you know what, fuck it be free, keep reading that bad fan fiction, keep writing that bad fanfiction, keep using y/n, keep staying up to 4 a.m reading x reader, to be cringe is too be free
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ─── juhoon who was never good at telling his emotions started crying infront of you after a heated argument between you two
★ bf ! juhoon × fem!reader
word count ── 3.2k
˖᯽ ݁˖ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 coco speaking here! JUHOON GOTTA BE THE PRETTIEST CRIER IVE EVER SEEN LIKE WHY IS HE JUST SO PRETTY ALL THE DAMN TIME 😓😓😓 UGH MY AEGI HES SO PRECIOUS TO ME 𖧧 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
The fight began the way most disastrous arguments do—not with screaming or shattered glass, but with something deceptively insignificant.
A forgotten text, a delayed response, a sigh delivered with the wrong tone. By midnight, however, the tiny fracture had widened into something jagged and catastrophic.
Rain tapped relentlessly against the apartment windows while the city beyond the glass dissolved into blurred streaks of gold and gray. The kitchen lights remained dim, casting amber shadows across the marble counters and illuminating the tension suspended thickly between the two of you.
You stood near the island with your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, nails digging crescents into your sleeves as though physically holding yourself together.
Across from you, Juhoon leaned against the counter in suffocating silence.
That silence again. That unbearable, impenetrable quietness that made every disagreement feel one-sided, like throwing your emotions against a locked door and hearing nothing echo back.
His expression was composed in the infuriating way it always was—controlled, restrained, unreadable. Even now, during an argument that had your chest aching so violently you could barely breathe, he looked devastatingly calm.
You hated that, not because he was cruel, but because you could never tell if he cared as much as you did.
“You could at least look at me while I’m talking,” you said at last, your voice strained from holding too much emotion for too long.
His gaze flickered upward briefly before drifting away again. “I’m listening.”
“That’s the problem,” you replied bitterly. “You’re always listening. Never talking.”
His jaw flexed, a subtle reaction most people would miss.
You didn’t. You noticed everything about him because you had spent months teaching yourself how to love someone who communicated through fragments instead of sentences.
The way his fingers curled meant irritation. The slight tension in his shoulders meant discomfort. The silence meant he was overwhelmed.
Except tonight you were exhausted from deciphering him. “You always do this,” you continued, voice trembling despite your efforts to steady it. “Every single time we argue, you shut down and leave me to figure everything out on my own.”
“I’m not shutting down.”
“You haven’t said more than five words to me in ten minutes.”
He exhaled slowly through his nose, already looking fatigued by the conversation. “You know I’m not good at this.”
A humorless laugh escaped you. “At what? Communicating? Having emotions?”
“That’s not fair.”
“No?” Your eyes burned. “Then tell me what is fair, Juhoon. Because I spend half this relationship wondering whether you actually want me here.”
That finally made him look at you directly, and the hurt in his eyes was immediate. But instead of softening you, it only made the frustration twisting through your ribs intensify. “You know that’s not true.”
“How would I know?” you shot back. “You never tell me anything.”
His patience began to fracture. You could hear it in the clipped cadence of his breathing. “I show you.”
“You show me in ways I have to analyze like I’m decoding some impossible language,” you said, voice rising. “Do you know how exhausting that is?”
He pushed away from the counter then, agitation radiating from him in restrained waves. “And do you know how exhausting it is feeling like nothing I do is enough for you?”
The words struck harder than expected. You blinked. “I never said that.”
“You don’t have to.” His tone sharpened. For the first time that night, genuine anger seeped through his carefully maintained composure.
“It’s always the same conversation,” he continued. “You keep asking for more and more and more from me like I’m failing some test I didn’t even know I was taking.”
“That’s not what this is!”
“Then what is it?” he snapped suddenly. “Because apparently loving you quietly isn’t enough. Remembering everything about you isn’t enough. Being there whenever you need me isn’t enough because I don’t say pretty things every five seconds.”
The accusation stole the air from your lungs. “I never asked for perfect words,” you whispered.
“Could’ve fooled me.” The cruelty in his voice was subtle, not loud nor explosive. Which somehow made it worse.
Your throat tightened painfully. “I just want reassurance sometimes.”
“And I’m telling you I’m trying.”
“You barely talk to me when something’s wrong!”
“Because every time I do,” he said sharply, “it turns into this.”
Silence crashed between you again, only this time it felt vicious. Your heartbeat thudded painfully against your ribs. “You know what hurts the most?” you asked quietly. “I feel lonely even when I’m standing right beside you.”
Something cold flickered across his face then. Exhaustion, the kind born from feeling perpetually misunderstood. “And you know what I’m tired of?” he replied. “Feeling like I have to become someone else just to keep you satisfied.”
Your lips parted. “That’s not—”
“No, listen,” he interrupted, voice rougher now. “I can’t love the way you want every second of every day. I’m not overly emotional. I’m not good with words. And honestly?” His eyes hardened slightly. “Maybe if you stopped needing constant validation, we wouldn’t keep ending up here.”
The sentence landed like a blade driven straight between your ribs. The room went completely still. Juhoon seemed to realize it immediately.
You saw the regret flash across his features the second the words left his mouth. But it was too late, because suddenly every insecurity you had buried deep inside yourself came clawing violently to the surface.
Too clingy, too emotional, too much. Your face went blank in the terrifying way heartbreak sometimes empties a person instead of making them cry. “Wow,” you whispered.
“Baby, I didn’t mean—”
“No.” Your voice sounded distant even to yourself. “You meant it.”
His expression crumpled slightly. “I was angry.”
“That doesn’t make it less true.”
“It’s not true.”
But now you couldn’t stop hearing it. Maybe if you stopped needing constant validation. The sentence echoed viciously through your head.
You swallowed hard, suddenly unable to bear the sight of him. Without another word, you turned and grabbed your jacket from the back of the chair.
Juhoon straightened immediately. “Where are you going?”
“I need to leave for a while.”
“It’s raining.”
“I don’t care.”
He stepped forward then, panic finally overtaking the frustration on his face. “Don’t do this.”
You laughed softly, but the sound was hollow. “Do what? Leave before I embarrass myself by begging someone to love me correctly?”
His face paled. “That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant.”
“I was frustrated—”
“And I was hurt.”
Your voice cracked at last. Raw devastation bleeding through the numbness settling over you. “You know what the worst part is?” you whispered, eyes glossy now. “I defended your silence for so long. To everyone. I kept telling myself you loved differently, that you cared in ways people couldn’t see.”
Juhoon looked like he physically couldn’t breathe.
“But tonight,” you continued shakily, “you made me feel stupid for wanting reassurance from the person I love.”
The apartment fell deathly silent. Rain battered the windows harder. His eyes glistened with immediate remorse “Please don’t leave angry.”
You stared at him for a long moment. At the boy you loved so desperately it frightened you. The boy whose quiet tenderness had once felt safe. Now it only felt unreachable. “I think if I stay right now,” you said softly, “I’ll say something unforgivable.”
Then you walked toward the door.
“Baby—”
But this time, when he said it, you didn’t stop, and the sound of the door closing behind you felt far too much like something breaking forever.
The night had become glacial by the time you finally wandered back toward the apartment. Hours had passed in a blur of rain-slick sidewalks, blurred streetlights, and thoughts so tangled they felt impossible to unravel.
The city was nearly silent now, stripped of its usual vibrancy, leaving only the distant hum of traffic and the occasional rush of cold wind biting against your skin.
Your fingers were numb inside your jacket pockets. Your chest hurt worse. The argument replayed relentlessly in your mind no matter how hard you tried to outrun it.
Maybe if you stopped needing constant validation.
The sentence echoed like a bruise pressed over and over again. Part of you understood he hadn’t meant it the way it sounded. You knew Juhoon better than anyone. You knew frustration twisted his words sharp sometimes, especially when emotions overwhelmed him.
But another part of you, the quieter, more fragile part—couldn’t stop wondering if there had been truth hidden beneath the cruelty.
Maybe you were too much. Too emotional, too needy, too difficult to love properly.
The thought hollowed something inside you, and somehow, despite all of it, despite the hurt still lodged painfully beneath your ribs—You missed him desperately, pathetically.
It had only been a few hours, yet every second away from him had felt profoundly wrong, as though some invisible thread tethered between your hearts had stretched too far without snapping completely.
By the time you reached the apartment building, exhaustion clung heavily to your bones. Your phone read 2:07 AM.
The hallway outside your apartment was eerily quiet. Even the usual flickering overhead light seemed dimmer tonight.
You stood outside the door for several seconds, staring blankly at the handle while anxiety twisted violently in your stomach. What if he was still angry? What if he regretted everything? What if—
You swallowed hard and unlocked the door anyway. The apartment was almost entirely dark. Only the small lamp beside the couch remained on, casting a muted golden glow across the living room. Shadows stretched lazily along the walls while rain continued murmuring softly against the windows.
And there he was. Your breath caught instantly.
Juhoon was curled awkwardly against the couch cushions, still wearing the same black hoodie from earlier. One arm lay draped over his face while the other rested limply against his stomach, like exhaustion had finally dragged him under after hours of waiting.
The sight alone nearly shattered you. He looked uncomfortable, restless. Like sleep had only claimed him out of complete emotional collapse.
Your chest constricted painfully. Slowly, carefully, you stepped closer. “Juhoon,” you whispered.
No response.
You crouched beside the couch quietly, your heart aching at how pale he looked beneath the warm light. Strands of dark hair had fallen messily across his forehead, soft and disheveled in a way that made him seem unbearably vulnerable.
Tentatively, you brushed your fingers through it. “Baby.”
His eyelashes fluttered faintly. Then slowly, reluctantly, his eyes opened, and your entire body went still.
His eyes were swollen, red-rimmed, wet. Like he had spent hours crying alone in the dark.
Your stomach dropped immediately. “Oh my god…”
The devastation on his face the moment he fully recognized you was almost unbearable to witness. Relief hit him so violently it physically altered his expression. His lips parted shakily.
Before you could even process it, Juhoon surged upright and wrapped his arms around you with desperate force, nearly knocking the breath from your lungs entirely, and then he broke apart.
A strangled sob ripped from his chest so abruptly that it startled you. His entire body trembled violently against yours while another shattered sound escaped him, raw and uncontrollable.
“Hey—hey, it’s okay,” you whispered immediately, climbing onto the couch beside him as your own vision blurred with tears. “Juhoon…”
He buried his face against your neck like he couldn’t bear to look at you directly, fingers clutching the fabric of your hoodie so tightly it almost hurt.
But you didn’t care, because Juhoon was crying. Juhoon, the boy who concealed every emotion behind silence and restraint—was sobbing in your arms like he had been holding himself together by a single unraveling thread.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out brokenly. Your heart cracked clean down the middle. “I’m so sorry.”
Another sob tore through him, rough and uneven. You froze for half a second, overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of his grief.
You had never seen him like this before. Never.
Even during the worst moments of his life, Juhoon had always remained composed in that quiet, self-destructive way of his. He internalized everything. Buried everything. Suffered in silence because vulnerability terrified him more than pain itself.
But now?
Now he was unraveling completely beneath your touch, and somehow that hurt more than the argument ever had.
“I didn’t mean it,” he whispered frantically between shaky breaths. “I swear to god I didn’t mean it like that—I didn’t mean to make you feel unwanted.”
Tears spilled down his cheeks faster than he could wipe them away. His breathing came unevenly, fragile hiccups interrupting nearly every sentence.
“You left and I just…” He swallowed hard, voice splintering apart. “I thought you were done with me.”
“Oh, Juhoon…”
“I called you like ten times,” he admitted weakly, words muffled against your shoulder. “I kept trying to figure out what to say, but nothing sounded right and I—fuck—”
His voice dissolved into another sob. “I can’t lose you.” The confession was so painfully sincere it made your own tears fall instantly.
You cupped his face carefully, forcing him to look at you despite the embarrassment flickering through his watery eyes.
And god, he looked devastated.
Wet lashes clung together while tears slid endlessly down flushed skin. His lips trembled uncontrollably, breath hitching every few seconds as though his body physically could not calm down now that the fear had finally escaped him, and beneath all that anguish.
Love.
So much overwhelming love it nearly stole the air from your lungs. “You’re not losing me,” you whispered softly.
His expression crumpled further. “I thought I already did.”
You brushed your thumbs beneath his eyes gently, catching tear after tear.
“I know I’m difficult,” he whispered hoarsely. “I know I make things hard because I don’t talk right, but I swear I love you more than anything.”
The sincerity in his voice shattered whatever remained of your anger, because he meant it. Every single syllable.
Juhoon loved with terrifying intensity. He just expressed it differently—through actions, through presence, through quiet devotion hidden in places words could never fully reach.
“I don’t know how to explain things the way you need,” he continued shakily. “But I need you here. I need you.”
Your chest ached so violently it almost felt unbearable. Without thinking, you leaned forward and kissed him softly.
The second your lips touched his, he melted completely. A trembling breath escaped him, shaky and uneven, before his hands slid around your waist with unmistakable desperation. Not possessive, but clinging, almost fragile, like he needed physical proof that you were truly there and not about to disappear again.
The kiss carried remnants of tears and exhaustion and unspoken apologies.
Juhoon kissed you like someone starved for reassurance, every movement hesitant at first before gradually deepening with overwhelming emotion. His lips trembled faintly against yours while his fingers curled tighter into the fabric of your hoodie, anchoring himself to you with quiet urgency.
You could still taste salt from his tears. Could still feel the uneven rhythm of his breathing brushing shakily against your skin, and somehow, that vulnerability shattered you more thoroughly than the argument ever had.
When you pulled back only slightly, your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the small space between you.
His eyes remained half-lidded and glassy, lashes damp and clumped together from crying. There was something devastatingly defenseless about the way he looked at you now, like every carefully constructed wall he’d spent years building had finally collapsed under the sheer magnitude of loving you.
“I’m sorry too,” you whispered against his mouth.
He shook his head immediately, brows pinching together. “No, don’t apologize.”
“I left.”
“You were hurt.”
“So were you.”
That alone nearly made him cry again. A shaky breath escaped him before he buried himself against you once more, arms wrapping tightly around your middle as though separation itself had become unbearable now.
This time, he didn’t fight the tears. He let them come. Soft, broken sobs trembled through him while your fingers combed gently through his hair, untangling the storm little by little.
“I love you,” you murmured repeatedly against his temple. “I love you so much.”
Every single time you said it, his grip tightened, as though he was memorizing the feeling of hearing it.
Eventually his crying softened into quiet sniffles and exhausted breathing. You pressed a lingering kiss against his forehead. “Come to bed with me?”
He nodded weakly. The two of you moved through the apartment in silence, but it no longer felt hostile. Now it felt delicate, tender. Juhoon never let go of your hand once.
The second you both slipped beneath the blankets, he immediately curled himself against your side, burying his face near your shoulder while one arm wrapped securely around your waist.
Your fingers drifted slowly along his back beneath his hoodie, soothing the occasional tremor still lingering through his body.
The room remained quiet except for rain tapping softly against the windows and his gradually steadying breathing. Then, after several long minutes. “I never think you’re annoying.”
Your heart squeezed painfully. You glanced down at him. His eyes remained closed, voice rough and sleepy from crying. “I like when you cling to me,” he admitted quietly. “Makes me feel… wanted.”
A weak, watery laugh escaped you. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.” His fingertips curled faintly into the fabric of your shirt, hesitant and delicate despite the vulnerability trembling beneath the gesture. “When you need me like that,” he whispered quietly, voice still rough from crying, “it reminds me I matter to someone.”
You stared at him in stunned silence for a moment, because suddenly everything made sense. All this time, Juhoon had been loving you with the exact same desperation you loved him.
He just buried it beneath silence because he never learned how to voice it aloud.
Your expression softened entirely. The tension lingering in your chest melted into something overwhelmingly tender as your fingers brushed carefully along his cheek, your thumb grazing beneath his eye where faint traces of tears still remained.
He leaned into the touch instinctively. The sight nearly shattered you.
Slowly, you leaned down and kissed him again. This kiss was different from before, slower, sleepier. Overflowing with forgiveness instead of panic.
Your lips moved against his with lingering tenderness while his breathing softened gradually beneath the warmth of your touch. He kissed you back carefully, almost reverently, as though savoring every second instead of fearing its disappearance.
The room around you had become impossibly still. Only the rain tapping faintly against the windows and the occasional shaky exhale from Juhoon disturbed the silence.
One of his hands slid slowly upward along your side until it rested lightly against your ribs beneath your hoodie. The touch was featherlight, unhurried, his fingertips tracing absentminded patterns there like he simply needed to feel your heartbeat beneath his palm.
Yet even now, wrapped around you beneath dim bedroom lighting, Juhoon continued kissing you with heartbreaking sincerity, as if every unspoken emotion he’d buried for months was finally pouring out through touch instead of words.
Juhoon sighed softly against your lips before tucking himself impossibly closer, his face hidden safely against your neck now. “I love you,” he whispered once more, barely audible.
݁꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ 요약 - when you are chosen to be the female lead in the ‘blue lips’ mv, martin seonghyeon keonho and juhoon can’t help but tease james for his long time crush on you…
warnings .ᐟ fluff, alcohol consumption, smoking, smut ( mdni ), unprotected sex ( do not do that ) fingering, oral, praising, soft dom james, reader finds out she likes the whole submissive ordeal, drunk sex kinda, very very light choking ( just hand around the neck atp) a looooot of praising like a crazy amount.
at twenty-two years old, your name carried the kind of weight most actors spent decades chasing.
not because you were loud or chased headlines, but because every role you touched became unforgettable. you were the actress critics called “emotionally dangerous” because people never watched your dramas casually, they felt them. deeply and pathetically at that. the kind of performances that left people staring at ceilings at 3 a.m. wondering why fictional heartbreak suddenly felt personal.
your rise happened obscenely fast.
at seventeen, you played the younger version of the female lead in a historical drama and completely overshadowed actresses twice your age with barely fifteen minutes of screentime. one crying scene alone went viral across korean platforms overnight, and directors began requesting you specifically after that.
at nineteen, you starred in your first lead role in the netflix drama ‘winter static’, a romance about two strangers communicating through old cassette tapes left inside a train station locker.
the drama exploded internationally, and tiktok edits of your scenes reached millions overnight. people quoted your monologues religiously, which was kind of stupid for you since they were just words stuck in your brain at this point.
your face appeared on billboards from seoul to tokyo to paris.
then came ‘velvet hour’ and ‘salt to the sea’, then the thriller ‘silhouette hearts’ that earned you your first baeksang arts award for best actress at the age of twenty-one. youngest actress in the category to win in over a decade.
after that, everything changed.
luxury brands fought over you. you became the global ambassador for miu miu and later the face of dior beauty in asia. campaign photos of you covered entire department stores. airport pictures became articles within minutes. fashiom editors loved your “old cinema” aura, soft eyes, elegant posture, expressions that looked heartbreakingly human even in still photographs.
and despite your fame, people adored you for smaller reasons too, your quirks became internet lore at some point. you were kind of awkward with the camera but in an endearing way, you didn’t know how to behave at award shows and came across as a socially akward person.
it wa also maybe the way you always carried disposable cameras instead of using your phone, and how you wrote handwritten letters to the staff after filming ended. how you fell asleep absolutely anywhere, chairs, makeup rooms, car rides shorter than ten minutes. fans also noticed you had a tendency to mirror people unconsciously. if someone leaned closer while talking, you did too. if someone laughed quietly, your voice softened automatically. interviewers said conversations with you felt strangely intimate because you listened with your entire attention and never felt unapproachable. there were compilation videos online titled:
“y/n being accidentally affectionate for 8 minutes straight.”
your management hated those videos. but the internet ate them up.
you also had one particular reputation in the entertainment industry: mv queen.
not because you appeared in many or anything, because every mv you touched became viral.
at eighteen, you starred in txt’s emotionally devastating “ghosting” inspired visual film project, playing a girl remembered through fragments an old footage. the chemistry between you and the members had fans posting edits of tiny interactions for months.
a year later, enhypen chose you for a vampire-themed comeback trailer where you portrayed a girl that anchored them to the mortal world. your final scene, holding member jake’s inanimate body in the sea, became one of the most replayed teaser moments of the year. you had a gift for making music videos feel cinematic instead of performative.
you understood silence, micro expressions, longing.
which was exactly why the cortis creative team wanted you.
specifically you.
mainly because of you name and the reputation you carried but also because “blue lips” wasn’t supposed to feel like a regular idol music video. it was supposed to feel like a lost teenager being put in an adult world after spending years as a trainee, caught on camera.
and your role inside it was very important. you would play the embodiment of what martin talked about in the song. the metaphor of swimming in a pool for a long period of time, referring probably to his trainee days.
you weren’t a girlfriend, not a muse either, something slightly in between.
the director had apparently rejected over thirty actresses before seeing one clip of you from ‘velvet hour’. a scene where your character silently cried while pretending to smile during dinner.
that was it.
the director reportedly paused the screen and said: “that’s her.”
⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡
so two weeks later, you found yourself seated inside a glass walled meeting room at the company building of one of the biggest rising fifth-generation groups in korea.
rain tapped softly against the windows outside while managers discussed paperwork around you, the conference table covered in contracts, visual references, concept photos drowned in blue tones.
You sat calmly in an oversized cream sweater, lazily spinning an expensive fountain pen between your fingers while your manager reviewed the conditions carefully.
“the filming schedule overlaps slightly with the milan campaign,” your manager noted, he was an overly serious guy with coffee problems.
one of cortis’ executives nodded immediately. “we’re prepared to accommodate her availability entirely.”
another added quickly: “the director is willing to reorganize scenes around her schedule if necessary.”
you tried not to smile, because it always felt surreal when entire productions adjusted themselves around you now. like you were more essential than you imagined.
at twenty-two, that level of influence still startled you sometimes. things came easy for you but that came with a price to pay.
the creative director slid a storyboard toward you, inside were rough sketches of scenes:
a flooded apartment, blue lipstick stains on skin, hands trembling beneath neon lights, a drowning scene, but everything weirdly coincided with the whole cortis aesthetic.
you skimmed through quietly. “it’s emotionally heavy,” you murmured.
“that’s why we wanted you,” the director admitted honestly.
he looked almost nervous speaking to you. you’d noticed that recently. older directors tended to treat you less like a rookie actress and more like someone they genuinely wanted approval from.
“the members were personally involved in choosing the female lead,” another staff member added.
“oh?” you glanced up with mild curiosity.
the director smiled faintly. “there was unanimous agreement.”
you tilted your head slightly. “that’s flattering.”
your manager laughed softly. “you say that like it isn’t obvious.”
you ignored him, not in a rude way but just because sometimes he made you look like a stuck up celebrity without meaning to.
the meeting continued for another hour, image rights, overseas distribution, teaser appearances, confidentiality agreements.
standard things. pleasantries if you will.
but eventually the conversation shifted toward the actual emotional dynamic of the music video.
the director leaned forward slightly, a head full of ideas, “the role requires natural chemistry with the members,” he explained. “especially james.”
your eyes flickered briefly toward the storyboard page featuring him.
you had had time to check who all the members were beforehand, not because you didn’t know them but because you simply never had a free moment to really give it a try.
cortis were monsters internationally right now, but james stood out even among them to you, he was extremely unfiltered, goofy even, alternating between insane visuals and unhinged moments. you heard he also had a reputation for being painfully outgoing offstage.
you had watched interviews while preparing for the meeting, he always spoke out and gave his opinion, always made funny faces and enjoyed things way too much.
the director continued speaking. “the emotional core of the mv revolves around your connection with him specifically, it’ll be grief and pain.”
your manager nodded. “understood.”
then the director smiled suddenly like he just remembered something,
“the members actually wanted to meet her personally tonight if she’s comfortable.”
you blinked. “tonight?”
“there’s a team dinner.”
your manager looked at you questioningly. you considered it for a moment before shrugging lightly.
“sure, i can make that work.”
⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡
and that was how, three hours later, you ended up entering a private hot pot restaurant room alongside two managers while five of the most talked-about idols in korea immediately stood up to greet you.
the room smelled warmly of broth and spice and low golden lighting reflected against polished wooden walls while steam curled softly from the simmering pots placed at the center of the table, the restaurant itself was cozy, sat tucked away in a quieter street of Seoul, the kind of place celebrities favored because paparazzi rarely bothered searching for it.
your manager walked slightly ahead of you as an employee guided both of you toward the reserved room.
“you’ve worked too much this week,” your manager muttered quietly while checking his phone. “try to eat properly tonight.”
“i always eat properly.”
“you had strawberries and iced coffee for dinner yesterday.”
“oh yeah… forgot about that.”
he sighed deeply. “one day I’m going to retire because of you.”
you smiled innocently just as the sliding wooden door opened.
inside, the members of cortis stood almost immediately. they bowed politely, intimidated not so much, but just cordial and respectful.
“thank you for coming,” one of the managers said warmly.
“thank you for inviting me,” you replied.
you greeted the members one by one.
martin was immediately charismatic, respectful but outwardly comfortable as if he treated this more like a job interview or a way to get more experience.
keonho shook your hand while joking that the pressure surrounding this music video already felt “oscar-level.”, he seemed the most introverted, nervous almost.
juhoon greeted you politely before admitting his sister would probably disown him if he didn’t get a selfie with you eventually, he seemed chill and easy to be around.
seonghyeon seemed calm and observant, speaking gently, a little nervous but growing confidence over the course of dinner.
and then there was james.
quiet.
polite.
a little reserved.
not at all what you’d expected, you were almost waiting to see him unhinged as he was on cortis’ reels, joking around, but he was way calmer, after all it wasn’t unknown that idol put on a bit of a show on-camera when asked.
he bowed respectfully, offering a soft greeting before pulling your chair out slightly without making a big deal out of it.
the dinner started slowly, mostly conversations between management teams about, and promotional timing. they talked about their new album, about how ‘blue lips’ would be totally different from other mvs and much more vulnerable.
this felt entirely different from your usual work settings, even though you weren’t immensely older than them, it still felt like grabbing lunch with high school friends, in a good way. you liked people who joked easily.
when it came to talking about the music video, you asked questions about the symbolism behind the flooded apartment set.
martin became overly passionate explaining how one choreography sequence represented emotional dependency.
he scratched the back of his neck with a small laugh at some point.
“it’s kinda embarrassing when people explain it seriously.”
“you wrote it,” juhoon replied. “you explain it.”
martin groaned dramatically while everyone else laughed softly.
the director slid one of the concept pages toward you. unlike the earlier boards filled with blue neon lights and cinematic references, this one was simpler.
a swimming pool with dark water and rippled reflections.
a figure submerged too long beneath the surface.
you looked up curiously.
martin rested his elbows against the table before speaking quieter this time.
“the song’s about being a trainee.”
you recalled seeing somwhere that he had spent 6 years as a trainee.
“i trained for years before debut,” he continued. “and eventually it starts feeling like you’re swimming without knowing where the edge of the pool is anymore. or at least that’s how i’d like to put it you know?”
“you’re exhausted all the time,” he continued with a small shrug. “but everybody around you is exhausted too, so you convince yourself it’s normal.”
your eyes drifted back toward the image of the water. cold enough to turn lips blue.
“the pool represents training?” you asked softly.
martin nodded. “the longer you stay in cold water, the harder it becomes to feel anything properly. but you still stay inside because leaving feels worse.”
for a moment, nobody joked, certainly not you, you hadn’t experience being a trainee, but you connected easily with words and experiences, so much that his words resonated with you in a silly way, really. You didn’t usually expect tha level of emotional intelligence coming from a person around your age.
then seonghyeon spoke gently.
“the song isn’t really about giving up though.”
martin nodded again.
“yeah.” his expression softened slightly.
“it’s more like… asking the people beside you if they’ll keep swimming too.”
that sentence stayed with you.
maybe because you understood it immediately.
not as an idol or anything. but as someone who entered the entertainment industry young enough to mistake exhaustion for ambition.
“that’s why the music video can’t feel overly glamorous,” the director explained carefully. “we want emotional intimacy more than perfection.”
suddenly all the visual references clicked together inside your head.
“you know what’s ironic?” martin said suddenly, picking his chopsticks back up. “the company hated the original demo.”
everyone burst out laughing.
“no seriously,” keonho added. “they said it was too depressing.”
the mood lightened again after that, but the conversation stayed centered around the song’s meaning now.
the members began sharing small pieces of their trainee experiences naturally.
long practice nights and monthly evaluations, the weird emotional numbness that came from repeating the same routines endlessly.
at one point, seonghyeon admitted quietly:
“you stop noticing how tired you are after a while.”
your expression softened instinctively. that sentence felt familiar too.
actors weren’t trained the same way idols were, but exhaustion translated across industries frighteningly well, especially when being underage in such a cruel industry.
“you just adapt to it,” you agreed.
several eyes turned toward you.
you laughed faintly. “filming is similar sometimes.”
“how long was your longest shoot?” keonho asked.
“twenty-one hours.”
the members stared at you in horror.
“damn that’s illegal.”
“it probably was.” you shrugged like it was no bigdeal
“what drama was that?”
“salt to the sea.”
martin physically pointed accusingly. “that drama emotionally destroyed my mother.”
“i’m getting blamed for a lot tonight… i mean not that i don’t usually get accused of sending people into meltdowns…” you cringed.
“you should. that shit was brutal.”
the table laughed again.
but then James spoke quietly from beside seonghyeon.
“i watched the behind-the-scenes documentary for that.”
your gaze flickered toward him.
he continued calmly, almost thoughtful.
“you kept filming even after collapsing during the staircase scene.”
you blinked once in surprise, very few people remembered that, probably you and your manager… that was about it.
the documentary itself had only shown brief footage before the production team cut the cameras.
your manager immediately sighed beside you.
“she scared everyone that day.”
“i was fine.”
“you passed out, y/n.”
“temporarily. see i came back.”
martin looked genuinely alarmed now. “why do actors live like nineteenth-century poets?”
“occupational hazards i guesss”
james smiled faintly into his drink at that.
“he watched all your dramas actually, big fan,” juhoon added helpfully, almost matter of factly.
keonho leaned dramatically across the table, chopsticks projecting sauce across the surface.
“he also defended your ending in velvet hour for two hours. which is weird since you killed someone and all.”
“because people misunderstood the symbolism—” james started.
“he took notes...”
you let out a soft laughter before even thinking. real laughter, the kind that makes your shoulders shake slightly.
at some point the staff began discussing practical filming concerns.
rain machines, and underwater camera rigs. cold temperature precautions and all the other overly serious things.
your manager immediately interrupted:
“she’s sensitive to cold filming environments.”
you groaned softly. “ah you say that like i’m an elderly victorian child.”
“you get sick every winter.”
“that’s just my immune system, i should be okay.”
the members laughed, then unexpectedly, james spoke up quietly toward the production staff.
“the water temperature should stay monitored anyway. hypothermia risks increase during long shoots.”
you glanced toward him. you didn’t take him as a serious and practical person at all before this.
the production manager nodded quickly. “of course.”
martin talked constantly, sometimes started rapping parts of his sentences like it was normal,
keonho teased everyone equally, even you, he was still 17 and had the energy of a high schooler. it felt refreshing to hang out with people around your age rather than 40 year olds.
juhoon had dangerously quick humor, pretty nonchalant guy overall, with a resting model face that made it hard to take him seriously.
and james… james observed today, he smiled from time to time but he put his bubbly personality aside for the night.
that was the first thing you noticed. he was not himself, or maybe he was just like that all the time and you were biased by youtube videos.
at one point you mentioned casually: “i haven’t slept properly in weeks because of filming, it’s been tough.”
twenty minutes later, without saying anything, james quietly slid the least caffeinated drink on the table toward you instead of soju after noticing what others were pouring.
cute, you thought.
⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡
the first day of filming began at 4:12 a.m.
you knew because you checked the time through half-open eyes while your alarm aggressively blared in your ears.
‘your driver is downstairs.’ your manager texted.
a muffled groan escaped you from beneath layers of blankets. you dragged yourself out of bed dramatically, hair messy, oversized sleep shirt hanging off one shoulder while your cat blinked judgmentally from the corner of the room.
early filming days always felt surreal, no matter how famous you became and no matter how many awards sat in your apartment collecting dust.
at four in the morning, every actor looked equally miserable.
your routine before shoots had become almost ritualistic over the years.
warm water first, never coffee immediately, your body reacted badly on an empty stomach.
skincare while still half-asleep.
voice warmups your acting coach forced into your life at nineteen.
then wardrobe references, probably the most annoying part.
your stylist had already sent final fitting photos the night before, so you scrolled through them while eating strawberries over the kitchen counter.
the styling for “blue lips” was intentionally understated compared to your previous projects. you usually ended up in chanel and dior but this time around it was way simpler. you liked that.
soft fabrics and muted colors, smudged makeup and natural hair.
nothing glamorous.
your manager arrived while you were still trying to force yourself awake properly.
“you slept three hours.” he checked the sleep schedule you had hung on the fridge.
“had to rehearse my lines for ‘if wishes could kill’”
another drama you were shooting.
he handed you iced coffee anyway, because despite his complaints, he enabled you constantly. he had worked with multiple celebrities but you were by far the most humble and hardworking one.
the drive toward the filming location stayed quiet.
seoul still looked asleep beneath pale blue dawn light while your phone buzzed endlessly with schedule notifications.
over the past few weeks, your life had become filled almost entirely with “blue lips.”
creative meetings, camera tests, wardrobe fittings, chemistry readings, storyboard revisions.
you’d met with the cinematographer twice alone just to discuss facial framing during emotional close-up shots.
rhe director was obsessive in the best possible way.
every visual detail mattered.
you also had several rehearsals with the members before filming officially began, not full acting rehearsals, but movement coordination, emotional pacing discussions, and camera positioning workshops.
those meetings unexpectedly became some of your favorite parts of preparation.
the members were involved in everything, fun to be around, and easygoing.
the filming location for day one was an abandoned motel complex outside seoul, transformed entirely by the production team overnight.
the moment your van pulled into the parking area, you could already see massive lighting rigs glowing through the early morning fog. staff members rushed everywhere carrying cables, garment bags, equipment cases.
the assistant director greeted you immediately.
“good morning y/n!”
“good morning,” you answered with a sleepy smile.
“you’re our first cast member here.”
“that’s concerning.”
he laughed. “the members finished rehearsal extra late last night, so they’re probably on their way.”
the makeup trailer smelled faintly like hairspray and coffee when you climbed inside, and for the next hour, your face slowly transformed into the exhausted melancholy the character required.
light concealer, smudged eyeliner, pale lips and a subtle shadows beneath your eyes.
the stylist adjusted your navy dress while reviewing continuity photos carefully.
“you look too healthy,” she complained.
“thank you?”
“no, for the scene.” she laughed.
she proceeded to make you look emotionally devastated again, because apparently it was a thing.
by the time you stepped back outside, the set had fully awakened, and unfortunately for your nervous system, so had cortis.
“you survived,” martin announced dramatically the moment he spotted you.
“barely.”
“you look sad already,” keonho noted approvingly.
