great writers do. Love LOVE it. Thank you 🌷
And Thank you for the momentary escape into a world of possibilities 🌟
I am actually crying right now, I want you to realize that I am going to bed with the biggest smile ever tonight.
I think that everyone is unique(you see what I did there?) in their own way and that they shouldn't be ashamed of it. I myself am struggling with it as well so this story is very important to me and brought so much emotion in me while writing it, so it makes me feel so happy to know that it brought up emotions to another as well. Thank you for supporting me.
Also, I am currently writing the next chapter for The Love I Deserve, but after that, I will definitely start thinking about a story for Keeho just for you. If you want anything specific, just let me know, you can always ask.
Summary: In the quiet aftermath of graduation, a nervous but determined girl uploads her first video, choosing authenticity over invisibility for the first time in her life. While she sees it as a small, personal step, her genuine presence quietly reaches farther than she ever expected, unknowingly capturing the attention of two idols who became intrigued by her authenticity and can't seem to look away.
Pairing: Theo(P1HARMONY) x fem!reader x Keeho(P1HARMONY))
Warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, suggestive, strangers to friends to maybe more?, flirting, is this called angst or fluff?, don’t know how to tag, MIGHT HAVE FORGOTTEN SOME THINGS
Word count: 21324
A/N: I have been writing this for the past 2 weeks, so I hope you guys like it.
The camera blinked red. For a moment, I just stared at it. My laptop was balanced on top of three random books on my desk so it would be at eye level, my small desk lamp was pointed awkwardly toward my face for lighting, and my bedroom behind me was only half clean because I had panic-cleaned the side that would appear on camera. My heart was beating so loud I was pretty sure the microphone could pick it up. I inhaled slowly. Then exhaled. And then, before I could change my mind, I started talking.
“Okay, so since I graduated high school, I most likely won't ever see the people who gossip about me behind my back again. That means I can post whatever the hell I want to post now without giving a crap about what they think about me.” I stopped. Blinking. “Wow,” I muttered, leaning forward slightly. “That sounded way more aggressive than I meant it to.” I stared at the camera for a few seconds, unsure whether I should restart the video or keep going. My fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then I leaned back in my chair again and sighed. “Whatever. I'm keeping it.” I rubbed the back of my neck awkwardly before looking back at the camera. “That was the way I started my video,” I said slowly, almost like I was explaining the situation to myself. “And honestly, it kind of sums everything up.” A nervous laugh slipped out of me. “I've always been scared of being judged. Like, really scared. The kind where you overthink everything you say and do because you're worried people will think you're weird.” I shifted in my chair. “Which, spoiler alert, people already thought anyway.” Another awkward laugh escaped me. I glanced down at my desk for a moment before continuing.
“In high school, there were always people talking about other people. And even if they weren't talking about you, it still made you feel like they could start at any moment.” My fingers tapped lightly against the armrest of my chair. “I guess I just didn't want to give them another reason.” I paused. The room felt quiet. Too quiet. “But now,” I continued softly, “I graduated.” I let out a small breath, leaning forward slightly. “And realistically speaking, I'm probably never going to see most of those people again.” That thought alone felt weird. Strange. Almost freeing. “So I figured, why not?” I shrugged awkwardly. “Why not finally try to be myself for once?” My shoulders lifted slightly before dropping again. “I mean, I'm still terrified,” I admitted with a small smile. “Don't get me wrong.” My gaze flickered briefly to the side of the screen where I could see my own face in the preview. God, I looked nervous. But at least I looked honest. “I’m starting university soon,” I continued. “And I really want to try to make friends there. But the only way that’s going to happen is if people actually know who I am.” I hesitated before adding quietly, “My real self.” I clasped my hands together. “I don't want to be the quiet kid anymore who just sits there and hopes nobody notices them.” My voice softened. “I don't want to be the kid they think they can walk over without any shame or guilt.”
For a moment, the only sound in the room was my slow breathing. Then I shook my head slightly and forced a small smile. “Anyway! That sounded really dramatic.” I laughed nervously. “So hi.” I gave a small, awkward wave toward the camera. “I'm… well, you can call me whatever you want, honestly. I haven't decided if I want to use my real name online yet.” I scratched my cheek awkwardly. “This channel is probably going to be a mix of a lot of things.” I started counting on my fingers. “Books. Because I read a lot. Like… a concerning amount. One day I might talk about a fantasy novel I just finished, and the next day I might rant about a romance book that emotionally destroyed me.” I lifted another finger. “I also draw sometimes. Not professionally or anything, but I like doing little art projects.” Another finger. “I journal, and I might show some of that if I ever get brave enough.” I tilted my head slightly. “I also dance sometimes when I'm alone in my room.” I paused. Then I added quickly, “But I'm still deciding if I'm brave enough to post that.” Another small laugh.
“Oh, and I like singing.” My eyes widened slightly. “That sounded way more confident than it should have.” I waved my hand dismissively. “I mean like, casual singing. Random song covers. Probably badly recorded with this exact microphone.” I tapped the mic lightly. “And then there will probably just be random videos of things I do during the day.” I shrugged. “Basically… chaos.” I leaned forward slightly. “But hopefully fun chaos.” For a few seconds, I simply looked at the camera. My heart was still racing. But it didn't feel quite as terrifying anymore. “I guess the point of this channel is just…” I paused, trying to find the right words. “…trying.” My voice was quieter now. “I just want to try to find people who like me for who I am and not for who they think I am.” The sentence hung in the air for a moment. Then I smiled softly. “So if you somehow ended up watching this video… hi.” I gave another awkward wave. “And thanks for listening to my nervous rambling.”
I leaned forward to stop the recording. Then froze. My finger hovered over the keyboard. “Wait,” I muttered. I sat back again. “One more thing.” I looked directly into the camera. “If this video gets like… five views, I will genuinely consider that a success.” I laughed. “Okay, now I'm done.” I clicked the stop button. The recording ended. For a moment, I simply stared at the screen. The video file appeared in the editing program. My first video. I watched it back once. Then twice. Every time I cringed slightly at the awkward pauses, the nervous laughs, the rambling sentences. But at the same time, it felt real. It felt like me. After about twenty minutes of debating whether I should delete the entire thing and pretend it never happened, I finally opened the upload page. My fingers trembled slightly as I typed the title. “Hi… I guess?” Not the most creative title in the world. But it felt fitting. I added a short description. Something simple. Starting this channel to try being myself for once. My cursor hovered over the upload button. This was the point where I could still stop. No one had seen it yet. I could close the tab. Delete the file. Go back to being the quiet person who never posted anything online. Safe. Invisible. My heart pounded again. Then I took a deep breath. “No,” I whispered to myself.
My finger clicked the button. The screen changed. Uploading… The progress bar slowly filled. 10%. 32%. 67%. My stomach twisted nervously. Finally, upload complete. The video was live. For a moment, I just stared at the screen in disbelief. Then I slowly leaned back in my chair. “Well,” I muttered. “There’s no going back now.” Outside my window, the evening sky was turning orange as the sun started to set. I closed my laptop. My heart was still racing. But somewhere deep inside my chest, there was also a small spark of excitement. Because for the first time in a very long time, I felt like I had finally taken the first step toward being myself.
The dorm was unusually quiet that night. Practice had ended late, long after the sun had disappeared behind the tall buildings surrounding their apartment complex. Hours of repeating the same choreography had left everyone drained, and most of the members had already retreated into their rooms after showering. The living room lights were dim, casting a warm glow across the couch and the small coffee table scattered with water bottles and snack wrappers left over from earlier. Keeho was sprawled across the couch, one leg hanging off the armrest while his phone hovered lazily above his face. His damp hair clung slightly to his forehead, evidence of the quick shower he had taken after practice. Scrolling had become second nature to him at that point. Video after video passed by his screen, some funny, some loud, most of them forgotten within seconds.
Across from him, Theo sat on the floor with his back leaning against the couch. A notebook rested on his knee, and his pen moved slowly across the page as he worked through a melody that had been stuck in his head since rehearsal. The quiet between them wasn’t strange. It rarely was. After years of training, performing, and living together, silence had become its own kind of conversation. Keeho scrolled again. And then he stopped. The thumbnail that appeared on his screen wasn’t anything particularly flashy. Just a girl sitting cross-legged on the floor of what looked like a bedroom, a stack of books beside her. The title made him pause. “Books that emotionally destroyed me (in the best way)”
Keeho let out a short, amused breath before tapping the video. Theo didn’t look up at first. He only noticed something had caught Keeho’s attention when the other boy quietly snorted. That alone was unusual. Keeho rarely laughed at random videos. Theo glanced over his shoulder. “What are you watching?” Keeho didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he tilted the phone slightly so Theo could see. “Listen to this girl.” Theo shifted slightly where he sat on the floor, curiosity pulling his attention away from the notebook in his hands. On the screen, the girl picked up one of the books from the pile beside her and began talking. Her voice carried a soft excitement as she tried to explain why the story had left her staring at the ceiling at three in the morning, questioning her emotional stability. Keeho chuckled. “She’s dramatic.” Theo watched quietly.
The video didn’t look edited much. There was no background music or flashy cuts. Just her sitting there talking, occasionally losing track of her thoughts before laughing at herself and continuing. It felt oddly real. Keeho kept watching. Theo noticed that. Keeho had the attention span of someone who rarely stuck with a video longer than thirty seconds. But he didn’t scroll away. Instead, he sat up slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he focused on the screen. Theo leaned closer, resting his arm against the couch so he could see better. The girl on screen was explaining how a particular character decision had emotionally betrayed her. She paused halfway through the sentence, blinking like she had forgotten what she was saying. Then she laughed quietly and shook her head. “Sorry. I ramble a lot.” Keeho smiled at that. “She really does.” Theo glanced at him. “You’re still watching.” Keeho shrugged casually. “She’s entertaining.” Theo’s gaze returned to the screen.
There was something oddly comforting about the video. It didn’t feel like someone trying to build an audience. It felt like someone sharing something they genuinely loved. When the video ended, Keeho didn’t close it. Instead, he tapped the channel name. The page loaded, revealing a row of thumbnails. Theo raised his eyebrows slightly. “She’s been posting for a while.” Keeho scrolled slowly. “Fifteen videos.” Uploaded over the past three months. Each thumbnail showed something different. Stacks of books. Sketches spread across a desk. A journal page filled with handwriting. One showed her standing awkwardly in the corner of her room with the words “trying a dance practice even though I’m nervous” in the title. Another read “my first song cover… please be nice.” Keeho tilted his head. “She does everything.” Theo nodded slightly. “Looks like it.”
Keeho tapped another video. This one showed her sitting at a desk with faint paint stains on her fingers while she talked about a small art project she had been working on. Theo found himself watching more carefully than he expected. The details stood out to him. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she got distracted. The way she laughed quietly whenever she realized she had gone off on another tangent. It was awkward in a way that felt genuine. Keeho continued clicking through videos. One turned into two. Two turned into five. At some point, Theo closed his notebook entirely, his attention fully shifting to the phone screen.
Time passed without either of them noticing. Eventually, Keeho opened what appeared to be the first video on the channel. The title was simple. “Hi… I guess?” Theo watched as the video began. The girl looked more nervous in this one than in the others. Her shoulders were slightly stiff, her hands fidgeting with the sleeve of her sweater. And then she started talking. “Okay, so since I graduated high school, I most likely won't ever see the people who gossip about me behind my back again. That means I can post whatever the hell I want to post now without giving a crap about what they think about me.”
Keeho laughed quietly. “That’s one way to start a video.” Theo smiled faintly. As the video continued, it became clear why the channel existed in the first place. She talked about being afraid of judgment. About how nervous she had always been to post anything online. About wanting to try being herself, even if it felt terrifying. Theo leaned his head back against the couch, listening carefully. There was a sincerity in the way she spoke that was hard to ignore. Keeho eventually paused the video and opened the comment section. There weren’t thousands of comments. But there were enough to show that people had started finding her channel. Small conversations filled the section. People recommending books, complimenting her drawings, or simply thanking her for sharing. Keeho tapped the comment box. Theo glanced down briefly. “You’re not about to start trolling someone’s channel, are you?” Keeho scoffed. “I’m not that mean.”
His fingers moved quickly across the screen. A moment later, he hit send. Theo leaned slightly to read it. “If you recommend a book that emotionally destroys me, I’m blaming you.” Theo huffed a quiet laugh. Keeho shrugged and casually pressed the subscribe button. The red icon turned gray. Theo watched for a second longer before pulling out his own phone. He opened the channel. Keeho noticed immediately. “You’re subscribing too.” Theo didn’t bother denying it. “I like her videos.” Keeho smirked slightly. “I knew it.”
The room fell quiet again for a moment. Keeho leaned back into the couch cushions, letting his head rest against the backrest as he stretched his arms above his head.
The room slowly settled back into silence, the kind of quiet that only happened late at night when both of them were too tired to move but not tired enough to sleep. The soft glow from Keeho’s phone was the only light left in the living room, casting faint shadows across the couch where they were sprawled out. Then Theo grabbed the phone and started playing games on it. Keeho shifted slightly, sinking deeper into the cushions as he let out a long breath. He stretched his arms above his head, joints cracking quietly as he did. After a moment, he tilted his head back so it rested against the couch. “People online are weird,” he muttered to the ceiling. Theo glanced up from the phone, raising one eyebrow. “Says you.” Keeho didn’t even bother responding to that. He simply stared upward, blinking slowly like he was still processing something he’d seen earlier. “I mean like… relationships and stuff,” he added after a second. Theo lowered the phone slightly, giving him a sideways look. “That’s random.” Keeho lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Tired brain.” Theo hummed softly, not entirely convinced but not questioning it either.
Late-night conversations between them had a habit of wandering into strange territory when they were both exhausted like this. It was almost a routine at this point. Random thoughts, weird hypotheticals, and discussions that probably wouldn’t make sense in the morning. Keeho stayed quiet for a moment longer, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if he were watching invisible thoughts drift by. Then he spoke again. “What would you do if we liked the same girl?” Theo blinked, immediately looking at him. “That came out of nowhere.” Keeho turned his head slightly, just enough to look at him from the corner of his eye. “Just answer.” Theo studied his face for a moment, trying to figure out if he was joking or genuinely curious. With Keeho, it could easily be either. After a short pause, Theo shrugged. “I guess it depends.” “On what?” Keeho asked, eyebrows lifting. “The girl,” Theo replied simply. Keeho hummed thoughtfully, tapping his fingers against the couch cushion like he was seriously considering the answer. The silence stretched for a few seconds while he mulled it over.
Then suddenly he shrugged again. “Easy solution.” Theo’s eyes narrowed immediately, suspicion already creeping into his expression. “What solution?” Keeho turned his head fully this time, a slow grin spreading across his face like he’d just come up with the smartest idea in the world. “Share.” Theo stared at him. Actually stared. “You’re insane.” Keeho’s grin only widened, completely unbothered. “Am I?” “Yes,” Theo said flatly. “That’s not how relationships work.” “Says who?” Theo blinked again, genuinely caught off guard by the confidence in Keeho’s tone. “Literally everyone.” Keeho waved a lazy hand through the air like he was dismissing an unimportant detail. “Details.” Theo let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back into the couch again, folding his arms loosely across his chest.
“You’ve been online too long,” he said. Keeho chuckled softly. “Maybe.”
For a moment, neither of them said anything again. The quiet returned, but it felt different now, lighter, almost amused. Theo glanced at him after a second. “You’re not serious though… right?” Keeho looked back at the ceiling, the hint of a smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I mean,” he said slowly, “if it solves the problem…” Theo groaned immediately, dragging a pillow over his face. “You’re unbelievable.” Keeho laughed, the sound warm and quiet in the otherwise still room.
The conversation drifted away almost as quickly as it had started. Just another ridiculous late-night discussion between two tired friends. Neither of them took it too seriously. Outside the dorm windows, the city lights flickered against the dark sky. Inside, Keeho’s phone still displayed the girl’s channel page. Another video quietly began playing. Neither of them thought much about it at the time. But somewhere between the quiet dorm, the late-night scrolling, and the fifteen small videos recorded in a bedroom somewhere far away… Your channel had already found its way into their routine. And neither of them realized yet just how often they would end up coming back to it.
When I first started posting videos, it felt strangely unnatural. Not because filming was difficult or because I didn’t know what to talk about, if anything, I had too much to talk about. The strange part was simply the fact that people could see it. For years, most of the things I loved had existed quietly in the background of my life, tucked away in notebooks, sketchbooks, playlists, and the messy corners of my room. They were things I shared with almost no one. Now they were sitting on the internet. Public. Visible. Anyone could click on them. The first few days after posting my initial video, I found myself checking my phone far more often than I wanted to admit. Every time I opened the app, my heart jumped a little, sometimes with curiosity, sometimes with a nervous kind of dread. But nothing terrible happened. No cruel comments. No waves of judgment. Mostly, it was just quiet. And strangely enough, that quietness made it easier to keep going.
Over the next three months, I posted fifteen videos. They weren’t planned out in any strict way. Instead, they slowly became small windows into the things that filled my everyday life. The topics repeated themselves naturally, because they were simply the things I loved most. Books were among the biggest. My room had always been full of them, shelves packed tightly with novels I had read, books I was planning to read, and books I had bought purely because the covers looked beautiful. Eventually, it felt natural to start talking about them on my channel, the same way so many book creators online did. Some videos were simple reading updates, filmed while I sat cross-legged on my bed with a novel resting in my lap. I would ramble about characters I liked, theories I had about the plot, or moments that had made me pause just to stare at the page. In one video, I held up a book dramatically and said, half laughing, “I’m only on page one hundred twenty, but if this character betrays the main character, I’m going to emotionally collapse. I’m just warning everyone.” My voice cracked slightly at the end because I was laughing at myself, but I left that part in when editing. Perfection had never really been the goal.
Other videos showed quieter moments: flipping through highlighted passages, stacking books into neat piles, or rearranging the order of my shelves while talking about my favorites. Books had always been a safe place for me, and somehow that comfort carried through the screen. But books weren’t the only thing I shared. Art had been part of my life almost as long as reading. Drawing was something I often did late at night, when everything around me had grown quiet, and my thoughts could settle. At first, I wasn’t sure if anyone online would care about that part of my life, but eventually curiosity won. So I propped my phone against a stack of notebooks and started filming while I drew.
