Masterlist - The Seven Acts Series
Book Five/Seven
Part 6
WC: 52k
PAIRINGS: Nishimura Riki x Female Oc
CONTAINS: Romance, Coworkers, Strangers to enemies to friends to lovers (wow that's a mouth full), Low key duchebag Niki for a while, Insecurity, Burn out, Idol world, emotional damage, Lots of angst almost too much for me to handle since I hate it. Jealousy, Chaotic Kid, Depression, Anxiety, Yearning, Tension, Drama, Lil bit of Comedy, Enha ensemble cameos, Confessions. Shadow smut. Lmk if I missed anything.
an: Story Six of Seven. Just love it when people are spontaneous.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6
Ni-ki (Few Weeks Later)
Ni-ki stood backstage, arms crossed, jaw tense, heart pounding far harder than he’d like to admit.
From where he was positioned, he could see everything. The stage lights dimmed just beyond the curtain, the camera crew scrambling into position, and just a few feet away, Jiyoo sitting gracefully across from the host of Late Night Soul as her interview was broadcast live.
She was radiant.
Not overly polished or robotic. She wasn’t hiding behind a perfect smile or carefully scripted lines. She was herself in the moment, cheeky, witty, softly flirtatious with that charm she didn’t even realize she had. The audience laughed with her, clapped when she teased the host, and leaned forward when she spoke about her music with passion in her voice.
And Ni-ki?
He was losing his mind. Quietly. Completely.
Because damn, she had changed.
Not into someone new. Not into the idol they told her to be.
But into herself.
More confident. More grounded. Brighter. Sharper. Still gentle, still kind, but no longer shrinking into her hoodie or letting people talk over her. She looked comfortable in her skin now, unafraid of her own voice.
And a part of him, one he tried really hard not to think about knew he’d had something to do with that.
He hadn’t remade her.
He just...helped her find her edges. Polished what was already glowing beneath the surface. He saw her. And somewhere along the way, she started seeing herself too.
God, she’s amazing.
His fingers curled into his sleeves.
This wasn’t like before, not just a project, a paycheck, another job. He was past pretending. Past brushing it off. Past denying the way his chest ached every time she looked up at him during practice like she trusted him with everything.
Because tonight they were about to perform Crave Me together.
Live.
Under red lighting, wrapped in shadows and heat, as she sang live vocals and he touched her the way only he was allowed to, the way they’d practiced over and over. Hands on her waist, her back, her neck. Eyes locked, breath shared, legs tangled.
All of it. Every detail. Every step choreographed to look like tension, like lust, like longing.
Except it wasn’t acting.
Not for him.
Not anymore.
This performance was a heartbeat away. And the whole world was about to see what he saw every time she walked into a room.
Chemistry? Please.
He craved her.
There was no acting required. Not when the music started. Not when she stepped into the shadows, mic in hand, head high, hips swaying with that deadly confidence she’d been born to wield.
Not when she looked toward the wings at him and gave the tiniest, most private smile.
He exhaled slowly, and he stepped forward.
The countdown had begun.
And Ni-ki knew two things.
One. This performance was going to change everything.
And Two. He had never wanted someone the way he wanted her.
Jiyoo
The bass echoed beneath her heels as the red lights flared overhead, casting everything in velvet shadows and heat.
The crowd was quiet. Captivated.
And Jiyoo.
Jiyoo was on fire.
The opening lines of Crave Me slipped from her lips like silk, low and breathy, her voice curling around the melody as she walked across the stage with purpose. Every movement felt rehearsed, sure, but it didn’t feel routine. Not tonight. Not with him standing at the center of the stage, waiting for her.
Ni-ki.
She hadn’t even looked at him yet and her skin already buzzed with anticipation.
When she finally reached him, their eyes met and something in her chest jerked. His gaze locked onto hers like she was the only thing that existed, not the lights, not the cameras, not the thousands watching live. Just her.
The choreography began.
They moved in sync, sharp and fluid. Her fingertips dragged across his sculpted chest, exactly like they’d rehearsed but it didn’t feel like rehearsed. It felt real. His skin was warm under her touch, his muscles tightening slightly, and when her palm flattened against him, he didn’t look away.
He never looked away.
His eyes bored into hers, burning with something heavy and unreadable. And she oh God she felt breathless. Unsteady. Drunk off the tension.
It’s just the dance, she told herself.
It was the music. The lyrics. The heat in the room. That’s all.
But then came the lift with his hands on her hips, his grip firm but gentle, and when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, leaning into him as the spotlight circled their silhouettes she swore she saw something.
Something different.
Like he wanted her.
Not just the dancer. Not the idol.
Her.
It was in the way his brows knit just slightly as their faces neared, the way his hands settled like he was memorizing her shape, not just positioning her for a pose. And then there was the way he pulled her into him, even after the beat hit. Subtle. Intentional.
He wants me, her mind whispered. Maybe. A little. Right?
And she wanted him back. She didn’t know when it started. Maybe that night in New York, maybe when he defended her, maybe long before. But she did.
She wanted him.
But that was stupid, right?
He was three years older. More mature..okay well maybe not that. Grounded seeing as he knew who he was. His life was neatly outlined, already unfolding like a well structured routine. He knew who he was, where he was going.
She didn’t even know what she’d be doing in four months.
There was no way he liked her. Not like that.
Right?
Then why?
Why was he holding her like this?
Why was his hand pressed to the small of her back like she already belonged to him?
Why was their final pose with her arm looped around his neck, leg curled around his waist, forehead nearly touching his so full of heat, of ache, of promise?
And why? Why did she want to close the distance?
The audience erupted. But all she could feel was him. Still holding her. Still close. Still not letting go. The moment the lights dimmed and the last note of Crave Me faded into the sound of a roaring crowd, Jiyoo felt Ni-ki’s hands still on her.
Not inappropriately. Not possessively.
Just…still there.
His fingers rested against the curve of her back, his other hand lightly at her waist as if the performance hadn’t ended, like his body hadn’t received the message that they were no longer supposed to be this close.
Her breath hitched, just slightly. Her chest rising and falling faster than it should’ve against his that was moving just as fast. It wasn’t from exertion. Not this time.
She didn’t dare look at him in the eyes, not with the way her pulse was thrumming through her entire body, not with the memory of his eyes burning into her during the performance, the way his grip tightened when she sang directly into his space.
Instead, she took a shaky breath and forced herself to move. Her hands dropped from around his neck, her leg sliding back to the floor with practiced grace. She steadied herself outwardly composed, internally unraveling.
And as the lights came back on she plastered on a bright, blinding smile. One of her best. One that hid everything.
“We did amazing,” she said, voice a little higher than usual, her tone too cheerful to match the way her skin still tingled from his touch.
Ni-ki blinked like he’d just come back to earth. His eyes searched hers for something, but he only managed a dazed, “Yeah…great job.”
Great job. Like this wasn’t the most intimate performance of their lives.
She didn’t give herself time to linger.
“Thanks,” she said quickly, her smile softening just enough before she turned and stepped offstage, walking straight past the camera crew, the staff clapping loudly still, the glowing lights of the backstage hallway.
She needed to breathe.
She needed to not think about the way he looked at her like she was already his. The way his hand never faltered. The way her body didn’t want to move away.
She made it to the dressing room, closed the door, and leaned back against it for a second.
Silence.
Her reflection stared back at her in the mirror flushed cheeks, tousled hair, lipstick just a little smudged. She looked like a girl who had been kissed senseless.
But he hadn’t even kissed her.
Not even close.
She exhaled a laugh and half breath, half disbelief and started stripping out of her performance outfit. The fabric clung to her skin, sticky with sweat and tension and something she didn’t want to name.
She changed quickly, slipping back into her usual clothes. A loose blouse, leggings, sneakers. Something comfortable. Something normal. Anything to pull her back down from whatever cloud her brain was floating on.
But even as she tied her hair up and packed her things, she couldn’t stop feeling him.
His hands. His stare. His breath.
Act like you crave me?
She didn’t have to act.
As she stepped out into the hallway, she kept her head down, waving off the makeup artist who asked if she needed touch ups.
She just needed to get back to the hotel. To shower, to be alone. To think.
Because if she didn’t process this soon, she was going to start thinking about what it would actually feel like if he kissed her.
