Jang Sua never considered herself a hardcore fan. Sure, SEVENTEEN’s music played in her apartment as she got ready in the morning, their melodies drifted through her earpods on slow afternoons, and sometimes—just sometimes—she found herself humming along without realizing it. But she wasn’t the type to attend fan meetings or memorize every little detail about them.
Yet, fate had a funny way of weaving their worlds together.
Three times a week, she pushed open the heavy glass doors of her gym, unaware that the routine she had built for herself would place her in the same orbit as Choi Seungcheol. It started subtly—brushing past him in the hallway, catching a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye. He arrived just as she was leaving, his presence unmistakable in the way the air seemed to shift around him. A black shirt stretched over firm muscles, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal veins along his forearms. Hair pulled back into a small ponytail, damp from the evening air.
The first time their eyes met, it was brief. A flicker of recognition on her end, a passing glance on his. Nothing more.
And yet, her heart betrayed her.
She told herself it was ridiculous. A fleeting crush, a momentary thrill. Still, she found herself looking forward to their near-silent encounters—the small thrill of seeing him in real life, so different from the polished idol on her screen. But Seungcheol, for all his commanding presence, remained distant, unreadable. He never lingered, never acknowledged her beyond the occasional glance. His cold manners made it clear—he wasn’t one to be easily swayed.
So she let it go.
—
The days blurred together, each one marked by the promise of a fleeting glimpse. He'd catch sight of her as he entered the gym, her lithe form moving with grace through the exercises. Sometimes their eyes would meet, a spark of something unspoken passing between them before she looked away, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.
He couldn't deny the effect she had on him, this mysterious woman who seemed to occupy his thoughts more and more. Her beauty was understated, her confidence quiet yet undeniable. In a world where everything felt manufactured, she stood out as genuine.
One evening, as they passed each other in the hallway once again, he found himself speaking before he could stop himself. "Wait." The word hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken meaning.
She turned back, surprise evident in her wide eyes. Her breath hitched. She hadn’t expected him to speak—hadn’t allowed herself to imagine this moment beyond stolen glances and silent longing.
Seungcheol stood there, unreadable yet intense, his presence commanding even in the quiet of the dimly lit hallway. For a second, neither of them moved.
Then, hesitantly, she asked, “Me?”
Her pulse quickened as he took a slow step closer, the air between them charged with something neither of them had put into words. She had spent weeks convincing herself he was untouchable, out of reach. But now, standing here, caught in the weight of his gaze, she wasn’t so sure anymore.
He nodded, a slight movement of his chin, his dark eyes holding hers captive. "Yes, you."
His voice was low, almost rough, as if the words were being dragged out of him against his will. He took another step closer, closing the distance between them until she could feel the heat radiating off his body, could see the individual lashes framing his intense gaze.
"I've noticed you here. Every week, like clockwork." A ghost of a smile touched his lips, gone as quickly as it appeared. "I thought... maybe we could grab dinner sometime. If you want to."
It sounded casual, but there was an undercurrent of tension in his posture, a tightness around his eyes that suggested this wasn't as easy for him as he was trying to make it seem.
Sua’s lips parted, but no words came.
For weeks, she had told herself that he didn’t see her—that to him, she was just another passerby in the blur of his routine. And yet, here he was, standing so close that the scent of his cologne curled around her senses, his voice still lingering in the charged space between them.
Dinner. With him.
The thought sent a shiver down her spine, equal parts excitement and hesitation. She wasn’t dumb—she knew who he was, knew what being in his world entailed. There were lines drawn between them, invisible yet unyielding.
Still, standing here beneath the weight of his gaze, feeling the unspoken pull between them, she found herself answering before she could second-guess it.
"I'm Sua," she breathed, introduced herself briefly, "and why me?"
Seungcheol exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "I don’t know." His voice dipped lower, almost as if confessing to himself. "But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you."
His hand reached out, fingers grazing her arm in the lightest of touches. The contact sent electricity skittering across her skin, raising goosebumps in its wake.
"There's something about you," he murmured, his eyes searching hers intently. "Something different. Real."
He stepped even closer, until barely an inch separated them. The heat of his body enveloped her, his presence overwhelming in the best possible way. When he spoke again, his voice was low and intimate, meant only for her ears.
"But there's something you should know first. Being with me... it's not simple. There are complications. Expectations." His jaw clenched, a flicker of something dark passing through his expression before it smoothed away. "If we do this, there would need to be some... precautions taken. To protect us both."
Sua's breath caught, the weight of his words settling over her like a veil she wasn’t sure she wanted to lift.
Precautions. Expectations. Complications.
She wasn’t naive to what he meant. He wasn’t just any man asking her to dinner—he was Choi Seungcheol, the leader of a group loved by millions, a name too big to exist in quiet corners. A relationship with him wouldn’t be simple, wouldn’t be just theirs.
Still, the way he looked at her—like she was something rare, something real—made her pulse stutter.
Her throat suddenly dry. The weight of his words settled between them, heavy with meaning. Precautions. She knew what that meant before he even had to say it.
An NDA.
She swallowed, forcing herself to keep her voice steady. “And what exactly do these precautions include?”
His jaw tightened, hesitation flickering in his eyes. Then, finally, he exhaled.
“A nondisclosure agreement.”
Silence stretched between them, the moment shifting from charged to fragile. The weight of his world pressed in, threatening to smother whatever this was before it even began.
She should walk away. She should tell him this was ridiculous. But then he spoke again, softer this time—uncertain in a way she had never imagined he could be.
“I know it sounds… transactional. But it’s not. I just—” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to risk losing you before I even get the chance to know you.”
And just like that, impossibly, the decision became that much harder.
Of course. He wasn’t just Choi Seungcheol—the man standing before her, the one whose voice sent warmth curling through her chest. He was S.Coups, leader of one of the biggest groups in the world. His life wasn’t his alone to give.
She should’ve expected this. Should’ve been prepared for the reality that came with being noticed by someone like him. And yet, a part of her had allowed herself to believe, just for a moment, that this was simple. That it was just him wanting her.
Her gaze flickered to his, searching for something—hesitation, regret, a sign that maybe this was difficult for him too. And she found it, just beneath the surface of his carefully composed expression.
“So,” she finally said, forcing out a breathless laugh, “you’re saying I have to sign something before I can even have dinner with you?”
A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Something like that.”
Sua looked away for a second, letting the thought settle. It should’ve been an easy answer. No normal person would willingly step into something like this—something bound by conditions, where love had rules and secrets.
But then she looked at him again, at the way his fingers still hovered near her skin, at the quiet tension in his posture, as if he was bracing for her rejection.
And suddenly, she wasn’t so sure.
"What's in for me?"
His eyebrows rose slightly at her question, a flicker of intrigue crossing his features. He studied her for a long moment, as if trying to gauge her seriousness.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured. "What's in it for you? Besides the obvious, you mean?"
He stepped closer, the heat of his body palpable in the scant space between them. One hand came up, fingers brushing lightly along her arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
"You'd get to see behind the curtain, to know the man behind the image." His thumb traced idle patterns on her skin. "Exclusivity. My attention, focused solely on you."
His other hand came up to cup her cheek, tilting her face towards his. His eyes searched hers, dark and intense. "I'm not offering a fairy tale, Sua."
Sua’s breath hitched, her heart pounding against her ribs. His touch was light, almost hesitant, yet it sent a current through her veins, grounding her in the weight of this moment.
Not a fairy tale.
Of course not. This was Choi Seungcheol, a man who lived under the glare of flashing lights, whose every step was scrutinized, whose life was dictated by rules she could barely begin to understand. He wasn’t promising romance in its purest form—no effortless love, no stolen kisses under streetlights without consequence.
What he was offering was something raw, something real.
Her eyes flickered to his lips for just a second before she forced herself to meet his gaze again. “And what happens when the curtain falls?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Seungcheol’s thumb stilled against her cheek, his expression unreadable. “That depends.”
“On what?”
His jaw tensed, as if choosing his words carefully. “On whether you’re still here when it does.”
There it was—the unspoken truth beneath his offer. This wasn’t forever. Maybe it was never meant to be.
Sua exhaled slowly, her pulse thrumming with uncertainty, with something dangerously close to temptation. She should say no. She should walk away before she got tangled in something far bigger than herself.
But with his hands on her, his voice wrapping around her like a secret only they could share… she wasn’t sure if she wanted to.
He leaned in closer, his forehead nearly touching hers, his breath mingling with her own. "I know it's a lot to take in," he murmured, his voice low and intimate. "I know I'm asking you to step into a world that isn't always kind to those who aren't used to it."
His hand slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, fingers tangling gently in her hair. "But I also know that there's something here, something between us that I can't ignore." His eyes searched hers, dark and intense. "Tell me you don't feel it too, and I'll walk away right now. No hard feelings, no expectations."
He paused, giving her a chance to respond, to push him away or pull him closer. The air between them crackled with tension, with the unspoken possibilities hanging in the balance.
Sua let out a slow breath, her lashes fluttering as she absorbed the weight of his words. The way he held her—gentle yet firm, like he wasn’t just touching her skin but something deeper, something unspoken—made it dangerously easy to forget the complications of this.
She tilted her head slightly, just enough to look at him properly, her lips curling into the faintest hint of a smirk. "One dinner," she murmured, voice steady despite the rapid beat of her heart. "And I’ll decide whether it’s worthy or not."
A beat of silence. Then, a slow, amused exhale from him, the corner of his mouth twitching like she’d just given him a challenge he was all too eager to accept.
"Fair enough," Seungcheol murmured, his thumb tracing one last, lingering stroke against her skin before he finally—reluctantly—let go.
But even as he stepped back, his eyes never left hers. And Sua knew, without a doubt, that this was only the beginning.
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Hi! This is my very first writing, please do tell me your thoughts! Will be updating soon 🫶🏻
The cup slipped from her fingers before she even realized it.
Hot tea spilled down the counter, soaking into the pages of the open notebook she’d left by the sink. The ceramic shattered on the floor a second later, the sound sharp and final.
But Sua didn’t flinch.
She stood there, her phone still clutched in her hand, screen dark now. Her fingers were trembling. Not violently. Not the kind of tremble that made you gasp or stagger. No, this was quieter—subtle and horrifying. The kind of shaking that crept into your bones when your body knew something your mind wasn’t ready to admit yet.
Pledis had called her.
They had spoken gently. Calmly. With the kind of rehearsed sympathy that was more insulting than comforting.
She couldn’t breathe.
Her knees gave out before the tears did. She slid to the kitchen floor, the broken cup beside her, the spilled tea now lukewarm beneath her palms. Her mouth opened—but no sound came out. Only air, shaky and thin. Her chest rose and fell, uneven, like her lungs had forgotten how to do their job.
He had been fighting with them. With his members. His brothers.
Because of her.
She just didn’t know it.
Not until now.
Not until Pledis handed her the truth like a loaded gun and asked her to pull the trigger herself.
He had been fighting for her.
Fighting because of her.
And the worst part?
She knew him.
Even though they’d only been together for just under a year, she knew him. Knew how easily he’d burn down the whole damn world if it meant protecting someone he loved. How recklessly he’d throw himself into the fire if he thought she was hurting. How much he hated seeing her in pain.
He would leave it all behind. In a heartbeat. The group, the career, the stage he’d built piece by piece since he was a kid.
He would walk away for her.
And she couldn't let that happen.
Her fingers curled tighter around her phone. Her breath hitched again, and this time the tears came—slow and stinging. No sobs yet. Just the kind of crying that felt like drowning. The kind where your body didn’t move, didn’t shake—just leaked. Quiet. Defeated.
It was too much.
Too loud in her chest.
Too final.
She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth as a strangled sound escaped her throat. A sob. Guttural. Painful. It was like her lungs had ripped themselves apart from the inside.
She wasn’t just heartbroken.
She was destroyed.
Because loving Seungcheol had never been the problem.
It was losing him—choosing to lose him—that would kill her.
And now she had to do exactly that.
—
Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
The tea was still soaking into the notebook by the kitchen sink. Shards of the broken cup were scattered around her knees, but she couldn’t move. Not yet. The tears hadn’t stopped, not since the phone call. Her lungs hurt. Her throat ached. She was still gasping like she’d just run a marathon in a dream she couldn’t wake up from.
She needed someone.
Just one person.
With trembling fingers, she unlocked her phone, her vision still blurry with tears. She scrolled through her contacts until she found his name—Minghao—and pressed “Call.”
It rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then—
“Sua?”
Her breath caught. Just hearing his voice made the wall she’d been building inside her crack wide open. Her voice came out in a jagged whisper, barely human.
“Ha-Hao…”
A pause. “What happened?”
“I—” Her voice cracked completely, collapsing into sobs. “They called. Minghao, they called me—Pledis—they said I have to stay away from him. They said he’s fighting with the members—he’s losing everything—and it’s because of me. They said…”
She pressed her palm against her mouth, trying to stifle the sound, but it was too much. Her whole body was shaking now.
From the other side, Minghao was moving. She could hear it—the sharp shuffle of feet, the click of a door, his breath speeding up.
“Where are you right now?”
“At home—” she gasped. “I didn’t know who else to call—I didn’t—I can’t let him find out, Hao. If he finds out, he’ll leave everything behind for me. You know he will.”
She was choking on every word, guilt curling like poison in her chest.
And Minghao knew. Of course he knew. There was a pause—a beat too long—but then his voice came back, calm, gentle, grounding.
“I know,” he said. “I know, Sua. I’m at rehearsal, but I’ll come to you as soon as we’re done, okay? Just… breathe. You’re going to be okay. We’ll figure it out.”
“No,” she whispered, wiping at her face with the back of her trembling hand. “Don’t tell him. Please. I can’t be the reason he throws everything away. I won’t survive it, Hao. I won’t.”
“I won’t say anything,” he promised. “I swear. Just hold on for me, okay?”
“I’m trying,” she whispered. “I’m trying.”
But even as she said it, she already knew the truth.
She wouldn’t be there when he arrived.
She hung up first. Not because she wanted to. Because if she stayed on that call for one more second, she would’ve begged him to come now, begged him to take her somewhere far away, and she didn’t have the strength for that kind of desperation anymore.
The screen dimmed.
And in the hollow silence that followed, another buzz lit up her phone.
Just arrived at the venue. Members are all here.
She stared at the message like it was a knife.
Like it was a goodbye she hadn’t written yet.
Tears rolled silently down her cheeks.
Because he didn’t know.
Because he was still trusting her with his heart, not knowing she was about to break it.
She typed, barely seeing the letters.
Good luck. I’m rooting for you.
She hit send.
And then she let herself scream—into the pillow, into the silence, into the kind of heartbreak that didn’t sound poetic or pretty.
Because it didn’t feel like anything but ruin.
—
It took her a long time to move again.
Time blurred after that last message. Seconds stretched into minutes, minutes dragged into hours, and she just sat there on the kitchen floor—knees pulled to her chest, eyes blank, throat raw. The tea had long dried into a sticky stain across her tiles, seeping into the edges of her notebook, her palms red from gripping them too tight against her knees.