“the makeup team worked very hard for this depression.”
juhoon immediately pointed toward your sweater, the oversized one you had put over the dress for temperature purposes. “damn youre even dressed like a cortis member now.”
you laughed softly while greeting everyone properly. the atmosphere felt noticeably easier compared to the dinner weeks ago.
familiar now, not totally strangers anymore.
even the staff interactions had relaxed over time.
then you spotted james standing near the monitor screens speaking quietly with the cinematographer.
black hoodie and messy dark hair, sleepy eyes.
he looked up when you approached.
“morning,” he greeted quietly.
“you look awake.”
a small laugh escaped him. “got some redbull, want one?”
“im good thanks, they make my heart go crazy.”
“…fair point.”
the first scene filmed that day took place inside one of the motel rooms.
the set design was extremely cortis-coded, sand in lieu of the floor, and dozens of misplaced items such as buoys and rubber ducks. dim blue lighting flooded cracked walls while rain projections moved softly across thin curtains. old cassette tapes littered the floor beside overflowing ashtrays and unfinished cups of coffee.
the room looked like something out of an abstract painting,
you sat cross-legged on the motel bed while martin paced near the window during his verse,
your role wasn’t to comfort him directly but rather just to exist beside him.
the director explained carefully before filming:
“you represent the reason he keeps enduring everything. not because you save him, but because loneliness feels lighter beside you.”
martin nodded thoughtfully, he hadn’t wanted to make this into a romantic music video but here you didn’t portray a lover but rather an emotion?
you understood immediately.
“action.” the room fell silent.
music echoed softly through hidden speakers while martin moved through the scene naturally, frustration building beneath restrained expressions. he was truly at ease with the cameras, the level of empathy needed to be an actor was really highlighted, so much so that you already begun imagining different career paths for him.
you watched him from the bed quietly, not smiling just observing while the camera cut through the room. the windows were open letting the curtains flow around martin’s figure.
the director loved it instantly.
“perfect,” he muttered behind the monitors. “don’t overact. keep it restrained.”
the next several hours blurred together in typical filming chaos. different angles, different lighting setups, endless camera adjustments.
one sequence involved all the members sitting together inside the motel’s dim laundromat at while water overflowed from broken machines slowly across the floor. another one showed you walking through narrow motel hallways illuminated entirely by flickering vending machine lights while james followed several steps behind, never quite reaching you.
the symbolism stayed subtle but emotionally heavy, it was truly nice seeing how invested they were in the artistic process.
at one point during setup delays, juhoon challenged everyone to balance grapes on their noses, it seemed like a common occurrence really, like it happened everyday.
seonghyeon succeeded immediately somehow.
martin cheated shamelessly, and you nearly choked when keonho dropped his directly into hot coffee.
meanwhile james sat across from you quietly watching them fool around.
“i really thought you’d be crazier,” you told him.
“i’m just too tired for that, i feel like u go through a threshold when you turn 20 and then you don’t have energy anymore,” he answered.
“hah, skill issues”
james smiled, his teeth peeking out as he wrapped his fluffy blanket around his shoulders.
the first real scene between you and him happened around noon. the setup was intimate visually but emotionally restrained.
a narrow hallway and a green screen for special effects purposes, you’d heard they wanted to add some kind of animal, again very cortis-coded.
your character sat against the wall while james stood nearby after an implied argument no audience would fully see.
no dialogue, just acted out emotional aftermath.
the director approached both of you before filming.
“don’t play romance,” he smiled “i know you’re used to it for the dramas etc and you’re obviously amazing at it, but right now it’s more….” he instructed carefully. “… familiarity.”
you nodded. and james beside you nodded too.
“action.”
the silence between you inside the scene felt strangely real almost immediately.
you stood while james leaned against the opposite wall, enunciating his verse while looking at you.
then slowly, without speaking, he slid a cup of vending machine coffee across the floor toward you.
that was it.
that was the scene.
the director looked content watching playback.
“…yeah,” he murmured softly. “that’s the feeling.”
⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡
by lunchtime, everyone looked genuinely exhausted already.
the production team moved outside near equipment trucks while staff distributed boxed meals and drinks. without cameras rolling constantly, the atmosphere shifted completely.
less professional.
you ended up seated in a circle of foldable camping chairs beside the members near the edge of the parking lot. large plaid blankets covered everyone because the wind had turned freezing unexpectedly.
martin looked half-dead beneath his blanket cocoon.
“i can’t feel my fingers anymore.”
“that’s because you keep standing in the rain you dick face,” seonghyeon replied calmly.
“the pics go hard though,”
“you’re gonna get hypothermia, that’s gonna hit harder.” a staff member said while walking past with cardboard boxes.
seonghyeon pointed at him like saying ‘see?’
you sat between juhoon and james while balancing hot soup carefully in your hands. for the first time all day, there were no managers nearby. no stylists fixing clothes, and no directors discussing angles.
just all of you resting together.
the conversation drifted naturally between random topics.
keonho confessed he once cried over fried chicken during debut preparations.
“that’s deeply moving,” you told him, ironically.
“it was a spiritual experience, shoulda been there.”
juhoon pointed at james suddenly like a kid remembering something, “he once got emotional over taiwanese food.”
james looked confused immediately,
“that happened once and stop oversharing dude.”
“three times.” juhoon raised a finger matter-of-factly.
you smiled quietly into your drink.
the members clearly adored embarrassing each other.
eventually martin stretched dramatically in his chair.
bside you, james sat slightly hunched in his chair scrolling through his phone silently, dark hair messy from filming. the sunlight caught faintly against the silver rings on his fingers.
and unfortunately for him, martin suddenly looked down at his screen with the exact expression of someone about to ruin another person’s life for entertainment.
“oh my god.”
james immediately narrowed his eyes.
Keonho physically turned away coughing dramatically into his fist.
“you know what’s weird?”
“what?” you asked.
“i feel like we haven’t addressed the rhino in the room.”
“elephant dude…” juhoon corrected.
“no this one’s way bigger and has big ahh horns and shit.”
you sat back, digging into your lunch, as everyone shot him a confused look.
“go straight to the point.”
“bro james, show y/n your saved folder on tiktok.”
james didn’t even look up from his phone when he said it, but the immediate redness creeping across his ears betrayed him instantly. he dropped his phone backwards on his lap.
“dawg shutup.” he gave you an awkward smile, “don’t mind him.”
“what’s in the folder ?” you asked, chewing on your food like you really had no clue wtf they were talking about.
“fangirling material” keonho coughed, looking around like ‘who said dat’.
“yeah my dude right here has thousands of edits of you saved.” martin chuckled, pushing his sunglasses on his nose like they would hide his amusement.
“why you out him like that?” you smiled, glancing at james.
the latter had one of his eyebrows raised, frozen and staring straight ahead.
“it’s nothing weird or creepy, he just always talks about how you’re the best actress korea has ever known.” seonghyeon comes to the rescue.
“well that’s sweet, can i see?” you turn directly to james now, trying to get him to look up at you.
the entire circle exploded immediately.
“OH MAH GOD.”
“BROTHER STAND UP.”
james looked ready to walk directly into traffic.
“it’s literally nothing,” he muttered.
“oh its absolutely somthing,” juhoon corrected.
you laughed quietly while trying to catch james’ gaze again.
“now i’m curious.”
for a second, he just stared at you, trying to determine whether you were joking maybe. but your expression stayed open and amused rather than mocking.
eventually he sighed softly through his nose.
“you guys are evil.”
martin looked proud. “look who decided to man up.”
james unlocked his phone slowly, still visibly embarrassed, before turning the screen slightly toward you.
and immediately your eyes widened. “dang.”
not because it was creepy or anything, it was just… extensive, there was a lot, you could probably scroll down a few times and still not come to the end of it.
edits from your dramas, interview clips, award show moments, cinematic compilations with dramatic music. one fan edit from winter static with over four million likes. you stared at the screen in disbelief while james, him, visibly contemplated death beside you.
“wait,” you laughed softly, “this edit has better color grading than my actual drama.”
james rubbed tiredly at his forehead.
“i told you it wasn’t weird.” martin mouthed.
“it’s adorable,” keonho corrected immediately. “he’s like a little fan boy.”
“it’s cinema appreciation,” martin added dramatically.
you kept scrolling slowly through the folder, some videos were emotional scene compilations while others focused on your interviews or behind-the-scenes moments.
then you paused at one specific edit. it was from salt to the sea. a scene where your character silently broke down at a bus stop in the rain while pretending to smile.
you remembered filming that scene vividly, it had taken hours because emotions were raw and because portraying mental decay and insanity was harsh on you.
“you saved this one?” you asked softly.
james nodded once. “it’s my favorite scene.”
something in his voice changed slightly when he said it. you’d knew then that this wasn’t a stupid crush or anything like that, it was just someone truly appreciating someone’s art.
you looked at him curiously. “why?”
for a moment, he seemed surprised by the question itself but then he answered honestly.
“because it didn’t feel acted.”
the others had quieted now too, because james rarely spoke this openly. he kept his eyes on the phone screen instead of directly on you.
“a lot of emotional scenes feel polished i think,” he continued carefully. “but that one just felt… human. and you transmit emotions in a way ive never seen before.”
your chest tightened unexpectedly, actors spent years hoping audiences would notice performances beyond aesthetics, not beauty or popularity, and in that moment you felt seen.
and somehow james articulated exactly what you’d wanted people to get from that scene years ago. you smiled softly without realizing it.
“thank you.” he finally looked up then.
and the expression on his face almost made your stomach flip unexpectedly, because he looked relieved, like he’d worried you might misunderstand him completely.
martin abruptly pointed between both of you.
“see this is why they have chemistry.”
“i been saying.” keonho added.
“oh my god,” james groaned, rolling his eyes.
“you literally analyze her scenes like a film professor,” juhoon added. “no really y/n we have to put up with his shit all the time.”
“meanwhile I just cry and move on,” keonho admitted.
“that’s cause you lack emotional depth,” martin informed him.
“you cried during toy story 3 my dude, fuck you mean emotional depth.”
“that movie is devastating.”
you laughed again, warmth settling naturally into your chest now. and honestly? there was something strangely touching about discovering that james admired your work so genuinely before ever meeting you. not in the shallow celebrity-crush way people often assumed.
he paid attention, and it explained a lot actually. from the thoughtful comments during rehearsals to the way he approached scenes carefully.
entually you handed his phone back gently.
“well,” you announced lightly, “i’m honored to apparently live inside your tiktok algorithm.”
james looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole, but beneath the embarrassment, there was the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth now too.
thankfully martin immediately ruined the moment.
“wow,” he sighed dramatically. “cinema soulmates.”
⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡
the second half of filming resumed around three in the afternoon. and somehow became even more chaotic. the official tiktok team arrived, which instantly destroyed any remaining dignity on set.
“oh no,” you muttered the moment you saw phones appearing.
“oh yes,” juhoon corrected.
you really weren’t into the whole tiktok filming thing, you’d given it a try but you looked akward more than anything.
thas how between filming emotional scenes, the members suddenly transformed into content demons. incorporating dance challenges to ‘blue lips’ choreographies that mind you, didn’t have anything to do with the vibes.
at one pointartin forced everyone into a trending transition video while staff members tried not to laugh watching from behind cameras. your manager had said something about requiring a few content for social media.
“you have experience with idol tiktoks already,” keonho accused while reviewing footage.
the social media manager immediately brightened.
“can we film one with only james and y/n too?”
james looked genuinely alarmed.
“why me?”
“fans will love it.”
unfortunately he was right.
the video itself was simple, just a slow cinematic trend using audio from “blue lips.” the concept involved james walking past the camera before the transition revealed you standing in the same hallway afterward, doing a silly tiktok dance.
easy in theory. except james became awkward anytime the camera focused too directly on him outside official filming.
“you’re overthinking it,” you told him while the staff reset lighting.
“i know.”
“pretend it’s an actual scene.”
“that’s worse.”
you laughed softly. and weirdly enough, that finally relaxed him.
the final take turned out perfect. the social media staff looked thrilled immediately.
“oh this shit is DEFINITELY going viral.” martin smiled at the screen. “‘s like two fandoms crossing.”
james looked exhausted already. “you people terrify me.”
“you chose fame my guy” martin reminded him.
“i was young and vulnerable.”
the sun had already started setting by the time day one finally wrapped.
everyone looked tired, cold and emotionally drained, but satisfied.
as staff members slowly began dismantling equipment around the motel set, you stood near the monitors reviewing final shots with the director. and honestly? the footage looked beautiful. exactly what the song deserved.
⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡
you said your goodbyes to the staff slowly before heading toward your van. as you climbed inside, your phone buzzed immediately.
lee minjae: u alive?
you snorted softly. you and minjae existed in that messy category of relationship nobody defined properly. friends sometimes, colleagues, occasional hookups other times. mostly convenience mixed with familiarity.
there had never really been emotions involved, which was probably why it worked.
he wasn’t deep, he was a stable constant, always there but not too much.
you: barely
minjae: come over after shoot?
you stared at the message for a second. normally maybe you would’ve considered it. a few hours together. satisfying sex, temporary distraction from exhausting schedules.
but tonight your entire body ached, and honestly?you just wanted silence.
you: too tired tonight sorry
three dots appeared immediately.
minjae: damn they got u working like a victorian child again
you smiled faintly.
you: exactly
by the time you arrived home, it was nearly midnight. your apartment felt blissfully quiet after the nonstop noise of filming equipment and staff chatter all day.
the first thing you did was shower. a long scrumptious hot shower. enough to thaw the cold still trapped inside your muscles from the rain scenes.
then came your actual night routine, an oversized hoodie, hair clipped loosely away from your face and your skincare lined neatly across the bathroom counter.
you moved through the routine automatically by now. cleanser, moisturizer, lip mask. finally you applied a cooling sheet face mask while walking barefoot into the kitchen for tea.
you were trying to be aesthetic but that failed instantly because the taste was awful. you hated tea. your apartment lights stayed dim while city noise hummed faintly outside enormous windows.
you should’ve slept immediately, but instead, you curled up on the couch with another script resting across your lap.
your next drama project. a psychological thriller filming later that year. something about wishes and an app. the character notes were covered in your messy handwriting already, underlined motivations, emotional beats, scene interpretations. you read through several pages while absentmindedly sipping tea, still half-lost in the atmosphere of “blue lips.”
then, annoyingly your thoughts drifted toward james again. specifically the way he observed scenes afterward instead of rushing away between takes. the way he listened carefully during emotional discussions.
the saved tiktok folder probably.
you smiled quietly to yourself before tossing the script aside.
“absolutely not,” you muttered aloud.
your brain needed sleep.
you eventually fell asleep sideways on the couch beneath a blanket, script pages still scattered nearby.
⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡
the next morning arrived cruelly fast. your alarm went off at 4:30 a.m.
you genuinely considered quitting the entertainment industry for a corporate job. for three full seconds before dragging yourself awake. today was the swimming pool shoot.
which meant one thing: cold.
the production studio sat inside an enormous indoor filming complex on the outskirts of seoul. when your van pulled inside, you immediately spotted massive water tanks, underwater camera rigs, lighting cranes suspended from ceilings, and crew members in waterproof gear rushing around the space.
the swimming pool itself looked unreal, huge and deep blue. artificial fog drifting softly above the surface beneath enormous studio lights.
underwater speakers played instrumental versions of “blue lips,” the haunting melody echoing strangely through the massive room.
the atmosphere felt dreamlike already. you stepped toward makeup still half-awake while staring around the set.
“this is insane,” you murmured.
one of the stylists laughed. “wait until you’re underwater for four hours.”
“don’t say things like that.” you chuckled, mentally preparing for the cold.
the styling process took almost two hours, you had to have the perfect amount of color corrector to look a certain way under the blue lights, but the makeup itself focused heavily on softness.
wet skin and smudged lashes with the signature pale lips, like someone submerged too long.
then came wardrobe, the dress waiting for you hung beside the styling rack beneath protective plastic. it was white and long, thin enough to become almost translucent underwater.
beautiful in a ghost way,
“its gonna weigh like twenty pounds once soaked,” the stylist warned while helping adjust the fabric.
“great. good news” you chuckled with her, sipping on your iced coffee.
“you’ll look amazing suffering though.”
when you finally stepped onto set fully dressed, several crew members visibly paused for a second. the dress flowed around you softly beneath the blue studio lights, already giving you an almost ghostlike appearance against the dark water.
and unfortunately, you also immediately spotted james already inside the pool.
your breath caught slightly, without you wanting, he gave you a small smile and went back to focusing.
his dark hair was completely soaked, floating against his forehead while stylists adjusted the drenched white button-up clinging to his frame underwater.
the first underwater sequence involved you diving into the pool after spotting james floating motionless beneath the surface. the symbolism represented trying to save someone emotionally drowning alongside you, from you’d been told.
the stunt coordinator explained everything carefully beforehand,
“you dive here,” he instructed, pointing toward a marked edge of the pool. “swim toward james, grab his wrist first, then pull upward.”
you nodded while adjusting your breathing, underwater filming always exhausted actors faster than people realized because everything became heavier and slower, each movement required extra strength.
after a few minutes of touch ups and the crew getting ready, you heard the director behind you.
“ready?”
you inhaled deeply. “yep, we can go ahead, i’m ready.”
the music started playing and like a choreography, you looked at the pool, seeing him in the water, the camera angled towards you as you walked, then dove.
cold swallowed you instantly, the white dress blooming around your body beneath the water while muted instrumentals echoed through the pool speakers.
across from you, james floated eerily still beneath blue lighting, eyes closed and body suspended weightlessly. you swam toward him quickly, fingers catching around his wrist before trying to pull him upward.
but the soaked fabric tangled instantly around your legs.
you both resurfaced coughing.
“cut!” everyone burst into laughter immediately.
“the dress is trying to murder me, i’m sorry, could we get it shortened maybe?” you gasped.
james pushed wet hair back from his forehead, laughing quietly too.
take two went smoother.
this time you reached him properly underwater, grabbing his arm while his eyes slowly opened beneath the surface.
the moment felt strangely intimate underwater, just eye contact and drifting fabric surrounded by blue light. you understood in that moment how one could think actors fell in love on set. this is probably how those stories started.
you pulled him upward carefully while cameras followed beside you.
“cut— beautiful!” several staff members clapped softly.
the cinematographer looked thrilled reviewing the monitor playback.
“again,” the director called. “one more for safety.”
several more takes followed afterward, some focused entirely on your expression underwater and others captured james reaching toward you weakly beneath the surface before sinking again.
by the fourth take, both of you were visibly freezing. your teeth chattered violently between resets while staff wrapped heated robes around your shoulders immediately after each cut
james looked equally exhausted.
“you okay?” you asked quietly while makeup artists fixed wet hair from his face.
he nodded once. “you?”
“yeah i’m good, cold though.”
martin suggested later, a brilliant idea really, that you guys filmed a tiktok with the sound ‘swim’ by bts, which you agreed to unwillingly.
the next sequence paired you with juhoon underwater instead. the concept was more abstract emotionally.
no rescue, no struggle, just two people drifting around each other in slow movements beneath dark blue lighting while the instrumental played overhead.
the underwater choreographer demonstrated soft turning motions and hand placements before filming began.
and once submerged, everything became eerily beautiful. your dress floated weightlessly around you while juhoon reached toward your hand underwater, both of you spinning slowly beneath the lights like fading memories. hair drifting, and fabric swirling.
at one point the director asked both of you to simply float motionless beside one another underwater while staring upward toward the surface.
the result looked haunting on playback and by the time the morning shoot finally paused, your entire body felt frozen.
staff immediately wrapped a heated blanket around your shoulders while you sat shivering near portable heaters.
wet hair clung to your neck while makeup artists tried repairing smudged eyeliner.
and then,
“rough?”
you looked up.
james stood nearby still damp from filming, oversized gray hoodie thrown over soaked clothes. you smiled tiredly.
“i can’t feel my limbs anymore.”
“good sign.”
“for hypothermia maybe.”
he laughed quietly before sitting beside you on one of the equipment cases, he reached on the small table behind him and handed you a warm drink of something.
“there you go, so you don’t get hypothermia.”
you smiled some more, fingers wrapping against the hot cup to get warm. “thanks, i owe you one.”
for a moment neither of you spoke, the massive studio echoed softly around you, crew members moving lights, water rippling gently behind cameras, distant instrumentals still playing faintly underwater.
then James glanced toward the pool.
“the underwater shots looked insane.”
“you saw playback?”
he nodded. “the scene where you grabbed my arm looked…” he paused slightly, “pretty real.”
you looked at him curiously beneath the blanket wrapped around you.
“well you were very convincing as a drowning man.”
“years of experience.”
you laughed softly.
and weirdly enough, sitting there dripping wet beside him beneath freezing studio lights felt strangely peaceful.
eventually lunch break arrived annd somehow the atmosphere felt even friendlier today than yesterday. everyone sat together around folding tables in oversized hoodies and blankets while inhaling hot food like survival depended on it.
martin looked emotionally broken already.“underwater filming was invented by sadists dude, fuck my life.”
“you swallowed half the pool, i’m dead.” keonho reminded him, cracking up.
“and lemme tell you something, that water tasted expensive. i kid you not i bet they fill it with fiji water.”
at some point seonghyeon asked about your upcoming project and everyone listened genuinely while you explained the thriller script you’d been preparing for.
“it’s like a cursed app thingy, shamanism and stuff.”
“shit that’s so cool, i wish i was an actor.” juhoon looked down.
“bro wants to be everything. model, idol, police man, dude pick a fight.” keonho turned to him.
“no but lowkey, acting is so cool, sounds exhausting though.”
“she works too much,” james said suddenly like he’d been thinking about it.
you blinked. “so do you.”
“yeah,” he admitted quietly. “but still.”
by early afternoon, your filming schedule wrapped for the day while the members prepared for additional solo scenes that didn’t involve you.
you said goodbye gradually while staff removed underwater equipment behind everyone.
“survive your scenes,” you told them while gathering your bag.
“no promises,” martin sighed dramatically.
juhoon saluted weakly from beneath three blankets.
and james looked up from his chair near the monitors.
“get home safe,” he said softly.
you smiled automatically, you did a lot of that these days.
“you too.”
then you climbed back into your van still smelling faintly like chlorine and studio fog, completely exhausted while Seoul blurred softly outside the windows on the drive home.
⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡
the studio doors slid shut behind your van and for about three full seconds, silence settled across the set.
then martin slowly turned toward james with the most insufferable grin imaginable.
“so.” he wiggled an eyebrow “how’s the crush going?”
james didn’t even look up from the towel draped over his head. “i’m going to drown you in that pool i swear to god.”
keonho gasped dramatically from nearby “you’re getting violent towards your homeboy, all this…. just for a woman. what happened to bros before hoes.”
“shut yo ass up keonho” james retorted.
“that sounded defensive,” juhoon pointed out immediately.
the members were still scattered around the massive pool set wrapped in blankets while staff members reset lighting for the next scenes. Wet clothes hung over equipment racks nearby, and the dress you had been wearing was there too.
james sat near one of the portable heaters trying to thaw himself back to life. unfortunately his members refused to let him exist peacefully.
martin dragged a chair directly beside him.
“no because lowkenuinely,” he continued, “you’re down catastrophic dude, talm about some artistic respect, man fuhhhh that”
james sighed deeply. “you guys say this every day.”
“because every day you prove us right,” seonghyeon replied calmly while sipping hot coffee.
james looked betrayed. “you too dude? no support whatsoever.”
“i support realism, fuck you mean.”
juhoon pointed dramatically across the empty set where you had been standing earlier beneath your heating blanket.
“bro looked at her like she personally invented cinema. she must be one of the lumiere brothers the way he bowed down to her.”
“ah shutup man, you don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
martin physically mimicked james’ expression from earlier, staring into the distance with exaggerated emo sadness.
“‘the underwater shots looked insane dude.’”
keonho clutched his chest dramatically. “the yearning…”
james shoved martin weakly with one hand.
“you’re all actually unbearable you bunch of virgins.”
“i might be a virgin looser,” martin replied smugly, “but i’m not incorrect.”
james groaned and leaned further back in his chair, towel still hanging over damp hair.
honestly? he knew they weren’t entirely wrong. that was the problem.
at first, before filming started, the crush had felt manageable, he just thought you happened to be the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, but overall just a celebrity crush. just someone he admired for their moving work. normal. but now?
after working a couple weeks with you in meetings, small artistic gatherings and whatnot, now that you sat beside him during breaks laughing quietly into your coffee. now he knew the exact expression you made before cameras rolled.
it was becoming a bad thing. what had started as a harmless crush, tripled in size by the hours. and apparently it was painfully obvious.
martin watched him silently for a second before speaking again, this time less teasing and more curious.
“you actually like her, huh?”
james stayed quiet, which unfortunately answered the question immediately.
keonho slowly sighed, “oh he’s cooked.”
“deeply cooked,” juhoon agreed.
james rubbed at his face tiredly. “i just think she’s…” he paused.
the members looked at him expectantly.
“really easy to be around. but i don’t thinks it’s a crush, it’s just admiration.”
that softened the teasing slightly, because they understood exactly what he meant cause you never acted superior despite your fame. never made filming awkward, never demanded attention. you listened carefully during conversations. thanked every staff member individually. stayed professional while still feeling warm somehow.
even martin had admitted privately that working with you felt comfortable.
still—
that didn’t justify why james felt this way,
martin leaned forward again. “she looks like she likes you too though.”
james immediately looked up. “… huh.”
“oh my god,” keonho groaned. “there he goes.”
“I’m serious,” martin insisted. “you think she smiles at all of us like that?”
“yes?” james replied cautiously.
the entire group stared at him. seonghyeon looked almost offended.
“she definitely doesn’t. she’s under that zhao yufine shit charm.”
juhoon nodded aggressively. “she laughs at your jokes specifically. That’s important.”
“that means nothing.”
“it means everything.” they continue feeding into his delusion.
james rolled his eyes but his ears had already started turning pink again. martin looked delighted noticing it.
“and the way she looked at you during lunch?”
“please stop talking.”
“nah cause see i’m analyzing.”
“nobody asked you to.”
martin ignored him completely.
“there’s tension.”
“there’s literally not.” james rolled his eyes.
“brother she asked to see your saved edits folder voluntarily.”
keonho pointed upward like that proved divine intervention existed. “that’s basically marriage.”
james nearly choked on his drink. “yall need serious help.”
juhoon shrugged. “we’re not the one staring at an actress like she’s gta 6 with a 50% discount.”
silence, then seonghyeon added calmly:
“don’t listen to him, that shot did look kinda insane though.”
unfortunately that was true. even the staff had noticed the chemistry during playback earlier.
martin suddenly leaned back in his chair dramatically.
“damn.”
“what now.”
“now that i think about it you’re living every man’s dream.”
james narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “what that mean?”
“you have a mutual slowburn with the nation’s most beautiful actress while filming a devastating music video. shit you might be blessed.”
“you need to touch grass.”
⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡
the final day of filming arrived wrapped in rain.
real rain this time, not artificial studio water or carefully controlled downpours created by production crews. actual gray skies stretched over the city from early morning onward, leaving streets slick and reflective beneath traffic lights.
your manager glanced out the van window while driving toward set.
“kind of fitting. did you grab an umbrella?”
you hummed softly in response, half-awake beneath your hoodie. last night you’d slept a little late, crawling under work. you were also preparing to be the mc of a variety show in a few months, everything was kinda crazy.
the atmosphere already felt different before you even arrived, final filming days always carried a strange emotional weight to them, even though this one wasn’t a big one, it still felt too good to end. you’d truly loved the project and the aesthetics, but especially working with the whole cortis crew. you saw shoots as a little world that people packed up once it was over.
you arrived at the set around six in the morning, as today was a shorter day, more centered around correcting any possible mistakes and issues.
today’s location was an abandoned indoor train station with graffitis on the wall. the signature blue fluorescent lights reflected against wet concrete floors while massive industrial fans pushed cold air through the enormous space probably to add visual effects onth hair. fake rainwater dripped steadily from ceiling pipes into shallow puddles arranged carefully for reflections.
The final scenes today would focus heavily on group shots, lypsincing with no excessive action.
you stepped into the makeup room while staff buzzed around quietly preparing for the day and even the stylists had stopped pretending they enjoyed early call times.
today’s makeup stayed minimal again, pale skinn, tired eyes and slight redness beneath the lashes. your stylist pinned sections of damp hair away from your face while studying continuity photos carefully.
“does this bother you? the piece of hair in your face.”
“yeah, if you could possibly pin it, please.”
“sure, should i add some more product or does that feel like too much on your head right now?”
“do whatever you think looks best, you’re the professional, either way you do amazing work.”
“you’re annoyingly kind, what are we gonna do once you’re gone.”
you laughed softly. “might need to start working on my sets.”
outside the trailer, you could already hear the members somewhere nearby arguing loudly over coffee. by the time you stepped onto set fully dressed, filming had already started on martin’s opening shots.
you paused automatically near the monitor screens. the scene looked pretty sick, martin stood alone beneath flickering station lights while rainwater dripped from dark hair onto his face, he was wearing baggy jeans as always.
you watched quietly beside the director until someone approached from your left.
“morning.”
james.
you looked up. his dark jacket hung loosely over layered black clothing while damp hair fell messily across his forehead. He looked tired too.
“morning,” you replied. “you look freezing.”
“i am freezing.”
you dug inside your pockets, “well i have these pocket warmer thingys, if you’d like one.”
he blinked once, then nodded as you handed them over, “warm, thank you”
you noticed immediately that talking to him no longer felt careful because atthe beginning of filming, every interaction carried awareness beneath it. professional politeness and measured conversation.
now things slipped naturally, like two good friends working together.
the assistant director eventually called you both toward the first setup together.
today’s scene involved you and james sitting inside the abandoned train car while rain hammered softly against the windows outside. you were supposed to be just sitting there, special effects added later to make it look like the train was moving, and to stare at the camera while james lip synced.
the director explained quietly before filming:
“remember, you’ve both stayed in the water too long by this point emotionally.”
you nodded.
“no dramatic sadness,” he continued. “you’re past that stage now. just tired.”
james glanced toward you briefly after that, and an eye contact that lingered half a second too long ended in a small smile.
“action.”
your character stared absently out the rain-covered window. and james watched you, lip syncing the word as if he were actually talking to you.
my blue lips ( we’ve been in here way too long) i’ve been feeling way too cold.
then slowly, your eyes met his, nothing dramatic. no touching. no speaking. but something unspoken passed between both characters anyway. recognition maybe. the understanding that neither of you knew how to leave the pool anymore.
“cut.”
nobody spoke immediately. the director stared at the playback monitor for several seconds before exhaling softly.
“…yeah.”
several staff members exchanged glances quietly behind cameras.
“let’s do a couple more just to be sure, but i’ve never gone through a scene this quickly, you guys are truly phenomenal.”
⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡
the next few hours passed through constant filming setups around the station. one sequence involved all the members standing motionless on separate train platforms while water slowly flooded the tracks below them.
another showed you wandering through empty hallways while distorted station announcements echoed overhead. everything felt dreamlike. the emotional tone of the project had settled fully into everyone now.
between takes, the members still joked around constantly, but softer today, like everyone subconsciously knew this temporary atmosphere was ending soon.
at one point keonho started aggressively singing ‘blue lips’ while staff reset lighting equipment.
martin threw a plastic spoon at him. “shut the fuck up bro.”
“yeah dude i’m tired of the song already. i’ve been hearing it too much.” juhoon expressed.
“fair.”
you smiled quietly from your seat beside a portable heater, you had your phone in hand, you and a friend texting back and forth about an upcoming event.
james sat nearby scrolling through monitor playback again.
you nudged his shoe lightly with yours. “you re gonna watch every take?”
he glanced up. “most.”
“why?”
he considered the question briefly. “i don’t know we all look pretty fly in them, it doesn’t feel like reality.”
you smiled faintly. “so i’m not fly off screen? that what you’re saying?”:
a small silence settled before he quietly corrected himself, “no, you look pretty fly all the time i’d say, i was mostly talking about me and the guys.”
before you could respond, martin suddenly appeared between both of you holding coffee cups.
“wow.” he said, dreamy.
james closed his eyes immediately, smiling amused. “please fuck off before i loose it.”
“am i interrupting cinema?”
“yes,” both of you answered at the exact same time.
james and you were growing friendlier, talking more, like it came easy. nothing had happened technically.
but something was definitely happening.
the afternoon scenes focused heavily on physical closeness.
one setup involved james resting his forehead briefly against yours while both characters sat on the flooding train tracks, completely exhausted. this was specially intricate, because it couldn’t cross an invisible line at the risk of upsetting fans.
the director explained carefully beforehand:
“you’re comforting each other without actually fixing anything.”
the scene sounded simple, but it absolutely was not. how could you communicate a feeling that wasn’t love, but still looked like it.
the station lights dimmed low around you while cameras moved closer slowly.
“action.”
you sat facing one another in silence. water started flowing the tracks, but none of you paid attention..
then slowly, james leaned forward, his forehead touching yours lightly. warm despite the cold set.
the proximity felt startling suddenly because you could hear his breathing, feel it on your mouth. feel water dripping from his hair against your skin.
things like these happened more than you’d like to think, physical touch scenes were always complicated to film because of the body’s natural reactions to being close to someone, it wasn’t necessarily that much of a challenge with james because you didn’t mind his closeness.
and worse, neither of you pulled away immediately after the director called cut.
just half a second too long, like you’d enjoyed it.
“that’s wrap!”
the entire station exploded instantly. staff members cheering. applause echoing everywhere.
you blinked slowly beneath dripping hair while reality returned all at once.
james looked at you quietly and for one strange suspended second, neither of you joined the celebration immediately, just stood there beneath the rain staring at each other like maybe something unfinished still lingered.
then martin screamed somewhere nearby:
“YES MY CHICKENS, THATS A WRAAAAAP.”
and you couldn’t help but burst into laughter.
⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡
james stood quieter near the monitor station speaking softly with the director while absentmindedly pushing soaked hair away from his face.
your eyes drifted toward him automatically.
dangerous habit.
he looked handsome like that, with a bandaid on his left cheek from a careless scratch.
the director eventually gathered everyone together beneath the rooftop overhang for final thank-yous.
“i mean this genuinely,” he said while looking between you and the members, “this project only worked because everybody trusted each other emotionally.”
the atmosphere softened instantly.
the cinematographer nodded toward you specifically.
“we had to chance to work with the amazing y/l/n y/n, you brought exactly the realism we needed.”
you bowed your head slightly.
“thank you for trusting me with it.”
“and thank you,” the director added while turning toward the members, “for being vulnerable enough to tell this story honestly.”
“oh no,” Keonho sighed dramatically. “that’s so artistic i might cry.”
eventually people started separating naturally, staff packing up, managers discussing post-prod, stylists collecting clothing pieces from dressing rooms downstairs.
you had just started walking toward the elevators when martin suddenly clapped loudly behind you.
“food.”
juhoon looked up instantly from inside his fuzzy blanket.
“yes.”
“i’m serious,” martin continued. “we survived hypothermia together. we deserve meat.”
“real,” juhoon agreed.