Most of the time, the videos were simple time-lapses: pencil lines slowly forming characters, shading building depth little by little, the occasional pause when I leaned back to study the page. Sometimes soft music played in the background, other times the only sound was the faint scratch of graphite against paper. Occasionally, I talked through the process. “I never actually plan my drawings,” I admitted in one video while lightly shading a character’s hair. “I just kind of… start and hope it works out.” The camera caught my quiet laugh as I added another line. When I finished that drawing, I held the sketchbook up to the camera, tilting it slightly so the light wouldn’t reflect off the page. “Okay,” I said, sounding a little surprised. “Wait. I actually like this one.”
Then there were the singing videos. I had always loved music, though I had rarely sung in front of other people before. Posting covers online felt like stepping slightly outside my comfort zone, but it also felt exciting in a nervous, fluttery way. Sometimes I filmed short clips with my guitar. Other times, I sat at a keyboard with the camera balanced awkwardly on my desk. The songs varied depending on my mood that day, and they were rarely perfect. I forgot lyrics more than once. In one video, I stopped halfway through the song, staring blankly for a second before bursting into embarrassed laughter. “I swear I practiced this earlier,” I said, shaking my head. I restarted the song, still smiling. Instead of cutting that part out, I left it in. Oddly enough, those small, imperfect moments became some of the most liked parts of my videos.
Then there were the journaling clips. Those videos had a softer atmosphere compared to the others. I filmed them mostly at my desk, where my notebooks and pens were scattered across the surface in comfortable chaos. Sometimes I lit a small candle beside the page, the warm glow flickering softly at the edge of the frame. I liked showing the process of decorating journal pages, placing small stickers, drawing tiny doodles in the margins, and switching between colorful pens. “Journaling feels like organizing your brain,” I explained quietly in one video, tapping my temple with the end of a pen. “Everything is messy up here, but writing it down somehow makes it make more sense.” Then I paused and added, with a small grin, “Also, the stickers help.”
And finally, there were the completely random life videos. Those were the least structured of all. Sometimes I filmed myself making coffee in the morning, the kitchen still half quiet with early sunlight slipping through the window. Other times it was short clips from my day, walking through a bookstore, sitting in a park with my sketchbook, or rearranging the clutter on my desk while music played quietly in the background. One video showed me doing laundry. “I know this isn’t exciting,” I said while folding a hoodie on my bed, glancing at the camera. “But I feel like people online pretend their lives are always interesting. Mine is mostly this.” I held up the hoodie as proof. “Laundry.” Another time, I filmed a late-night kitchen adventure. The camera was slightly shaky as I whispered dramatically, “It’s one thirty in the morning, and I’m risking waking everyone up because I want cereal.” I successfully retrieved the cereal. It felt like a small victory.
At first, the comments on my channel came slowly. A few here and there, mostly short messages from viewers who had stumbled across your videos. “Your art style is really pretty.” “I love your book recommendations.” “Your voice is really calming to listen to.” Each time I saw one, I felt a quiet warmth bloom in my chest. I replied when I could, thanking people awkwardly but sincerely. But after a few weeks, something interesting started to happen. I began noticing a username that appeared again and again. Pixelcereal.
I didn’t think much of it. Plenty of people left comments regularly on social media. But as time passed, I realized he was appearing under almost every single video I posted. My book videos. My art videos. My random midnight cereal videos. Everything. His comments were usually enthusiastic, sometimes a little dramatic. “Okay, wait, this book actually sounds good.” “Your drawing style is so cool???” “The way you explained that character just convinced me to read this.” Under one of my singing clips, he wrote, “Not to be dramatic, but I would listen to a full cover of this.” I stared at that comment longer than I probably should have before finally pressing the like button. After a while, I started recognizing his username instantly whenever it appeared in my notifications. Sometimes he commented within minutes of me posting a video, as if he had somehow seen it immediately. “Early,” he wrote once. Another time, under a journaling video where I talked about organizing my thoughts, he commented, “I like what you said about organizing your brain. That actually makes a lot of sense.” Those small messages made me smile more often than I expected.
Not long after that, another username began appearing occasionally. Cloudynotes. His comments were less frequent, but they still showed up often enough that I noticed them. Compared to Pixelcereal’s enthusiastic tone, Cloudynotes’ messages were simpler, quieter.
Under a book video he wrote, “Adding this to my reading list.” Under an art clip: “The shading on this looks really good.” Under a chaotic video where I accidentally spilled coffee halfway through filming: “The recovery was impressive.” I laughed when I read that one. Eventually, I noticed something even more amusing. Sometimes Pixelcereal and Cloudynotes replied to each other in my comment section. Under one of my book videos, Pixelcereal wrote, “Okay, now I want to read this book.” Cloudynotes replied beneath it: “You say that about every book.” Pixelcereal answered, “And yet I never read them.” Cloudynotes: “Exactly.” I stared at the exchange for a moment, amused by the casual conversation unfolding beneath my video.
Over time, my channel slowly began to grow. Not in some dramatic, overnight-success kind of way. Instead, it expanded steadily, almost quietly, new followers appearing week by week, more comments filling my notifications. Some viewers began recognizing the regular commenters, too. One person wrote, “I always see Pixelcereal in the comments lol.” Another replied, “Same, he’s like a permanent resident here.” Pixelcereal answered, “I plead guilty.” Underneath that, Cloudynotes added, “You really do comment on everything.” “Supportive behavior,” Pixelcereal wrote back. My comment section slowly turned into something that felt surprisingly lively. People talked about the books I mentioned, asked questions about my art supplies, and joked about my chaotic midnight snack runs. It started to feel less like shouting thoughts into an empty void and more like sitting in a room filled with people who enjoyed the same things I did.
One evening, I posted a longer video that combined several parts of my day, clips from a bookstore visit, a small art session at my desk, and a short song cover near the end.
I hesitated before posting it. Something about it felt slightly more personal than my usual content. But eventually I uploaded it anyway. When the comments began appearing, Pixelcereal’s was near the top. “Okay, this video was actually really comforting to watch.” Below it, Cloudynotes had written, “The bookstore clip made me want to go buy three books.” Someone else replied, “Same.” I read through the comments slowly, my chest filling with a quiet warmth I hadn’t expected when I first started posting months ago. Another notification appeared. Pixelcereal again. “Also, the cover at the end?? You should do a full version.” Cloudynotes replied beneath him. “I agree with this.” I blinked at the screen, slightly surprised. Then I typed a small response. “Maybe I will someday.” Pixelcereal replied almost instantly. “Holding you to that.” I laughed softly.
Lying back against my pillow, phone still in my hand, I thought about how different things felt compared to when I first pressed the upload button months earlier. Back then, posting videos had felt terrifying. Now it felt normal. Comfortable, even. Because somewhere along the way, the internet had stopped feeling like a giant empty space. Instead, it had slowly turned into something warmer, something filled with familiar usernames and returning voices. People who liked my books. My art. My music. My strange little everyday moments. And for the first time in a long time, a quiet thought settled in my mind. Maybe people actually liked me. Not a version of me carefully shaped to fit in. Just me. Somehow, that felt more meaningful than I could have imagined.
The notification popped up on the screen. A new video. On the couch, Keeho paused mid-scroll. “Oh,” he said quietly. “She uploaded.” Across from him, Theo immediately leaned closer. “Play it.” Keeho didn’t need to be told twice. The video started, and there she was on screen, sitting cross-legged on her bed, smiling like she was trying not to explode from excitement. “Okay,” she said, breathless with energy. “I have news.” Theo shifted closer so they could both see the screen better. Keeho rested his elbow on his knee. “What is it now?” he muttered under his breath.
On screen, she laughed, covering her face for a moment. “Next month… I’m going to a P1Harmony concert.” Silence. Keeho blinked. Theo slowly turned his head toward him. “…No way.” She kept talking, clearly thrilled. “I’ve been waiting for this forever. I’m actually going to see them in real life.” Keeho leaned back against the couch like the air had just been knocked out of him. “Oh, that’s dangerous.” Theo frowned slightly. “For who?” Keeho smirked faintly, eyes still locked on the screen. “For us.” Theo let out a quiet laugh. She was rambling now about outfits, about how she’d probably scream the moment the lights went down. “I’m actually nervous,” she admitted. “Like what if they walk right past me or something? I’d lose my mind.”
Keeho’s gaze darkened slightly. Theo noticed immediately. “What?” Theo said slowly. Keeho shrugged, but the corner of his mouth lifted. “I’m just thinking.” “About?” Keeho tilted the phone so the now paused frame showed her smiling face clearly. “Her in the crowd.” Theo leaned back, folding his arms. “Yeah?” Keeho’s voice dropped a little. “Thousands of people there,” he said. “And somewhere in that mess… she’s just standing there.” Theo watched the screen too now. The thought settled into the room. Real. Too real. “You know we’d recognize her instantly,” Theo said. Keeho laughed softly. “Obviously.” Theo’s eyes drifted over the image of you on the screen. “She has no idea we watch every single one of these.” Keeho scoffed. “She literally replies to our comments.” “Exactly.” Theo ran a hand through his hair, imagining it. Her looking up at the stage. Cheering. Completely unaware that the two people who constantly teased you in the comments were right there.
Keeho exhaled slowly. “Imagine being that close.” Theo glanced at him. “You’re thinking about it too much.” Keeho raised an eyebrow. “Oh, please. Like you’re not.” Theo didn’t answer immediately. Which was answer enough. Keeho smirked. “See?” Theo shook his head, but there was a grin tugging at his mouth now. “She’d be losing her mind if she knew.” Keeho leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “You know what’s worse?” “What?” Keeho’s gaze stayed fixed on the screen. “She trusts us.” Theo blinked. Keeho gestured vaguely toward the comment section. “She talks to us like we’re just two random idiots online.” Theo chuckled. “We are two random idiots online.” Keeho tilted his head. “Yeah, but imagine her reaction if she knew who we actually were.” Theo hummed thoughtfully. “Shock,” he said. Keeho shook his head slowly. “No.” Theo raised an eyebrow.
“No?” Keeho’s smirk returned, a little sharper now. “I think she’d panic.” Theo laughed quietly. “Oh, she definitely would.”
Keeho replayed a small moment of the video where she nervously talked about the concert again. She was smiling, clearly imagining the night. Theo watched her carefully. Then he muttered, “She’d look good in the crowd, though.” Keeho turned his head slowly. Theo immediately realized what he’d just said. “Don’t start,” Theo warned. Keeho’s grin widened. “Oh, I’m starting.” Theo rolled his eyes, but he didn’t look away from the screen. Keeho leaned back against the couch again. “Picture it,” he said casually. “Lights off. Crowd screaming.” Theo sighed. “You’re insufferable.” “And she’s right there,” Keeho continued, ignoring him. “Looking up at the stage like that.” Theo glanced at him. “Keeho.” “What?” “You’re making it weird.” Keeho laughed. “Am I wrong, though?” Theo didn’t answer because the image was already forming in his head. She, in the arena. Close enough to see. Close enough to notice things they’d only ever seen through a screen. Theo rubbed his face. “This is bad.” Keeho smirked. “You’re thinking the same thing.” Theo groaned quietly. “Shut up.” Keeho leaned toward him slightly. “You are.” Theo finally looked at him. Their eyes met.
There was a very brief moment of silence. Then Theo said under his breath, “…We’re so screwed.” Keeho laughed, but it came out quieter than usual. “Yeah.” Theo nodded toward the phone and smirked. “She’s probably checking the comments right now.” Keeho immediately grabbed his phone. “Oh no.” Theo started laughing. “You better not write something weird.” Keeho opened the comment box. Theo leaned over his shoulder. “Wait—” Keeho paused. “What?” Theo pointed at the screen. “Delete whatever you were about to type.” Keeho looked up slowly. “Why?” Theo shook his head. “Because whatever that look was… it was not a normal comment.” Keeho stared at the phone for a second. Then he sighed. “…Yeah.” Theo leaned back into the couch again. Both of them looked at your paused video. Then Theo muttered, “Next month is going to be a problem.” Keeho smirked faintly. “A big one.”
Theo held his gaze for a second longer before delivering the line with a quiet, teasing confidence. “Oh, I see what you did there,” Theo said. “I agree… we are big.” Keeho stared at him. For a split second, there was silence. Then Keeho let out a disbelieving laugh and shoved Theo’s shoulder. “Shut up.” Theo laughed, clearly proud of himself. “You walked right into that one.” Keeho rubbed his face, shaking his head. “You’re actually unbelievable.” Theo shrugged lazily, still smiling. “I’m just saying. You set it up.” Keeho leaned back into the couch again, exhaling through his nose. “You’re twelve.” “Please,” Theo said. “You started the whole thing.” Keeho pointed at the screen where her paused video still showed her smiling face. “No. She started it.” Theo looked back at the phone. She was mid-laugh in the paused frame, completely unaware of the chaos she’d just caused in a dorm living room. Theo’s smile softened slightly. “She’s really excited about the concert.” Keeho hummed quietly. “Yeah.”
Theo folded his arms. “You realize if she’s close enough in the crowd, she could actually see us.” Keeho tilted his head back against the couch. “Oh, she’ll see us.” Theo glanced at him. “That sounded way too confident.” Keeho smirked slightly. “Well,” he said casually, “we do stand on a stage.” Theo rolled his eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant.” Keeho turned his head to look at him. “I know.” Another quiet pause settled between them. Theo looked back at her video again, immediately leaning closer. Keeho’s smile widened just a little. Then Theo sighed. “…We are definitely screwed.”
After a few months of posting videos and replying to comments, something about the channel had slowly started to change. My comment section had quietly turned into a tiny community of its own. People joked together, shared memes, argued about songs, and sometimes even comforted each other in the replies. And while I loved reading through everything, there was one problem that kept popping up again and again. Every few days, someone would comment on the same thing. “Can we talk somewhere besides YouTube?” Then another. “Do you have a Discord?” “You should make a server!” At first, I laughed it off. The idea felt a little intimidating. A Discord server meant people talking to each other in real time. Moderating chats. Making channels and actually interacting instead of just replying to comments when I had the time. But the requests didn’t stop. Under almost every video, there would be at least three comments asking about it. One evening, I was scrolling through the comments on my latest upload when I saw it again. “Discord server when?” I leaned back in my chair and sighed. “Okay,” I muttered to myself. “Maybe it’s time.”
It took me a few hours to set everything up. I sat at my desk with my laptop open, carefully creating the server, choosing a name, and selecting a simple icon. Then came the channels. I tried to imagine what people would want to talk about. I created the basics first. #general, a place where everyone could just talk. Then a few more. #concert-talk, because at least half my viewers loved concerts as much as I did. #memes, which I suspected would become chaos almost immediately. #requests, for video ideas and suggestions. And #Q&A, in case people had questions I could answer when I had time. I added a few simple rules too. Be respectful. No spamming. Don’t start fights. Nothing complicated. Just enough to keep things comfortable. When everything looked ready, I leaned back in my chair and stared at the screen for a moment. “Okay,” I whispered. Then I grabbed my camera.
A few minutes later, I was recording. The red light blinked. I smiled a little nervously at the lens. “Okay, so… a lot of you asked for this,” I said, glancing down at my laptop, where the brand-new Discord server was still open. “I finally made a Discord server so everyone can hang out.” I gestured vaguely toward the computer. “You can talk about videos, concerts, music… honestly, whatever you want.” I laughed softly, slightly embarrassed. “I’ll be there sometimes too, but please be nice to each other.” After a second, I added, “And please don’t destroy the meme channel within five minutes.” I stopped recording and watched the clip back once. “Good enough,” I decided. Then I uploaded it.
I expected the server to grow slowly. In my head, I imagined a handful of people joining during the first hour, maybe a few familiar names from the comment section who happened to see the video quickly. The rest, I assumed, would trickle in later that evening or perhaps overnight once more people noticed the upload. It felt like the kind of thing that would take time to build momentum. What I didn’t expect was for my phone to start vibrating almost immediately after the video went live. At first, I ignored it, assuming it was just a normal notification or two. But the buzzing didn’t stop. It kept going, again and again, until it became impossible to pretend it wasn’t happening. Confused, I reached for my phone and unlocked the screen.
The Discord app icon was glowing with notifications. When I opened it, the first thing I noticed was the member list on the right side of the server. It was already moving. New usernames were appearing one after another, the number climbing steadily higher while I watched, almost faster than I could process them. Every few seconds, another person joined, their name popping into the list before I had time to fully register the one before it. My eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Wait—” I hadn’t even finished the sentence when the first messages began appearing in #general. The empty chat window that had existed just minutes ago suddenly filled with greetings and excited messages. Hi everyone! Oh my god, she actually made one. I came straight from the video. Is this real??
I let out a small laugh under my breath, scrolling slowly as more messages appeared. Someone asked where the meme channel was, followed immediately by three people tagging #memes and announcing that chaos would begin there shortly. Another user started introducing themselves, saying they had been watching the channel for months but had never commented before. Within seconds, other people were responding, welcoming them, and starting small conversations like they had all known each other for a while. The quiet server I had created less than ten minutes earlier was already starting to feel alive. By the time I refreshed the screen again, the activity had spread far beyond #general. In #concert-talk, someone had already started a discussion about upcoming tours, asking if anyone else planned on seeing P1Harmony live this year. The question immediately sparked replies from several people sharing their plans, their favorite concert memories, and the cities they hoped the group would visit next. Meanwhile, #memes had quickly become exactly what I had predicted: a chaotic collection of images, reaction gifs, and jokes about the channel that were being posted faster than I could scroll through them. Even #requests, which I had expected to remain quiet for at least a day or two, already had several thoughtful suggestions waiting inside. People were proposing video ideas, asking if I would ever vlog a concert experience, and wondering whether I might do more behind-the-scenes content.
I leaned back slightly in my chair, watching everything unfold with a mixture of disbelief and amusement.
The server had gone from completely silent to overwhelmingly active in what felt like the span of a few minutes, and my phone was still buzzing with every new message that appeared. It was a little chaotic. But somehow, it was also kind of amazing.
When I glanced back at the member list, the number beside the server name had already climbed far higher than I had expected it to be within the first hour. I watched the list update in real time, new usernames appearing one after another as more viewers found the link and decided to join. It felt strange seeing it grow so quickly, like watching something I had only just created suddenly take on a life of its own. For a moment, I simply sat there, staring at the screen while the numbers continued to rise. It was a little overwhelming, if I was being honest. The idea that so many people wanted to be part of something connected to my channel still felt surreal. But at the same time, there was something strangely comforting about it, too.
Curious, I began scrolling slowly through the member list, taking a closer look at the usernames that had already gathered there. Most of them were unfamiliar, people who had probably watched the videos quietly without ever commenting, or viewers who had only discovered the channel recently. Their names were a mix of random words, inside jokes, and profile pictures that ranged from anime characters to blurry selfies and meme images. It was interesting, in a way, finally seeing a glimpse of the people who had been behind the view count. I continued scrolling, letting my eyes drift over the list. Then suddenly I stopped.