And that was a dangerous thought she wasn’t ready for.
Because while their relationship had changed from tense to relaxed, hurtful to kind. There was still a lingering doubt in the back of her mind.
Ni-ki
He was stunned.
Still standing there, right in the middle of the stage, long after the lights had gone out and the cameras had cut.
The applause had faded. The music was gone. The crowd started to disperse. Jiyoo was gone.
And Ni-ki couldn’t move.
He could still feel her hands on him, the warmth of her breath against his jaw, the ghost of her body pressed to his, like the performance had been carved into his skin. He had danced on a thousand stages, with hundreds of artists, and yet nothing absolutely nothing had ever felt like that.
“Ni-ki!”
The sharp call of a director jolted him.
He blinked once, twice, and turned his head.
“Wrap up notes in ten,” the director called from across the floor. “Costume team wants to..”
But Ni-ki was already moving. He didn’t respond. He didn’t care.
He was gone.
He took off down the corridor, weaving past equipment cases, sidestepping production staff, his steps fast, borderline panicked. He didn’t even know what he was doing he just had to see her. He had to say something. Anything.
You were incredible.
You looked beautiful.
I’ve never felt that way before.
What the hell are we even doing?
His mind flooded with all of it. All the words he never let himself say before. Words that hovered on the edge of his tongue now like they’d been waiting for the right moment to crash out.
When he reached the dressing room door, he didn’t knock.
He pushed it open and she was gone.
His chest tightened.
The room was dark now, lights off, makeup table wiped down. Her outfit from the performance had been bagged and folded neatly. Her water bottle was gone. Her phone charger too. It was silent.
She had already left.
Damn it.
He stood there for a second, hand still gripping the doorframe, jaw tense, heart pounding in a way that scared him.
It was fine. He’d find her. They still worked together. He had to.
He turned and started walking again, faster now. Straight out of the venue, ignoring the assistants calling after him, ignoring the team waiting to debrief. He shoved his hoodie on, pulled the strings tight, and slid into the back seat of a black car.
“Hotel,” he said.
The driver nodded.
He sat in silence the entire ride. Knuckles white where they gripped his knees, mind spinning with too many images of her. Her on stage, smiling, glowing, looking at him like she saw something in him he wasn’t ready to believe existed.
He didn’t know what he was going to do when he got to the hotel. Didn’t know what he was going to say.
But he couldn’t go another night pretending this was just work.
He had to see her. Even if it was a mistake.
He had to see her.
He knocked before he could talk himself out of it.
And then immediately regretted knocking, because now he had to wait. And waiting meant thinking. And thinking meant spiraling.
The hallway was quiet, dimly lit, the patterned carpet muffling his nervous shifting. He fiddled with the strings of his hoodie, replaying every second of their performance in his head like it was a movie he didn’t want to stop watching.
Then.
The door opened.
And he choked.
Jiyoo stood there barefoot, hair still damp from a shower, wearing black athletic shorts and an oversized but cropped band tee that stopped just above her stomach. No makeup. No lights. Just her.
God, she was beautiful.
Not in the dolled up, spotlight way. But in the real way. The kind of beautiful that crept up on you and made it impossible to look away.
“You okay?” she asked, voice soft, a little amused.
He nodded.
Like a fucking idiot.
She raised her eyebrows. “You…wanna come in?”
He nodded again.
Jesus Christ. Get it together, man.
She stepped aside, and he followed her into the room, trying to focus on anything other than her legs or her bare face or the way she moved like she wasn’t even aware of how captivating she was when relaxed.
He sat stiffly on the edge of the hotel sofa like he wasn’t 26 years old with a career and a name and a life. She disappeared into the kitchenette for a moment, then came back with two drinks and a snack pouch, tossing one his way before plopping beside him, legs curled beneath her.
“You’re not bad,” she said, deadpan.
He blinked at her. Eyes against his will scanning her pretty self head to toe “At what?”
She smirked. “Dancing.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Gee, thanks.”
“I mean, I guess you’re decent,” she said with a teasing shrug. “Could use some improvement.”
“Right,” he muttered, dry. “From the girl who tripped over a stage monitor two weeks ago.”
She gasped, smacking his arm. “You promised never to speak of that.”
He let the smallest smirk pull at his lips. “Mm. I lied.”
She giggled, full and bright, and handed him one of the rice snacks before opening her own. They sat in a companionable silence for a moment, chewing slowly, the room warm and quiet around them.
She was breathtaking on stage, commanding, fierce, untouchable. But like this?
Like this, she was everything. And he didn’t know what to do with the feeling growing in his chest. He had never been good with his own emotions. Example A, the way he treated her before. Example B. Right fucking now.
“So,” she said after a while, turning to look at him, “what are you doing after this?”
His heart pounding hard against his chest. Whole body feeling like it was vibrating with sheer energy alone. She was asking about him. “After…the show?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Final concert’s tomorrow. We fly back to Seoul in a few days. I figure you’re already booked for something new.”
He exhaled slowly, setting his drink down on the side table. “I’ve had a few offers.”
“Yeah?”
“One’s…big.” He leaned back against the cushion. “Six member boy group. New tour. Sharp style, all the drama. They’re called RIOT7.”
She raised her brows. “Ooh. Edgy.”
He snorted. “They wear mesh and eyeliner. One of them has an eyebrow piercing.”
“Of course they do.”
He hesitated. “I also got a local offer.”
“Oh?”
He didn’t tell her the local offer was her. That he’d been asked to stay on as her choreographer for the rest of her comeback possibly beyond. It hadn’t been official yet, but it was there. Hanging in the air like an unspoken choice.
“Well,” she said, smiling a little, “I think you should take the offer with RIOT7.”
Something in his chest tightened. Was she not even going to consider asking him. Because if she did, he wouldn't hesitate to stay. He turned to look at her fully. “Trying to get rid of me already?”
She laughed, nudging his leg with her knee. “No. Not even close.” Then, quieter, “I’d love for you to stay.”
His breath caught.
“But,” she added, “no one should hold themselves back when they want something more.”
He stared at her. She looked away, busying herself with her half empty snack bag, pretending like she hadn’t just said something that made his whole body feel too tight.
And he agreed. He did.
But also what if more wasn’t the flashy job or the global tour or the screaming fans?
What if more was this? This girl with bare feet and a teasing mouth and a heartbeat he felt in his own chest?
Was he really going to turn down offers from the biggest names in the industry…over some girl he fell for?
Maybe. Maybe he was.
Because the thing he thought at the beginning. That working with Jiyoo would push his career?
It wasn’t true.
She didn’t push his career.
She changed him.
And now, sitting here beside her, quietly spiraling with a bag of rice snacks in his lap and the soft hum of the city through the hotel window, Ni-ki realized he had a lot of thinking to do.
Because the tour was ending. And he wasn’t sure how to let her go.
Jiyoo (A while later)
Back in Korea, the city felt louder somehow.
Or maybe she was just quieter.
Not in the way she used to be, not small, not timid, not lost. But more settled. More rooted. Like someone who had grown into her skin without asking permission this time.
So much had changed over the last month.
And not just the city outside her window.
She had changed.
Tour had a way of shaking the dust off a person, but for Jiyoo, it did something deeper. It didn’t just test her endurance it reintroduced her to herself. Somewhere between the interviews, the rehearsal halls, the lights and crowds and sleepless nights she found her again.
Her confidence. Her voice. Her choice.
Even if it was happening now so late, so close to the end of it all it still meant everything.
Because the little girl who let others control her narrative, who smiled through decisions made for her, who wore outfits she hated and sang in keys too high because it sounded more marketable, was gone.
And in her place stood a woman. A woman who said what she wanted and meant it.
She liked who she was now.
Maybe she wouldn’t always. Maybe she’d still have bad days. But for the first time in her adult life, she wasn’t afraid of herself.
Over the past few weeks, it had all started to click.
The way Ni-ki would send her those proud, quiet looks from across the studio when she stood her ground. The way he hyped her up before shows, in his dry, slightly smug tone that always made her roll her eyes and smile behind her water bottle. The dance that changed everything when she realized she didn’t have to act like she craved him, because she already did. The night he showed up at her hotel room, standing in the hallway with nervous eyes and telling her his job offers without saying what he was actually thinking.