“there’s a barbecue place nearby,” seonghyeon offered.
everyone looked interested instantly. then martin turned toward you.
“you’re coming.”
you blinked. “ was that a question or do i not have a choice ?”
“you don’t.”
twenty minutes later, the six of you were crammed into a private room inside a small korean barbecue restaurant tucked into a quieter seoul side street.
the moment you stepped inside, heat hit your freezing skin instantly. actual heaven.
everyone collapsed around the low table dramatically while staff brought endless plates of meat and side dishes.
shoes were kicked off beneath seats and heoodies tossed carelessly aside. exhaustion settling comfortably over everyone.
martin immediately raised his water glass.
“to good meat”
“cheers.”
“to chlorine poisoning,” juhoon added, coughing.
you laughed softly while clinking glasses with everyone. you and james were the only ones drinking alcohol as you were the only people of age, you had picked a japanese beer while he went with strawberry soju.
the atmosphere loosened almost instantly afterward, alcohol seeped in your veins, making you instantly more comfortable. conversations overlapped naturally while grills crackled loudly in the center of the table.
martin aggressively cooked meat while pretending he was a professional chef while keonho criticized him nonstop. juhoon kept stealing pieces directly off the grill before they finished cooking.
“you people are animals,” seonghyeon muttered calmly. “someone’s gonna get food poisoning if you don’t wait for the meat to cook.”
“erm hello? i’m martin edwards park i don’t get food poisoning. the only i poison is dat beeeeaaaat.” he said the last part loudly.
“unfortunately.”
you sat beside james almost accidentally after everyone settled into seats. not that anyone failed to notice.
the conversations drifted between memories of the tiktoks you hadmade, keonho’s hand showing the videos over the table, best places to eat in the city and other non importants.
at one point juhoon asked: “what was everyone’s hardest scene?”
“the underwater one,” keonho answered immediately. “saw my ancestors man.”
“you barely submerged.”
“dude i can’t hold my breath fr long.” he rolled his eyes.
martin pointed dramatically toward you.
“hers with James on the rooftop though?”
james closed his eyes immediately like he already knew where this was heading.
“here we go,” he muttered.
“i’m serious,” martin continued shamelessly. “the tension was insane.”
“there was no tension,” james replied too fast.
you smiled, looking at him while sipping on your second beer, the table went silent briefly.
then juhoon slowly leaned back. “that sounded crazy defensive not gon lie.”
keonho nodded solemnly. “bro folded instantly.”
you hid your smile behind your cup, he was the only one embarrassed cause you genuinely didn’t mind the teasing.
“this group is a nightmare.”
“shutup cause you’d be unemployed without us.” seonghyeon said.
“no the fuck i wouldn’t?” james frowned.
he was objectively hot, now that the alcohol made its appearance in your veins. sharp jawline and all tight muscles. nah you were definitely not going there.
but it didn’t help that at some point while everyone argued about whether mint chocolate was overrated, you reached toward the grill at the exact same moment as james.
your fingers brushed lightly.
both of you paused instinctively. the warmth blooming of the tiny moment suspended strangely long beneath restaurant lighting.
“my bad” he quickly said, leaving you space to grab meat.
who would’ve thought zhao yufan was shy when provoked.
⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡
somewhere between the endless teasing, food, and celebratory drinks, you and james had both crossed into that dangerous almost-drunk state.
you hadn’t controlled the drinks, just kept diving in for some more, it felt natural, like a friend gathering.
you felt warm in the cheeks, you were probably flushed red by now, loose around the edges.
james was becoming less guarded, easier, he laughed louder now, shoulders relaxed while leaning back against the wall beside you.
at one point keonho stared dramatically between both of you across the table.
“oh my god.”
james narrowed his eyes immediately. “what now.”
“you guys are literally glowing.”
you started laughin, not because it was necessarily funny but… yeah you didn’t even know why.
james was also laughing beside you, head dropping slightly while rubbing at his eyes. “you people genuinely need hobbies.”
“we had hobbies,” martin replied. “but now we’re gonna have to take you home.”
you hid your smile behind your drink, feeling way too jolly for your wellbeing.
honestly the alcohol made everything feel softer tonight, you weren’t one to drink usually but this felt right, like finally you claimed back all those teenage years spent working. the only thing that was bad though, was james’ lingering looks and the way they felt nerve-wracking. you’d promised yourself not to be stupid, and here you were.
eventually when the table became empty, everyone slowly started gathering their things. managers had long since gone home, trusting the members enough to survive one celebratory dinner without supervision. outside, the city glittered beneath rain-slick streets and blurred neon reflections like a scene straight out of cyberpunk.
cold air hit your face immediately when you stepped out of the restaurant. “damn,” juhoon muttered. “it’s so cold”
“pissesme off, we had sun last week,” keonho agreed while tightening his jacket.
the group lingered outside for several minutes beneath the restaurant awning while figuring out rides home. juhoon seonghyeon keonho and martin called an uber, while james claimed he would wait to sober up before coming back. you were gonna call a ride back home too.
the 6’3 giant looked between you and james suspiciously one last time before grinning.
“fuck off receding hairline” martin shot back instantly.
“goodnight.” james deadpanned, already turning around.
everyone burst into laughter. then slowly, one by one, the members disappeared into separate cars still yelling dramatic goodbyes through open windows.
until eventually, only you and james remained beneath the glowing restaurant sign. rain had softened into mist now, cool against your cheeks while distant traffic hummed somewhere beyond the narrow streets.
you were painfully aware of how flushed you were and how undone your hair probably was, but decided not to worry, at the end of the day, he had seen you underwater, under the rain, in various weird situations.
then james caught your attention by shoving his hands deeper into his jacket pockets and glancing toward you.
“so…” he started softly. you looked up.
“do you have somewhere to be?”
the question lingered gently between you, he wasn’t pushy nor presumptuous. maybe he meant it in a friendly manner but it came across as hopeful.
you shook your head slightly. “not really.”
something subtle shifted in his expression then, probably relief.
“you wanna hang out a little longer?”
your stomach flipped embarrassingly fast, probably the alcohol.
“yeah,” you answered quietly like it was evident.
james smiled, the bandaid on his cheek crooking.
“cool.”
⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡
twenty minutes later, the two of you stood inside a convenience store near the han river laughing over candy choices like idiots. the alcohol absolutely wasn’t helping.
“that shit’s gross, worst flavor ever. you can’t possibly eat that.” you frowned.
“watch me.”
that made both of you laugh for some reason, carefree, like two morons.
“what flavor do you want?” james chuckled,
“those peach ones, stop with the crap we’re not eating cherry ones.”
he laughed, grabbing the peach bag, almost letting it fall.
the cashier looked mildly amused while ringing everything up, he couldn’t recognize you with your masks. james insisted on paying, struggling to get his card to go through with how much he was swaying.
outside again, cold night air wrapped around both of you while plastic bags swung gently from james’ hands.
the han river stretched dark and glittering beneath city lights ahead, and you eventually settled onto a quiet bench near the water. the city skyline reflected beautifully across the river while distant bikes rolled past occasionally along the paths nearby.
you sat tucked into your coat while james leaned back against the bench beside you sipping canned coffee despite already being energetic enough.
“you know,” you murmured, “this is pretty nice actually. i never thought you and i would be friends.”
he looked toward you, the word friend stabbing through his heart. ouch.
“yeah me neither”
“you’re pretty cool, i like hanging with you.” you said, head dizzy.
you took a sip of water, leaning closer to him for warmth. you gestured vaguely between both of you and the river and the convenience store snacks.
“i don’t even really hang out with people actually. i mean- i have friends but i never have time to hang out. so this is nice. ”
james smiled faintly.
“yeah, i’m glad, you can call me anytime if you wanna hang.”
“i probably will if i have time. schedules are pretty tough these days, i bet you guys have it the same.”
he nodded at that, “yeah we’re preparing for upcoming shows and stuff, it’s hectic. but i’ll make time for you.” you looked down briefly at the snack bag in your lap, trying unsuccessfully to hide your smile.
“that sounds dangerous,” you murmured.
“what does?”
“you saying things like that.”
james laughed quietly under his breath. “sorry.”
“you don’t sound sorry.”
“i’m not.” james leaned back slightly against the bench, shoulder still brushing yours.
then suddenly he squinted toward your phone sticking halfway out of your coat pocket. “…is that an arcane keychain?”
you blinked. “maybe.”
his head turned so fast it almost made you laugh.“no way, you play league?” the genuine disbelief in his voice was somehow offensive.
“yes?” james stared at you for a full second.
“you’re lying.”
“i literally have the keychain.”
“that proves nothing. people fake interests every day.”
“you’re lame”
“i need proof.”
you immediately pulled your phone out. “gatekeeping lol like millions of people don’t already play it.”
james leaned closer automatically to look at the screen and unfortunately your shoulder pressed fully against his now. his eyes widened immediately.
“you actually play.”
“told you.”
“what rank?”
you narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “that’s classified.”
“oh my god you’re bronze.”
“i’m not bronze.”
“so silver.”
“i hate you.”
james looked genuinely delighted now, like a kid. “this changes everything.”
“how?”
“i don’t know yet but it definitely does.”
you laughed softly while shoving his shoulder lightly. “what about you then, idiot?”
he looked annoyingly smug suddenly. “emerald.”
your jaw dropped. “no way.”
“way.”
that’s how you both ended up yapping about league of legends, because it was easier to do that than to pretend like there wasn’t an underlying tension.
“and junglers— oh my god don’t even get me STARTED on junglers.”
“you literally play jungle sometimes.”
“yeah and every lane blames me for EVERYTHING. top dies in a 1v1 thirty seconds in? ‘jg diff.’ bot lane pushes to enemy tower with no wards and gets ganked six times? somehow it’s MY fault. i could physically cure disease and my mid laner would still ping my smite cooldown.”
he then realized he had spoken without stoping for a breath, so he did just that, your shoulder brushed his slightly while reaching into the snack bag.
your eyes were bored on his, slightly drunk but it wasn’t just that. maybe it was the whole league of legends rambling that got you going, who knew you were into geeks. but you suddenly felt way too honest.
“that was the hottest thing i’ve ever heard.” your eyes trailed on his face, your voice carrying the softest drunken slur.
james didn’t expect that, his eyes slightly widened, but his ears went red. “what? you’re serious? i didn’t know that league of legends was hot…”
you didn’t waste a second, alcohol bringing back that bold side of you, “no, you are.”
his eyes went wild, like he couldn’t believe what you had just. said. “huh?” he said dumbfounded.
“just keep on talking.”
james took a shaky breath, hand retreating to his lap, and he looked around trying to distract himself from your gaze, your absolutely breathtaking gaze. you were so much bolder than he ever was, he hid behind jokes but he would’ve never been capable of telling you all the things he wished he were doing to you right now.
your heart stumbled violently against your ribs and the city noise around you suddenly felt very far away. when james’ eyes drifted back to you, they landed on your lips before lifting back to your gaze again.
“you know what the worst part is about all of this?” he murmured, trying to change the subject for his sanity. “i can’t watch your scenes normally anymore.”
your breath caught slightly, not really understanding where this was going. “why?”
a tiny smile pulled faintly at the corner of his mouth.
“because now i know what you sound like laughing between takes.” the whole changing the subject thing wasn’t working. “i know how you feel when you’re close to me and i know what you smell like.”
you stared at him silently. and maybe kissing a friend wasn’t all that bad. not that you had ever been friends truly. friends didn’t want to undress each other. at least that’s what you knew.
the tension stretched tighter but neither of you moved. james swallowed once before speaking again, quieter this time.
“can i?” he asked softly. then even quieter: “please.”
you nodded, you knew what he was asking for. with the way he was looking at your lips, it was painfully evident.
he wasted no time cupping your jaw, knees brushing against candy bars, he kissed you.
slow at first, like he’d imagined this too many times and was terrified of ruining it now that it was real.
his mouth moved carefully against yours, warm and slightly tasting like coffee and sweet alcohol while the city blurred somewhere far beyond the river.
you felt him exhale softly when you kissed him back harder, like tension physically leaving his body.
one of your hands instinctively grabbed the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer without even realizing it.
that made something shift in him immediately, the kiss deepened, like you weren’t outside, like you weren’t two famous celebrities eating each other in public. but that was long forgotten, the alcohol taking away every ounce of responsability.
james’ thumb brushed slowly against your jaw while his forehead nearly bumped yours from how close he’d gotten on the narrow bench.
and god,
he kissed just like he looked at you.
undressing you with attention, reverence and undeniable respect. your heart hammered violently against your ribs when he pulled back barely an inch, just enough for both of you to breathe.
you found yourselves in the same position as in the filming, foreheads pressed together, warm breaths, but this time it was different, because he had just kissed the living hell out of you.
“you have no idea,” he murmured quietly, “how long i’ve wanted to do that.”
the tension somehow got worse after the kiss. because now you knew exactly how he tasted. how he sounded when he lost composure for half a second. how his hand tightened gently against your jaw when you kissed him back.
“you’re staring,” you whispered.
“can you blame me? you’re beautiful.” his nose brushed against yours, mouths opened and chasing each other’s.
your stomach flipped hard but before you could answer, he kissed you again. this time there was nothing hesitant about it. his hand slid from your jaw to the side of your neck gently, thumb brushing beneath your ear while he leaned closer against you on the bench. the kiss deepened almost immediately, not afraid to use tongues, a little messy from laughter and alcohol and too much tension finally snapping loose at once.
you kissed him back harder without thinking and that earned the quietest sound from him,barely there, almost swallowed by the river breeze, but it made your entire chest tighten anyway. james’ other hand settled instinctively against your waist, pulling you closer until your legs brushed fully against his.
the convenience store bag tipped sideways somewhere beside you but neither of you cared. your fingers slid into the front of his hoodie, bunching the fabric of his undershirt slightly while kissing him again and again and again like maybe you were both trying to make up for weeks of holding back.
being kissed by someone who already liked you this much felt unfair. you could feel it in everything. it was so painfully sweet yet so filthy, so him. like the way he gripped your waist, scared to go lower, the way his sloppy kisses sent thrills down your body, the way he kept pausing for half-seconds just to look at you before kissing you again, like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
james tilted his head slightly, kissing you deeper now while his hand ventured underneath your shirt, tentative. he wanted to pull you on his lap right then and there, but that was the alcohol speaking.
“you’re killing me,” he murmured quietly against your mouth.
“you started this.”
“i know.”
then he kissed you again immediately like he physically couldn’t stop himself, his hands brushed against the under sides of your breast through your clothes for a second before he slid them down.
at some point your hand brushed against his lower stomach and james visibly lost composure.
“oh my god,” he muttered softly against your lips.
and then, a bike sped past somewhere nearby. very nearby.
both of you froze instantly. the reality of being outside in public slammed back into place all at once. james pulled back just enough to look around quickly while still keeping one hand at your waist.
you stared at each other for half a second, out of breath, not thinking straight.
“you were one second away from climbing into my lap.” he stated.
“like you would’ve said no.”
“right here yeah, i can control myself, i don’t want anything bad happening to your career.” he said.
you breathed out, taking his hand in yours and playing absentmindedly with his fingers and rings. you didn’t know what to say and everything was a blur.
so, you didn’t know how you ended up in the hallway leading to your apartment, pinned to a wall while james kissed his way to your neck.
it had probably started when you had resolved to innocent conversation but one wrong sentence ended up in another kiss, and another, and another, until you’d been halfway on his lap on the bench, both of your hoods pulled over your heads for a minimal privacy. after that youd stood up, hands unable to leave him, and you’d called over a taxi, putting face masks back on and requested your address. the drive had been intense, you’d wanted to climb on his lap right then and there, just to see how far his kisses would go.
the second you had been out, james had pulled you closer, almost running towards the elevator, and once inside he had pinned you to the wall, making you gasp in the feverish kiss.
and now, you struggled with your key to open the door, while he was behind you, mouth on your neck, your ass pressed right against his hardness. truth is, he didn’t wanna be disrespectful but he had a thing about your ass, had to physically refrain himself for looking at it while you walked past these last few weeks, couldn’t help but imagine how it’d feel against his palms, or if he ever got to slap it while you bounced on-
you let out a moan when he reached for the hem of your hoodie, tugging at it upwards, he managed to take it off as the key finally got in, you forced the door open, and he pushed you inside. it took everything in his power not to take you right there against the door,
"bed," you said with a shaky voice.
"yeah," he nodded, walking backwards, still kissing you while you guided him through the mess of your apartment.
once in your bedroom, he didn’t look around, he was too focused on you, on how perfect you sounded against him, undone, breathy, he sat you on the edge of your bed and his hands slid up your sides under your top,slow and deliberate and stopped at your chest. both of them. full. you inhaled sharply.
"fuck," he breathed, more to himself than you.
his thumbs dragged over your tits, testing, squeezing, like he had been thinking about this in the privacy of his own mind.
"is it wrong that i’ve thought about this?." he whispered against your neck, leaving wet kisses there.
you shook your head immediately, “no… tell me about it, i wanna hear.”
he pulled your top and bra down and his mouth replaced his hands, warm and open, taking your tit into his mouth, tongue circling your nipple before he sucked, harder than you expected. you gasped, back arching off the mattress while his other hand stayed on your other breast, squeezing, rolling your nipple between his fingers, alternating between slow and sharp until you had your hands in his hair and your eyes shut tight, absolutely no remaining composure.
“thought about these so many times, how perfect they looked in that dress, in the swimming pool, you’re fucking perfect y/n, so beautiful, everywhere.”
you moaned at his words, “james”
“i know, i know pretty thing.” he said, not looking up. he dragged his teeth lightly over your nipple as he pulled away, causing you to shiver. then he dropped to his knees.
“you know how many times i had to stop myself from staring at you? cause id feel guilty, always wanted to be so respectful, but i couldn’t stop imagining you…”
he got your jeans off and pulled you to the edge of the mattress; his mouth found your inner thigh, in absolutely no hurry. he mapped out slowly in open-mouthed kisses, the slight scrape of his teeth occasionally, and you propped yourself on your elbows to watch him, his hair tousled, eyes black and wild with arousal. he glanced up, catching you looking and the almost-smile he gave you was genuinely unfair.
when he finally got to your pussy, you shuddered, thighs already trying to close around his head, one hand draped across your face in anticipation. he started with the flat of his tongue, one long stroke, as the breath punched out of you. only then did he settle in. he learned you fast: what made your hips stutter, what made you tug at his hair. his tongue working your clit in slow circles, pulling you taunt like a thread, and when he slid two fingers and curled them just right, the dual pleasure made you go crazy. you thought you’d come with that gesture alone, your chest moving up and down with uncontrolled breaths.
"there," you say. “right there… please…”
he kept the same pace, looking up at you with adoration, learning the faces you made when you were touched right. his mouth then stayed on your clit while his fingers worked that spot relentlessly.
“look at you, so pretty, so fucking pretty.” he praised against the skin of your thigh, hooking your legs over his shoulders.
he was so turned on, his pants tight with the throbbing ache between his legs, he thought he could cum in his pants just by eating you out alone. he’d seen a lot of things in his short life, but nothing compared to this. to seeing you stretched out around his fingers, ever so compliant, beautiful and wrecked.
you moaned as he found the perfect rythm, the perfect coherence of fingers and tongue, your release building in the pit of your stomach, it was usually rare for someone to make you come that fast, but you weren’t at the end of the surprise, because when your hips started grinding down on his tongue, he flipped you around, ass up, arched on the soft sheets.
and god, james thought he knew what living felt like. he thought he was pretty damn accomplished already, a promising idol career, fans, brand deals, but this? james just stared,like this sight of you was a religious experience he wasn’t worthy of.
you whimpered just then, face buried in your pillow, and he looked down, mesmerized, surely the alcohol had worn off, but now it was a different type of drug that possessed him. “so beautiful like this, all for me. what am i gonna do with you…”
your hips moved back, triggered by his words, and your ass pressed right against his pants. james clicked his tongue, the flat of his hand grabbing your ass. “what do you want? huh? tell me what you want and i’ll give it to you.”
you preened, one hand reaching behind you, spreading your ass shamelessly, your pussy glistening with your arousal and his saliva, clenching around nothing like you just couldn’t fathom not feeling him inside of you. you were ready to beg, you weren’t normally into that, but the way he carried yourself so differently from usual, not shy, not afraid of anything, made you want to tell him he could do anything with you.
“fuck… you’re gonna kill me.” james bent down to press a kiss against your spine and you shivered, so empty… and so cold.
“please… please” you crossed one of your boundaries, you had never thought you would ever want to- scratch that- need to beg. but it felt so good, the way his breathing stopped for a second, the way his hips rutted against your bare ass, like it was the best thing he’d ever heard.
“please what, baby?” he sucked a spot on your spine, right where you had a tattoo. “tell me what you need. use your words.”
and fuck, you’d always thought you were kinda dominant… maybe? or vanilla. sex only ever cringed you out when dudes started calling the girl ‘good girl’ and manhandling them. but this? you thought you would die from the tone of his voice, reverant but so fucking firm. it made your insides turn into burning fire, made you rethink your whole view on sex.
“please… i need you to fuck me.” you spoke, like a big girl. you felt james’ tongue drag a path down your spine, until it reached your tailbone.
“that’s it, you’re doing good.” he dropped a kiss there, one of his hands going back to your pussy.
he spread you, still giving unwavering attention to your tailbone while two fingers slipped inside, earning a dragged out moan from you. “so fucking loud… such a good girl.”
who was this? cause this certainly wasn’t the james from set, the james whose ears would turn red everytime you spoke to him for too long, the james who was worried he’d be a pervert if he so much as gazed at your tits. but you had no complaints whatsoever. your soaked thighs were enough evidence. you clenched around his fingers at his words, gripping the bedsheets, and he gave your shoulder a kiss. “is that good pretty thing? you like that?”
you nodded instantly, afraid he’d stop if you didn’t manage an answer, your breathing had long turned franctic, leaving you a mess, but it’s like he knew what he was doing to you, and he wanted more. he knew how surprised you were, god even he was surprised at himself.
“you want more? yeah?” james worked his jeans open, only the zipper, as his other fingers were busy hitting that delicious spot inside of you, the one that made you reconsider pleasure. the angle made it so unbearably good that you couldn’t even manage words out.
“yes … yes fuck yes please… - please.” you babbled, ass pushing against his hand with unabashed need.
“look at you, my pretty girl is so needy.” james pushed his jeans down, along with his boxers, his thick cock resting on your ass now.
you ground your ass against him, the feeling of him so heavy sending jolts right where his fingers where working tirelessly. you were so close, so so close, and he was so good, like he had done this hundreds of times, he touched you exactly where you liked being touched. “please… fuck me.” you begged, wanting to be properly filled.
“you’re being such a good girl for me right now… you think you deserve it?” he mused, tip leaking on your lower back, so much so that at first he thought he’d came.
you nodded aggressively against the pillow, teetering on the edge of release,walls fluttering around his digits. “yes yes - fuck yes- i don’t know… please… please i’ll- i’ll be your good girl, i’ll listen, just please.”
this was new for you, so foreign, but it felt somehow right, like you relished in his praise, his taunting tone. james was all man, and you were already ruined.
“so desperate, my sweet thing…” he sped up his fingers, cock now shamelessly grinding against the skin of your behind. “you’re gonna be a good girl and take what i give you okay?”
you nodded, because his hands were driving you insane, and now he was pinching your nipple, twisting it between his fingertips, and you were a goner.
your orgasm crashed into you like a train, body lapsing into convulsions while you didn’t even try to be keep sane anymore. you moaned over and over not caring about how loud you were, about how vulnerable you were, ass spread for him as he made you cum with only two fingers, and he kept praising you, like you were a precious thing, like he couldn’t believe he was getting to see you like this, he whispered sweet things in your hair, fingers never stopping.
only when he was satisfied with the mess between your legs, he flipped you around, on your back, his mouth immediately latching onto your neck, careful not to leave any marks that could harm your career, he spread your legs, throwing his shirt across the room, and settled between your thighs, cock heavy on your lower stomach. “you did so good… might have to do that again but this time i wanna see your face.” james said agains your jaw, mouth brushing but not quite touching.
your fingers raked through his hair, softly tugging, until he was groaning, cock slipping to where you needed him the most. when you felt his tip nudge your clit, you arched, breasts touching his chest. “so wet, look at you baby…” he kissed your cheek then forehead. “you want me to fuck you, yeah?”
you nodded incapable of forming coherent thoughts, your legs wrapping around his waist, “i’ll fuck you my love, i think you deserve that don’t you? you’ve been so good to me, came on my fingers like a champ…” james kissed your pulse point, cock sliding between your folds.
his forehead pressed against yours, he cursed, guiding the tip at your entrance. “are you sure my pretty girl?” you nodded immediately, hips chasing him. james wrapped his hand around his cock, almost like he had to restrain himself from burying himself inside of you, and he slid the tip inside, cursing. “shit… so wet baby.”
you whimpered, as he took in the sight of your pussy accommodating his length, squeezing on only the tip of him. he slid in ever so slowly, and when he was fully seated inside, he didn’t move. he thought he could cum from just the feeling of you, squeezing him, the tight fit, your moans… he couldn’t take it. “fuck… you’re taking me so well pretty thing…”
he took a second, grounding himself, before finally moving. he slid all the way out before slamming back in, kicking the breath out of your lungs. you moaned, so close to him in all the senses of the word, filled to the brim with only him. your heels dug on his lower back, you felt him so deep that you wanted to honestly cry.
you wrapped weak fingers around his wrist, without thinking it through, and guided his hand on your neck. it wasn’t something you thought you’d ever enjoy, but there you were, his hands so fucking attractive you could only think about them choking you. so he did exactly that, following your movements, he wrapped his fingers around your neck and squeezed, mouth slightly open at the sight of you, you were being so good, so perfect.
“so beautiful with my hand around your neck, you know that right ? you know how fucking pretty you are?” he rasped, eyes wild with want, and devotion. “answer me baby,” his lips trailed down your neck.
you nodded, gasping, but he didn’t seem content with that response, his cock dragging inside of you. “nuh-huh, words baby. i need to make sure my girl is aware- fuck- of how beautiful she is.”
and there he was, calling you his girl, you didn’t mind it one bit, cause somewhere in your head you were already ready to be his. “yes—… i know… fuck i know.”
james pushed impossibly deeper, knocking the sense out of you, “good girl,” and he showed you, just how pretty you were, every drag of his cock sending you closer to a devastating edge.
“mmmh… james” you moaned, the intimacy of the moment overtaking you, “- need more”
“yeah?” he reached for one of your leg, lifting it to rest on his shoulder. “there, better?”
you nodded, the pressure in your lower belly unbearable, the new angle dragging sounds you didn’t even know were yours out of your mouth. he fucked you harder into the mattress, his hands around your neck never too overwhelming, whispering sweet nothings interrupted by curses agains your skin.
“m so- so close…” you said delirious, arms wrapped around him, pulling him impossibly closer.
truth is, you had never felt so good, and that scared you, you were discovering another side of you, another side of him, and it was so dangerously good. you wanted to crawl into his skin, keep him around forever.
“mmhh… so tight, you’re squeezing me so tight sweet girl, are you gonna cum for me?” he pushed in faster and deeper, if that was only possible.
your walls fluttered around him, nails digging on his back, and you felt him twitch inside you, he wanted to tease you, edge you until you couldn’t take it anymore, but he was so close he couldn’t sustain that, he ached for you, wanted to bury himself inside of you and never leave.
“so so so sweet… so good to me, you’re doing so good my princess…” he whispered, feeling you getting closer and closer.
one last push was all it took, your orgasm shook you beyond reason, you trembled against him, moaning his name over and over, you weren’t even sure how long is lasted, james kept dragging out your pleasure, until he was the one violently twitching.
he buried his face in your neck, rutting inside of you, “oh fuck fuck fuck… so fucking… good” his hips snapped fast, “i’m cumming, i’m cumming… shit.” you felt him come inside, thick and warm, filling you up until it dripped between your thighs. james kept panting, pushing it deeper, before he crumbled on top of you, exhausted with the force of his release.
it dawned onto you just then, how fucking gone you were.
⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡
what had undeniably been the best sex of your life ended with you both falling asleep jus like that.
exhausted by the alcohol, the tension, the day of filming, and the world wrecking sex. james didn’t pull out, he tucked you against him, still buried deep inside, and in a beat you were both asleep.
what was, as unspoken as it was, supposed to be a good time, nothing much more, ended up in- well… much more.
you started seeing often. when the screening of the music video came around and you saw the chemistry you had on screen, you remembered glancing at him through your lashes across the room, he’d felt the same things. you snuck out right after, kissing like lovesick teenagers not worried about loosing their jobs. he fucked you in the bathroom, loosing himself in you all over again. it happened a couple of times after, until one day, balls deep inside of you, he asked if you could be his. it was an evidence for you, and you retorted that you were already his.
that was how you ended up falling in love with him, pushing aside every boundaries you once had about dating, you couldn’t care less about anything. he loved you like a sickness, and that was enough to make the risk worth it.
and truthfully ? how lucky was he to have made his all time celebrity crush fall in love with him?
시놉시스 ┆ garage boyband leader!𝒎ar𝘁͟in, ─────⠀preppy f! reader 𓂅 𝑤.𝑐: +15k (17.450 and I'm not even sorry, I ate this one up!) ꒰ ⌗ coming of age, slice of life, attempts of rom-com, fluff, and one-sided enemies to lovers ꒱ ↷⠀ ℰditoral ! 𓂂
─────⠀slow burn rivals to lovers, mutual pining (hidden under sarcasm), high school setting (South Korea in the big 2004, and i think i kinda pulled off the correct amount of good cringe), band boy x class president dynamic, emotional tension, academic pressure, family conflict (parental slap + divorces), music as love language, heartfelt confessions, teasing + banter, teenage rebellion, emotional vulnerability, light touching (no explicit sexual content), implied attraction, healing through love.
EXTRAS !: PLAY THAT BEAT (Martin's songs for you) ───── FROM MY HEART (Your songs for Martin's) ───── I CAN WAIT FOR US
“Prez! Over here!”
Your nickname cut through the hallway, followed by the hand wave he was doing alongside a smile. Some students who were there glanced, waving less energetically than Yujin—everyone knew you as the 2 time class president. You pulled your bag higher on your shoulder, waving through clusters of lovely outfits, mostly ignoring the flyers taped on every wall: cram school promotions, mock exam countdown, “join the club” posters already, and one for a half-torn band audition, the ink smudged like whoever put it there didn’t even care.
Due to being the last first day of school, you spoke to the school headmaster to have permission to drop the uniforms and wear an outfit, which allowed you to be the only student to give a motivational speech in the gymnasium, but seeing how everyone was comfortable showing their identity through clothes, despite the already packed senior schedule that we will face ahead.
Senior year wasn’t going to be kind; the past students let you all know that.
“That’s a cute outfit.” You playfully did a princess bow, the outfit that you pulled the night before consisted of a white collared button-up shirt under your fitted, long-sleeve blue sweater, covering perfectly your exposed abdomen that your denim mini skirt showed. It was cinched in with a chunky black belt and some white socks with black shoes with a little bit of heel.
“Thank you, Yujin. You don’t look bad, either.” He spun dramatically in place, making his backpack bounce.
“Please. My mom picked this outfit. I had to wear it, otherwise she wouldn’t let me go to our karaoke tradition.” He opened his backpack, pulling out strawberry milk.
“You’re the absolute best,” you said, stabbing the straw through the foil and taking a sip without hesitation.
“So, how was your vacation?”
“It was good. I went to the beach for a week before going to visit colleges with my mom.” he gave a dramatic sigh.
“She is more obsessed with your future than you.” You raised your shoulders, way too used to his words.
“Well, sadly, I have to go along with—”
“Yah, Han Yujin!” The wall made that scream bounce, creating an echo where the two of you froze. As a matter of fact, everybody there did; you saw the unforgettable figure of your friend Leeseo running to you two, and you looked to your right to see the face of pure fear on Yujin’s face.
“What have you done?” you whispered, before he could speak. Leeseo was already trying to hit him. His hands went to your shoulder, and he started using you as a shield.
“Leeseo, stop!” you gasped, trying to wriggle out of Yujin’s grip.
“Oh, hi there, Y/N. Can you please move? I want to kick his ass.” It was comical how everything was going down, cameras shutting off as they captured the first banter of the duo. You decided to enter the class, and a spot near the desk and next to the window was your favorite.
“Leeseo—ouch! Wait!” Both of them entered as she finally left him alone after she gave a pretty hard smack on his back. Leeseo sat next to you, and Yujin took the spot behind you two.
“You idiot, why didn't you tell me that Martin is back?!” Her whisper made your ear raise at the name.
“I didn’t spend time here; I went to the countryside to visit my grandma. How do you know?”
“Because he was getting scolded by the teacher at the entrance.”
“Nothing new, then,” you spoke before you could think. You placed your pencil case and notebook on your desk. Leeseo’s mouth fell open, her eyes wide as if what you just said was the dumbest thing ever.
“Nothing new? Y/N, he was supposed to go to Canada for his senior year; he even spoke about it.”
“Now that you said that,” Yujin put his strawberry milk on his table, leaning between you two. “Yesterday, when I was leaving out to do the groceries for mom, Martin and his dad were discussing it; it looked pretty heated.”
“Oh great, the menace is back.” You keep your eyes focused on what you were writing in your notebook, which consisted mostly of a to-do list of the day.
“Why do you act like this news is a normal Tuesday’s cafeteria menu?”
“Because that’s exactly what it is. Martin gets in trouble like he has been doing for the past couple of years, the teacher yells, and the earth spins. What else is new?”
Yujin chuckled, “Careful tho. Keep talking like that, and he might think you missed him.”
You whipped around, smacking the back of his head with enough power to bother him. “Don’t even joke.”
People kept entering the classroom, some were going straight to their friend group, others to get ready, and a few simply lay on the desk to sleep for a few minutes before the usual first day announcement.
You grabbed your small makeup pouch so you could go to the restroom, standing in the middle sink and smiling at your polished reflection. Pulling the gloss, you painted your lips with a thin layer of gloss, the mascara was next to give volume to your eyelashes, and finally, some blush on your cheeks.
When you were satisfied, you left the bathroom, fixing your pouch, crashing with someone, and dropping everything inside them, you could bet your blush was broken into pieces.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," you said, bowing as you rushed to at least some of the remains.
"I can't believe the school role model is wearing makeup, breaking the rules already?" you sighed, still picking up your stuff, your mood completely dropping.
"I take that back, I'm not sorry." You finally got up and looked at what was supposed to be Martin's height last year, your neck hurting slightly as you looked a little more up. Leeseo was right, he got unbelievably tall.
He was wearing a band tee with ripped jeans that looked twice his size, hanging on his hips like they were holding on for dear life. Scuffed Vans dragged slightly as he shifted his weight, the hoodie unzipped and frayed at the sleeves. His hair looked like he’d rolled out of bed on purpose, and the faint smirk tugging at his lips only made it worse.
The outfit made you know that he would be the reason for your headaches for another year.
“Martin Edwards,” you said flatly, clutching your pouch like it was armor.