Her body ached, not from injury but from holding it all in. Her ribs felt bruised from crying. Her lungs were sore from silence.
She had nothing left in her, but the world outside kept spinning.
And Seungcheol was still out there—laughing, rehearsing, maybe smiling at something someone said—completely unaware that the ground beneath him was already cracking.
And she was the one holding the match.
The call echoed in her skull like a bell: He recently had a conflict with several members and staff over this matter.
Her breath caught again.
Fighting with them. His brothers. The people who'd held him up, been by his side since he was a teenager, who knew every inch of who he was even before she did. She could see it—his voice raised, jaw tight, the vein in his neck throbbing the way it always did when he was angry. She could hear him defending her again and again until his throat went raw.
And he’d never tell her.
Because he was protecting her, even when it destroyed him.
She knew him too well.
And because she knew him, she had to go.
There was no “talking this through.” No middle ground. If he found out what they said—if he found out they threatened to choose for him—he wouldn’t hesitate. He’d leave the company, the group, the life he built with his own hands. For her.
And that would kill him.
So this would have to kill her instead.
Her limbs moved before her brain did. A kind of mechanical instinct took over, like her soul had already decided and was dragging the rest of her body along for the ride. She got up, slow and stiff, wiping her face with the hem of her shirt. Her throat burned. Her eyes stung. But she didn’t let herself cry again. Not yet.
She walked to the living room, took a shaky breath, and picked up her phone.
Her thumb hovered over the screen for a long moment before she scrolled through her contacts and tapped on a name she never thought she’d call again—not for this.
“Hello?” her boss answered on the second ring, voice clipped and surprised.
Sua swallowed the knot in her throat.
“I’ll take the job,” she said, quiet but steady. “The one you offered me in Paris. If it’s still open.”
A pause. “Wait—what?”
“I’ll take it,” she repeated. “You said the position was available. That you’d help me settle in if I ever wanted a fresh start.”
Another pause—longer, heavier. Then a breath on the other line.
“It’s still open,” her boss said carefully. “You’re sure?”
No.
Not at all.
Not in the ways that mattered.
But she had to be. For him.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Her boss exhaled. “Okay. I’ll arrange everything. When are you thinking of leaving?”
“Tomorrow. I'll hand over everything to Ari and handle the rest when I land there.”
A pause so sharp she could feel the disbelief through the phone.
“Jesus, Sua.”
“I know,” she said softly, rubbing her temple with the heel of her palm. “Just… I can’t be here anymore. I’ll pack tonight. I don’t want anyone else to know until I’m gone.”
There was understanding in the silence that followed. The kind that only came from watching someone hold themselves together with shaking hands.
“I’ll make some calls,” her boss said finally. “Text me your passport info. I’ll have Ari help you at the airport. You’ll be okay.”
“I don’t think I will,” Sua replied.
But she hung up anyway.
Her hands dropped to her sides. For a second, she just stood there in the middle of her apartment, staring at nothing, listening to the buzz of the fridge and the faint hum of the outside world that didn’t know she was crumbling.
And then she moved.
Boxes.
Suitcases.
Trash bags.
Old gift boxes from Seungcheol she couldn’t bear to look at but still folded gently, like they meant something, before laying it on a box.
She packed her books first—quietly, carefully—like she was tucking away pieces of herself. Her memories. Her safety. One by one, she placed them into the cardboard box she used for winter clothes.
Then came the closet. Her sweaters, her dresses, the hoodie she always wore when she was anxious—his hoodie.
She stared at it for too long.
And then she packed it anyway.
It was almost 8 p.m. by the time the last suitcase was zipped. She hadn’t eaten. Barely drank. Her phone was buzzing somewhere in the mess, but she ignored it. She couldn’t look at his name again. Not until she was gone.
But then—
A knock.
Sharp. Sudden. Two beats against the door that made her flinch.
She froze.
The sound was so real it knocked the air out of her.
Her gaze darted to her phone.
Six missed calls.
Four from Minghao.
Two from Seungcheol.
Her stomach twisted.
And then—another knock.
She moved. Legs heavy, bare feet dragging across the wood floors. She opened the door slowly, barely daring to breathe.
It was Minghao.
His hood was up, cap pulled low, mask covering half his face—but she knew those eyes. She’d know them anywhere.
He stepped inside.
And the first thing he did was stare at the boxes.
Then the suitcases.
Then her.
And something inside him shattered.
—
Minghao didn’t speak for a while.
He stood at the doorway, frozen like someone had knocked the air out of his lungs, eyes slowly scanning the room as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The boxes. The open suitcase. The folded clothes. The taped-up memories. Her face.
And then his voice cracked, low and quiet.
“...You’re really doing this.”
Sua looked down at her feet. She couldn’t meet his eyes. Not now. Not when they still held pieces of her past, and maybe worse—reminders of the part of her that almost stayed.
“I have to.”
“No, you don’t.”
She didn’t reply. Her fingers curled around the edge of the suitcase, knuckles white. She could still feel the burn behind her eyes, but the tears had dried up hours ago. Now there was just this hollow ache, the kind that sat under your skin like a bruise you couldn’t stop pressing.
Minghao stepped deeper into the room. His steps were slow, tentative—like he was afraid one wrong move would make her disappear completely.
“Does he know?” he asked softly.
Sua shook her head.
His jaw clenched. “And you’re not going to tell him?”
“I can’t.” Her voice cracked this time, barely more than a whisper. “If he knows, he’ll come after me. You know he will.”
“I do,” Minghao said. “Because I would.”
She looked up.
And there it was—that ache again. That quiet, unbearable ache between two people, one who loved the other in silence. His eyes held her like they always had: gently, fully, with everything he never said out loud.
“Minghao—” she started, but her voice broke.
He stepped closer.
“I know I’m not the one you’re in love with,” he said, his voice shaking just slightly. “I know that. But I still can’t let you go like this.”
“It’s not fair,” she whispered. “You shouldn’t have to see me like this.”
“I don’t care,” he said, too fast. Too desperate. “I’d rather see you broken than disappear without a word.”
Sua’s breath caught.
And that’s when he really saw her.
The way her shoulders shook. The puffiness under her eyes. The trembling in her hands even as she tried to hide them. She looked like someone who had used up every last ounce of strength just to survive the day.
And for the first time since they met, Minghao dropped everything.
His mask. His calm. His logic.
He walked to her, fast and silent, and pulled her into the tightest hug he’d ever given anyone. No words. No explanation.
Just him, holding her like he was trying to keep her from falling apart.
Sua melted into him like she’d been waiting for it—like her body had been craving this very thing she didn’t even know she needed. The comfort. The safety. The familiarity.
This was the hug that used to save her before Seungcheol.
And now it only hurt more.
Her knees gave in first. Then the sobs followed—slow at first, then harder, until they ripped out of her like a dam had finally broken. She buried her face in his chest, shaking, her fists gripping the fabric of his hoodie like she could anchor herself to it.
And Minghao just held on tighter.
He said nothing.
Because what could he say?
He didn’t want to be the one she ran to, not like this. Not as a last stop before goodbye. Not when he still loved her in a way that was so painfully, helplessly quiet.
But he would be there anyway.
Always.
Eventually, she pulled back, eyes red and swollen, hair clinging to her cheeks. Her hands were still trembling when she walked back to the half-packed suitcase and zipped it shut.
“I have to finish,” she murmured.
Minghao didn’t move. He watched her quietly, jaw clenched, breathing uneven.
“Do you need help?” he asked.
She hesitated. Then nodded.
And just like that, they went back to the silence.
She packed.
He taped.
They folded clothes they once laughed in. Sorted through books he once borrowed. Moved furniture that had held so many memories they didn’t dare speak of.
And when everything was almost done, and the room started looking less like a home and more like a stranger’s apartment, Minghao finally spoke again.
“I’ll help you get a moving company for this,” he said. His voice was lower now. Defeated.
Sua paused, her back to him.
“Okay,” she whispered.
He sat on the edge of her bed, watching her fold the last sweater.
“Stay,” he said suddenly, almost too soft to hear. “Please.”
Her hands froze.
He didn’t look at her this time. His eyes were on the window. The way the city lights spilled across her walls. The way everything felt like it was slipping through his fingers.
“You don’t have to go. Not like this. I’ll help you hide if I have to. I’ll talk to them. We’ll figure something out.”
“You know I won’t,” she said, barely audible.
“I know,” he said, just as softly.
Silence.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly between them. Like he was trying to hold himself together.
“I just hate that I’m not enough to make you stay.”
She turned to him, eyes wide, heart breaking all over again.
“Minghao…”
“It’s okay,” he said quickly, standing up before she could say anything more. “Don’t say anything.”
She didn’t.
He crossed the room and opened his arms again—and this time, when he pulled her in, she collapsed before he could even close them around her.
And he held her like he always had.
With everything.
Even if he had to let her go.
—
The apartment is silent now, save for the hum of the fridge and the occasional shuffle of paper. Neither of them has spoken much since the move was discussed, but the words that linger in the air feel heavier than anything that’s been said. Minghao hasn’t left, not yet. He’s still here—sitting on the couch, arms crossed, eyes lost in thought as he stares at nothing in particular.
Sua is sitting beside him, close enough that their shoulders brush, but it feels like there’s an ocean between them. She’s exhausted, drained, her mind still tangled in the chaos of the past few hours. Her heart is shattered, and she doesn’t know how to put it back together. How can you fix something when the pieces are scattered everywhere, and you’re too afraid to pick them up?
The clock on the wall ticks on, reminding them both of the time slipping away. It’s nearly 3 AM now, and neither of them has slept. Not that they could. Their bodies are wrecked, but their minds are far worse off.
Minghao glances at her, his gaze soft but filled with worry. He hasn’t asked her if she’s okay. Because he knows the answer. How could she be? How could either of them be?
She hasn’t cried much since the last time. Not out loud, anyway. But he can see the way her shoulders tremble as she folds a shirt in her lap, as if the simple task is the only thing anchoring her to the present. His heart breaks just a little more every time she avoids his gaze, every time she looks away as if she’s trying to disappear.
“I can’t do this, Minghao,” she says quietly, her voice barely audible over the quiet of the room. She’s staring down at the shirt in her hands like it’s the only thing in the world that matters right now. The words slip out of her lips with a finality she can’t take back.
Minghao opens his mouth, then closes it again. There’s nothing to say, really. He’s known all along, hasn’t he? He’s known from the moment she made the decision. He knew the weight of it long before she ever said the words aloud.
“You don’t have to go,” he says softly, but there’s no real hope in his words. He’s just saying them because he doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know how to stop this. He doesn’t know how to stop her from leaving.
Sua looks at him then—finally looks at him, her gaze haunted, broken, like the pieces of herself are scattered all over the room. “I do, though. I have to.”
She exhales shakily, and Minghao watches her chest rise and fall, every breath an effort. His heart breaks again, not just for her but for himself. He can’t bear seeing her like this, yet he knows he can’t make her stay.
“I can’t keep doing this, Minghao,” she adds, her voice thick with emotion, though she refuses to let the tears fall. She’s past the point of crying, it seems. “I can’t keep being the reason everything falls apart.”
Her words sting, even though he’s heard them before. He knows what she’s saying, but it doesn’t make it any less painful. He wants to tell her that it’s not her fault—that none of this is her fault. But the words feel empty. Because he knows it won’t make a difference. She has already made her decision.
Minghao shifts on the couch, the ache in his chest almost unbearable now. His hand twitches, wanting to reach out, to take hers, to pull her close and tell her it will be okay. But he doesn’t. Because he knows it won’t be okay. Not this time.
“I just wish…” Minghao starts, but he can’t finish. The words choke in his throat. He doesn’t even know what he wants to say. Maybe he wishes things were different. Maybe he wishes she could stay, that she didn’t feel like she had to leave. Maybe he just wishes he didn’t feel so powerless.
Sua shifts beside him, and for a moment, she’s so still that Minghao wonders if she’s already gone—if she’s left him without a word, without a look back. But then she turns to him, her eyes wide, vulnerable, as though she’s afraid to show him what’s been happening inside her all along.
“I'll write a letter,” she says, the words barely escaping her lips. “For Seungcheol.”
Minghao’s heart twists at the mention of Seungcheol’s name. He can’t imagine what the letter says, but he doesn’t want to ask. He knows it’s not his place.
Without another word, Sua stands up, and Minghao watches her go to the desk in the corner of the room. She grabs a pen and a piece of paper, the familiar rustling sound of the paper echoing in the otherwise quiet space. She places the paper down with careful precision, her hand hovering over it for a long moment.
Then, she begins to write.
Her handwriting is elegant, careful, the pen gliding across the paper like it’s the only thing she can control right now. As she writes, her brow furrows, and the tears that she’s been holding back for so long finally begin to spill. But she doesn’t stop writing.
She writes, pouring everything she feels into the letter, every bit of sorrow, every apology, every fear she’s tried so hard to bury. She writes the words she can’t say out loud, the things she can never tell Seungcheol in person. The letter becomes a confession, an apology, and a goodbye—all wrapped into one fragile piece of paper.
When she finishes, her hand lingers on the paper for a moment, the ink still fresh. She doesn’t read it again. There’s no need. She already knows what it says. But she can’t shake the feeling that she’s written a final chapter to a story she never wanted to end.
She folds the letter carefully, the crease sharp and deliberate. Then, she hands it to Minghao, her fingers trembling as she presses the paper into his hands.
“Can you give this to him?” she asks quietly, her voice breaking as she fights to hold back the tears that threaten to spill. “When you see him. Can you tell him I’m sorry?”
Minghao looks down at the folded letter in his hands, the weight of it almost too much to bear. His eyes blur, but he doesn’t let the tears fall. Not yet. Not until he’s alone.
“I’ll give it to him,” he says finally, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll make sure he gets it.”
Sua nods, looking down at her hands, almost as if she’s ashamed. “Thank you, Minghao. You’ve always been there for me. You’ve been so good to me.”
Minghao doesn’t know how to respond to that. He wants to tell her that he’s not just a friend, that he’s always wanted more, but now isn’t the time. He can’t make this about him. Not when she’s already hurting so much.
Instead, he just gives her a sad smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes, and leans back against the couch.
—
The sun comes up too quickly, like a cruel reminder of how time never waits for anyone—especially not for people who are already broken. The air feels different today, colder, heavier, as though the world itself is aware of the gravity of the moment, pressing down on her with a weight too great to bear.
Sua barely notices the bags she’s packed the night before. Her clothes, her books, the small, intimate pieces of her life that once felt so familiar, now seem like foreign objects. It’s like she’s packing up a version of herself that she’ll never get back, closing the door on a chapter she didn’t want to end. The apartment that once held her dreams, her laughter, her pain, is now almost completely bare—echoing with silence, filled only with the remnants of memories.
She doesn’t even look at Minghao when he enters the room, his face a mask of quiet sorrow. She already knows what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. The soft pleading in his eyes is enough to break her all over again, but she can’t let herself go there—not now. Not when the decision has already been made.
She’s leaving. She has to.
