ᯓ cortis x fem!reader
ᯓ synopsis: texts with your boyfriend who might be a teensy tiny bit jealous
ᯓ warnings: just a cute lil smau! keonho and martin are kinda mean (not to you!) LMAO
ᯓ authors note: my first smau 😳 idk why the formatting is like this i'm so sorry 😓
syn: the nerd you like is completely oblivious to the fact that you like him. so, you do what any sane (?) person would do. you make a list of 10 ways to bag this nerd and make him your nerd.
playlist: apple cider by beabadoobee / the kamisama kiss intro by hanae / cupids chokehold by gym class hereos
iro's notes: HEAVILY inspired by @satolune's twenty ways to make a nerd yours !! give it a read this is so fucking cute :( and again thank u sm moon for letting me use ur idea for my own spin off 🙈 u my goat THANK U THANK U THANK YOUUUU, all creds 2 her!!!
Eom Seonghyeon. He sat next to you in physics and math. At first glance, he looked like every other campus pretty boy. Which sounds corny, but there really wasn't any other way to describe him. He was pretty. He was tall. He was loud, with the kind of smile that spread before you even realized you were smiling back.
Everyone knew him.
Not because he was particularly popular, though he was. It was because he was friendly. Ridiculously so. Walking across campus with Seonghyeon meant adding at least five extra minutes to wherever you were going. Every few steps, someone would wave him over. A classmate, someone who he gave his notes to or someone from the football club you'd never met.
He was also the biggest nerd you knew. The first time you sat next to him was in math. You zoned out looking at a problem. He slowly leaned in closer to your sheet as he held his hand out. You glanced at him confused. He simply pointed at your pencil.
“You know how to solve this?”
He simply nodded before tapping the pencil on the sheet. “Use the power rule here.” He said as he drew an arrow on your sheet. “You're taking the derivative, not the integral.” He scribbled his words down beside the arrow, marking it with a little star on top. For the rest of the class, he explained your concepts better than the teacher.
After that day, you sat next to him during math and physics. And he seemed to not mind at all.
You tapped his shoulder, “Seonghyeon, what do I do now?”
He glanced at your sheet, “take the horizontal and vertical components separately, it’s easier.”
Amidst solving, you realised you never asked him if it's ok for you to sit beside him. “Seonghyeon?”
“Hm?”
“Is it okay if I sit beside you?”
He chuckled, “You always sit beside me, why ask now?”
You glanced at him before looking back down at your notebook. “In case you sat with someone else.”
“Nah, I don’t have many friends.”
You scoffed, “Seriously?”
He tilted his head, glancing at you for a second, “Not as many as you think.”
“You say hi to like 50 people everyday.”
“Just because I’m friendly with them doesn’t mean I'm close to them.”
For someone so smart, he was incredibly dense and utterly oblivious to the fact that you liked him. He never noticed how you saved a seat for him. Never noticed the extra pen you carried for him because he always threw his pens into his bag—always struggling to pick it up from the bottom of his book-filled bag. Maybe he noticed, maybe he just thought you were being nice. Either way, it was starting to drive you insane.
So you did what any perfectly rational person would do.
You made a list. A list to make this nerd, your nerd.
It wasn’t supposed to be serious. Just something stupid you’d tell your friend every night.
You: Seonghyeon really likes hot vanilla latte. So cute right?
Iroha: Girl it’s a vanilla latte, the fuck are you on?
And slowly, the list grew. Grew into something that looked like this:
1) Asking him to explain something, not because you don’t know. But because of the way he lights up.
Seonghyeon was a nerd. That much had already been established. Apart from patiently walking you through calculus and physics every other day, you'd noticed something else while walking to the cafeteria together. You randomly asked, “Why does plastic turn white when bent?”
He stopped walking. Like actually stopped walking. You turned around only to find him staring at you with a big smile on his face. You couldn't help but smile back. Your eyebrows furrowed, “What?”
“I’m glad you asked.”
For the remaining 20 minutes of recess, you were being schooled on polymers and how light reflects differently on different types of polymers.
2) Have his favourite acai toppings memorised.
Seonghyeon insited that toppings on acai didn't matter.
“They all taste the same”
They didn't.
Because every single time his bowl came with blueberries, strawberries and banana, there'd be the tiniest smile on his face before he took the first bite. So it became routine for you to stop by the nearest cafe. Always grabbing him an acai bowl without being told to do so.
3) Always tell him how helpful the little notes he scribbles on your notebook.
Seonghyeon has a habit of noting down stuff besides problems he doesn't get or messes up. He has a system. When it’s something trivial—a common mistake like the humble ‘z’ turning into a 2 mid-equation. It got starred once.
★ watch your handwriting. Don’t rush
The number of stars increased as the mistake revolved around something he didn’t understand. The maximum being 3. Two stars for when it was a concept he didn’t grasp initially and 3 for something he needed to go through all over again.
So whenever something he taught you was on the exam. Majorly the whole exam. You’d run up to him, jumping excitedly as you said, “Your little notes helped!”
Sometimes during classes he’d lean over to see what you’re doing and smile despite himself whenever he saw you follow his system. And with how much he helps you, you gave him a nickname. Calling him professor whenever you need his help.
4) Text him something stupid and let him overthink it.
Seonghyeon may be the most outgoing, loud and friendly person you have ever met. But when friendships carry more than saying-hi-in-the-corridor value to him, he overthinks all of his actions.
Once around 3 a.m you texted him, would u still send me notes if i was a worm?
You were left on seen for 20 minutes. Not because he ignored you, but because he drafted 5 messages before finally sending you one which was still, insanely unhinged.
Another time, you asked him if fishes ever get thirsty
Not only did he reply 20 minutes later, he also called you up immediately after. You spent the whole night listening to him research about this. It’s safe to say, if anyone ever asks him this again—they’ll receive his infamous nerd-out sessions.
5) Compliment him, not his looks.
Seonghyeon’s gorgeous, no surprise there. Walking around campus with him meant girls turning their heads in attempts to seek just one more glance at him. Needless to say, he too knew he was handsome. He was told so multiple times daily. By a random woman on the bus, by his friends, even teachers.
So why would you compliment his features like everyone else?
Instead, you complimented the way he thought.
You watched as he solved a sum for you. He scooted his chair closer, leaning in as he went on and on about various ways to go about this sum. Frankly, you weren’t listening. You rested your head on the table, spacing out staring at him.
‘You could always evaluate the limit first. Oh! You can also–” his eyes landed on you. You were staring up at him. Your eyes never leaving his face. Heat crept to his neck, his ears visibly red. “What?”
You hummed, slowly sitting straight. “How do you think like this?”
He blinked, “What do you mean?”
“You seem to solve complex questions so easily. It’s crazy how you think this way you know.”
Watching him go quiet and be all flustered in a way he never is was something you could never get tired of.
6) Taking care of him when he forgets to.
Exam season always hit him too hard. He had a title to carry. People always expected Seonghyeons name to be on top of the grade listings. During exam season, he’d always sleep less, eat less and stress a lot more than he should.
You’d watch him spend 12 hours straight in the library. No breaks. Not even to drink water. So, you always stopped by with takeout. Sitting beside him as you sweeped his notebooks and ipad to the side. Slamming the bag of food on the table.
“Eat.”
“But I haven’t—”
“Eat.”
You never gave him an option.
7) Always steal his jackets in the winter.
You always ‘forgot’ to carry something to throw on in the winter. The cool breeze hits you and Seonghyeon the second you both step out the campus. Involuntarily, both your hands start rubbing your arms, trying to warm yourself up. Seonghyeon’s gaze lingers on you for a while, before he takes a layer off.
He wraps his jacket around you, “Here.”
“Hyeon, you don’t have to it’s okay.” You say, taking the jacket off of your back. You extend your hand forward, ‘You’ll get cold.”
He simply pushes your hand back as he starts walking. “I have a sweater on, all you’re wearing is a tank top.” You run, catching up to him. “What kind of idiot wears a tank top in the winters?”
You whine, “The library has heaters!”
Before giving him his jacket back, you made sure to spray an excessive amount of your perfume on it. Just enough that anyone standing a little too close would wonder why Eom Seonghyeon smelled like a girl instead of laundry detergent. And when he threw his jacket on while roaming with his friends. He was bombarded with questions.
“Why do you smell like a girl?” Juhoon asked.
James leaned in closer to Seonghyeon, sniffing the jacket thoroughly. “You smell like Yn.”
To which Seonghyeon didn’t respond, but his flushed face said it all.
8) Let him talk about his family and actually listen.
Seonghyeon was an older brother. Which explained why he acted more like a second parent than a sibling half the time. He worried too much, overthought everything and somehow always found himself asking you what to do whenever it involved his younger sister. "I don't know what to tell her," he'd sighed one afternoon, resting his chin in his palm. "That guy's not serious about her."
You looked up from your notes. "Make a pros and cons list with her."
He blinked. "...A pros and cons list?"
"You like lists."
A laugh escaped him. "Fair enough."
About a week later, he walked into class looking noticeably lighter. You barely got the chance to say good morning before asking, "Something good happen?"
"My sister finally broke up with him."
"Oh." You smiled to yourself before returning to your notes. "I'm glad."
He ended up talking about it for the rest of lunch. A month later, the two of you were studying in the library when you looked up from your laptop. "Have you figured out what you're getting your parents for their anniversary?"
His pencil stopped moving. "...You remembered that?"
You frowned. "You told me."
"I know, but..." He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly avoiding your gaze. "You actually remembered."
You only smiled before pushing your physics worksheet towards him. "So, are you going to help me with this question or not?"
He let out a quiet laugh, still smiling to himself as he reached for your pencil.
9) Let him see you sad.
Not because you want comfort, but because you want him to know that it’s okay for him to be vulnerable around you too. You'd spent months watching him carry everyone else's worries on his shoulders. His sister's problems, exam stress, group projects, friends asking him for help every five minutes. Yet somehow, whenever you asked him how he was doing, his answer was always the same. "I'm okay."
You wondered if anyone had ever shown him that he didn't always have to be.
The chemistry exam had gone horribly. Not just badly, horribly.
By the time you got to the library, you'd already convinced yourself you'd failed. Your calculus worksheet sat open in front of you, but you'd been staring at the same question for nearly ten minutes, pencil unmoving. "You've been on that derivative for a while."
You looked up. Seonghyeon stood beside your chair, backpack slung over one shoulder. "I'm just... kinda sad about the chemistry exam." You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "Nothing else."