“Still bowing to people in hallways. How cute,” he drawled back, his smirk spreading slowly with his hand shoved into his hoodie pocket.
“Still getting yelled at by teachers on the first day. How predictable.” You stepped sideways, but he shifted too, blocking your path with a lazy lean against the wall, watching you close your eyes, irritated.
“You know that I can’t help it if they’ve missed me.” He tilted his head. “Don’t tell me you didn’t.”
Your laugh came out louder than intended, calming down quickly. “Please. The place was finally quiet without you.”
“Quiet’s overrated.” You could see how his eyes flicked down, lingering on the glossy shine of your lips, making you look down briefly. “Besides, you look better with noise around.”
He leaned in slightly so you were the only one hearing. “Come on, Prez. Admit it. You missed me.”
“I miss the news of you moving to Canada.” You scoffed, you looked at his eyes, and you could see how that challenging look disappeared for a second.
“Damn.” He pressed a hand over his chest like you’d shot him. “Still ruthless with the comebacks. What happened to the sweet, polite, and lovely person?”
“She’s still here, she just doesn’t like you,” you shot back, already making your way out. He appeared next to you, the height difference even more noticeable. You stopped on your tracks, him copying you after.
It was your turn to step forward, your chin high, although it didn’t make you look intimidating. “You’re going to make this year miserable, aren’t you?”
“Depends on how much attention you give me, pretty,” he said easily, the nickname rolling off his tongue like it was nothing, turning the tip of your ears slightly warm.
Before you could say something, the bell overhead rang, echoing through the hallway. The students started invading the hallways, brushing past the two of you with curious eyes.
You exhaled, finally brushing past him to go to your class to hide the pouch, coming back to see him waiting outside the class. “I’m making one thing clear. Give me some free time for our teachers scolding me because of you, I don’t want that on my record.”
You marched your way with your class, heels softly clicking.
“Can’t promise that, Prez!” His voice followed you down the hall.
It was official, this was going to be a long senior year.
Four months passed like a blur, and just like you predicted, everything stacked up to you. Not even a week in, and the classes and teachers nominated you to be the president of the school council. You were about to give up that opportunity for the sake of a slightly peaceful year, but when your mom heard about it, she forced you to keep it, not turning back even when your dad tried to talk her through it.
The school was quick to give you a list of activities you and the committee had to plan, and because of your last events as class president, students were quick to say the same sentence.
“We are having a prom AND a school trip? Y/N, you’re the best!”
Normally, the country itself wasn’t exactly used to having a prom the way other countries did, renting movies to watch on a Friday night was enough to plant the idea in every senior’s head, even yours, not believing that you were the one supposed to make it happen. Thankfully, the first big event on the calendar wasn’t prom—but the spring school trip.
With the help of Yujin’s mom, we secured a short trip of two nights in Gyeongju for the last week of October.
It was 7 pm, and you were walking back home with the rented DVD of 10 Things I Hate About You, ready to drown in ramen and your blankets. The reason? You were tired of council meetings, study schedules, and Martin already racking up three warnings from teachers.
“Why are you in pajamas?” Leeseo surprised you by being in front of your house.
“Because I’m staying at home…?” Your sentence sounded more like a question than you wanted it to, especially because Leeseo was standing at your gate with her backpack.
“Wrong answer,” she said, shoving past you. “Your mom thinks you’re staying at my house for a study-slash-sleepover. I’m telling you, she almost hugged me when I told her we are even reviewing college math problems.”
“What? Leeseo, I’m in pajamas. I bought snacks! I’m committed to my bed tonight.”
“You can change, and the snacks can wait.” She plopped the backpack on your bedroom floor before going straight to your closet, pulling out outfits that seemed fitting to fool your mom even more. “I’m not letting you waste your Friday night watching Heath Ledger for the 100th time.”
“Shut up.”
She threw your pink cardigan in your face. “Come on, your mom needs to see you leave like we are going to church."
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
“Call me if anything happens, okay?” You nodded at your mom before she lightly hugged you. “Thank you for doing this, darling. I know you will match my baby’s commitment to college.”
Leeseo bowed down while you tried to hide your face, your head by lowering it. “Anything to get that 100, I will bring her tomorrow!”
You two started walking out, feeling the gaze of your mom behind you. “When we turn around here, Yujin and his brother are waiting for us.”
And just like she said, Hanbin and Yujin were there, opening the car right when they saw you two. “Were you two creating a summer season collection?”
“Quiet, Yujin. Hi Hanbin,” you said. Hanbin simply smiled at you.
“Where now, to our house?” Hanbin spoke, this time looking at Leeseo.
“Yes, we need to change her clothes,” you said, looking at her, confused.
“But why? I think it’s cute.” You looked down, a pink polo shirt layered under a pastel cable-knit sweater, khaki skirt, and pearl studs.
“Don’t get me wrong, it is cute, but it looks like you will hold a mass on the dance floor.” Now you laughed, already feeling at ease when the wind touched your face. “And then to Martin’s”
Once again, the mood turned down. “Wait—Martin? As in Martin Edwards?”
“Yes. Keonho texted me, and he said his mom’s gone, and his band has their amps set up in the garage. Apparently, half of the school’s going.” Yujin said, and that’s when you looked at Leeseo, who was actively trying to avoid your face.
“Oh my god! I love this song, turn it up, Hanbin!” she screamed.
The car ride to Hanbin’s house wasn’t long. Yujin’s house was empty when you arrived. Leeseo didn’t waste a second—the soft outfit was already in her backpack, so you can wear the black cropped baby tee with a rhinestone butterfly, a pleated low-rise denim skirt, and a chunky studded belt. Your makeup is slightly altered with the use of eyeliner, but since it was a style you have secretly wanted to try for a while, you enjoyed it.
Leeseo opened the door of Yujin’s room. The second you stepped out, both brothers gasped. You rolled your eyes with your face burning at the attention.
“Now that outfit is the one that will take your mom to a coma,” Yujin said. Hanbin punched him softly, and you simply laughed.
It took a few steps to arrive there since they were neighbors, and the bass from the garage was already rattling the pavement. Cars were parked crooked along the curb, kids were sitting on the front lawn with red cups, and some of them, who you recognized as graduates, were drunk.
“This looks safe,” you muttered. Leeseo slipped her arm through yours.
“Relax, it’s just a party. Besides, Martin’s band is playing. It will be good.”
You rolled your eyes. “Martin’s band will probably sound like three lawnmowers in a blender.”
“That’s kind of the point.”
The smell of cheap soju mixed with hairspray lingered in the air; there were some Christmas lights strung along the ceiling, casting the whole space in a warm glow. You moved between people to grab something to drink from the table.
“Noona?”
You turned around, half-expecting another stranger with either a can of soda or a red cup. Instead, it was Keonho—well, another version that was surely not the one you used to watch on council meetings.
It was almost comical the way your eyes widened at the same time, like you were looking at two entirely different people from the ones you’d last seen in pressed uniforms.
“...Keonho?” you blinked, scanning him from head to toe. “What are you wearing?”
Baggy jeans sagging low on his hips, showing a part of his boxers, a chain clinking against his belt loop, oversized sneaker, and a graphic tee layered under a half-zipped hoodie. His gel-free hair was messy, kinda like he came out of an MTV music video. He looked good, you had to admit.
Keonho gawked back at you with the same disbelief. “Me? Noona, look at your outfit.”
Heat rushed to your cheeks, suddenly becoming hyperaware of your fit.
You crossed your arms defensively. “At least I don’t look like I lost a fight with my closet… but you look good, I guess.”
He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fair. But still… wow. Didn’t think you could look like that. It suits you.”
Before you could thank him, the garage speakers squealed as the music turned down. Keonho’s grin widened instantly. “Anyways, you have to come listen. Cortis is next.”
You arched a brow. “Cortis?”
“The band I joined!” he said, a happy smile showing his pride. “James is on drums, Juhoon’s rhythm, Seonghyeon on keys, I’m bass.”
“Oh, all of you sing?” you asked, following his steps to the garage.
“Sometimes, but the main singer—”
“What’s up, School of Performing Arts of Seoul!” Martin's voice resonated all over the place, the crowd screaming in response.
“Keonho.”
“I know you don’t like him at all, but listen to us for a moment, we practiced a lot.” he did a small pout, you had to nod to see him smiling, and run to his bass.
You scanned the group, eyes stopping on Martin, his guitar strap slung low and standing front and center.
“Thanks for being here. We’re Cortis, and we will do something old since classics never die.”
They surprised you by opening with a familiar riff of one of your favorite bands, blink-182. “All the small things” made the whole garage shake with the force of it, and you had to admit it—it didn’t sound half bad. They were all completely lost in their performance and interacting with people in the crowd who were busy nodding their heads and screaming their names.
The song ended, and the five boys were sweat-slicked and breathless, quickly grabbing a can of soda to quench their thirst. Martin left for a moment, arriving soon after to connect an acoustic guitar to the amps.
You audibly gasped when the familiar melody hit your eardrums. “Wonderwall”.
You moved through the crowd to get a clearer view, spotting Leeseo and Yujin by the first rows, both singing along dramatically the wrong lyrics—you didn’t mean to reveal your love for rock music there, but after securing your spot next to your friends, your body moved first, soon the lyrics easily feel off your lips like you’d been waiting for that exact song all night, far away from your mother.
For the first time, you let yourself loose. They weren’t perfect; the performance itself was pretty raw to the point that the energy could be felt all over the place. Martin looked up mid-chorus, eyes landing on you. You could see how his eyes opened at the view of you enjoying the chaos he was creating. It felt like the noise dimmed, even just for a second, before he went back to singing his heart out.
The night stretched on with more covers, every single one better than the one before. Eventually, the closeness got too much, making you slip through the crowd and push the back door open, stepping outside after grabbing a can of soda. The cool night air hit your face like a relief, although the sound of crickets filling the silence that the muffled music left behind wasn’t exactly your cup of tea.
You exhaled, leaning against the side of the house, closing your eyes for a moment, finally feeling a little sense of peace after what was probably the longest year so far.
“You hiding, Prez?”
You startled, spinning around to see Martin also leaning against the railing, hair damp with sweat, a crooked smile painted across his face. Even outside, he carried the same reckless kind of confidence that made people look twice.
“Not hiding,” you said flatly. “Just avoiding the noise pollution.”
“Funny that you say that, knowing how much you enjoyed back there.” His smile grew at the sight of you trying to play it cool.
You scoffed lightly, crossing your arms. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was just… surprised you didn’t completely butcher the songs.”
“Ouch.” He chuckled, pushing off the railing to stand a little closer. “You’re tough to impress.”
“That’s not new information.”
For a brief moment, he didn’t say anything — just looked at you. “Didn’t think I’d see you at one of my shows,” he said, quieter this time.
“Me neither. I didn’t think you’d still be here,” you said, the words coming out before you could even stop yourself. “Wasn’t Canada calling your name?”
You stood there waiting for a silly comment like he always does, just to see your irritating face. But there was nothing but silence, and you were smart enough to know you messed up.
He let out a soft laugh, a bitter one. “Yeah, it was.”
Your silence was a cue for him to continue, which even made you question why you suddenly wanted to hear the rest.
“My dad wanted me there, to finish high school there, the same high school he graduated from,” he said. “Said it’s ‘set me for the future.’, but while he was setting me up, he was setting someone else up too. In another country.”
You froze, for the first time, not having an answer to talk back.
“My mom knew,” he added. “She knew the whole time and just… kept living like nothing happened. So I decided to stay with the person I’m less angry at—while making him angry enough that I like music.”
"He wanted you to be something else when you graduated?"
"Electric engineer. Just like him, so I can help with his company."
You suddenly remember the article that the principal showed one time — Edward Industries’ CEO invests in youth innovation — and the photo of Martin’s father shaking hands with people, smiling like his world was perfect.
“That’s… a lot to live up to and process,” you said quietly.
“Well, you know I’m not great at following instructions.” His lips twitched, but his usual smirk didn’t quite form this time.
You took a sip of the last part of the soda, swallowing it. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I know you hate me enough to not care.”
Your breath caught at the way he said it, like it wasn't a joke, but that stung a part of you. You look at him and, for the first time in your eyes, he doesn’t look untouchable or smug. He looked tired.
“I’m so sorry, Martin,” you said softly.
“Don’t be. I’d rather be here playing and producing music with the boys and annoying you.”
You let out a small laugh. “You’re doing a great job at both.”
“Y/N! Are you here?!”
You both turned toward the sound of Yujin’s scream echoing faintly from the other side of the yard. Flashlights from someone’s phone swung through the dark as your friends searched for you.
“Your friends are calling you,” Martin said, stating the obvious. You ran a hand through your hair and twisted it into a messy low bun. He watched the motion quietly, cheeks warming before he could stop himself.
You met his gaze again. “Good night, Martin.”
“Night, Prez.” He added, finally smiling a little bit.
You started to walk away, then paused mid-step to look back over your shoulder.
“I don’t hate you,” you said. “I just hate that the only thing that damages my school profile is your warnings.”
He let out a chuckle, for real this time, his mouth now doing his familiar grin. “Then I guess I’m doing you a favor. Give your résumé some personality.”
You blinked, completely caught off guard, before a laugh escaped you, making his grin widen.
“Hey! Don’t laugh!” he said, though the lack of bite in the tone betrayed him, too focused on the happiness that you radiated outside the school.
From a distance, Yujin called your name again, his voice half-drowned by the music. You turned to glance at the noise, still smiling as you stepped back.
Martin stayed where he was, hands shoved in his pockets, watching you go, putting his hand on his chest to calm it down a bit at the sudden racing of it.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Sitting again at your desk felt like hell. The summer break had been a blur, and what you wished to do the most—relaxing, catching up on your TV shows, and simply not thinking too much about high school—was replaced by college prep books and an endless to-do list dictated by your mother. You manage to sneak out with Leeseo and Yujin only once.
Long story short, you were practically glued to your desk. So the return to school felt more like a choker pressing even tighter around your neck.
“You guys won’t believe what I just saw!” Yujin entered the room, slamming the door closed before running to your spot.
“Yujin, tone it down! Drink some.” You gave him your water, practically chugging it down to ease his thirst.
“Thank you, I came here running as fast as I could.”
“Couldn’t tell." The sarcasm in Leeseo’s voice made him narrow his eyes at her. “Say what you saw.”
Before he could, the door slid open again, and a collective gasp rippled through the classroom.
Martin.
But it was Martin wearing the school uniform properly. Key word: properly. White shirt tucked in, tie actually knotted, blazer neat. The only nods to his usual style were a thick, silver ring on his index finger and the slight, purposeful messiness of his hair that framed his face.
He dropped his backpack onto his usual seat in the back, then strolled casually toward the front to grab a new syllabus. On the way back, he caught Yujin’s eye.
“Morning, Han, Leeseo, Prez.” he nodded coolly, taking a seat on the empty spot.
“That’s what I saw,” he whispered, wide-eyed.
Far from being discreet, Leeseo was already studying Martin, who was playing dumb and doing random poses. “I hate this. Bring back your ‘I hate the system’ attitude right now. That’s my only entertainment in this school.”
Martin looked up, grinning. “Can’t. I’m going for the rebrand. Gotta keep the audience guessing.”
You kept your eyes fixed on your notebook, pretending to write down something important, and you were hyper-aware of the space he occupied beside you.
Then came the knock on the wood right next to your pencil case. “Do I look good, Prez?”
When you finally risked a glance at him, it was enough to have the class eyes on both of you, especially his bold yet teasing stare.
“You look like a normal student. Congratulations.”
The bell rang, and everyone began shuffling to their seats. Martin kneeled in front of you and leaned near enough to whisper, “Thank you, princess.”
Yujin choked with the water again, and Leeseo was just there, wide-eyed and jaw on the floor. You froze, brain stuttering to find something coherent to say after that. It was well known that you hated nicknames like that, but why are you feeling your cheeks warming up so fast? The class started whispering.
Days passed, but something about him had shifted.
He still sat in the back (mostly because of his height), still wore that lazy smirk when teachers called his name, but between the sarcasm and the half-lidded stares out the window, you caught him writing. Even more, he divided the notebook into two, where he had both school material and lyrics alongside some guitar chords. Once, you even saw the corner of a paper titled “CORTIS - Set Ideas!!” when you were delivering lesson papers.
He wasn’t slacking off anymore. He was trying.
And since he was trying, the warnings of your bad leadership were almost nonexistent. And it was weird, mostly because you didn’t know how to feel about it.
By the second week, the girls' bathroom was starting to fill with rumors.
“Cortis is joining the Battle of the Bands next month! I’m going to support Juhoon.”
“Keonho and Seonghyeon are the youngest people to be there.”
“If they go and win, they will break Hamlin's streak of three years.”
You overheard it all, pretending not to listen, but it was inevitable, the emotions for everyone there, since it’s their big “gig”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
At home, though, things stop being simple. Your mother had entered one of her “planning phases,” consisting of color-coded schedules of times to study for the college entrance exam, college catalogs spread across your desk.
“Mother, I’m home,” you screamed. You heard the footsteps of your mother coming from the kitchen. She even has more college catalogs in her hands.
“Y/N, I made a decision. You're going to apply for early admission.” You stopped, looking at her in confusion.
“I thought we agreed that I would not do that.”
“You need to focus. You have the grades; now you need the commitment. No distractions,” she reminded you for the fourth time that week.
"Mother, I have all my study schedules already, and I'm on track for the mock exams. I'm literally planning the school's social calendar while keeping my GPA up. What more commitment do you need that you found the need to make that decision without consulting me?” you said, trying to keep your tone even.
“Don’t raise your voice at me,” she snapped, the papers in her hands hitting the table with a dull thud. “I know what’s best for your future. You don’t. You think organizing dances and trips for your classmates is going to help you get into Seoul National?”
You clenched your fists. “It’s not about that! It’s about the fact that you don’t trust me to handle my own life!”
“You’re seventeen, Y/N. You don’t even know what you’ll want in five years!”
“Because you’ve never given me the chance to figure it out!” you shot back before you could stop yourself, your voice breaking slightly.
“I’m going to college and not mess it up like you!” Your mother’s palm slapped sharply on your cheek.
“What’s going on here?!” Your father’s voice came from the hallway. You hadn’t even realized he’d arrived. But you didn’t care.
You pushed past him, tears already blurring your vision as you ran out the door. You could hear him calling your name, but his voice faded behind you, swallowed by the night air.
You didn’t care about your mom.
You didn’t care about the neighbors staring as you rushed down the street, barefoot in house slippers.
You didn’t care about the way your chest tightened with every breath you took.
You just ran.
And when your legs finally gave out, you found yourself in a quiet park. The street lights flickered faintly, the world spinning around you.
Your knees hit the ground first. Then came the sobs. You pressed your palms to the dirt as your body trembled, the sound of your breathing broken and uneven. For once, you couldn’t hold it in.
The pressure, the expectations, the endless need to be perfect, it all cracked open at once. You barely noticed the screams of a familiar tune until a shadow moved a few meters away.
“Y/N! Are you here?!” Martin’s voice didn’t even make you look up at him. The footsteps grew closer until you felt his presence. “God, what’s wrong—”
Your arms wrapped around him, crying even harder. The bag he’d been holding slipped from his hand, hitting the grass with a muffled thud. A few things rolled out, forgotten.
He froze for half a second before his arms carefully wrapped around you as well.
“Hey… hey,” he murmured, voice low. “You’re okay.”
You shook your head against his chest, your sobs muffled by his hoodie. “No. I’m not. I can’t—I can’t do this anymore.”
He didn’t say anything right away, just held you there as you cried, his hand moving slowly up and down your back. The only sounds were your uneven breaths and the faint rustle of leaves in the night breeze.
When you finally started to calm, he shifted slightly. Your eyes analyzed his face, the worry etched across his face—the kind you didn’t expect from him.
“Did someone hurt you?” he asked quietly.
You swallowed hard, voice breaking slightly, “My mother.”
His jaw tightened, eyes flicking briefly to the faint redness on your cheek. You saw the flash of anger there. “There’s a bench there, go sit there.”
You did what he said, and when he came to sit next to you after picking up the stuff. He pulled a strawberry milk and gave it to you, thanking him.
“I saw you running,” he said. “I was leaving the supermarket, and I just followed. It looked like you were about to disappear.”
You sniffled, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
“Don’t.” His voice softened immediately. “You don’t have to apologize for crashing out.”
You drank up the milk, sighing after.
“I’m just so tired, Martin.”
“I know.” He glanced up at the night sky for a moment. “You don’t have to keep proving you can handle everything. You’re allowed to fall apart sometimes.”
You gave a small laugh. “That’s not really on my schedule.”
“Then it’s time to break it,” he said simply, his tone somewhere between teasing and kind.
That actually pulled a real laugh from you and a faint smile from Martin. His hand brushed the dirt off his uniform pants before doing the same with your knees. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I’ll just sit here.”
You nodded, eyes still wet but calmer. “Thanks for following me, I guess.”
“Anytime,” he said. “Though next time, please don’t make me drop all my groceries.”
You two stayed there for a while; neither of you said anything. You just sat there sharing peace, a feeling none of you felt in a long time, and for different situations.
The night air had cooled a little by the time you both stood up from the bench.
“Come on,” he said, nodding toward the road. “I’ll walk you home before your dad sends a search party.”
You hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. The street was almost empty as you walked side by side, your steps slow and the sound of cicadas blending with the quiet, distant buzz of traffic.
“Again, I’m really sorry,” you said after a couple of steps. “I must have been a burden to you today.”
Martin glanced at you, his expression unreadable in the streetlight glow. “You needed someone to find you. That’s all.”
After a few more quiet steps, you sighed, kicking at a pebble on the pavement. “It’s just not my mother. Everything’s been… too much. The prom planning, the trip, the mock exams—it’s like I can’t breathe without having something due.”
Martin chuckled softly. “Leave it to you to get stressed about fun things.”
“They’re only fun when people actually help,” you said, exasperated. “Even if the committee is completely involved in those two things, the principal is bothering me. I’ve been running back and forth with the school board about budget approvals, and I swear, if one more teacher calls me responsible like it’s a compliment, I’m going to scream.”
“Then scream. I’ll join you.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “You? You’d probably turn it into a song.”
“Maybe I already did.”
You looked up at him, but he just shrugged. “We’re working on something for the Battle of the Bands,” he said. “Prize money isn't bad. Thinking of donating it.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Donating? Since when are you that noble?”
“Since I found out how expensive renting a DJ, using massive decorations, and the food is,” he said, giving you a sideways glance. “Keonho is stressed with that too, and we figured if we win, we’ll put some of the money toward your prom fund.”
You blinked, taken aback. “You’d do that?”
“For the school,” he confirmed, but the grin that followed made it impossible to believe him. “Well… mostly for you.”
You laughed quietly, shaking your head in disbelief. “And what exactly do you get out of that deal?”
He took a moment before answering, kicking at the pavement as if he were debating whether to say it. “A date.”
You stopped walking. “A what?”
“A date,” he repeated, meeting your eyes. “With you. Just one.”
You stared at him, heart skipping in that annoying wait it always did around him lately. “You’re joking.”
“Not this time.” His voice had softened, “I’ve kinda liked you for a while, Y/N. Like, since sophomore year, a while”
You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. The words and the mere sight of how he rubbed the back of his neck with the faintest flush creeping into his cheeks were enough to really blow you away.
“You probably thought I was just being annoying all the time… That was me trying to get your attention without, you know, getting expelled for it.”
You blinked at him. “Two years?”
He nodded, starting to walk again. “Two very long and humbling years.”
You looked away at the back of his figure, hiding the small smile that tugged at your lips. Once you reached him, you focused on looking straight.
“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he replied. “Just… let me win first. Then decide.”
You huffed, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah, but I’m a ridiculous guy with a plan,” he said, lightly swinging his hips to move your body.
You reached your gate a few minutes later. The house lights were still on, the silhouette of your dad faintly visible through the curtains.
When you stopped, so he did, taking a look at your place for the first time. “You gonna be okay?”
You nodded. “I think so.”
He smiled. “Good. Don’t disappear like that again, okay? I can’t keep rescuing the class president from emotional breakdowns.”
You smirked faintly. “And here I thought you liked being the hero.”
He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Maybe I just like you.”
You froze at the words. You saw how he shoved his hands into his pockets.
“See you tomorrow, Prez.”
“Goodnight, Martin.”
He started walking away. You stood there for a moment, heart beating way too fast for someone who’d just survived a meltdown. Your feet started walking fast to where he was.
“Martin!” He stopped instantly, turning on his heel. The look on his face was equal parts concern and confusion, the grocery bag still dangling from one hand.
You walked up to him, stopping close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his skin. Your hand reached for his tie, pulling him down gently.
On your tiptoes, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
“I’m really thankful,” you murmured.
Neither of you moved. His eyes widened slightly before that boyish grin spread across his face, causing you to smile back. You stepped back quickly, cheeks burning, and darted toward the gate before he could say anything else.
Once inside, you shut it softly behind you, leaning against the cool metal to steady your racing heartbeat and touching your lips. Curiosity got the better of you, and you peeked through the small hole in the wall that your dad refused to fix.
Martin was still there, frozen in place, and soon enough, he pulled his fist to the sky while walking away, or more like dancing away, down the sidewalk.
“Let’s go!” you heard the scream, and you bit your lip, stifling a laugh of your own.
October came fast, mostly because your parents decided on an uncontested divorce and your dad got the apartment downtown. Yujin jumped when he found out it’s five minutes away from his house. The place felt quieter; your mother had thrown herself into work, and you into whatever kept you from thinking too much: school, council duties, and, against all odds, CORTIS.
Somehow, Martin had managed to stop getting detention every other week. He still mouthed off at the teachers sometimes, wore his ring and the smirk, but he wasn’t the same boy who used to skip class just to nap on the rooftop.
It was truly impressive, you saw how he actually took notes during math, how he waited for everyone after band practice instead of just storming off, how he asked the teacher questions about topics, and even delivered small notes on your desk, ones that make you happy, as if it was a normal thing to do.
Leeseo had caught all that and more, dedicating his free time to watching you watching him, whispering, “You’re so done for,” grinning and doing a couple of mimics with Yujin.
But of course, you denied it every time.
Because no one needs to know that you were actually falling for him.
Still, when the last high school exam ended, everyone started spilling out of the classrooms, screaming “freedom!” the second the bell rang for the end of the day. Everyone stood up joyfully, and from the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Martin coming your way, a bag lazily hanging on his shoulder.
“Everybody listen up!” Yujin shouted, standing on top of a chair and waving his arms dramatically. “Today, it’s the Band of Battles. Let’s all go and support our beautiful high school and CORTIS as a last act of love to this place!”
The whole class erupted in cheers, the rest of the students clapping at his words like he said something revolutionary.
Yujin’s friend, Gunwook, jumped onto a chair too, holding up his hand to point at Martin. “Martin, as the leader, pick a color so we can dress up.”
Martin posed theatrically, pretending to think it through before his eyes looked at you. His grin softened as soon as his fingers brushed the small red bow pinned in your hair.
“I like red today.” The whole class went wild, but his eyes simply scanned the redness that the tip of your ears caught. You tried to act unfazed, but the way he smirked at you made your stomach twist.
His mouth went near your ear, “You can wear whatever you like, you look good in anything.”
By the time the noise died down, so did your heartbeat when he left the classroom, mouthing, “I’ll see you there”. Everyone had plans and was starting to spread the word before heading home to change and go to the event.
You, on the other hand, had to stay behind, for quite a while, actually.
While your classmates flooded out of the building, already buzzing about the performance, you found yourself sitting across from the principal for more than an hour, finalizing the last details for the senior trip next week. Each little break, you looked up at the clock hanging on top of the wall, sighing in relief when he thanked you for your dedication, which was a nice way to say “you work too much” and finally let you go. You were already late, and you at least wanted to arrive one act before the boys.
The hallways were nearly empty now, sunlight slanting through the windows in soft orange streaks. You smiled faintly when you passed a whiteboard where someone had scrawled “CORTIS = Victory!” alongside other words of encouragement.
Your chest felt a little lighter reading it, even making you pull out your camera to snap a picture so you can show it to the band through Keonho later.
You were halfway down the front steps when you saw a woman standing outside the school gates, elegantly dressed in a cream coat and hair pinned neatly back. Without losing the beat of your quick steps, you continued until you felt a presence near you and soon, a hand on your shoulder that made you jump.
“Excuse me,” she called gently, laughing awkwardly at your reaction. “Are you Y/N?”
You hesitated before nodding, “Yes… Do I know you?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Martin’s mom.”
You blinked before bowing down; you didn’t expect his mother to look that elegant yet have such an expression that felt oddly familiar.
“Nice to meet you.”
“I’m the one I should say that, darling. I’ve heard about you,” she said. “Martin speaks of you more than he probably realizes.”
You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your face. “Thank you so much.”
“He’s changed lately,” she said. “He comes home earlier, studies, and seems steadier. And I know you might have something to do with that positive change.”
You weren’t sure how to respond. “Well, he’s been working hard in high school and for the band. You probably already know how much it means to him.”
Her smile faltered, just a tiny bit, before speaking again. “Yes, well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“About the band?” you frowned, already thinking of what she was about to say.
“Music has always been a phase for him. His father has great plans, engineering, university abroad, to be specific. I was hoping you could talk to him, convince him to take his future seriously again.”
That’s the moment you went speechless. Your mind works ten times faster to choose your words carefully. “With all respect, Mrs. Park. I don't think it's a phase, and I won’t do that. At all.”
“I’m sorry?” she said, confusion flickering on her face.
“I’ve seen him when he’s performing,” you said. “When he’s practicing with the band, when he’s writing lyrics on the back of his notebook, he’s not pretending; he looks alive doing that. It's not just a distraction for him; it’s who he actually is.”
You could see how the first crack in her composure showed, lips parted. “You sound just like him.”
“Maybe that’s because you both underestimate how much he cares about what he does,” you vented. “I get that engineering might have been his father’s and your dream. But music as a whole makes him happy. Whether it’s producing or singing, that’s how he wants to live his life.”
There was a silence for a moment, so you took that moment to inhale briefly and continue.
"Martin listens to music when he’s feeling stressed. He’s not into literature, but he writes such good lyrics that you might even think he’s becoming some kind of poet. And the way he looks when he’s playing? That’s him in his element.”
The woman lowered her head, sighing. “I just don’t want him to throw his future away. Not after everything that’s happened.”
“Maybe this is his future, it just doesn’t look like the one you two pictured.”
“You’re a very smart girl, Y/N,” she finally said.
“I’m just honest,” you replied, offering a small smile.
“That’s even rarer,” she murmured. “I can see why he—” she stopped herself, simply smiling again, “Thank you for being good to him.”
An idea came to you, the backpack that was on your shoulder ended in the middle of you two, taking away the pamphlet Seonghyeon and James had given to promote, and extended to her. “He’s a good person, Mrs. Park. And just like how you believe in him to achieve the engineering future, believe and trust him with his.”
You bowed slightly when she took the paper, walking away to catch the bus that would take you home. Thankfully, you arrived safely.
You kicked off your shoes at the entrance, calling out, “Dad, I’m home!” before leaning down to kiss his forehead as he read through a newspaper on the couch with his work clothes still on.
“Hey, kiddo,” he said with a smile. “You look busy.”
“Always!” you shouted, darting into your room.
They were still scattered with open notebooks and the faint scent of highlighter ink, stuff you’d temporarily promised yourself to forget tonight.
After the divorce, your dad had insisted on helping you “reclaim the place.” He’d driven you to buy new clothes, helped you hang posters, and even tolerated the sparkly beaded curtain you’d begged to put on your door. For the first time in months, the room looked like yours, not your mother’s version of perfection.
You took the quickest shower and got dressed in record time, the white camisole layered under a cropped denim jacket, a mini skirt with a rhinestone belt, and your sports shoes. A knock on your door made you look away from the mirror.
“Come in!” you called, picking some blush on your brush to put it onto your cheeks.
Your dad peeked in, smiling softly as he stepped inside. “Are you still getting ready?”
“Almost done, thanks for driving me there,” you replied, setting down the brush.
He chuckled and sat on the edge of your bed, looking around and whistling. “Wow, you’re really made this place your own.”
You smiled at his reflection in the mirror proudly. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
“You also seem different lately. Happier.”
“Maybe because exams are over, both of us are in a good place, and I’m finally hanging out with my friends. Which, by the way, I’m grateful for.”
“Well, you deserve them since you’ve always worked hard,” he smiled. You felt that shift when he was done, suddenly suffocating.
He watched you for a moment, a teasing glint in his eyes. “So… what do you want to ask?” you said, already suspicious.
“Now, why do you think that?” he asked, laughing when you raised an eyebrow at him, seeing him leaning forward with a grin on his face. “What’s his name?”
The mascara wand ended halfway to your lashes. “What's whose name?”
“The boy,” he said simply. “And don’t tell me there isn’t one. I’m not blind. You’ve been smiling more, playing music in your room, and I’m pretty sure he’s the same boy who brought you home that night.”
You covered your face, groaning, feeling your cheeks getting warmer with each second. “Dad, please.”
“So I’m right,” he said, amused that his dad instincts didn’t betray him. “What’s his name?”
The small silence was broken when you sighed softly. “Martin.”
Your dad nodded slowly. “Is that the boy who’s in that band you mentioned, right?”
“Yeah,” you said, trying your best to sound casual. “He’s their leader, and he has been studying with me since middle school. Kind of stubborn. Really annoying sometimes.”
“Huh—” you could tell by how he was clearly unconvinced. “And what makes him so annoying?”
You opened your mouth—ready to list something—but nothing came. Instead, what slipped out was, “He doesn’t quit. Even when everyone expects him to.”
Your dad hummed softly.
“And when he talks about music,” you went on, your mind planting words in a second, “he gets this look… like the rest of the world just disappears, he’s in his own happy place.”
You paused, but somehow the words kept coming. “He’s also funny,” you admitted, taking your hairclips to fix your hair with a smile tugging at your lips. “Not the kind that tries hard, it’s like, half of the time he says something and you can’t even tell if it’s a joke or he’s being serious. It makes you laugh anyway.”
You stood up to pick some rings to match the outfit, continuing to speak. “He’s kind, pretends he doesn’t care, but he remembers things. He smiles with his whole face, and when there’s something he likes, he won’t stop until he gets it.”
“I thought you were saying something about him being annoying, right?”
Heat crept up your neck immediately. “I—That’s not—I didn’t mean—”
“Darling. It’s okay, I’m sure you didn’t.”
“Oh my God, please stop talking.” You took your essentials quickly and ran to the front door, waiting in the car immediately.
The drive was calm, the windows cracked open, making the October air carry faint echoes of music from blocks away. The sunset was painting the sky in streaks of pink and gold.
He glanced at you as they stopped at a red light. “Sounds like you really care about him. And so does he.”
“I guess I do,” you whispered before you could stop yourself.
“I would love to meet him properly sometime,” you were about to protest, but he shushed you quickly. “No ‘buts’”
“Fine.” You both arrived at the youth center quite fast. The road was already lined with parked cars, students who didn’t receive a ticket and decided to enjoy from outside, a handful of paparazzi, and a lot of security.