Her phone buzzes with a new message. Sua doesn’t look at it at first. She knows who it’s from. Seungcheol. The texts have come in relentlessly all morning, each one more desperate than the last. She hasn’t opened any of them. She can’t. She knows that if she reads one, she won’t be able to leave. She won’t be able to do this to him.
But then, just as she’s about to zip her suitcase shut, her phone buzzes again, louder this time, and she sees the name on the screen. Seungcheol.
She ignores it.
“Are you sure about this?” Minghao’s voice is low, almost a whisper, like he’s afraid the answer will shatter whatever’s left of them. He stands by the doorway, his body tense, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie. His posture is stiff, like he’s bracing himself for the storm that he knows is coming.
She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she picks up the small picture frame on the desk, the one with a photo of her and Seungcheol laughing at some stupid inside joke, and her heart tightens in her chest. The smile on her face seems so foreign now, so distant. A time when everything was easier, before the weight of their love and their pain had taken over.
“I don’t have a choice,” she finally says, her voice breaking under the strain of the words. “I can’t let him destroy everything for me. For us. For Seventeen. I can’t let him do that.”
Minghao steps closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “And what about you, Sua?” His voice cracks, the vulnerability in it cutting through the coldness in the room. “What about your happiness? Don’t you deserve to fight for what you want too?”
Her throat tightens, and she blinks back the tears that threaten to spill. She hates herself for feeling this way. She wants to fight. She wants to stay. But she knows that it’s not just about her anymore. It’s about Seungcheol, about the people he loves, about the career that’s been built with blood, sweat, and tears. If she stays, it’ll tear everything apart, and she can’t live with that.
“I can’t be the reason he loses everything,” she says softly, almost to herself. “He deserves so much more than me. He deserves to be happy with his members, with his brothers. He doesn’t deserve to fight for me. Not when I’m just…” She chokes on the words, unable to finish the sentence.
Minghao’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t say anything, but the look on his face is enough to tell her that he doesn’t agree with her, that he wants her to stay, to fight for herself—for them.
But Sua just shakes her head, the tears finally spilling over, running down her cheeks in a quiet stream. She wipes them away quickly, angry at herself for still caring. Angry at herself for feeling so weak when she should be stronger.
“I’ll never forgive myself if I destroy everything for him. If I’m the reason he loses his family, his career…” Her voice falters. “He’ll hate me.”
Minghao reaches out, his hand hovering in the air as if he wants to comfort her but doesn’t know how. She doesn’t look at him, doesn’t let him see the rawness of the pain that’s splitting her apart. Instead, she takes a deep breath and turns back to her suitcase, zipping it up with finality.
She’s done.
“Help me with the rest?” she asks, her voice small, almost too small for the weight of what she’s about to do.
Minghao doesn’t hesitate. He walks over and starts picking up the last few things from the floor, folding them gently before placing them in her suitcase. He doesn’t say a word as he works, but the silence between them is heavy, thick with things neither of them can say. His hands tremble slightly, his eyes flicking to her every few seconds, but he says nothing. He’s already said too much, already begged her too much, and it’s clear that none of it matters.
By the time the last of her things are packed, the apartment feels emptier than it ever did before. It feels like the last vestiges of what could have been are being erased with every movement.
It’s almost time to leave.
Minghao glances at the door, knowing that the moment she walks out of it, things will never be the same. He doesn’t want her to leave, not like this, not with so much unsaid between them, but he knows he doesn’t have the right to stop her.
He knows that no matter what he says, Sua will leave.
As she picks up her suitcase, she hesitates by the door for just a moment, a single glance back at the apartment she’s leaving behind. Her eyes flicker over the space—over everything that once felt like home—and for a brief second, she wonders if she’s making the biggest mistake of her life.
But then, she shakes her head.
No, she tells herself. This is what has to be done. For Seungcheol. For everyone.
—
The airport air always felt cold, no matter what season it is.
Sua wrapped her coat tighter around herself, but no amount of fabric could protect her from the way her chest was collapsing inward. Everything felt sharp. The wheels of her suitcase rolled against the polished tile with a rhythm that sounded too loud in the silence between them—her and Minghao. He walked beside her without a word, face masked, eyes hidden, his hands tucked into his jacket like he didn’t trust them not to reach for her again.
She had barely slept the night before, her limbs trembling as she packed what little life she had left behind. It didn’t feel real. It still didn’t. But there was no turning back.
At the gate, two figures waited.
Ari, cheeks red and puffy, barely held it together the moment she saw Sua. She dropped everything and ran into her arms. “You’re really doing this?” she whispered, breath shaking. “You’re really leaving?”
Sua didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
She only nodded, her lips trembling too hard to form words, and hugged Ari even tighter. She felt her friend’s tears soaking into her shoulder. Then her boss stepped forward, quieter but not any less emotional. She touched Sua’s arm gently.
“You did good,” her boss said. “And you’ll do even better there. I’ll take care of things here. I promised, didn’t I?”
Sua nodded again. Her throat burned from holding back the sob that had been lodged there since dawn. “Thank you,” she rasped. “I’m sorry for doing this so fast—”
“Don’t apologize,” the woman said gently. “This is what I offered, remember? You just finally had the courage to take it.”
The moment felt suspended in air. Too much was left unsaid, and yet everything felt understood.
Sua turned around to face Minghao.
He hadn't moved from his spot since they arrived. He was watching her with eyes full of things he would never say. His hands were clenched in his pockets. His posture stiff. He didn’t cry in front of others. He never did.
But when she reached for him, when she pulled him into a hug—his arms folded around her so tightly, so painfully—it nearly broke him.
He squeezed his eyes shut behind the shades. His shoulders trembled.
“I hate this,” he whispered into her ear. “I hate this so much.”
“I know,” Sua murmured. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t say sorry.” His voice cracked. “You’re doing what you have to do, right? You’ve always done that. Even when it hurts you the most.”
She smiled sadly, her fingers clutching the back of his jacket. He still smelled like mint and oakwood. Safe. Familiar. Home—at least the version of it that used to catch her quietly every time she fell.
But he was never the one.
And he knew that.
Still, he stayed until the very end.
Still, he let her go.
When the final call echoed through the speakers, she stepped back slowly. Ari was crying again. Her boss had turned away to wipe her eyes. And Minghao stood still, like a statue carved out of grief, his lips pressed in a tight line, jaw clenched so hard she thought it might crack.
“Tell him…” Sua said quietly, eyes searching his for the last time. “Tell him I’m sorry.”
Minghao nodded once. Not because he agreed. But because he would.
She gave one last glance at the life she was leaving behind—three people who had meant so much in such different ways. Then she picked up her bag, turned toward the gate, and walked away.
Minghao didn’t look away until she was gone from view.
Only then did he let himself cry—quietly, behind his mask, shoulders shaking in silence.
Ari leaned against him, sobbing.
And Sua’s boss placed a gentle hand on his back.
But nothing helped.
Because letting someone go out of love doesn’t make it any less painful.
Sometimes, it hurts even more.
—
The morning Seventeen was scheduled to fly out to Japan, Seungcheol woke up with a strange tightness in his chest. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened. No texts left on read, no obvious red flags. And yet—something felt wrong.
He texted Sua.
Good morning. Can’t believe we’re flying out again.
Eat well today, hmm?
No reply.
He figured maybe she was still asleep.
But two hours passed. Then three. Then six.
And she still hadn’t answered.
His messages went from playful to curious to mildly concerned.
Babe?
Are you okay?
You home?
Sua.
Still nothing.
It wasn’t like her. She always texted, even if it was just a sleepy “mhm.” She always made sure he ate, always sent those little emojis he teased her about but secretly loved.
But today—nothing.
By mid-afternoon, dread had already started to spread through his veins. When the manager called to remind them to get ready, he tried not to show it. Tried to smile, crack a joke, be the leader everyone expected him to be. But his hands were shaking when he pocketed his phone.
He called her.
No answer.
He called again.
Straight to voicemail.
At 4:12 PM, he left rehearsal early and went straight to her apartment.
He rang the bell three times.
Knocked until his knuckles turned red.
Nothing. No lights. No sound. Just the silence that told him: she wasn’t there.
His breathing picked up. Panic curled under his ribs like a cold hook.
He texted again, just once.
Please. Just tell me you’re okay.
Behind him, the black van pulled up, their departure to the airport waiting.
He was still staring at the front door when Minghao stepped out of the van and walked toward him.
“Hyung,” Minghao said quietly, eyes unreadable behind his sunglasses.
Seungcheol turned. “She’s not answering.”
Minghao hesitated. Then, without saying anything, he pulled a folded letter out from his coat pocket—crushed slightly at the edges, the ink smudged from the grip of someone who didn’t want to let go.
“What’s that?”
Minghao looked at him for a moment longer. And then handed him the letter. “She asked me to give this to you.”
The van engine hummed faintly behind them. The world kept moving. But in that moment, Seungcheol’s heart stopped.
He opened the letter.
"Seungcheol,
If you’re reading this, then I’ve probably landed somewhere far away by now…
Or maybe I’m still asleep, tucked into the window seat of a plane, drifting somewhere between clouds and dreams.
And you’re still here—holding this letter.
Breathing. Living.
Exactly how I want you to be.
I don’t know how to begin. I don’t even know how to say goodbye properly, Cheol. I never thought I’d have to.
But I love you.
I love you more than I’ve ever known how to love. And I know you love me too. Enough to fight for me. Enough to throw everything away just to keep me beside you.
That’s why I had to go.
Because I love you too much to let you do that.
You’ve worked so hard, for so long. I’ve seen it in your eyes—in the way you pour yourself into every song, every show, every moment you spend building a world that was never easy to carry.
You gave it your all.
And I can’t be the reason you burn it down.
I can’t let your heart choose me if it means you’ll lose everything you’ve bled for. I couldn’t live with that. I’d never forgive myself if I became the thing you had to sacrifice it all for."
He read it.
Every line. Every sentence.
Each word falling like a knife.
A poem written in heartbreak. A confession dressed in goodbye.
His vision blurred halfway through.
"So I left. Quietly. Quickly.
I didn’t give you a chance to stop me, because if you did… I know I would’ve stayed. You’d look at me and I’d break. I’d crumble.
You always did that to me, you know?
You made me feel safe. Real. Like I belonged somewhere in this world.
I’m sorry I called Minghao instead of you. I know how much that must hurt, and I hate that I did it—but I had to. I needed someone who wouldn’t try to make me stay.
You would’ve begged.
And I would’ve said yes.
Please don’t blame him. He didn’t want this either.
I don’t know where life will take me after this. I don’t know how long it’ll be before we meet again.
But if we’re meant for each other… if this love of ours really was something the universe carved into our bones—then we’ll find our way back. Someday.
Until then, don’t come looking for me. Don’t try to chase a shadow.
Just… live.
Sing. Laugh. Be happy.
And when the night gets too quiet and you miss me, I hope you remember that I didn’t leave because I stopped loving you.
I left because I couldn’t bear the thought of being the reason you lost yourself.
So live, Seungcheol. For me. For all of us.
And when it’s time… I’ll see you again.
Always,
Sua."
He clutched the paper like it was alive. Like if he held it hard enough, she’d come back.
“Where is she?” he asked, his voice a low quake.
“I don’t know,” Minghao said honestly. “She didn’t tell me.”
Seungcheol stared at him. Silent. Wrecked.
But he didn’t say another word.
—
The knock came just past midnight. Sharp. Panicked. Unrelenting.
Minghao had barely finished drying his hair when he opened the door.
And there he was.
Seungcheol—flushed from the cold Osaka air, jaw clenched, eyes feral with panic. The moment Minghao appeared, Seungcheol shoved past him, storming inside like he couldn't breathe unless he was moving.
“Where is she?”
His voice was already fraying.
Minghao froze. “Cheol—”
“Where is she, Minghao?” he snapped, turning around. His whole chest rose and fell like he’d just run from the airport. “Tell me where she is.”
“I don’t know.”
“You were with her.”
“Yes,” Minghao said, quietly.
“You gave me that fucking letter!”
“I still don’t know where she went, Cheol.”
“Don’t lie to me!”
“I’m not lying—!” Minghao’s voice raised a fraction, and it was enough to make both of them go still.
Seungcheol’s breathing turned ragged, hands trembling by his sides.
“She left because of me,” he said, voice cracking like dry wood. “Because I wasn’t careful. Because I let it all get too loud. Because I fought with the members, and the company, and I—”
He bit down on the rest of the sentence, but it was too late. The guilt had already poured out, too raw to hold back.
“She told you, didn’t she?” he whispered. “She told you why she left.”
Minghao looked away.
That was answer enough.
Seungcheol’s face twisted. “Why didn’t she tell me?”
“Because she knew you’d drop everything for her!” Minghao’s voice snapped like a whip. “She knew you’d burn the whole world down if it meant keeping her, and she didn’t want that blood on your hands, Seungcheol!”
“Then she should’ve let me make that choice!” Seungcheol shouted.
The room echoed with his words.
Minghao clenched his jaw. “You think it didn’t kill her to leave? You think she just walked out like it was easy?”
Seungcheol’s fists balled at his sides. “She called you. Not me.”
That one hurt deeper than it should have.
“I was the only one she could call,” Minghao said, voice lower now, but heavy with hurt. “Because if she called you, she would’ve stayed. You would’ve begged, and she would’ve stayed—and she didn’t want to ruin you.”
“I wouldn’t have let her go,” Seungcheol said through gritted teeth.
“I know,” Minghao whispered. “That’s exactly why she had to ran.”
A silence followed. Thick. Devastating. Alive with pain.
“I was supposed to protect her,” Seungcheol said, breaking again. “I promised I would. I swore I’d never let anyone hurt her.”
“You didn’t,” Minghao said softly, stepping closer. “But you would’ve hurt yourself if she stayed. She chose you over her own heart, Cheol.”
Seungcheol sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. His hands covered his face as if trying to hold in the grief swelling inside him. But it broke free anyway—spilling in tremors down his spine, in wet gasps behind his palms.
And Minghao—God, he couldn’t stand it.
Because while Seungcheol mourned the loss of the love of his life…
Minghao mourned the loss of both of them.
The girl he loved, and the brother he couldn’t fix.
He stepped forward and dropped down beside Seungcheol again, knees to the cold floor, just like before.
“You’re not the only one hurting, hyung.”
Seungcheol looked at him through red eyes, broken. “You love her.”
“I still love her,” Minghao admitted, tears silently streaming down. “But she was never mine.”
Seungcheol looked down at his hands, the ones that used to hold her like she was the center of his universe. Now they were empty. Useless. Shaking.
“I didn’t even say goodbye…”
Minghao’s throat tightened. He didn’t answer. Just leaned forward and pulled Seungcheol into a trembling embrace.
And for a moment, neither of them were idols.
They weren’t artists, leaders, dancers, performers.
They were just two men—two broken hearts—mourning the same girl in two completely different ways.
Seungcheol cried until his chest ached. Until his eyes burned. Until he couldn’t breathe without tasting her name in his mouth.
And Minghao stayed beside him the entire time. Silent. Steady.