He studied your face for a second before nodding. "Wait here."
"Huh?"
He was already gone. A few minutes later, he came back carrying your favourite chocolate and quietly placed it on top of your notebook. "You forgot to eat."
You blinked. "...Chocolate?"
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I figured it'd help."
Your fingers curled around it. "You didn't have to."
"Don't worry about the chemistry test." He smiled, the same reassuring smile he'd worn the first day he'd taught you the power rule. "You're smart. It's one exam."
Before you could answer, he reached over and gently patted your head. Your heart practically stopped. "You really didn't have to do all this."
"I wanted to." He shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You always look after me." His smile softened. "Let me return the favour."
For someone who spent so much time taking care of everyone else...It was nice to know someone wanted to take care of him, too.
10) Make the first move cus u a girlboss.
Because he won't, not because he doesn't want to. He's just spent so long convincing himself he was imagining it that he'd rather die than risk getting it wrong. It was almost two in the morning by the time the two of you finally gave up. The calculus question you'd spent nearly forty minutes arguing over turned out to be wrong in the answer key. "You've got to be kidding me."
"I refuse to believe I lost sleep over a typo."
It was only fair the two of you walked across the street to the convenience store. Energy drinks for him. Chocolate milk for you. Maybe something sweet to make up for how tired you both were. Halfway through paying, rain hammered against the windows. By the time you stepped outside, it had turned into a downpour. "...Fuck." You looked over. "I don't have an umbrella."
You lifted your drink. "Me neither."
Neither of you moved. The tiny awning barely covered the entrance, rain splashing onto your shoes every time the wind picked up. Cars drove past, headlights reflecting off the wet pavement. You tilted your head back. "The moon's pretty tonight."
Seonghyeon followed your gaze before laughing quietly. "You can only see part of it because the sunlight's hitting—"
You stopped listening. For the first time since you'd met him, you stopped listening. Instead, you watched the way his eyes lit up whenever he explained something. The way his hands moved without him realizing. The tiny crease between his brows whenever he was trying to find the right words.
Cute.
God.
He was so unbelievably cute.
Before your brain could catch up, your hand had already reached for the front of his jacket. He blinked, sentence dying halfway through. "Hm?"
You stepped closer. Close enough to see the few raindrops that got caught in his hair because of the air blowing the drops. Close enough that his breathing faltered.
"Seonghyeon."
"...Yeah?"
You looked up at him. "Can I kiss you?"
His ears turned pink, he didn't say anything for a while. He just stared. And then, a tiny nod.
You smiled. "Use your words."
"...Yes."
You rose onto your tiptoes, one hand still clutching the front of his jacket, and kissed him. His hand caressed your cheek. The kiss was slow and gentle, the type of kiss that blurred out the sounds of everything happening in a distance.
When you pulled away, Seonghyeon hadn't moved an inch. He simply stood there, eyes wide, face completely red. You couldn't help laughing. "Got nothing to say?"
He blinked, then covered his face with one hand. "Hold on. I can't think."
📬 ❤︎ james 𝔁 sixth member!gf!reader ─── ৻ꪆ visiting france for paris fashion week as cortis.
❤︎ warnings+tags ─── ৻ꪆ kissing, my ass french from high school bc that’s all i remember and i don’t trust google translate sooo if there’s any mistakes, pls correct me <3, all six of them are ambassadors for plot purposes (maknaes+jju for dior, prodz+yn for ysl), mild swearing, nicknames (!!!!!!)
💌 ❤︎ notes ─── ৻ꪆ pretty boys pmo. anyway, enjoy 😁 (also, no coloured text for a while bc i wrote this otw to 🇸🇬 (if any of you 👀 are from sg 👀 hmu for good spots to eat and hangout pls 👀) and i also don’t have my laptop to edit 😭 but wtv. james fic deserves to be posted no matter what 🫶) also this is canon bc i am NEVERRR paying extra for stuff i can haggle for i’ve learn enough french for THAT at least 😽
❤︎ wc ─── ৻ꪆ 4.8k
𝄞 𓏸 my cortispilledmasterlist »﹙合﹚
part 2 = “just us”
❝ tracklist ❞ ─── taste—skz ❦ guilty—taemin ❦ back for more—txt ❦ darling—d.o ❦ love lee—akmu ❦ snooza—sza
the energy in the french taxi was exactly what you’d expect from packing six idols into an oversised van: chaotic, loud, and entirely unbothered by the jet lag.
martin was pressed against the window, trying to take aesthetic 0.5x photos of the passing parisian streets but mostly just capturing juhoon’s reflective forehead. keonho and seonghyeon were locked in an intense, whispered debate about whether french mcdonald’s tasted superior to korean mcdonald’s, while james had his arm draped casually over the back of your seat, his thumb lightly tracing patterns on your shoulder.
“guys, wait,” you said, leaning forward to tap the driver’s shoulder. you pulled up a pin on your maps. “excusez-moi, monsieur, est-ce qu’on pourrait s’arrêter ici, s’il vous plaît?” (excuse me, sir, could we stop here, please?)
the driver blinked, surprised, but nodded with a warm “bien sûr, mademoiselle,” pulling the van up to the curb of a quiet, picturesque side street.
“what are we doing?” juhoon asked, blinking at the charming, ivy-draped storefront.
“brunch,” you announced, sliding out of the van. “an online friend of mine swore this place has the best pastries in the city. since we’ll be separated for fittings tomorrow, we eat together today.”
the cafe was tiny, smelling heavily of espresso, melted butter, and fresh baking. because it was tucked away from the main tourist hubs, it was relatively quiet. you led the boys to a long wooden table in the back. when the young waitress walked over with a notepad, the boys collectively froze, suddenly realising none of them actually spoke french. martin opened his mouth to try some english, but you beat him to it.
you looked up at the waitress who seemed to be younger than you. “bonjour! nous aimerions commander, s’il te plaît. pour commencer, un panier de viennoiseries, trois cafés au lait, deux expressos, et un thé vert.”
you slid seamlessly into fluent, melodic french, customising the boys’ orders from memory—making sure keonho got his extra shot of espresso and juhoon’s pastry didn’t have nuts.
the waitress’ eyes lit up, a brilliant smile instantly breaking across her face. she practically beamed, replying to you in rapid, delighted french, gesturing with her hands, clearly charmed by your perfect accent and polite demeanor. you laughed softly at something she said, nodding as you finished up the order. “merci beaucoup!”
when you turned back to the table, the boys were staring at you like you’d just grown a second head.
“woah,” seonghyeon muttered, lowering his menu. “since when do you speak french like a local?”
“five years in middle and high school, dude. i graduated unlike you guys, you know,” you said playfully, flipping your hair. while the others were busy hyping you up and digging into the bread basket that arrived moments later, james hadn’t said a single word. you looked over at him—he was leaning back in his chair, his jaw slightly slack, staring at you with an expression that was pure, unfiltered adoration. his eyes were dark, a tiny, helpless smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
you leaned in close to his ear. “earth to james. you’re staring.”
“can you blame me?” he whispered back, his voice suddenly dropping an octave as he leaned into your space. “french? seriously? you’re trying to kill me before fashion week even starts. that was genuinely so hot.”
you bit your lip to hide a smile, your heart doing a familiar flutter. even though you’d been dating for a while now, the way he looked at you—like you were the only person in the room—never failed to make your stomach flip.
while the two of you shared quiet, stolen glances, the rest of the table devolved into standard teenage boy antics. martin and juhoon were trying to see who could catch a piece of croissant in their mouth from across the table—juhoon missed, and it hit keonho in the eye—while seonghyeon was busy recording a vlog, narrating the “elegance of paris” while holding up a half-eaten pain au chocolat like a trophy.
once brunch was done, the cafe owner kindly let you all slip out through the private back exit to avoid the few paparazzi who had caught wind of your location at the front.
the back alleyway, however, was a literal goldmine. it was a classic, sunlit parisian stone lane, completely empty and dripping with old-money aesthetic.
“photoshoot time,” martin declared, immediately whipping out his phone.
everyone took turns posing against the rustic brick walls. the dior boys—juhoon, keonho, and seonghyeon—were already serving model poses, looking effortless.
but then james stepped up, and your breath hitched. because of the afternoon warmth, he had shed his heavy jacket. he was currently standing in a tight white tank top, an olive green flannel thrown over it entirely unbuttoned, hanging loosely off his broad shoulders. he shifted his weight, hands dipping into his loose-fitting cargo pants—and the slight movement caused the distinct waistband of his calvin klein boxers to peek out just above his waistline.
he caught you staring, giving you a lazy, devastating smirk as the sunlight hit his jawline.
“oh my god, you’re crazy,” you muttered under your breath, instantly raising your phone. “stay right there. bitch, do not move.” you went into full photographer mode, completely losing your mind behind the camera. “james, look down. now look at me. yeah, just like that. wow, okay, the lighting is actually insane. fuck off, pretty boy.”
he leaned back against a green metal doorway, tilting his head up, looking incredibly relaxed, effortless, and ridiculously attractive. you took shot after shot, your fingers flying across the screen. you knew the fans would absolutely lose their minds if they ever saw these.
you lowered the phone for a second, looking at the preview, then glared at him playfully. you stepped closer, lowering your voice so only he could hear. “if you post these to let coers see, i’m not kissing you for a whole day. i mean it.”
james let out a low chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. he didn’t hesitate even for a fraction of a second. “yes, princess,” he murmured.
before you could even process the nickname, he reached out, caught you by the waist, and pulled you flush against his chest. in broad daylight, right there in the middle of the alleyway, he tilted your chin up and planted a firm, lingering kiss right on your lips.
“oh, come on!” martin groaned loudly from behind you.