You heard your dad’s whistle under his breath. “Looks like the whole district showed up.”
“It really does.” You clutched your bag a little tighter.
He slowed the car near the entrance, smiling as he glanced at you. “Are you nervous?”
You shook your head quickly. “Maybe a little.”
“You’ll do fine.”
“I’m not performing,” you laughed a little, confused.
He grinned, a hand on top of your shoulder. “Didn’t say you were. But I have a feeling something might happen.”
You rolled your eyes, unbuckled your seatbelt, and checked one last time that you didn’t forget the vip ticket Martin left on your locker.
“Thanks for the ride,” you said, kissing his cheek.
“Anytime, sweetheart. Tell me if you’re going somewhere else, and tell Martin I said good luck!”
“Dad!” You heard his laugh as you walked away, turning around to wave him off before stepping into the noise of the crowd after safely passing security, although you almost fell after a few of them tried to fight security.
The venue wasn’t really one, more like a repurposed parking lot with a stage at one end and strings of lights hanging overhead. Students from different schools packed the space, every single one was excited, waving balloons from side to side or a flashlight.
“Y/N!” Leeseo appeared right in front of you, hugging you, and Yujin arrived a little later. “You just missed like two acts, Hanlim was even better than last year!”
“How did your meeting go?” Yujin asked, and a smile was more than enough for them.
“The trip is completely done, there are no problems.”
“Finally!” Yujin grinned. “We deserve that trip; this year has been trash.”
“Not for Y/N, she finally has a crush,” she sang, Yujin and Leeseo start poking your sides. “You know Martin’s going to show off.”
You rolled your eyes. “He always does.”
But your pulse quickened anyway when the stage lights flickered to red and you saw the MC going to the center of the stage, gaining a scream from the crowd.
“What a performance from Hanlim!” she said. A roar of cheers from a group of students startled you. “Let’s keep this energy up for the next group, from SOPA… give it up for CORTIS!”
The boys walked to the stage, the excitement and screams from the place feeding them. James settled behind the drums, spinning a stick in one hand. Juhoon adjusted his guitar strap, Seonghyeon’s fingers danced over the keys to test it, and Keonho flashed his familiar grin from behind his bass.
Then Martin walked out.
Graphic tee with layered chains, jeans slouching low, sneakers unlaced. Stage lights caught on his chain as he leaned into the mic. “What’s up, Seoul!”
Cheers erupted again, a few girls screaming his name and the other guys. “Tonight, it’s a special night because we’re performing our self-produced song for the world to hear!”
Leeseo elbowed when you immediately started clapping and cheering.
“Enjoy yourself, love. You deserve this!” Martin started playing some guitar chords.
“Crash, smash, rock, mash up
Ooh, take what you want
돈, 멋, 명예, love, and what?
Ooh, take what you want.”
You remember hearing them practice bits of it during free periods when you walked by to give them some snacks and reminding Keonho about little details to fix for the trip.
Hearing it live was very different from it; all of the instruments crashed together in perfect sync, and you finally listened to all five singing together, which was uncommon for bands. Everyone was shouting along, even if they didn’t know the words. In a moment, Martin’s eyes found you. For that split second, you could feel your heart trying to escape from your ribs.
“Some people want this, some people want that
Same here, all seventeen years of my life.”
Martin started walking around to interact with people, standing in front of you three.
“Chased after love, chased after fame.
So now I want the whole world to know my name.”
He winked at you, feeling it like a spark as heat rushed to your cheeks. Yujin started laughing at your face, and Keonho smiled teasingly at you.
A couple of minutes later, the song ended with a burst of applause, Martin running a hand through his hair before grabbing the mic again.
“Alright,” he said, breathless but grinning. “We’ve got one more for you.”
He paused the moment his gaze found you immediately.
You smiled faintly, catching the flicker of nerves in his eyes, and mouthed, “Breathe.”
He huffed out a laugh, the corner of his mouth lifting before turning his head to the band. Juhoon leaned into his mic.
“Go for it, dude.” The five boys laughed, Martin turning back to his mic.
“This,” he started, “is one of the many songs I wrote for this girl.” His eyes never left yours. “If it wasn’t for you, I don’t think I’d have written any of them.
You looked at Leeseo and Yujin on your side; they were smiling already. They knew this would happen.
He stepped back slightly, adjusting the guitar strap on his shoulder, and nodded toward the rest of the band. “It’s called ‘Iris.’”
"And I'd give up forever to touch you
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You're the closest to Heaven that I'll ever be
And I don't wanna go home right now."
The lyrics drifted through the air, and though he was looking out toward the audience, every few lines his gaze found its way back to you, long enough that it was impossible to look away.
He wasn’t performing anymore. He was confessing to you for a second time.
You felt your throat tighten, fingers twisting around the hem of your jacket, your heart beating full speed, and making you clear of one thing. You were completely in love with that person whom you thought you hated.
"And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am."
The crowd swayed with the melody, arms raised, voices echoing when they learn a little piece of the song. You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until he smiled at you mid-line. The final chorus exploded, lights flashing, the crowd roaring. Martin’s voice cracked slightly on the last note—and somehow, it made it perfect. You screamed at the very end, chanting with your friends, “CORTIS!”.
The five joined Martin, bowing down in gratitude with big smiles on their faces. Juhoon was teary-eyed, and you could tell that it moved the rest of the members as they walked out. The MC came back, impressed.
“Wow! Cortis really wants the money. We will have a five-minute break so the judges can decide.”
Leeseo grabbed your arm, eyes wide. “Y/N… I think you just got serenaded.”
“Go see him.” Yujin pointed at the small hallway you could go to. You looked at him, panicking.
“Like now?”
“Yes!” Both of them pushed you there, moving for a couple of minutes before you reach it. You waited for the security to get distracted to enter there, closing it as fast as you opened it.
At a distance, you saw Martin laughing while watching James and Keonho jumping in happiness, James even half-yelling something about “not missing the last chord for once.”
You slipped past the curtain, unsure whether to find him or run before someone teased you for looking like you belonged there.
“Noona!”
Too late. You turned just in time to see Seonghyeon spot you instantly.
His shout was loud enough to catch the attention of all five.
“Prez!” Keonho was the first to move, practically launching himself into your arms before you could even react. “What do you think, Prez?”
You laughed, stumbling back half a step under his weight. “I think you’re all still dangerously hyper.”
“We totally killed it, what do you mean?” Juhoon cut in proudly, slinging an arm over Keonho’s shoulders. James raised his drumsticks triumphantly in agreement, and Seonghyeon grinned from behind the keyboard setup, already pretending to wipe sweat off his brow dramatically.
You shook your head fondly, brushing hair from your face. “You guys were amazing. Really.”
He was standing a few feet away, hair damp with sweat, guitar strap still hanging loose at his side. The grin he wore was boyish, tired, and radiant all at once.
“Occupational hazard,” he said with a shrug, stepping closer. “So? How’d we do?”
“You’re asking the school council president for a review?” you teased.
“I trust your judgment,” he said simply.
“More like his crush judgment,” Seonghyeon spoke, hissing later after Juhoon pinched him.
“Can you leave us alone for a sec?” Martin looked at James.
“You all heard him! Step back, ladies,” you laughed at the funny view of them trying to listen.
The grin softened before becoming quiet again. “So?”
You exhaled, letting yourself smile despite yourself. “You were amazing, Martin. Really.”
He froze for a heartbeat, eyes lighting up. “You mean that?”
You nodded. “Every word.”
He ran a hand through his hair, pretending to play it cool, but the faint flush at the tips of his ears betrayed him. “Guess that means I can cash in on my deal.”
You frowned. “Deal?”
“The one where if we win, you owe me a date.”
You scoffed, trying not to grin. “You haven’t even won yet.”
He leaned in a little, lowering his voice. “We both know we’re not walking out of here without that trophy and cash.”
You were about to fire back something smart when the loudspeaker crackled to life outside.
“All bands, please gather near the stage! Results will be announced!”
He looked at you and smirked. “Come on, front row like before, Prez.”
The crowd was electric again when you came back, students pressing closer to the makeshift stage, voices rising in chaotic chants. Hanlim High’s band stood on one side, exhausted but smiling; CORTIS stood on the other. You could sense the adrenaline pulsing through their little group.
You stood with Leeseo and Yujin near the barricade, your heart weirdly hammering even though you weren’t the one competing. You three held hands.
“And the winners of this year’s Battle of the Bands…” the announcer said, drawing it out. The entire lot went silent for a breath.
“…CORTIS!”
The explosion of sound was immediate.
Students screamed, threw confetti, jumped, and cheered so loud you could barely hear the band’s name being repeated over the speakers. Keonho dropped to his knees, James banged a drum in celebration, and Juhoon lifted his guitar triumphantly in the air.
Martin just stood there for a second, blinking in disbelief as he grabbed the big cardboard check before looking toward you through the chaos.
You clapped your hands over your mouth, laughing, and he broke into the brightest smile you’d ever seen. Then, like it was instinct, he pointed right at you before turning to grab the mic.
“This one’s for SOPA High, and for the people who never stopped believing in us!” he shouted. “Especially one of them.”
Leeseo smirked beside you. “If you don’t date him soon, I will.”
You didn’t get a chance to reply because Martin had already jumped off the stage into the crowd, swallowed by a sea of cheering hands and students trying to high-five him. You decided not to bother the moment by moving near a corner to breathe properly with Leeseo next to you, who was almost suffocating.
Later, when the crowd started thinning, people made plans to celebrate at a nearby karaoke place. Banners were torn down, the lights dimmed, and laughter filled the streets as everyone drifted away in groups.
You were helping Yujin pick up some discarded signs when you noticed Martin slipping away from the commotion, walking towards you with a smile. Before he could reach you, he paused, looking right behind you.
Following his gaze, you saw her.
His mom.
Standing near both of you, clutching her bag, and if your vision wasn’t playing, you could see her eyes wet from what she’d just watched.
Martin froze when he saw her. For a second, he looked like a little boy again, before taking a slow step forward to be next to you.
“Mom,” he said quietly.
She smiled faintly, her voice soft. “You were incredible.”
He blinked, caught off guard. “You… came?”
“I had some help,” she said, glancing to your side, and your heart skipped when you realized she meant you.
Martin turned slightly. You gave a small bow before stepping back.
“I will give you two some space,” you bowed again before walking to where Leeseo and Juhoon were standing.
When he looked back at his mom, her eyes were already glistening.
“I see what she meant,” she said.
He frowned slightly. “What did who mean?”
“Y/N,” she said. “She told me that music isn’t your rebellion, it’s more like your peace.” Her voice trembled slightly, but her smile didn’t waver. “She was right. You looked… happy. Really happy.”
Martin swallowed hard. “Mom…”
“I’ve been thinking about something for months,” she continued, clutching her purse tighter. “And after tonight, I think I've finally made up my mind.” She paused, steadying her breath. “I’m going to file for divorce.”
His eyes widened in surprise, a sudden feeling of relief occupying his whole body. “You’re serious?”
She nodded. “I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine. And I think you, your father, and I both deserve honesty, even if it hurts.”
Martin’s throat tightened. “I’m proud of you, Mom.”
Her smile wavered, tears finally spilling over. “No, sweetheart. I’m proud of you.”
He didn’t hesitate, just stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. This was the first time in a while he gave and felt a hug that was that tight and overdue.
After a while, she pulled back and brushed his hair from his forehead, her voice quiet. “You’ve grown up so much. And that girl… she’s good for you.”
Martin blinked, glancing instinctively toward where you stood, half-hidden behind the fence. You were talking to Leeseo, occasionally looking at him with your smile.
“She’s a great girl,” his mom added softly. “Don’t let her slip away.”
He smiled, that same shy, crooked smile that only ever showed up when it came to you. “I won’t.”
“Cortis and friends!” she screamed, not even willing to bat their eyelids. “Grab your stuff and get in the car, food is on me.”
As his mom turned to leave for the car, he looked back toward you again. You were laughing now as you watched James running at the word food, the streetlights glinting off your red bow as you tucked your hair behind your ear.
And for the first time in a long while, Martin didn’t feel like the boy running away from everything. He felt like someone finally heading toward something worth staying for.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The school courtyard was anything but calm. Countless rolling suitcases, half-zipped duffel bags, and sleepy students chugging canned coffee like their lives depended on it to keep awake for at least of the way there.
After a weekend of endless messages about CORTIS’ victory on Cyworld and your classmates posting grainy flip-phone photos of Martin grinning with the trophy, it felt surreal that it was finally trip day. The band made sure they cashed the prize and gave you a big amount for the prom if they got to perform again, which you obviously agreed to.
You adjusted your backpack and sighed as Leeseo ran up to you, waving a folded permission slip.
“Can you believe they’re trusting us with three whole nights away from supervision?” she grinned.
“Please,” you said, smiling faintly. “You know half the teachers are going to patrol the halls like spies.”
Yujin jogged up behind her, yawning. “I’m only here for the free breakfast buffet.”
“You’re here because you begged to be in my room,” Leeseo shot back.
“Prez!”
You turned instinctively, only for Keonho to appear out of nowhere, blocking your view with a grin too wide to be innocent. Last time he gave you that type of smile, you were in the director's office.
“Morning!” he said brightly, holding a carton of banana milk. “You want one?”
You frowned, eyeing him. “You hate banana milk.”
“Do I?” He glanced down, pretending to think. “Maybe I’ve changed.”
Before you could answer, Juhoon popped up behind him. “Y/N! Quick question: if a band wins something again, should the prize money go into savings or celebration snacks?”
You blinked. “What?”
“Snacks,” James said immediately, dragging his suitcase past.
“Definitely savings,” Seonghyeon countered.
“Hold on, I didn’t even—”
“Exactly!” Keonho interrupted, looping an arm through yours. “We are the only ones who can settle it. Come on, let’s walk and talk, far away from the buses.”
You narrowed your eyes. “What are you guys up to?”
“Nothing,” they chorused, which was, of course, the most suspicious answer possible.
By the time you reached the front of the boarding area, the CORTIS boys had somehow managed to keep you talking about everything from “the ethics of snack budgeting” to “who snores the loudest during overnight trips” (it was apparently James).
Every time you tried to glance toward the loading buses, one of them moved strategically into your line of sight.
“Okay,” you said finally, crossing your arms. “What’s going on? And don’t say ‘nothing’ again.”
Before you could press further, the teachers started calling everyone to board.
“Saved by the bell,” Seonghyeon muttered, pushing his suitcase forward.
You squinted suspiciously at all four of them. “You’re all terrible liars.”
Keonho only winked. “We learned from the best.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling as you followed them onto the bus.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The trip flew by in a blur of beach air, sightseeing, and several promposals that only happened when a hundred high school seniors were given freedom for three days straight and allowed their use of free will. You even helped out with Yujin’s promposal to Leeseo, to which she accepted happily.
You found yourself laughing more than you had in months, mostly because the CORTIS boys had taken it upon themselves to make every activity as dramatic as possible.
At lunch, James accidentally tripped and dropped an entire tray of kimbap, dramatically claiming it was “artistic sacrifice.” Juhoon tried to serenade a teacher with a guitar for bonus points on attendance. And the best for last was probably Keonho and Seonghyeon attempting to sneak extra dessert for everyone, only to get caught by the cafeteria lady, who then gave them more because she found them “charming.”
You weren’t sure when it happened, but somehow, their energy became the highlight of the trip.
Every so often, though, you caught Martin watching you from across the group, who you were impressed by how distracted he looked all this trip, exchanging some words with you now and then.
On the last night, during the “recreation period,” the teachers announced everyone could stay in the courtyard area to watch the sunset and enjoy the small outdoor stage.
You and Leeseo were sitting near the front, sharing a pack of chips on a break after a small duet given by Wonbin and Liz.
“Yujin, what are you moving your head like a meerkat? You’re stressing me out.” Leeseo’s eyebrows furrowed.
“Okay, don’t freak out, but I think something is happening.”
“What do you mean?” you asked, already getting stressed out. You might have changed a little bit, but you were still a little perfectionist.
Music started playing from the speakers, and your mind instantly recognized the familiar brass riff it had.
“You’re just too good to be true…”
Your jaw dropped at the voice of Martin. “Leeseo, is this real?.”
“Oh, yes,” Leeseo whispered, eyes sparkling. You didn’t notice how she was holding a recording camera, pointing it at you.
Martin opened the curtain that worked as a background on the stage, his gaze fully on you. Martin jumped off the stage, mic in hand, grinning as he began to sing the classic with over-the-top theatrics.
“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”
He pointed at you on the last word, and everyone screamed.
You covered your face, but it was useless. Martin was committed. He climbed onto one of the benches, sang to the teachers (who pretended not to laugh), and even slid down on one knee in front of a startled Yujin, who dramatically clutched his heart.
The entire class was upside down as the music built. He ran up the small aisle and stopped right in front of you.
You were laughing so hard you could barely breathe. “Martin—”
He was interrupted by singing directly to you, his grin wider than ever.
“I love you, baby, and if it’s quite alright…”
You buried your face in your hands, but he gently pulled them away, still singing. The crowd clapped along to the beat, the boys behind him quickly moving. Martin spun around, giving a cue to Juhoon to give him a flower bouquet to go again in front of you, kneeling on one knee.
When the song finally ended, Martin was breathless, sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead, but his eyes never left yours.
Behind him, James and Seonghyeon were holding a banner, the phrase: “I may not be Shakespeare, but I promise prom with me will be a sonnet.”
The entire courtyard went silent.
He held the mic higher, the faint tremor in his hand betraying the adrenaline rushing through him. Despite the wide grin on his face, you could see his chest rising and falling a little too fast.
“So…” he said, catching his breath. “I think it’s pretty obvious what my feelings about you are.”
“You drive me insane, make me want to be better, even when I swear I don’t care about anything.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “But I do. I care too much, especially when it comes to you.”
A few students in the front row let out small gasps, someone whispering, “Oh my god, he’s serious.”
Martin looked down for a second, the mic brushing against his lip as if he needed that pause to steady himself. When he lifted his head again, there was no smirk this time.e
“Maybe you don’t see it yet despite me saying I had this crush on you that night,” he said, voice softer now, “but when I look at you, it’s like the noise stops. And that’s saying something, coming from me.” The crowd laughed gently, and even you couldn’t help the small smile that broke through your shock.
Then he tilted his head, eyes glinting. “So yeah,” he said, tone dipping back into that familiar warmth, “I had to do this your way because words weren’t cutting it anymore.”
The crowd burst into cheers again, clapping and whistling, chanting your name and his. You were still processing the words, your heart thudding painfully fast, when he looked straight at you again, a half-smile tugging at his lips.
“So, Y/N,” he said, almost shyly this time, pointing at the banner behind him that was shaken by the boys, “will you go to prom with me?”
The crowd collectively held its breath.
You blinked, stunned, then let out a shaky laugh. “You could’ve just asked, you know.”
He grinned, his breath still uneven, voice hoarse from the singing and the nerves.
“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”
You looked at him, the boy who’d spent half a year driving you crazy and the other half trying to make you smile. Your hand brushed against his as you took the bouquet. “Martin,” you said softly, eyes meeting his, “yes. Of course I’ll go with you.”
The courtyard erupted—cheers, applause, a few whistles from the back. Juhoon and James started playing the outro riff again, and Keonho let out a triumphant, “She said yes!” into the backup mic.
Martin blinked at you like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Wait—really?”
You laughed, warmth blooming in your chest. “Really.”
For a moment, he just stared, then he exhaled, his smile breaking into something so bright it made your stomach twist. “I’m—uh—wow. Okay.”
The boys were already pushing him forward, shouting for him to say something cool, but he just chuckled helplessly, scratching the back of his head.
“Hug each other, idiots!” Yujin screamed, and before you could react, Martin’s arms wrapped around you, lifting you clean off the ground.
Your surprised laugh got lost in the roar of the crowd. He spun you once, just enough for your shoes to leave the pavement, and when he set you down, your heart was racing far faster than it should’ve
As the music picked up again, his hand reached out instinctively, brushing a loose strand of hair from your cheek. He looked like he wanted to say more—so much more—but instead, he whispered, “See you at night, Y/N.”
Your frowned. “Wait, what?”
Before you could demand an explanation, Leeseo grabbed your wrist. “No time for questions—let’s go.”
“What are you talking about?” you asked, stumbling after her.
She only grinned. “Operation ‘Date Night,’ obviously.”
“Excuse me, what?”
Yujin was waiting near the dorms, arms crossed like an overexcited manager. “Martin’s orders. You’re not allowed to show up in a school jacket in a romantic setting. Leeseo, you know what to do.”
“On it,” she said, pulling you inside.
Ten minutes later, your room looked like a battlefield of denim, perfume, and lip gloss.
Leeseo had raided your bag, holding up two outfits with the seriousness of a stylist dressing an idol.
“Okay, option one: the floral skirt and cardigan combo. It’s cute, safe, and very student council president. Option two…” She tossed a bundle at you. “Something that’ll make him forget his own lyrics.”
You gave her a look. “You’re insane.”
“And you’re welcome.”
Leeseo was taking her sweet time; everything she was doing was slow and steady, keeping you busy with prom details and suggesting matching colors and opinions for her and Yujin for the event. Which also made you think if Martin is into matching colors.
When you finally looked in the mirror, the second Leeseo screamed in joy, you barely recognized yourself. The simple denim skirt paired with a white tank layered under a cropped cardigan, your hair loose and soft around your shoulders. A thin silver necklace rested at your collarbone.
“Thank you, Leeseo.” You hugged her tightly.
“Anything to see you leaving this school with your first boyfriend and have your first kiss.” You laughed at her tease, face turning red. You left the dorm to start walking to the place, the sun had already dipped below the horizon, and you were sure that it was leaving behind streaks of rose and violet across the water.
When you reached the beach, fairy lights were strung between two wooden poles, flickering softly. A small speaker played a slow guitar riff, so it was clear he was there.
And there, sitting cross-legged on a picnic blanket with a basket on his side, was Martin.
He wasn’t dressed like the usual; he decided to wear a plain white tee layered under an open gray button-up, dark jeans cuffed at the ankles, and a simple silver chain that glinted every time he moved. His sneakers were scuffed, but clean, and his hair still messy from earlier, like he hadn’t bothered to fix it because he knew you’d recognize him anyway.
He looked up as soon as he heard your footsteps, that same lopsided grin tugging at his lips. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” you said, trying not to sound as breathless as you suddenly felt. “So this was your mysterious ‘see you tonight’ plan?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly. “Yeah. The guys helped. Keonho almost set the lights on fire, but we made it work.”
You laughed, shaking your head as you sat beside him. “This is… nice.”
“Yeah?” he asked, trying not to look too eager.
“Yeah,” you said softly, your gaze drifting toward the waves. “Really nice.”
He exhaled, shoulders dropping. “Good. I was worried it’d feel too much.”
“Not at all, Tin,” he laughed at the nickname.
For a while, you talked about everything and nothing while eating. The songs they were writing, the stress of exams finally being over, minus the one for college, and how Leeseo had forced you to change outfits under threat of “fashion failure.”
Martin was quieter than usual. His usual sarcasm softened into warmth, his eyes flickering between you and the sea from time to time.
“You really didn’t have to do all this,” you said at one point, voice gentle.
He shook his head. “I wanted to. I just… wanted you to have a night that wasn’t about expectations or responsibilities. Just… you.”
That made you look up, startled, and for a second, neither of you said anything.
The wind tugged at your hair, and he reached forward instinctively like before, brushing it back behind your ear. His hand lingered, thumb grazing your jaw as his breath caught.
“Martin…” you whispered, your voice barely audible.
He didn’t move closer, but he didn’t move away either. His eyes flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes, as if he were fighting himself.
“I shouldn’t,” he murmured, half to himself. “Not unless you—”
Your heart stuttered. “Unless I what?”
He smiled faintly. “Unless you’d actually let me.”
You opened your mouth, but before you could speak, a loud crash echoed from behind the dunes.
“REALLY YUJIN?!” Keonho’s voice.
You both jumped apart, laughing in disbelief.
“Oh my god,” you groaned, covering your face. “They were spying?”
Martin ran a hand through his hair, chuckling. “I told them to stay in their rooms.”
Another yell followed. “Did they kiss yet?”
You looked at each other, bursting out laughing, really laughing, until your stomach hurt and the tension melted. Martin leaned back on his hands, still smiling. “Guess they saved us from doing something we’d probably overthink later.”
You nudged his shoulder. “Probably.”
He turned to you again, that same soft look from the concert flickering across his face. “Still,” he said quietly, “you make overthinking kind of worth it.”
Your breath caught, but you just smiled. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, here you are,” he teased.
“Yeah,” you said, glancing at him through your lashes. “Here I am.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Martin and you got closer than ever, and even though it wasn’t official yet, not even your father could deny the chemistry between you two. You spent afternoons studying together, stealing glances over textbooks, and laughing about how far you’d come. The bond grew quietly, in the little things: late-night calls, going out with all of them, and the way he always walked you home after those little evenings, even when it meant taking the long route.
By the time November came around, the entrance exam was long over. The pressure had finally lifted, replaced by a sense of pride and relief. To your fortune, you’d gotten the scholarship for the career you’d always dreamed of, and everyone couldn’t be prouder.
Graduation day was full of bittersweet smiles. You got your physical pictures, one of you and Martin, standing close with your caps tilted while he carried you, another with your best friends, not leaving behind Keonho and Seonghyeon, who came to see you all six of you graduate. All of you are holding onto that perfect moment before life pulls you in different directions.
“Can you please stop looking at the picture with your boyfriend and help me with my hair like you promised?” You turned your head to see Leeseo struggling to remove the hair rollers.
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Yet,” she moved her eyebrows up and down, happily seeing the look on your face.
Leeseo had barged into your room hours earlier, armed with curling irons, body glitter, and enough lip gloss to coat a car. Your bedroom floor was a battlefield of shoe boxes, safety pins, and half-zipped purses.
“Thank you, now turn so I can help you,” she ordered, tugging at the straps of your satin dress. It was simple but elegant. Soft champagne color, an a-line skirt, and a ribbon that tied at the back. Your silver necklace gleamed faintly at your collarbone, the same one you’d worn at the beach.
“Leeseo, I think my ribs can’t breathe,” you muttered.
“That’s how you know it fits,” she said, completely unfazed. “Now smile. You’re about to make a boy combust.”
“Stop,” you groaned, cheeks already heating.
By the time you finished curling your hair, the doorbell rang, making you both freeze in place.
“They’re here,” she whispered dramatically.
Leeseo grabbed her clutch, smoothing her pastel blue dress. “You ready?”
You exhaled slowly, heart fluttering. “As I’ll ever be.”
When you opened your bedroom door, your father was already downstairs, peeking through the hallway mirror before unlocking it.
The door swung open to reveal Yujin and Martin. Yujin wore a pale gray suit that was clearly too tight around his shoulders, and Martin… Martin was in a black suit jacket over a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled casually to his elbows, and his signature silver chain glinting faintly at his collarbone. His hair was swept back loosely, enough to look polished without losing that “Martin” edge.
You heard your dad talking. “Ah, so these are the young men I’ve been hearing about.”
“Sir,” Yujin said quickly, bowing with his usual charm. “We promise to bring your daughter back before midnight.”
Your dad raised an eyebrow. “You'd better. I know where the school is.”
Martin laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “I will tell my mom that, sir.”
Then you appeared at the top of the stairs, and for a second—just a second—Martin forgot how to breathe.
He’d seen you in a thousand different ways: annoyed, serious, focused, laughing. But this was new, and it surely made his pulse stutter.
You hesitated halfway down the stairs. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he said quietly, eyes following you until you reached the last step.
Leeseo descended right behind you, looking stunning in her powder-blue dress, immediately elbowing you when she caught Martin staring.
“Alright, everyone,” your dad said, breaking the silence with a teasing smile, “before you leave, I need a photo. This is a once-in-a-lifetime occasion, you don’t see this in Seoul.”
“Dad—” you began, but he was already grabbing the camera from the counter.
“Line up,” he ordered.
Yujin and Leeseo posed first, grinning widely. Then he waved at you and Martin. “Your turn.”
You exchanged a helpless look with Martin before stepping closer. His hand brushed yours until your dad adjusted the frame.
“Closer,” he said. “You two look like you’re taking an ID photo.”
Martin chuckled softly, sliding an arm around your waist. His hand rested lightly against your back, and you swore your heartbeat could be heard across the room.
Your dad smiled behind the camera. “There we go. Perfect.” Click.
The flash went off, and you both blinked, still standing close, when he lowered the camera.
“Beautiful,” your father said warmly. “Now go, before you make me cry.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “We’ll see you later, Dad.”
“Have fun, sweetheart,” he said, then glanced at Martin with mock seriousness. “Be safe.”
“Yes, sir,” Martin said, smiling.
“You clean up well,” you said, forcing a casual smile.
“You too. Didn’t know the Prez had a gown in her closet.”
“Didn’t know you owned a shirt with buttons.”
“Touché.”
Yujin cleared his throat loudly. “Okay, that’s enough flirting for the driveway. Mrs. Park’s waiting!”
You turned to see Martin’s mom, sitting in the front seat of her car, waving with a proud smile. “Come on, kids!”
She looked radiant, freer than she had the last time you’d seen her. When you climbed in beside Leeseo, she glanced back at you through the mirror. “You both look beautiful.”
“Thank you,” you said, touched.
The car rolled up to the school gym, saying goodbye to his mom before going inside with your arm wrapped around Martin’s. The windows were glowing gold from the string lights inside that were giving out the theme “Golden Memories.” You could already hear the song mix the DJ was creating on the spot.
“I can believe the committee pulled this off,” You smiled proudly, thankful for the art club's offering to help out with the decorations art club did.
“Not bad for a bunch of overworked seniors.”
“You guys are late!”
James started to have his arms, Keonho, Seonghyeon, and Juhoon at his sides, waving calmly near the entrance. You find it funny how James’s tie was crooked, Juhoon was trying to help him fix it, and the other two were holding a notebook that you recognized as Martin’s.
“Nice of you to dress up, boys,” Martin called, grinning.
“Dress up?” Seonghyeon huffed, “It’s not even my graduation, and I look better than the three of you.”
“You girls look great.” Keonho smiled, walking up to hug you first before going to Martin’s.
“Our leader is all grown up. Wearing a tie, bringing a date… next thing you know, he’ll start paying taxes.”
“Don’t curse me like that,” Martin laughed it off.
You looked at Yujin and Leeseo. Despite laughing it off and teasing like usual, it was no news that it was their last big night as CORTIS before graduation. And although they were really committed to the band and set a goal to go a long way, it was their last performance in high school before life pulled them in different directions.
Seonghyeon must’ve felt it too, because when he clapped Martin’s shoulder, his voice wavered slightly. “Let’s have fun today.”
“Oh, we will have fun.” A song started playing, and Leeseo dropped Yujin’s arm.
“Come on, we’re not wasting a good song!” She immediately dragged you to the dance floor, feeling Martin’s gaze behind you.
Leeseo’s infectious energy made you join after a moment of hesitation; even the boys joined in after a few songs. Everyone lost count of how many songs they danced and went inside the circle, and by the time the slow songs rolled in, everyone started to pull their partners.
You were about to sit down, but you caught Martin’s eye once. He smiled at you while excusing himself to cross the floor toward you. The lights dimmed, and your teacher took the stage with a mic in hand.
“Okay, everyone. We are going to do this quickly. Let’s announce your prom king and queen. I need the president of the student council to come to hand the crowns.”
You left Martin to pick up the cushion that had both crowns and stay at the end of the stage.
“To remind all of you, the voting was done by taking paper and writing the name of the person you thought was suitable for the title. Let’s start by naming the king.”
He flipped the card, sighing at the result. He paused for effect. “Martin Edwards.”
Your jaw dropped, watching your friends go wild, shoving him forward as he was in disbelief. He walked to the stage, standing in front of you. You took the crown to neatly put it on top of his head.
“Congratulations, Tin,” he smiled, walking away to stand behind the teacher.
“Now, to our prom queen…” he repeated the pause from before. “It’s my honor to say this. Y/N!”
You blinked, the spotlight turning toward you and your shocked face. Martin went to you quickly, taking your crown and putting it on top of your head. He threw the cushion away to take your hand, interwining your fingers.
“Was this planned?” you said, laughing, slightly red from embarrassment.
“I don’t know. But I guess that makes you my queen tonight, huh?” he teased.
“Don’t push your luck,” you smiled.
“Now, the king and the queen will slow dance. Students, the floor is yours.” The crowd began to sway, and Martin offered his hand, his usual cockiness melting.
“May I have this dance, Your Majesty?”
You tried not to laugh as you placed your hand in his. “Fine. But don’t step on my dress.”
“I’ll try my best,” he said, grinning.
As you both stood in the middle, his hands sat at your waist politely. Thanks to the heels, you could reach enough to wrap your arms around his neck, fingers playing with the back of his hair.
“Can’t believe I came with the queen of prom.”
“Say the king himself, I think we are both lucky,” he smiled. Neither of you spoke for a moment; the song made you replay some memories you had with your friends, and soon enough, with Martin.
“You know,” he murmured finally. “I never really liked dances, even more the ones where my mom used to force me to go for her work.”
You looked up, amused. “Why’s that?”
“Because I never had anyone worth dancing with.” Since you didn’t know what to say, you let yourself sway with him. Your head rested lightly against his chest.
You didn’t even realize that your friends and more couples joined in. You noticed when the music started to fade away. Martin cursed under his breath, looking at you.
“Is it time for your performance?”
“Yeah, I’ll be back. I promise,” he took your hands from his neck, kissing the top of them before going to the stage. You looked to your left, seeing Yujin and Leeseo smiling at you.
“What are you thinking?” you sighed, lovestruck.
“On how I will confess to him after this.” Both of them stopped their moves, the tap of the mic being tested rebounding on the gymnasium.
“We still have a little more than half an hour to end this night. And before we wrap up, let’s welcome CORTIS to the stage.”
The applause was quick to come, them moving on the stage, exchanging nods between them. Martin stepped forward while everyone got their instruments ready.
“Hey, everyone,” he said. “We didn’t plan to play tonight, but this is our last time together before we graduate. So… this is for all of you. For the friend who stuck around, the teacher who, although I knew I wasn’t particularly his favorite student,” the place laughed softly. “They still listened and advised us with warm hearts.”
He paused for a minute, looking at the boys whose eyes were probably as glossy as his. “This is not the end, but a little break before we go all in. Keonho. Seonghyeon, hope we can play at your graduation, and thank you for trusting the band.”
They started with two of their own songs, dancing along with everyone and screaming the songs at the top of their lungs. Energy was never missed when it came to them, even more since they played like it was the last thing they’d ever do, and maybe in a way, it was.
When the applause finally died down, Martin took a sip of water with his members, stepping back to the mic afterward.
“Thank—”
“Wait!” James stopped Martin, who was as confused as the rest of the place, minus the four boys. “There’s one more song.”
Martin walked to him with the rest behind them, covering his mic with his palm. Quickly returning after some clarification.