Hurting.
Because some love stories don’t end in fireworks or forever.
Some end in hotel rooms far from home, with nothing but unsent messages, unanswered questions, and letters written by hand.
And still—
Even as the pain swallowed them whole—
They couldn’t hate her for it.
Because she left to protect him.
Because she loved him that much.
Because she had to.
──────────────────────────────
See you guys again soon ;)
Full series:
💬 4 🔁 6 ❤️ 61 · Muted Hearts - Masterlist (Epilogues on going!) · Here are the quick links for the series!
Chapter One - Orange Juice
Some love stories are whispered, not spoken. Some promises are signed, not said.
This is ours.
──────────────────────────────
Seungcheol x f!oc
MINORS DNI
MINORS DNR
Tags: tense relationship, idolxoc, slowburn relationship, angst, sexual interaction
Word count: 4.4k
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Give me hug, need your love, touch my thigh
Tell me what puts you in that mind
Frame it up, draw me in, do me right
Don't you dare leave my sight
I could be, be your prize, pick me up
Flying lights, paradise
Chapter Nine
It had been three days since Seungcheol showed up at her gallery—three days since he finally cornered her in her office and kissed the fight out of her. They were fine now, their tension unraveled in hushed words and lingering touches, but neither of them had the luxury of time.
Sua was drowning in preparations for the upcoming art fair, her days packed with meetings, logistics, and last-minute artist arrangements. Seungcheol, on the other hand, was barely keeping up with the relentless demands of their impending world tour. Every day was a cycle of rehearsals, meetings, and physical exhaustion that left him with barely enough time to breathe, let alone see her.
They had talked, exchanged texts and late-night calls whenever they could squeeze them in. But it wasn’t the same. A screen couldn’t replace the feeling of her beside him.
He missed her. A lot.
But tonight—tonight, he was going to change that.
—
The practice room smelled like sweat and lingering adrenaline. The speakers hummed from the bass-heavy track they had just finished running for what felt like the hundredth time. Seungcheol rolled his shoulders back, exhaling sharply. The exhaustion clung to him, but his mind was already elsewhere.
“Hyung, let’s grab a drink,” Seungkwan suggested, collapsing onto the floor dramatically. “We need it after today.”
“You always need a drink after practice,” Jeonghan teased, ruffling Seungkwan’s hair before turning his attention to Seungcheol. “You in?”
Seungcheol barely hesitated. “Nah, I’ll pass.”
A brief silence.
“What?” Seokmin blinked. “Did I hear that right?”
“You’re passing on drinks?” Joshua asked, clearly just as bewildered.
It wasn’t like Seungcheol never skipped out on drinking nights, but he was usually the one starting them. Turning them down was rare.
“Whoa, this is serious.” Jihoon leaned back against the mirror, crossing his arms. “What’s the occasion?”
Seungcheol huffed, shaking his head. “No occasion. I just have somewhere to be.”
Jeonghan smirked, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Ohhh, I see.”
Seungcheol shot him a wary glance. “What?”
Jeonghan leaned in slightly, his voice dripping with amusement. “Is it her?”
The room instantly perked up. Seungkwan gasped, Seokmin grinned, and even Wonwoo looked mildly interested.
Seungcheol exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “She’s still working. Won’t be done until one.”
“Wow.” Wonwoo raised a brow. “The dedication.”
“More dedicated than our leader, apparently,” Jeonghan snickered.
Seungcheol shot him a glare.
“Relax, I’m just saying,” Jeonghan said, raising his hands in surrender. “I like her. She makes you interesting.”
Another round of teasing followed before the group finally began dispersing, still chuckling at their leader’s expense. Seungcheol let them go, checking his phone as he headed toward his bag.
One unread message from Sua.
You don’t have to wait for me. Just go home, we’ll meet tomorrow.
Seungcheol scoffed. As if.
Just as he was about to reply, a voice cut through the quiet.
“You’re being reckless.”
Seungcheol didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
Minghao stood by the door, arms crossed, gaze sharp.
The teasing atmosphere from earlier was gone. This wasn’t a joke.
Seungcheol pocketed his phone. “And?”
“And you know exactly what I mean.” Minghao stepped closer, his voice low but firm. “You’re walking straight into a mess. The media’s already watching. Do you think they’ll just let it slide?”
“Since when do you care so much about the media?”
“It’s not about me.”
Seungcheol clenched his jaw. He knew what Minghao was implying.
It wasn’t his career that would take the hardest hit. It was Sua’s.
“You think I don’t know that?” Seungcheol’s voice dropped, dangerously close to a growl.
“So prove it.” Minghao’s eyes darkened. “You’re not thinking straight. Every move you make is being watched, and right now, you’re making it too easy for them to turn this into something bigger.”
Silence stretched between them.
Then, Seungcheol exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I’m not abandoning her just because it’s inconvenient.”
“No one’s asking you to abandon her.” Minghao’s gaze didn’t waver. “I’m asking you to be smarter.”
A muscle in Seungcheol’s jaw twitched.
He knew Minghao had a point. He just didn’t like hearing it.
Minghao sighed. “You’re too reckless when you care about something.”
Seungcheol’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And you’re too cautious when you do.”
Neither of them said anything after that.
Minghao didn’t stop him when he grabbed his bag and walked out.
Seungcheol didn’t look back.
—
The streetlights blurred past as Seungcheol drove through the near-empty city, one hand gripping the wheel, the other resting tensely on his thigh. The clock on the dashboard read 1:14 AM.
His phone buzzed beside him, a new message from Sua.
You really don’t have to wait. Just please go home
His jaw ticked.
I’m coming up.
He tossed his phone onto the passenger seat without waiting for a reply.
As if he was just going to go home after rehearsal and pretend he wasn’t thinking about her the whole damn time.
It was already late when he wrapped up at the company, but instead of heading back to his apartment—or hers—he found himself driving straight to the gallery.
Sua was probably still holed up in her office, buried under work, just like she had been all week. He knew she had an event coming up, but working this late?
She needed to go home.
And if she wasn’t going to listen to reason over text, then he’d make sure himself.
By the time he pulled into the underground parking lot, the place was empty.
His tires rolled over smooth pavement, the soft hum of his engine the only noise cutting through the silence.
He parked in his usual spot, turned off the ignition, and exhaled.
Then, without hesitation, he got out and headed upstairs.
Sua didn’t even look up when the door creaked open.
The soft glow from her desk lamp cast warm shadows on her face, her brows furrowed in concentration as she traced over a layout with her stylus. The large monitor in front of her displayed a chaotic spread of artwork, text, and placement markers for the upcoming fair.
Seungcheol leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. Of course, she was still working.
He let the silence hang for a moment, just watching her.
Then, casually, he spoke. "You know it’s almost 2 AM, right?"
Sua sighed, not bothering to turn around. "I told you to go home."
"Yeah, well." He stepped inside. "You also told me you'd be done by midnight."
She glanced at the clock. 1:36 AM.
With another sigh, she set her stylus down and finally turned to face him.
"You’re so damn stubborn."
"And you’re not?" Seungcheol shot back, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Sua rolled her eyes but pushed herself up from her chair, stretching out her stiff limbs. "Fine. Let me just pack up."
Seungcheol didn't move as she gathered her things, just watched as she powered down her monitor and grabbed her bag.
The air shifted between them the moment she stepped closer. It was subtle—just the way her fingers brushed against his arm when she passed, the way her perfume lingered in the small space between them—but it was enough.
The same tension that had been simmering between them for days, since their last rushed goodbye, was suddenly electric again.
Seungcheol clenched his jaw. "Come on," he muttered, leading her out.
The walk to the basement was quiet.
Too quiet.
Seungcheol could hear every little sound—the soft click of her heels, the faint rustle of fabric, the way his own breathing felt heavier than usual.
Maybe it was exhaustion. Or maybe it was the fact that it had been a week.
A week since he last touched her.
A week since he felt the warmth of her skin, since he had her pressed against him, gasping his name. And fuck, was it getting to him.
By the time they reached his car, his pulse was already hammering.
Sua reached for the handle, but Seungcheol was faster, opening the door for her. She gave him a look but slid in without a word. He shut the door and rounded the front, slipping into the driver’s seat.
The second he settled, he exhaled.
Tension.
Thick.
Sua shifted slightly beside him, pulling the seatbelt over her.
But before she could click it into place—
Seungcheol reached for her. It was instinct. His hand tangled in her hair as he pulled her in, his mouth crashing against hers.
It wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t soft.
It was raw—needy, impatient, fueled by every second he had to spend apart from her this past week.
—
Sua barely had time to react before Seungcheol’s lips crashed onto hers again, stealing her breath, her thoughts, her everything.
It was deep, insistent—no, desperate.
Like he had been starved for her, like the past week had been torture, like he had held back for far too long.
She felt it in the way his fingers tangled in her hair, in the way his free hand slid to her waist, gripping tight as if anchoring himself to her.
A soft gasp slipped from her lips when he bit down on her lower lip, tugging just enough to make her thighs clench together.
"Fuck," he muttered against her mouth, his breathing heavy, his patience snapping by the second.
He pulled her closer—no, yanked—until she was straddling him right there in the driver's seat, her knees pressing into the leather, the curve of her thighs molding against his own.
The gearshift dug into her side, but she barely noticed. Not when his hands were sliding under her blouse, fingertips skimming the bare skin of her waist, tracing up, up—
"I missed you," he murmured, lips ghosting down her jaw, her neck.
Sua swallowed hard, her head tipping back as his mouth found that one spot that made her shiver.
"Cheol—"
"Yes, baby?"
His voice was deeper now, rougher, vibrating against her skin as he sucked a bruise just beneath her jawline.
Her fingers curled into his jacket, needing something—anything—to hold on to as the heat coiled low in her stomach.
Then suddenly, he rolled his hips up.
Hard.
The friction—hot, intense, perfect—made her gasp, her fingers tightening in his shirt.
Seungcheol smirked against her throat.
"Sensitive?"
A flicker of annoyance sparked in her eyes, but before she could retort, he did it again—a slow, deliberate grind that sent shivers up her spine.
Her head dropped onto his shoulder, breath coming in shallow gasps.
"Seungcheol—"
He clicked his tongue, his fingers sliding up her spine.
"I like when you say my name like that." A teasing bite to her shoulder.
"Do it again."
And fuck, the way his voice dropped—deep, low, possessive—made her thighs clench even tighter around him.
His hands slide down to her ass, gripping hard as he thrusts upward, meeting her movements with a force that has her gasping, nails digging into his scalp. The dashboard creaks beneath her hands, but neither of them cares—lost in the push and pull of each other, the rhythm that drowns out everything else.
“Shit,” she hisses, voice shaking. “I’ve missed this so much. You don’t know how hard it is to hold myself back. To see you on my screen and—fuck—do nothing about it.” Her pace falters for a second as a deep, shuddering moan escapes her lips. “You stretch me so good.”
Seungcheol's grip tightens, dragging her closer, thrusting deeper. The possessiveness in his gaze is unmistakable, his voice rough when he speaks. “You’re mine, Sua. Always have been, always will be.” He kisses her hard, teeth catching her lower lip before he pulls back, watching her fall apart above him.
The car rocks violently, their moans swallowed by the heated space between them. Sua’s head falls back, exposing the delicate line of her throat, her hands reaching for his shoulders as she grinds against him, taking everything he gives.
“More,” she breathes, desperation lacing her voice. “I need more.”
That does it.
With a growl, Seungcheol moves—fast—flipping their positions in one swift motion. Sua barely has time to react before she’s beneath him, sprawled across the passenger seat, legs wrapped around his waist.
He buries himself to the hilt, drawing a sharp gasp from her as he sets a relentless pace, hips snapping forward, driving into her over and over. His fingers slide up her torso, wrapping lightly around her throat, tilting her head back just enough so she has no choice but to look at him.
"Eyes on me," he commands, voice dark, controlled. She obeys instantly, eyes locking onto him as he thrusts deeper, dragging a cry from her lips. He smirks, dipping down to press open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, down to the sensitive spot just beneath her ear.
Sua's nails rake down his back, her body arching into his. "Yes—fuck—just like that," she moans. Her voice drops, sultry, teasing. "Use me like you miss me."
Seungcheol groans, his pace stuttering for a fraction of a second before he slams into her harder, chasing the intoxicating sound of her pleasure. His grip on her wrists tightens as he pins them above her head, the dominance in his touch making her walls flutter around him.
"Missed this," he grits out, hips moving in a brutal rhythm. "Missed you."
He fucks her like he's making up for every second they were apart, like he’s trying to carve himself into her, make sure she never forgets who she belongs to.
A sharp cry rips from her throat when he angles just right, hitting that sweet spot inside her that has her legs trembling around him. His name spills from her lips like a prayer, her body tightening, clenching around him.
"Shit—Sua, I’m—" His breath hitches, movements turning erratic as the pleasure coils tighter, ready to snap. He buries himself deep one last time, groaning against her skin as he comes, filling her with every last drop of himself.
For a moment, neither of them moves, the only sound in the car their ragged breathing. Seungcheol finally collapses against her, forehead resting against her shoulder as he presses a lazy kiss to her damp skin.
Sua chuckles, hands running soothing circles down his back. “Couldn’t even wait to leave the basement, huh?”
Seungcheol huffs out a laugh, lifting his head just enough to meet her eyes. He smirks. “Would you have wanted me to?”
—
The drive back to Sua’s apartment was silent, but not in an uncomfortable way. The air still buzzed with the aftermath of what they’d just done, thick with lingering heat and something even deeper. Seungcheol kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on Sua’s thigh, his thumb stroking absentmindedly against her skin. A small, smug smile tugged at his lips when he felt the way she squeezed them together, still sensitive from how thoroughly he had wrecked her just minutes ago.
The soft hum of the engine and the glow of passing streetlights painted fleeting patterns across his face. Sua stole a glance at him—his damp hair sticking to his forehead, the slight tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twitched slightly against her skin, as if he was restraining himself from doing more.
She smirked. “You look proud of yourself.”
Seungcheol let out a breathy chuckle, flicking his gaze toward her for a second before returning it to the road. “Shouldn’t I be?” His fingers flexed against her thigh. “I mean… I made you scream my name in a parked car. That’s gotta be a new record.”
Sua scoffed, shoving his shoulder playfully, though the heat in her cheeks betrayed her. “Yeah, and if anyone had walked by, we’d be screwed.”
“We were already screwed.” He grinned, absolutely delighted with himself.
She groaned, but the laughter in her voice gave her away. “You are insufferable.”
“And yet, you’re still here.” He gave her thigh a light squeeze before pulling up to her apartment building. The dashboard clock read 3:07 AM.
“You good?” His voice was hoarse, still raw from all the things he’d murmured against her skin.
Sua hummed, tilting her head against the passenger seat. “You’re still driving,” she mumbled, as if she’d expected him to teleport them home instead.
Seungcheol chuckled, his grip on her tightening briefly. “We’d be there already if your legs weren’t shaking so bad,” he teased, eyes flickering to her in amusement.