He hadn’t told her what he chose.
And it sucked, hearing him talk about leaving. It stung, more than she let on. But it was fine.
Fine. Yeah. Fine.
She only had three months left as an idol anyway.
Her contract was expiring, and she wasn’t signing again.
She’d already decided. Quietly. Firmly.
Maybe she’d buy a new house in Seoul, somewhere a little removed from the chaos. Maybe she’d take a year to breathe. Maybe she’d write songs for someone else and help new voices find their own sound the way she finally found hers.
But the idol life?
She was done.
She didn’t want to chase every trend, dance until her knees gave out, smile when she wanted to scream. Not anymore. She had earned her way out.
And more importantly she wanted it.
She was confident now. Not loud about it. Just certain.
She had one last concert in a few weeks. Her final goodbye to the fans. After that, it would just be modeling gigs, brand schedules, award shows and then freedom.
She was choosing it. Herself.
No manager. No company exec. No schedule planner.
Just her.
She stared out the window of her apartment, the sky beginning to tint with evening light, and let the quiet hum of the city settle around her.
Her phone buzzed behind her, probably another request to do an appearance or an endorsement, but she didn’t turn around to check.
Not yet.
Instead, she closed her eyes, let the breeze from the balcony wash over her, and whispered a soft thought into the air gentle and unspoken.
Thanks, Ni-ki.
Because even if it didn’t end the way she hope. It didn’t start right either.
And still, somehow.
It mattered.
Ni-ki ( A Month Later)
The bass echoed through the mirrors of the dance studio, a steady pulse that vibrated in Ni-ki’s chest as the six members of RIOT7 ran the routine for the sixth time that afternoon.
He stood at the front, arms crossed, brow furrowed in concentration, watching each member hit their mark. They were good. Sharp. Edgy. Full of chaotic energy and hunger, the kind that made idols magnetic before they even stepped on stage.
And he was good at this. He loved this.
He loved shaping movement, loved watching artists find their rhythm, their body language, their style. Helping them own it. He was made for this part of the industry.
But even as the music played and the team moved like liquid fire across the floor.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her.
It had been a few weeks since they got back to Seoul. A few weeks since she told him to take the job.
A few weeks of silence.
No calls. No texts. Not even a voice memo or a stupid idol meme from her in the middle of the night like she used to send after shows.
And yeah, sure, he could’ve reached out first. He should have.
But every time he picked up his phone, some dumb invisible weight pressed down on his chest. And he didn’t know what to say. Or how to say it. Not without risking the thread thin line he wasn’t even sure they had left.
She had told him to go. To chase more. To not hold himself back.
And so…he did.
And it sucked.
He missed her like hell.
He missed the sound of her voice when she rambled about choreography or tea flavors. He missed her messy lyrics scribbled on post-its stuck to her water bottle. He missed her teasing. Her laugh. Her soft voice when she said thank you after he helped her.
And the worst part? They hadn’t even kissed.
Not once. Not even a brush of lips. Not even a whisper of almost.
And he was this whipped.
The music ended with a heavy beat. The members panted and clapped, collapsing onto the floor around him. Ni-ki gave a few notes, offered a lazy thumbs up, then told them they were done for the day.
He barely heard their replies as he grabbed his bag and headed out into the cool Seoul evening.
His house wasn’t far, a quiet, sleek place tucked away in a nicer neighborhood. Minimalist furniture, clean lines, soft lighting. It was the kind of home people dreamed of having at his age. The kind that screamed stability and success.
And it felt empty as hell.
He dropped his bag at the front door, kicked off his shoes, and sank onto the couch with a low groan, raking a hand through his hair. The TV remote lay beside him, untouched, until he grabbed it and started mindlessly flipping through channels.
Then he froze.
There on screen was her.
The camera panned across a packed stadium, fans screaming, lights flashing, and there she was.
Jiyoo.
Standing center stage in a glittering black outfit, mic in hand, body still as the intro to her final song began. Her eyes were shiny but fierce, lips curved into the smallest, most breathtaking smile.
Her final concert.
Live.
He sat up straight, heart suddenly thudding loud in his ears.
And without thinking, he clicked on it.
He didn’t recognize the opening notes of the song, one from an older album, maybe something buried deeper in her discography. But it didn’t matter.
Because the moment he saw her on that screen, standing in the middle of the stage in a floor length black dress that shimmered with every breath of light, Ni-ki forgot how to move.
Her voice washed over him. Smooth. Controlled. But there was something under it, a tremble, a truth that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t fear.
It was freedom.
And when the song faded out and the crowd’s applause slowly softened to silence, she didn’t speak right away.
She just stood there. One hand on the mic. One hand at her side. Breathing.
And then, in that soft, low, alluring tone of hers that had the power to hush millions, she said:
“Thank you...for staying with me. For listening. For letting me grow.”
The stadium fell completely still.
Ni-ki sat forward on his couch, elbows on his knees, watching like the TV might vanish if he blinked too hard.
“These past seven years have been...more than I ever dreamed of. But also more than I ever expected. There were times I was tired. Times I felt really, really alone.”
A pause.
“Being a solo idol is beautiful...but it’s also exhausting. And somewhere along the way, I realized it’s not my passion anymore.”
His throat tightened.
“I want to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry if this hurts to hear. And I hope you’ll still support me even when I’m not on stage all the time. I have other dreams now. I want to chase things that scare me. Maybe one day...I’ll have a family. Fall in love.”
Ni-ki’s heart stuttered. She gave a small, shy smile. “Or at least get a dog.”
The crowd laughed gently, many cheering, some already crying.
“My contract ends her very soon” she continued, voice unwavering, “and I won’t be renewing it. I’ve made my decision, and I hope you all understand.”
More cheering. Loud. Deafening. A love so loud it almost made him cry.
“But…I do have one last song. It’s not released. I wrote it recently completely by myself. The kind of song that comes straight from the center of your chest.”
She stepped closer to the mic. Her hands gripped it. Her chin lifted. “It’s called She’s Gone.”
The crowd exploded.
And then…silence again. The kind that feels sacred. Heavy. The lights dimmed, everything bathed in blue and gold.
Just her. Alone in the spotlight.
And when she started singing Ni-ki felt everything.
I used to smile just to keep the peace Bit my tongue so I wouldn't seem 'too much' Kept my dreams locked under seven keys While they told me who I’m 'meant to be'—enough’s enough
Each line hit like a blade. Every word was something he knew she had lived.
He’d seen her smile when she was tired, nod when she wanted to scream, apologize when she shouldn’t have, go through seven years like they were locked doors.
He watched her grow from someone hiding under layers of pressure into someone who owned herself.
She’s gone, the one who played it safe Gone, the one who gave it all away Now I’m rising, wild and free…
Her voice cracked but she didn’t falter. Not once.
She meant every word.
Ni-ki swallowed thickly, heart in his throat, fingers pressed to his lips. Something in his chest felt like it was breaking open and blooming at the same time.
This was her. Not the stage version. Not the one managers molded.
This was Jiyoo. Raw. Real. Untouched.
And he wanted it all.
Her courage. Her smile. Her messy, unfiltered voice. The soft version of her in shorts and a cropped tee. The version who teased him. Who looked at him like he wasn’t just another choreographer.
He wanted to be the one who heard her late night voice. He wanted to be the one she built a family with. He wanted to stay. For her.
The final verse began, and Ni-ki’s eyes blurred as he watched her sing her soul out lit from within like the sun finally cracked her open.
And as she sang that final line.
She’s gone and I’m finally ME…
He didn’t move.
Not when the crowd screamed. Not when she bowed her head and closed her eyes, face damp with tears. Not when the lights dimmed and the screen began to fade.
Because all he could think was.
I want her. All of her. And I’m not leaving.
Jiyoo
She was free.
Like really free.
No hidden strings. No stage schedule. No afterparty to smile through. Just her. And a night sky outside her window. And silence.
And it felt amazing.
Better than she ever imagined.
The concert the day before had been everything. Electric. Emotional. A little chaotic in the best way. The love from the fans both in person and flooding every corner of the internet was overwhelming in the most beautiful way.
She didn’t cry on stage. Not fully. Not until the lights went down. But now, thinking back on it, she could feel the weight lifted from her chest. She had done it. She’d said everything she needed to say.