Two names near the middle of the screen caught my attention immediately. I blinked once, just to make sure I hadn’t imagined it. There they were. Pixelcereal. And directly underneath it, Cloudynotes. For a second, I just stared at the screen. Then a small smile spread across my face. My favorite commenters. The two people who had somehow managed to be present in my comment section since almost the very beginning of the channel. No matter which video I posted, their usernames always seemed to show up in the replies sooner or later. Sometimes they left jokes that made me laugh out loud while reading through comments. Sometimes they wrote something supportive if I sounded nervous in a video. And sometimes they ended up replying to each other, turning an ordinary comment thread into a long chain of chaotic jokes that half the viewers seemed to enjoy watching unfold.
Seeing their names appear here, in the brand new Discord server, felt oddly reassuring. Like a small familiar piece of the comment section had followed me into this new space. I leaned back in my chair, shaking my head slightly as a quiet laugh escaped me. “Of course they joined,” I murmured to myself. It somehow made perfect sense. For a moment, I shifted my attention back to the main chat, watching the messages continue to scroll by in #general as people greeted each other and started conversations. In the middle of the steady stream of messages, a new one appeared. Pixelcereal: Well, this got big fast. I chuckled softly when I saw it. A second later, another message popped up just below. Cloudynotes: give it ten minutes before the meme channel becomes illegal. That made me laugh a little louder. I glanced over at #memes, which was already filling with increasingly questionable reaction images, and shook my head with a smile. Somehow, just seeing those two names chatting there made the entire server feel less intimidating.
The rapid growth, the endless notifications, the dozens of unfamiliar usernames, it all felt a little easier to process when there were at least a couple of familiar faces among the crowd.
It felt less like stepping into something completely new and more like the comment section had simply moved somewhere else. A slightly louder, slightly more chaotic version of it, but the same community, all the same.
On the couch across the living room, Keeho was staring at his phone with an expression somewhere between disbelief and quiet amusement. After a moment, he lifted his head slightly, glancing toward the other side of the room. “She made a Discord.” Across from him, Theo didn’t even look surprised. Instead, he leaned forward on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees as he glanced down at his own phone. “Already joined,” he replied casually. Keeho’s eyebrows lifted as he looked up again, clearly not expecting that answer. “You’re kidding.” Without saying anything else, Theo simply turned his screen around so it faced him. The Discord app was open, showing the brand new server and the member list on the side.
“Cloudynotes,” Theo said, sounding far too pleased with himself. Keeho let out a quiet snort of laughter. “You’re so obvious.” Theo immediately pointed a finger toward Keeho’s phone in response. “And Pixelcereal isn’t?” Keeho chose not to answer that. Instead, he shifted his attention back to the server itself, scrolling slowly through the messages that were still pouring into the different channels. The entire thing had only been live for a short while, yet it already felt like a busy room filled with voices talking over each other. Fans were greeting each other enthusiastically in #general, introducing themselves and commenting on the newest video. In another channel, people had already started discussing upcoming tours and concerts, speculating about cities and ticket prices. And, unsurprisingly, several conversations had already drifted toward P1Harmony.
Keeho continued scrolling through the chat absently, his thumb moving slowly across the screen while he skimmed through the messages. Then suddenly he stopped. His movement froze for a moment as his eyes focused on something further up in the conversation. “There she is.” Theo immediately leaned closer, shifting across the couch so he could see the screen more clearly. Her username had appeared in #general, buried somewhere in the middle of the rapidly moving chat. Hi everyone! I didn’t expect so many people so fast 😭 Theo read the message and smiled faintly. “She seems nervous.” Keeho hummed quietly in agreement. “She always does when she’s excited.” Theo turned his head toward him slightly. “You know that because…?” Keeho shrugged, as if the answer were obvious. “I watch her videos.” Theo let out a quiet laugh. “You watch all her videos.” Keeho immediately pointed a finger at him in protest. “So do you.” Theo didn’t bother denying it.
For a minute, the two of them simply sat there, watching the chat continue to scroll as the server grew busier and busier. Fans were tagging her username constantly now, asking questions, sending memes, and welcoming new members who had just joined. Someone in #concert-talk had already started another discussion about which cities people were traveling to for upcoming shows. The noise of the server kept building. Keeho leaned back against the couch cushions with a small sigh. “There’s no way we’ll actually get to talk to her in there.” Theo nodded slowly while watching the messages pass by. Too many people. Too many conversations are happening at once. Anything either of them said would probably get buried within seconds.
For a moment, Keeho stared thoughtfully at his phone again, his expression shifting slightly as something crossed his mind. “I have an idea.” Theo’s reaction was immediate. He turned toward him with narrowed eyes, already suspicious. “That sentence never ends well.” Ignoring the comment, Keeho opened a few settings in Discord, his thumb moving quickly across the screen. “What if we just talk to her somewhere else?” Theo blinked. “You mean like DM?” Keeho tilted his head slightly. “Better.” Theo watched curiously as Keeho tapped a few buttons on his phone, clearly setting something up. A moment later, the familiar Discord interface changed, and a new window appeared. A new group chat. Theo frowned in confusion. “Why a group chat?” Keeho’s mouth curved into a small, knowing smirk. “Because you’d complain if I talked to her without you.” Theo rolled his eyes. “That is not the reason.” Keeho ignored the comment and began adding users to the chat. First, his own account. Then Theo’s. After that, his thumb hovered briefly over her username in the server member list. Theo leaned a little closer to see the screen more clearly. “You’re actually doing it.” Keeho tapped the name. Just like that, she was added to the group. Theo stared at the phone for a second before looking back up at him. “You’re insane.” Keeho shrugged as if the entire thing were completely normal. “Relax.” Theo crossed his arms, still watching the screen carefully. “What are you even going to say?”
Keeho opened the message box and began typing. Then he stopped. Deleted the sentence. Typed again. Paused once more. Theo noticed immediately and laughed under his breath. “What happened to all that confidence?” Keeho sighed, rubbing his forehead briefly. “Shut up.” Theo smirked. “You started this.” Keeho took another second, then began typing again, more slowly this time, clearly thinking about each word before sending it. Finally, the message appeared in the new chat. Pixelcereal: Hey, sorry if this is random. The server is kind of chaotic. Thought it might be easier to talk here sometimes. The moment the message was sent, both of them fell silent. They simply stared at the screen. Waiting. Theo leaned back slightly, muttering under his breath, “If she thinks we’re weird, this is entirely your fault.” Keeho didn’t answer. His attention was completely fixed on the chat window. Then, suddenly, a typing bubble appeared. Both of them froze almost instantly. Theo leaned forward again. “She’s typing.” Keeho didn’t move.
For a few seconds, the typing indicator blinked on and off while her response was written. Finally, her message appeared. You: omg hi 😭 you guys are literally my favorite commenters. Theo slowly lifted his head and looked at Keeho. “Well.” Keeho leaned back into the couch with quiet satisfaction. “That worked.” Theo shook his head in disbelief. “You realize what you just did.” Keeho raised an eyebrow. “What?” Theo pointed toward the phone screen. “Now she’s going to talk to us all the time.” Keeho’s smirk returned immediately. “Good.” Theo watched the chat for another moment as the conversation began to continue naturally. Then he sighed quietly and leaned back again. “…this is going to become a problem.” Keeho didn’t disagree.
The chat lit up again.
Pixelcereal: Wow, favorite commenters already, that’s a lot of pressure
Her reply came quickly.
You: You guys have been commenting forever, it’s only fair
Theo leaned closer. “See?” Keeho glanced sideways. “What?” “She remembers.” Keeho hummed thoughtfully. “Of course she does.” Then Theo grabbed his phone from the couch before Keeho could respond. “My turn.” Keeho immediately protested. “Absolutely not.” Too late. Theo had already sent the message.
Cloudynotes: We expect special treatment now
Her typing bubble appeared almost instantly.
You: Oh, really?? Like what?
Theo grinned. Keeho groaned. “Oh no.” Theo ignored him and typed again.
Cloudynotes: Idk, maybe early access to your memes
She replied a second later.
You: That sounds dangerous
Keeho snorted. “Understatement.”
Her next message appeared.
You: What are you two even doing right now?
Theo looked at Keeho. “What are we doing right now?” Keeho stretched lazily against the couch. “Absolutely nothing productive.”
Theo typed.
Cloudynotes: Sitting on the couch, pretending we have responsibilities
You: Relatable, honestly
Keeho finally took the phone back. “My turn.” Theo crossed his arms. “Don’t make it weird.” Keeho raised an eyebrow. “Why would I make it weird?” Theo didn’t even bother answering. Keeho started typing. Paused. Smirked slightly. Then hit send.
Pixelcereal: So what finally made you create the server?
You: Everyone kept asking
Pixelcereal: Good decision though
Theo watched him carefully. “You’re being suspiciously normal.” Keeho shrugged. “Patience.”
You: Honestly, I didn’t expect you guys to join that fast
Theo grinned slightly.
Pixelcereal: We have a reputation to maintain
You: As my favorite commenters?
Pixelcereal: Exactly
Theo leaned over again, reading the conversation. “You’re flirting.” Keeho looked offended. “I am not.” Theo pointed at the screen. “You absolutely are.” Keeho smirked slightly. “Maybe.” Another message appeared from her.
You: Wait, do you guys actually talk to each other in the comments sometimes, or is that just a coincidence?
Theo laughed quietly. “Okay, that’s funny.” Keeho typed immediately.
Pixelcereal: Coincidence
Cloudynotes: Lies, he follows me around
Keeho shoved his shoulder. “I do not.” Theo grinned. “You absolutely do.”
You: This is hilarious actually
Theo leaned back against the couch, clearly enjoying himself. “She’s entertained.” Keeho glanced down at the chat again, reading her messages carefully. Then he typed something. Slowly. Theo leaned forward to see. “…what are you writing?” Keeho ignored him and hit send.
Pixelcereal: We had to check out the server. Someone had to make sure you didn’t get overwhelmed
Theo blinked. “That was smooth.” Keeho shrugged. “Just being honest.” A few seconds passed. Then her reply appeared.
You: That’s actually kind of sweet
Theo turned his head slowly. “Oh.” Keeho tried to look unaffected. But his grin gave him away. Theo pointed accusingly. “You’re enjoying this.” Keeho didn’t deny it.
Theo stayed quiet for a moment after your last message, his eyes still fixed on the glowing screen in Keeho’s hands. The conversation had only been going on for a little while, yet the atmosphere around it already felt different from the chaotic noise of the main server. Here, the messages came one by one. No interruptions. No dozens of people talking at the same time. Just the three of you. He shifted slightly on the couch beside Keeho, leaning closer so he could read the chat more clearly while the next message from you appeared.
You: This server is already chaos btw, I think the meme channel is beyond saving
Keeho let out a quiet laugh under his breath. “I told you that would happen in five minutes.” Theo nudged his shoulder. “Go on then. Say something.” Keeho’s thumbs moved over the keyboard.
Pixelcereal: That’s exactly what the meme channel was made for
Theo watched the typing for a moment before adding his own message.
Cloudynotes: If it’s already chaotic, we consider that a success
You: You two sound suspiciously proud of that
Pixelcereal: Obviously, chaos is the natural state of the internet
You: Fair point
For a moment, the chat slowed, the small typing bubble appearing and disappearing again as if you were considering what to say next. Theo noticed it immediately. “She’s thinking.” Keeho hummed softly. “Good.” Theo glanced sideways at him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.” Keeho’s mouth curved into a quiet smirk, but he didn’t deny it just like every other time Theo accused him about anyhting that is about you. Instead, he typed another message.
Pixelcereal: So, are you watching the server explode live, or did you already abandon it?
You: I’m watching. I feel like a teacher observing a classroom that’s about to riot
Theo laughed softly. “That’s actually accurate.” He quickly added his own message.
Cloudynotes: If a riot starts, we’ll take partial responsibility
You: Only partial??
Keeho tilted his head slightly as he read it. “See, now she’s playing along.” Theo shrugged. “Then keep going.” Keeho typed slowly this time, clearly thinking about the wording.
Pixelcereal: We can negotiate the percentage later
You: That sounds suspicious
Keeho leaned back against the couch, reading the message again before responding.
Pixelcereal: You added us to your server, you knew what you were getting into
Theo chuckled quietly at that. “You’re bold tonight.” Keeho shrugged lightly. “She started it.” Theo rolled his eyes but watched the chat carefully as your typing bubble appeared again.
You: I didn’t know you two would immediately cause trouble
Cloudynotes: We prefer the term “enhancing the experience”
You: That’s a very generous description
Theo glanced sideways at Keeho again. “She’s still holding back.” Keeho noticed it too. Her replies were friendly, amused, but cautious, like someone slowly stepping into unfamiliar water, testing how deep it might be. He didn’t mind. In fact, it made the conversation more interesting.
Pixelcereal: You don’t seem that bothered
You: I mean… It’s entertaining
Keeho smiled slightly at the screen. “That’s progress.” Theo nudged him. “Don’t get cocky.” Keeho ignored that and typed again, a little slower this time.
Pixelcereal: Entertaining is good, we’d hate to disappoint our favorite creator
Theo glanced at him. “You’re laying it on thick.” Keeho shrugged. “You’re free to help.” Theo didn’t hesitate.
Cloudynotes: Yeah, we have a reputation to maintain
You: Do you?
Theo leaned back slightly, amused. “Oh, she’s challenging us now.” Keeho smiled faintly and began typing again.
Pixelcereal: Absolutely
Cloudynotes: We’ve been in your comment section for months, that’s commitment
You: That’s true actually
Pixelcereal: We were early supporters
Cloudynotes: We deserve a little appreciation
You: You already get replies in the comments, that’s appreciation
Pixelcereal: That’s true, but talking here is better
You: It is kind of nice
Keeho looked over at Theo briefly. “See?” Theo sighed quietly but smiled. “Yeah… I see.” Keeho typed one more message.
Pixelcereal: Good, because we’re not planning to disappear anytime soon
You: That’s good, I think
Theo exhaled softly. “Slow,” he murmured. Keeho nodded once. “Slow is fine.” Then he looked back down at the screen, where your typing bubble had appeared once more. And smiled slightly. The conversation had only just started.
Weeks passed more quickly than I expected. What had started as a slightly awkward private conversation between two strangers and I slowly turned into something that felt strangely familiar, almost routine. The group chat that Pixelcereal had created on a whim became a constant part of my evenings, a place I found myself opening automatically whenever my phone buzzed with a new notification.
At first, the conversations had been simple, just playful jokes and teasing comments about the chaos of the Discord server I had created. But over time, as days blurred into weeks, the tone shifted naturally into something more relaxed. The three of us started talking about small, everyday things: songs we had recently discovered, strange internet memes that made absolutely no sense out of context, or random thoughts that only seemed funny when they were sent at two or three in the morning.
Some nights, the conversation lasted only a few minutes before one of us fell asleep. Other nights, it stretched far later than it probably should have, the three of us exchanging messages and half-coherent jokes while the rest of the world was quiet. Somehow, without any of us really noticing when it happened, talking to them became normal.
I would finish editing a video, collapse onto my bed, and open Discord almost automatically. And most of the time, they were already there. Sometimes Cloudynotes would send a meme that made absolutely no sense, followed immediately by a message from Pixelcereal explaining why it was somehow “peak internet humor.” Other nights, they would ask about my day, or start an argument about music that would spiral into a thirty-minute debate about which songs deserved to be on someone’s playlist. It was easy. Comfortable. But every once in a while, something about the conversation felt strange. Not in a bad way. Just unusual.
There were moments when the two of them would suddenly disappear in the middle of a conversation. Hours would pass before either of them replied again, and when they did, their responses were usually vague. Sometimes they were simply “busy.” Other times, they would say something about ‘practice’ or ‘schedule stuff,’ but never explain what that actually meant. At first, I didn’t think much of it. Everyone had their own lives outside of Discord. But after several weeks, the pattern became harder to ignore. Especially when it kept happening late at night.
One evening, I was curled up on my bed with my laptop balanced against my knees, half watching a video while lazily scrolling through Discord. The group chat was open like it almost always was, the conversation drifting between random topics the way it usually did. Cloudynotes had just sent another meme. It was a blurry image of someone dramatically collapsing onto a couch with the caption: ‘me after surviving the week.’ I laughed quietly and typed a reply.
You: This feels personal somehow
Cloudynotes: Because it is
Pixelcereal: He’s being dramatic again
Cloudynotes: I am exhausted actually
You: What did you even do today?
Cloudynotes: A lot of things
Pixelcereal: Long day
I raised an eyebrow slightly. That was another one of those vague answers. But before I could ask anything else, Cloudynotes sent a link to a song he had discovered recently, which had somehow turned into a long debate about which artists were the most fun to see live. I was lying on my bed with my phone in my hand, scrolling through the chat while the conversation continued.
Cloudynotes: Live concerts are always better than recordings
Pixelcereal: Depends on the artist
You: No way, live is always better
Cloudynotes: Always?
I laughed quietly to myself.
You: Yes, always
Pixelcereal: Even if the artist isn’t good live?
You: Then why would I go see them?
Cloudynotes: Fair point
Pixelcereal: Didn’t you say in one of your videos that you’re going to a concert soon?
You: Oh yeah, that’s next month
Pixelcereal: The P1Harmony concert
You: Yes
Across the world, Theo slowly leaned back in his chair and glanced over at Keeho, who was sitting on the couch across the room, scrolling through the same chat. “She confirmed it again.” Keeho looked up. “The concert?” Theo nodded. “Next month.” Keeho exhaled quietly, leaning back against the couch. “Right.” Theo studied his expression for a second. “You’re thinking about it again.” Keeho shrugged slightly. “She’s coming to see us.” Theo smirked. “You like that idea.” Keeho didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked back down at the chat as her next message appeared.
You: I’m actually ridiculously excited about it
Theo glanced at Keeho again. “She’s excited.” Keeho muttered, “She said that in the video, too.” Theo laughed quietly. “You watched it more than once.” “I did not.” “You absolutely did.” Keeho ignored him and started typing.
Pixelcereal: So you’re a big fan then
You: Obviously 😭
Theo leaned forward slightly in his chair. “Ask her.” Keeho sighed. “You’re predictable.” Theo grinned. “Just ask.” Keeho typed.
Pixelcereal: Serious question then. Who is your bias?
Her typing bubble appeared almost immediately. Then disappeared. Then appeared again. Theo nudged Keeho’s foot with his own. “She’s thinking again.” Keeho muttered quietly,
“This feels like a terrible idea.” Finally, her answer appeared.