She huffed, though she couldn’t even deny it. “Shut up and focus on the road before we end up on Dispatch for a whole different reason.”
His laughter filled the car, low and deep. “Would be worth it.”
By the time they pulled into her apartment’s underground parking, neither of them made a move to get out immediately. Seungcheol sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck before glancing at Sua. She was staring at the dashboard, her lips pursed, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her skirt.
“Hey,” he called softly.
She turned, her expression unreadable. “This week was hell,” she admitted. “I kept thinking about you, but I was still pissed.”
A smirk tugged at his lips. “Yeah? And what exactly did you think about?”
Sua rolled her eyes but let her fingers trail lower, brushing against his knee. “Mostly about strangling you.”
His laugh was immediate. “Jesus—”
“I was debating between snapping your neck or your kneecaps, honestly.”
Seungcheol groaned dramatically. “You do realize I have bad knees already, right?”
“Exactly.” She grinned, reaching for the car door. “Come on, old man, before you cramp up in that seat.”
He scoffed but followed her inside, the warmth of her apartment a welcoming contrast to the chilly night. Neither of them spoke as they made their way to her bedroom, their bodies naturally gravitating towards each other.
As soon as they hit the mattress, Seungcheol pulled her against him, pressing a lazy kiss to her shoulder. “Don’t even think about running from me again, got it?”
Sua didn’t respond immediately, her fingers tracing patterns on his bare chest. Then, softly, “Don’t give me a reason to.”
It wasn’t a promise, but it was something. And right now, he’d take it.
The morning came slowly, the golden afternoon light spilling through the curtains. Sua stirred first, feeling the solid weight of Seungcheol’s arm draped over her waist. His body was warm, radiating heat like a personal furnace, and—
Was he snoring?
She turned her head slightly, and sure enough, soft, rhythmic breaths left his slightly parted lips. It was quiet, almost soothing. Sua sighed, watching him for a moment before reaching for her phone. 3:08 PM. Not so morning, apparently.
“Babe,” she murmured, nudging him lightly.
Seungcheol groaned, burying his face against her shoulder. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled, voice raspy with sleep.
Sua rolled her eyes but made no effort to move away. She let him cling to her for a little longer, fingers absentmindedly running through his messy hair.
Eventually, though, hunger won over comfort. “Cheol, I’m starving. Get up.”
He groaned again but finally cracked an eye open, blinking blearily at her. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But I’m not cooking. You do that wifey shit so well.”
Sua smacked his arm, making him laugh. “Get your ass in the kitchen, Choi Seungcheol.”
The kitchen was filled with the aroma of warm butter and eggs, a stark contrast to the chaotic mess they had made of themselves the night before. Seungcheol leaned against the counter, watching as Sua flipped a pancake with practiced ease.
“Domestic looks good on you,” he commented, voice still heavy with sleep.
“Everything looks good on me,” she deadpanned.
He grinned. “That’s true.”
As they ate, Sua nudged his foot under the table. “What time’s your meeting?”
Seungcheol glanced at his phone. “Five-thirty. I should head out soon.”
She frowned slightly but nodded. “Text me after.”
“I will,” he promised, reaching over to steal a bite from her plate.
—
The board meeting had been unbearable.
Seungcheol sat through all of it, nodding and biting his tongue as executives danced around the real issue—his distraction. They spoke in circles, throwing out words like "brand risk" and "group stability," but he knew what they were getting at.
It was his fault that fans were speculating. His fault that articles were circling. His fault that the company had to do damage control because one gallery visit turned into a damn media frenzy.
But it wasn’t his fault that he had fallen for her.
And now, after everyone else had filtered out, Minghao was still in the room—lingering with his arms crossed, his expression a storm waiting to break.
Seungcheol could feel it coming. He knew that look.
Minghao didn’t move at first. Then, with a sharp inhale, he did.
"Don't?" Minghao let out a humorless chuckle. "Don’t? You have any idea what you've done?" His voice was tight with restrained anger, the kind that only built up when you cared too much. “Do you even realize what kind of attention you just threw her into?”
Seungcheol’s patience thinned. “I didn’t throw her into anything.”
Minghao scoffed. “No? Then what do you call it? A soft introduction?” His eyes darkened. “Her gallery is flooded with people who don’t give a shit about art. Her workplace—her safe space—is now a damn tourist attraction because you couldn’t stay away.”
That stung.
Because Seungcheol knew Minghao was right.
But he still bristled, his pride not letting him fold so easily. “I get it, alright? I fucked up.”
"No, you don’t." Minghao stepped closer, his tone low and sharp. “You don’t get it, because if you did, you never would’ve set foot in her gallery. You never would’ve made her part of this.”
Seungcheol’s jaw clenched. “You act like I had a choice.”
Minghao let out a slow breath, shaking his head. "You did. You always have a choice."
Silence stretched between them.
Seungcheol hated this. He hated the fact that Minghao wasn’t just angry—he was disappointed. He could see it in the way the younger man looked at him, like he had expected better.
And maybe he should have.
Because truthfully?
Seungcheol had been selfish.
He could’ve waited. He could’ve been more careful. But after a week of Sua ignoring him, he hadn’t been thinking straight. He just wanted to see her. He wanted to fix things.
And now, she was the one paying for his recklessness.
Seungcheol ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “You think I don’t want to protect her too?”
Minghao’s expression softened—just a little—but his frustration was still there. “Then start acting like it.”
The room felt suffocating. Seungcheol opened his mouth, but before he could fire back, a calm voice cut through the tension.
“Alright, enough,” Jun sighed, stepping between them with practiced ease. “No one’s solving anything by throwing words at each other.”
Minghao huffed but took a step back. Seungcheol let out a sharp exhale, running a hand through his hair.
Jun crossed his arms. “You both have a point. Seungcheol, you need to be more careful. Minghao, blowing up at him isn’t going to change the fact that he’s already involved. So, let’s find a way to control the damage instead.”
Seungcheol narrowed his eyes. “And how exactly do you suggest we do that?”
Jun gave him a pointed look. “You like art, right?”
The question caught him off guard. “What?”
“You,” Jun continued, glancing between him and Minghao, “should go to galleries. Together.”
Minghao blinked. “Excuse me?”
Jun shrugged. “Think about it. Right now, the media is making it seem like you, Seungcheol, are only visiting the gallery because of someone. But what if we shift that narrative? If you start showing up at galleries with Minghao, making it clear you actually have an interest in art, the public will start associating you with that instead of just Sua.”
Seungcheol stared at him, absorbing the idea.
Minghao, however, remained skeptical. “And you think that’ll be enough?”
“No, but it’s a start,” Jun admitted. “The media follows whatever story we feed them. Give them something else to focus on. The more they see Seungcheol with you at galleries, the more they’ll believe he’s into art because of you—not because of Sua.”
Seungcheol leaned against the table, considering it. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was better than nothing.
Minghao sighed, rubbing his temples. “This is such a dumb idea.”
Jun smirked. “Dumb ideas usually work.”
Seungcheol exhaled slowly. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
Minghao scoffed but didn’t argue. “Then let’s hope you don’t screw this up.”
Jun clapped his hands together. “Great! Now, can we all stop looking like we’re about to kill each other?”
The tension hadn’t fully disappeared, but for now, it was settled.
──────────────────────────────
Chapter 9 yayyy! I don't think I can wrap this up on chapter 10.... so maybe let's try 15? Hehehehe
The black card sat on her nightstand, the one that he gave her yesterday, with his name and number carved on it, catching the dim glow of her bedside lamp. Sua lay on her bed, one arm resting over her forehead, staring at it as if it held all the answers she was too afraid to ask.
What had she just agreed to?
She traced her fingertips over the sleek edges, replaying the moment in her head—his voice, the weight of his gaze, the way her name sounded like something precious in his mouth.
It had been so easy to say yes. Too easy.
Her mind should’ve been screaming at her, listing all the reasons why stepping into Choi Seungcheol’s world was reckless, maybe even dangerous. But her heart, reckless in its own way, whispered something else entirely.
One dinner. That was all.
A chance to figure out if this pull between them was worth the complications that came with it. If he was worth it.
With a quiet sigh, she grabbed her phone, her thumb hovering over the screen for a moment before she typed out the message.
It's Sua. Friday at 8 works for me.
She hesitated for a second, then added—
Surprise me.
It was an invitation, a test, maybe even a little challenge. Would he play it safe or show her a glimpse of something more?
The reply came faster than she expected.
Noted.
I’ll pick you up. Send me your address.
I promise I'll make it unforgettable.
Sua exhaled slowly, her pulse betraying her with its anticipation. This was real now.
She sent him her location, then placed her phone face down, as if that would stop the way her heart thrummed against her ribs.
Friday. 8 PM.
One dinner to decide if she was ready for everything that came after.
The days leading up to Friday passed in a blur of anticipation and nerves. Seungcheol found himself distracted during practice, his mind wandering to thoughts of Jang Sua. He caught himself smiling at nothing, his members shooting him curious looks.
On the day of their dinner, he arrived at her address precisely at 8 PM. He stepped out of the sleek black car waiting for him, straightening his shirt—a simple white button-up paired with dark jeans, a deliberate choice to keep things casual yet put-together.
As he approached her door, he felt a flutter in his stomach, a sensation he couldn't quite place. It wasn't nervousness, exactly, but something akin to… excitement? Anticipation?
He knocked, the sound echoing in the quiet evening air. When the door opened to reveal Jang Sua, his breath caught in his throat.
Sua stood in the doorway, framed by the soft glow of her apartment’s warm lighting. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
She had kept it simple—a black satin dress that skimmed just above her knees, its delicate straps accentuating the curve of her shoulders. Her dark hair was loosely curled, cascading effortlessly, as if she hadn’t spent too long making it perfect, yet somehow it was.
Seungcheol’s gaze traced over her slowly, taking her in like a sight he wanted to commit to memory. His breath hitched, but he recovered quickly, offering a small, lopsided smile.
"You look…" He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "Beautiful."
A soft laugh escaped her lips. "You sound surprised."
He chuckled, tilting his head. "Maybe I am."
She raised a brow, amusement dancing in her eyes. "And here I thought you were confident."
His smile deepened. "Confidence has nothing to do with being caught off guard."
Sua held his gaze for a second longer before finally stepping forward, locking her door behind her. The night air was crisp, wrapping around them as they made their way toward his car.
"So," she murmured as he opened the passenger door for her, "where are we going?"
Seungcheol smirked, waiting until she was settled inside before shutting the door and circling to the driver's side. As he started the car, he cast her a sidelong glance.
"I told you I'd make it unforgettable," he said, a quiet promise in his voice.
And with that, they drove off into the night.
—
The drive was quiet, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional glance Seungcheol spared her way. He navigated the city streets with ease, clearly familiar with the route.
As they pulled up to a secluded restaurant nestled in a trendy neighborhood, Seungcheol turned to her with a small smile. "We're here."
He came around to open her door, offering his hand to help her out. As she took it, his fingers lingered, warm and solid against her palm. The brief contact sent a small thrill through her.
"This place is… different," she observed, looking up at the discreet entrance. It was clear this wasn't your average eatery.
Seungcheol nodded. "Private. Exclusive. Somewhere we won't be bothered."
Sua glanced at him, her curiosity piqued. Private. Exclusive. It was a reminder of the world he lived in—one where secrecy was necessary, where moments like these couldn’t be shared with anyone outside of them.
Seungcheol led her inside, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back. The restaurant was intimate, designed for discretion. Soft lighting cast a golden hue over sleek wooden interiors, and only a handful of tables were scattered throughout the space, each separated enough to feel secluded.
A waiter greeted them immediately, leading them toward a cozy, tucked-away corner. Sua noticed how seamlessly everything was handled—no menus, no waiting. It was clear this place operated on trust, catering to those who didn’t need to ask for what they wanted.
As they settled into their seats, she glanced across the table at Seungcheol. He looked comfortable here, like he belonged. The white button-up he wore was effortlessly undone at the collar, the sleeves rolled just enough to reveal his forearms. Under the soft glow of the lights, he looked almost unreal.
"So," she started, fingers tracing the rim of her water glass. "Is this your usual first-date spot?"
He chuckled, shaking his head. "You think I do this often?"
She shrugged. "I wouldn’t be surprised."
Seungcheol leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. His gaze was steady, unwavering. "I don’t. And if I did, I wouldn’t have brought you here."
There was something in his voice—a quiet sincerity that made her stomach tighten.
She held his gaze, searching for something, though she wasn’t sure what, as another "Why me?" escaped her mouth.
He exhaled, eyes flickering over her features as if he was trying to piece together the answer himself.
"Because you make me forget," he murmured. "Just for a little while… what it means to be me."
The weight of his words settled between them, heavy yet strangely tender. Sua swallowed, feeling the warmth of his confession seep into her bones.
She should be careful. She should keep her distance.
But it was already too late for that.
The waiter returned, gracefully setting down a tray—freshly baked focaccia, a plate of bruschetta, a steaming bowl of handmade pasta, and a dish of rich, slow-cooked osso buco. The air filled with the warm, inviting scent of garlic, basil, and simmering tomatoes.
Seungcheol watched as her eyes flickered with quiet appreciation, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "I hope you like it," he murmured, reaching for the bottle of wine to pour her a glass.
"I do," she said, leaning in slightly as she watched him. "Especially when it’s served like this."
He met her gaze, his fingers pausing around the glass stem. For a moment, the candlelit glow softened the world around them, leaving only the quiet tension lingering between them—unspoken, yet impossible to ignore.
As he smiles, he spoke, his tone casual yet sincere. "I've heard a lot about you, you know." Sua raised an eyebrow, resting her chin on her hand. “Oh? And what exactly have you heard?”
Seungcheol twirled his fork through the pasta, his expression unreadable—except for the slight twitch of his lips, betraying something beneath the surface. “You works with art. You run a gallery,” he said, meeting her gaze briefly before focusing back on the sizzling food. “And… you seem to have made quite the impression on someone I know.”
Sua blinked, caught off guard. “Who?”
Seungcheol didn’t answer right away. Instead, he carefully placed a slice of freshly cut steak onto her plate, his movements unhurried, almost deliberate. Only after setting down the knife did he finally meet her gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in his dark eyes.
“Minghao.”
It made sense. Jang Sua navigated the art world with quiet precision—not as a curator of exhibitions, but as a curator of connections. As a gallery manager and dealer, she understood the unspoken transactions between creation and commerce, between artists and collectors. To her, every piece has a place, every artist a voice—she is simply there to ensure they are heard.
One of those voices belongs to Xu Minghao. Their paths cross often, at private viewings and hushed negotiations over delicate masterpieces. He is a collector, an artist, a man who sees beyond the surface—and yet, to Sua, he is only that. A client. A business connection. That he belongs to Seventeen, a group whose music occasionally fills her space—on morning playlists, in the hum of her earbuds—has never mattered. Their worlds overlap in art, not in idol worship, and she has never found herself lingering on the thought of him beyond their professional exchanges.
But Choi Seungcheol—he is different.