No regrets.
She left her heart and soul out there on that stage, in that final bow, in the notes of She’s Gone, a song she still couldn’t believe she had the courage to sing live.
It wasn’t just a goodbye to the career they built for her it was a tribute to her younger self. To the scared girl who smiled too much and spoke too little. To the teenager who swallowed her dreams to make room for other people’s expectations. To the idol who thought shrinking was the price of success.
That girl was gone.
And she didn’t mourn her. She honored her.
That song was for her. For the girl who finally said. I’m enough.
She glanced toward the window, half wondering if her dad saw the concert. He hadn’t reached out. Not that she expected him to. It had been over a year since their last phone call, and the silence still carried weight.
But maybe…Maybe one day he’d see it. Maybe one day he’d see her.
And if not? That was okay too.
Because tonight, Jiyoo had everything she needed.
Coffee flavored ice cream in her favorite chipped ceramic bowl. A fuzzy blue blanket pulled up to her chin. Soft pajamas with mismatched socks. And a Netflix home screen she had zero intention of navigating any time soon.
She sank into the couch with a little sigh, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders and taking a spoonful of the ice cream, letting the cold sweetness melt on her tongue. The city lights twinkled softly outside her window, and for once, they weren’t calling her.
She didn’t have to be anywhere. Didn’t have to prove anything. Didn’t have to perform.
She was just the woman named Roe Jiyoo.
And that was more than enough for her heart to rest.
Her phone rang.
At first, she didn’t even move. Too busy scraping the last of her coffee ice cream from the bowl like it owed her something. But then she glanced at the screen and nearly dropped both the spoon and her heart.
Ni-ki.
His name lit up her phone like a flare in the night. Bold. Unexpected. Loud in her silence.
She was a little confused as she stared at the phone debating what to do. Was he…calling her?
It had been weeks. Not a text. Not a call. Not a single 'good job' after the concert. And now?
Her thumb hovered for half a second before she answered, trying to sound like her voice wasn’t racing just as fast as her heart.
“Hello?”
“Are you busy?” His voice. Deep. Calm. A little raspy. God, she hated how much she missed it.
“No,” she replied slowly, still in shock. “Why?”
“Wear something comfortable. I’ll be outside.” Click.
She stared at her phone like it had personally offended her. “That’s it? No context?” she muttered to herself. Not even a please? She blinked again, still blushing.
What was happening?
Her mind sprinted through every possible explanation. Did something happen? Did he miss her too? Was this a goodbye? A late congratulations? A-
“Ugh, stop spiraling bitch,” she mumbled as she stood up and tossed her blanket aside.
Jeans. T-shirt. Sneakers. Simple. Quick. She grabbed her jacket on instinct and threw her long hair into a ponytail with a flick of her wrist. Her heart pounded as she stared at her reflection in the mirror by the door.
Get a grip. It’s just Ni-ki. It’s just a man. A very attractive man.
She stepped outside.
And there he was.
Leaning against his car like a scene from a movie. Black shirt. Loose jeans. Hands in his pockets. Face unreadable as always stoic, calm, cool. But his eyes. His eyes were stormy.
They met hers instantly. Like he’d been waiting for her to appear just so he could finally breathe. And something inside her chest twisted.
“Hey,” she said, a little too softly.
He didn’t reply. Just moved. Walked around the car, pulled open the passenger door for her without a word, and waited.
Jiyoo blinked. “You’re not even gonna tell me where we’re going?”
Still no words. But the corner of his lip tugged in the smallest smirk, just for a second.
She sighed and climbed in, sliding into the passenger seat. He shut the door behind her gently, like he always did, then rounded the front and got in.
Without a word, the engine rumbled to life. And just like that, they were pulling off into the night. No explanation. No destination. Just silence and the tension of something waiting to break.
And she didn’t know why. But her heart had never felt louder.
They drove in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
It was them.
Window down slightly, wind curling through her hair. His hand resting near the gear shift, casual but close enough to notice. She glanced at him once or twice from the corner of her eye, but Ni-ki was unreadable eyes on the road, jaw set in that way that said he was thinking too much and too fast.
And then they pulled in.
Jiyoo blinked as the car slowed and parked in front of-
“Is this...?”
She sat up straighter, eyes scanning the flickering sign that barely read NEON BLAST ARCADE. Half the letters were dead. A few machines inside looked like they hadn’t worked since 2011. The windows were a little dusty. And there was a sad looking claw machine standing by the door like a defeated old man.
She turned to look at him, completely caught off guard. “Are you serious right now?”
Finally, finally, she saw his lips twitch. It wasn’t a full smile, but it was enough for her. “Get out of my car,” he said blandly.
“Rude,” she muttered, but she was already opening the door.
She was halfway to the entrance before she realized he hadn’t followed. She turned back, hands on her hips.
Ni-ki hadn’t moved. Just stood by his door, leaning slightly, watching her with that unreadable expression.
“Come on, grumpy pants,” she called, walking back over.
And before he could protest, Jiyoo reached out and grabbed his hand.
She didn’t let go.
Not even when he stiffened slightly. Not when he looked down at their hands like it meant something. Not even when he glanced at her with that barely there look of surprise.
She just smiled and tugged him forward. Straight to the front desk where the teenage clerk handed over two chipped plastic cups filled with shiny gold coins. She still didn’t let go.
“Let’s go,” she said, already leading him past the broken claw machines and the sad DDR setup.
Finally, she stopped at a slightly beat up air hockey table. Her favorite.
She dropped his hand.
Ni-ki looked at her with a mix of amusement and curiosity as she cracked her knuckles and positioned herself at one end of the table like she was walking into battle.
She glanced up, chin tilted, eyes sharp.
“Don’t let me win again,” she said. And that was it.
The challenge was set. The storm between them quietly built again this time, wrapped in the flicker of neon lights, the scent of old popcorn, and the echo of coins clinking into plastic cups.
Ni-ki
Of course she knew he let her win that first time they went to the arcade. She always knew.
It was in the way she grinned every time she scored a point, in the way her eyes sparkled brighter with each ridiculous cheer she let out. Her hair bounced in her ponytail, her body leaned over the table with dramatic flair, and she was absolutely killing him.
Ni-ki stood at the opposite end of the air hockey table, pretending he was focused, pretending like the glowing puck flying at him wasn’t secondary to how her lips curled when she teased him. He slapped the puck back half heartedly, watching her eyes track it. She was fast. But he was faster. Always had been.
He could win. Easily.
But he didn’t.
He let her slap the puck into his goal with a dramatic cheer, throwing both arms in the air like she’d just won Olympic gold. She was acting like she just climbed Everest. It was obnoxious. It was adorable. It was killing him.
“I knew it,” she said, wagging her finger. “You’re letting me win again.”
“No, I’m not,” he deadpanned, sliding the puck back toward her.
“Liar,” she sing songed, reaching for it.
He raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I just suck.”
She gave him a full, slow once over from across the table. Then tilted her head with mock seriousness. “Oh no. You’re good at everything, unfortunately. Especially looking hot while brooding in silence.”
Ni-ki swallowed hard. His ears turned pink.
“I don’t brood.”
“You’re brooding right now,” she shot back, laughing as she grabbed the puck and served again.
He caught it. Slammed it back just hard enough to make her jump and yelp, giggling as she blocked it with a swift move of her wrist.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she muttered, trying not to laugh.
He gave a quiet snort, eyes fixed on her. “You’re lucky I’m letting you win.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she teased. “Keep saying that to protect your pride.”
He leaned forward on his end of the table, one hand braced as he watched her, gaze darker now but still dancing with amusement. “You know what happens when I stop holding back?”
She paused.
The smile on her lips wavered, not gone just flickering. “What?”
He didn’t answer. He slammed the puck so fast it ricocheted off the sides and flew past her.
She blinked. “Hey!”
He smirked, a real one this time, and it damn near knocked the breath out of her.
“Point for me,” he said smoothly. “Okay rematch,” she snapped, grabbing the puck with new determination.
The next ten minutes were chaos.
Coins clinking, dramatic yelling from her, deadpan responses from him, and more laughter than Ni-ki had heard from himself in a long time. She was radiant, flushed from running around the old arcade, jumping from game to game. Skeeball, basketball, one of those rhythm games with the glowing pads.