You: Honestly? It changes a lot
Theo snorted. “That’s not an answer.”
Pixelcereal: Suspicious answer
You: Okay, fine. Right now, it’s kind of all of them
Theo blinked. “…wow.” Keeho leaned back slightly, staring at the message. “All of them?”
You: They’re all ridiculously talented and unfairly attractive
Theo covered his mouth to hide a laugh. “Oh, my god.” Keeho dragged a hand down his face. “She’s thirsting over the entire group.” Theo grinned. “You asked.”
Pixelcereal: Every single one?
You: Yes, every single one
Theo leaned back against the wall, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. “Well.” Keeho exhaled slowly through his nose. “…I don’t like that answer.” Theo glanced at him. “You’re literally one of them.” “That’s not the point.” Theo smirked slightly. “You’re jealous.” Keeho didn’t answer. Instead, he typed another message.
Pixelcereal: So none of them stand out more?
You: That’s the problem, they all stand out. I swear, seeing them live, in person, will probably make it worse
Theo frowned slightly. “... worse?”
You: I swear, seeing them in person will make it worse
Theo frowned slightly. “…worse?”
You: Like, imagine seeing them live, I’ll probably lose my mind
Theo slowly turned his head toward Keeho. “Well.” Keeho stared at the screen for a moment before leaning back into the couch again. “…good.” Theo laughed quietly. “You’re impossible.” Keeho shrugged slightly. “She has good taste.” Theo nudged his shoulder. “You realize she’s talking about us.” Keeho’s mouth curved into a faint, amused smile. “Yeah.” Theo glanced back down at the chat where her typing bubble appeared again.
You: I just hope I get decent seats
Theo tilted his head. “…she has absolutely no idea.” Keeho looked at the screen for another second before quietly agreeing. “No.” Then he added under his breath, “…she really doesn’t. This concert is going to be very interesting.”
One evening, I was lying on my bed with my laptop balanced beside me, idly scrolling through the chat while the three of us talked about absolutely nothing in particular. The conversation had drifted into one of those strange late-night topics that only made sense after midnight. At some point, I glanced at the time in the corner of my screen. 2:58 AM. I frowned slightly. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before I typed.
You: Why are you guys always awake at 3 am?
The message sat in the chat for a few seconds. Then the typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. Finally, a reply came.
Cloudynotes: Practice ran late
I blinked. My eyes stayed fixed on the message as the word replayed in my mind. Practice. For a second, I assumed I had misunderstood, just like the other times they mentioned it. Maybe he meant something else. Maybe it was just a joke. But the word sat there on the screen, quiet and oddly specific. My stomach dropped slightly. I stared at the message for a moment longer before slowly typing my reply.
You: Practice… for what?
The moment I sent the question, the chat went completely still. No immediate answer. No typing bubble. Nothing. The silence stretched longer than usual, and suddenly I became aware of how fast my heart was beating. It didn’t make sense. I didn’t even know why the question felt important. But something about the hesitation on the other side of the screen made the moment feel heavier. Finally, after what felt like a full minute, a new message appeared.
Pixelcereal: …this might sound weird
My heart skipped. I wasn’t sure why. My fingers hovered above the keyboard as I waited for the next message. A few seconds passed before the next message came through.
Pixelcereal: We’re idols
I stared at the screen. My brain refused to process the sentence. For a moment, I genuinely thought it had to be a joke. But before I could even respond, another message appeared underneath it.
Pixelcereal: We’re in P1Harmony
The world seemed to go completely quiet around me. I felt the temperature in the room drop, my entire body going still as my mind scrambled to make sense of what I had just read. Suddenly, everything started clicking into place. The late-night schedules. The vague explanations. The strange mentions of “practice.” My hands hovered over the keyboard as I tried to type something, anything, but the words refused to come out correctly. I started writing a response. Deleted it. Tried again. My message finally appeared in the chat.
You: Wait, you're joking, right?
My heart was pounding now, the sound loud in my ears as you stared at the screen. But they didn’t answer. Not with a message. Instead, a new notification appeared at the top of the chat window. Cloudynotes started a voice call. My breath caught in my throat. I simply stared at the notification. Then, almost without thinking, I tapped the join button.
For a few seconds, there was nothing. Just quiet. The faint static of an open call. Then a voice spoke softly. “Hey.”
My entire body froze, because I recognized that voice instantly. My stomach dropped. “…No way,” I whispered.
On the other side of the call, another voice let out a quiet laugh. “You figured it out.” It was Keeho.
I covered my mouth with my hand as the realization fully crashed into me. “Oh, my god.” Panic hit immediately, my thoughts racing faster than I could control them. “They’re going to stop talking to me,” I muttered out before I could stop myself. The words slipped out without thinking.
There was silence on the call again.
Then Keeho spoke quietly. “Why would we do that?” Theo’s voice followed a second later, calm and reassuring. “We like talking to you.”
My chest tightened. “But now I know you,” I said softly, my voice shaking slightly.
Keeho laughed under his breath. “You’ve known us.” Theo added gently, “Just not like this.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” Keeho said softly. Theo added to that, “If anything, we can actually talk more now that you know.”
My fingers tightened slightly around my phone as I sat there in stunned silence, the call still open, the soft background noise on the other end reminding me that this was very real and not some elaborate prank my brain had invented. For a few seconds, I couldn’t think of anything to say, which was rare. Because usually, in our chats, words came easily. Jokes, teasing replies, and sarcastic comments. Those had always flowed naturally between the three of us. But this? This was different. Because now every single conversation we had ever had was suddenly replaying itself in my mind with a completely new context. And then one specific memory crashed to the front of my thoughts. My stomach dropped. “Oh no,” I muttered under my breath.
There was a small pause on the call. Theo’s voice came first, slightly amused. “…what?”
I groaned softly and covered my face with my free hand. “This is so embarrassing.”
Keeho’s voice carried a quiet laugh now, curiosity slipping into his tone. “That doesn’t sound good.”
I shook my head even though they couldn’t see me. “No, you don’t understand.”
Theo hummed thoughtfully. “Try us.”
I hesitated, but then blurted it out. “A few days ago,” I said slowly, mortified already, “we were talking about the concert.”
There was a brief pause. Keeho sounded thoughtful. “…yeah.”
Theo added casually, “You talk about that concert a lot.”
“I know,” I groaned. “That’s not the point.”
A silence followed. Then Theo said carefully, “…I’m listening.”
I took a deep breath. “You asked me about my bias.”
There was a pause. A longer one. Then Keeho said quietly, “…yeah.”
I pressed my hand harder against my face. “And I said that they were all ridiculously attractive.”
The silence on the other side of the call lasted two full seconds. Then Theo burst out laughing. Not just a small laugh. A full, unrestrained one. “Oh, my god.” Keeho laughed too, softer but very clearly amused. “You did say that.”
“I KNOW I DID,” I groaned. “But I didn’t know I was literally saying it to two of them!”
Theo was still laughing. “That makes it even better.”
“How is that better?!”
Keeho’s voice came back through the call, calm but teasing now. “Well,” he said slowly, “technically you weren’t wrong.”
I froze. “…what?”
Theo chimed in immediately. “You’re right, though.”
“You two are unbelievable,” I muttered weakly.
Keeho laughed quietly again. “No, think about it.”
I groaned. “No, I really don’t want to.”
Theo ignored that. “You were just being honest.”
“That’s not the point,” I insisted. “You asked me which member I liked, and I basically said all of them like some kind of—”
“You did say every single one,” Keeho cut in helpfully. “I remember that part very clearly,” Theo added.
“Please stop remembering it,” I begged.
They didn’t. In fact, the teasing only seemed to make them more amused. Keeho hummed thoughtfully. “You also said something else.”
My stomach dropped. “…what?”
Theo’s voice was dangerously amused now. “You said seeing them in person would make it worse.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Oh, my god.”
Keeho chuckled softly. “You said you’d probably lose your mind.”
“I did not say it like that.”
“You absolutely did,” Theo interrupted.
The embarrassment was now officially unbearable. “You two are enjoying this way too much.”
Keeho’s voice lowered slightly, teasing but softer now. “Well… It’s not every day someone openly thirsts over us without realizing who we are.”
My face burned. “I didn’t know!”
Theo laughed again. “That’s the best part.”
I groaned and buried my face in my pillow. “I’m never showing my face at that concert now.”
That made both of them pause. Then Keeho spoke again, his tone suddenly a little more curious. “…why not?”
“Because,” I said weakly, “what if I accidentally make eye contact with one of you and immediately remember that I basically told you I’d lose my mind over you?”
Theo chuckled quietly. “That might happen.”
“Please don’t say that.”
Keeho’s voice softened slightly, though the teasing edge was still there. “You know what’s funny?”
I sighed. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“You thought you were embarrassing yourself in front of strangers.” Theo finished the thought for him. “But you were actually saying it to the people you were talking about.”
I groaned again. “Please stop saying it like that.”
There was a small pause. Then Theo spoke again, his tone lighter but a little warmer. “You know… most people would be way more embarrassed.”
“I am embarrassed!”
“No,” he said, amused, “you’re flustered.”
Keeho laughed quietly. “Very flustered.”
I sat up slightly, narrowing my eyes at my phone even though they couldn’t see me. “You two are the worst.”
Theo’s voice carried a smile now. “Not the worst.” Keeho added softly, “You still said we were attractive.”
I froze again. “…don’t start again.”
Theo didn’t even hesitate. “Oh, we’re definitely starting again.” Keeho laughed under his breath. “You walked right into this one.”
I sighed dramatically. “This is bullying.”
Theo hummed. “No, this is appreciation.” Keeho added smoothly, “And you gave us plenty of material to work with.”
My face burned all over again. “…I hate both of you.”
Theo chuckled. “No, you don’t.” Keeho’s voice came softer now, almost thoughtful. “Besides,” he said, “you meant it.”
I hesitated. Then muttered quietly, “…Maybe.”
There was a short pause. Then Theo laughed again. “Well.” Keeho exhaled softly. “That just made this conversation way more interesting.”
“So what are you doing right now?”
I looked around your room. “Lying in bed.”
Keeho immediately said, “Dangerous.”
I raised an eyebrow. “How?”
“Late-night phone calls while lying in bed? That’s the start of terrible decisions.”
Theo sighed. “Please ignore him.”
“Too late,” Keeho replied.
I laughed quietly, but my heart was beating faster now, because something about a first conversation on call with people, who I now know are idols I’m a fan of, felt different.
The night of the concert arrived faster than I expected. For weeks, I had counted the days almost absentmindedly, mentioning it here and there in the group chat, joking about how I was probably going to embarrass myself by screaming too loudly. At the time, it had felt like a distant event, something that lived comfortably in the future.
Earlier that afternoon, while sunlight still filtered softly through my curtains and my room was filled with the quiet kind of anticipation that made everything feel slightly unreal, my phone buzzed against my desk. I glanced at it absentmindedly at first, still halfway focused on picking out what to wear, but the second I saw the notification, my attention snapped fully to the screen. Group chat. Of course. I picked up my phone, unlocking it as I flopped down onto the edge of my bed, heart already picking up just a little faster. The messages were recent.
Pixelcereal: Concert day
Cloudynotes: Try not to pass out
I let out a quiet scoff, rolling my eyes even though there was no one there to see it. Of course, they would start like this. Of course, they would act like this was completely normal. As if I weren’t about to go see them. I shook my head slightly, thumbs already moving over the keyboard.
You: Both of you shut up
Pixelcereal: She’s already defensive
I narrowed my eyes at the screen.
Pixelcereal: What section are you in?
My heart skipped. My fingers froze above the keyboard, the casual tone of the question doing absolutely nothing to hide what it really meant. I stared at the message for a second longer than necessary, because I knew. I knew exactly why they were asking. And suddenly, the idea that they might try to find me, actually find me, somewhere in that massive crowd made my stomach twist in a way that was equal parts thrilling and terrifying. I swallowed slowly before typing.
You: Why?
Pixelcereal: Curiosity
Ihuffed softly. “Liar,” I muttered under my breath.
Cloudynotes: Ignore him, he’s nosy
I stared at the screen, my expression softening slightly despite myself. It was so… them. The way they played off each other. The way Theo would casually step in like that, deflecting just enough to make things seem harmless, while not actually stopping anything. My fingers hovered over the keyboard again. I could answer. I could just tell them. It wasn’t a secret. But something held me back, because now that I knew who they were, really knew, it changed the weight of small questions like this. Before, it had just been harmless curiosity between three people who talked too much at night. Now? Now it felt like something else. Because if I told them… There was a real possibility they would look for me. The thought of that, of being seen, recognized, singled out in a crowd of thousands, not as a fan, but as me…
My heart sped up again. Heat crept up my neck. I locked my phone for a second, staring at my reflection in the dark screen. “This is ridiculous,” I whispered to myself. But it didn’t feel ridiculous. It felt real. I unlocked my phone again. The chat was still there. Waiting.
Pixelcereal: What? Don’t you trust us?
Your breath caught slightly. That tone, the one he used when he was teasing, but not entirely joking, got to me every time. I stared at the message, my thoughts scrambling. The truth was, I did trust them. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that I trusted them enough for this to matter. My fingers moved slowly this time.
You: I do. I just don’t know what you’d do with that information
On the other side of the conversation, in a quiet dressing room hours before the show, Theo leaned back in his chair, reading your message carefully. He glanced over at Keeho, who was sitting a few feet away, phone in hand, clearly doing the exact same thing. “She’s onto you.” Keeho didn’t look up. “She’s cautious.” Theo smirked slightly. “You made the plan obvious.” Keeho finally glanced over. “I said ‘curiosity.’” “Yeah,” Theo replied dryly, “very convincing.” Keeho huffed quietly, but there was a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “She didn’t say no.” Theo tilted his head. “No… but she didn’t say yes either.” Keeho looked back down at the screen. Her message still sat there. He tapped his phone thoughtfully.
Back in my room, my screen lit up again.
Pixelcereal: Depends
Cloudynotes: That’s not helping
Pixelcereal: Maybe we just want to know where to look
You: You’re not serious
Pixelcereal: What do you think?
On the other side, Theo let out a quiet laugh. “You’re going to scare her.” Keeho didn’t look away from his phone. “I’m not scaring her.” Theo raised an eyebrow. “You just told her we might look for her in a crowd of thousands.” Keeho shrugged slightly. “She can say no.” Theo studied him for a second. “…you want her to say yes.” Keeho didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
Back in my room, I was still staring at the screen, my thoughts racing in circles. Part of me wanted to brush it off, laugh it away, pretend it was just another one of their teasing comments, but another part of me, a much louder part, couldn’t ignore the way my heart was reacting. The idea of them looking for me.
You: You wouldn’t even find me
Pixelcereal: You’d be surprised
And back to them. Theo leaned closer to Keeho’s screen, reading the message before it even fully registered. “…okay, now you’re definitely messing with her.” Keeho smirked faintly. “Maybe.” Theo shook his head, amused. “You’re enjoying this way too much.” Keeho glanced at him briefly. “She started it.” Theo let out a quiet laugh. “No,” he said, looking back at the screen where her typing bubble had appeared again. “…but she’s definitely going to finish it.”
Now I was here. Standing in the middle of a massive arena, surrounded by thousands of fans, the reality of it hit me all at once. The place was loud. Louder than I had imagined when I bought the ticket. Thousands of voices layered over each other like waves, the sound constantly rising and falling as people laughed, shouted, or practiced the fan chants they would scream later. Lightsticks glowed everywhere, scattered through the darkness like constellations, soft blues and whites flickering across the huge space. Music pulsed faintly through the speakers while the stage lights shifted slowly overhead.
My heart was beating so fast it felt almost ridiculous, because tonight wasn’t just any concert. Tonight, I was seeing P1Harmony live for the first time. And two of them had spent the last two months talking to me almost every single day. The thought alone made my stomach twist. My fingers tightened slightly around the lightstick in my hand as I looked toward the stage. I had told them I was coming. They knew I would be here somewhere in this crowd. But they didn’t know where. At least I didn’t think they did. The arena lights dimmed slightly, causing a fresh wave of screaming to ripple across the crowd. The anticipation was electric, the kind that made the air feel thick with excitement. I took a slow breath, trying to calm the nervous energy buzzing through my chest. It didn’t work. Because suddenly, another thought slipped into my mind. I had spent weeks flirting with them, not knowing who they were, and then continued to flirt even after I found out. My face warmed immediately. “Focus,” I muttered quietly to myself. But focusing was impossible.
Backstage, the energy was completely different. The noise of the arena still reached the dressing rooms through the thick walls, the roar of the crowd vibrating faintly through the floor like distant thunder. Members of P1Harmony moved around the room, adjusting microphones, stretching, and checking outfits in mirrors. The atmosphere was focused. Professional. But on one side of the room, Theo leaned casually against a table, scrolling through his phone. He exhaled slowly before glancing up. “She’s here.” Across the room, Keeho looked over. “What?” Theo lifted the screen slightly. “Discord.” Keeho walked closer, wiping his hands on a towel before glancing down at the message. The chat notification was recent.
You: I’m at the arena already 😭
Keeho felt a small, involuntary smile pull at the corner of his mouth. “She’s early.” Theo tilted his head. “She’s excited.” Keeho hummed quietly. “She said she would be.” Theo locked his phone and pushed himself away from the table. “You realize she’s out there right now.” Keeho raised an eyebrow. “Yeah.” Theo gestured vaguely toward the direction of the stage. “Somewhere in that crowd.” Keeho glanced toward the hallway that led to the stage entrance. The roar of fans surged again, louder this time. “…yeah,” he murmured. Theo studied his expression. “You’re thinking about it.” Keeho scoffed softly. “About what?” Theo smirked. “The fact that she’s been thirsting over the group for weeks.” Keeho rolled his eyes. “Shut up.” Theo laughed quietly. “You remember what she said.” Keeho did remember. Very clearly. They’re all ridiculously attractive. Seeing them in person will make it worse. He rubbed the back of his neck. “…I remember.” Theo’s grin widened slightly. “You think she’ll recognize our voices immediately if we talk to her after?” Keeho glanced at him. “You’re assuming she’ll be able to speak.” Theo snorted. “That bad?”µ Keeho shrugged. “She said she’d lose her mind.” Theo chuckled. “Fair.” A staff member poked their head into the room. “Two minutes.” The room immediately shifted into motion. Members stood, adjusting in-ear monitors and microphones. Keeho rolled his shoulders slightly, shaking out the lingering tension before walking toward the hallway. Theo fell into step beside him.