She sees him not in galleries but in fleeting moments, between the haze of post-workout exhaustion and the brief seconds before the gym doors close behind her. It should be nothing. A glance, a passing presence. Yet his existence disrupts her in ways she refuses to name. His presence hums beneath her skin, irrational and uninvited, leaving traces of heat she carries long after they part.
She hides it well—of course she does.
And yet, for reasons she cannot quite grasp, one glance from him feels heavier than every conversation she’s ever had with Minghao.
Sua’s lips parted slightly in surprise before a soft chuckle escaped her. “Oh. Minghao?” She leaned back in her chair, amusement flickering in her expression. “That explains a lot.”
His brow quirked. “What do you mean?”
She picked up the piece of meat he had placed on her plate, taking a slow bite before answering. “The way you just said his name,” she teased, tilting her head. “Like it tasted bitter on your tongue.”
Seungcheol scoffed, shaking his head. “It’s not—” He paused, reconsidering. “Okay, maybe a little.”
Sua laughed, and it was light, effortless, the kind of sound that made something tighten in his chest.
“Minghao’s been a client of mine for a while,” she explained, swirling the soup in her bowl with her spoon. “He’s bought several paintings from my gallery. We talk sometimes. That’s all.”
Seungcheol huffed quietly, picking up a piece of meat for himself. “He talks about you a lot.”
She smirked. “And you listen?”
His jaw tightened slightly before he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “It’s hard not to when he keeps bringing you up.”
The admission made something warm bloom in her chest. The thought of Choi Seungcheol—A man who owned every stage he stepped on, holding thousands in the palm of his hand—being quietly jealous over something as simple as her friendship with Minghao was almost endearing.
“Are you jealous?” she asked, her tone playful but her gaze steady.
He leaned in slightly, resting his arms on the table, the heat of the candle between them doing little to mask the intensity of his stare.
“Would it be bad if I was?”
Sua swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how close they were, how the dim restaurant lighting made his features sharper, more striking.
“Not bad,” she murmured, “just… cute.”
A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest as he shook his head. “I don’t do cute.”
She grinned. “You do when you’re jealous.”
Seungcheol didn’t deny it this time. Instead, he picked up another piece of meat, placing it carefully on her plate, his voice lower, softer.
“Then I guess I’ll just have to keep you too busy thinking about me to care about anyone else.”
And just like that, the playful tension between them shifted—becoming something deeper, something dangerous.
Sua met his gaze, her heartbeat a steady drum in her ears.
Maybe one dinner really wasn’t going to be enough.
—
As the meal progressed, the conversation flowed easily between them, punctuated by laughter and lingering glances. Seungcheol found himself drawn to her quick wit and easy confidence, the way she held her own against him.
When the plates were cleared away and the check paid discreetly, he turned to her, a small smile playing at his lips. "So, what now?"
Sua tilted her head, considering. "Well, I suppose this is where you dazzle me with your next move, Mr. Choi."
He chuckled, standing up and offering his hand to her. "Care for a walk? There's a nice view nearby."
Her fingers brushed against his as she took his hand, a fleeting touch that sent a spark through him. "Lead the way."
The city was alive, humming with quiet energy as they stepped out of the restaurant. The night air was crisp, laced with the distant scent of rain, but the warmth of their lingering touches made it feel anything but cold.
Seungcheol’s hand found its place at the small of her back again—light, unassuming, yet grounding. He led her down a quieter street, where the neon glow of Seoul softened into something gentler, more intimate.
"You have a habit of making things feel intentional," Sua mused, side-eyeing him with a small smirk.
He glanced at her, intrigued. "What do you mean?"
She looked ahead, her fingers casually grazing the edge of her coat pocket. "The way you guide me like you’ve done it a thousand times before. Like you already know where this night is going."
His lips twitched, amused. "Maybe I do."
She scoffed. "Confident, aren't we?"
He chuckled, the sound low and warm. "Only when I’m right."
The banter between them felt effortless, as if they had been playing this game for much longer than just a few hours. But beneath the teasing, there was an undercurrent of something unspoken—a quiet pull, a shared gravity.
Soon, the street opened up to a secluded viewpoint overlooking the Han River. The city stretched before them, lights flickering like constellations, reflecting off the water in rippling golden trails.
Sua exhaled softly. "Okay… I’ll admit it. This is a good move."
Seungcheol leaned against the railing, his shoulder brushing hers. "Told you I’d dazzle you."
She laughed, shaking her head. "You’re impossible."
He turned slightly, watching her in the dim glow of the streetlights. "You make that sound like a bad thing."
She met his gaze then, really met it, and for the first time that night, the playful distance between them wavered.
The music of the city softened around them, leaving only the quiet hum of anticipation. The neon-lit skyline painted shadows across his face, highlighting the sharpness of his jaw, the fullness of his lips.
"Seungcheol," she said, his name rolling off her tongue softer than before.
He tilted his head, waiting.
She hesitated, but only for a second.
"Don’t make me regret this."
His breath hitched, his grip on the railing tightening ever so slightly. Then, a slow, knowing smile curved his lips.
"I won’t."
And for some reason, she almost believed him.
—
The space between them seemed to shrink, charged with a new tension—a promise and a challenge wrapped in one. Seungcheol reached out, his fingertips barely grazing her arm, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down her spine despite the warmth of the night air.
"Regret isn't in my vocabulary tonight," he murmured, his voice low and smooth like honey. "Especially not when it comes to you."
He stepped closer, his presence enveloping her, the clean scent of his cologne mingling with the city's nighttime perfume. One hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing over the delicate skin beneath her eye with a gentleness that belied the intensity in his gaze.
Sua's breath caught, her pulse jumping beneath his touch. She knew she should step back, put some distance between them, but her body refused to cooperate.
Sua swallowed hard, her gaze flickering between his eyes and the hand cradling her cheek. The warmth of his touch, the way his fingers lingered as if memorizing the contours of her skin—it all felt intoxicating. Too easy. Too real.
And yet, in the back of her mind, something cold and calculated sat like a weight in her chest. A contract. A signature. A love story sealed behind legal jargon and confidentiality clauses.
She exhaled sharply, stepping back—not enough to break the moment completely, but enough for him to notice. His hand fell away, though the heat of it still ghosted across her skin.
"Seungcheol…" She bit her lip, the words forming before she could stop them. "I don't know if I can do this."
His expression shifted, surprise flickering through his features before settling into something softer. Understanding. But also… frustration?
"Because of the NDA?" His voice was quieter now, edged with something she couldn't quite place.
She nodded, crossing her arms. "It’s just… strange, isn’t it? I haven’t been on a real date in years, and the first man to ask me out wants my name on a document before I even get the chance to see if I actually like him."
A shadow passed over his face. "It’s not about you. It’s about—"
"I know," she cut in gently. "Your life. Your career. Your privacy."
She understood. She truly did. But understanding didn’t make it feel any less impersonal.
Seungcheol ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. "I hate it too, Sua." His tone was raw, honest. "You think I like starting things this way? That I don’t wish I could just—" He stopped himself, jaw tightening before he sighed. "But it’s necessary."
His eyes searched hers, as if willing her to see the weight of the life he lived.
For the first time since meeting him, she let herself consider it—the reality of who he was beyond the glimpses she caught at the gym. The scrutiny, the expectations, the cost of being wanted by millions but truly known by none.
And somehow, despite the barriers, he was standing in front of her, asking her to take a chance.
But was it enough?
She looked down at her hands, tracing invisible patterns on her skin. "I don’t want to be a secret you have to protect, Seungcheol."
His breath caught. She said his name again—his real name. Not S.Coups, not the leader of Seventeen, but simply Seungcheol. No stage, no spotlight, just him. And in that moment, he felt seen—not as an idol, not as someone the world admired from a distance, but as a man standing right in front of her. Real. Tangible. And somehow, that meant everything.
"You wouldn’t be." His voice was firm, no hesitation. "You’d be something I want to keep safe."
A beat of silence stretched between them.
And then—Sua let out a small, breathy laugh, shaking her head.
"One dinner," she murmured, looking up at him again, something playful but serious in her gaze. "That’s what we agreed on, right?"
He exhaled, his lips twitching into something close to a smirk. "That’s right."
"Then let me decide after that."
Seungcheol’s posture relaxed, his shoulders dropping slightly. And then, to her surprise, he smiled. A real one. Not the polite, practiced kind, but something softer. More intimate.
"Yeah," he murmured, slipping his hands into his pockets. "I can live with that."
But as he looked at her—standing there beneath the soft glow of Seoul’s skyline, her eyes searching his like she was still trying to decide if he was worth the risk—he knew one thing for certain.
He wasn’t ready to let her go.
—
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of gentle touches and loaded silences, the weight of their unspoken agreement hanging between them like a tangible thing. They walked along the river, the cool breeze carrying the scent of the city—gasoline and flowers and something uniquely Seoul.
At one point, Seungcheol's hand brushed against hers, fingers intertwining for the briefest of moments before pulling away. The contact was electric, sending a jolt through her that had nothing to do with the chill in the air.
As they approached her apartment building, the reality of the situation began to sink in. One dinner, ending with a promise of more… or less. Depending on her decision.
Seungcheol stopped at the bottom of the steps, turning to face her fully.
"This was…" He paused, searching for the right words. "Nice. Really nice."
His gaze held hers, sincere and open in a way it hadn't been earlier. The mask of the idol slipped, revealing the man beneath - uncertain, hopeful, achingly human.
"And I meant what I said earlier. About keeping you safe. Protecting you from…" He gestured vaguely, encompassing the world outside their bubble. "All of it."
His hand moved as if to reach for her, but he stopped himself, letting it fall back to his side. A small, self-deprecating smile tugged at his lips.
"I'm not great at this, am I? The whole… dating thing. It's been a while."
Understatement of the century.
Sua exhaled a quiet laugh, tilting her head as she studied him. Choi Seungcheol—the leader, the performer, the man who owned every stage with effortless confidence—standing here now, shifting his weight like an unsure boy on his first date.
"It doesn’t have to be complicated," she murmured, arms crossing loosely as she leaned against the railing of the steps. "It’s just two people figuring out if they like each other. No cameras. No stage. Just… this."
Her words were simple, but they held weight. No contracts, no expectations—just them.
Seungcheol’s lips parted slightly, as if her words had caught him off guard. Then, something in his expression softened. The tension in his shoulders eased, the uncertainty in his gaze giving way to something else.
"Just this," he echoed, as if tasting the words. He let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck before letting his hand drop. "I like the sound of that."
The air between them felt thick with possibility, a delicate balance between something new and something dangerous. He wanted to ask her what she was thinking, if she would take the risk, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer tonight.
Instead, he let the moment breathe.
"I’ll wait for your text," he finally said, his voice quieter now, more careful. "No pressure. Just… let me know."
Sua nodded, pressing her lips together in thought. She could feel the weight of the decision sitting heavily in her chest, not just because of the NDA, but because of him.
This wasn’t just about falling for someone famous. This was about falling for him.
And she could feel it happening already.
As Seungcheol took a slow step back, his hands in his pockets, he gave her one last lingering look before turning toward the waiting car. He didn’t rush, almost as if he, too, was reluctant to let the night end.
Sua stood there long after he had driven away, the city humming around her, the ghost of his touch still lingering on her skin.
Then, with a steadying breath, she pulled out her phone.
Her fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before she finally typed out a message.
One dinner, and I’ll decide. Right?
A pause.
Then, three dots appeared—his response coming almost instantly.
Right.
And just like that, the line between caution and curiosity blurred once more.
──────────────────────────────
OMGGGG here we go for chapter 2!! I have more free time today since I'm taking a day off of work, so I decided to continue! Pls let me know your thoughts about this series hihihi <3
Also, cannot wait for the HxW to be released aaaaaaaaaa I'm so excited!!!!
Some love stories are whispered, not spoken. Some promises are signed, not said.
This is ours.
I feel tired tonight, unforgettable words
I can't turn back, sorry I'm selfish, I'm sorry
The colored city lights, the cold voice
I can't turn back, sorry I'm selfish, I'm sorry
I'm too late but I'm sorry
Minghao didn’t speak the entire walk to his car. He was riding the elevator with Ari after Sua asked them to leave, and Ari stops at the lobby, giving him a knowing nods before she leaves.
The silence clung to him like smoke, trailing behind each step, seeping into the folds of his jacket, the creases of his hands. The air outside was colder than he remembered. Or maybe he was just finally feeling it now that he wasn’t holding her anymore.
She had asked him to leave. Quietly, gently, but firmly. And so, he did.
The car door closed with a muted thud. He turned the engine on, slipped his hands around the steering wheel, and just… sat there.
Still.
Numb.
He didn’t cry. He didn’t even blink for a long moment.
And then, slowly, he shifted into drive.
The streets were quiet, washed in the pale glow of streetlights and the occasional passing headlights. The concert traffic had thinned out. The fans had gone home. The city had moved on. But he hadn’t.
Not really.
His knuckles tightened on the wheel as he turned onto the expressway. It wasn’t until the buildings started blurring past that the thoughts began to crack open.
Seungcheol had always been reckless. Bold, sometimes brash. But never like this.
Tonight was different.
He didn’t know when it happened—when Seungcheol stopped thinking and started acting on instinct, emotion. Maybe it started the moment he showed up at that gallery. Maybe the day he stayed overnight at her apartment, car parked in plain sight. Or maybe it was earlier, in the way he looked at her—like she was gravity, and he was already falling.
Minghao exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw clenched.
He should’ve known.
No—he did know. He just didn’t want to believe it.
Because Seungcheol wasn’t supposed to fall like this. Not him.
He was the leader. The constant. The spine. The one who carried their burdens without ever asking to share his own.
Minghao had watched him for over a decade—watched him mold himself into someone the group could lean on. Even back when they were trainees, just kids barely scraping by on ramen and anxiety, Seungcheol had stood at the front of the line. Taking responsibility. Setting the standard. Always the one with answers.
Always the one pretending he had nothing to lose.
Except… he did.
Minghao’s grip on the wheel loosened slightly.
There was a time Seungcheol had loved someone. Briefly. Before they debuted. A trainee like them, all flushed cheeks and hidden smiles between practice sessions. Minghao remembered the way Seungcheol used to sneak glances at her between choreo runs, the soft kind of look that didn’t know it was visible yet.
But it didn’t last.
Their debut came. The weight of becoming "S.Coups" settled heavy on his shoulders. Leader of thirteen. Face of the group. There wasn’t space left for anything soft after that. So he dropped it—quietly, cleanly, like it had never even happened.
He never talked about her again.
Minghao remembered watching him back then. How he didn’t cry, didn’t spiral, didn’t even flinch. He just worked harder. Stayed longer at dance practice. Pushed his voice to the edge in the booth. Learned how to smile in interviews even when his knees were shaking.
And somewhere along the way, Seungcheol became untouchable.
Not invincible. Just… distant. Above it all.
Not because he didn’t feel.
But because feeling was a luxury he couldn’t afford.
And yet now—now—he was unraveling.
Tonight proved that. Every step toward the barricade. Every glance he threw Sua’s way. Every time his emotions overrode his sense.