They played everything.
And somehow he followed her every time.
She dragged him around by the wrist like she owned him, like there was never a question of if he’d follow. Only when.
She did own him.
He didn’t mind.
And when she finally pulled him to a sad old photo booth tucked in the corner of the arcade, he didn’t say no. Just ducked in beside her, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh in the cramped space. Her perfume hit him like a soft wave. Vanilla and something sweet and warm like a memory he didn’t want to let go of.
They made faces for the camera. He kept it cool. She didn’t.
She stuck her tongue out, threw peace signs, leaned into him like they’d known each other forever. And maybe they had, in some weird, cosmic sense.
Click.
Click.
Click.
And then that last photo she turned toward him at the last second, grabbing his jaw and squishing his cheeks. He looked shocked. She was laughing.
When the photos printed out a minute later, she squealed.
“Look at your face!” she cackled, holding the strip up.
He took it from her fingers gently, looked at it like it meant something more than a dumb souvenir.
Maybe it did. And when she was tucking the photo into the case of her phone, he snuck his hand into the photo booth dispenser and quickly tucked the second strip into his pockets.
When she turned to look for another game, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. Lightly. Softly. Barely a touch.
She paused. Looked up.
Ni-ki’s voice was quieter now. “I missed this.”
Her smile faltered. “Me too.”
There was something heavy hanging in the air now. Something they hadn’t named yet.
“You still like coffee ice cream?” he asked suddenly.
Her brows rose. “Always.”
He nodded once, like that settled something deep inside him. And then he said, “Good. Let’s go get some.”
And just like that, she followed him, hand brushing against his, steps light, heart louder than ever.
-
You might be wondering why she’s at his house.
Ni-ki wonders the same thing, kind of but not really. Because he knows exactly how it happened.
They went out for ice cream after the arcade, like two normal people who hadn’t spent weeks dancing around each other, pretending their hearts weren’t clawing out of their chests. But when they pulled up to the little shop near the river, there were cameras. Fans. Too many people.
Too many eyes that didn’t deserve to see her the way he saw her.
She didn’t even seem bothered. Just gave a small shrug and told him they could try somewhere else. But he wasn’t interested in dragging her through the city just to find another place. So he said he had better snacks at home.
She raised an eyebrow.
He told her he had strawberry ice cream, gummies, three different types of chips, and snacks from Japan that she had mentioned once during rehearsals and probably forgot.
She laughed.
He told her to get in the car.
She kept laughing.
He said he’d lock the doors and not let her leave until she had a good time.
Her eyes sparkled, and she said, “Fine, you weirdo.”
And now here she is. In his house. On his couch.
Eating strawberry ice cream from his freezer.
She’s cross legged, shoes off, mismatched socks on, swinging her feet like a kid without a care in the world. His couch swallows her in the softest way, and her oversized tee is slipping off one shoulder, revealing the delicate slope of her neck and that ridiculous little freckle he never noticed before.
Ni-ki’s losing his mind.
His mouth waters, his jaw clenches, and he hasn’t heard a single word she’s said for the last three minutes. Because all he can see is her.
Her long lashes. Her smile. Her pretty little lips stained pink from the ice cream. The way her tongue darts out every now and then to catch the melting edges from her spoon. The way her voice hums lightly as she talks about something he should be paying attention to.
He’s not.
He’s staring.
And she doesn’t even notice at first until he says her name.
“Jiyoo.”
His voice comes out lower than usual, thick with something she’s never heard from him before. A growl under the surface. A confession waiting.
She pauses her motions and looks at him.
Sharp eyes.
Pretty face.
Bare shoulder.
And Ni-ki breathes out slow. His heart pounding.
“Look at me,” he says again, voice rough, heavy.
She does. She turns her full attention on him, like she always does. Like there’s no one else in the world.
And then he asks, no teasing in his voice this time, no sarcasm, no games just pure, desperate honesty, “Do you wanna kiss me as bad as I wanna kiss you?”
She freezes. A flood of color rushing to her face, and her breath stuttering slightly. He feels his face doing the same, and he thanks God that his skin is so pale that it barley flushes.
Then the corners of her lips pull up. Just the tiniest bit. Her voice is soft but clear when she says, “Yes.”
That’s all he needs.
His breath stutters, and then his body moves on instinct, closing the space between them in a heartbeat.
And when his lips meet hers.
finally...
Finally.
The whole world goes quiet.
Jiyoo
Jiyoo is pretty sure the ice cream is on the floor.
She thinks she heard the spoon clatter against the hardwood somewhere to her right. But honestly? None of it matters.
Because Ni-ki is kissing her.
Correction. Ni-ki is on top of her, between her legs on his very expensive couch, and his mouth is doing things that absolutely obliterate every rational thought she’s ever had. Her hands are gripping his shoulders like she might fall off the face of the earth if she lets go. Her knees are bent on either side of him, pressing into his sides, and he’s not being gentle.
He’s not asking. He’s taking.
And God, she’s letting him.
His lips are soft but unrelenting, his kisses deep, urgent, and far more intoxicating than any drink she’s ever had. One of his hands is cupping her jaw, thumb brushing just under her cheek as he tilts her head to get deeper, closer. The other hand is splayed across her waist, fingers digging slightly into her hip as if to anchor himself, like he might fall if he lets go.
His body is warm. Solid. Real against her own.
And he's kissing her like he's drowning. Like she’s the air he needs to breathe again, like she’s not just the girl he fell for, but the one he’s been waiting for without even knowing it.
Jiyoo's heart is doing somersaults in her chest, pounding against her ribs, and her head is spinning. She’s been kissed before on camera, in music videos, in dramas with lighting and direction and multiple takes. But this? This isn’t acting. This isn’t rehearsed.
This is her first kiss.
Her first real kiss. With someone she’s in love with.
And oh God.
Oh God!
She’s in love with him.
Yes, she’s in love with Nishimura Riki.
The realization hits her somewhere between the second kiss and the third. Somewhere between the press of his lips and the way he groans low in his throat like he can’t get enough of her.
And then he pulls back, just an inch.
She chases his lips without meaning to, but he catches her chin and makes her look at him. His dark eyes are stormy, pupils blown wide, breathing ragged.
“You’re too quiet,” he murmurs, voice rough, teasing but there’s a low edge in it, something that makes her stomach flip.
Before she can even form a reply, he dips back down and bites her bottom lip just enough to make her gasp, to make her toes curl and he smirks when she lets out a soft, needy sound.
“There you go,” he whispers against her lips.
And then he kisses her again.
Deeper. Hungrier.
Like he wants to memorize the shape of her mouth, the rhythm of her sighs, the way she trembles just slightly when he brushes his tongue against hers. His hand slides up her side, fingers grazing the edge of her ribs through the fabric of her tee, and her hands move up on their own, curling into the back of his hoodie, pulling him closer closer closer.
There’s so much heat between them she wonders if the whole house will catch fire. Her skin’s on edge, buzzing with every brush of his hand, every shift of his weight, every stolen breath.
It’s messy. Desperate. Perfect.
Her lips are swollen. Her heart is gone. Her whole soul is spilling into his mouth.
And he just keeps kissing her like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Like he wants her like he wants every inch of her. Like he doesn’t care about time, or careers, or contracts, or endings.
Because this? This is their beginning.
Her fingers are tangled in his dark silky hair.
And he’s kissing her neck like it’s a prayer he’s memorized.
She doesn’t know when her head tipped back or when her breath started coming out in short, trembling exhales, but Ni-ki’s mouth is on her throat, and God she’s seeing stars. Every press of his lips, every graze of his teeth, every slow, lingering suck leaves heat racing up her spine and her thighs clenching around his hips.
It’s too much. It’s not enough.
Her grip tightens when his tongue flicks over that one spot just below her ear. She didn’t even know it was sensitive until he found it, and now she’s arching under him like a live wire, and the sound she lets out?
Yeah, he hears it.
He groans low against her skin, hips twitching against hers, like she’s the one driving him insane.
His hands are everywhere his palms sliding over her waist, thumbs brushing her ribs through her shirt, then anchoring her in place like he’s afraid she might slip away. His lips leave warm, wet trails, soft and sharp all at once, down her jaw and across her collarbone, until she’s marked in shades of rose and red and storm.