“This is a surprise,” he stated. “I wasn’t supposed to release this song this soon. I want to thank you guys for creating the instrumental and letting me perform this, and I want to thank my muse for inspiring me to write this song. This is called ‘Everlong’”
The keyboards started, his voice filled the room, and after a couple of verses, Seonghyeon joined.
"And I wonder
When I sing along with you
If everything could ever be this real forever
If anything could ever be this good again
The only thing I'll ever ask of you
You've got to promise not to stop when I say when
She sang."
You simply stood there, digesting the lyrics while people danced to the beat. You didn’t cry until the last note faded, applauding with a smile on your face. Yujin and Leeseo stood to your sides and then watched the boys on stage, officially tearing up.
You feel bad to realize how loved you were by your friends, and how much you had taken Martin’s silent warmth for granted. He was loud and proud about his feelings for you, even if the tactic at first wasn’t that clear; he later never let you forget you mattered. In moments like this, you finally saw the depth beneath his jokes.
You went to the refreshment table after the set, drinking some soda to calm yourself down.
“There you are,” you heard his voice. He was still a little breathless, and his jacket was on his arms, his shirt sleeves rolled higher.
You smiled, suddenly a wave of nerves rushing through your body at his presence. It was now or never, “I want you to come with me.”
“Where—”
“I have to tell you something.” You grabbed his hand, he instinctively looked at it, and softly bit the smile that was threatening to show.
“Show me the way.” You led him to your table, grabbing your clutch and leaving your crown. You passed the chatter through the back doors that opened onto the empty football field. The night air was crisp, and the stars were faint, but somehow still visible and giving a nice glow to the night.
You stopped standing on one of the bleachers in the field so you could be slightly higher, letting go of his hand to turn toward him.
He smiled, a little confused. “Y/N, if this is about the song—”
“It’s not,” you said, heart hammering. “Okay, maybe it is.”
“Oh my God, do you feel embarrassed? I didn’t mean to—”
“I know what you meant,” you interrupted softly. “And you’re right.”
He frowned slightly. “Right about what?”
You exhale. “That everything feels real when it’s with you.”
You decided to step down the bleachers on time. “I didn’t even realize it at first because I truly believed you were just annoying me, to throw me off and my record. But then you started showing up—not just for me—to everyone. And every time you did, I found myself noticing more.”
“Like…?”
“The way you smile when something finally works for you, how you live your life with no regrets, and how your heart is so pure that you don’t even care if the other person hates you. You are there.”
You took a shaky breath, your hand clutching your purse more. “And somewhere between wanting to hate you and trying not to fall for you. I did.”
Martin’s lips parted slightly, “You mean—”
“Yes,” a small laugh broke through at his pure face of disbelief. “I fell for you, Martin Edwards.”
You could see his throat bob as he swallowed hard, his voice a little rough when he finally spoke.
“Say it again,” he said softly.
“What?”
“My name. Like that.” His lips curved upward, shy and boyish at the same time. “It sounds so pretty when you say it.”
Your cheeks warmed instantly. “You’re unbelievable.”
He chuckled, getting closer to the bleachers, looking up at you. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that—well, not that exactly, but close.”
“I can imagine it after you told me that night.”
“Which, by the way, were those two years of you calling me a nuisance, giving me detention, pretending you didn't look for me at every assembly?”
You laughed, “I had to check if I was going to get called out because of you.”
“I noticed at a distance since you were the only person who actually saw me, even when you swore you couldn’t stand me.”
The wind picked up, making the bleachers creak and your hair sweep across your face. Your hands went to your arms, blaming yourself for being so forgetful and not picking up your sweater from the table. He stood on the deck of the bleacher, and his jacket was quickly placed over your shoulders.
And just what you thought, he reached out and tucked your hair behind your ear again, with he difference that his hand stayed on your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin.
“I didn’t mean to fall for you either,” he admitted, looking down. “But I did. And I don’t regret a second of it.”
You smiled before reaching into your clutch, hand trembling, and pulled out an envelope.
“I was supposed to wait until tomorrow when we go to Yujin’s house,” you said, “but I can’t.”
He took it, puzzled, and watched what it contained. His eyes widened the second he saw the tickets, audibly gasping.
“There’s no way—”
“Two tickets to see Linkin Park in Seoul,” you smiled nervously. “Consider it a date. Come with me on Friday, and don’t say ‘maybe’.”
He reached for your hands. “You really are something else.”
“Something good?” you teased.
He looked at the sky. “You are something out of this world. God, you’re—”
Before he could finish, you leaned up on your tiptoes, your hand finding his tie to pull him down just like before, but this time, you didn’t hesitate.
Your lips brushed his, his breath caught, and then he kissed you back, gentle at first, as if afraid to break the moment. You froze for half a second, feeling your heart pounding so hard you could almost hear it over the faint music coming from the gym.
Your nose bumped his, your fingers trembled against his chest, but Martin didn’t care. He smiled into the kiss, pulling back only enough to whisper. “Wow,”
You nodded, breathless at how his eyes were looking so fondly at you. “That was my first.”
His eyes softened. “Good. Then I’m glad it was me.”
You didn’t even realize you were smiling until he rested his forehead against yours, both of you laughing quietly for no reason other than sheer disbelief.
“OH MY GOD!”
You jumped apart. From the edge of the field, a cluster of silhouettes waved frantically like South Korea two years ago for the World Cup. You hid your face on the curve that connected his neck and shoulder, his arms engulfing you.
“Finally!” Leeseo hissed, hugging Yujin happily while he had a smile on his face.
“Pay up, Seonghyeon.” James snickered, waving a few bills.
“It took you three years, love your perseverance!” Juhoon screamed, and you couldn’t help but laugh from your spot.
“Worth the wait!” Yujin yelled, pretending to wipe fake tears.
You covered your face, groaning. “They were watching?!”
Martin just laughed, “Of course they were. They were looking at us from the gym.”
He turned toward them, raising your joined hands like a victory gesture. The others erupted in cheers, chanting both your names like a ridiculous anthem.
“Also, did I just hear ‘Pay up’?” Martin raised his shoulder, giving away the answer. You huffed, “Can’t believe they’ve been betting on us.”
“Yeah,” he murmured. “And for once, I don’t mind losing.”
You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “You’re ridiculous.”
He looked back at you, his eyes were full of every emotion you were both feeling. “Ridiculously in love with you.”
And before you could think twice, he leaned in again, slower this time, just enough for your lashes to brush his cheek, for you to close your eyes and let the world spin quietly around you.
You didn’t even care if your friends were still watching.
Because under the silver lights of the empty field, with his jacket around your shoulders, hands on your waist, and your heart in a state of pure bliss, everything finally made sense.
And for once—in the middle of all the noise—you didn’t feel like you had to be perfect. You just felt real.
Just like him.
Just like everlong.
─── A PERSON WHO YEARNS IS A PERSON WHO EARNS! I have never written something this big for anyone in a WHILE, but put some romcoms, a playlist, and I'm LOCKED IN. Also, happy cortis blr debut to me, and any grammar mistakes or stuff I missed will be fixed later. love you all and thanks for reading 💞
— in which martin exposes the instagram stories he posted to catch your attention before bagging you.
— based on this ask!
( nonidol!martin x reader )
james ver. ✶ cortis masterlist
note 𖦹 dedicated to the lovely @sevvycoer who sent in the request, @teacuplps my fav mars enthusiast!! (quoted timmy chalabingbong from heart to heart, and @kaikaikoi for the kanye lyric reference LMAOOO its plastered in my head rn , yearner/downbad tin for all!!!!!
SYNOPSIS. ever since martin’s debut, he’s been touted as a master of fanservice, but he's got something to prove: that his flirting does work on anyone. meanwhile, you desperately want to turn your internship at stereo into a full-time job. the best way to do that is by writing something so eye-catching to the point where your boss will have no choice but to keep you on: an article on dating and losing an idol. so when martin spots you at their comeback showcase, the scene is set. he’s going to make you fall in love with him in 10 shows. you're going to make him dump you in that same timeframe. you’ve got your agenda. he’s got his. game on.
or alternatively, the question: “Does Martin know how to flirt??” is answered.
GENRE. crack, fluff, angst, idol! martin, inspired by 'how to lose a guy in 10 days'
WORD COUNT. 20.2k (I'M SORRY I CAN'T HELP IT)
WARNINGS. swearing, mentions of drinking (james is drunk), questionable journalism practices for plot (as a journalist, i do NOT endorse what y/n is doing), reader is the same age as martin and is implied to be shorter
AUTHOR'S NOTE. yes this was inspired by seonghyeon's weverse reply. Does Martin know how to flirt?? enjoy this cheeky long fic as a gift to u all bcos i'm going to be working a bit so may b a bit more ia :p really loved this and i don't want to keep u guys waiting so i'm dropping it with no teaser. i hope yall like this!! <3
feedback and reblogs are much appreciated! <3
“Eom Seonghyeon, what the hell is this?”
Martin Edwards storms into his dorm room, holding his phone up. His brows are furrowed in mock anger as Seonghyeon peers at his screen from his spot on the bed.
“Wait, I can’t read it. I’m also too lazy to get up. Can you read it to me?” Seonghyeon’s buried under his blankets, head resting on his pillow as he squints at Martin’s screen.
Keonho, who’s lazily sprawled across his own bed, looks up from his phone to listen in on the conversation. Knowing him, Keonho’s probably watching some funny dog videos or going through his album of Cookie photos.
“What the hell do you mean by ‘does Martin know how to flirt?’ I have to find out that you think I have zero game from a Weverse reply?” he exclaims, exasperated. Seonghyeon and Keonho both explode into a fit of laughter, and Martin simply stands there, unamused.
Seonghyeon’s words ring heavy in Martin’s ears – look, although Martin hadn’t dated before, he does think he can flirt. He’s seen the discourse online.
Sure, was it a little corny sometimes? Yeah… a little. But most of the fans were eating it up, and Martin was more than happy to oblige if it meant that he would be making a little bit more money. Money didn’t fall from trees, and those clothes that Martin’s been eyeing for ages weren’t going to pay for themselves.
“What?” Seonghyeon asks, laughing as he hugs his pillow a little tighter. “Come on, the fanservice barely counts. I know everyone’s been saying that you’re a fanservice king, but they're all basically in love with you anyways!”
“Us,” Keonho pipes up. “They’re not only in love with Martin hyung. Also, you’re right – Martin, do you really know how to flirt?”
Martin narrows his eyes at Keonho. “I think I know what you’re insinuating, and I don’t like it.”
Seonghyeon and Keonho’s loud laughter somehow summon both James and Juhoon in the room, and Martin’s already preparing himself to become the laughing stock for the next 30 minutes. The life of a leader, he thinks. It's truly so difficult.
It also wasn’t like Martin didn’t want love. He wanted it more than anything – he just didn’t exactly have the time for it right now, like most idols. He had so much to do every single day, from dance practices, to music shows, to producing music. Martin Edwards, despite having so much love to give, simply didn’t have time to do so.
“James hyung, Juhoon hyung – do you think Martin can flirt?”
James snorts. Juhoon makes a noise that’s a mix of a strangled laugh and a cough. At their reactions, Keonho laughs so hard his pillow falls right off his bed.
Martin groans, turning his phone off and shoving it back into the pocket of his sweatpants.
“I rest my case,” Seonghyeon says, grinning triumphantly.
“I can flirt!” Martin says, defensively. He doesn’t know why he’s arguing so passionately for this – it wasn’t even that big of a deal. "Trust me, my flirting works on anyone."
He crosses his arms, letting out a deep breath as Seonghyeon lets out another laugh. He knows that the younger boy isn’t being malicious – they were just teasing each other like usual.
"Anyone is a bit brave, Martin." Juhoon jokes. Martin rolls his eyes.
“Okay, Mr. Confident. Let’s see if you can make someone – a non-fan, by the way – fall for you before promotions end here in Korea,” James says, jokingly. But Martin can see the gears turning in Keonho’s head before that shit-eating smirk spreads across his lips.
“James hyung, you’re a genius!” Keonho says, jumping up from his bed. “That’s 10 shows. Martin, if you get a girl to fall in love with you in 10 shows, we’ll officially say that you can flirt.”
Martin furrows his brows. “That’s all I get out of it?” he frowns. “Seems like a pretty bad trade-off for something so risky, considering that we’re… idols?”
“Fine. We’ll say that you can flirt, and Seonghyeon will pay for all your clothes the next time you buy something.” Keonho says, and Seonghyeon suddenly gets up from his bed. He looks at Keonho, shaking his head.
“Me? You’re the one doing the bargaining, you pay!” Seonghyeon protests, and Keonho rolls his eyes.
“Okay, new proposal. We all pay for your next shopping haul and we say that you can flirt. We’ll all chip in an equal amount so it’s fair, and so Hyeon can stop complaining,” Keonho grumbles. Seonghyeon sighs, nodding as he gives in to Keonho’s bargain.
“Works for me,” James replies, putting his hands up. “I for one, don’t think I’m gonna lose any money.”
“Oh, don’t be so confident,” Martin scoffs. Wow, his friends really had zero belief in him. It really made him all the more determined to prove them wrong. “You guys are so losing your money.”
Keonho looks at Juhoon, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Juhoon hyung… you’re the only one left,” he says in a sing-song voice. “Come on, it’s not even going to be that hard. It's easy money, let's go.”
“10 shows is still technically a lot, you know. It’s three weeks,” Juhoon hums, thinking it through. “Three weeks… well, Martin needs all the help he can get. Yeah, whatever – I’m in.”
“Juhoon!” Martin exclaims.
The boy looks at him, shrugging. “I’m sorry! I’m just too curious to see how this will pan out – we need a little bit of excitement in our lives! Performing is exciting enough, but this is like a whole new level. I’m going to be entertained for weeks.”
Juhoon drags the last word out, and Martin sighs. The air is thick with anticipation as the four of them look at Martin expectantly.
Honestly, getting all his clothes paid for by his friends wasn’t exactly a bad trade-off. He’s just going to make sure to throw in a couple more expensive things in there for some payback before he officially starts the bet. And the girl would surely understand that dating an idol was difficult, and if it ended a little earlier… that was sort of to be expected, right? In three weeks he would be going to New York City anyways. No harm, no foul?
“Fine,” Martin groans in exasperation, giving in. “Let’s see where this goes.”
Keonho pumps a fist in the air triumphantly, and Martin rolls his eyes. “Okay, and if you don’t get a girl to fall in love with you in 10 shows… you pay for our clothes. And publicly say that you’re shit at flirting and have zero game.”
“One piece of expensive clothing each. You’re four people, I’m one. If I paid for all of your clothes, I think I’d probably go broke.” Martin shoots back. Keonho shrugs, seemingly deeming it reasonable enough.
“It’s a deal,” Keonho says, holding his hand out for Martin to shake. Martin does, albeit a little reluctantly. What the hell did he just get himself into?
The room erupts into cheers so loud Martin thinks he’s suddenly transported back to MAMA.
Seonghyeon’s already immediately searching for a new pair of shoes that he wants to buy. James has rushed back into his room to grab his phone to go on Gentle Monster to see which pair of glasses will suit him. Juhoon’s already pulling up photos of this jacket that he’s been talking about for ages. Keonho makes it a big show out of telling Martin the price of this bracelet that he wants.
At their antics, there’s a fire lit up in the pit of Martin’s stomach.
He was going to win this bet. Even if it was stupid.
Your internship at Stereo is about to come to an end.
You’re distraught. Most people would love for their internships to end – no more shitty coffee from the 10-year old dispenser that someone brought in as an ‘office gift’, no more tapping away at a dim-lit cubicle, and no more measly half-assed articles to write that are assigned haphazardly. But you’re not most people.
Being a journalist at Stereo is your dream job. You get to write about the music that you love, review new albums, and you get exclusive perks and invites to music award shows every single week. You’ve been interning at Stereo for one and a half months now, and in just two weeks, you’re just going to be a high schooler in your final year.
You’ve heard stories of Jisoo, your boss, giving an offer for a full-time job to interns before. You desperately want to be one of those people.
You’ve heard her complaints behind closed doors about how Stereo’s latest content was becoming a little drab and boring, and that Stereo wasn't getting enough clicks online anymore. The most reads the publication had gotten recently was a review on Taylor Swift’s new album, but come on – it was Taylor Swift.
You needed to find a way to write the most eye-catching, niche and exclusive article that the music world had ever seen. That way, Jisoo had to give you the job.
Yoonchae, another intern who you’ve befriended, rolls her chair over so she’s sitting next to you. She taps her nails on your desk to get your attention. “So… last two weeks. How are you feeling?”
Yoonchae started around the same time as you, but unlike you, Yoonchae wanted to get the hell out. She was tired of writing the weekly ‘Songs You Need To Know’ article. “I’m a gatekeeper,” she had said. “I don’t want people discovering the artists I like!”
“Stressed,” you sigh, taking a sip out of your mug. “I’m trying to rack my brain to figure out how to write something so… fresh, I guess. Something that no other publication will be able to write.”
Yoonchae raises a brow. “I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with keeping this job, (Name). What we’ve been writing really isn’t that interesting, is it? I just had to review some album from a rookie group that I don’t think anyone’s heard of yet,” Her voice drops low into a whisper. “It was like nails on a chalkboard. I threw away that pair of company-provided earphones because the memories of listening to it were so traumatic.”
You look at Yoonchae like she’s insane before diverting your eyes back to your laptop screen. You’ve just finished a review on ILLIT’s new album – you skim through your article, making sure that there’s no spelling mistakes or other errors before sending it to Lily, the in-house copy editor.
“I love it though,” you say honestly. “I love music, I love writing about it – plus, Stereo’s the best place to get off the ground running if you want to work in this industry. I was at ILLIT’s comeback showcase literally last week – do you know how many people would die to have this opportunity?”
“I have to get that job offer from Jisoo.” Your voice is laced with determination, and despite Yoonchae not understanding why in the world you’d want to stay, she gives you a nod in support.
In the cubicle across, you hear a loud noise from another intern – you can’t tell if it’s a screech or a wail, or something in between. You and Yoonchae’s eyes snap towards the direction of the noise. It’s Yuna, and she looks towards you two with absolutely zero shame on her face, even if the entire office was startled by the sound.
“It’s my favourite idol! He’s dating someone! How could he?” She’s saying it like it’s the end of the world.
You’re looking at Yuna like she’s insane. You can’t tell if she’s being serious or not, and you blink at her. “Um… are you okay?”
Suddenly, her demeanour changes, and she smiles brightly at you. “Yeah! I was literally just being dramatic, I couldn’t care less,” she says, and you let out a sigh of relief. You didn’t really want to be working with someone who was so incredibly parasocial over some guy who barely knew her. “It’s just crazy how he even has the time with how busy his schedules are.”
You hear the sound of heels clacking on the marble floor, and your eyes widen. It must be Jisoo.
“Was that you?” Jisoo asks, pointing at you. “The one who screeched?”
“Oh,” you stammer. “No, Jisoo – it was Yuna.” You felt bad for throwing her under the bus, but you weren’t going to lie to Jisoo and take the fall. Jisoo's eyes divert towards Yuna, who gulps.
“What happened?” she asks. Jisoo doesn’t sound like she really cares. She does have better things to be doing than partaking in conversations with interns who she probably won’t remember the names of in two weeks.
“Oh, just some… idol… dating,” Yuna says, acting like she doesn’t care at all. It’s hard for her to pretend that she doesn’t when a photo of said idol in question is in a picture frame sitting on her desk. “Maybe we should report on it briefly, or something…”
Jisoo takes in a sharp breath, sucking her teeth. You can hear the disapproval just from the noise, as if she’s already prepared to get rid of you three. “Alright. Get back to work.”
You turn your head quickly back to your laptop, not wanting to be berated by Jisoo. The disapproving tone was already enough, and you feel embarrassed under her gaze. You click onto your calendar to see what you’ve got going on next week. You’ve got two comeback showcases to attend with Yoonchae – IVE and CORTIS, along with a couple of music shows. You pencil them in your notebook, along with the words ‘remind Yoonchae to bring the camera!’
“You know,” Yoonchae hums. “Speaking of dating idols, I do wanna know what it must be like to date one. It’s like Yuna said – they’ve always got so much going on, how would they have the time? Hey, maybe you should write an article on this.” Her words aren’t meant to be serious, but you take it as such.
You can hear your pulse in your ears as your brain processes what Yoonchae has said. She’s tapping away at her laptop like she hadn’t just pitched the most amazing idea in the world.
“Wait,” you pipe up, dropping your pencil on the desk. It clanks to the ground, and you don’t even bother picking it up. Your eyes snapping up from your notebook to look at her. “You’re onto something.”
Yoonchae’s idea, if put into action, would give you an inside scoop that no journalist had ever had access to before – even if you were cordially invited to the shows and showcases of every group on the planet. Everybody wanted to know what it was like to date an idol, there was no doubt about that.
If you turned this into a piece, you knew it would tick all the boxes. Exclusive? Check. Daring? Check. Eye-catching? Check. Three big fat checks. It was perfect.
This… this was exactly the pitch that would land you a full-time job at Stereo. For someone who said they hated working in the news publishing industry, Yoonchae had just given you a golden ticket to a full-time job at Stereo. You’re just upset that you hadn’t come up with it first.
“What it’s like to date an idol,” you hum under your breath as you brainstorm, drumming your fingers on your desk. “Sure, it may be gossipy and scandalous, but Jisoo was saying that we’re not getting enough clicks, right? And after… I don’t know. 10 shows, maybe? I could just… dump him. Or find a way for him to dump me.”
You say that so casually, and you wince when you’ve realised what you’ve said. You’ve never been one to be a heartbreaker, or one to get into casual relationships with an ulterior motive, but you really wanted this job.
Finding someone to even be able to “date” for this article would probably be difficult. And once you got them to fall in love with you, getting them to dump you would likely be easy. Idols barely had time for relationships anyways, right? You wouldn’t necessarily be heartbroken at the prospect of losing him, because you had a job to do, and he wouldn’t really care that much. No harm, no foul.
You thought she had gone back to her office by now. Your head snaps to look at her, fear evident in your eyes until her words register in your brain. Jisoo had just said the idea was brilliant. Your heart is beating so incredibly fast you think it might jump out of your chest.
“Write it,” Jisoo says, and her lips quirk up into a smile. It’s like she can see the thousands, if not millions of views that your piece will bring in to Stereo already.
“If you can, of course. You’ve got two weeks left here, but I’m more than happy to extend your internship if you need more time to work on the article. And if it goes well…” she trails off, and you swear that if you could read her mind right now, you’re sure she’s about to say something along the lines of: you have a place here permanently.
You look at her, bright-eyed and with determination. “Of course, Jisoo. I’ll get right to it,” you stammer. Jisoo nods at you approvingly before she walks back to her office, heels clicking on the floor with a certain enthusiasm that wasn’t there before. She’s excited about your article. Your boss – the one who was notoriously difficult to appease, was happy with an article pitch of yours. Well, Yoonchae gave you the idea, but technically, you’d be the one to flesh it out.
Yoonchae looks at you, eyes wide with a look of bewilderment. “What… what have you gotten yourself into?” she asks, her tone laced with disbelief. She wheels her chair over to you, grabbing onto your shoulders and shaking you.
“How… How the hell are you going to go bag an idol in the two weeks that we have here? Are you crazy?” she hisses, and the realisation of how difficult your task was actually sinks in. Thinking about it was fine and seemed easy enough, but now… now you actually had to do something.
“I… I’m going to figure something out, Yoonchae,” you say. “I have to.”
You wanted this job. You were going to make it work.
Jisoo would get that article, and it's going to be the best article that she’s ever read in her life.
The CORTIS comeback showcase is buzzing with people.
You scan your media pass at the entrance and wait at the side before Yoonchae comes through. You’ve got your notebook, pens and laptops in your bag, and the two of you head towards your designated seats at the front.
The plastic chairs are arranged in an orderly fashion, with yours and Yoonchae’s names printed out on paper and stuck to the chair to tell you where you both will be sitting. Much to your delight, you two are seated in the front row.
When the two of you sit down, you pull out your laptop, setting it on top of your lap. It’s been three days since you told Jisoo that you’d be writing that article, and as the days have gone by, you think you might’ve been a little too confident.
Music Bank was at the end of the week, and you think that you probably have your best shot there, but waiting was making you incredibly nervous. You didn’t want Jisoo to scrap the idea before you even started.
“So… found an idol to date yet?” Yoonchae almost reads your mind, and you groan as you open up your notes app. You click to the note titled ‘CORTIS comeback’, and all the questions that you have prepared pop up right in front of you.
“No, I haven’t,” you sigh, tapping your foot on the ground. “Thank you for reminding me, Yoonchae.”
Yoonchae smiles with amusement, as if she’s somewhat entertained by the predicament that you’ve put yourself into. You groan as you think about the article once again, and you scan through your options. You really could only take your pick from some 4th gen groups and the 5th gen groups.
This assignment was way easier in your head. The dating and dumping part was easy. The part where you had to get an idol to want to get to know you enough to move on to the dating stage was the hard bit.
Backstage, Martin peeks behind the curtains to get a good glimpse of the crowd. Although their new album just released today, Keonho just had to remind him of the bet as they were getting dressed.
Now, Martin has to actually find someone to make them fall hopelessly in love with him. Keonho had been ever so gracious to say that the comeback showcase didn’t technically count as a show, so in reality, Martin kind of had 11 shows. One more show couldn’t possibly make much of a difference, but 11 was a little less daunting than 10.
So now, he's searching amongst the crowd to see if he can find someone who he thinks would help him win the bet.
Keonho joins him, and it's like he can read Martin's mind, because he instinctively does the same. “Okay, let’s see. Which girl…” he hums. His eyes are scanning the crowd with hawk-like concentration.
“Okay, what about her?” Keonho says, motioning towards a brunette girl sitting in the second row.
“No,” Martin replies quickly, shaking his head. “Looks like she’d ghost me, but tell all her friends that we dated for a month.”
“Hard to argue with that,” Keonho replies. Seonghyeon catches wind of what’s going on and decides to join the two of them. Seonghyeon’s eyes land on a girl sitting not far away from the brunette, and she’s got dyed pink hair. He tilts his chin towards her.
“Her?” Seonghyeon proposes.
“Nope,” Martin says. “Feel like she’d ask me if I can give her BTS’ phone number. Which I also wish I had.”
“Fine,” Keonho says, and his eyes land on Yoonchae. “What about her?” He gestures towards her, but Martin’s eyes land on you.
You’re typing away at your laptop with determined focus, and Martin doesn’t know why he finds it so intriguing. You’ve got one earphone in your ear, the other dangling as you talk to Yoonchae. You’re wearing a striped zip-up jacket and jeans – you’re not trying to be noticed at all, but it makes you stand out even more to Martin. You’re sitting in the front row with a media pass around your neck, so Martin knows that you’re definitely not a fan.
That checks the box.
For him to actually win the bet, he should’ve made it easy for himself. But there’s something about you that makes Martin want to actually get to know you better. And truthfully, he did like a challenge.
Keonho notices how Martin’s gone silent. He’s looking in the direction that Keonho had originally pointed towards, but he sees that Martin’s looking at you, rather than Yoonchae. “Ah,” Keonho hums. “The one sitting next to her’s caught your eye.”
“Sure,” Martin replies casually. “You could say that. You said any non-fan, right? She fits the bill.”
“Alright, Martin hyung,” Keonho grins in amusement. “10 shows. It’s all you’ve got to make her fall in love with you.”
“That's all I need,” Martin replies.
Martin prays he’s right.
The comeback showcase goes well.
You enjoy the music a lot – you liked CORTIS’ debut album anyways, so you weren’t really surprised that they had released something good again. Their stage presence was always insane from the videos you’ve watched online, and witnessing it in person was no different.
However, you did seem to notice one of the members’ – Martin’s – eyes on you a little too often. You also had a hunch that perhaps they had talked about you, because whenever there was someone asking a question from your direction, Keonho would elbow Martin with a knowing smirk on his lips.
“So, what was that?” Eight out of ten?” Yoonchae asks you as she begins to pack up her things. The fans have been told to leave by now, and the only people really left are media and industry professionals. You look at what you’ve written down, and you’ve practically given five stars to all of the songs. The lowest is a 4.5, and you’d like to think that you have a pretty high bar for greatness.
“I mean… nine?” you hum. “There’s always room for improvement, right?”
“High praises,” you hear a voice that’s not Yoonchae interrupting your conversation. It’s also a voice that you’ve heard far too many times tonight. You turn to look at the stranger, and you meet eyes with none other than the Martin Edwards. “It means a lot. Thank you.”
Yoonchae opens and closes her mouth like a fish, stunned at Martin’s sudden presence. But then she remembers something the same time you do – the article. She purposely moves to stand behind him, mouthing at you: ‘he’s the one!’
You know Martin Edwards is exactly who he thinks he is. 6 '3, gorgeous dyed blonde hair, impeccable music-making skills and the coolest fashion sense in the industry right now. If you hadn’t seen more of him on your social media, you’d be genuinely a little intimidated by him.
But you know that he’s a sweet guy. He’s also a little bit of a goofball too – loud, likes making his friends laugh, and often gives in to a little too much of his fans’ requests. The fan call videos were certainly something, and you’re really wondering how much he gets paid to tell someone else ‘I love you, you’re my girlfriend.’
He’s still in his clothes from the showcase – silver jewellery hangs around his neck, with three rings on each finger. You observe his features for perhaps maybe a little too long, and his lips curl up in the slightest hint of a smirk.
Yoonchae clears her throat, giving you a wink. “So, I’m gonna go grab something for us at the convenience store nearby. (Name), I’ll be back in about 15 minutes.”
Before you can protest, she’s already darted off. You curse under your breath before looking back at Martin, who’s eyeing you with a mischievous glint in his eye. You can’t quite place your finger on why that is, but maybe he caught you staring.
“So… (Name),” he says. His voice is smooth, and your name rolls off his tongue like he’s testing the waters. There’s a certain cadence in his tone that sends butterflies straight to your stomach. “I’m glad you liked the album. We worked hard on it.”
“I’m sure you did,” you beam. “Do you go thanking every member of the media after the showcase?”
Martin’s airy laughter rings through the air, and his smile grows even wider. “Oh, no,” he says breezily, waving you off. “Just the pretty ones.”
You’re knocked off your feet for just a split second. Was Martin Edwards flirting with you? And was it… dare you say… working?
And suddenly, the article doesn’t feel so difficult anymore. With Martin Edwards standing right in front of you, you realise that you have the perfect candidate.
His group was still new on the scene, but everybody wanted to get to know CORTIS just a little bit better. Your article would do that. Even if fans said that Martin was practically an open book, the boy standing in front of you now wasn’t necessarily the one you saw on stage mere minutes ago.
Sure, he was still confident and assured. But there was the slightest difference in the way he carried himself – a little less guarded, a little less… idol-like. Perhaps it was the flirting, honestly.
You come to your senses, quirking a brow at him. “Oh, so you think I’m pretty?”
The air is electric, and usually you’d be nervous, but just this once, you think that it’s perfect. Martin’s grin somehow grows wider before he nods.
“I do,” he hums. “Thought I said that before. And if my eyes didn’t deceive me just before your friend scurried off… you might’ve been staring at my face for just a smidge too long.”
Your cheeks heat up. “I… I was not!”
Martin lets out another laugh, clearly amused at how flustered you were. “I’m just teasing,” he replies. “Regardless, it’s not often I see someone working in the media that’s around the same age as us. And as I’m saying this, I’m hoping that you’re in your last year of high school.”
You nod at his words. “I am,” you reply. “Same age as you.”
“Perfect,” he grins. “I’m glad I was right, or I would’ve embarrassed myself coming up to you.”
“Right,” you chuckle. “So… any other pretty members of the media you want to thank?” you look around, and the exhibition hall is just about empty. Martin shakes his head, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ sound. “Just you.”
“Way to make a girl feel special, Edwards,” you quip. Martin ignores how his heart flutters when you simply just call him by his last name. “What's the phone for? A selfie? Just a reminder that you're the idol there."
"You're funny," Martin replies. There's sincerity in his tone. "But, I was hoping that perhaps I could get your number.”
You look at him, your lips curling up into a smile. “Ah, you’ve beat me to it,” you pout, jutting out your bottom lip. “I was hoping that I’d be the one to make that move.”
Your words are awfully confident, making you sound completely unfazed at Martin’s flirtatious words. But inside, you’re internally screaming. You’re trying to hide your nerves, and Martin’s gaze on you is not helping as your thumb carefully presses the keys on the screen.
“There we go,” you say, pressing the ‘save’ button. “You should text me. I’d love to hear from you.”
“You would?” Martin asks, almost in disbelief. He can’t believe how well the flirting is going. Keonho, Juhoon, James and Seonghyeon would so be losing their money.
“Of course,” you beam. Your eyes tilt towards the exit, and you see Yoonchae standing there. She’s not hurrying you, but you know that it’s time to go. “Listen, I’ve got to head back home, but… yeah. Text me, and let’s hang out.”
“Are you asking me out?” Martin says, a coy smile on his lips.
“Maybe I am,” you reply. Your eyes dart back to Yoonchae again, and a sudden wave of boldness makes you inch closer to him, pressing a chaste kiss to Martin’s cheek. You watch as his cheeks flush bright pink, and you can’t help but feel satisfied with yourself. Got him, you think. “I’ll see you around, Edwards.”
Before Martin can say anything, you’ve already rushed off. He instinctively brings a hand to his cheek, and he smiles triumphantly.
“Oh, you’re already falling in love with me,” he says to himself, a wide grin on his lips.
Meanwhile, as you’re darting off to the car, a similar expression graces your lips. “I’m gonna make you wish you were dead,” you whisper.
Conversation with Martin is surprisingly easy.
He texts you as soon as he gets back to the dorm, and you reply just as quickly. You shoot off flirtatious messages every other second like a seasoned professional, and Martin replies with just as much enthusiasm. You just know he’s probably cheesing behind the screen. You don’t notice how you’re grinning at your phone like an idiot, though.
Martin is incredibly flirtatious, like you’ve seen online. You really thought it was all just fan service, but it turns out, Martin did really act that way. You’ve earned a new nickname now, thanks to him – pretty.
Minutes turn into hours, and sure enough, the two of you found yourself talking to each other until four in the morning. It’s not until you remind him that he’s got a schedule tomorrow and that you’ve got work, and then you two say goodnight.
Martin gives you recommendations of his favourite songs, and you rate them just like you usually do for Stereo. You find that your music taste is surprisingly similar, and Martin just tells you that ‘perhaps it’s a sign that we’re meant to be.’ You smile a little too wide at that response, and your heart flutters in the slightest way. You reply with a ‘I think so’, and Martin beams seeing those words on his screen.
You didn’t think that it was that easy to get Martin Edwards to fall in love with you, but honestly at this point, you think that you’ve got him absolutely whipped.
For three days, you and Martin talk non-stop. Whenever you’ve got a break, and he’s got a break, the two of you are talking about anything remotely that interests you. Bailey, another colleague of yours, tells you that you seem awfully invested in this considering that it’s just an article assignment.