He was in love.
Minghao’s throat tightened.
Not a crush. Not infatuation.
Love.
Real and messy and consuming.
The kind that makes you reckless.
The kind that makes you stupid.
The kind Seungcheol had never let himself have before.
Because he didn’t know how to have it. Not without trying to own it. To protect it so fiercely he ended up suffocating it in the process.
Sua didn’t stand a chance.
Not when Seungcheol loved her like she was a war he needed to win.
Minghao’s eyes flickered to the empty passenger seat.
He could still feel her weight against him. The way her body trembled. The way she fell apart in silence, and how she tried so hard to not ask for anything—even when she was breaking.
Seungcheol didn’t mean to hurt her. Minghao knew that.
But love wasn’t about intention.
It was about impact.
And Seungcheol had no idea how much damage he was causing—how loud his love was. How violent it felt, even when it came from the softest part of him.
Because Seungcheol was loved his whole life.
The youngest in his family. Coddled. Protected. Praised.
And he wanted so badly to prove he was more than that. That he was strong. Reliable. A man. A leader. A protector.
But he didn’t know how to be loved quietly.
Not the way Sua needed.
Not yet.
Minghao swallowed hard, the road blurring slightly as headlights streaked past. He blinked the burn away.
He wasn’t angry anymore.
Just… tired.
Tired for Sua. Tired with Seungcheol.
Because Seungcheol could change. He could learn. But not if he kept believing love was something he had to fight to keep. Not if he thought being in love meant standing on a stage and daring the world to come for her.
Because tonight? The world did.
And she shattered in the fallout.
Minghao didn’t know if they’d make it.
Didn’t know if Sua could forgive this. Or if Seungcheol would ever learn to love without making it hurt.
But he knew one thing for certain.
Seungcheol wasn’t the alpha male everyone made him out to be.
He was just a boy who had only ever known love when it came wrapped in duty.
And now, for the first time in his life, he was trying to give it freely—without knowing how to make sure it didn’t destroy the one he gave it to.
Minghao exhaled as the city lights began to fade behind him.
He didn’t know what would happen next.
But tonight?
Tonight, he finally understood.
Why Seungcheol was spiraling.
Why Sua was breaking.
And why love—real love—was never supposed to look like this.
Not even for someone like him.
—
09:24 AM
The morning crawled in slowly.
Sunlight pooled lazily through the edges of the curtains, casting warm streaks across tangled sheets and quiet breaths. There was a stillness in the room—not the kind that felt calm, but the kind that hummed with all the things left unsaid. The kind of silence that only comes after two people break and choose, against all odds, to stay.
Sua stirred first.
Her lashes fluttered as her mind clawed its way back from a restless, shallow sleep. Her body ached in places she didn’t expect—her temples, her back, the soft skin beneath her eyes. Everything felt too tender, like she'd been wrung out the night before and hadn’t fully settled back into herself.
It took her a few seconds to realize she wasn’t alone. That the warmth pressed against her wasn’t her blanket, but him.
Seungcheol.
One arm was looped around her middle, his large palm splayed across the curve of her stomach like it had landed there instinctively. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm against her back. His legs tangled with hers, anchoring her in place. And nestled against the back of her neck—his breath, warm and soft, like he hadn’t stopped holding onto her even in his sleep.
She stayed still. Not because she was afraid to move, but because she couldn’t.
Because despite everything—despite the fight, the pain, the tears that had soaked through both of their shirts last night—there was something about this moment that made her chest ache in a different way.
They hadn’t meant to fall asleep.
After he came—after that sharp, emotional collision that left them both exposed and trembling—neither of them had said a word. They’d just held each other. He kissed her like he was afraid it would be the last time, and she let him. She clutched the front of his jacket until he peeled it off, let herself fold into him when they sunk into bed, fully clothed, tear-stained and drained.
No plans. No conversation. Just two people too exhausted to let go.
Her fingers shifted slightly, brushing against the back of his hand that still rested over her. And even with the heaviness in her limbs, even with the dull throb behind her eyes, she felt… tethered.
Like maybe she wasn’t unraveling anymore.
She didn’t turn around—didn’t need to. She knew he was already awake.
He always was, when it came to her.
“Cheol…” Her voice was barely there, dry and quiet from crying too hard the night before.
He shifted behind her. Just a little. His arm tightened instinctively around her middle.
“I’m here.” His voice was gravelly, still thick with sleep, but sure. Like an anchor dropped into open waters.
They didn’t say anything else at first. Didn’t need to. The space between them—filled with slow breaths and lingering heat—spoke for itself.
When Sua finally rolled onto her back, her eyes met his. He was already looking at her.
Messy-haired, eyes swollen from crying, cheeks still marked from where she must’ve clung to him in her sleep. He looked terrible. And beautiful. And so heartbreakingly hers.
“I can’t believe we slept,” she whispered.
“I don’t think we did,” he replied, voice low. “Not really.”
Sua smiled—just barely. Her fingers found his, lacing them together as their hands rested between them.
He watched her, gaze dipping to the curve of her cheek, the softness of her lips, the way her eyes looked more tired than he remembered but somehow more open.
“I thought you were gonna tell me to leave,” he said honestly.
“I almost did,” she admitted.
A beat passed.
“But I didn’t want to wake up without you.”
He closed his eyes for a second, like the words physically hit him. When he opened them again, he leaned in, resting his forehead gently against hers.
“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.
Sua didn’t answer right away. Instead, she tilted her head just enough to kiss the corner of his mouth. Soft. Not desperate like last night. Just real.
“You’re mine,” she murmured, “and I’m tired. But I still love you.”
His breath caught. His thumb brushed over the back of her hand.
Sua didn’t move—not yet.
Even with the morning pressing in and time inching forward, she wanted to stay suspended in this pocket of softness just a little longer.
Everything outside this bed felt too loud. The chaos. The whispers. The consequences of last night, the years of pain they hadn’t fully unpacked. It was all still there. But for now, she wanted to pretend that it wasn’t.
Seungcheol’s fingers brushed her wrist. Barely. Like a question.
She shifted closer.
“I hate that you look tired,” he whispered.
She blinked at him, a little amused. “You look worse.”
His nose scrunched. “Thanks.”
She laughed softly. It sounded a little like relief.
Seungcheol let his eyes trace her features—slowly, reverently. As if memorizing her again. Her skin, puffy and warm with leftover tears. Her lips, still parted like she wasn’t done telling him the truth. Her eyes, full of everything they hadn’t said yet.
“Last night…” he started, voice hesitant. “I was scared.”
Sua’s smile faded gently. Her brows pinched.
“Of me?”
He shook his head instantly. “No. Of losing you.”
She looked at him for a moment, then lowered her gaze.
“You almost did,” she whispered.
It wasn’t a threat. Just the truth. And it hurt because he knew it, too.
He leaned in slowly, kissing the center of her forehead. A long, quiet press of his lips like he was saying sorry all over again.
“Thank you for not letting go,” he murmured.
Sua didn’t answer. Instead, she closed her eyes and reached for his face, brushing her fingers along the faint stubble on his jaw. He leaned into her touch like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
“You know…” she said softly. “I used to wonder if loving you would ever feel easy.”
His eyes flicked up to hers.
“But now I think… maybe it’s not meant to be easy.”
Seungcheol swallowed.
“But it should at least feel safe,” she continued, voice cracking a little. “And I need to know that I’m not the only one trying to make it that.”
“You’re not,” he said immediately. “You’re not, Sua. I swear.”
A pause.
Then he added, quieter, “I just don’t always know how to do it right.”
Her fingers found his again.
“Then let’s figure it out,” she said. “Together. If you still want that.”
His hand tightened around hers like it was instinct. Like he couldn’t imagine not holding on.
“I do,” he breathed. “I always will.”
She smiled faintly—tired, but real.
And for a while, they just laid there. Wrapped around each other in a mess of limbs, blankets, and shared breaths. Not saying much. Just being. Healing in inches.
Eventually, his thumb started brushing over her knuckles in a rhythm she knew well—something he did when he was anxious, or thinking too far ahead.
“You have to leave soon, don’t you?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
He nodded against her pillow. “Soundcheck’s at four. They want me there by two.”
Sua tilted her head slightly to look at the clock. 9:46 AM.
Still a little time.
“Then stay a bit longer,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to his again. “Just a little.”
And he did.
Because no matter how much the world demanded from him outside these walls—right now, nothing mattered more than being next to her.
—
10:27 AM
By the time they pulled themselves out of bed, it was almost 10:30 AM.
Neither of them had really slept.
Four hours of uneven dozing and tangled limbs, punctuated by half-conscious whispers in the dark. A soft "are you okay" here, a mumbled "don’t go too far" there. It wasn’t restful, not in the way rest was usually defined.
But it was healing.
And maybe that was enough.
Sua moved first. She slipped into the kitchen with her sleeves still covering her hands, her hair a sleepy mess that Seungcheol found stupidly beautiful.
He followed a minute later, dragging his feet and yawning like he hadn’t just had the worst emotional breakdown of his life.
“Coffee?” she asked.
He nodded, already wrapping his arms around her waist from behind like a koala. “You make it better.”
“That’s just because you never measure your beans properly.”
“That’s just because I’m lazy.”
She huffed out a breath—half a laugh—and leaned back into him, letting his chin rest on her shoulder while she started the pour-over.
Everything was slow. Unrushed. A rare kind of silence that didn’t demand anything from them.
He helped prep breakfast—if cracking eggs and messing up her toast count as “helping.” She didn’t complain, just shoved him lightly and muttered something about him being worse than Ari in the kitchen.
He just grinned. “At least I’m prettier.”
She couldn’t argue with that.
They sat across from each other on the floor in front of her small table. Coffee steaming between them. Their plates only half-touched.
He caught her staring once—mid-bite—and raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Sua hesitated. Then: “Just thinking.”
“About?”
She poked at her toast. “What happens after this.”
He was quiet for a moment.
Then, gently: “We keep trying.”
“Even when everything feels impossible?”
“Especially then.”
Sua’s throat tightened. “That sounds exhausting.”
Seungcheol nodded. “It is.”
She smiled faintly, eyes stinging again. “But you still want it?”
He leaned forward, brushing a crumb from the corner of her mouth with his thumb. “I still want you.”
Her heart did that thing again—that dangerous flutter that made her forget every reason she’d ever considered walking away.
And maybe that was what scared her most.
—
12:38 PM
By noon, he was standing by the door, reluctantly pulling on his jacket and ball cap.
Sua watched him from the kitchen, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.
“Text me when you arrive.”
He nodded. “I will.”
“And don’t forget your in-ears this time.”
“Can’t promise anything.”
She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched. He stepped toward her again, slower this time, like he was afraid he wouldn’t get another chance. His hands came up to fix the collar of her sweater, brushing gently along her neck.
“Thank you for letting me stay.”
Sua exhaled shakily. “Thank you for coming.”
Their eyes met. That familiar ache returned.
And then he kissed her—soft and deep, like a goodbye he didn’t want to say.
—
01:43 PM
The second he stepped into the venue, the shift was palpable.
The staff didn’t greet him like they usually did. Their eyes flicked to him, then quickly away. His manager, who always had a light jab or smile ready, didn’t even look up.
It was cold. Not just the air. The energy. Like something had snapped overnight—and the fallout was waiting for him.
He barely made it past the dressing room threshold when he heard it.
“Choi Seungcheol.”
He turned. His manager stood in the hallway, stiff posture and clenched jaw. Flanked by two senior company staff—the ones who only came down when shit had really hit the fan.
“Now,” his manager said. “We need to talk.”
Seungcheol didn’t argue. He didn’t even ask. He just sighed and followed them into a rehearsal room nearby—one they never used. Too echoey. Too impersonal.
The door shut behind them with a soft click that felt like a verdict.
“What is this?” he asked, voice already heavy.
“We’ll get straight to the point,” said one of the execs, arms folded. “The rumors exploded overnight. Every private community has your name. Some even have hers. Her workplace.”
“She didn’t say a word,” Seungcheol said, jaw tightening. “She signed the NDA. She’s been careful.”
“We know,” the other staff member replied. “This isn’t about her.”
“This is about you,” the first added. “You’re the one breaking protocol—not with words, but actions.”
His stomach dropped.
“I haven’t—”
“You have,” his manager cut in, quietly. “You’ve made it obvious.”
“Obvious? Because I protected her?”
“Because you stood in front of her section during the concert,” the staff member said. “Because you showed up to her gallery. Because a fight broke out and her name was dragged through online hell overnight.”
“Do you know how close the press came to running the story this morning?” the other exec added. “Do you know what we had to do to stop it?”
“I was protecting her,” Seungcheol repeated, more firmly. “I didn’t do it to make headlines. I did it because I love her.”
“We’re not saying you don’t care about her,” his manager said, calmer now. “But you being in love can’t affect the group. The NDA isn’t to punish you. It’s to protect Seventeen.”
“I’m not the only one dating—”
“You’re the only one getting reckless.”
That stung. The words hit somewhere deep between his ribs, slicing through bruises already formed from weeks of sleepless nights and too many bottled-up emotions.
“So what?” he said. “You want me to end it?”
“We’re asking you to choose,” someone said.
His world paused.
“Because it’s starting to cost more than we can afford.”
That did it.
The last thread holding him together snapped.
“Choose?” His voice rose, disbelief laced with anger. “You want me to choose between the woman I love and the ten years I’ve given to this group?”
Silence. Uncomfortable. Heavy.
He let out a hollow laugh, one that didn’t reach his eyes.
“You don’t get it. She’s not just someone I’m messing around with. I love her. I’ve never—never felt this way about anyone in my life. And I’ve followed every goddamn rule for ten years. I’ve kept my head down. I’ve shown up to everything. Worked through injuries. Sacrificed sleep, time, health. I gave my life to this.”
He looked around the room.
“And if you’re asking me to choose—between that and the only person who’s been there for me when no one else was—then yeah. I choose her. Every fucking time.”
His manager’s expression darkened.
But before anyone could speak—before the air even settled—the door creaked.
“Wow,” someone said.
They weren’t alone anymore.
The door hadn’t shut properly.
Woozi stood just outside the threshold. Behind him, Hoshi. Dino. Their faces unreadable—but their eyes? They burned.
“You’d throw it all away?” Woozi’s voice was low. Controlled. Dangerous. “Ten years, Cheol. We built this together.”
“I’m not throwing anything away,” Seungcheol said.
“You just said you’d choose her over everything,” Dino snapped. “You think that doesn’t include us?”
“You don’t know what she’s been through because of me!” Seungcheol’s voice cracked—emotion bubbling to the surface now. “She got harassed. Threatened. People showed up at her job. Because of me. And she still stayed. She still kept our secret.”
“That’s not the point,” Hoshi said, arms crossed. “The point is—you’re not just you anymore. You’re our leader. Our hyung. You’ve always carried us.”
“And leaders don’t put the team at risk,” Woozi said. “They don’t make reckless choices that could burn the whole thing down.”