As they reached the edge of the stage entrance, the noise from the arena exploded into something overwhelming. Thousands of fans screaming. Chanting. Waiting. Theo leaned slightly closer as they waited for the cue. “…she’s definitely screaming out there.” Keeho glanced toward the massive crowd visible through the stage curtains. Lights glowing. Movement everywhere. He exhaled slowly. “Good.” Theo raised an eyebrow. “You like that idea a little too much.” Keeho’s lips curved into a small smirk. “She said she’d lose her mind seeing us live.” Theo laughed under his breath. “Well.” The opening music suddenly blasted through the speakers. The crowd erupted. Theo glanced sideways at him. “…let’s see if she meant it.” And then they stepped onto the stage.
The moment the lights exploded across the arena, the crowd lost its mind. The screams were deafening. My entire body jolted as the music hit, adrenaline rushing through my chest so fast it almost made me dizzy. The stage lights flashed across the massive space as the members ran onto the stage, the opening choreography snapping into place with sharp precision. And suddenly they were right there. Real. Moving. Performing only a few dozen meters away. My breath caught. Because somehow, seeing them through videos had not prepared me for what they looked like in person. The energy. The confidence. The way they moved across the stage like they completely owned it. My heart was hammering against my ribs now. And then something happened that made it worse. During one of the early songs, Keeho stepped forward for his part. The stage lights shifted. For a brief moment, his gaze swept across the audience. My stomach dropped, even though logically I knew he couldn’t possibly pick me out in a crowd this big, my brain still whispered a dangerous thought. What if he could? I felt heat rush up my neck. “Oh my god,” I muttered quietly to myself. This was already going exactly the way I feared. They were even more attractive in person. And somehow that made every single flirty conversation I’d had with them replay vividly in my mind. I gripped my lightstick tighter. My heart was racing because somewhere on that stage were the two people who knew exactly what I had said about them. Judging by the amused glances Theo kept throwing toward Keeho between songs, they hadn’t forgotten it either.
My heart was racing so fast it almost hurt. The opening beat dropped. Lights snapped on in blinding flashes, sweeping across the stage in sharp, dramatic bursts. And suddenly they were there. P1Harmony. All of them. Alive in a way that no video, no performance clip, no late-night rewatch had ever managed to prepare me for. My brain shut down instantly. I screamed, loud, unfiltered, and completely out of my control as the sheer impact of seeing them in person hit me all at once. “Oh my god, OH MY GOD!” My voice disappeared into the chaos around me, but I didn’t care, couldn’t care, because every single one of my thoughts had scattered the moment they stepped onto that stage. It was so much worse than I expected. Every single one of them. My eyes darted across the stage, trying to take everything in at once and failing immediately.
Keeho stepped forward first, the lights catching him perfectly, his presence sharp and commanding in a way that made my stomach flip violently. “No, no, this is insane,” I gasped, my hand flying up to my mouth for half a second before dropping again because I physically could not stay still. Then my gaze shifted to Theo. “ARE YOU SERIOUS!” I nearly yelled, half laughing, half losing my mind as the way he moved, so effortless, so confident, hit me like a second wave. And before I could even recover, Jiung caught the light, his expression sharp, his movements precise, pulling another loud, completely unrestrained reaction out of me. “NO, STOP,” I blurted, shaking my head like that would somehow help. It didn’t. “Oh, my god…” I whispered as Intak came on, completely gone now, my voice lost somewhere between disbelief and something far more dangerous as my grip tightened around my lightstick. Then Soul moved across the stage, his energy completely different but just as overwhelming, adding to the chaos already building in my chest. I let out a breathless laugh, shaking my head. “I can’t, I actually can’t.” And finally, Jongseob, his presence sharp and controlled, finished the destruction of whatever composure I thought I had left.
My brain couldn’t process it. Couldn’t keep up. Because it wasn’t just one of them. It was all of them. All at once. Every single thing I had said, every joking comment, every flustered reply, every very real moment of weakness where I had admitted how attractive they were, it all came crashing back into me now with full force. It hit differently. So much differently. Now they weren’t just names on a screen. They weren’t just voices in my headphones late at night, teasing me, making me laugh, making my heart race in ways I didn’t fully understand at the time. They were right there. Moving. Performing. Existing in front of me in a way that made my thoughts spiral completely out of control. “This is not fair,” I muttered, my voice breathless as I dragged a hand through my hair, trying, and failing, to ground myself. “They’re all… what the hell…” My sentence dissolved into another half-laugh, half-gasp as the choreography hit harder, sharper, the energy of the performance building rapidly. How was I supposed to handle this? How was I supposed to stay calm when every single one of them looked like that? My heart slammed against my ribs. My cheeks burned. My entire body felt too aware, too reactive, every movement on stage pulling a new reaction out of me before I could even think.
Then that thought hit again. Harder this time. They’re looking at the crowd. My stomach dropped. “They could actually see me,” I whispered to myself, my voice barely audible under the roar of the crowd. The thought barely had time to settle in the loud crowd before it happened. Something shifted. Not in any dramatic, attention-grabbing way that would have made anyone around me react, not with a sudden change in lighting or a break in the music or even the slightest stumble in the performance that might have drawn eyes to the stage for the wrong reason. There was no spotlight. No pause nor an obvious signal that anything at all had changed, yet I knew something had. It was subtle enough that I almost convinced myself I imagined it, something so small and so quick that it could have easily been dismissed as nothing more than my own overactive imagination responding to the overwhelming energy of the moment.
Theo turned toward my side of the crowd. At first, it didn’t mean anything, just another movement, another angle, another perfectly timed shift in choreography that blended seamlessly into everything else happening on stage, the kind of motion designed to make every section of the audience feel included without ever truly focusing on any one person. But this wasn’t that. Because his gaze didn’t move the way it was supposed to. It didn’t sweep, didn’t glide. It actually slowed gradually, almost imperceptibly, but enough that something deep in my chest tightened before I could even explain why, like my body had noticed before my mind had the chance to catch up. Then his gaze focused. Not on the crowd as a whole, in that broad, practiced way performers are trained to look at thousands of people at once without really seeing any one of them, but somewhere specific, somewhere fixed. It stopped. My breath caught so sharply that it almost hurt, my lungs freezing mid-inhale as if the simple act of breathing had suddenly become too much, too loud, too real for a moment that already felt unreal.
For a split second, I told myself it wasn’t happening. That it couldn’t be. That my mind, overwhelmed by noise and light and adrenaline, had simply decided to create something that wasn’t there, something that felt personal in a place where nothing was supposed to be.
There was no way in a crowd this large, this dense, this alive with movement and sound and thousands upon thousands of other people who all wanted the same thing I did. I was one person with one face and one voice, swallowed completely by the scale of everything around me. Invisible. I had to be. “...no,” I whispered under my breath, the word slipping out automatically as my head shook faintly, even as the rest of my body went completely still, like any movement at all might somehow confirm what I was trying so desperately to deny. There was no way he could see me.
His expression changed. It wasn’t obvious. It wasn’t something anyone else would have noticed unless they were looking for it, unless they knew exactly what to look for and where to find it in the smallest details. But I did. I had seen it before, not here, not in the middle of a performance, not under blinding stage lights and in front of thousands of people, but in quieter, more private moments where everything felt softer, where his voice dipped just slightly lower, where his teasing carried an undercurrent of something more real. That same tiny shift, a flicker of recognition, and an almost imperceptible change, which meant something had clicked. My stomach dropped so suddenly it made me feel unsteady, like the ground beneath me had shifted without warning.
“Oh, my god.” My grip tightened around my lightstick until it almost hurt, the plastic pressing into my palm as my pulse spiked violently, heat rushing through my body all at once in a way that felt overwhelming, disorienting, impossible to control. He didn’t look away and held my gaze for some time. Held it just long enough for the moment to stretch, to expand, to become something undeniable instead of something I could brush off as a coincidence. Just long enough for my thoughts to completely fall apart. Then he smirked. Not wide, not exaggerated, not something meant to be seen by the entire arena and turned into a reaction. It was small. It didn’t feel like part of the performance. It didn’t feel like something meant for anyone else. My entire body reacted before my mind could even begin to process what had just happened. “NO!” I gasped, the sound breaking out of me in a mix of disbelief and nervous laughter as I ducked my head instinctively, like I could hide from it, like I could undo the moment by refusing to meet it head-on. “There’s no way.” My heart was racing so fast it made me feel dizzy, like everything inside me was moving too quickly while the world around me had slowed down.
When I forced myself to look back up, he was already moving again. Seamlessly, effortlessly, slipping back into the choreography as if nothing had happened, every movement sharp and precise and perfectly in time with the music. Like he hadn’t just looked directly at me. Like he hadn’t just completely unraveled my sense of reality in the middle of a sold-out arena. I pressed my hand against my chest, trying to steady my breathing, trying to ground myself in something physical, something real. “That wasn’t real,” I muttered, the words shaky and uncertain even as I said them. Even as I tried to convince myself, the feeling didn’t go away. If anything, it settled deeper.
I was now aware. Hyper-aware. Every movement on stage felt sharper, more significant, every glance suddenly carrying weight I hadn’t noticed before. And as if that wasn’t enough, Keeho stepped forward. My breath caught again, faster this time, my body already reacting before anything had even happened. Now I was watching. Not casually, not passively, but with a kind of intensity that made everything feel heightened, like my senses had been turned all the way up. When his gaze swept across the crowd, I felt it before it even reached me. That same pull. His gaze slowed. Gradually, deliberately, in a way that made my entire body tense in anticipation. Then it stopped. Right on me. “Oh, my god.” This time, there was no denial left. I couldn’t explain it away and give it an excuse my mind could cling to, because his reaction was clear. His lips parted slightly, just for a second, like the moment caught him off guard, like recognition had hit him before he had the chance to hide it. A slow smile spread across his face. Something that didn’t belong to the stage, the crowd, nor the performance at all. Something that felt like it existed entirely between him and me.
It hit me like a shock, straight through my chest, leaving me breathless in a completely different way. My knees felt weak, like they might actually give out if I weren’t already frozen in place. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I breathed, my voice unsteady as my thoughts spiraled faster than I could keep up with. They knew. In a crowd of thousands, they had found me. Keeho tilted his head slightly, still holding my gaze for just a moment longer, just enough to make it linger, to make it real in a way I couldn’t ignore. My heart was pounding so hard it felt overwhelming, each beat loud and insistent as I dragged in a shaky breath, my fingers trembling as I pushed my hair back from my face after he looked away again. “This is insane,” I whispered, the words barely holding together.
On stage, the performance continued flawlessly, every movement sharp and controlled and perfectly executed. Every time one of them turned toward my side of the crowd, every time their gaze even came close, my entire body reacted instantly, tension coiling tight in my chest as anticipation built before I could stop it. Losing control all over again. Judging by the way Theo cast more fleeting glances in my direction, the faintest hint of amusement still lingering in his expression, they weren’t going to let me forget it.
As the concert carried on, the energy never really dipped, but it shifted. Songs bled into each other, high-energy choreography giving way, every so often, to those looser, quieter moments where the music softened or stopped entirely, and the members finally had space to breathe, to laugh, to talk to the crowd like this wasn’t a massive arena but something smaller, something more personal. It should have grounded me and helped my heart settle after what had already happened. But it didn’t. If anything, it made everything worse.
I noticed it before I understood it. The way Theo drifted a little closer to Keeho during one of the talking breaks, both of them half-turned away from the crowd, microphones held down while another member was speaking, their attention clearly elsewhere despite the casual smiles still fixed on their faces. At first, it didn’t seem like much. Just another private exchange on stage that fans probably will use for one of their new edits or compilations. But then Theo leaned in slightly, closer than necessary, and said something low enough that it didn’t carry, didn’t reach the crowd, didn’t get picked up by the mic. Keeho’s reaction was immediate. He shifted, stepping casually toward Soul like it meant nothing, like he wasn’t carrying something with him, something that clearly wasn’t meant for the crowd. He leaned in and said something.
Soul blinked, clearly caught off guard for half a second before his expression changed in a way that mirrored what I had already seen twice tonight, that same flicker, that same click of understanding settling into place. He laughed not too loud for the audience to question it, but enough to make my pulse spike all over again. He turned towards the same direction as Theo and looked at me. My breath caught, my fingers tightening unconsciously around my lightstick again as a strange, creeping realization began to take shape in my mind, slow at first, almost reluctant, like my brain didn’t want to fully accept it. But it kept building. Because it didn’t stop there.
Soul moved toward the next member, slipping the same quiet message across with a grin that he couldn’t quite hide, and then they reacted, and then they passed it on again, the information traveling down the line in a way that was far too coordinated to be random, far too intentional to be meaningless. One by one. Each of them. Until every single member had heard it. Without the crowd noticing a thing. Except me. My heart was pounding so hard it felt unreal, like it didn’t belong to me anymore. What were they saying?
It definitely hadn’t started as something they were planning to share. If anything, Theo had been the one saying they shouldn’t, which made it a little ironic that he was the one who brought it up first. It was late, again. It’s always late when things slip out. They were all scattered around, half-focused on nothing, when Theo spoke, too casually. “You guys ever follow someone and then accidentally… end up talking to them?” Keeho snorted immediately. “Accidentally is crazy.” That alone was enough to get attention. “What do you mean?” Jiung asked, looking up. Theo tilted his phone in his hand, not showing it yet. “Like… you watch their stuff, right? For a while. And then somehow you end up in a chat with them.” “A chat?” Intak repeated. “Like a fan thing?” Keeho laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Not exactly.” “Then what?” Jongseob pressed. Theo finally glanced up, eyes flicking to Keeho for half a second before he said it. “Just us. Me, Keeho… and her.” Silence.
“…Her?” Soul echoed. Keeho leaned back, stretching like it was nothing, but the grin on his face gave everything away. “Yeah.” “Okay, but why her?” Jiung asked. “What’s so—” “We were following her way before any of that,” Theo made clear, scrolling like it didn’t matter, like he wasn’t about to derail the entire room. Keeho let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Don’t get it twisted. We liked her first.” That alone was enough to get attention. “Liked her how?” Jiung asked, already suspicious. Theo tilted his head slightly, not answering right away. “She’s just… easy to watch.” Keeho snorted. “That’s one way to put it.” There was something in his tone that made everyone else look up. That didn’t sound casual. At all.
“And then?” Intak pushed. Theo’s thumb paused mid-scroll. “And then we ended up talking to her.” “Ended up?” Jongseob repeated. Keeho grinned, leaning back. “It wasn’t planned.” “But you didn’t stop it?” Soul asked. “Obviously not.” That got a few looks. “So it’s just you two and her?” Intak asked. Theo nodded. “Group chat.” “And before you ask, we call too,” Keeho added, almost immediately. That landed. Jiung blinked. “Calls?” Keeho nodded, eyes dropping to his phone. “Voice at first,” Theo said. Keeho’s smile shifted, subtle, but not enough to miss. “Face now.” “Since when?” Intak asked. Theo shrugged. “Recently.”
Keeho exhaled softly through his nose, gaze dropping for a second like something replayed in his head, creating thoughts that he probably shouldn’t be thinking about in a room full of people. “She’s comfortable.” “With you?” Jiung asked. “With us,” Theo corrected. “And she knows who you are?” Jongseob asked. “Now she does,” Keeho replied. “Wait,” Intak frowned. “Now?” Theo huffed out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. She didn’t at first.” “What do you mean she didn’t know?” Soul asked.
Keeho sat forward a little, elbows on his knees. “She followed the group, watched everything. And before she knew, she talked about us. To us.” “How?” Jiung asked. Theo answered this time and simply said, “Like she wasn’t being watched.” “And?” Intak pushed. Keeho let out a quiet laugh, dragging a hand over his face. “And she was not subtle about it.” Theo smirked. “At all.” There was a pause, the kind that indicated that everyone knew what that probably meant, but still wanted it said out loud. “How not subtle?” Jiung asked. Keeho glanced at Theo, indicating that he had to talk. Theo didn’t hesitate. “She’d just say things. About all of us. Like it was nothing.” “About you?” Jongseob repeated as if it didn’t make sense. Keeho let out a low laugh at the maknae. “Yeah. Us. Including you. Every single individual member was talked about by her.”
That landed heavier than anything before it, because now it wasn’t abstract anymore, now it was personal and directly tied to them as well in a way. “And you were just there?” Intak asked. “Reading everything,” Keeho confirmed. “And remembering it word by word,” Theo added. “She found out eventually,” Jiung remembered their words from earlier. “Yeah,” Theo nodded. “And then stopped?” Keeho answered this time. “Not really.” “She got quieter about us,” Theo clarified. “But not about anything else.” Keeho let out a low breath, gaze unfocused for a second. “So we know.” “Know what?” Intak asked. Theo leaned back, completely at ease now. “What she’s like when she doesn’t hold back.”
“She acts normal about it, too.” Keeho suddenly said after some silence. “Normal?” Jiung echoed. “Like she didn’t say the things she said about us,” Keeho said as he bit his bottom lip. Theo added, voice quieter now, “Like we didn’t read all of it.” “And now you’re just talking to her?” Jiung repeated. Theo snorted softly. “Sure.” Keeho shook his head. “Like we already said, we talk and call, but she also sends stuff sometimes.” “Stuff?” Jongseob echoed. Theo’s smile was slow. “Pictures. Videos.” Keeho leaned forward slightly, voice lower now without him even trying. “She knows what she’s doing when she sends them too.” “Yeah. She doesn’t just send things randomly,” Theo added, almost lazily.
That was enough to pull them all the way in. “You’re saying she was talking about all of us like that,” Jiung said carefully, “and now she’s just there? In that group chat. With you two?” Keeho nodded. “And you’re fine with that?” Intak asked. Theo tilted his head. “We are more than okay with it. We made the group chat ourselves.” Keeho’s smile sharpened just slightly. “You wouldn’t be curious?” No one answered. Then, almost like an afterthought, Keeho hummed casually, “She still talks about other groups the same way, by the way. So don’t think she just stopped thinking like that about us.”
Theo leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. “You ever think about someone knowing exactly what they want and not saying it out loud anymore?” It wasn’t just Theo and Keeho’s situation anymore. Now it was something everyone could feel, even if they weren’t part of it before.
“Show us,” Intak said too quickly and too interested, but Theo didn’t even pretend to hesitate. Keeho laughed softly, already unlocking his phone. “You sure?” “Don’t blame us if you get stuck on her, too. You might not want to unsee it.” He turned the screen to the 4 guys who were curious about who exactly they were talking about. The second they looked, the distance that was there before was fully demolished. The way no one looked away or backed off, leaning in instead, said more than anything else could have.