“my eyes! i am a dior ambassador, i shouldn’t have to witness this cruelty!” juhoon yelled, dramatically covering his face.
keonho and seonghyeon were loudly fake-gagging, leaning against each other for support and making exaggerated retching noises.
you flushed red, pulling back and swatting james’ chest, though you couldn’t stop the grin on your face. thank god no one else was around—your relationship was the biggest secret in the industry, kept strictly between the six of you. if anyone else had been in that alley, the internet would have broken, but with your members, it was just another tuesday of them pretending to be disgusted by your affection.
eventually, you all piled back into a new taxi, laughing and teasing each other the whole way to the hotel.
when you finally arrived at the luxury suite, the atmosphere shifted from chaotic teens to high-fashion professionals.
waiting in the center of the living area were two massive, elegant clothing racks, strictly divided. on one side stood the sleek, sharp, and rebellious tailoring of ysl. on the other, the structured, elegant, and timeless silhouettes of dior.
you, james, and martin walked toward the ysl rack, while juhoon, keonho, and seonghyeon gathered around the dior pieces. the staff had left the garment bags unzipped, revealing the custom pieces chosen for the upcoming shows.
you ran a hand down the sleek, cool fabric of your outfit, and your jaw completely dropped. “damn…”
“wait, hold on,” martin said, peeking over your shoulder at the rack before looking down at his own garment bag. “are you and james... matching?”
you pulled the protective layer fully down, and a collective gasp went up from the other side of the room.
it was stunning. the staff had gone for a sharp, high-contrast black and metallic silver color palette for the two of you. your outfit was the definition of a breathtaking masterpiece that perfectly balanced edgy rock-and-roll rebellion with elegance. it clung in all the right places, featuring shimmering silver hardware accents that caught the hotel suite’s chandelier light, paired with a silhouette so sleek it felt almost dangerous.
right next to it hung james’ look. it was equally jaw-dropping: a beautifully tailored, razor-sharp black blazer with subtle metallic silver threading woven seamlessly into the fabric, designed to be worn over a sheer, dark silk shirt that left just enough to the imagination. together, the two outfits looked like they belonged in a museum, or a power-couple editorial.
“alright, personal cortis fashion show starts now,” keonho announced, grabbing his suit and heading toward one of the luxury bathrooms.
james and you grabbed your respective garment bags and headed toward the changing area in the main room, where heavy, floor-to-ceiling velvet curtains had been set up for privacy.
“don’t peek,” you teased, sliding behind your curtain.
“wouldn’t dream of it, my love,” james’ deep voice echoed from behind the curtain right next to yours.
for the next ten minutes, the suite was filled with the rustle of expensive fabric, the zipping of boots, and the occasional grunt from juhoon trying to figure out a complicated belt. you stepped into your shoes, adjusted the silver details of your dress, and took a deep breath. looking in the mirror, you looked completely transformed.
you wrapped your hand around the velvet curtain and pulled it open, stepping out into the center of the spacious suite at the exact same moment james parted his.
and right there, time completely stopped.
the background noise of the other boys faded into pure silence. you just stood there, frozen, staring at him. james looked... unreal. the sharp tailoring of the silver-threaded blazer emphasized his broad shoulders perfectly, and the subtle glimpse of skin beneath the dark silk shirt was devastating. he looked like a literal prince of the night—he reminded you of cardan greenbriar, a faerie from one of your favourite books.
but if you were staring, james was completely melting. his eyes locked onto you, tracing the line of your dress, his breath hitching audibly. the lazy, confident smirk he usually wore was completely gone, replaced by a look of pure, breathless awe. for a solid ten seconds, neither of you moved. you just drowned in each other’s gaze, the sheer intensity of the look making your knees go weak.
slowly, as if pulled by an invisible magnetic force, you both started walking toward each other, meeting right in the center of the grand suite.
“you look…” james started, his voice thick and rough, but he couldn’t even finish the sentence. he didn’t need to. the look in his eyes said everything.
“you don’t look too bad yourself,” you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs.
he didn’t waste another second. he reached out, his large hand wrapping firmly around your waist, his fingers digging into the expensive fabric of your dress as he pulled you closer. he leaned down, his lips finding yours in a kiss that instantly made your head spin.
it wasn’t like the quick, stolen kiss in the alleyway. this was slow, heavy, and all-consuming. your hands flew up to his chest, clutching at the lapels of his blazer, pulling him even closer as the kiss deepened and the world completely dissolved. you tilted your head, losing yourself in the rhythm of his lips, your senses overwhelmed by the faint scent of his cologne and the warmth of his skin. he shifted his grip, his other hand coming up to cup your jawline, his thumb tracing your cheekbone.
you lost track of how long you were standing there, completely wrapped up in each other, getting closer and closer until there was absolutely no space left between you.
whoosh. the sound of velvet rings sliding across a metal pole echoed through the room. martin stepped out from his changing curtain, completely dressed in his custom ysl look, adjusting his cuffs. “hey guys, do you think this jacket is too—”
he stopped dead in his tracks. he stared at the two of you—tangling together, completely ignoring the rest of the world, thoroughly making out in high-fashion matching outfits.
martin didn’t say a single word. he didn’t even sigh. with an expression of pure, unadulterated exhaustion, he slowly reached back out, grabbed his curtain, and pulled it shut again, disappearing back into his little velvet cave to question his life choices.
you felt the vibration of a chuckle rumble in james’ chest against yours, but he didn’t care. he literally did not give a single shit about martin walking in. instead of pulling away, he just leaned into the kiss even more, his lips pressing softer, sweeter against yours, grounding you in the moment.
he finally broke the kiss just an inch, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing heavily. his hands stayed firmly anchored on your waist, refusing to let you go.
“we are going to ruin everyone’s career at the show tomorrow,” he murmured against your lips, a low, breathy smile in his voice as his thumbs stroked your hips. “but right now? i don’t ever want to let you out of this room.”
it took an embarrassing amount of willpower to finally break away, especially with martin still aggressively clearing his throat from behind his curtain.
reluctantly, you both changed back into your regular, comfortable clothes—oversized hoodies, relaxed jeans, and soft beanies. the glamour was packed away into bags, but the lingering warmth between you and james remained. while the rest of the boys decided to crash on the giant suite beds to finally let the jet lag win, you and james slipped out of the hotel, completely under the radar.
you caught a metro down to a bustling, sprawling marché aux puces, a massive, historic parisian flea market that felt a million miles away from the sterile luxury of fashion week. it was a vibrant labyrinth of crowded stalls, overflowing with vintage clothes, antique books, and handmade trinkets.
you stopped at a small, rustic stall overflowing with silver bracelets, beaded necklaces, and beautiful rings. the vendor, an older man with a cigarette tucked behind his ear, gave you a look that clearly screamed ‘clueless tourists.’ he threw out an incredibly inflated price for a delicate silver bracelet you were eyeing.
james pulled out his wallet, already prepared to pay whatever, but you gently tapped his hand down.
you turned to the vendor, a sharp, playful glint in your eyes. slouching your posture just a bit, you dropped the polite, textbook french you had used at brunch and dove straight into the fast, slang-heavy, informal street french you’d picked up from listening to local podcasts and rap music.
“ah non, oula, c’est grave cher là, monsieur,” you said, throwing around casual fillers with an effortless, local cadence. “franchement, le truc est beau, mais ça vaut pas tout ça. faites-moi un petit prix, s’il vous plaît? on est entre nous.” (no, wow, that’s very expensive. honestly, it’s pretty, but it’s not worth all that. give me a little discount, please? just between us.)
the vendor’s eyebrows shot up as he let out a hearty laugh, thoroughly amused and impressed by the sudden shift from a quiet foreign girl to someone speaking like a born-and-raised parisian youth. he quickly countered with a much lower, realistic price, nodding in respect.
beside you, james was looking at you like you had just performed magic. he was completely amazed for absolutely no reason, a massive, dorky grin spreading across his face.
“what?” you whispered, handing the vendor the cash.
“nothing,” james murmured, wrapping an arm securely around your shoulder and pulling you against his side as you stepped back into the dense flow of the market crowd. “you’re just ridiculous. where did you even learn to talk like that? you sounded like you were about to start a rap battle.”
“it’s all about the vibe, jamie,” you teased, proudly slipping the new bracelet onto your wrist.
the market was getting tighter, packed with locals and tourists shuffling past each other in tight spaces. james became hyper-aware of everyone around you. his grip on your waist tightened, his large frame acting like a protective shield as he guided you through the swell of people, making sure no one bumped into you.
suddenly, a distracted local carrying a large wooden crate turned a corner blindly, on a direct collision course to slam right into your shoulder.
james noticed it a split second before you did. with his ridiculous lightning-fast reflexes, his hand shot up to your upper arm, and he yanked you toward him. the sudden pull sent you spinning right off your feet, stumbling forward until you crashed directly into his solid chest. his arms instantly locked around your waist to steady you, holding you close against him.
you gasped softly, your hands instinctively gripping his hoodie. you looked up, your eyes meeting his.
right there, in the middle of the crowded parisian market, everything slowed down to an absolute crawl. the shouting of vendors and the bustle of the crowd completely muted into background static. to make it almost comically perfect, a street musician just a few stalls down began playing a slow, deeply romantic jazz melody on a saxophone, the rich notes drifting through the warm afternoon air.
james looked down at you, his eyes dark and intensely focused on yours. he didn’t let go of your waist. instead, his gaze dropped to your lips, his breathing shallow.
“you okay?” he whispered, his voice rough.
“yeah,” you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribs for a completely different reason now. “thanks to you.”
you knew it was incredibly risky. there were hundreds of people around. if a single person recognized either of you, or if someone took a clear photo, the internet would go into a total meltdown by dinner time. but looking up at him, surrounded by the golden sunlight and the swell of jazz music, you suddenly realised you didn’t give a shit. just for a few seconds, you wanted to be normal.
you leaned up on your tiptoes, closing the remaining distance between you. james didn’t hesitate—he met you halfway, his lips pressing against yours in a soft, deeply sweet, and unhurried kiss. it felt entirely different from the one in the hotel suite; this was tender, open, and completely content. he held you tight against him, completely unbothered by the world spinning around you.
after a few seconds of the uninterrupted kiss, a loud “oh là là!” echoed from a nearby fruit stall, followed by a chorus of cheerful whoops, whistles, and appreciative clapping from a few locals who love nothing more than public displays of romance.
the sudden noise made you break away slightly. you buried your face into the crook of james’ neck, a bright, bubbly laugh escaping your lips. he let out a low, breathless chuckle of his own, his chest vibrating against yours as he pressed a final, lingering kiss into your hair, hiding his own huge smile against your forehead.
“see?” james whispered playfully, his arms still wrapped tight around you as you both slowly started walking again. “the french love us. we’re fine.”
with your hand firmly slipped into his coat pocket—your fingers intertwined beneath the heavy fabric—the walk back to the hotel turned into a slow, sun-drenched detour through the winding backstreets of paris.
you couldn’t help yourself—every time a unique storefront caught your eye, you pulled james along, ducking into random little shops. in a vintage bookstore that smelled of aged paper and leather, you picked up a beautifully weathered postcard from the 1960s. at a tiny pâtisserie, you bought a box of colorful macarons, immediately feeding a raspberry one to james, who smiled around the pastry, his thumb wiping a stray crumb from the corner of your mouth.
then, you stumbled upon a small, open-air flower stall. it was an explosion of color against the grey stone: buckets of deep red roses, pale eucalyptus, and bright yellow mimosas lining the pavement.