On the fourth day, you head into work and find that there’s a tray of iced coffees on your desk. Yoonchae looks at you with a knowing grin as you pick up the sticky note, and sure enough, it’s Martin’s handwriting.
Hi, pretty. For you and the team. – Edwards.
You fail to hide the smile that’s unconsciously crept up on your lips. When Yoonchae points it out, you just tell her to shut up. This was all for the article, you remind yourself. You weren’t really in love with Martin Edwards. You hand out the coffees, and when you give one to Jisoo, she raises an eyebrow.
“Did you bring this in?” she asks, and you shake your head.
“Martin from CORTIS did,” you say. There’s a coy lilt in your tone, and Jisoo seems to remember the article. She smiles at you proudly, and gives you a pat on the shoulder before taking a sip of the coffee.
“Good work,” she beams. “Can’t wait to see the article.”
She then walks off, heels clicking on the floor. Yoonchae clears her throat to catch your attention, and you look at her, taking a sip of the coffee that Martin had bought you.
“So… what’s the plan to get him to dump you? Because… getting him whipped seemed pretty fucking easy. Like, this is three-month relationship stuff.” she says, gesturing to the coffee on her own table. Bailey, who's curiosity is piqued at the sound of Yoonchae's words, rolls her chair over to you to join in the conversation.
“I’m going to be entirely too much, too overbearing and too clingy to the point where he has to break up with me,” you say. Your plan is absolutely fool-proof. “They’re heading to New York in three weeks. Let’s get this done in the 10 shows they have in Korea.”
Bailey hums, nodding at your words. “Okay, but like… do you have any specifics?”
“Calm down,” you reply. “I don’t have to move that fast. We’ve known each other only for four days. No sane person is going to ask someone to be their girlfriend in four days.”
“You have three weeks, (Name) – you better hurry up…” Yoonchae replies, her voice trailing off. “Maybe just a date? Tonight? You know how they’ve got to basically be in the middle of the night though, right – because cameras are everywhere. Your sleep schedule is going to be fucked when you’re dating Martin.”
“Well, you didn’t have to put so much emphasis on the ‘fucked’,” you raise an eyebrow. “But yeah, a date sounds good. I’ll text him now.”
you | 7:32am
thanks for the coffee, edwards
it was really sweet of you
can i thank you with a date?
martin edwards | 7:33am
ah, i was waiting for that text from you
of course!
tomorrow? after you’re done with work?
you | 7:34am
sounds like a plan
wear something nice
martin edwards | 7:34am
i always do
gonna step it up to impress you though
can’t wait to see you, pretty
Yoonchae peers over your shoulder. “Don’t they have to go to Inkigayo tomorrow? How will you two have time to actually… go on a date?”
“Shoot, you’re right,” you reply. You quickly type out a message to Martin, your fingers flying over the screen.
you | 7:35am
you have inkigayo
martin edwards | 7:35am
ah. right
date at inkigayo? you could be my plus one
you’ll be there anyways right? as media?
you | 7:36am
first date at inkigayo is highly unorthodox
i’m in, though
only because it’s you
martin edwards | 7:37am
i feel so special
sneaking around is gonna be awfully romantic
i’ve got dance practice now and i’m sure you’ve got work
talk soon pretty
“Well… first date at Inkigayo,” you say, almost in disbelief. So this was what it was like to date an idol – music show dates, late-night dates, probably getting blown off because dance practice takes precedence. You note that down in your notebook, because you’re sure that it’ll be of use to you later. “That’s settled.”
“I suppose it is,” Yoonchae says. She’s still in disbelief at the entire interaction – she was peering over your shoulder the entire time. “Also, you should probably change his contact name to something other than his full name. It’s not that romantic.”
“I… ‘Chae, he’s not my real boyfriend,” you say, pointedly. “Heck, he hasn’t even asked me to be his girlfriend. Which actually reminds me, I have to get on that.” You do take her advice though, and change his name simply to ‘Edwards’ with an orange heart emoji. It’s plausible enough, considering that you do call him exclusively by his last name.
“I must say… this is going surprisingly well,” Bailey hums. “Even though I know it’s really new. Just… don’t go falling in love with him, or something. That would ruin the entire thing.”
You laugh, dismissing Bailey's words as if they were ludicrous. “Don’t worry,” you hum, your tone laced with a little too much confidence.
“I’m not going to actually fall in love with Martin Edwards.”
For someone who’s allegedly not invested in this ‘relationship’ at all, you do spend an awfully long time picking out your outfit for Inkigayo tonight.
CORTIS had a reputation for being incredibly fashionable – if you were going to be introduced as ‘Martin Edwards’ talking stage and to-be girlfriend’ tonight, you had to at least look the part.
You opt for something so outrageously Martin-esque to the point where you look like you could genuinely be the sixth member of CORTIS. So much so, that any random staff member would probably think that you pulled it out of his closet.
Members of the media were supposed to be unassuming, trying to avoid the public eye at all costs – but just for today, you were going to break that rule. Just based off of your outfit alone, you wanted it to be glaringly obvious that you were talking to Martin.
You pull on these black, chunky boots that you haven’t worn in forever (you even have to blow the dust off of them) lacing them up with a smile on your lips. Martin Edwards was so going to freak out when he saw you. You could just envision it.
Yoonchae looks at you oddly when you jump into the car – this was certainly not your style at all. “Okay, Martin’s girl. You might as well just dye your hair blonde too,” she quips. Usually you’d tell her to shut up, but that was exactly the reaction you were looking for.
edwards 🧡 | 6:23pm
let me know when you’re here
we’re in dressing room 103
you | 6:24pm
im on my way
see you 🧡🧡🧡
“You go find Martin,” Yoonchae tells you, a playful smile on her lips. “I’ll tell you where we’re seated for tonight’s performances… if you’ll even be joining me here.”
You laugh, waving goodbye to her before you go off and find dressing room 103. You see a bunch of staff members at Inkigayo give you odd looks. They saw you here last week too, and you most certainly were not dressed like this. A girl you’ve made conversation with a couple of times – her name was Yoojung – mouths ‘Martin fan?’ at you, and you simply give her a wide grin before disappearing down the corridor.
You knock on dressing room 103, tapping your foot on the floor. Your mind runs through the plan – too overbearing, too clingy, too boisterous. You’re going to make Martin go insane.
Martin opens the door, since he was expecting you anyways. But what he did not expect was for you to be dressed in clothes that seemed like they were pulled from his closet. He looks you up and down, mouth opening and closing as if he’s about to speak – but all the words he has to say become strangled in his throat.
“Hey,” you say, trying to sound casual. You want him to think that no, this outfit did not take me forever.
“You look…” Martin stutters.
Time to pack on the dramatics, you think. “Gorgeous? Stunning? Beautiful?” you ask, batting your eyelashes at him. “Tell me something I don’t know, Edwards.”
Martin’s brain almost short-circuits. He’s still at a complete loss of words, and for a split second he thinks that Seonghyeon may be right – does he even know how to flirt? He’s trying to rack his brain for a compliment, or anything that makes it known that he thinks you look good.
Keonho clears his throat, and it brings Martin back to his senses – the bet. Time for him to make you fall hopelessly in love and make you weak in the knees, he thinks. He instantly puts a smile on his lips. “Yeah,” he replies. “All of those things.”
“Next time though, if you wanted to dress like me, you should’ve just said so,” he adds. He hopes Seonghyeon’s listening – he was about to deliver a masterclass in flirting. “Just wear my actual clothes instead.”
Your heart flutters a little too much at those words, and for a brief second, Martin thinks that he can see your confidence falter ever so slightly. Bingo, he thinks. Another win.
“Oh, so that’s an invitation for me to just wear all your clothes, isn’t it?” you ask. “Moving fast, Edwards.” You peek behind him to see the other four boys watching the two of you talk with curiosity. Keonho’s eyes are practically sparkling.
You raise your voice a little before you say your next sentence. “Mind you, you still haven’t asked me to be your girlfriend.”
You don’t know which member it is that hollers loudly hearing your words. Martin turns around so fast you think he’s going to snap his neck. He glares at the four of them, before diverting his attention back to you.
This was going exceptionally well. Four days in, and you already wanted to be his girlfriend. Anyone who said that he didn’t have game was going to regret it.
“Right,” he says, dragging out the word as a smile plays on his lips. “Let me introduce you to the members first, and then we’ll talk about that, pretty.”
He opens the door a little wider to actually let you into the dressing room, and the four of them blink at you, stunned when they see your outfit. Your outfit was almost a carbon-copy of something that they think they’ve seen Martin wear before. Was it a little tacky to dress almost identical to your talking stage? Probably. But their reactions were golden, and you hope to God that Martin’s cheeks are heating up in embarrassment.
“Guys, this is (Name),” Martin says, introducing you. You beam at the four of them just before lacing your fingers with Martin. The action comes out of nowhere, and Martin freezes for a split second before he closes his hand around yours. Your hand is warm, and Martin doesn't know why having your hand in his just feels oddly... right.
You swear Juhoon’s eyes pop out of his skull. Seonghyeon’s jaw practically drops. James puts his glasses back on to make sure that his eyes aren’t deceiving him. Keonho shrieks before falling to the floor dramatically.
“I’m his…” your voice trails off. Suddenly, an idea pops into your brain. What did anyone in a talking stage hate the most?
The dreaded ‘what are we?’ question.
Martin would hate it even more if you asked that question right in front of his friends. It was perfect.
A devious grin threatens to creep up onto your lips before you turn to Martin. “What are we, exactly?”
Seonghyeon chokes on his water while Juhoon has to suppress a laugh. Martin can’t believe you asked that question in front of everyone – you were impatient, alright. He was actually going to ask you to be his girlfriend, but in private. But considering your outfit choice today, perhaps you were someone who wanted to make your affection for him known. He knows that he should feel embarrassed, but surprisingly, he doesn’t.
Four days is awfully fast to ask someone to be their girlfriend, but Martin wanted to win this bet. Badly.
And the first step to actually make it known to his friends that he was going to win, was to loudly announce that you were his girlfriend. Martin can’t wait for Keonho to pay for those Rick Owens shoes that he’s been eyeing for ages.
“She’s my girlfriend.” he says, a coy smile tugging at his lips.
The room practically explodes with questions, shouts and what you think are cheers. You weren’t exactly expecting this reaction from Martin, but it’s more than welcomed, considering the predicament that you’ve gotten yourself into. The first half of your job was done – you’ve gotten the idol. Now you just needed him to dump you.
But for some odd reason, him telling everyone in the room that you were his girlfriend makes your chest tighten ever so slightly. You ignore the feeling, telling yourself that it’s just nerves. You’ll ease more into the role of annoying girlfriend as the days go on.
You look at him, tilting your head with a small smile on your lips. “Didn’t even ask me,” you whisper in his ear. You hear Martin let out a light laugh amidst the chaos that those three words had created.
“Isn’t that what you were hinting at me to do when you arrived at the door?” he replies, voice matching yours. Touché, you think.
“Well,” you say, turning to face him. “That’s true. And I’m happy you did.” Your eyes quickly divert towards the four boys sitting on the couch – they’re still going on and on about how Martin actually has a girlfriend. They’re saying it as if they’re in disbelief that he’s actually with you.
Believe it, you think. To really sell it, you dramatically plant a kiss on Martin’s cheek. You’re thanking yourself that you decided to wear lipstick that wasn’t transfer-proof today, and you can practically hear Keonho’s gasp. When you pull away, there it is – a glaringly obvious stain of your lips on the side of his cheek.
“Oops,” you say, but Martin can tell you’re not really sorry about it at all. You bring a hand up to wipe the stain off, and Martin just shakes his head, gently clutching your wrist as if to tell you to leave it.
“I’ll just use some makeup remover,” he replies, calmly. You’re surprised that Martin’s face isn’t heating up with embarrassment – maybe you just had to be even more dramatic than you already were. In fact, he was smiling like an idiot in love. Was he crazy? “Thanks for the good luck kiss, girlfriend.”
It’s official. All Martin has to do is get you to stay with him until the end of the tenth show. All you have to do is get him to dump you before the tenth show.
And as you squeeze Martin’s hand a little tighter before planting another overly obnoxious kiss on his cheek, you’re almost certain that you’re going to get that full-time job.
Over the next week, Martin realises that first impressions are deceiving.
You’re not who he thought you’d be when he first saw you at the comeback showcase – rather, you’re the complete opposite. Loud, boisterous, unrestrained. You’re overly sweet and romantic in a way that Martin thought only existed in rom-coms. It’s nice to be showered in love and affection, and Martin – despite his better judgment – allows his heart to flutter whenever you lean a little closer, or when his name rolls off your tongue like honey over the phone.
You send him texts almost every single second now that you two are officially a couple (can he even call you his actual girlfriend when this was all a bet?). You also show up at almost every performance of theirs throughout the week.
The members and the staff all get used to your presence rather quickly – it’s not surprising, considering that whenever you’re there, your presence somehow commands the entire room. Everyone’s eyes are on you, and he doesn’t know if he loves or hates the extra attention that you bring with you. In addition, Martin doesn’t even know how you have the time to basically cling to him like glue when you’ve got a full-time job.
His phone pings again, and he already knows who it’s from. It’s you, sending him twenty messages in a row – each text is one word, and Martin would usually get a little frustrated, but it was you. He doesn’t think he can bring himself to actually get mad at you, which is the crazy part considering that this was all a bet.
You send him four selfies of yourself sitting in the front row of the same exhibition centre where you guys had met. He’s admiring how pretty you look until he realises the article of clothing that you’re wearing is awfully familiar. It’s then when it hits him – you’re wearing his striped red and black zip-up hoodie.
The one that he precisely wanted to wear today.
Martin knows that the zip-up basically swallows you, because he’s seen you in his other clothes before. His heart does a flip at the thought. It’s just a bet, he reminds himself.
You look pretty, he tells you. You respond almost immediately.
I know, is your response. Martin doesn’t realise how hard he’s grinning at his screen right now.
Is that my jacket? he asks you.
Your response? It’s mine now.
His nostrils flare slightly at the fact that you’ve just claimed his favourite zip-up hoodie, but he relents and lets you have it anyway. You did look good in it, he had to admit.
You practically demand his attention at all times, which is a little impossible considering his job. More often than not, whenever he’s practicing with the rest of the members, his phone would be buzzing so much to the point where it fell off the bench. Keonho only looks at him teasingly before Martin quickly shoots back a response to you, telling you that he’s got dance practice.
You don’t seem to care, and you continue spamming him anyways. Despite this, Martin can’t seem to push you away. Or mute your contact.
You’re sitting in the exhibition centre, confused as to why Martin hasn’t gone batshit crazy over the fact that you’ve taken his favourite zip-up without any warning. Keonho had warned you about how Martin didn’t like sharing his clothes. Perhaps you just had to take it a little further, then.
So, a day later, Martin opens the door to his dorm to find you standing there. You hadn’t announced that you were coming, and Martin assumed that you had work anyways. What he didn’t know was that you’d asked Jisoo for some time off today to work on the article – it was going well, you had told her. At those words, Jisoo nodded, giving you time off without a single thought.
“Hi?” Martin asks, stunned at the sight of you at his doorstep.
“I thought you’d be a little happier to see me,” you pout, and Martin shakes his head.
“No, no!” he says hastily. “I was just surprised to see you. Come on in,” he opens the door a little wider for you. You kick your shoes off at the door, and Martin winces a little when you just leave them there instead of putting it on the shoe rack. He decides to do it for you, like any good boyfriend would – placing your shoes next to a pair of his own sneakers.
“Thank you, ‘Tinnie.” you beam, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Even though there’s nobody else there right now, you make it a big show and exaggerate every motion. You deliberately say ‘mwah’ when you pull away, admiring the lipstick print on Martin’s cheek.
Oddly, Martin doesn’t wipe it off. Maybe he’s insane. Or maybe he’s just insanely whipped like Yoonchae said.
“Tinnie is a new one,” he hums. “Finally moved on from calling me Edwards?”
You shake your head, bounding down the corridor like it’s your place rather than his. Martin follows you like a lost puppy. “Nope,” you reply, popping the ‘p’. “Just trying out something new. But, I wanted to grab some clothes.”
Martin furrows his brows. “You want to go shopping?” he asks. “Sure, I’ll just go grab my coat.”
You hold a hand out to stop him. “No, I want to wear some of your clothes,” you say like it’s the most casual thing in the world. It’s totally not like you two have only been dating for a week. “If that’s alright with you, of course?”
Martin can’t say no to you. Not when he remembers how nice you looked in his striped zip-up. He nods reluctantly, and you squeal, dragging him towards his closet.
You’re raiding Martin’s closet like it’s a department store sale. You’re grabbing hanger after hanger and asking him to hold onto them for you, and Martin can barely keep up. In five minutes, he’s somehow holding five of his own hoodies and three of his t-shirts, while you’re trying on another one of his zip-ups.
You’re twirling around in it, looking at your own reflection in the mirror. You look at Martin for his approval, and he nods, giving you a thumbs up. “Looks great on you, pretty.”
You really should be used to the compliments that Martin dishes out, but your cheeks heat up ever so slightly. Bailey’s voice rings in your head – don’t fall in love with him. You can’t believe you have to remind yourself.
Seonghyeon walks in to grab a jacket, and he’s stunned at the scene. Martin’s got hoodies and shirts and jumpers draped over him as you pull out something else from his side of the closet.
“What the…” he says, and Martin turns to look at him.
“Hi,” Martin says. He can barely see. There’s a hoodie over his head, and he can’t bring his arm up to pull it off. “(Name) wanted some of my clothes.” Seonghyeon, who’s ever so kind, pulls the hoodie off Martin’s head.
“Okay,” Seonghyeon giggles. “Have fun, you lovebirds.” Before he leaves, he mouths at Martin, 10 shows. Though your presence is awfully over-the-top, Seonghyeon doesn’t quite mind having you around. It was rather funny to witness yours and Martin’s dynamic.
You take four more pieces of his clothing, and Martin helps you fold them all up neatly before placing them into a bag. “There you go,” he says, snaking an arm around your waist to pull you closer. “Happy?”
“Very,” you giggle. You do feel a little guilty for stealing half his closet. “Thank you, ‘Tin. Do you want to watch a movie? I’ll let you pick, since I’ve taken so many of your clothes.” Though it was for an article, you weren’t a monster. You don’t realise how instinctively, you’ve leaned into his touch.
Martin nods, grinning as he kisses your temple like he’s done this a million times before. It’s getting awfully easy for him to slip into the role of your boyfriend. “Sure,” he hums. “We can watch something on my laptop.”
You curl up next to him on his bed, your head resting on his chest and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind playing on his laptop. Martin presses a kiss to the top of your head, his arms wrapped around you.
This domesticity feels a little too natural. A little too real – like you two are actually two teenagers in love.
The slightest twinge of guilt pangs at your heart. You don't know it, but when the thought of the bet flashes through Martin's head, that same feeling strikes him in the chest too.
Martin’s eyes leave the screen for a split second to look at you, and he pushes the thought of the bet to the back of his head.
His closet may be a little bit more empty now, but his heart feels the slightest bit more full.
“I think Martin is a lunatic.” you confess to Yoonchae at work one day.
CORTIS had five more shows left in Korea before they were due to leave for New York City, and any logical person would have already broken up with you at this point.
But for some strange reason, Martin stayed. Not even just stayed – pulled you closer, even. He flirted with you more. Peppered your face with kisses. Proudly showed you off to his friends.
He’s either insane, or he loves crazy girls. You don’t know which is worse.
What you didn't know, of course, was that Martin was practically clinging on to this relationship for dear life. 10 shows, he reminds himself. He needed a girl to stay with him for three full weeks and to somehow put up with his insanely hectic schedule. Martin half-expected to barely see you, but you somehow managed to find a way to sneak into his life more often than not. It was welcomed, of course – he could show his friends that yes, he could flirt, and yes, an idol was able to date.
You were acting batshit crazy, and he still wanted you to be his girlfriend. Martin still hasn't dumped your ass, and that was absolutely shocking.
Idols were always busy, so you decided to do the very thing that all busy people hated: you spammed Martin all day.
You sent him stupid TikToks, telling him to reply to each and every single one. You called him at random hours, sent him voice messages, and practically demanded his attention every single second.
The crazy thing was, Martin would reply to every TikTok. He’d always pick up. He’d reply to every single voice message with his own, and you hated how you always smiled hearing his voice and his loud laugh through your headphones.
You showed up unannounced to so many performances to the point where his manager would only sigh, and reluctantly let you in. You’ve embarrassed him by showering him with affection in front of quite literally everyone. You heard how Keonho tried – and failed – to hide a shriek when you made a big show of calling Martin ‘baby’ five minutes before they were due to head on stage.
One night at his dorm, you’d even spent one whole hour asking the most basic questions about music production, forcing him to overexplain like he was teaching a toddler. You knew all the answers to the questions, but you’d asked them anyway just to rile him up.
Martin thinks that for someone who’s working at Stereo, you should know. But regardless, he explains it all to you patiently, smiling like he’s glad that his girlfriend is actually interested in what he does – much to your dismay.
Martin didn’t even bat an eye when you purposely stole all of his favourite clothes from his closet a few days ago. You’re sitting at your desk in the Stereo office, wearing Martin’s hoodie that is outrageously large on you. You’re shocked that he didn’t protest more, especially when you grabbed one of the expensive ones. Instead, he smiled, told you that you looked gorgeous, folded it up neatly and then gave it to you.
You also realise that you don’t hate the affection that he showers you with. It feels quite nice, actually – to be cared for by Martin Edwards.
But, this was truly not going well for your article.
“Why is that?” Yoonchae asks. “Because he hasn’t dumped you?”
“Yes!” you exclaim, as if it was the obvious answer. “He’s staying! Which is the crazy part! Idols don’t have time for this clingy, over-the-top nonsense, do they? So it’s either he’s insane, or he loves crazy girls.”
“There’s another obvious answer,” Bailey chimes in, a smile playing on her lips. “He just likes you.”
Bailey’s words hit you like a truck, and you ignore how your heart jumps at the thought. Martin Edwards likes you? You hate to say it, but that was truly… not implausible. But if Martin actually liked you – with all your craziness – surely, he had to be just the slightest bit insane.
“I…” your cheeks heat up. “Okay.” you grumble, eyes diverting back to your laptop screen. You need to figure out a way to drive Martin absolutely up the wall – he had a strong resolve, there was no doubt about it. Something about music seemed right.
Your eyes sparkle with delight when you remember that Martin said that he was going to be working on some music tonight in his studio. Something about recording some adlibs and some lines for their next album. Even while promoting music that was released recently, Martin was always working on something new. It was honestly incredibly admirable.
So, you find yourself slumped on a chair next to Martin at 9:30 at night, watching as he works on a new song. There’s a microphone in front of his lips as he clips sections together with silent precision. His brows are furrowed in concentration, and you deem it the perfect time to enact your plan.
“Tinnie,” you say, dragging out his name. He hums, acknowledging you, but his eyes don’t leave the screen. You nudge him gently, and he glances towards you. There’s a soft look in his eye, and a small smile graces his lips. “What do you think about this dog?”
You show him a picture of this random white poodle that came up on your For You page. He squints at it, nodding. “It’s cute, baby. Why?” he asks, before his eyes divert back to his screen again.
“I want a dog,” you say. “Let’s get a dog.”
That catches Martin’s attention. “You want… us to get a dog?” he asks, in complete disbelief. You nod, and Martin’s eyes bug out of his skull. He can’t believe what you’ve just said. A dog was a big relationship commitment, right?
Martin could barely take care of himself sometimes – how was he going to take care of a dog? And who was going to pay for the dog? He’d made enough money from the song royalties, but still. The proposal was a little insane.
“That’s really sweet, baby – but we’ve only been dating for like a week,” he hums, hand gently caressing your shoulder. “And I don’t know how we’d even take care of it – would it live at your house? It can’t live in our dorm, you know.”
You pout at his words.
“I’m sorry. We can… go to a dog cafe, or something. I’ll take you sometime next week,” Martin looks at you sympathetically. Just give me a few minutes to work on this song, is that alright? I have to record some bits tonight, and then we can watch a movie.”
You nod, letting out a small sigh. Martin thinks it’s because he lightly rejected your proposal for you two to get a dog. In reality, it was really because you can’t seem to figure out a way to get Martin to actually dump you. What normal person asks their boyfriend of one week to get a dog with them?
Martin glances at you before he pulls up the lyrics of the song on his phone. He taps the record button, and just as he’s about to sing into the microphone, your voice cuts through the air.
“Tinnie,” you pipe up, and Martin pauses the recording. He really wanted to get this song finished by tonight. You see the slightest hint of frustration on his face, and you do feel bad – but despite all your past attempts to get him to drive you away, nothing else seemed to work.
“Hmm?” he asks.
“Do you have any drinks?” you ask, and Martin nods, rolling his chair back so he can open the mini-fridge under the desk. He pulls out a can of Coke – he knows your favourite – cracking it open for you before sliding it over to you.
“Thank you, Tinnie,” you beam. Martin thinks that seeing your smile is worth it, even if he did have to pause recording for a bit. Even if you sometimes did have awfully bad timing, he’s realising that he’s grown accustomed to your antics. “I’ll be quiet now.”
“Okay,” he replies. “Thank you. I’ll be quick.”
You take a loud, dramatic sip of your drink just as Martin presses record. He pauses it again before turning to you, and this time, frustration is evident on his features.
Guilt washes over you, and you realise that honestly, you didn’t really want Martin to get so mad at you to the point where he ended things. He looks tired, and you know it’s probably from a mix of hectic promotions, working on music and dealing with your incredibly annoying ass.
Martin was too sweet for his own good, and you’re suddenly re-evaluating every little thing. You didn’t like seeing him upset, and you certainly didn’t want him to be upset at you.
You look at him sheepishly. “Sorry.” you wince, and Martin shakes his head, waving it off.
“It’s okay.” he sighs, but exasperation is evident in his tone. He huffs, pressing the record button again.
This time, you don’t interrupt – and now you know why everyone in the industry calls him a musical genius. Martin’s working like a seasoned professional, putting in clips of his voice here and there. He presses play on the section that he was just working on, nodding in silent approval when he’s satisfied.
You realise that you don’t want to drive him incredibly insane to the point where he can’t bear to see your face anymore. The article wasn’t going to write itself, but writing it meant that you had to hurt Martin. And looking at him now, and thinking about all of the times he had put up with you, you really didn’t want to hurt him. But you needed a way out.
The guilt is eating you alive as you sit there, making sure to quietly sip your drink. You think about every single moment you’ve shared with him for the last week, the flirting, the affection, the laughter – you don’t really want to let that go either. What were you going to do? This wasn’t supposed to be that complicated. You didn’t intend to actually catch feelings—
Oh.
Shit.
You might have feelings for him.
Everything clicks into place right then and there. You like Martin Edwards. You make sure to say those words in your head so you don’t interrupt him, but those words settle in your chest like they actually belong there.
Fuck. You did the one thing Bailey told you not to do.
“Hey,” he says softly, snapping you out of your thoughts. You look up at him, and Martin doesn’t know why you’re looking at him a little differently. Your gaze is soft, warm, and filled with what Martin thinks – and he doesn’t realise, but hopes – might be love. He doesn’t think he’s seen this look in your eye before. “I’m done.”
“Okay,” you say. Your voice is quieter than it’s ever been before. Martin’s slightly startled at the change. “Tin, I’m sorry.”
Martin furrows his brows. “What for?”
Everything, you want to say. “Interrupting you when you were working,” is what you say instead. Martin shakes his head, pulling you close in a hug.
“It’s okay,” he replies. He presses a kiss to your cheek to comfort you, and you hate how much it works. “Don’t worry about it, baby.”
You smile, albeit a little stiffly. “Movie?” you ask, pretending that everything is fine. Martin nods, gesturing to the couch situated at the back of the studio.
You sit down on the couch, and Martin plops right down next to you, giving you a bright smile as he places his laptop on his lap. “What’d you wanna watch?” he asks, and you shrug, resting your cheek on his shoulder.
“You pick,” you reply, and Martin nods. You lace your fingers with his, and he randomly clicks on a movie that he thinks Keonho had offhandedly mentioned was good before. He presses play before glancing at you to make sure you’re okay.
Martin squeezes your hand a little tighter, just to let you know that he’s here. You hate that he’s far too good to you.
You gulp, trying to ignore how the guilt is eating you alive.
Then, you take a deep breath before pressing a chaste kiss to his shoulder, slipping into the role that you think you’ve gotten too good at playing.
You have to end it with Martin.
It’s what you realise is best for the both of you. You get your article, and he gets to rid himself of an annoying, overbearing girlfriend. You head into work with a little less enthusiasm, and Yoonchae can immediately tell.
“What’s wrong?” Yoonchae asks, as you let out another loud sigh. Martin’s face is everywhere on your Instagram, and you hate that your lips instinctively tug into a smile at the sight of him. You were in love, damn it.
“Nothing,” you reply. “The article’s just… a little harder than I thought.” You weren’t necessarily lying. Every word you typed out felt wrong. The bitter taste of guilt in the back of your mouth reminds you that you were technically a horrible person for inflicting psychological warfare on Martin Edwards, who couldn’t possibly hurt a fly.
“Oh?” Yoonchae asks, surprised. “I thought it was going well with Martin.”
“It is,” you mutter under your breath. “A little too well. He won’t end it with me. So I think I’m going to have to do it.”
Bailey quirks a brow. “Oh, really? How are you going to do it?”
“I don’t know,” you reply. “Maybe come up with some lame excuse saying that he doesn’t have time for us anymore, and it’s breaking my heart.” Bailey nods, giving you a look that indicates that it’s not that bad of an idea.
You knew that Martin’s schedule was packed today – he had two variety shows to film and then Music Bank later. If anything, today was the perfect day to spam him and then complain about how you got no response. Then, you could use that as an excuse to break up.
It was better to get it done early on before you both got too invested. Your heart does, however, twist at the thought of letting go. But it was for the better, you remind yourself. And you had an article to write.
So, after one whole day of no responses from Martin like you’d planned, you find yourself standing outside the CORTIS dorm, rehearsing your words. You take a deep breath, telling yourself that you could do this. You could play the clingy, overbearing girlfriend role to perfection – this was the last time that you had to, hopefully.
You knock, and you hear Martin’s voice. You fail to stop the smile spreading across your lips.
When he opens the door, he instantly beams when he sees you. “Hi, baby!” He moves to wrap his arms around you in a hug, and for a split second, you nearly let him – until you remember that you’re going to break up with him.
“I can’t believe you,” You slip into your role, sniffling to show how heartbroken you were. “I sent you messages all day and you didn’t reply to me! It’s like I don’t matter to you anymore.”
Martin steps back in horror. Shit. Did he mess up? Well, not really, he thinks. He was far too busy – he barely had time to even check his phone all day, but seeing you heartbroken in front of his doorstep makes his stomach twist.
“No, no,” he says, reaching out to pull you into a hug in an attempt to comfort you, and you push him away. “Baby, I’m so sorry – I was really busy all day, and I didn’t have time to check my phone. The guys and I just got home, and I was going to text you, believe me!”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” you say. Your words are absolutely ridiculous, and you know it. “I think we need to break up.”
Saying those words makes your heart sink. You hated it. You didn’t want to let Martin Edwards go.
Martin’s heart drops. The rest of the members can hear everything, and all of their eyes widen. Martin had not a single clue of what to do. He didn’t reply for one day and you wanted to break up? This was ridiculous – he turns to Juhoon, who’s shaking his head as if to say: don’t ask me!
He then looks at Keonho, who’s reminding him: 10 shows.
10 shows. He’s got a week left until he hits 10 shows. Shit. If you ended it with him right now, he would lose the bet.
Asides from that, Martin found that he genuinely did care for you. He didn’t want you to hate him over his schedule being far too packed. He had to find a way to reason with you so you’d stay – not just for the bet, he tells himself.
Seonghyeon’s watching this as if it’s the best episode of television he’s seen in his life. Martin Edwards, begging for his overdramatic, overly clingy girlfriend to stay with him. This was gold.
What did couples do when their relationship was in trouble? Martin racks his brain for ideas.
He’d apologised already. What about gifts? He could get you those. Couples counselling?
“What?” you pipe up. It’s only then when Martin realises that he’s said ‘couples counselling’ out loud. His eyes widen with panic, before he pretends like that’s what he intended all along.
“Yes!” he says. “Let’s do couples counselling. Please, let’s fix this, baby.” Desperation is evident in his tone, and you’re so shocked at his proposal to the point where you don’t quite know what to say.
“I…” you stammer out. You look at Martin, and you realise that you really can’t say no to him. Fuck, you think.
You’d have to find a fucking couples counsellor. Or someone who could pretend to be one. Maybe you could just get Yoonchae or Bailey to say that the two of you weren’t meant to be, and then that could be your excuse to end it.
Yes, that would work, you think.
“Okay,” you sigh, reluctantly. You suppose that you were in this predicament for a little longer. "I'm picking the therapist."
Martin lets out a loud exhale in relief. He's unbelievably happy that you've decided to give your relationship another chance, despite all this being a bet. A little voice in the back of his mind tells him that he seems to care more about you than the bet now. Even if you did, at times, drive him a little crazy.
He pulls you closer to him in a hug, and this time, you let him.
The smell of blackberries and cedar envelopes you in a comforting embrace, and you allow yourself to melt in his arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispers against your hair. He presses a soft kiss to your cheek and it’s all just too genuine – you feel awful.
Your heart twists with guilt at how genuine he sounds in his apology.
He holds you a little closer, and all you know is that you don’t deserve Martin Edwards at all.
One day later, you find yourself in Bailey’s apartment – or rather, Dr. Sok’s apartment. You didn’t even have to beg or bribe Bailey to pretend to be a fake therapist for you and Martin – she had said yes immediately, and with a little too much enthusiasm. Bailey wanted to witness whatever the hell you two had going on firsthand.
“It’s going to be good,” she says, tapping her fingers together mischievously. She’s talking about it as if your couples’ counselling appointment is going to be the best movie she’s seen in years.
Martin’s sitting beside you as he taps his foot nervously on the floor. This was insane. He feels a little too out of place here. Why did he agree to couple’s counselling for a relationship that had only just reached the two week mark?
Despite Bailey’s living room looking very much not like a therapists’ office, she comes up with some lame excuse saying that her actual office (which doesn’t exist) is going under some construction. She peers at the two of you through her blue light glasses, leaning forward as she holds a clipboard in your hands.
“So, (Name), Martin. Tell me what’s going wrong in your relationship,” Bailey says. You take a deep breath before slipping back into the role of annoying, overbearing girlfriend.
“He doesn’t have time for us and this relationship!” you huff, crossing your arms. Martin gives you a pained look, sighing. “He’s not taking us seriously anymore.” You sniffle a little for good measure to really sell the fact that you’re heartbroken.
“I… I have a lot to do, baby – you know this,” he pleads “I’m trying my best to make as much time for you as I can, I’m sorry.” You watch as Bailey writes something down on her clipboard. She’s never met Martin before, but she could immediately tell that he harboured a lot of affection for you.