He’s painting her in the colors of him, and she doesn’t want him to stop.
“Ni-ki..” she breathes, fingers curling tighter in his hair.
He finally pulls back, chest rising and falling as fast as hers, lips red and kiss bruised, his eyes dark and dazed. His gaze drops to her mouth like he’s trying to memorize the way she looks wrecked and flushed beneath him.
And then, for a second, he freezes. Just…looks at her. And she knows something’s shifted. Something’s real.
He lifts a hand, brushes his thumb over her jaw so tenderly it makes her heart twist, and then he speaks.
“This…” His voice is rough, raw. “This isn’t just a one time thing, Jiyoo.”
Her breath catches.
He exhales, like he’s trying to steady himself, like he’s scared. And that alone makes her eyes soften, because Ni-ki doesn’t get scared. He’s calm, unreadable, untouchable.
Except not now.
“I meant what I said,” he continues, his eyes locked onto hers. “I want everything with you.”
Everything.
“I know the way we started was…shit,” he admits, lips twitching in frustration. “I was a jerk, and I treated you like a job. I thought if I kept things professional, I’d be fine. I thought if I stayed cold, I wouldn’t feel anything.”
His hand slides to her cheek, thumb brushing against her skin. “But you made me feel everything.”
The words are soft. Sincere. Like they’ve been sitting on his tongue for weeks, waiting for a moment like this to finally break free. His eyes are the softest shes every seen them as they burn into hers, and he looks so happy but also upset at the same time. Like its weighing deeply on him.
Serves him right. He was an asshole.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry for everything I did that hurt you. You didn’t deserve it. You’re…you’re the best thing that’s happened to me in years, and I didn’t even see it at first.”
Her eyes are wide. Her heart is in her throat.
“I don’t want to leave,” he confesses, “I don’t care about the tours or the offers or the hype. I just,” He swallows hard. “I just want you.”
And then he’s quiet.
Just watching her.
Still lying between her legs, still holding her like she’s fragile and fire all at once. But now, waiting. Like he’s on a cliff’s edge and she’s the only thing keeping him from falling.
And all Jiyoo can think is; How is he the one scared of rejection?
When he’s the man who changed everything. The man who helped her become the woman she always wanted to be. He didn't change her whole life, but he helped push her in the direction she always wanted to go. And while he had hurt her before, he had saved her more times than she could count.
He's the man who changed himself without her asking. He's the one apologized first. The man she’s been in love with for longer than she even knew.
She just stares up at him, her fingers still in his hair, her lips still tingling from his kisses.
And as her heart pounds against his, she knows what she’s going to say.
Ni-ki
He’s bracing for impact.
Mentally mapping the quickest path out the door if she decides this was all a mistake. His jaw’s clenched, hands planted on either side of her like he can somehow shield himself from the hit he’s sure is coming.
Because really, why wouldn’t she kick him out? Why wouldn’t she say, hey, the lip locking was fun, but I’m just not that into you?
He’s already preparing himself for the sting.
But instead she pushes at his chest and he sits back willingly.
And climbs into his lap.
What?
His brain short circuits for a second because all at once, she’s wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing herself into him like she belongs there, like she’s been trying to get here for weeks.
His hands settle instinctively on her hips, but his heart is thundering in his ears, and all he can think is; God, she’s so soft. So warm. So fucking his.
She pulls back a little, just enough to cup his face with both hands, her fingers gentle as they frame him like he’s something worth holding.
And then, softly, almost teasingly, she says, “I thought you were an asshole.”
He lets out a strained laugh, shoulders sagging with guilt as he winces. “Fair.”
“You hurt my feelings,” she adds, lips twitching like she doesn’t want to admit it but needs to anyway.
“Really fair,” he mutters, and the chuckle that follows is half shame, half relief that she’s even saying anything at all.
But then her expression softens.
And her voice changes.
“But you also…helped me,” she says, her thumb brushing his cheek. “You saw me. Before I even saw myself. You pushed me, and I hated you for it, but then…I started wanting to prove myself. Not to the industry, not to the fans. To you.”
He swallows.
“I fell for you somewhere in the middle of all of it,” she continues. “The dances. The stupid bickering. The way you always watched me when you thought I wouldn’t notice. I crave you, Ni-ki. And it was never just an act.”
He closes his eyes. Because hearing that, hearing that, wrecks him. It changes everything he's ever thought. Shes forgiving, shes kindness, shes love. She shouldn't choose him after everything. But she is, and he wont take it for granted.
“I’m scared,” she admits, voice barely a whisper now. “I’ve never liked someone this much. I’ve never wanted someone so bad I didn’t care if I embarrassed myself over it.”
He opens his eyes again and there she is.
Oh.
All flushed cheeks and fluttering lashes, bold and terrified in the same breath, looking like the only thing tethering her to the ground is him.
“I’m gonna say something crazy now,” she warns, a nervous smile curling at her lips.
He leans in just slightly, heart hammering so loud he’s sure she can hear it. “Okay,” he murmurs.
She pauses. Just for a beat. One breath. Then says it. “I love you.”
Silence.
It stretches between them, warm and heavy and aching, as his world tilts on its axis.
And just like that he’s hers.
He’s still staring at her, trying to convince himself he really heard it.
I love you. She said it. This sweet, chaotic, talented, stubborn girl just said she loves him and something in him snaps.
Not in a bad way. In the way that makes every piece of him fall into place.
“Sweetheart,” he breathes, and it comes out low, fond, rough around the edges. Her eyes widen just a little, lips parting like she’s surprised at the nickname.
Yeah, that’s right. Sweetheart.
Because she is.
But not Korea’s darling. Not the industry’s plaything. Not the perfectly polished idol everyone thinks they own.
No.
She’s his.
Only his.
And he’s a possessive man.
“Sweetheart,” he says again, firmer this time, dragging the word out like he wants to brand it on her. “You said you love me. Damn, you’re doomed now.”
She giggles, nose scrunching the way it always does when she laughs too hard, and goddamn he wants to kiss that sound straight off her face. Trust he will.
“I’m serious,” he murmurs, voice dropping again as his hands curl around her waist tugging her closer. “You’re never getting rid of me.”
Then he chuckles low and dark and so full of promise it makes her shiver.
“I love you too,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Been in love with you for a while.”
And he means it.
With every damn breath in his body.
He kisses her nose. “I love how you talk with your hands.”
Her cheek. “I love how you always act tough but cry during animated movies.”
Her forehead. “I love how you work harder than anyone I’ve ever met.”
Her jaw. “I love how you always ask if I’ve eaten, even when you forget to eat yourself.”
Her temple. “I love how you never stop fighting for yourself, even when you think you’re a mess.”
Each kiss is soft, loving, lingering like he’s memorizing her all over again.
“And I really, really love how you look at me like I hung the damn moon,” he whispers against her skin, finally letting his lips settle at the corner of her mouth.
She’s giggling again, face flushed, eyes glassy, and he’s completely gone.
His soft girl.
His sweetheart.
His everything.
And now that he has her, there’s no way in hell he’s ever letting her go.
Jiyoo
She can barely think with the way he’s looking at her.
All sharp jaw, flushed ears he thinks he's hiding well, and eyes darkened to something wild and very hungry.
Her heart stutters against her ribs, skin buzzing from his touch, his words still echoing in her chest like a song she never wants to stop hearing.
And when she whispers, soft and daring, “Then show me…show me how much you crave me…” She barely gets the words out before she’s suddenly in the air with a yelp.
He’s thrown her over his shoulder like she weighs nothing, one arm wrapped tight around her thighs, and the other smacking her ass with a low grunt of mine.
She’s giggling, kicking playfully as her hair spills down his back, fists pounding weakly on his shoulder. “Nishimura Riki!”
He doesn’t answer.
Doesn’t need to.
He’s already storming up the stairs like a man possessed, like he’s waited too long and he’s not about to wait another damn second.
Her laughter melts into breathless little gasps, giddy and light and so in love.
And when he reaches his room, pushes the door open with a slam of his foot and drops her onto his bed like she’s everything he’s ever needed.
She knows.
She knows this is it.
Not just the kiss, not just the heat that crackles between them, not just tonight.
But him.
Them.
Two hearts that found each other when they didn’t even know they were looking.