“wait here,” you told him, pulling your hand from his pocket.
you walked up to the older woman running the stall, looking over the selection before pointing to a small, perfectly wrapped bundle of small white flowers and dark green leaves. “bonjour madame! c’est combien pour les petites fleurs blanches, s’il vous plaît?” (hello mam, how much for the small white flowers, please?)
when she gave you the price, you didn’t even try to haggle this time. you just smiled, handed her the euros, and took the bouquet. turning back around, you walked straight up to james and thrust the flowers into his chest.
he blinked, completely caught off guard. his hands instinctively wrapped around the stems, looking down at the bouquet and then up at you, a soft, boyish flush creeping up his neck. “are these... for me?”
“boys deserve flowers too, jamie,” you said matter-of-factly, adjusting his beanie. “plus, they match your aesthetic.”
the look on his face was like pure, melted honey. he tucked the bouquet securely under his arm like it was the most precious thing he owned, his hand immediately finding yours again, gripping it a little tighter than before.
a few doors down, you stopped at one final stall—a cluttered, charming display of vintage silver accessories and old metal keychains. you spotted a heavy, intricately carved silver ring that looked exactly like something james would wear on his index finger.
you picked it up, immediately stepping up to the vendor to start negotiation round two. james slid in right behind you, anchoring himself to your back. he wrapped his arms loosely around your waist from behind, holding his new bouquet in one hand while his chin hovered just above your jacket.
“excusez-moi, monsieur,” you began, slipping right back into that effortless, rapid-fire street french. “elle est super sympa la bague, mais le prix est un peu abusé, non? faites-moi un prix d’ami et je la prends tout de suite.” (excuse me, sir. the ring is very nice, but the price is a bit much, right? give me a friend's price and i’ll take it right now.)
the vendor paused, looking at you over his glasses, a slow smirk forming on his face as he prepared to counter-offer.
hearing the absolute confidence dripping from your voice, james couldn’t take it anymore. he buried his face into the crook of your neck, dropping his forehead right onto your shoulder. you could feel the deep, quiet vibration of his laughter echoing through his chest against your back. he shook his head slightly, hiding his face as he laughed quietly, utterly overwhelmed by how incredibly cool his girlfriend was.
“what’s so funny?” you murmured, tilting your head back slightly against his cheek while waiting for the vendor’s reply.
“nothing,” he whispered against your jacket, his voice thick with a mixture of disbelief and pure adoration. “you’re just... unreal. i’m literally just standing here holding a bouquet of flowers while my girl runs the streets.”
you smiled, casually tossing a few euros onto the counter as the vendor gave in with a defeated, amused chuckle, handing over the ring.
you turned around in james’ embrace, slipping the silver ring onto his finger before looking up at him. “told you. it’s all about the vibe, mon ange.” (my angel.)
he looked down at the ring, then at the flowers, and finally at you. he let out another soft laugh, leaning down to press a warm, lingering kiss right to the tip of your nose. “come on, princess. let’s get back before the guys eat the entire hotel’s worth of good without us.”
by the time you both snuck back into the hotel suite, the quiet sanctuary you had left behind was entirely gone. the door had barely clicked shut before you were met with the sight of juhoon and keonho aggressively playing rock-paper-scissors over who got the last order of french fries from the massive room-service spread in the center of the living room. seonghyeon was stretched out on the couch, half-asleep with a luxury fashion magazine draped over his face, while martin was sitting cross-legged on the floor, intensely editing the photos you had taken of him earlier in the alleyway.
“look who finally decided to return from their romantic getaway,” martin muttered without looking up from his phone, his thumb sliding a contrast filter back and forth. “did you guys get lost, or did you just forget you have a group?”
“we brought pastries,” you announced, holding up the box of macarons like an offering of peace. instantly, the atmosphere changed. keonho abandoned the rock-paper-scissors match, lunging across the suite to snatch the box from your hands.
“i knew you were my favorite member for a reason. if team dior starves tomorrow, it’s on ysl’s hands.”
james chuckled, dropping the bags of vintage keychains and trinkets you’d bought onto the side table. he carefully placed the small bouquet of white flowers into an empty glass bottle he’d filled with water from the bathroom, setting it right on his nightstand.
“wait,” juhoon said, squinting across the room as he chewed on a raspberry macaron. “james, did you buy yourself flowers?”
“no,” james said smoothly, not a single hint of embarrassment in his voice as he adjusted the stems so they sat perfectly. “my girlfriend bought them for me. got a problem?”
juhoon blinked, looking at the tough, broad-shouldered rapper who was currently hovering over a delicate bunch of blossoms like a proud gardener. “you know what? no. i’m not even going to comment. you two are disgustingly whipped.”
“let them be,” seonghyeon’s voice came muffled from beneath the magazine on his face. “as long as they don’t start making out on the couch while i’m trying to nap, i am choosing peace today.”
you flushed, throwing a spare sofa pillow directly at seonghyeon’s stomach, making him groan and finally sit up. james just laughed, walking over to sit beside you on the edge of the large armchair, his arm immediately finding its usual place around your waist, pulling you securely against his side.
for the next hour, the suite settled into a comfortable, easy warmth. the six of you shared the food, teased martin about his extreme photo-editing dedication, and went over the official schedule for the next morning. tomorrow was the day—the fashion show was set to run from morning to night. the media coverage was going to be insane, the paparazzi would be everywhere, and the pressure to look flawless was heavy.
but sitting there, with james’ thumb softly rubbing comforting circles against your hip while the rest of the boys argued over what movie to put on the hotel tv, the upcoming chaos of fashion week didn’t feel daunting at all.
as the evening wound down and everybody slowly drifted off to their respective rooms to finally get some proper sleep before the big day, james caught your hand, pulling you back for a split second before you could step into your own room.
the hallway of the suite was dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of the city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“hey,” he whispered, pulling you into his space until your chest tapped against his. he looked down at you, his eyes incredibly soft in the shadows. he reached out, his fingers gently tracing the new silver ring you had bartered for him earlier, before sliding his hand up to cup the side of your neck.
“hey,” you smiled up at him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “stressed about tomorrow?”
“not at all,” he murmured, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. his breath was warm against your skin. “ as long as i get to look across the front row and see you matching with me, i’m good. tomorrow, the whole world is going to be watching us... but i’ll only be looking at you."
you felt your heart swell, that familiar, breathless flutter taking over your entire chest. you leaned up, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips—a quiet promise between the two of you before the madness of the spotlight began.
“goodnight, pretty boy,” you whispered against his mouth.
“goodnight, pretty girl,” he murmured back, giving your waist a final, reassuring squeeze. “see you tomorrow morning.”
“oooooh fucking là là!” the boys screamed while giggling from outside the door, immediately running away to their rooms.
sypnosis your relationship with keonho is secret, but tonight he decides he doesn’t want to keep to quiet anymore.
pairing uni student!keonho x uni student!fem!reader , ROMANTIC GESTURE! , kind of cheesy but i love them
note reader’s major is actually unimportant i just had to project my love for physics. also sorry this kinda ass i wrote this during a road trip
you’re in someone else’s dorm. people all around you are partying, singing, dancing, drinking.
you’re in a circle with your friends, sharing jokes and drinks.
you’re having the time of your life—
but you’re not really focusing on anything.
because right across the room near the snacks and drinks bar is ahh keonho, the one who’s had your heart for 2 years.
you two got close during a group project in high school, and he slowly became one of the people you trusted the most. in spring, when you confessed your feelings to i’m on a whim you didn’t expect him to actually reciprocate your feelings.
the two of you have kept your feelings and relationship secret, having to make up excuses to your friends and parents just to sneak out to see each other.
from across the room, he flashes a quick smile at you— the one he sends you when you’re cuddling, holding hands under the table, after you peck his cheek— and you’re sure your heart just did a backflip.
he’s drunk, you can tell from the way he’s currently leaning on his friend seonghyeon, and james having to be his anchor (physically), having his hand under keon’s armpit to steady him.
you watch him take another shot of whatever he has in that glass, downing it all in one go.
you decide you’re not gonna just watch him, standing up to get another drink.
your friend, moka, tugs on your sleeve, “y/nnie.. where y’ going,”
“getting another drink! i’m gonna drink away all my stress from finals bro,” you reply, glancing at the other people in your group— jaehyun, beomgyu, and ian.
“get her and beomgyu some water too,” jaehyun signals at beomgyu, who was clearly red.
“okay,” you roll your eyes jokingly and head to the drinks and snack bar.
you quickly pour a drink for yourself, and 2 cups of water for your friends. just as you were about to go back to your circle of friends, a guy with red dyed hair and a tank top stops you.
“hey,” he says. “i’m yeonjun”
“y/n,” you smile politely.
you feel keonho’s eyes on you from behind.
yeonjun continues with a charming smile, not noticing the stare keonho has on him. “i’ve never seen you around before. what major are you in?”
“physics,” you reply with a laugh, knowing how you don’t fit the typical ‘physics nerd’ stereotype.
“damn.” yeonjun looks shocked, “explains why i haven’t seen you around i guess.”
he continues, “do you think i could get your instagram? you’re really pretty.” he smiles, hand in his pocket to reach for his phone.
before you could respond to yeonjun, you hear footsteps behind you, and a pair of arms grabs you from behind and spins you around.
you’re met with a familiar pair of lips on yours, half the room going silent immediately.
you look closely and it’s keonho.
when keonho finally pulls back, he wraps his arm around your waist and stares at yeonjun.
“sorry, she’s taken.”
the room is immediately filled with shouts and gasps, with the occasional sound of camera shutter.
but all you could really focus on was keonho in front of you.
you whispered to him, “i thought we were a secret.”
he shrugged casually, “i changed my mind.” and kisses you again in front of everyone.
you smile up at him and think you’ve fallen for him all over again.
“i love you,”
“love you too,” keonho grins at you, his arm still around your waist.
GIRL, U MAKE ME BLUSH SO HARD, U DA REAL MAKEUP ARTIST! EOM SEONGHYEON
ᯓ eom seonghyeon x fem!reader
ᯓ synopsis: seonghyeon might be a little in love with his makeup artist! uh oh...