There was no one left to tell, no one left who hadn’t already been pulled into whatever quiet, carefully concealed exchange had just passed between them, the message having traveled seamlessly from one to the next until it settled fully, completely, into the awareness of every single person on that stage. And then, almost imperceptibly at first, but unmistakably once I noticed it, something shifted. Not in a way that would draw attention from the crowd, not in any obvious or exaggerated motion that might break the illusion of casual interaction they were maintaining so effortlessly, but in something far more subtle, far more controlled, and therefore far more deliberate.
One by one, at different moments spaced just enough apart to avoid suspicion, they began to look. Not broadly, not aimlessly, not with the sweeping glances performers use to acknowledge an audience as a whole, but with a kind of quiet precision that made my chest tighten the second I recognized it, each of them turning just slightly, letting their gaze drift with careful intention as though they were following an invisible line drawn only for them. And every single time, without fail, that line led to me. It wasn’t something I could brush off or explain away as a coincidence, because there was a consistency to it, a pattern that became impossible to ignore the longer it continued, each glance lingering just a fraction longer than it should, each expression shifting just enough to suggest recognition, curiosity, amusement, something aware.
My entire body went rigid as the realization settled in fully, heat flooding through me so suddenly and intensely that it felt almost disorienting, my pulse surging in a way that made it hard to focus on anything else, like my body had reacted before my mind could even begin to process what was happening. This wasn’t just one of them anymore. It wasn’t just Theo, or Keeho, or a moment I could isolate and replay in my mind as something singular, something contained. It was all of them. Every single one. The differences in their reactions, the subtle lift of an eyebrow here, the faint curve of a smile there, the briefest pause before looking away, the unmistakable flicker of recognition that passed across more than one face, only made it more overwhelming, more real, more impossible to deny.
It felt coordinated without being obvious, intentional without being overt, like they were all in on something that existed just beneath the surface of the performance, something the rest of the crowd remained completely unaware of. “You’ve got to be kidding me…” I breathed, my voice barely audible even to myself, the words slipping out in disbelief as my thoughts struggled to keep up with the reality unfolding in front of me. There was no escaping it, no comfortable denial left to retreat into, no way to convince myself that this was all in my head or that I had somehow misread the situation. They were looking at me. All of them.
Judging by the way a few of them exchanged quick, subtle glances with each other afterward, the corners of their lips lifting just slightly as if sharing a private joke that never reached the audience, as if silently confirming something that had already been understood, they knew exactly what they were doing. And it was doing things to me during the whole concert after that.
The concert ended in a blur of lights, music, and roaring applause, the kind of euphoric chaos that made my ears ring and my chest feel impossibly tight. Confetti drifted down in slow motion, sparkling against the floodlights, and the crowd’s energy still hummed through the arena, unwilling to let go of the night. I was still shaking from what had happened earlier, my mind looping over every glance, every smirk, every subtle look that had been directed at me throughout the set, my pulse refusing to settle no matter how hard I pressed my hands to my chest.
Somehow, through all of it, I found myself guided to the edge of the stage, shoved gently but firmly by security, still dazed, still clutching my lightstick as if it were an anchor to reality. And then, through the white noise of the crowd and the fading music, I caught sight of them, Theo and Keeho, moving toward me with a purpose so sharp it made my stomach twist. Their faces weren’t smiling in the easy, crowd-pleasing way they had on stage. There was something more, something raw in their expressions, like the world had narrowed down to a single point. Me.
Before I could react, Theo leaned slightly toward the nearest security guard, his tone low, urgent, a whisper that somehow carried authority over the surrounding chaos. Keeho did the same, nodding once, sharply, almost impatiently, like they couldn’t wait a second longer. “She goes backstage,” Theo said, the words clipped but heavy with unspoken insistence, “Now.” Keeho’s gaze flicked toward me again, burning with that same intensity, a dangerous mixture of curiosity, hunger, and something darker that made the heat in my chest spike. The security team hesitated for just a moment, and I felt my pulse jump in response, aware that whatever was about to happen was uncharted territory. They didn’t know it yet, of course, none of them could, but I felt it. The second those two finally had me alone, behind the walls and curtains of the backstage area, all the carefully restrained energy from earlier, all the longing and recognition, all the teasing and tension, they wouldn’t be able to contain it. Something inside me hummed with certainty, a feeling so sharp and dangerous that it made my skin tingle, my stomach coil, my heart thud in a way that felt almost unbearable.
I could almost hear the unspoken thoughts vibrating between them, carried in the glances they traded over my head, in the way Keeho’s jaw tightened, in the way Theo’s fingers flexed slightly at his side. And yet there was no fear, no hesitation, only that same undeniable pull that had threaded through the entire concert, now more tangible, more desperate than ever. And still, I wasn’t fully prepared for the moment. Not yet. But some deep, unshakable sense, half instinct, half anticipation, told me exactly what was coming. That was when the doors finally closed behind me, when the crowd’s cheers became nothing more than a distant hum, the air between them and me would ignite.
They had wanted me for the entire concert. They had seen me. They had acknowledged me. And now, finally, the universe had bent just enough to make it impossible to avoid. As the security team guided me through the backstage corridors, Theo’s hand brushed against mine for the briefest fraction of a second, not enough to touch properly, not enough to give away their next move, but enough to send a shiver straight down my spine. Keeho’s eyes never left me, burning with an intensity that promised consequences the second I stepped into that room alone with them. I was hyper-aware of every sound. The soft shuffle of their shoes on the polished floor, the faint hum of stage lights still cooling, the distant echo of the last crowd chants, because it all meant one thing. Behind that door, nothing would be the same. And deep down, I knew it. This closeness, this anticipation, this almost unbearable tension, was only the beginning.
The backstage door swung open, and the sudden quiet hit me like a shock, the roar of the crowd replaced by the muted hum of machinery, the faint scent of sweat, perfume, and lingering smoke hanging in the air, and the polished but slightly chaotic backstage space felt like a secret world apart from the chaos of the arena, the kind of space where nothing existed except the people in it. The security team guided me carefully through the corridors, but my attention wasn’t on them. Their presence had already faded into the background of my awareness, leaving only Theo and Keeho, moving with a precision and purpose that made my stomach coil with anticipation and heat.
They flanked me as I walked, Theo on one side, Keeho on the other, their proximity a constant, magnetic pressure, each of their gazes following me like a tether, watching, assessing, burning, and every subtle movement. The way Keeho’s fingers flexed against his thigh, the slight tilt of Theo’s head as his eyes lingered on my face, made it impossible to think about anything else, impossible to breathe normally, impossible to pretend this wasn’t all designed to drive me completely undone.
No one spoke at first, and the silence between the three of us was thick with unspoken desire, the kind of silence that hums and presses and lingers in a way that makes every heartbeat sound impossibly loud in my own chest. I could feel the energy building with every step, a current that wound around my body, sparking heat in places I couldn’t ignore, tightening my stomach, making my skin tingle, making my pulse skip with both anticipation and dread.
Theo’s hand brushed against mine, deliberately slow, not enough to fully touch, but just enough to make my breath hitch and my knees threaten to buckle under the weight of the sudden awareness of him so close. Keeho’s shoulder pressed a fraction nearer than necessary as he walked, and the proximity, combined with the intensity of his gaze, made it feel as though the air between the three of us was charged, like any second could be the one where restraint completely shattered.
I wasn’t sure who would break first, whether it would be them, whether it would be me, but some deep, instinctive part of my body already knew that the moment I was truly alone with them, all the tension, all the teasing, all the desperate, lingering energy from the concert, would erupt in ways none of us could control. Theo’s eyes flicked toward Keeho for a brief, almost imperceptible moment, the corner of his lips twitching, an unspoken acknowledgment passing between them, and Keeho’s grin widened slightly, sharp, dangerous, and utterly knowing, like a secret promise.
The corridors twisted and turned, echoing faintly with the distant buzz of the arena, the light dimmer here, the space quieter, more intimate, every movement between them and me felt electric. Theo’s gaze lingered on my face again, just long enough for me to feel every subtle shift in expression, every inhale and exhale, while Keeho’s smirk grew in tandem with the heat pooling low in my stomach, and in that moment, I realized that nothing could have prepared me for this, for the intensity of simply walking together in a space that felt entirely theirs, entirely private, entirely designed to break me.
With the final turn of the hallway bringing me closer to the room where the real backstage began, Theo’s hand brushed mine again, slightly firmer this time, and Keeho’s shoulder pressed even nearer, their combined presence pressing me into the moment, into them, into the inevitability that whatever happened the instant the door closed behind us would be intense, heated, overwhelming, and utterly consuming.
The anticipation was unbearable, thick enough to taste, and every instinct in my body screamed that once the door swung fully closed, once we were truly alone, nothing would remain restrained, nothing would be polite or measured, and the air between them and me would ignite in ways that were simultaneously terrifying and impossible to resist.
The door closed behind me with a soft click that felt like the starting gun of something impossible to stop, and suddenly, the roar of the arena, the confetti, the lights, they were gone, leaving nothing but the muted hum of the backstage room and the three of us, pressed into a world that existed entirely for this moment. The air immediately thickened, heavy and warm, and my pulse spiked violently, my chest tightening as I realized how close Theo and Keeho were, how carefully they had circled me during that short walk, how the subtle brush of their hands, the near touch of their shoulders, had been an unspoken warning of what was coming.
Theo stepped slightly closer first, the movement slow, deliberate, and impossibly controlled, and the faintest shift in his expression, the soft curl of his lips, the dark intensity in his gaze, made my stomach coil tight, like he could see straight into me, like he already knew what he wanted and, worse, that I was already feeling it too. Keeho mirrored him instinctively, taking an almost predatory step toward me, and the space between the three of us felt impossibly narrow, so that every brush of my skin against theirs, every whisper of movement, carried weight, carried heat, carried a tension that made it nearly impossible to breathe normally.
I wanted to speak. I wanted to ask what was happening. I wanted to put distance between them and me to reclaim even a fraction of control, but the moment Theo’s hand found mine again, softer than a touch but deliberate enough to make my breath hitch, and Keeho’s gaze raked over me, slow, deliberate, assessing, teasing, all words became impossible. There was nothing to say that could capture the heat coiling between us, nothing that could explain what it felt like to be caught between two people whose every instinct seemed fixated on me, every motion calibrated to push me further into anticipation, further into desire, further into them.
Theo’s thumb brushed over my knuckles almost accidentally, and Keeho’s fingers twitched as if aching to close that last fraction of space between us. Both of them were moving in sync now without speaking, a subtle, intimate rhythm that made my stomach twist and my skin tingle, a rhythm that whispered that neither of them had any intention of holding back, that whatever happened next would be raw, consuming, and completely unrestrained.
“You… you’ve no idea what this does to us,” Theo murmured, his voice low, strained, almost reverent, and it made me shiver in a way that had nothing to do with the cool backstage air. Keeho’s laugh brushed against my ear as he stepped closer, and suddenly the weight of his presence pressed into my body, subtle but impossible to ignore. Every inch of space felt electric, every breath heavy with unspoken desire, and I realized, terrifyingly, that they had been waiting for this entire concert without even fully knowing it, without needing to plan it, because the pull between us had been building, taut, unavoidable, the entire time.
Theo’s other hand rose slowly, just a fraction, brushing against my shoulder as if testing the limits of distance, and Keeho leaned in slightly, the warmth of his body radiating toward mine, the quiet confidence in his gaze promising that nothing was off-limits, nothing would be polite or restrained. The anticipation coiled tighter in my chest, my pulse hammering so hard I thought it might betray me entirely, and the way they moved, in deliberate tandem, in perfect sync, made it clear that the first contact would tip everything into something impossible to stop.
“You have no idea,” Keeho whispered this time, softer, almost teasing, and the heat of his words brushed against my skin like fire, making my knees weaken and my breath hitch. Theo’s eyes darkened at the sound, tracking every reaction, every flicker of emotion across my face, and for a moment, all three of us simply existed in the same charged space, suspended on the edge of inevitability, knowing exactly what was coming but not yet daring to take the step that would undo all restraint.
And even before anything else happened, before hands could move further, before lips could meet, before the world shrank down to just the three of us, we all knew. The moment they finally made contact, the tension that had been building all night, the longing, the teasing, the need simmering in every glance and every brush of skin, would finally erupt, and nothing, not a single thought, would be able to stop it.
Summary: Going on a date with Intak was something you never expected to happen, let alone for him to confess his love for you. But what do you do when you’re not ready for a relationship yet?
Pairing: Intak(P1HARMONY) x fem!reader
Warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, fluff, comfort, flirty yet softy Intak, suggestive, talk about sharing with P1H, P1H being clingy, P1H flirting, belonging, teasing, flirting with explicit undertones, accidental nudity, sex toy reference, sexual humor, call dialogue, don’t know how to tag, MIGHT HAVE FORGOTTEN SOME THINGS
Word count: 4200
A month ago, my life had been relatively predictable. Now it absolutely wasn’t.
I work at a small design studio in the city. From the outside, it looks calm, almost too calm. The windows are always clean, the logo on the glass door is simple and minimalistic, and the lobby smells faintly like coffee and printer paper. People walking past would probably assume it’s one of those quiet, creative offices where everyone calmly sketches ideas in silence. It isn’t. Behind the scenes, it’s constant chaos. Phones ringing. Clients changing their minds every twenty minutes. Deadlines appearing out of nowhere because someone “forgot” to send an email last week. Half-finished designs covering every desk. Someone always running to the printer because a presentation needs to be finished in ten minutes. We mostly handle branding for smaller companies. Logos, packaging concepts, marketing visuals, and social media layouts. The kind of work that isn’t glamorous enough to be talked about in magazines, but important enough that businesses panic when something goes wrong. A bakery needing a new logo. A clothing store wanting an entire Instagram campaign. A local café deciding their menu suddenly looks “too boring.” It’s the kind of job where the work never really stops. There’s always another revision, another color adjustment, another “tiny change” that somehow takes two hours. But it’s steady. And steady is good.
My schedule is simple enough. Four days a week. Nine hours a day. Mondays through Thursdays from nine in the morning until six in the evening. One hour for lunch that I have, but almost never actually take. Most of the time, I’m still sitting at my desk, eating something quick out of a plastic container while staring at my screen and fixing something that a client suddenly decided they hated overnight. Sometimes I don’t even notice the time passing until the office slowly empties, and someone turns off the main lights. Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays are technically my days off. Technically. Because somewhere along the way, six idols decided my life was now partially theirs too. And unlike clients, they don’t send emails before they show up.
It started slowly. At first, they would text. Just small things. Are you working today? Did you eat yet? We’re nearby. Then they started asking if they could come over. And eventually they stopped asking. Now they just appear. At my workplace. At my house. At the grocery store, when I’m trying to decide between two brands of vegetables.
My life used to feel predictable. Quiet. Structured. Now it feels like six chaotic storms occasionally decide to pass through it. At this point, the receptionist at my office doesn’t even blink anymore when one of them shows up. The first time it happened, she nearly dropped her coffee when she realized who was standing at the front desk. Now she just sighs and points toward my workspace like this is a perfectly normal Tuesday occurrence.
Soul was the first one to truly make himself comfortable at the studio. One afternoon, I came downstairs after a meeting that had run far longer than it should have. Through the glass wall of the lobby, I could already see him sprawled across one of the waiting chairs, completely absorbed in something. By the time I walked in, he had covered three full sheets of paper. Cartoons. Everyone in the office had apparently become a character in Soul’s little universe. My boss had tiny devil horns and a pitchfork. The receptionist had giant angel wings and a halo floating above her head. One of the interns had been turned into a very dramatic superhero. And me? I was a tired raccoon holding a laptop. Soul proudly held the drawing up when he saw me. “I captured your essence,” he said.
Keeho prefers chaos from a distance. Every now and then, the front desk phone rings, and five minutes later, someone walks in carrying an entire tray of coffee cups. Not one. Not two.
But seven or eight. The first time it happened, the delivery guy just handed the tray over and pointed at the note taped to the side. ‘So you don’t die from exhaustion.’ Keeho’s handwriting. My coworkers spent the rest of the day staring at me like I had secretly been leading some kind of mysterious second life they didn’t know about.
Theo, on the other hand, operates like a silent thief. One day during lunch break, I sat down in the small office kitchen with my sandwich and phone, enjoying the rare moment of peace. A minute later, the chair across from me moved. Theo sat down. He didn’t greet me. Didn’t explain why he was there. Didn’t even look up from his phone. He simply reached across the table, took half of my sandwich, and started eating it. The entire time he scrolled through something on his screen like this was a perfectly normal interaction between two people. When he finished, he nodded once. “Thanks.” Then he left.
Jongseob somehow turned into the office hero without even trying. One afternoon, I was adjusting a logo layout when I heard three of my coworkers arguing near the printer. Something about the machine refusing to connect to the network again. Jongseob had wandered in five minutes earlier to say hello. The moment he heard the word printer, he appeared beside them like he had been summoned. Within ten minutes, he had the machine open, wires exposed, tools in his hands like he had done this his entire life. Ten minutes later, the printer worked again. No one questioned why a globally recognized idol had been kneeling on the floor fixing office equipment.
Jiung’s visits are different. You usually don’t notice him right away. He doesn’t burst into rooms or announce himself like the others do. Instead, someone will quietly point toward the window or the hallway, and suddenly everyone realizes he’s been standing there for a few minutes already. Watching. Observing. Once, I looked up from my screen and saw him leaning against the glass wall of the studio, arms crossed, casually scanning the sketches pinned to our idea board like he was studying an art gallery. He didn’t interrupt anyone. He just stood there, calm and composed, occasionally asking one of my coworkers quiet questions about the designs. For the rest of the afternoon, the entire office was suspiciously productive.
And then there’s Intak. The least subtle of all of them. One day, a delivery truck dropped off three large boxes of supplies outside the studio entrance. Before any of us could even think about moving them, Intak walked through the door. He didn’t ask what they were. He just bent down, lifted all three boxes like they weighed nothing, carried them straight into the storage room, and then returned to my desk. After that, he leaned against it with his arms crossed, looking far too satisfied with himself. Like he had just accomplished something very important. “I helped,” he said. Then he refused to leave until I agreed to eat dinner with them later that night. My coworkers still bring that moment up sometimes. Mostly because none of them can quite understand why six idols seem to treat my very ordinary, very quiet life like it’s their second home.
But the worst part? My house. They have keys. Plural. I don’t even remember when that happened. Somewhere between a late movie night and an emergency ramen dinner at two in the morning, someone apparently copied my key. Then someone copied that key. And now all six of them have access. Which means they can come and go whenever they want.