And when he leans over her, gaze tender but burning, voice low and shaking as he says, “You’re mine, sweetheart. All of you,”
She reaches for him like it’s instinct, like her body already knows the answer.
And just before the lights dim, before the night wraps them up in something deeper than just passion. She whispers against his lips, “And you’re mine too.”
-
The sunlight creeps in slowly, spilling over the sheets like honey. Warm, golden, lazy.
Jiyoo stirs beneath the weight of a thick arm draped around her waist, a leg tangled with hers. Her nose is tucked somewhere near his collarbone, his skin faintly scented like soap, sleep, and whatever heaven is made of.
She doesn’t open her eyes just yet.
Her body aches in all the best ways, not from anything rushed or wild, just from feeling. From being touched like she meant something. From being held like a secret. From kissing like it was the only language they both understood.
She smiles against his skin.
He kissed her like he craved her. Because he did.
When she finally lifts her head, it’s to the sight of his lips parted slightly, lashes resting against his cheeks, hair falling messily over his forehead. Ni-ki, the one everyone called cold, broody, untouchable…looked like a dream beside her. A sleepy, peaceful dream.
Her fingers twitch with the urge to touch. Trace his jaw. Push the strands of hair back. Memorize.
Instead, she just stares. Soaks it in.
How did she get here? How did she go from crying in hotel rooms and hiding in green rooms to waking up beside someone who saw every version of her and still chose her? No makeup. No lights. No choreography. Just her.
He shifts in his sleep, arm pulling her in tighter like he knows she’s thinking too much. She lets out a quiet laugh, soft and breathy.
“You’re clingy,” she whispers.
His voice, gravelly and low, mutters, “Then stop staring at me.”
Her breath catches. She freezes.
He’s awake?
Ni-ki peeks one eye open, catches the horrified look on her face, and smirks a real one, lazy and smug. “Been feeling your eyes on me for like ten minutes.”
“You’re so-”
“Charming? Gorgeous? The man of your dreams?”
She pushes at his chest. “Annoying.”
He laughs, soft and sleepy, then grabs her wrist and pulls her right back in. “Mm. You didn’t seem to mind last night.”
Her face flushes hot, and she hides in his chest again, groaning.
His voice is quieter now, lips near her temple. “You good?”
She nods. “I’m happy.”
Silence settles between them. Not heavy. Not awkward. Just easy. There’s no rush. No work. Just warmth and stillness and the steady rhythm of his heart beneath her ear.
Her legs curl closer to his. His fingers draw lazy circles on her spine.
And for the first time in years, she doesn’t feel like she needs to perform. She doesn’t need to be Korea’s Sweetheart. She doesn’t need to impress or apologize or hold herself back.
She just needs this.
Him. Her. This moment. And everything ahead.
(Time Jump)
Over the next few weeks, they slip into something easy. Something real. Something that feels like it had always been there, just waiting for the right time.
They practically live together now not on purpose, not officially, but in the kind of way that no one questions anymore. Not even themselves.
And Ni-ki never took the other job.
He didn’t even call them back. The moment Jiyoo whispered stay, even without saying it aloud, he already knew he was done searching. She was the thing he didn't realize he'd been moving toward all along.
They start learning the little things.
Like how Jiyoo sings when she washes dishes. Sometimes under her breath, sometimes loudly and off key, especially if she thinks he’s not listening. But he always is. He’ll lean against the doorway, arms folded, letting her soft voice fill the space like sunshine, like home.
Or how Ni-ki walks around with wet hair and sleepy eyes in the morning, his hoodie falling off one shoulder, face still creased from the pillow. Jiyoo pretends not to stare, but she always does. Unfairly attractive doesn’t even cover it. It's a crime, really. She tells him this once, and he only blinks at her and shrugs. “Guess you’ll have to arrest me.” He’s not even joking. He’s too sleepy to joke. Which makes it worse.
She finds one of his old dance notebooks tucked behind the bookshelf when she’s helping him reorganize. The pages are filled with rough choreography notes, phrases only he could understand. But in the margins…there are doodles. Of her.
Little caricatures of her scowling. Her smiling. Her hair in a ponytail. One that’s just her with “STOP YELLING AT ME” written over it in bold. She almost cries. He tackles her before she can take a picture.
He finds her playlist one night while they’re cleaning the kitchen. It’s titled “No I’m Not In Love” which is already suspicious. He scrolls through it. Song after song, soft vocals, aching lyrics, a few playful ones all of them sound like him. Or like how she looks at him when she thinks he’s not paying attention.
When she realizes what he’s listening to, she lunges for the phone.
He just smirks. “You’re so in love.”
“I will smother you with a pillow.”
“You can try.”
They chase each other around the kitchen table for fifteen minutes before collapsing in a heap of limbs and laughter.
This is what they are now.
Late night convenience store runs for snacks they don’t need. Her hand always slipping into his. His jacket always falling over her shoulders. Him mouthing the lyrics to her songs during rehearsals, and her standing in the wings at his late night studio sessions with coffee and sleepy eyes.
No big declarations. Just the quiet certainty of choosing each other every day.
And even if the world still sees her as Korea’s Sweetheart and him as the untouchable prodigy, they know the truth.
She’s his soft girl. He’s her stormy eyed anchor.
And they wouldn’t trade a thing.
Jiyoo
Jiyoo had always been polite. Kind. Professional. It was second nature after years of idol training, and with her being in her final two weeks of being an idol she really didn't care what was happening around her. She just wanted to go to her dorm or Ni-kis place, cuddle after being together for a few months and sleep.
So when the male idol from the opening act started chatting her up after rehearsal; throwing smooth lines her way and complimenting her stage presence she smiled back, nodded where appropriate, and tried to keep the conversation moving.
She didn’t even notice the shift right away.
But Ni-ki did.
Across the room, Ni-ki’s whole demeanor had changed. His shoulders were squared, jaw tight, and that usual lazy cool in his eyes had sharpened into something unreadable. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t step in, didn’t say a word.
But his silence was loud.
By the time they made it to her dressing room backstage, thankfully empty for now, she could still feel the tension radiating off him like a storm cloud.
The moment the door shut behind them, she turned, arms folded and brow raised. “You good?”
Ni-ki didn’t answer. Just dropped down on the small couch, elbows on his knees, eyes flicking up at her with that unreadable intensity again. He wasn’t mad. Not exactly. But he was something.
She smirked, walking over and crouching in front of him between his legs. “Was that…jealousy I saw out there?” she teased, nudging his knee with her finger. “Are you getting all cold and broody because some guy flirted with me?”
He still didn’t speak. Just looked at her. Quiet. Tense.
That’s when it hit her.
It wasn’t just jealousy. This wasn’t about ego or territory or wanting to throw punches.
It was fear.
The deep kind. The kind that settled in your bones once you finally had something or someone you couldn’t bear to lose.
He had her now. And it scared him.
Her teasing faded into something softer as she rose up onto her knees and gently cupped his face. His jaw tensed under her touch, but he didn’t move away.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.
His eyes fluttered closed for a moment like he was trying to believe her, trying to anchor himself in her voice.
She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead, then another to the corner of his mouth. “You’re stuck with me.”
Ni-ki finally exhaled, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her into his lap, holding her close like he needed the physical proof she was still his.
“I’m not afraid of him,” he murmured, voice low. “I’m just…scared someone else might offer you the world, and I won’t be enough.”
Jiyoo smiled against his temple, resting her cheek there. “You didn’t offer me the world, Ni-ki. You gave me home and that's way more important.”
And he held her tighter.
Ni-ki
Ni-ki warned her. Multiple times, actually.
“Don’t get overwhelmed,” he’d said coolly, hands on the wheel as he drove.
“They’re a lot,” he added when they pulled up to the mansion at the edge of Seoul.
Jiyoo had just smiled, adjusting her ponytail and clutching the strawberry cheesecake she brought. “You say that like I didn’t spend 7 years in green rooms with 12 stylists and 3 screaming producers.”
But she wasn’t prepared.
No one could be prepared.
Because the second they stepped inside Jungwon’s enormous modern home, it hit like a wave.
“UNCLE NI-KI!!!” screamed Jaehee, pink glitter tutu flaring as she sprinted across the marble floor. The 6 year old threw herself at him like a WWE champion.