ᯓ word count: 1.05k
ᯓ warnings: none at all lol just fluff
ᯓ authors note: he's so cute i wanna bite his cheeks i need him so bad
Seonghyeon was 99.99% sure he was going to start drooling. Or pass out. Either way it would have the same effect—him absolutely airballing his shot with you, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, who also conveniently happens to be his makeup artist.
He sat in the black makeup chair, watching, completely entranced, as you worked on his eye makeup. Your fingers were soft and gentle as they tilted his chin upwards, your expression focused in a way that embarrassingly made his heart lurch. You were close enough for him to catch the faint scent of your perfume—something soft and sweet and so wholly you it made him lightheaded.
“Can you look up for me?” Your voice was quiet and warm and Seonghyeon wished he could hear it this close to him forever.
He did immediately. He’d do anything if it was you asking. His eyes met yours for half a second before he immediately looked away, suddenly very interested in the plain white ceiling.
Smooth, Seonghyeon. Real smooth.
A quiet laugh slipped from your lips and he had to press his lips together to stop himself from grinning like an idiot.
“Are you nervous?” You asked, dabbing under his eye lightly with a sponge.
“Nervous?” he repeated, flinching when he heard the light voice crack that came out. “A little.”
You hum, tilting his face to the side so you could do his other eye. “Don’t be. You’re a great artist. I know it, the members know it, your fans know it.”
Seonghyeon’s cheeks burned at the words.
He wasn’t nervous for the performance, he was nervous cause you’re so pretty and so close to him.
“How—How could you tell I was nervous anyway?”
You looked up at him and he felt his breath hitch as your eyes travelled all the way down to his hands. He followed your eyeline down to where his fingers were gripping the armrests so tight that they were turning white from the effort. He quickly let go, flexing them with an awkward chuckle.
That earned him another laugh, warm and bright, and suddenly, humiliating himself didn’t seem like that bad of an idea.
You stepped back for a moment, head tilted as you examined your work. You reached for the pouch full of lip products before picking out a matte lip tint that was similar to his natural lip colour, and a thin brush.
“Hold still,” you murmured, like you hadn’t just rendered him motionless with your beautiful, beautiful laugh seconds ago.
You applied the lip tint on his lips carefully, fixing the corners with the brush. It was deadly, how hard his heart was pounding from the intent look in your eyes as you stared at his lips.
When you finally pulled away and nodded approvingly, Seonghyeon felt like every coherent thought he’d ever had simply packed its bags and left.
“You’re all done now,” you say, taking a few steps backward to begin packing up your products and brushes. “I’ll see you next concert, Seonghyeon.”
He stared at you for a second too long before blurting out, “You know, you’re really pretty.”
Your hands froze and you looked over at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted like you never expected that sentence to come from him of all people.
And because apparently his brain had fully abandoned ship, he added, “Like, really pretty. So pretty that I almost forgot my own name. Which is bad, because I use that a lot.”
You were quiet and Seonghyeon swore that those 3 seconds of silence shaved a good 5 years off of his lifespan.
Then you laughed, that same soft, lovely laugh, and his entire body relaxed.
“Well,” you said, setting your brush down. “Good thing I know your name for you. How could I ever forget the name of my favorite client?”
His throat went dry. Was this flirting? Was this how you flirted? Before he could even second guess himself, he decided to shoot his shot.
“You uhh—you like milkshakes?”
You giggled, placing your hands over your mouth as you looked at him incredulously, eyes crinkled with laughter. “Do I like milkshakes?” You repeat.
Seonghyeon groaned and looked away, feeling his pulse race in embarrassment. Were milkshakes too immature and childish? He meant to say coffee, he really did. His mouth just was not working with him today.
“I meant coffee…” he said weakly, wincing as he heard you laugh louder.
“No, no I love milkshakes!” You nod excitedly, your hands clasped together. “Is there a reason you’re asking?”
Seonghyeon gulped at your expecting smile. “I was just thinking that maybe sometime, when you’re not, you know, making me look presentable for the camera, we could get milkshakes together. Like two people usually do. Drinking milkshakes. Together.”
Going back to what he thought at the start, he was wrong. He didn’t need to pass out or drool to completely airball and miss his shot, he was doing it perfectly by just speaking.
“Well,” you began and Seonghyeon felt himself lean forward slightly in anticipation. “If it’s just us, two people, getting milkshakes together, then I might just have to agree. As long as it’s us. Drinking milkshakes. Together.”
You give him a playful wink and he didn’t even care that you were teasing him cause you just agreed to a date and he could feel his blood rush to his head and the dopey smile coming onto his face and the sweaty palms that were once perspiring due to nervousness were now sweating due to happiness and anticipation—
“Seonghyeon!”
He snapped out of his lovesick daze and looked up to your face of pure glee. “Welcome back loverboy. I was wondering if you wanted my number?”
He quickly nodded, taking the slip of paper with your number messily scrawled on it from your fingers. “Yes. To both the number and being a loverboy.”
You flushed, looking away, lashes fluttering downwards and Seonghyeon thought it was the cutest thing ever.
The call for the members to come and get their hair styled came and Seonghyeon got up, not wanting to leave you just yet.
“Well, I’ve got to leave now but I’ll text you the plans. See you soon?”
📬 ❤︎ actor!seonghyeon 𝔁 co-star!gf!reader ─── ৻ꪆ both of you have to act out a break-up scene as the leads of a movie, but he feels guilty about all the mean things his character says to yours.
❤︎ warnings+tags ─── ৻ꪆ rest of cortis appear as cameos for two seconds · mentions of breakup (not hyeonyn) · calling out insecurities (not hyeonyn) · no real angst · aged up seonghyeon ig? it doesn’t rlly change much but it’s more realistic to have him be a little older since he’s an actor in this fic · cute seonghyeon <3 · nicknames (‘baby’, ‘angel’ -> angel is specifically for @jjuhyeons bro i love our ‘hyeon calls his gf angel agenda’)
💌 ❤︎ notes ─── ৻ꪆ hes so. FAWKKKK so cute · i was thinking sooo much ab this idea after reading articles about kim mu-yeol and yoon seung-ah (THEYRE SO CUTE OMFG) · anywayayy enjoy first written fic for hyeon <3
❤︎ wc ─── ৻ꪆ 2.6k
𝄞 𓏸 my cortispilledmasterlist »﹙合﹚
❝ tracklist ❞ ─── hollywood action—bnd ❦ ending scene—iu ❦ still with you—jk ❦ moonstruck—enha ❦ only—leehi
the director had warned everyone beforehand.
“this scene is ugly,” he’d said, standing right in front of the monitors with a lukewarm coffee cupped between his palms. “if it doesn’t make me feel entirely uncomfortable, we’re doing the whole damn thing again.”
which was, all things considered, a completely normal thing to hear at eight o’clock on a freezing tuesday morning.
you had laughed, a small, breathless sound that got swallowed by the rustle of the crew moving equipment. seonghyeon had not.
because unlike everyone else on the payroll, he’d already read the script seventeen times, pacing the floor of your shared flat until his socks wore thin, spending three whole days complaining about the dialogue.
“why does he say this to her?” he’d asked, pointing an accusing finger at the highlighted pages on the kitchen table.
“but why is he so awful? there’s no justification for it. it’s just cruel.”
“because he’s the villain of the relationship. every story needs some friction.”
“i don’t like him,” he’d muttered, his lower lip pulling into a stubborn, childish pout that made you want to kiss him.
“you are him.”
“exactly. which means i am currently hating myself.”
and now here you both were—standing smack-bang in the middle of a fake apartment set that smelled faintly of fresh paint and stale timber. the red light on the camera was rolling. the overhead lights were glaring down, hot and unforgiving against the back of your neck, and your boyfriend of five years was looking across the space at you like he genuinely, thoroughly hated your guts which shouldn’t have affected you. you were a professional. you’d done this a dozen times before with a dozen different co-stars. except it did affect you; it was your first time acting out something so heavy with seonghyeon, of all people.
it settled like lead in your stomach, because your boyfriend was annoyingly, devastatingly good at his job.
“action.”
☆
the argument had already been building for several scenes prior. months of accumulated resentment, heavy miscommunications, and quiet, festering hurt that had been left to rot in the dark. and now, in this cramped kitchen set, it finally exploded.
“you know what your problem is?” he snapped.
his voice wasn’t his voice anymore. the low, velvety cadence he used to whisper against your shoulder in the dead of night was entirely gone. it was sharper now. colder. a brittle, metallic sound that made the air in the room instantly drop by ten degrees. every single bit of warmth had been scrubbed clean from his features.
“you’re insecure.”
you stared at him, your hands curling into tight, helpless fists at your sides. the silence that followed was suffocating. it was the specific type of heavy, theatrical silence that made the entire crew on set forget to breathe, everyone freezing mid-motion.
“excuse me?” your voice came out like a rasp, barely carrying to the boom mic.
“everything has to be about you,” he said, and then he laughed. it wasn’t a nice laugh. it wasn’t that crinkly-eyed, breathless sound that usually filled your flat when you made a terrible joke. it was something ugly and mocking. “every single conversation we have. every minor disagreement. every little thing has to revolve around how it impacts you.”
your eyes began watering instantly. it wasn’t because you were genuinely upset—it was because you were acting. really acting, feeding off the terrifying hostility radiating from his posture. his shoulders were rigid, his jaw set so tightly you could see the muscle ticking beneath his skin.
“i supported you through everything,” you whispered, stepping back until your spine hit the edge of the prop counter. “every deal, every late night, every single breakdown.”
“supported me?” he scoffed, tilting his head back with a dark, humourless smirk. “you didn’t support me. you just made everything ten times harder than it needed to be.”
from the corner of your eye, you saw the boom operator visibly flinch, shifting his weight.
“harder?”
“you constantly need reassurance,” he said, closing the distance between you with slow, scary strides until he was towering over you, blocking out the studio lights. he leaned down slightly, his dark eyes entirely vacant of the boy who bought you pastries on sundays. “do you have any idea how exhausting that gets? it’s like pouring water into a bucket with a hole in the bottom.”
your jaw tightened, a genuine prickle of heat rising up your throat. “i asked you for honesty, yi-jin. that’s all i ever asked for.”