Day. Night. Weekends. Random Tuesday evenings. Sleepovers apparently included. Which is why it’s not even surprising anymore when my front door suddenly unlocks and swings open without warning. “Where’s our spokesperson?” Keeho calls from the hallway. I don’t even look up from my phone anymore. At this point, I’ve gotten used to them barging into my house like it’s a shared property. “I quit.” “You can’t quit,” Theo says immediately while stepping inside. “You signed a lifelong contract.” “I signed nothing.” “Verbal agreement,” Soul adds cheerfully as he slips past everyone and throws himself dramatically onto my couch like he’s returning to his own living room. Somewhere behind them, Intak mutters, “You’ve been feeding us for two months. That counts.” “I didn’t,” I say flatly. They just plundered my kitchen.
The six of them spread through my house like they live there. Shoes kicked off near the entrance. The fridge opens not even ten seconds after they arrive, and cupboards are inspected like they’re conducting a food inventory. Keeho stands in front of the refrigerator with the seriousness of a man discovering a national emergency. “You’re out of milk.” “Because someone drank it yesterday.” “That accusation feels hostile.” Theo is already leaning against the kitchen counter, casually opening the snack drawer like he’s done it a hundred times before. Because he has. Soul wanders off down the hallway like an excited tourist who hasn’t visited in ages. I hear doors opening one after another. My office. The guest room. The bathroom. Then, the back door, leading to the small yard. “Your house is still small!” he calls helpfully. “It’s a normal-sized house!” Jongseob at least has the decency to look slightly apologetic while opening another cupboard. Jiung moves through the space much quieter than the others. He slips off his shoes neatly by the door, his eyes briefly scanning the room like he’s taking in everything at once before settling into one of the chairs in the living room. He doesn’t touch anything yet. He just sits there comfortably, like he already knows he’ll be here a while. Intak doesn’t head to the kitchen like he normally does when we go to their dorm. He just walks straight toward the couch and drops down beside me like that was always the plan. Close enough that our shoulders bump. “You’re working too much again,” he says, glancing at the laptop on the table. “You’re trespassing again,” I reply. He ignores that completely. Across the room, Keeho closes the fridge with a sigh of disappointment. “Your kitchen is depressing.” “You ate everything.” “That sounds like a you problem.”
Soul appears in the doorway, a triumphant grin plastered across his face, holding a crinkling bag of chips that I definitely didn’t buy. He waves it like he’s presenting a rare artifact. “Is this yours?” he asks, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yes,” I reply, already knowing the answer won’t matter. “Oh,” he says, pausing just long enough to make it dramatic. Then, of course, he opens it anyway, the bag tearing loudly in the otherwise quiet house. The crunch of chips fills the air almost immediately as he starts plucking handfuls with an unspoken entitlement.
And just like that, they settle in. They stay for hours.
Keeho wanders into the kitchen, pulling out ingredients and tossing them onto the counter. “Who wants pasta?” he asks casually, like he hasn’t just invaded my living room. He hums to himself as he chops vegetables at a pace that would make a professional chef blink twice. Theo flops down on the couch, tossing a blanket over his legs and promptly taking over the remote, scrolling through every streaming service I have. He mutters commentary under his breath like I care about his opinions on every single movie I’ve already watched. Jongseob disappears into my office for a bit, emerging later with a slightly crooked shelf he claims is “more balanced now” after tinkering with it for half an hour. Jiung is quieter, more deliberate. He sits in a chair near the window, one leg crossed over the other, watching the chaos with a faint smile. He doesn’t need to touch anything to make his presence felt. Just the calm control in his posture somehow tethers the wild energy around him. Intak, being Intak, hovers somewhere between casual and territorial. He sprawls on the arm of the couch, occasionally nudging me with his shoulder, stealing chips, or leaning over to adjust Theo’s blanket with a soft smirk that makes it feel like he owns the space. Soul starts narrating everything like it’s a TV show again. “This corner is dangerous!” he declares while pointing to my coffee table. “That’s where you might trip!” Keeho corrects him. “You’re exaggerating.”
Soul shakes his head vehemently. “Not possible. People will fall. People always fall here.”
The others laugh, agreeing or teasing depending on the moment. Theo rolls his eyes. Jongseob sighs like he’s exhausted by the theatrics. Jiung simply watches, still calm, but the faint twitch of his lips betrays amusement.
They cook sometimes. They order food sometimes. Sometimes, they even fall asleep in random spots around the house. Soul on the couch curled up like a cat, Keeho draped over the dining chairs, Theo sprawled across the rug, Jongseob leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, Jiung in his chair still observing, and Intak claiming the arm of the couch next to me. They argue about absolutely nothing. Who gets which blanket. Which corner is “better” for napping. Whether chips should be eaten straight from the bag or on a plate. Sometimes it’s intense. Sometimes it’s hilarious. Sometimes it’s infuriating. And somehow, without me even noticing when it happened, they’ve integrated themselves completely into my life. Not just as friends. Not just as guests. But as permanent, uninvited, completely irreplacable extensions of my daily routine. I can’t remember the last time I did anything at home without at least one of them barging in or leaving some trace of themselves behind. And, strangely, I don’t entirely mind anymore. Even if my kitchen looks like it’s been raided by a small army and my couch has become a battlefield of limbs, blankets, and snacks, this house somehow feels fuller, louder, and warmer than it ever did before.
I had just stepped out of the shower. The towel had done its job for approximately three seconds before I dropped it on the floor, already halfway to the closet. My hair was still damp against my neck, steam trailing out of the bathroom behind me as I reached into the drawer for underwear. For one quiet second, the house was calm. Then my bedroom door opened. “Hey, have you seen—” Theo stopped mid-sentence. I froze. For a solid two seconds, neither of us moved. His eyes widened slightly in surprise before immediately darting upward toward the ceiling with exaggerated politeness. “Oh,” he said calmly. “Well. That answers that question.” “GET OUT.” “I just came to ask if—” “OUT.” Behind him, Keeho leaned into the doorway like he had heard the yelling and come specifically to investigate. His gaze flicked inside the room, and he immediately grinned. “Well,” he said casually, “this is new.” I grabbed the first shirt I could reach and pulled it over my head. “WHY ARE YOU ALL IN MY ROOM?” “I wasn’t,” Theo said defensively, raising both hands. “I was entering your room.”
“That is worse!” Keeho folded his arms against the doorframe, clearly enjoying the chaos. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “most people lock their doors if they don’t want unexpected visitors.” “I LIVE ALONE.” “Do you?” he asked sweetly. Footsteps thundered down the hallway. Soul appeared next, sliding into the doorway like a curious cat. His eyes landed on the towel on the floor first, then the closet, then me standing there pulling on shorts. “Oh,” he said. Then he grinned. “So that’s why Theo stopped talking.” “SOUL.” “I’m just observing,” he said innocently, immediately wandering inside and plopping onto the edge of my bed like this was completely normal. Jongseob followed a second later, stopping short the moment he realized what was happening. “Oh my god,” he muttered, immediately covering his eyes with one hand. “Why is everyone in here?” “Excellent question,” I said. Keeho tilted his head. “Because this is where the chaos is.” From somewhere behind them, Jiung’s calm voice cut through the noise. “What did you all break this time?” He stepped into view, tall, composed, completely unbothered, and glanced into the room. Unlike the others, he didn’t react dramatically. His gaze swept the scene once: the towel on the floor, me standing by the closet, five idiots crowding my doorway. Then one eyebrow lifted slightly. “Well,” he said mildly. “This seems like a private moment.” “THANK YOU,” I snapped. “Unfortunately,” he added, still leaning casually against the wall, “they’ve already ruined it.” Soul kicked his feet lazily from the bed. “You should’ve seen Theo’s face.” “I did nothing wrong,” Theo said.
“You walked in on her naked.” “I looked away!” “After you looked.” “ONE SECOND.”
The hallway creaked again. Heavy footsteps. Then Intak appeared behind the group. “What is everyone doing in—” He stopped. His eyes moved from Keeho to Theo, to Soul sitting comfortably on my bed, to Jongseob awkwardly covering his face, to Jiung leaning against the wall like an amused observer. Then finally to me. Standing by my closet. Barely dressed.
The room went quiet for half a second. Intak sighed. “Why,” he asked slowly, “are five people in her bedroom?” Keeho gestured vaguely inside. “We found something interesting.” Soul pointed at the towel on the floor like evidence. Jongseob still had his eyes covered. “I didn’t see anything.” Theo looked offended. “I saw the least!” Jiung tilted his head toward Intak. “You’re late.” Intak rubbed his face. Then he stepped into the room. Immediately, the atmosphere shifted. His hand briefly rested on the back of Soul’s collar, dragging him off the bed like an annoyed older brother moving furniture. “Out,” he said simply. “But—” “Out.” Soul slid off the mattress and shuffled toward the door. Theo stepped back next, raising his hands again. “Hey, I was leaving anyway.” Keeho lingered the longest, still leaning against the frame. “You know,” he said lightly, “technically, we all have keys. So this room is sort of a shared spa facility now.” Intak gave him a look. Keeho grinned and finally pushed himself off the wall. “Fine, fine.” Jongseob hurried out immediately the moment the path cleared, clearly grateful for the escape. Jiung was the last to move. As he passed the doorway, he glanced back once, calm and unreadable, before following the others down the hall.
The noise faded. For the first time in several minutes, my room was quiet again. I exhaled. Then looked at Intak. “You are changing the locks.” He leaned against the dresser, completely relaxed now that the chaos had left the room. “No, you’re not.” “Yes, I am.” “No, you won’t.” “Why?” A slow smile spread across his face. “Because,” he said, “you like having us here.” I opened my mouth to argue. And paused because, unfortunately, he wasn’t entirely wrong.
The real problem happens a few days later. It’s a normal workday. Or at least it starts like one. The design studio is unusually calm that afternoon. The big windows along the wall let in a soft gray light from the cloudy sky outside, and the usual hum of computers and quiet conversations fills the space. My coworkers are scattered around the open office, some leaning over desks discussing projects, others focused on their screens. I’m halfway through adjusting a logo layout for a client who has changed their mind for the fifth time this week. The color palette has already been revised three times, and now they suddenly want the font “a little friendlier.” Which, apparently, means starting over again.
I’m zoomed in on a tiny detail in Illustrator, carefully adjusting spacing between letters, when my phone vibrates against the desk. The sudden movement startles me just enough to make the cursor jump. 2:14 p.m. I glance down. Keeho. My stomach sinks immediately. That can’t be good. Keeho never calls in the middle of the day unless something has gone terribly wrong. I hesitate for a second before answering, already bracing myself.
“Hello?”
“Before you get mad,” Keeho says immediately. No greeting. No explanation. Just that.
I lean back slowly in my chair, staring at the ceiling tiles above me. “Why would I be mad?”
There’s a pause on the other end, long enough that I can hear noise behind him. Movement. Multiple voices. Something clattering faintly in the background.
Keeho sighs. “…Intak might have broken something.”
I close my eyes. Of course he did.
“…What did he break?”
“Well, technically,” Keeho says carefully, “we were exploring.”
My eyes open again. “Exploring what?”
Another pause. More background noise. Someone laughs quietly.
Then Keeho continues, slightly more cautious now. “One of the drawers in your nightstand.”
I sit up straighter in my chair. “…Why?”
“Well, we were looking for a charger.”
“You all have chargers.”
“Yes, but we couldn’t find one.”
“And you thought my nightstand drawer was the logical place to look.”
In the background, I hear Theo’s voice faintly. “Just tell her.”
Keeho exhales slowly, like a man accepting his fate.
“…We found a box.”
My stomach drops instantly. A very specific box.
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes.”
“You opened it.”
“Well,” Keeho says defensively, “in our defense, it looked very mysterious.”
“How?”
“It was hidden.”
“It was in a drawer.”
“Exactly.”
Before I can respond, chaos erupts behind him. Soul’s fascinated voice rings out first. “Wait, wait, this one has three buttons.”
Jongseob immediately responds. “Hyung, I’m pretty sure that’s not how you—”
A loud buzzing sound suddenly fills the background.
Then Intak’s panicked voice explodes over everything. “STOP PRESSING IT—”
The buzzing gets louder. Something hits the floor.
Keeho sighs into the phone like a tired parent. “…That’s the one that broke.”
I slowly drop my head into my hand.
“You opened a box full of sealed packages in my nightstand.”
“Well, yes, but the problem is we thought—”
“You thought they were mine.”
“…Yes.”
Another buzzing sound erupts somewhere in the background, followed by laughter. Soul again, sounding completely delighted. “Why does it wiggle like that?”
“SOUL DON’T SHAKE IT—”
Another clatter. I stare blankly at my computer screen.
“You broke them.”
Keeho clears his throat. “…Some of them.”
“How many?”
He hesitates.
“…Several.”
My voice goes completely flat. “They were still in the package.”
Silence. Absolute silence. Even the background noise disappears.
Then Keeho slowly says: “…What?”
“They were gifts.”
The silence on the line becomes heavier. Behind him, I hear Jongseob whisper quietly: “…Oh.”
Theo starts laughing.
Keeho groans loudly. “Wait, wait, WAIT.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re telling me those weren’t yours?”
I hum.
“They were sealed.”
“Yes.”
“For your friends?”
“Yes.”
The room on the other end of the phone erupts instantly.
“Oh my god.”
“HYUNG.”
“INTAK YOU BROKE HER FRIEND’S—”
“I DIDN’T KNOW—”
“You literally tested them!”
“HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW?”
Keeho finally comes back onto the phone, his voice muffled like he’s covering the speaker while chaos continues behind him.
“…Okay, that’s worse.”
“Is it?” I ask sarcastically.
“Yes.”
In the background, Theo’s voice suddenly cuts in again, much closer to the phone now. “You know,” he says thoughtfully, “if they had been yours, we would have been very supportive.”
I blink. “Supportive?”
“Yes.”
Keeho snorts beside him.
“Extremely supportive.”
Soul’s voice joins in brightly. “We could help!”
Someone coughs loudly. Jongseob, probably.
Theo continues, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “I mean, if you ever needed assistance testing anything…”
I sit up straight in my chair.
“You’re unbelievable.”
Keeho hums thoughtfully. “To be fair,” he says, “the box suggested you had very interesting taste.”
“I never even opened it.”
“That’s tragic,” Theo murmurs.
Then another voice cuts sharply through the noise. Intak. “Hyung, stop talking.” His voice sounds tight.
Theo laughs softly. “What? I’m just saying if she ever needs help—”
“You’re not helping.”
“I think I am.”
“You’re absolutely not.”
Keeho chuckles. “You should see his face right now.”
“What about his face?”
“He’s losing his mind.”
“I am not—”
“Your ears are red.”
“They are not.”
Soul gasps loudly. “Oh my god, he’s jealous.”
“I AM NOT JEALOUS.”
Theo laughs again. “Relax,” he tells him. “You said you like sharing.”
“I DID NOT SAY THAT.”
“Yes, you did.”
“That was taken out of context!”
Keeho sighs before returning fully to the call. “So anyway,” he says casually, “we’re very sorry about the broken… gifts.”
Another voice in the background adds quickly: “Very sorry.”
Then Theo again, sounding completely unrepentant. “But if you ever decide to keep the next ones for yourself…”
Keeho laughs.
“…apparently six volunteers are already available.”
I stare at my phone in disbelief. “You’re all insane.”
Behind him, Intak groans loudly. “Oh my god, shut up, all of you.”
Theo chuckles. “Look what you did,” he tells him. “You started it.”
“I absolutely did not start—”
Keeho interrupts. “…He did start it.”
More arguing breaks out. I pull the phone away from my ear for a moment as their voices overlap. Six grown men. Acting like absolute disasters in my house. I end the call before the argument can escalate any further. Then I send a single message. You’re all paying for replacements. Three seconds later, my phone buzzes again. Keeho. Worth it.
Summary: Going on a date with Intak was something you never expected to happen, let alone for him to confess his love for you. But what do you do when you’re not ready for a relationship yet?
Pairing: Intak(P1HARMONY) x fem!reader
Warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, insecurities, mental health issues, fluff, comfort, flirty yet softy Intak, suggestive, talk about sharing with P1H, P1H being clingy, P1H flirting, belonging, don’t know how to tag, MIGHT HAVE FORGOTTEN SOME THINGS
Word count: 3825
For the past months, he hasn’t stopped. Not in an overwhelming way. Not in a way that made me feel cornered. But in a steady, determined, almost stubborn way. He kept texting me good morning messages, random selfies from the studio, voice notes of him humming unfinished parts of songs, asking if I’d eaten, asking if I’d slept well, asking me if I wanted to go out again, asking me out on dates, hell, even inviting me to their studio, recording sessions, and dance rehearsals.
So here I am, sitting cross-legged against the mirrored wall of one of the many practice rooms in the FNC building, watching P1harmony practice for their new comeback. The speakers are loud enough that I can feel the bass in my chest. The air smells faintly of sweat and floor cleaner. Their reflections multiply endlessly in the mirrors, sharp movements slicing through the room in perfect synchronization.
I have met the others before, of course. Just not that often at first. Back then, it was occasional dinners after their schedules wrapped up, sometimes past midnight when they were exhausted but still somehow loud. A few movie nights at their dorm. Board games at the dining table where rules were bent in favor of whoever whined the loudest. It was fun. So much fun. But I was still a fan. I wasn’t used to seeing them like this, barefaced, hair messy, arguing over whose turn it was to wash dishes. It felt like stepping behind a curtain I had no business being behind.
But ever since Intak confessed, the invitations became more frequent. It was as if he was refusing to let me drift away too far away from him. But he also refused to separate himself from his friends. So instead of choosing between his members and me, he decided to blend the worlds together. He made sure they liked me. Made sure I felt included. And made sure I wasn’t standing at the edge. Now, as they run through the choreography again, sweat clinging to their shirts, Intak caught my reflection in the mirror. He checks to see if I’m watching. When our eyes meet, he even sticks his tongue out slightly, playfully and shamelessly. A second later, he winks, being all flirty and shit. “Yah! Focus!” Keeho’s voice cuts through the music. Jiung smacks Intak lightly on the shoulder. “You’re trying to hit on someone during practice?” They all laugh, and Intak pretends to look offended, but he straightens up anyway.
When they finally call for a break, the energy in the room shifts instantly. The intensity melts into chaos. They drop to the floor around me like exhausted children collapsing after recess. Some of them had gotten so comfortable with me that they just let their minds drift away. Theo leans back against my shoulder without asking, Soul practically folds himself across my legs as if I’m some beanbag, and someone else uses my thigh as a pillow. I don’t even protest anymore.