Before Ni-ki could even respond, Layla the golden retriever tackled him from the side in her own version of a warm welcome, tail wagging so hard she knocked over a basket of toys.
And just like that the world became chaos.
“Jaehee, shoes!!” Yeji called from the kitchen island, where she was balancing a baby bottle, a phone call, and two very active babies in her lap.
Jiyoo blinked. Was that…Minjae trying to climb the bookshelf?
Jungwon appeared next, quietly sipping tea with dead eyes. “I said no running.”
“Then reinforce the walls,” Yeji snapped lovingly.
Sunghoon appeared holding Yuna like a doll, wearing a baby bib around his neck like it was part of his scrubs. “Where’s Rinnie?”
“Making Jay cry in the car, probably,” Weiyin said sweetly from the couch, chewing on a cookie as she gave Jiyoo a wave. “Hi! You're even prettier in real life.”
Jiyoo opened her mouth to respond only for Jake to practically slide into frame, socked feet squeaking on the floor.
“NO ONE PANIC,” he shouted. “THE CHEESECAKE SURVIVED.”
Seorin appeared behind him with a deadpan expression, holding a half smeared baby wipe and saying something in enhlish that sounded vaguely threatening.
Weiyin was seated calmly next to Airi, her large baby bump visible under her cardigan. “I told you to put the cake in the fridge first, not parade it like Simba,” she said, voice soft, but laced with steel.
“Ni-ki,” Sunoo appeared next, arms crossed, fabulous, “why didn’t you warn her you’re bringing her into a reality show pilot episode?”
“I tried,” Ni-ki muttered, one arm holding Jaehee, the other protecting Jiyoo.
But when Jiyoo turned to look at him, all she could do was laugh.
Because this?
This was love.
Loud, hilarious, beautiful love in every corner.
Layla sat obediently at Jake’s feet, Minjae was now wearing Jungwon’s glasses upside down, Heeseung was feeding everyone sugar cookies, and Rinnie did eventually enter the house dragging Jay by the collar and threatening to make him watch High School Musical 3 again.
And in the middle of it all, Ni-ki looked at her.
His hand brushed down her arm, grounding her.
“You good?” he asked lowly.
She smiled, eyes shining.
“I’m great,” she whispered. “Your family’s insane.”
He smirked, tugging her toward the couch where everyone was settling in. “Yeah. But now they’re yours too.”
Jiyoo months later
It was a quiet street. The kind where the air was just cool enough to need a hoodie, but the sun was still warm on her cheeks. The city buzzed gently around them the cars humming past, a man with a coffee in one hand and a briefcase in the other, a couple walking their shiba inu on the opposite side of the sidewalk. It was peaceful.
Jiyoo liked peaceful.
She never used to.
There was a time when quiet meant failure, when stillness made her itch. She had lived off adrenaline, off schedules and strict diets and red dots blinking on cameras. She used to count calories instead of stars, memorize lyrics instead of her own heartbeat, and change her personality depending on the room she walked into.
But now?
Now she counted steps with Ni-ki. Now she memorized the different sounds he made when waking up, groans, yawns, the sleepy gravel in his voice as he pulled her close. Now she changed nothing, because with him, she didn’t have to.
Their fingers were laced between them, swinging gently. His hand was rougher than hers, but familiar. Steady. Right where it belogned.
He always walked on the outside of the sidewalk without thinking about it. He still wore the same black chrome hearts hoodie from their third date, the one she always tried to steal when he left for tour. His hair was damp he hadn’t dried it fully again. She told him he’d catch a cold. He told her to stop mothering him. She’d kissed him on the cheek. He hadn’t argued after that.
She glanced at him now, his sharp profile softened by the light breeze.
God, she loved him.
That truth no longer scared her. It didn’t burn like it used to. It didn’t feel like a risk or a gamble or something she had to guard. It just was. Big and all encompassing and easy, like breathing.
She hadn’t bought a house.
When her contract ended, she hadn’t done what people expected. No dramatic comeback, no solo rebrand. No giant YouTube vlog reveal. She packed up her dorm, looked at her savings, and turned to Ni-ki as he tied his shoes and asked her casually, “You just wanna live with me?”
She didn’t even blink. “Yeah.”
Now they had a little home together. A cozy house with too many throw blankets and mismatched mugs and framed photos of Layla, their friends, and the children, and blurry polaroids from random date nights.
She didn’t need marble floors or penthouses or stylists anymore. She had Ni-ki’s sweatpants, music playing through his speakers, and her own bed with him in it. That was enough.
Sometimes she’d wake up before him just for a moment. And she’d watch the rise and fall of his chest, the little frown he wore even in sleep, and think.
I made it out. And this is what I chose.
Jake cried watching her last concert. Bawled like a baby, apparently. Seorin had proof and she showed the video over ramen one night, and Ni-ki had cackled until Jake threw a chopstick at him.
Jaehee had declared she was going to be a global idol and insisted Jiyoo be her vocal coach. “But only if Auntie Seorin is my manager,” she said with all the sass a six year old could muster, “because she’s scary and no one will yell at me.”
Jiyoo had choked on her water.
They were a mess. A perfect mess. Her life now had chocolate stains on the couch, baby socks in her purse, chaotic family dinners with five languages shouted across the table, and a man who kissed her before flights like he was terrified to be away from her but always came back.
He still traveled for work, choreographing for new groups, sometimes going on the road for weeks. But they made it work. Not because they had to. Not because they were trying so hard.
But because love made things easy.
Not effortless, but easy in the way it fits. In the way you want to try, even when you're tired. In the way the distance doesn't scare you because your hearts are in the same place.
And Jiyoo?
She was writing now.
Not performing. Not debuting. Writing.
She had taken a position at her old company as a songwriter. She kept her head down, let the new trainees shine, and created music that healed her first.
She wrote about longing and girlhood and late night ramen and the sound of rain. She wrote love songs now, ones that sounded a little too much like Ni-ki, and her producer teased her relentlessly for it.
But she didn’t mind.
Because this was the life she chose.
Not the one chosen for her. Not the one handed to her like a script to memorize.
This one was messy. Full of new beginnings, soft mornings, and promises made in silence. And right now, walking hand in hand down a regular street on a regular afternoon, Jiyoo felt more her than she ever had before.
Then Ni-ki stopped.
Right in the middle of the sidewalk.
Jiyoo turned, confused. “What?”
“Look at me,” he said, voice low.
She rolled her eyes playfully and looked up at him as he grinned softly. Then she smiled. “What now?”
His eyes didn’t leave hers. Not for a second. Not even when someone walked past or when a car honked a few blocks down.
She felt her heart begin to race because she knew that look.
“I wanna do something crazy,” he said as his face seemed to go through many different stages of emotions.
She stepped closer, their arms brushing, her eyes flicking over his face, reading every unspoken word.
And then because she trusted him more than she trusted anything she whispered softly. “Okay. Yes.”
He kissed her.
Right there. On the street. Deep and possessive, a little crooked from the way he tilted his head to fit just right. He kissed her like she was the only person on the planet. Like he needed her. Like he had her.
And then he pulled back, breath warm against her cheek, and grinned.
“Let’s elope.”
Her jaw dropped, “What?”
“Today. Now. Let’s do it. No planning. No press. No guests. Just us.”
She blinked once. Then again. And then she threw her head back and laughed a real one, from her chest, eyes crinkling, full of joy.
“Ni-ki-” He shrugged, fingers brushing down her arm. “Unless you wanna wait.”
She shook her head, smiling through a rush of warmth.
“No,” she said, eyes glowing. “Let’s do it.”
And they did.
That night, somewhere small, under warm lights and soft vows whispered between giggles and kisses, with no one to impress and no flashbulbs clicking just them.
Jiyoo and Ni-ki said I do.
And that was the start of the quietest, wildest forever.
Love doesn't always start off on the right foot. But sometimes it creeps into your soul until the truth is revealed. Some truths don’t need a microphone; they simply linger in the space between two hearts
An: Wow I love this story so much. Yes I did go through the trouble of writing a full song for y'all. I was really immersed in this story. No i am not singing i used an app for the voice, but the song is something i wrote near and dear to me. Credit songs to Author Sungminispup2017, please do not steal or post it anywhere else.