“you didn’t ask for honesty,” he hissed, his face inches from yours, his breath warm but his expression freezing. “you asked me to babysit your feelings. and frankly, i’m very fucking tired of being a parent to a grown woman.”
somewhere behind the black shroud of the monitors, the assistant director quietly whispered a thoroughly shaken, “shit, that was good.” because the chemistry between you two was terrifying. it wasn’t romantic anymore; it was just pure, unadulterated devastation. it was the sight of two people who knew exactly where the armor was weak, systematically destroying each other piece by piece.
the scene kept going, dragging out the agony. every line landed harder than the last, like physical blows in a ring. and then finally, just as the script demanded, your character completely broke.
“right.” your voice shook, the word cracking right down the middle. another long, agonizing pause. the tears were properly gathering now, blurring his harsh silhouette. “i think i finally understand it now.”
he said absolutely nothing, his arms crossing over his chest, his posture unyielding.
“you don’t actually love me,” the words came out so small, fragile enough to shatter if anyone moved too quickly. “you just love the feeling of being needed. you love the power of it. that’s it, isn’t it?”
the room went completely, utterly still. even the heavy cameras felt like they’d stopped whirring.
“and now that you don’t need me anymore…” you laughed once, a hollow, heartbroken sound that scraped against your ribs. “…i’ve just become a massive inconvenience to you.”
he swallowed. you saw his adam’s apple bob, a tiny, involuntary break in his composure, but his character stayed fiercely cold. “if that’s the ridiculous narrative you want to believe, go right ahead. see if i care.”
“no.” you stepped back, pulling yourself away from his space and shaking your head. “that’s not a narrative. that’s what you’ve spent the last six months showing me.” a heavy tear finally spilled over, tracking a hot line down your cheek. “and i deserve so much better than somebody who makes me feel this small.”
god, the director was practically falling out of his chair, leaning so far forward his nose was nearly touching the viewing screen.
“angel—” he started, reaching out a hand, his fingers twitching as if to grab your wrist.
“don’t.” you cut him off instantly, stepping entirely out of his reach. “don’t you dare call me that. you lost that right long ago.”
the nickname—the one his character had used throughout the entire script. the shattered, desperate look that crossed seonghyeon’s face in that exact split second nearly broke the remaining crew members.
“we’re done.”
with trembling fingers, you reached behind your neck, unlatching the silver necklace his character had given yours in the first act. you let it drop onto the wooden table with a sharp, metallic clink. then, without looking back at him, you walked straight out of the frame.
“cut.”
☆
nobody moved.
seriously, absolutely nobody moved a muscle. the entire room stayed frozen in place for three agonising seconds because somehow, you two had made a fake breakup feel like a real tragedy.
the director just stared blankly at the monitor, his coffee long forgotten. the sound team stared intently at the floorboards. the makeup artist looked vaguely traumatised, clutching her powder puff like a weapon, and one of the production interns, juhoon, looked about two seconds away from an actual crying fit.
and then—“cut!” the director slammed his bound script shut against his knee. “that’s it! that’s the one!.”
everyone jumped. spontaneous cheers erupted from the back of the studio. applause rippled through the grips and gaffers. someone—probably james, your friend—near the fire exit actually shouted, “thank god!” because nobody wanted to sit through another take of that emotional warfare.
the absolute second the cameras stopped rolling, seonghyeon completely fell apart. “angel.”
you barely had time to wipe the wetness from your cheek before he was moving.
“angel, look at me.”
he was already crossing the set, his long legs eating up the distance between the prop sofa and the door.
“baby, please.”
“hyeon, wait, my mic—”
“absolutely not.”
he reached you in a second, his hands coming up to frantically grab your face. his palms were warm, a little damp with nerves.
he immediately leaned down to press a hard, lingering kiss to your forehead. then to the bridge of your nose. then your left cheek. the other cheek. your right temple. your chin. he was kissing everywhere except your actual lips, purely because his brain had short-circuited and he’d forgotten where basic human features lied.
“i’m so sorry,” he mumbled against your skin, his voice thick and entirely his own again.
“for what?” you laughed, though your ribs still felt a bit tight from the scene.
“everything. all of it.”
“you didn’t actually do anything, dumbass.”
“i called you insecure,” he insisted, his thumbs wiping away the remnants of your stage tears with fierce, trembling tenderness.
“your character called my character insecure.”
“same thing.”
“that is literally, by definition, not the same thing.”
he ignored you, pressing another desperate kiss to your forehead, his eyes dark with lingering guilt. “i hated it. i hated every single second of it.”
“you wrote four pages of notes in your script complaining about this specific scene, hyeon.”
“because it was mean! it was unnecessarily cruel to your character.”
“he’s supposed to be mean. he’s a terrible boyfriend.”
“well, i didn’t enjoy acting like one.”
you finally let out a proper, bubbling laugh, and the sound of it seemed to physically heal him. his broad shoulders immediately dropped an inch, the rigid tension melting out of his spine.
“there she is,” he breathed to himself, leaning his forehead against yours.
“you are so dramatic.”
“i’m entirely serious.” he slid his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest and burying his face deep into the crook of your neck, inhaling the familiar scent of your shampoo from your hair that was let down. “i would never say those things to you.”
“i know you wouldn’t, baby.”
“ever.”
“hyeon, i know.”
“not even if somebody paid me a million.”
“they are literally paying you to do it right now.”
“you know what i mean,” he mumbled into your skin.
around you, the crew—especially martin from props and keonho from lighting, who were straining their necks to lean closer to the set like they were listening to some neighbour’s juicy gossip—collectively pretended to be very busy with cables. it was difficult for them, though, considering seonghyeon had apparently decided the entire studio needed to hear him worship his girlfriend to compensate for the script.
“you’re not insecure at all,” he said, shifting to kiss the top of your head. “you’re one of the most brilliant, confident people i’ve ever met in my life.” another firm kiss.
“and you’re so clever.” kiss.
“and funny.” kiss.
“and ridiculously, unfairly pretty.”
“seonghyeon, stop it.” you could feel your cheeks flushing red under the heavy foundation.
“and so talented.”
“hyeon, please.”
“and kind.”
“seonghyeon.”
“and every single room feels completely different the moment you walk into it.”
“that doesn’t even make any sense.”
“it makes perfect sense to me.”
you groaned, lifting your hands to cover your burning face. he immediately caught your wrists, gently pulling your hands away so he could look at you. “don’t hide from me.”
“you’re embarrassing me to death.”
“good.”
“everyone is literally watching us.”
“excellent. let them look.”
“eom seonghyeon!”
he grinned, a shameless, bright thing that crinkled the corners of his eyes.
“angel, i just spent four agonizing minutes pretending i didn’t love you with everything i have.” he squeezed your fingers tightly, lacing them with his own. “i need at least ten minutes of proper recovery time from that trauma.”
from somewhere behind the lighting rigs, one of the staff yelled out, “take twenty minutes if you need, bro!”
“thanks, man!” seonghyeon shouted back over his shoulder without breaking eye contact with you.
“no one asked you, james!” you shouted towards the rafters at the same time.
the entire set erupted into a loud, collective burst of laughter, breaking the final remnants of the heavy tension.
☆
later on, while the crew was packing away the heavy diffusers and winding up the thick black cables, you found him sitting alone in the dim corner beside the monitor, quietly rewatching the playback of the scene. his expression looked oddly miserable, his chin resting in his palm.
you slid into the canvas chair beside him, rubbing a hand over his knee. “you alright?”
he nodded slowly, then immediately shook his head, letting out a heavy breath. “i hate it.”
“because it’s a sad scene?”
“because you looked genuinely hurt,” he whispered, turning his head to look at you, his eyes full of that soft, yearning vulnerability that always made your heart ache. “i know it’s just the script. i know it’s acting. but for a split second, when the lights were up, it felt entirely real.”
your heart melted into a puddle right there on the dusty floor. “hyeon.”
“when you took off that necklace and said ‘we’re done’?” he looked down at his own lap, picking at a loose thread on his trousers. “i actually felt physically sick to my stomach.”
you leaned sideways, pressing your shoulder against his comfortingly. because there he was—the exact same boy who got incredibly clingy if you left him on read for more than twenty minutes while you went shopping alone. the same boy who texted you a string of incoherent emojis every morning before his eyes were even fully open.
“well, it’s a very good thing i’m not breaking up with you in real life then, isn’t it?” you murmured.
“an excellent decision on your part.”
“is it really?” you teased.
“absolutely.” he turned towards you, pressing a tiny, sweet kiss to your forehead. then another one right between your eyebrows. and another one on your temple. “because i’m keeping you forever. you’re stuck with me.”
“that sounds slightly threatening, pretty boy.”
“it’s romantically threatening.”
“that doesn’t make it any better, i think.”
“angel.”
“what?”
his smile softened, becoming small, private, and deeply fond—completely, thoroughly seonghyeon again, with no trace of the script left in him. “thank you for never making me audition for the role of your ex-boyfriend in real life.”
you stared at him for a beat, deadpan. “that might genuinely be the most cringe thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“and yet you’re still with me.”
“unfortunately for my reputation, i am.”
“see?” he beamed, his chest puffing out as he looked around the emptying studio. “she loves me.”
“somebody please remove this man from the set,” you said dryly to the empty audience.
“she absolutely loves me!”
“security!”
“the love of my life loves me!”
and somehow, despite the fact that he’d spent the entire morning making an entire film crew weep into their coffee cups, he ended the day exactly the way he always did—making you laugh until your stomach hurt.
ᯓ zhao yufan x gn!reader
ᯓ synopsis: just a lighthearted conversation between you and your boyfriend about moving in together
ᯓ word count: 0.8k
ᯓ warnings: james hating your plushies lol
ᯓ authors note: i kinda hate this but i wanted to write something i guess.... sorry if this is buns which i'm pretty sure it is
“I think we should move in together.”
You blink, looking up at James who seemed to have stopped scrolling to gaze at the ceiling, the look in his eyes contemplative. He had one hand around your shoulders, keeping you close to his chest and the other on his chin.
The position made you want to giggle. He looked just like the thinking emoji.
You cuddle closer to him, your chin, tucked into the divot between his arm and his chest. “Where is this coming from?”
James hums, playing with the ends of your hair as he drops his hand from his chin. “I don’t know. I mean we already live at each other's apartments anyway.”
You shake your head quickly, looking up at him. “That’s not true.”
His brows lift slightly as his head moves down to meet your eyes. “It is though.”
“It absolutely is not,” you insist, moving to sit up. “You just invade my space and then refuse to leave.” You point vaguely between the two of you like that somehow strengthens your argument.