She’s starting to realise that maybe you were right in thinking that Martin was a lunatic – she’d heard about all the antics you’ve pulled, and yet, Martin was still grovelling and wanted you to stay?
“It’s like you care more about being an idol than me,” you say – as the words leave your mouth, you realise how unreasonable it was. Perfect. You needed Martin to dump your ass. The longer you stayed in this ‘relationship’, the harder you knew you were going to fall. You were already in deep, and you needed to get out before this article left you completely heartbroken.
“I…” Martin’s at a complete loss for words. “I can balance my work and our relationship, baby. Please.”
Bailey hums, tapping her pencil on the side of her clipboard as an idea pops up in her brain. You watch as her eyes light up in that way you’ve seen before – you just know this is going to be bad. You’re praying to God that you’re wrong.
“I know,” she says, leaning forward with a glint in your eye. “I think you two need an opportunity to spend a little bit more time together, away from all the idol life. Maybe then, you’ll see your relationship with clearer eyes.”
Your eyes widen in horror. Oh no.
Martin leans forward, suddenly curious. Double oh no.
“What may that be?” he asks – he’s genuinely invested in keeping this relationship, Bailey thinks. It was more clear than ever to her that Martin genuinely liked you, despite how you acted insane.
“When’s the next time you have a day off?” Bailey asks.
“Tuesday. I’m heading back to my parents’ house to spend some time with them before we head off to New York,” Martin says. “Oh!” he looks at you, eyes gleaming with delight. Your heart sinks. Whatever idea Martin had, you knew it was going to be bad for you.
“You can come with me,” he beams. “Right? Is that a good idea, Dr. Sok?”
Bailey is surprisingly shocked at Martin’s willingness to introduce you to his family only two weeks into your relationship. But she had to admit, it was a brilliant idea. She plasters a smile on her face to hide her shock, and nods in satisfaction.
“It’s brilliant, Martin,” Bailey grins. She turns towards you, who’s got a look of horror on your face. “(Name), you should go meet Martin’s parents. After all, you said he wasn’t taking this relationship seriously. What couldn’t be more serious than meeting the parents?”
You fail to come up with a coherent response. Fuck, you think. You should’ve asked Yoonchae to be the fake therapist.
Martin’s looking at you expectantly, and you can tell just based on his gaze alone that he wants you to come. Your gaze softens, and you realise that you’re in way too deep. You’re in love. Shit.
“Fine,” you huff. “Let’s do it.”
Martin beams, so bright that it could rival the sun. The corner of your lips pull upward into a smile at the sight, and he laces his hands with yours. You hate how it feels right.
“Perfect.” he says.
To you, this was anything but.
Tuesday rolls around much faster than you thought.
You put much more effort into your outfit to meet Martin's parents. You’ve practically been living in Martin’s clothes for the past few weeks, and as much as you knew that he liked it, you still had to make a good impression on his parents. Showing up in Martin’s oversized hoodie and a pair of sweats wasn’t going to cut it.
You opt for something simple, a little more similar to what you wore at the comeback showcase. You arrive at the CORTIS dorm wearing a striped shirt and a pair of jeans. Seonghyeon greets you at the door, and the boy points at what you’re wearing, and then what he’s wearing.
“Oh,” he says. “Why are we matching?”
You let out a little laugh. “Don’t bring it up,” you reply. “Tin wouldn’t like it.”
If Martin notices that you’re somehow dressed like Seonghyeon, he doesn’t make any mention of it. He holds your hand as the company car drives the two of you to his parents’ place, and the two of you share earphones, listening to Martin’s music.
You gulp. This was not what you had planned when you first decided that you were going to write the article. You didn’t think that you’d have to go this far – you had already accidentally fallen in love with the subject of your article, and now you were meeting his parents. This was… simply great.
When the two of you arrive, it’s like Martin can sense your nerves. He looks at you, his gaze soft and gentle like usual. “Don’t worry,” he beams. “They’re going to love you.”
You don’t know if you love or hate the idea of Martin’s family loving you. On one hand, it was nice to get his parents’ approval – on the other, this relationship was practically completely fake. Or at least it started that way, until your real feelings got involved.
Martin’s mother answers the door, and when she spots you, she pulls you in for a hug. You’re slightly stunned at how affectionate she is, but it’s awfully kind of her, and you return the gesture nevertheless. “You must be (Name),” she beams. “Martin’s been going on and on about you.”
“You have?” you ask, turning to Martin. His cheeks heat up and he shrugs, trying to hide his embarrassment.
Martin’s father greets you once you’re inside, sitting down at the living room table. He’s easy to talk to, much like Martin. He jokes around with you right off the bat, and your stomach twists with guilt. Your presence feels a little too foreign, as if you don’t belong – because truly, you don’t.
Here you were, sitting at the Edwards’ dining room table as if you were exactly who Martin said you were. His loving girlfriend who cared about him more than anything in the world.
The truth? All you were was a music journalist who was writing an article on how to lose an idol in 10 shows, and their son was the target. It was simply awful, and here you were, basking in the Edwards’ family’s praises like you deserved them. Like you deserved their son.
You didn’t. Martin Edwards was far too good to you, and for you.
You listen as his mother tells you stories about Martin’s childhood, such as how he composed a piece of music at the ripe age of 10 about the Spider-Man movie that he’d watched. His sister teases him lovingly, telling him that he shouldn’t have hid you for this long – she doesn’t seem to know that you two have only been ‘dating’ for two weeks. They treat you like family. You realise how much you adore all of them.
It makes the guilt that’s been simmering in your stomach much, much worse.
When Martin tells the story of how you two met at the comeback showcase, his sister’s eyes widen. “Wait, I thought you guys have been dating for two months!”
“Nope,” you chuckle nervously. His sister only hums, nodding. That reaction strikes genuine fear in your heart. Is she okay with it? Does she hate you? Martin seems to notice how anxious you are, and he gently caresses your hand with his thumb in an attempt to comfort you.
Martin beams as his family gushes over the new album, and you sit next to him, your fingers laced with his. You look at him, pride evident on your face as he talks about the songs, and Martin’s father realises that it’s only then when you relax your shoulders.
When Martin’s whisked away by his mother and sister, his father approaches you.
“(Name),” he says, pouring you a glass of water. “Thank you for being so kind to Martin. And being there for him.”
Your breath hitches in your throat. Martin’s father looks at you, handing you the glass. “It’s not an easy life for him to be an idol, especially since he’s so young,” he hums. “I’m glad he has someone like you to… you know. Keep him grounded amidst all the chaos.”
Oh god. The guilt. You want to throw up. His dad was extending so much kindness to you because he genuinely believed that you loved his son.
And you did, but you had started everything with ulterior motives. Did it even matter now that you truly had feelings, when you’d approached Martin with zero intention of anything genuine?
But you plaster on a smile, something that you’ve gotten a little too good at doing. “Of course,” you say. You look out the window, seeing Martin and his sister laughing about something. Martin’s father recognises this look in your eye – one of genuine affection for his son – and he too, smiles. “I’m glad that I can… be that for him.”
“And really, he is… absolutely amazing,” you say. “I don’t think I deserve him.” It’s the most truthful thing you think you’ve said all day.
The smile on his father’s lips grows a little wider. “For what it’s worth, I think you two are perfect for each other. Even if this is all a little recent.”
Perfect. Those words should make you feel relieved. But now that you have his father’s stamp of approval, it makes ending things much more difficult. How were you supposed to do that now?
It’s then when it hits you. You couldn’t write the article anymore. You had to tell Jisoo that you couldn’t. Because you’ve fallen for Martin Edwards. Hard.
Martin returns, seeing you and his father speaking to one another. He sneaks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist before pressing a kiss to your shoulder. You lean into his touch, even as the guilt from the past two weeks piles up and threatens to crush you like a boulder.
“Pops, what’d you say to her?” he asks, hoping that his father hasn’t embarrassed him in front of you.
“Oh, nothing bad, Martin. Don’t worry,” he laughs. “Do show her around the house, though. I’m sure she’d love to see your room.”
His father gives you a nod before going outside to find Martin’s mother and sister. Martin looks at you, and you’re standing there silently. “You okay?” he asks, and you nod, coming to your senses.
“Of course,” you say. He smiles at the nickname before lacing your hand with his. He does it so casually now to the point where you’re not fazed by it at all. “So… are you going to show me your room?”
He nods, leading you down the corridor. It’s the first room on the right.
“Tada,” he says, flicking on the light switch. Your eyes immediately dart to the plane drawn on the wall, and Martin notices.
“My dad painted that for me when I was little,” he says, and your eyes flick back to look at him.
“He’s really good at painting,” you say, and Martin beams. Your eyes wander across the entire room, and the next object your eyes land on is a little Spider-Man figurine sitting on top of a cupboard. “You really did like Spider-Man, didn’t you?”
Martin chuckles, walking over to pick it up. “I did,” he hums. He hands it over to you, before grabbing something else perched on top of the same cupboard. “I was a big Marvel fan. Case in point – Thanos’ gauntlet.”
He tries to put it on, but it’s clearly too small for him now, and you laugh. “You try it,” he says, handing it over to you.
You put it on, and it fits. “If I snap my fingers, would we all turn to dust?”
Martin bursts into a fit of laughter – were you really that funny? But the sound of his laughter is infectious, and for a second you allow yourself to forget about that daunting thought of feeling like an intruder in your boyfriend’s own home.
You take off the gauntlet, handing it back to him so he can place it back in its original spot. He flops down on his bed, patting the empty space next to him. “Come,” he says. “My bed here is comfy. Much better than the dorm one, to be honest.”
You lay down beside him, and to be fair, he was right. The mattress was slightly softer. Martin tugs at the corner of your shirt to get you to move slightly closer to him.
“Your room is cozy,” you say as he wraps his arms around you. You turn to look at him, and he’s looking at you with so much sincerity and love. That feeling of guilt creeps up once again.
“I know,” he hums. “Listen… I’m happy that you decided to come meet my family. I’m sorry about that day, by the way. I should’ve probably told you that I was going to be busy.”
You shake your head. You knew how unreasonable you were being. “It’s okay,” you say. Looking into his eyes, everything feels far too real – and instinctively, like you’ve done a million times before, you brush his hair out of his eyes. “Sorry for causing a scene. I was being overdramatic. Like usual.”
Martin chuckles, his laugh light and airy. “Don’t worry.”
Over the two weeks, Martin has found that he does care for you. Perhaps a little too much for something that was just a bet. But with you here in his home, things just felt right. His father seemed to love you, and outside in the garden, his mother and sister had both said that you were amazing.
Martin doesn’t know what to do – was he supposed to tell you about the bet? You’d surely break up with him for good once you found out.
But he looks at you, and he just can’t help but think about how pretty you are. Truthfully, his heart did skip a beat when he first saw you at their comeback showcase, and despite your overdramatic antics, Martin did… want you to stay. That realisation settles in his chest, and he doesn’t know if he should be happy about it.
He’s not in love with you, is he?
You look at Martin. Silence falls between the two of you, and it’s comforting, really. You look at him like he’s the most beautiful person in the world, and your breath hitches in your throat. He’s too pretty. Too kind. Too good for you.
You don’t know when your eyes flick to his lips, but you realise that over the last two weeks, you two haven’t actually kissed. He’s kissed your cheek far too many times, you’ve done the same, but you’ve never actually pressed your lips to his.
And the scary thing was, that you really, really wanted to.
You lean in a little closer, inching his face closer to his. Martin suddenly seems to notice the proximity between you two, and he too, realises that he hasn’t actually kissed you on the lips before. For someone who his sister claimed to be ‘so in love’, he hadn’t even kissed his own girlfriend.
He wants to kiss you. Really, really badly.
You’re the one who leans in first, pressing your lips to his. It’s hesitant and slow, and Martin’s a little shocked at your tentativeness. For someone who was so dramatic, over the top and boisterous – this was a little out of character.
Martin can hear his own pulse thundering in his ears as he kisses you back – slow, gentle, like he means it. Yes, this was exactly what he had been missing this entire time. Everything feels right, and Martin completely forgets about the bet. At this moment, all of it was real.
His hand moves up to gently cup your cheek as the other finds your waist, and you kiss him a little harder, a little more insistent. As Martin melts into the kiss, he’s also simultaneously praying to God that he’s closed his bedroom door. The last thing he really wanted was his parents or sister catching him making out with his girlfriend – he'd never hear the end of it.
But when your hands find his shirt to pull him impossibly closer, that thought leaves his mind completely as he allows you to kiss him senseless. It’s fine if the door’s open, he thinks. All he cares about is you, and how your lips feel on his. He’s drunk on the feeling, almost – he doesn’t think that he can go a day without kissing you now.
When you pull away for air, you’re beaming at him like an idiot in love. Because truthfully, that’s what you were. The guilt that’s been eating at you is completely forgotten, and all you really want to do is kiss him again.
“You kissed me,” Martin says, a little breathless and a little astonished that this was all real. You had kissed him. And he felt something. Something real, something genuine – something that told him that it wasn’t a bet anymore, at least not to him.
Martin Edwards might really be in love with you.
It was horrifying and exhilarating at the same time. On one hand, Martin was thinking about what would happen if – god forbid – you found out that you were a bet. On the other, Martin just wanted to kiss you over, and over, and over again.
“Is it that hard to believe?” your voice cuts through his thoughts, your breath hot against his lips. Your eyes flick down to his lips once again, stained with your lipstick. Martin doesn’t – and won’t – wipe it off. “I think you better get used to it, Edwards.”
And when Martin Edwards leans in again to press his lips against yours, he allows himself to be irrevocably and truly yours.
You tell Jisoo that you can’t write the article.
She’s disappointed, but simultaneously, not surprised at all. “I thought you might’ve caught feelings for that CORTIS boy,” she hums, tapping her pencil on the desk. You don’t think you’re getting that full-time job now. “It’s okay. I knew it was too good to be true.”
Ouch, you think. That stings.
But you’re honestly on too much of a high after that kiss in Martin’s house. With the weight of the article off your shoulders, you can actually date Martin without feeling completely guilty now. Sure, some of it still remained knowing that you started the relationship with ulterior motives, but it was slightly more of a clean slate than before.
Despite Jisoo's disappointment in you, she still does invite you, Yoonchae, Bailey and Yuna to this music awards show after-party. You immediately text Martin, asking him if he’s going to be there. He responds with a yes, and you beam.
I can’t wait to see you, he tells you. You smile at your phone, giddy and far too much in love.
“I knew this was going to happen!” Bailey exclaims as you two get ready for the after-party in her apartment. “I told you, that Martin boy was so deeply in love – he was practically looking at her with stars in her eyes when we were doing ‘couples counselling.’ Honestly, I’m surprised that you didn’t see it earlier!”
You curl your lashes, coating them with mascara carefully. “I mean, I didn’t expect to actually fall for him.”
“We all saw it coming a mile away, (Name),” Yoonchae laughs. “Come on, at the showcase you were gawking at him like he was your personal Prince Charming. The only thing I’m surprised at was how persistent he was in staying. If I were him, I would’ve broken up with you the second you humiliated me like that in front of all my friends.”
You gasp at Yoonchae’s words, and she simply shrugs, a smile playing on her lips. The rest of the time spent getting ready is filled with chatter about how you and Martin are going to cope with having eyes on you the entire night tonight. He couldn’t hold your hand like he usually did – you now had to hide.
When you arrive at the after-party, you immediately send a text to Martin, asking where he is. You look around the room to search for him, and you see idols, industry professionals and journalists like you conversing with one another.
“Hi,” a voice all too familiar to you makes you turn around, and you see Martin standing there, in all his glory. He’s wearing a crisp, sharp suit – Dior, you assume, considering the brand deal – and he looks absolutely perfect.
Your voice catches in your throat as you’re about to tell him he looks good, but rather a strangled noise escapes past your lips. You suppose you finally know what it’s like to actually be left speechless. You cover your mouth in embarrassment, and Martin simply laughs.
“Hi,” you breathe out, when you’re finally able to speak. “You look really nice.”
“And you do too,” Martin replies, looking at you. You’re wearing this stunning, satin yellow dress. In all honesty, Martin had grown accustomed to seeing you wearing his clothes, and seeing you in something like this made his heart race. A dainty necklace hangs around your neck, and Martin thinks that he might’ve just fallen in love all over again.
“Thank you,” you say. You’re unsure how to actually speak to him knowing that there were always going to be eyes watching his every move. “So… you doing anything after this?” is the only thing you’re able to come up with, and Martin chuckles.
“No, I don’t happen to be,” he replies, fixing the collar of his suit jacket. His voice drops low into a whisper, looking around carefully to make sure that nobody is listening. “Come to the dorm later for a movie date?”
“Of course,” you whisper back. You fail to hide the lovesick grin on your lips, and Martin’s practically fighting the urge to kiss you right now. You look irresistibly good, and Martin hates that every move of his is likely documented right now.
His manager approaches him, and he gives you a nod in acknowledgment. “Martin, we’re going to have to meet some members of the media. Please come with me – I’m sure the two of you will find time to talk later.”
You nod, understanding that duty calls. Martin waves goodbye to you, and you wave back. You didn’t even realise how fast your heart was racing there. You find Bailey, Yoonchae and Yuna near the drinks, and you grab a glass of fruit punch and converse with them about some new album that Yoonchae reviewed recently.
Martin straightens up his suit jacket before he walks up to the rest of the members, who are already talking to someone. “Hi, I’m Martin, the leader of CORTIS. Apologies for being late,” he says politely. “I had to catch up with a friend.” It’s a lie, but he couldn’t call you his girlfriend to everyone here.
“Oh, don’t worry,” the lady says, waving him off. She seems awfully drunk, and she’s already taking another sip of the champagne in her glass. “We were just talking about some of the articles that we’ve been publishing about your group. You boys are some of the most exciting faces on the music scene.”
“Thank you.” Martin beams.
“Her name is Jisoo,” James whispers in Martin’s ear. “I think she’s super drunk. Manager says that the rest of us are going to speak to some guy named John, but Jisoo really wanted to talk to you. So… we’ll leave you guys to it?”
Martin nods in agreement, but he doesn’t really want to speak with her. She’s incredibly drunk, and to be honest, Martin would much rather be talking to you right now.
“Oh, and we’ve got something much more than just about your albums,” Jisoo pipes up. “Well, did. One of my interns – talented girl – was writing a piece about one of you.” Jisoo's so drunk that she thinks that the five of them are still there, when it’s really only Martin who’s left.
She searches around the room, and her eyes land on you. She points in your direction.
“Ah, her. Over there,” Jisoo says. “(Name).”
Martin immediately straightens up at the sound of your name. He leans in to hear Jisoo better, curiosity suddenly piqued. “What article may that be?”
“Oh, it was a little bit more fun. How to lose an idol in 10 shows, or something. Dating an idol, and then trying to get him to dump her in 10 shows or less. I was gonna give her that full-time job, honestly.”
Martin’s heart drops.
An article? You... were writing an article on dating an idol?
It hits Martin right then and there. That’s why you were so adamant on breaking up over something so trivial – he knew that you weren’t that unreasonable.
The next realisation hits Martin like a truck. That’s why you would act so ludicrous and over the top sometimes – he had a feeling that it wasn’t really who you were. The night at the studio, the moments the two of you shared at his parents’ house. That was the real you. But Martin didn’t really care, he told himself he loved you all the same.
But knowing that all of this was just for an article? It sends a knife through his heart.
You kissed him like you actually loved him that day at his parents’ house. He thought you did. Did you love him? Did you even like him?
Jisoo is so drunk she doesn’t even seem to know the state of shock and distress that she’s just put Martin through. His mouth suddenly runs dry, and he doesn’t know what to do – all he knows is that he feels sick at the thought that perhaps none of it was real. His heart aches with betrayal, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this awful before.
His eyes are hot as he tries to blink back tears. “I’m sorry,” he stutters, his voice cracking. “I have to go.”
Jisoo's too drunk to notice as Martin pushes past her, trying desperately to find any corner away from the cameras.
When he finds a place secluded enough, covered by the black satin curtains, Martin finally lets a tear slip past his cheek.
This must be what heartbreak feels like, he thinks.
You’re already starting to get a little bored at this after-party.
You know that Jisoo's practically drunk off her mind, and Bailey’s gone over to make sure that she doesn’t hurl on any of the guests. Yoonchae winces seeing Jisoo stumble on air, and Bailey sighs as she knows that she’s going to be babysitting her all night.
You look at the crowd, trying to count how many idols you can see that aren’t completely drunk off their mind.
“(Name)!” James snaps you out of your little game – you were at roughly 12 idols – and you direct your attention to him. He beams, greeting you with a wide smile.
He’s got a glass of champagne in his hands – after all, he is the only one legally allowed to drink. You can tell that he’s slightly tipsy.
“Hi, James,” you say, smiling at him. “Nice to see you again… after seeing you yesterday night.”
James laughs, a little louder than normal – yeah, the alcohol was definitely kicking in. “That’s funny. Yes, so nice to see you again. I know that our Martin was a bit late speaking to some important people because he was caught up with you,” he says, wagging his finger at you. “It’s okay. No worries.”
“Oh,” you say sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”
“No worries,” he says, trailing off. There’s a beat of silence that falls between the two of you before James seems to remember something. “Oh! Oh! Don’t tell Martin. Wait, you two are dating for real, for real now. So you must know!”
You look at James, confused. You don’t have a single idea in the world of what he was insinuating at.
“Our Martin can flirt, can’t he?” James says, dragging out the word. “We all thought he couldn’t, so he proved us wrong. Now we all have to pay for his next shopping spree. Bleh. I’m going to be broke.”
Your brows furrow, but there’s a sinking feeling in your stomach – you think you know what James is hinting at, but he’s tipsy, so he’s somewhat circling around the topic.
“James, whatever do you mean?”
“We made a bet!” he says, a little too gleefully. “So like, Seonghyeon was saying that Martin couldn’t flirt, so we made a bet – 10 shows to get a girl to fall in love with him with his flirting skills. And he had to make sure you stayed with him through those 10 shows.”
He doesn’t know that those words had basically caused your personal apocalypse. You were a bet?
You look at James, betrayal evident on your features. Your chest pangs with pain so visceral, you think you might actually double over. You were just a bet to Martin, and the betrayal and pain from that realisation hits you like a tidal wave. Martin being awfully sweet to you, being too kind, being too understanding – that was all a lie?
You feel like you don’t even know him. You stand there, stunned, and at your silence, James somehow seems to sober up.
“Oh, shit – you didn’t know,” James’ face contorts into one of horror, and he brings his hands to his lips. “Oh my god, (Name) – I did not mean a single word of what I said, I am so sorry–!”
You push past James, running for the exit. You feel so violently ill – all you want to do is go back to your house and cry until you’ve got no tears left. You’re going to block Martin, and you never ever want to listen to a CORTIS song ever again.
You push past the gates, but then you’re stopped by a voice that is awfully familiar, but it’s the last person you want to hear from right now.
“Skipping town?” Martin asks. His hands are shoved into his coat pockets. Of course he still looks devastatingly beautiful, and for a second you forget that this is the boy who had made a bet that you’d fall in love with him in 10 shows.
Congratulations, it worked, you think. Maybe he should win a prize for it after you get over your heartbreak.
You turn to look at him, brows furrowed in anger. “What do you want, Martin?”
“What do I want?” he asks, voice laced with disbelief. He steps closer towards you, and you realise that he’s angry too. You don’t know what for. “I want to know why Jisoo told me about an article that you’d pitched called: how to lose an idol in 10 shows. Yes, she was drunk. But you know that drunk words are sober thoughts. I could tell she wasn't lying.”
You’re stunned. Martin notices your expression, and his eyes narrow. “Yeah,” he replies, gritting his teeth. “Sound familiar?”
You gulp, and that guilt that you thought you’d rid yourself of comes back tenfold. But then you remember the bet. You, in similar fashion, grit your teeth and look at Martin with the same betrayal in your eyes.
“Right,” you hum. “And I want to know a little bit more about this bet that James told me about… perhaps something along the lines of you getting a girl to fall in love with him in 10 shows.”
This time, Martin’s the one with the stunned look on his face. His breath stutters, and you cross your arms. “Yeah,” you tell him, using the same words he did mere seconds ago. “Sound familiar?”
“You used me for an article,” Martin exhales. The heartbreak in his tone is evident, and you hate knowing that you’ve hurt him. But he hurt you too.
“I was just a bet to you,” you gulp. Saying it out loud makes it more real. “I meant nothing to you, didn’t I?”
“You can’t be the one saying this to me,” Martin says, pointing at you. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious,” you retort.
“You wanted to lose an idol in 10 shows?” Martin seethes, trying to ignore how it feels like his heart is quite literally breaking. “Congratulations. You just lost him.”
You gulp, trying to fight the tears that are threatening to spill past your eyes. You take a deep breath, strengthening your resolve – you were a bet to him anyways. It didn’t matter.
“No, I didn’t.” you say. Even those words feel like a lie. You did lose him, and you feel terrible. “Because you can’t lose something you never had.”
With that, you turn on your heel and leave. You only let the tears fall when you know that you’re far away enough, and you reel with the realisation that you’ve probably just lost the first person that you’ve ever truly loved. Because of some stupid job that you weren’t quite sure you wanted anymore.
You leave Martin hanging as he watches your figure disappear. He opens and closes his mouth as if he wants to say something, but you’re already too far gone. It’s fine, Martin tells himself. It was just a bet. You were just a bet. You didn’t mean anything to him.
No, he can’t lie to himself. It hurts much more than the truth.
Martin stands there as the cool evening air tousles his hair. It’s then when he finally allows himself to sob as he crumples to the floor – despite it all, he doesn’t know why he once again, can’t bring himself to hate you.
Martin Edwards lost you, and you lost Martin Edwards.
Maybe after all of it, this was the outcome that you both deserved.
Martin feels absolutely awful.
The members all look at him sympathetically, and they all notice that Martin’s not really his usual self nowadays. Seonghyeon buys him that jacket that he’s wanted for ages. Juhoon breaks his bank account to get Martin three hoodies. Keonho finally buys him those Rick Owens shoes, and he doesn’t complain about it.
James, who feels the worst out of all of them for letting the news slip to you, buys him two pairs of expensive earrings and cashes in on an extra bracelet as if it’ll cure the heartbreak.
"Well... I guess you can flirt," Seonghyeon says. He knows that it's really not helping Martin get over the heartbreak, but he's not quite sure what to say to make him feel better.
Sure, he could flirt. Hooray, Martin thinks. But he didn't really care about that anymore. Not when he just wanted to see you.
His life falls into the routine that he was so accustomed to before you barged into his life. Wake up, practice, make music, perform, repeat. Despite how much his stomach twists in anger at the thought that he was just an article to you, he misses your presence.
In those two short weeks, you’d changed his life in a way that he didn’t think was possible. His eyes always linger a little too long at the dressing room door, hoping you’ll show up. He stocks up on Coke for the mini fridge in the studio just in case you swing by and want a can. He can’t even tell his parents that he’s not speaking to you anymore.
He messed up too. You weren’t the only one. The guilt eats at him every single day, and he’s immediately reminded of it when he wakes up. Martin Edwards, despite it all, still thinks that he loves you. That may be even more ludicrous than your antics.
He hears the doorbell ring, and Martin gets up from his seat at the couch to go answer the door. He’s the designated one to do that now, because he’s always hoping that perhaps you’ll show up.
He swings open the door, and he realises that it’s Yoonchae. He recognises her from the comeback showcase.
“Hi,” she gulps, a little hesitant. “Martin?”
“Yes?” he asks. “How did you find–”
“I’m not a stalker,” she says. Martin figured, considering that she was a friend of yours. “Sorry, I had to get that out of the way. But… I think you might want to read this.” Yoonchae hands Martin a stack of papers, and he furrows his brows, confused as to why.
Yoonchae looks at Martin, and she knows that’s a devastated man if she’s ever seen one. His hair’s messy, he’s got dark circles under his eyes, and there’s just something heavy seeming to be weighing on his conscience.
“Please,” she says. Martin motions for her to come in, and Yoonchae sits down at the dining room table. Martin flicks open the page, and there it is – the dreaded headline. How to Lose an Idol in 10 Shows. Your name is plastered right under it.
Martin doesn’t even want to read it. He feels sick already seeing the title. But curiosity kills the cat, and he reluctantly reads the words printed on the page, letting out a deep sigh.
Step one: Ask the dreaded question – “What are we?” in front of all of his friends.
He remembers that day. He also remembers the instantaneous shock that he felt hearing those words spill past your lips, and how it filled him with a sense of intrigue but also overconfidence that he was going to win this bet.
Step two: Be overly obnoxious – yes, again, in front of all of his friends.
The over the top cheek kisses, the way you’d cling to him like a koala and the loud displays of affection – yep, that tracks, Martin thinks. The crazy thing was that he didn’t mind at all.
Step three: Annoy him with text messages every single minute.
You did that. But Martin wasn’t annoyed, per se. He went through every single message, replying to them with equal enthusiasm. You always had something interesting to talk about – it wasn’t just filler, so Martin didn’t quite mind. And it did bring him some much needed entertainment after busting his ass for a performance.
Step four: Steal all his favourite clothes.
Martin smiles, stupidly. The memory of you wearing his clothes and looking a little too good in them cuts through the anger and bitterness he’s been feeling for the past few days. The mention of those also makes him also remember that you haven’t given any of those clothes back.
Step five: Interrupt him at the studio…
The next few words make Martin’s breath catch in his throat.
Despite my ridiculous antics, Martin Edwards somehow puts up with me and has the patience of a saint. I decide that he’s either a lunatic who loves crazy girls, but my colleague Bailey offers me something else: that he might genuinely like me. It’s when I’m halfway through step five I realise that I’ve fallen in way too deep.
It’s the first time where he actually shows frustration with my insanity, and it’s the first time where I realise that I don’t want to hurt him. Because despite starting this with unfortunately ulterior motives, I think I may have fallen in love in the process.
My goal was to lose an idol in 10 shows. But after getting to know Martin Edwards – the real Martin Edwards – I didn’t want to lose him at all, and yet I have. He’s admirable. Dependable. Too kind for his own good. I don’t even think I deserved him during those two weeks.
These two weeks have been riddled by mistakes. Starting this article, lying about my intentions, pretending that I was someone that I truly wasn’t… but the biggest mistake of all?
Losing the love of my life.
His vision blurs as tears prick his eyes. He was the love of your life? The words hit him like a ton of bricks, and Martin almost forgets how to breathe. The weight of those words settles in his chest, and somehow, the anger dissipates and is replaced with disbelief. He was the love of your life.
The crazy thing is, Martin thinks you may be the love of his life too.
He looks at Yoonchae with a look of determination in his eyes that wasn’t quite there before.
“I… is she at the office?”
“No,” Yoonchae replies. “She quit. I can give you her address, if you need—”
“Please,” he says, desperation evident in his tone. He throws on a random pair of shoes as he practically shoves his phone into Yoonchae’s hand so she can type in your address into his GPS app.
Martin runs out the door, Yoonchae trailing behind him and nearly failing to keep up. Juhoon asks him where the hell he’s going, but Martin doesn’t answer – he has pressing matters to attend to right now. Yoonchae calls a car for the two of them to head to your place, and on the way, she tells him that she really wasn’t supposed to show him the article – but she had to. She knew you were miserable too.
The ride to your place feels like forever, and Yoonchae tells him that she’ll just wait downstairs. He bounds up the staircase – the lift was a waste of time, you lived on the third floor. Yoonchae thinks that he doesn’t even register her words.
Martin double checks the apartment unit that Yoonchae had given him, and he knocks, tapping his foot on the ground nervously.
You fling open your door, and you’re stunned to see Martin there.
He’s almost speechless at the sight of your face – he hadn’t seen you in so long, and Martin has missed you, devastatingly so.
“Martin?” you say in disbelief. You’ve been dreaming about him so much for the past few days to the point where you really wouldn’t be surprised if he was a hallucination. “What are you doing here?”
He holds up the article that Yoonchae had handed him less than an hour ago. You recognise it, and a mixture of guilt, shame and anxiety pangs in your chest – so he’s read it. That sickly feeling that you’ve grown accustomed to for the past week returns tenfold.
“This article,” he breathes out. “Did you mean it?”
“What?”
“Did you mean it?” he asks. He’s looking at you with desperation, practically pleading for you to say yes.
You blink back the tears in your eyes. A beat of silence falls between you two before you finally speak.
“I meant every word,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.
Martin tries to hold back the smile that’s threatening to creep up on his lips. “Really?” he asks, and you nod.
“Yes,” you say, a little louder this time. “ And I’m sorry about it all – you mean… so much more than an article to me.”
Martin has another question. “And am I really the love of your life?”
“Yes,” you exhale. “You are. I told you, I meant every word.”
Martin finally allows himself to breathe, his shoulders relaxing as he beams, wider than ever before. “Ask me the same question.” he says, grinning. You look at his expression, a little confused but hopeful all the same.
“Am I the love of your life?” you ask, your voice brimming with hope.
“You are.” Martin replies.
“Oh,” you reply softly, and you let a tear slip past your cheek. You’re crying, but they’re happy tears.
Martin reaches out to you, pulling him close to you. His hand finds your waist like it belongs there, and like nothing has changed in the last few days the two of you have been apart.
“I love you,” you choke out. “Unbelievably so. I’m sorry I lost you.”
Martin leans in, inching his face closer to yours as he smiles.
“I love you too,” he replies before he presses his lips to yours, and everything just feels right again. He pulls away for a split second to look into your eyes. “You’re never going to lose me.” he says, giggling before he pulls you in for another kiss.
And now, Martin Edwards is truly, irrevocably yours.
( syn. ) juhoon knows how to keep a secret. his only exception? how down bad he is for his favourite niche pop star 🤨🤨
( tags ) smau ⋆ fanboy&&idol ! juhoon x girlset’s 5th mem. ! reader ⋆ featuring members of CORTIS && GIRLSET ⋆ crack ⋆ fluff ⋆ includes swearing
#🫖: it’s so easy to write martin as embarrassingly in love we must get juhoon onto this agenda too 😛 also girlset has like 3 songs so i had to help them out a bit 💀💀
in which martin looks exactly like the boy of your dreams that you made in tomodachi life. oh—and social media (as well as your friends) love watching this unfold!
pairing: influencer!martin x gn!non-idol!reader ; genre: smau oneshot, fluff, crack…, strangers -> friends ? -> lovers, short n sweet n cute !! ; warnings: swearing, incorrect timestamps, reader likes seals and mamegoma, humor of a teenage girl., they’re both silly and a little stupid c:
please DO NOT copy, repost, or claim as yours.
CREDITS: divider above from @/pixopix, any and all photos from pinterest (excluding the tomodachi martin)
maia’s note: im back !!! ok but first of all, i am not a tomodachi life larper, i’ve loved it since it was released on the ds and the photos of martin’s mii is from my actual game. anyways, i really love how this work ended up turning out not only bc of the concept of it but bc i’m genuinely just happy i finally finished a work. yes, this smau is not my finest… and there could’ve been more development… but nonetheless i like it and i hope you all enjoy reading it too ! reblogs and feedback are always appreciated !! 🩶