In the beginning, I absolutely did not let them get away with half of what they did now. But they didn’t exactly make it easy for me. Keeho treated physical contact like a social experiment. If there was even an inch of space between us, he’d close it. During one dinner, he slid into the booth beside me instead of across like a normal person, thigh pressed firmly against mine. When I tried to shift away, he followed without breaking eye contact, arm stretching along the backrest behind me, fingers brushing the bare skin of my shoulder every time he moved. Or the time he casually slung his arm around my waist during a movie night at the dorm, I nearly choked on my drink. He just grinned down at me and said, “Relax, I don’t bite,” his thumb brushing absentmindedly against my side like he was testing how fast I’d flinch. I did flinch. Violently. The others laughed for five full minutes.
Theo was worse in quieter ways, far more calculated. Once, when he was sitting too close to me on the couch, and I tried to scoot away, he hooked a finger through the belt loop of my jeans to tug me back with a lazy smile. “Where are you going?” he asked, voice soft but knowing. I swatted his hand away, heart racing so loudly I was sure he could hear it. Another time, during a late-night movie, he stretched out across the couch and let his head fall into my lap without asking. I froze instantly. He glanced up at me, eyes half-lidded, and instead of moving, he adjusted slightly closer. “You can push me away,” he murmured, knowing fully well I wouldn’t. His hand settled lazily against my hip, not gripping, just resting there in a way that made it impossible to ignore. He always touched like he had time.
Soul had no concept of personal space from day one, or maybe he just chose not to. He’d cling to me from behind, chin on my shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around my waist like I was something he’d claimed. If I tried to pry him off, he’d exaggerate a whine and tighten his grip, burying his face against my neck dramatically. “You’re soft,” he’d mumble once, loud enough for everyone to hear. I was so flustered that I almost combusted right then and there. Other times, he’d crawl into my lap during game nights like it was the most natural thing in the world, arms wrapping around my waist dramatically whenever he lost. “Comfort me,” he’d demand, burying his face against my stomach while the others accused him of cheating even though he didn’t even win. The first time he did it, my hands hovered uselessly over his back, unsure whether to push him off or pat him. Intak had stared at the scene with narrowed eyes before prying him off me with a grumbled, “She’s not your pillow.”
Jiung… Jiung was different. He was supposed to be the reserved one. Physical touch wasn’t really his thing. He didn’t initiate often, at least not with the others. But with me, he made exceptions in ways that felt deliberate. Stepping behind me to place both hands on my hips to guide me forward in a crowded hallway. Not hurried. Not accidental. His fingers lingered a second longer than necessary before he let go. He didn’t tease like the others. Didn’t smirk either. He just walked past me like he hadn’t just made my entire spine light up. Sometimes, he’d catch my wrist and gently tug me away from oncoming traffic. Oh, and he had once draped his jacket over my shoulders and adjusted the collar himself, knuckles grazing the sides of my neck just long enough to make me shiver. He noticed but didn’t comment. His lips twitched slightly, though.
Jongseob played innocent, but he’d look at me in ways that weren’t innocent at all. He would pretend to be unbothered, but one practice night, he tugged me down onto the floor beside him and rested his head on my lap, eyes closed, one hand loosely gripping the hem of my shirt like he needed to make sure I wouldn’t disappear. His fingers brushed just enough skin to make my breath hitch. He peeked one eye open when I tensed, smirking faintly before settling back down. “You’re always so aware.”
And Intak? He hated it, or at least pretended to. At first, he’d laugh along, rolling his eyes whenever one of them leaned on me or got too close. But then he’d start inserting himself into the space. Intak’s hand would slide to my waist whenever someone had their arm around me, thumb pressing firmly into my side as he pulled me subtly toward him. If someone’s head was in my lap, Intak would sit close enough that our knees touched, his hand resting possessively on my thigh like a silent claim. And when someone clung to me from behind, Intak would peel their arms off with an annoyed scoff, only to replace them with his own, his chest warm against my back, chin resting on my shoulder in a way that felt far more deliberate than he let on. “Personal space,” he’d mutter. But his fingers would hook into the band of my hoodie as he said it.
Besides that, he was the most daring. An arm draping over my shoulders. Hand resting on my knee under the table. Thumb slowly tracing absent circles as if he didn’t even realize he did it. Pulling me on his lap, chin resting on my shoulder as he talks about random things into my ear. Hands settling comfortably at my hips as if they belonged there, and so much more.
There was one night at the dorm where everything felt particularly bold. We were all crammed on the couch again, too many bodies and not enough room. Keeho’s leg was thrown over mine, his foot hooking behind my calf. Theo’s arm draped lazily over my shoulders from my left, fingers absently tracing slow patterns against my collarbone. Jongseob was half-lying across my lap, one arm wrapped around my waist, while he scrolled on his phone like this was completely normal. Soul was pressed fully into my right side, dramatic as always, complaining loudly about losing another round earlier that night. Jiung had left me alone, taking the armrest on my left, at least, that’s what I thought. Until I felt it, his hand, steady and warm, was resting low on my back. Not high enough to be casual, but not low enough to be obviously inappropriate. His thumb moved slowly against the curve of my ass as he leaned in to say something to Keeho. Every time I shifted, his hand adjusted with me, reminding me constantly that he was there. At one point, he leaned closer, over Theo, close enough that his lips brushed near my ear when he spoke. “Comfortable?” he asked quietly.
Then Intak walked in. He froze in the doorway for a second, taking in the entire picture. His jaw ticked. He didn’t say anything at first, walking over. Keeho grinned up at him. “There’s no space on the couch anymore.” Intak didn’t respond and just crouched down in front of me instead, eyes flicking over every point of contact there was with the others like he was assessing damage. Then he reached for my wrist and pulled me up from the pile in one smooth motion, ignoring the others' dramatic groans as protests. “Yah!” Soul whined. “We were comfortable!” Theo added lazily. Jongseob didn’t even try to hide his smirk at this point. Jiung’s hand slid away slowly as I stood, fingers trailing over my ass for a fraction of a second before letting the contact slip away fully. I felt every millimeter of it. The slow drag of his fingers, not an accident, just enough pressure to make it unmistakable. My breath caught sharply, chest rising before I could control it. Heat rushed through me so fast it almost made my knees weak. The worst part was that it wasn’t subtle enough to go unnoticed by the others, either.
It got quiet, then some Ohhhh’s. But Intak kept still, I could feel it without even having to look at him. The shift in the air and the way his posture changed. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure they could all hear it. Once I looked back, I noticed that Jiung was already watching me. Calm, composed, and not flustered in the slightest. But his eyes were darker. Intention was clear deep in his eyes. He knew exactly what he’d done and was waiting to see what I would do about it. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly in challenge. Intak was still holding my wrist at the time and decided that it was the best time to then guide me down to the floor, sitting with his back against the couch and pulling me between his legs. His arms wrapped fully around my waist. One hand splayed flat against my stomach while the other rested higher, just below my ribs. My back pressed against his chest. It felt like he was reclaiming me after the others made too much contact with me.
It felt like one of those omegaverse fanfictions I had read before. You know? The ones where an omega gets touched by other alphas, making their mate jealous and mad, so in return, the mate has to reclaim the omega in ways that I don’t think are appropriate for Intak to do to me. At least not in the situation we are in. I have read the craziest fanfics of P1harmony, including his. Perhaps I have had dreams of him and the others before, but we aren’t dating, and I’m still not ready for it either, so the chances of that happening any time soon are very slim. And I mean, yes, there are friends with benefits kinds of situations possible, but I don’t want to ruin the one and only friendship that matters so much to me just because of pleasure. Taking risks is too scary.
The couch went quiet for a second. Soul dramatically collapsed sideways. “Hyung’s jealous again.” Jiung just leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked down at us. His gaze lingered, observing Intak’s behavior that revolves around me. “Practice isn’t the only thing getting competitive lately,” he said mildly. Intak tightened his hold on me and rested his chin on my shoulder possessively. “You guys are annoying,” he said lightly.
I protested then. I always protested. I’d shove them off, complain about sweat, and accuse them of being clingy and not knowing what boundaries are. My face would burn every time someone’s hand lingered too long at my waist or a knee pressed insistently between mine because ‘there’s no space.” But they always stopped just enough, enough to stay on the edge around them. The worst part was that sometimes, when their hands fell away, I felt the absence and felt the heat where someone had been pressed against me. They’d call me dramatic. Say that I was overthinking it when I protested. Maybe I was, but it wasn’t just the closeness that flustered me. It was about their confidence. The way my chin would be tilted up to say something teasingly, fingers that ghosted over my arm while in a conversation, and the way they looked at me. The way Intak would watch it all before casually inserting himself between me and whoever was closest, pulling me against his side like it was instinct. Back then, every touch felt dangerous. Charged. Like stepping too close to something I wasn’t ready to fall into. I told myself I protested because it was inappropriate. But now I know it was because I was afraid of how much I liked being wanted by all of them, and how much more it affected me when Intak was the one holding me.
Now the room fills with overlapping voices. Whining about sore muscles. Arguing about choreography changes. Half of them are talking at once while the other half slowly drifts toward sleep. And then the conversation takes a turn. It always does when I am there. The teasing starts first. Then the stories. Then the bold, shameless comments that make my ears burn. I shield my face with my hands, but I’m still listening.
It still shocks me sometimes, the way they talk about past relationships, hookups, and experiences. The casual honesty. The lack of a filter. It blows my mind that they talk so much about explicit things. I mean, I don’t need to hear how they had once shared the same girl or how some of them kept sharing other girls on occasions after that.
Actually, scratch that, I do. I read fanfics all the time about stuff like that, and it’s hot being shared like that. But it’s one thing to read those things late at night in your room, fictionalized and safe behind a screen, without any of their knowledge. It’s another thing entirely to hear it come directly out of their mouth, and in real life at that. To hear them laugh about shared stories. To hear details that feel too real. Sometimes they would all look at me at once as if they were waiting to see if I would react and add something, if I would admit that I’m not as innocent as I pretend to be, or even to see whether I wanted to join in on the fun someday.
Intak would also look at me, but his expression always shifted halfway through, like he suddenly realized what the implication was. “Yah, stop talking like that,” he’d whine at the others, acting as if he didn’t like sharing. “Be normal.” They would immediately burst into laughter. “You didn’t mind sharing before!” one of them would call out without missing a beat, dragging the last word just to make it sting. Intak’s ears would turn red every single time, and he’d deny it just as quickly. “Shut up!” he’d snap, flustered in a way that only made it worse. But I knew better. He wasn’t nearly as innocent as he liked to pretend and definitely did like to share from time to time. I’d heard plenty of stories back in college, late-night confessions, drunken honesty, things that were never meant to be secrets. And it hadn’t stopped there. The guys were more than happy to tell me about how Intak had shared with some of them on multiple occasions. They would fill in the gaps more than necessary without any shame, describing past relationships in too much detail and what they are like behind closed doors, as if I needed a full report. And it wasn’t just about Intak that they would talk, no, it was also about themselves, as if I needed to know all the juicy details about every single one of them. I didn’t, but maybe a small traitorous part of me was listening a little too closely. They’d look at me while they said it, too. Like they wanted to see how I reacted. As if they wanted to know if I could picture them in that kind of state. Sometimes Intak would glance at me during those conversations, trying to read whether I was uncomfortable. Or curious. And that’s what made it heated. Because beneath the embarrassment, beneath the flustered denials, there was something else in his expression. Like he didn’t actually mind the others knowing, and perhaps wanted them to ask him for it to become a recurring situation with me when or if we started dating. I didn’t always want to hear all the details, but again, that small traitorous part of me wondered what it would be like to be part of a story they’d tease each other about one day. That thought burned hotter than the teasing ever did.
Even with all of this, all the warmth, all the teasing, all the clear effort Intak put into keeping me close, I hadn’t changed my mind about relationships. Not yet. But I did start going to therapy. It was a quiet decision. One I didn’t tell many people about at first. I needed help untangling the mess in my head before I could even consider loving someone the way they deserve. Bit by bit, it started helping. I still have a long road ahead of me, though. Intak knows about it. Sometimes he picks me up after my appointments without asking too many questions about the sessions. Just opens the passenger door for me and drives. He always makes sure I eat afterwards. Fresh, homemade food. Turns out, he’s actually a good cook. Which still surprises me, considering he once nearly burned down his dorm kitchen in college trying to make ramen. If my session started later in the day, he’ll ask if I want to hang out. Alone, or with the others, it was always my choice. But no matter who we were with, he found small ways to stay close. He’ll take my hand casually, like it’s nothing. Trace tiny shapes into my palm with his fingertip. Stars, hearts, random letters… A silent reassurance to tell me that he was there and that he won’t rush me or leave me.
When their practice finally ends, Soul suddenly springs to life like he’s been recharged. He jumps up and down dramatically before grabbing my hands and yanking me to my feet. “Dinner!” he announces. Before I can object, he’s dragging me toward the door. Keeho laughs from behind us. “You have no other choice now. Once Soul clings to someone, he won’t let go.” I glance back and catch Intak pouting, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He looks like a spoiled child who didn’t get the toy he wanted. Honestly, they all have moments like that. There are times I feel like I’m parenting six grown men. A single mom of six adult children. It’s exhausting, especially when we’re at a restaurant trying to decide what to order from the menu.
“What should we get?” Jongseob asks, staring at the menu like it personally offended him. Suddenly, everyone was talking over each other again. “No, not that.” “We had that last time!” “I want something spicy.” And then, like clockwork, they all turn their heads toward me at the same time. Six pairs of eyes. I look back at them with big eyes, confused. “What is it?” “Oh, nothing, just that maybe you should choose,” Theo suggests casually. “We’ll all get the same thing.” Intak nods immediately, almost too eagerly, like an obedient dog that was desperate to follow his master. The image of him being that obedient sends a dangerous thought through my head that I quickly try to bury. The others notice his expression and erupt into teasing again. He tries to play it cool but fails miserably. They were laughing so hard that some of them fell off their chairs, or were crying. Flustered, I quietly say what I want to eat. They all agree in unison as if they were in the army. It’s slightly terrifying.
When the waiter arrives, they look at me again. So I speak for all of us. After the waiter leaves, they clap softly and cheer as if I’ve just accomplished something monumental. “Official spokesperson!” Soul declares. I laugh despite myself. And for a brief second, sitting there while being surrounded by loud voices, tired smiles, and Intak’s knee bumping gently against mine under the table, I don’t feel like an outsider or a fan. I feel like maybe I’m slowly becoming part of something. It scares me. Because the more I let myself belong, the harder it will be to walk away if I ever have to.
Summary: Going on a date with Intak was something you never expected to happen, let alone for him to confess his love for you. But what do you do when you’re not ready for a relationship yet?
Pairing: Intak(P1HARMONY) x fem!reader
Warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, hurt, insecurities, mental health issues, fluff, comfort, flirty yet softy Intak, don’t know how to tag, MIGHT HAVE FORGOTTEN SOME THINGS
Summary: Going on a date with Intak was something you never expected to happen, let alone for him to confess his love for you. But what do you do when you’re not ready for a relationship yet?
Pairing: Intak(P1HARMONY) x fem!reader
Warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, hurt, insecurities, don’t know how to tag, MIGHT HAVE FORGOTTEN SOME THINGS
Word count: 776
I was walking home in the rain after a date night with Intak. The pavement was slick beneath my shoes, streetlights reflecting in broken lines as raindrops kept falling, as if they had something to say. My jacket was too thin for the weather, but I barely noticed. My mind was louder than the storm anyway.
He was known as the playboy from campus back when we were in college. Now he is an idol in the group P1HARMONY. I was a pre-debut stan because obviously, I was going to support my friend. But when he asked me on a date a few days ago, I was kind of shocked, but I said yes, because it's never a bad idea to try something new.
We had a lot of fun. Real fun. The kind that sneaks up on you when you’re not trying to impress anyone. We watched a movie together, sitting close enough that our arms brushed every now and then. I pretended not to notice, even though my heart jumped every time it happened. After that, we got ice cream, standing outside under the shelter while the rain started to fall harder. He laughed when I complained about the cold, offering me his sleeve like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Later, we wandered through a few small stationery shops. I told him how much I loved being creative, how certain pens made writing feel different, how notebooks felt like promises waiting to be kept. Intak listened with that quiet focus of his, nodding, asking questions, picking things up just to see what caught my eye. I remember thinking how strange it felt to be seen like that, without having to explain myself.
For a few hours, I forgot who he was to the world.
He was just Intak to me, just like he had always been. Warm, kind, and teasing softly, walking beside me like this was something ordinary.
When it was time to go our separate ways, we stood under the glow of a streetlight while the rain softened around us. He hesitated, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes searching my face like he was deciding whether to leap or stay still. Then he confessed. He told me he liked me. That he had for a while. That tonight only made those feelings clearer. And in that moment, my chest tightened, not with excitement, but fear.
The thoughts hit all at once, sharp and unforgiving: Why is Intak confessing to me? This has to be a misunderstanding. Why would someone like him like someone like me? What about me is even good enough?
Insecurities are cruel like that.
They don’t care who’s standing in front of you. They don’t care how sincere the confession is. They twist warmth into doubt and turn kindness into something you feel unworthy of receiving.
They suck.
They ruin moments you’ve secretly wished for, convincing you that you’re a risk, that loving you would be a mistake someone else will regret later.
I looked at Intak and felt my throat tighten. He was being genuine. There was no performance, no charm meant for cameras, just honesty, raw and unguarded. And that made it worse. Because I knew if I said yes while feeling this broken, this unsure of myself, I would only end up hurting him.
So I didn’t.
I told him the truth, even though it hurt to say out loud. I told him that I liked him too, that he was kind and handsome, but that I just wasn’t in the right place to accept something so real without doubting it every step of the way. At least not now.
He listened. Of course he did. He nodded, smiled at me sadly, and then hugged me as if he accepted that I needed time.
Now, walking home alone, rain clinging to my hair and soaking into my clothes, I replay everything, the movie, the laughter, the stationery shop, the way his voice softened when he spoke my name.
Somewhere in my earbuds, one of P1HARMONY’s songs played, Intak’s voice familiar yet suddenly painful, reminding me of what I walked away from.
I feel sorry for him. Not because he confessed, but because he met me at a time when I’m still learning how to believe that I’m worth loving without fear.
I hope Intak finds the right person someday soon. Someone who can look at him and say yes without flinching. Someone who doesn’t question why he chose them.
And maybe, someday, when the rain doesn’t feel so heavy, I’ll be able to believe that I deserve that kind of love too.