“Excuse me? I do not invade your space?”
“Uhh, you literally do? You eat all of my snacks, finish my entire strawberry moisturiser, use my shampoo and conditioner instead of bringing your own, and you’ve invaded my side of the bed.”
James blinks, lips pressed together in an effort to not burst out laughing to keep this conversation serious. “Well, when you put it that way it seems like you notice everything I do at your place. You sure you’re not keeping track of my habits for when we move in together?”
Your look at him, face blank. “That is not the key takeaway from what I just said.”
He leans back slightly, arms moving down to your waist. “Are you sureee?” He says, stretching the ‘sure’ just enough to be irritating.
James laughs as you hit his chest, cheeks puffing out in annoyance. “It’s not! The key takeaway is that you’re a serial snack stealer and you do not ask for permission before eating all my food!”
“Why do I need permission?” He says, seemingly offended. “We’re in a relationship.”
Before you could argue he swiftly places a hand over your mouth and continues.
“Yes, I know what you’re going to say, that’s not how consent works,” he says quickly, eyes narrowing like he’s pre-empting your entire speech. “But you eat my snacks just as much as I eat yours!”
You pull his hand off of your mouth and part your lips to protest, pause, then close them again.
He wasn’t wrong…
You clear your throat, wanting to change the topic in an attempt to salvage your dignity. “Okay, back to the point of this conversation. If we are going to seriously consider moving in together—”
“Which we are,” he interrupts smoothly.
“—we need to establish boundaries.”
“Go on,” he says, like he’s humoring you, but his eyes give him away. They look much too enthusiastic.
You narrow your eyes at him. “First rule: no more finishing my skincare.” James nods, looking as if he’s hanging on to your every word.
You sigh. “Second rule: you cannot take my side of the bed.”
“I already don’t,” he says immediately but the look you sent his way had him shutting his mouth to let you finish speaking.
“Third rule: my plushies are coming with me.”
That rule seems to be the one that breaks James. He groans and covers his face with his hands as he shakes his head back and forth.
“Well then you don’t need to worry about me taking your side of the bed cause those plushies will do it for you!”
“Babyyy,” you begin, lips pushed into a pout as you blink up at him. “I have to have them with me! They’re everything to me! They’re the reason why the world spins, the reason the sun shines, the reason that brownies were invented, the reason—”
The disbelieving expression on his face ebbs and fades as he lets out a resigned sigh.
“Should I be worried that you’re this passionate over a couple of stuffed animals?”
His train of thought gets cut off by the happy giggle from you as you throw yourself further into his arms, digging your face into the warm material of his hoodie.
“Oof—” He groans, as your chin collides with his chest. “I don’t know if I’m winning or losing here,” he mutters, though there’s clear amusement in his voice.
You stick your tongue out at him in response.
The next few minutes are quiet and easy, your eyes closed as you relax into him. James looks down at you with a fond expression that makes his earlier teasing feel a million miles away.
Then—
“Wait hold on! Does that mean you agree to moving in with me!?”
📬 ❤︎ james 𝔁 6th member!gf!reader ─── ৻ꪆ getting ready for an awards show with his help.
❤︎ warnings+tags ─── ৻ꪆ fluff⠀·⠀ rest of cortis (4/5) as menaces ⠀·⠀⠀ james is so 💞💞 ⠀·⠀⠀ hyeon has a gf who’s mentioned a lot because i love her 😁 ( @jjuhyeons )
💌 ❤︎ notes ─── ৻ꪆ merry goatmas guys wassup 💞 here’s another short james drabble because i physically can’t stop writing for him now 😭
❤︎ wc ─── ৻ꪆ 3.2k
𝄞 𓏸 my cortispilledmasterlist »﹙合﹚
❝ tracklist ❞ ─── same key—riize ❦ same dream, same mind, same night—svt ❦ comedy—gen hoshino ❦ glue song—beabadoobee
award show dressing rooms always felt strangely artificial—too bright, too cold, too full of people moving with purpose.
every surface reflected something; mirrors lined entire walls, ring lights glowed from every corner, garment racks crowded with designer pieces stood shoved against one side of the room, and extension cords snaked across the floor like hazards waiting for some idiot boys from your group to trip over them. which, statistically speaking, was only a matter of time.
the room hummed with activity. stylists moved quickly between members, carrying steaming irons and garment bags and little trays full of jewellery. makeup artists hovered with brushes in hand, dabbing away shine before it could even appear. managers checked schedules every few minutes despite everyone already knowing exactly where they were supposed to be.
somewhere in the corner, a hair stylist was desperately trying to flatten a stubborn section of keonho’s hair.
“if you touch it again,” she warned, pointing a comb at him, “i’m actually going to cry.”
“that’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it?”
“ahn keonho.”
“okay, sorry.”
five seconds later, he touched it again. the stylist sighed so deeply, she sounded like she was ready to end it all.
across the room, martin was somehow the only person sitting still, which honestly, should’ve been concerning. a different stylist knelt in front of him, carefully fastening the cuffs of his jacket while another stood behind him making microscopic adjustments to the shoulders. unlike everybody else, he wasn’t fidgeting, wasn’t scrolling through his phone, wasn’t bothering anyone. he was simply sitting there with his hands folded in his lap, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“see?” he announced the moment he noticed you looking. “look at this. i’m being cooperative. i’m sitting still. i’m listening to instructions. if we’re being honest, i think i’m probably the easiest member here to work with.”
three stylists burst out laughing immediately.
“martin,” one of them said.
“what?”
“don’t lie in front of witnesses.”
“i’m not lying.”
“you got told off twice before noon.”
“those were isolated incidents.”
“you lost your in-ear monitor.”
“temporarily.”
“you put it in the fridge.”
his expression didn’t change. “allegedly.”
the room erupted. “allegedly?” juhoon repeated from across the room. “we all watched you do it.”
“did you?”
“yes.”
“every single one of us watched you walk into the kitchen, open the fridge, place the in-ear next to a bottle of orange juice and leave.”
martin considered that. “well.”
“well?” you echoed, amused.
“there’s no way of knowing what my intentions were.”
“your intentions?” seonghyeon laughed. “what possible intentions could you have had?”
“perhaps… i was conducting an experiment.”
“on what?”
“temperature.”
“temperature of what?”
“the in-ear.”
“why?”
martin spread his hands. “that’s exactly the kind of closed-minded attitude that prevents scientific progress.”
a nearby makeup artist had to actually turn away because she was laughing too hard.
“martin,” you called out flatly.
he looked over.
“yes?”
“i saw you put it in there.”
“ah.”
“yeah.”
“right.” for a brief moment, he looked genuinely thoughtful, and then he sighed. “that’s unfortunate.”
the room erupted again. even coco, one of the managers who usually maintained the expression of somebody permanently exhausted by idols, laughed under her breath.
martin, meanwhile, looked deeply offended that nobody was taking him seriously. “i don’t know why everyone finds this so funny.”
“because you’re ridiculous,” keonho replied.
“that’s a subjective term.”
“no,” juhoon said. “i think that’s probably one of the few objective truths left in the world.”
while martin continued defending himself, seonghyeon sat curled into an oversized armchair in the corner of the room, one leg thrown over the armrest and his phone balanced weirdly against a water bottle. facetime was open. his girlfriend sunny’s face occupied most of the screen.
“why does it look so stressful there?” she asked.
the camera shifted slightly as seonghyeon gestured vaguely around the room.
“because it is stressful.”
“you look stressed.”
“i’m not stressed.”
“you literally sighed halfway through that sentence.”
“that’s just how i breathe.”
sunny stared at him. “that’s concerning.”
“thank you, baby.”
“that wasn’t a compliment.”
“i choose to receive it as one.”
“that’s not how compliments work.”
“well, it should be.”
you laughed from your chair, causing sunny to immediately point towards the screen. “see? yn gets it.”
“absolutely not,” you said. “sunny, i need you to know that every time i see you willingly continue this relationship, i gain a new level of admiration for you as a person.”
“thank you.”
“don’t encourage this behaviour,” seonghyeon whined.
“no, seriously,” you continued. “you’ve been dating him for how long now?”
“long enough.”
“exactly. that’s resilience.”
“i deserve an award.”
“you deserve several.”
“and financial compensation.”
“also that.”
sunny nodded solemnly. “thank you for understanding me.”
“finally,” you sighed dramatically. “somebody in this group who speaks sense.”
“betrayal.” seonghyeon placed a hand over his chest. “public betrayal.”
“very public,” sunny agreed.
“in front of all these people.”
“i know.”
“there are witnesses.”
“there are.”
“i’ll never recover from this.”
sunny didn’t even look up from her screen. “you’ll survive.”
“maybe.”
“probably.”
“that’s not reassuring.”
around them, the room continued moving at full speed. a stylist hurried past carrying a tray lined with jewellery for the night’s styling concept— colourful stones set into silver, catching the light every time she moved.
at the exact same moment, juhoon abruptly stood up from his chair.
“wait, hold on, because nobody answered my question about—”
“juhoon.”
he froze instantly. the stylist stopped walking. both of them stared at each other.
“careful,” she said slowly.
juhoon’s eyes dropped to the tray, and then widened. “oh.”
“yes, oh.”
“sorry.”
“if you bump into me and break anything on this tray, you’re paying for it.”
“understood.”
“personally.”
“understood.”
“with your own money.”
juhoon sat back down immediately. “understood.”
the stylist continued walking. the entire room applauded sarcastically.
“look at him learning.”
“character development.”
“we love to see some growth.”
for a while, things settled into something… resembling organised chaos. the constant hum of conversation blended together with the sounds of preparation, while steam hissed softly from an iron somewhere behind you. hangers clicked together as outfits were moved from rack to rack, and brushes swept across skin, while hair dryers buzzed briefly before falling silent again. staff crossed paths so often they seemed to move around one another instinctively, weaving through cables, chairs and members without ever colliding.
every now and then somebody would laugh. somebody would complain. somebody would get told to stop moving.
it felt less like preparing for one of the biggest award shows of the year and more like a particularly chaotic family gathering with a much larger budget.
you barely noticed how much time had passed until one of the stylists finally approached with a smile.
“your dress is ready.”
immediately, several people sprang into action.
“careful with the hem.”
“watch your step.”
“lift the skirt slightly.”
“mind the jewellery.”
before you could even properly respond, two stylists had already guided you behind a changing partition.
the world on the other side became slightly quieter—not silent. you could still hear the boys talking, you could still hear martin attempting to explain why refrigerators were scientifically important. but it felt more distant; more contained.
the dress itself hung waiting beneath bright vanity lights.
and for a second, everybody stopped talking.
one stylist carefully helped you into it. another adjusted the fabric at your shoulders. someone crouched to straighten the hem. somebody else stepped back every few seconds just to check how it fell from a distance.
award show styling always felt strangely intimate. dozens of tiny details that nobody watching from home would ever consciously notice—a wrinkle smoothed flat before it could form, a loose thread removed, a clasp hidden beneath fabric, an earring turned by a few millimetres until it sat perfectly. tiny things, almost invisible things, and yet somehow they mattered.
when the final adjustments were finished, the dress settled properly into place.
deep purple. the colour was richer than you’d expected—dark enough that the shadows made it appear almost black, but every movement caught flashes of purple beneath the surface like polished stone submerged beneath water. the fabric shimmered softly whenever you turned, not enough to look flashy, but just enough to catch the eye.
one stylist took a step backwards first, then another. her expression immediately brightened. “oh, wow.”
another stylist looked up from where she was adjusting a bracelet, then smiled too. “you look absolutely stunning.”
“seriously,” somebody else agreed. “the colour is perfect on you.”
heat crept into your cheeks despite yourself. “thank you.”
“no, really,” one of them said. “just wait until the boys see this.”
you immediately groaned, which only made them laugh harder. “that’s exactly what i’m worried about.”
“smart.”
“very smart.”
because if there was one thing worse than five members of cortis together—it was the five members of cortis spotting an opportunity to be annoying. and unfortunately for you, this dress was absolutely an opportunity.
a few moments later, once most of the dress was sorted and the stylists left you alone, you reached back. the zip sat awkwardly halfway up your back.
you thought for a moment. “james?” you called out quietly.
even through the partition, you could practically hear the grin spreading across half the room.
“ah,” martin said immediately. “there it is. i was wondering when we’d get to this part of the evening.”
“every single formal event,” keonho agreed. “every single one. it doesn’t matter if we’re at an award show, a press conference, a year-end festival or the actual royal wedding. at some point, she’s going to go, ‘james?’ in that exact tone and suddenly he’s gone.”
“i think it’s a biological response at this point,” juhoon added thoughtfully, nodding seriously. “i don’t even think he decides to do it anymore, like, his body just moves automatically.”
“you lot realise i can hear you, right?” you called.
“oh, don’t bring sunny into this,” keonho groaned.
“no, because listen,” seonghyeon continued, already laughing. “i was on facetime with her earlier and she literally said, ‘if yn asks james for help with anything tonight, watch how fast he gets up.’ and i said she was exaggerating.”
“because she was,” james defended.
“you crossed the room in under two seconds.”
“i did not.”
“you absolutely did.”
“actually,” martin interrupted, looking up from where two stylists were adjusting the sleeves of his jacket, “i think he might’ve broken a personal record. one second he was sitting down, the next he was halfway to her partition. it was genuinely impressive.”
“can somebody send him in before i start throwing shoes at you all?” you asked.
“see?” keonho pointed dramatically. “listen to that. she says one thing and suddenly we’re all background characters.”
“we’ve always been background characters.”
“that’s true.”
“painfully true.”
by the time james finally stepped behind the partition, the dressing room had dissolved into laughter again.
the difference between inside and outside the partition felt oddly noticeable—not quieter exactly. the room beyond was still alive with movement and noise; stylists carrying armfuls of clothing, managers checking schedules again, makeup artists calling members back into chairs for last-minute touch-ups. through the gap in the partition, you could still see people weaving between garment racks and lighting equipment, hear somebody arguing about cufflinks and another stylist asking who had stolen her hairspray.
james’ attention landed on you almost immediately, and then stayed there.
your deep purple dress caught the light differently every time you moved. for a moment, he just stared.
you caught it instantly. “what?”
“nothing.”
“james.”
“nothing.”
“you’re literally staring at me.”
“i know.”
“that wasn’t very subtle.”
“i wasn’t trying to be subtle.”
you rolled your eyes despite feeling warmth creep up your neck. “that’s a dangerous thing to admit.”
“well, it’s difficult to focus on subtlety when you look like that.”
the answer came so naturally that it took both of you a second to process it. your expression softened, and so did james’.
outside the partition, somebody made a dramatic gagging noise.
“absolutely disgusting,” juhoon announced loudly.
“i haven’t even seen anything and i already know it’s disgusting,” keonho supported.
“do you think they’re being sweet in there?” martin asked.
“i think they’re being nauseating,” seonghyeon chimed in. “i also think sunny owes me money.”
“what?”
“she bet me this would happen.”
the room exploded again.
“oh my god, she actually made bets?”
“she’s been around us too long.”
“she’s becoming one of us.”
“that’s beautifully terrifying!”
“sunny, if you’re somehow listening to this conversation, i’m terribly disappointed in you,” keonho announced towards seonghyeon’s phone.
her faint voice crackled through the speaker. “hi.”
meanwhile, behind the partition, james had finally finished pulling the zip all the way up. he stood behind you as you both faced the mirror. slowly, he pressed a kiss to your shoulder.
“i love you,” he whispered into your ear.
“you’re getting lipstick on my skin,” you pointed out. “love you too.” you glanced down at his hands still holding you gently, then up at him. “you’re not letting go?”
“no,” he said simply. his hands lingered for a moment at your waist before he stepped back slightly, eyes catching on something else in the mirror.
you followed his gaze: his tie. your dress. they were both the exact same shade of purple. the exact same—not close enough to be a coincidence, not similar enough to be accidental.
you slowly looked up. james suddenly became very interested in a random spot on the wall.
“james.”
“yeah?”
“would you like to explain this?”
“explain what?”
“the tie.”
“what about it?”
“the fact that it’s literally the same colour as my dress.”
james considered this for a moment.
“well.”
“james.”
“in my defence, i thought it’d be subtle.”
you stared at him.
outside, martin suddenly yelled, “he admitted it?”
“wait, he actually admitted it?” keonho echoed.
“how did you hear that?” james shouted at them.
“because you said it at normal speaking volume!”
“we have ears!”
“unfortunately!”
they finally fell silent under the instructions of their personal stylists and your manager, coco, who could be really scary when she wanted to.
you looked at james properly this time, hands rising to fix his crooked tie and wrinkled collar. you gently fixed it, ignoring the weight of his gaze on you.
you finally smoothed down his collar, and stood up slightly on your toes to leave a kiss on his jaw.
his fingers tightened around your waist. “yn.”
“james,” you said in the same tone, moving to press another kiss to his neck, right above his collar.
you adjusted his sleeve next—some invisible flaw only you seemed able to see—and he watched you do it like it was more important than anything happening outside.
“you’re nervous,” you said after a beat.
“i’m not.”
“you are.”
“…okay, maybe a little.”
you nodded. “thought so.”
“how can you tell?”
you tilted your head slightly. “you keep checking if i’m still here.”
his expression softened, like he didn’t realise he was doing it until you said it out loud. “i don’t like when you disappear into rooms like this,” he admitted quietly.
your voice dropped too, without you thinking about it. “i’m literally right here.”
“i know.” his thumb brushed lightly against your wrist once, like he was grounding himself. “but it still feels like there’s too much happening around you.”
you didn’t answer immediately. instead, you stepped a little closer—enough that the fabric of your dress shifted against his suit jacket, enough that the noise of the dressing room felt even further away than before.
you reached up without thinking and fixed a stray strand of hair near his temple. his breath caught slightly at the motion, subtle enough that anyone else would’ve missed it.
“you’re doing that thing again,” you murmured.
“what thing?”
“looking at me like i’ve done something impressive.”
a faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. “you have.”
“existing in a dress is not impressive,” you said dryly.
“it is when it’s you.”
you stared at him for half a second longer than you meant to, and then, very quietly, you leaned forward and pressed your forehead briefly against his. it wasn’t dramatic or performative, just a small, grounding touch. like you were both reminding yourselves that this was real, and not something happening at a distance.
his hand moved to the back of your neck instinctively, holding you there for a moment longer than necessary.
“we should go back out soon,” you said, though you didn’t move.
“we will.”
“they’re going to be unbearable.”
“they already are.”
that made you smile properly. you pulled back slowly, but his hand stayed at your waist for an extra second before he finally let go.
and just before you stepped away fully, he leaned in slightly and said, low enough that only you could hear. “you look really good tonight. not just the dress.”
you rolled your eyes, but your voice was softer when you answered. “you’re biased.”
“completely.”
“dangerously so.”
he nodded once, like he accepted that as a fact he had no intention of correcting.
suddenly, the partition flew open before either of you could recover.
all four members stood there immediately, not even pretending to have been doing something else. just standing there, watching you both scramble away from each other and running hands down your clothes.
juhoon pretended not to notice your smudged lipstick stains on james’ neck, and those of james’ on your shoulder.
martin looked between your dress and james’ tie, then back again. then, he slowly nodded. “you know what? fair enough.”
everyone turned towards him.
“that’s all you’re saying?” keonho asked.
“yeah. honestly, fair enough. if i looked like that and my girl looked like that, i’d coordinate colours too,” he shrugged.
“that’s the most supportive thing you’ve ever said,” juhoon told him earnestly.
“i’m growing as a person.”
“no, you’re not.”
seonghyeon was already typing furiously on his phone. “sunny says, and i quote, ‘they look like the main characters and the rest of you look like their chud backup dancers.’”
“what?” martin screeched.
“that’s so rude,” keonho gasped dramatically.
“backup dancers?” juhoon repeated.
“after everything we’ve been through together?” martin continued his monologue that nobody gave a fuck about.
“sunny apologises for nothing,” seonghyeon reported.
“of course she doesn’t.”
by then, even the staff were laughing.
one stylist was leaning against a garment rack trying to compose herself while another one looked seconds away from giving up on maintaining professionalism altogether. the room was loud and crowded and completely chaotic.
and somehow, standing there amongst the noise, with james beside you adjusting the strap of your dress one last time and four members arguing dramatically about whether they had just been demoted to backup dancers by seonghyeon’s girlfriend, it felt strangely perfect—not polished, not elegant, and certainly not professional.
just six best friends getting ready for one of the biggest nights of the year exactly the way they always did—by making far too much noise, embarrassing each other relentlessly, and turning what should have been a glamorous awards-show preparation into complete and utter chaos.