“Then what?” Seungcheol snapped. “I was supposed to watch her fall apart while I sat on my hands and said nothing? Let people attack her? Call her names? I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
“And what about us?” Dino said. “What happens when this explodes and we’re all dragged down with you?”
Some other members heard the yelling, decided to join them.
The room fell into chaos.
“Guys,” a voice tried to cut in—it was Joshua—but no one was listening.
“You think we’re heartless?” Woozi said, stepping closer. “That we don’t care about her? We like her, Cheol. But there’s a line. You crossed it.”
“I didn’t ask to fall in love,” Seungcheol shouted. “I didn’t plan for any of this!”
“But you did plan to stand in front of her section last night,” Woozi shot back.
That froze him.
Because… yes.
Yes, and no.
He hadn’t planned it, exactly. It was instinct. Panic. A need to see her. To make sure she was okay. After the incident earlier, when those fans shoved her… his body just moved. Like it knew what mattered most.
“I thought maybe I could stop it,” Seungcheol said quietly. “I thought if they saw me there, it would end. That maybe—just maybe—I could control the chaos.”
Woozi stared.
“Then you’re an idiot,” he said. “Because it only made it worse.”
—
02:11 PM
The room was a storm.
Shouting. Defending. Accusing.
Tension rolled in waves across the walls, thick and relentless, like humidity before a lightning strike.
Jeonghan now had both arms locked around Mingyu’s middle, holding him back from lunging at Woozi, who stood his ground with eyes like fire. Joshua had stepped between Hoshi and Dino, one hand raised toward each like he was trying to conduct the chaos into something softer—but his face betrayed the same boiling point the others had reached.
“I’m not saying what he did was right,” Joshua snapped, voice cracking with frustration, “but maybe let him breathe before you crucify him!”
“Oh, so now we’re defending recklessness?” Hoshi shot back. “We’re defending letting the whole group burn down just because our leader can’t keep his personal life under control?”
“We’re defending our friend,” Mingyu spat, chest heaving. “You think he wanted this? That he planned for this to happen?”
“No, but he let it happen,” Dino said bitterly. “And we’re the ones picking up the pieces.”
“Everyone shut up!”
Jeonghan’s voice cut through the air like a whip. Not loud, not screaming—but low, guttural, final. The kind of tone that made hearts drop before brains caught up.
Silence fell.
Not out of agreement.
Just exhaustion.
Breathless, stifling silence, like the air had finally caved in.
And then—
The door creaked open.
Soft. Slow. Controlled.
No one turned immediately. But they all felt it—like the air changed temperature.
The footsteps were quiet. Almost too gentle for the room’s leftover rage. But they carried weight, as if the ground moved to make space.
Minghao.
He didn’t speak at first. Just walked in and shut the door behind him with a deliberate click. Not a slam. Not a warning. Just control.
He stood in the middle of the chaos, still as glass, and scanned the room like he was counting casualties.
His gaze settled on Seungcheol.
“I saw what happened,” Minghao said, finally breaking his silence.
The room turned to him.
He wasn’t looking at anyone in particular, but his voice cut through the air like a blade. Calm. Controlled. Devastating.
“I was on the other side of the stage. But I saw it. Her. The barricade. The shoving.”
He took a step forward. His eyes were dark, unreadable.
“She didn’t even fight back. Just stood there, trying to disappear. And Seungcheol—” A pause. “He saw it too. You think he stood in front of her for fun? To show off?” Another beat of silence. “He did it because she was scared.”
He turned to the others. “It wasn’t reckless. It was instinct.”
Silence pulsed in the room like a second heartbeat.
Minghao’s gaze swept across them, steady and unflinching.
“Don’t mistake love for weakness,” he said. “You should know better.”
Then, quieter, as he looked back at Seungcheol—
“She looked safe when you stood there.”
No one moved.
Seungcheol exhaled through his nose, jaw still tense. His chest ached with something between fury and exhaustion.
But Woozi wasn’t done.
“You think that makes it okay?” His voice was sharper now, the fury unraveling in pieces. “You think just because it came from love, that excuses putting us at risk?”
“She was at risk!” Seungcheol’s voice cracked through the room. “And none of you were there. Not at the gallery. Not after the stalkers showed up outside her apartment. Not when she texted me that she was too scared to go to work!”
“She’s not your responsibility—”
“She is when she’s suffering because of me!”
Hoshi stepped between them before voices could rise further. “This isn’t about whether or not you love her,” he said, firmer this time. “It’s about how you’re handling it. You’re our leader, Cheol. You move—we all get dragged.”
“And what?” Seungcheol bit out. “You want me to stop moving? To sit still while the woman I love gets ripped apart by people who only hate her because of me?”
Dino laughed bitterly. “You’re not the only one with someone you care about, hyung. But we hide it. You’re out here standing in front of her section like a damn beacon. Of course the fans noticed.”
“She begged me not to go public,” Seungcheol snapped. “She begged me to keep it quiet—and I did. But you know what? It wasn’t enough. Because just breathing near her made her a target. So don’t act like I plastered our photos online. I was trying to live in the cracks.”
“Then live smarter,” Woozi shot back. “You think if she’s scared now, it won’t get worse once Dispatch picks this up? Once sponsors start pulling out? You think the backlash will only fall on you?”
“Enough,” Minghao said suddenly, voice calm but ice-cold. “You’re talking like he wants this.”
Jeonghan’s voice finally joined in, low and sharp. “You’re all acting like we didn’t meet her. Like we didn’t see what she’s like.”
Mingyu nodded quietly, speaking for the first time. “She didn’t even want to come to that villa. She looked terrified half the time.”
Joshua sighed. “And she never overstepped. Not once.”
Seungcheol glanced between them, throat tightening.
Jeonghan looked right at him. “You think we don’t see what you’re doing? How you’ve been pulling away from us just to protect her? But you don’t have to choose between being our leader and being hers.”
“Except they’re making me choose,” Seungcheol muttered, voice low, broken. “The company. The fans. The system.”
Joshua leaned against the wall. “Then maybe we should be the ones reminding the company who built this group in the first place.”
“And maybe we should stop treating love like it’s a scandal,” Mingyu added, expression grim. “It’s not like the rest of us are saints.”
Dino scoffed. “You’re all forgetting the main issue. The fans are turning. They’re angry.”
Jeonghan narrowed his eyes. “They’ve always turned on women who got too close. It’s not new.”
“And if we all let fear run this place,” Joshua said softly, “then what’s the point of everything we built?”
Seungcheol stared at them.
The room was split.
Hoshi, Woozi, and Dino—angry, anxious, desperately trying to preserve what they had.
Minghao, Jeonghan, Mingyu, and Joshua—calmer, more understanding, but still conflicted.
He had never felt so exposed in his life.
Never felt so alone—and yet, not alone at the same time.
Because they were all right.
And all wrong.
And he was just a man—torn between ten years of loyalty and the woman who had become his safe place.
“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” he said finally. “But if I had to choose again—I’d still choose her.”
He swallowed. “Even if it ruins me.”
For a long moment, no one said anything.
Then Woozi exhaled, shoulders slumping as he looked away.
“You better hope she’s worth it.”
—
02:51 PM
The room eventually emptied.
One by one, they filed out—some with heavy glances, others with tension still burning in their eyes. Hoshi lingered the longest before finally walking away, his silence louder than any words.
But Seungcheol didn’t move.
He just stood there.
Back to the door. Shoulders drawn up like the world had settled its full weight on them.
The anger was gone now. Replaced by something quieter. Sadder.
What am I doing?
He sat on the one of the chairs, hands clasped between his knees, staring at nothing. The echo of his own voice still rang in his ears—“I choose her.”
The company asked him to choose.
His brothers questioned him.
And now?
Now he felt like a man with no country. Too in love to belong to the industry that raised him, too much a leader to abandon the group that gave him purpose.
But wasn’t he allowed to be both?
Wasn’t he still human?
A quiet knock on the frame broke the silence.
Minghao stood at the doorway, arms crossed. He didn’t look angry. Just tired.
“Hyung.”
Seungcheol didn’t look up. "I thought you left already."
“I was. But you're not coming out. You okay?”
He let out a breath of laughter—bitter, exhausted. “No.”
Minghao stepped closer, taking a seat beside him on.
“Why’d you actually do it?” Minghao asked. “Why’d you go stand in front of her like that?”
Seungcheol chuckles, "I thought you knew, you told Woozi earlier."
"That was my personal opinion, but he doesn' have to know," Minghao laughed, then continued, "But was it true?"
For a second, Seungcheol couldn’t speak. His throat felt tight.
“I don’t know,” he said eventually. “I thought maybe if I stood close enough, they’d stop. Or at least think twice. Or maybe…” He swallowed. “Maybe I just needed to see that she was okay. My body moved. I didn’t plan it.”
Minghao didn’t answer right away.
Then he asked, “You love her a lot, don’t you?”
“I do.”
Silence.
Then, softer—
“You know it’s fucked up, right? That you even have to choose?”
Seungcheol turned his head.
Minghao stared straight ahead. “Everyone else gets to love freely. Our managers, our staff—they hold hands in public, post pictures, live normally. But you? You fall in love, and suddenly you’re a liability.”
A lump rose in Seungcheol’s throat.
“It’s not normal,” Minghao said. “What they expect from us. What fans demand from us. We sell them this illusion—of perfection, of availability, of loyalty to them and only them. But we’re not theirs. We’re not dolls or gods.”
He looked at Seungcheol. “We’re just people. And people fall in love.”
Something in Seungcheol cracked.
Because yes. That.
He didn’t want applause. Didn’t need a parade. All he wanted was to love someone without it turning into a scandal. To protect the one person who made all this noise bearable.
“Does it ever get better?” he asked, voice hoarse.
Minghao exhaled. “Maybe. If enough of us stop pretending.”
They sat in silence after that. Two idols. Two men. Just existing for a moment in a world that constantly asked them to lie.
Outside, the stadium buzzed back to life.
Inside, Seungcheol felt like a part of him had been left behind.
Maybe that was the price of choosing love.
—
03:37 PM
The backstage felt colder somehow.
Not the air—but the silence.
The members moved around him. Nodding. Offering brief glances. Mingyu’s hand on his shoulder. Jeonghan quiet beside him.
But Dino wouldn’t look at him.
Hoshi’s usual banter was gone.
Woozi’s jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful.
They were still a team. But barely.
Seungcheol sat in the makeup chair, head bowed, elbows on his knees. The stylist’s brush moved gently across his face, but he didn’t feel it. He was elsewhere. Still hearing choose her over all of us on repeat. Still seeing Sua’s eyes as he kissed her goodbye.
The door opened.
“Soundcheck in fifteen,” someone called.
No one reacted.
Everyone just… moved. Like machinery restarting after a shutdown.
They walked toward the stage.
No jokes. No humming. Even the sound of the fans cheering outside felt eerie—off.
Seungcheol adjusted his mic pack in silence. His hands were steady. His face unreadable.
But Minghao was watching.
He saw the tight jaw. The way Cheol gripped the mic just a little too hard. Holding himself together by sheer force.
“Hyung,” Minghao murmured, just before they stepped into the light, “You don’t have to prove anything right now.”
Seungcheol looked at him. Hollow-eyed. But he nodded.
Then the lights hit them.
And just like that, they became idols again.
Professional. Polished. Perfect.
They walked out to cheers. Fans sobbed. Screamed. Waved banners.
Minghao’s eyes flicked to the barricade section—where Sua had stood last night.
Empty now.
And still, haunting.
He remembered how she’d flinched when the crowd got loud. How she tried to shrink herself. He remembered Seungcheol drifting toward her during the set—like a compass drawn north. Instinctive. Uncontrolled.
He remembered security coming. The tension snapping. The illusion breaking.
But now, under the lights, the cracks were hidden again.
Seungcheol took center, smile playing at his lips like he wasn’t breaking.
“Let’s give them a good show,” he said.
It wasn’t for the fans.
It was for the group. For the silence. For the we're still here even when nothing is fine.
They raised their hands. Counted in.
The music hit.
And they danced through the chaos like nothing had happened.
His life was structured—schedule after schedule, practice, meetings, rehearsals, workouts. If he could keep at least one thing constant, he would. And for the longest time, that one thing was the gym in the company building. It was close, private, and most importantly, familiar.
But then came Kim Mingyu.
"Hyung, please," Mingyu had whined, practically draping himself over Seungcheol's back after practice. "I found this gym, and it’s so much better than the one at the company. The vibe is cozy, the equipment is brand new, and they even have protein shakes made fresh at the counter—fresh, hyung!"
Seungcheol had barely looked up from his phone, already suspicious. "Then go by yourself?"
"I hate going alone."
Of course he did. Mingyu was practically a golden retriever in human form—thrived in companionship, hated doing anything solo. But Seungcheol wasn’t about to be dragged across town just because the younger one wanted a change of scenery.
Until Mingyu pulled out the final weapon.
"You do realize that our company gym is getting boring, right? Same people. Same routines. Same everything. Don’t you feel a little tired of it, hyung?"
Seungcheol had scoffed at the time, brushing it off with a lazy wave. But later that night, when he was back at the company gym, cycling through the same warm-ups, the same weights, the same sterile environment—he felt it.
That nagging sense of monotony.
And somehow, that was how he found himself standing outside a gym on the other side of town the following week, arms crossed, watching Mingyu practically bounce with excitement.
"See? It’s nice, right?" Mingyu beamed, swiping his membership card at the entrance. "And the people here are so chill, no one even looks twice at us!"
Seungcheol hummed noncommittally as he followed inside. The gym was… decent. Smaller than their company one, but the atmosphere was different. Cozy, like Mingyu had said. Warm lighting instead of the harsh fluorescents he was used to. A good mix of people—some regular gym-goers, others just there to stay active. No overly eager fans, no suffocating attention.
Alright, fine. Maybe Mingyu had a point.
"I'll give it a shot," Seungcheol finally muttered, rolling his shoulders.
"YES!" Mingyu fist-pumped like he had just won a bet.
–
This gym was never supposed to be a regular thing.
Originally, it was just a favor to Mingyu—a one-time visit, or so he thought. The younger member had insisted, claiming it was quieter than their company gym, had better equipment, and was “literally the perfect place to work out without distractions.”
"Just try it once, hyung," Mingyu had grinned, throwing an arm over his shoulder. "You’ll thank me later."
That never happened. But somehow, he kept coming back.
Not because of anything particularly special. He wasn’t someone who enjoyed changing up his routine. And yet, after that first visit, the place stuck in his mind.
It was quiet. No fans waiting outside, no cameras catching him off guard. The staff and members treated him like anyone else—just a guy coming in for a workout. No stares, no whispers.
It felt… normal.
And maybe that’s why his schedule started shifting around it.
At first, he only went when Mingyu was free. But, predictably, the younger man’s enthusiasm didn’t last long.
"Hyung, I can't today—early shoot."
"Hyung, let’s go tomorrow instead, I need sleep."
"Hyung, you’re still going? Damn."
One excuse after another, until he was going alone.
But stopping never crossed his mind. Somewhere along the way, this place had carved itself into his day, becoming as routine as practice or work. It wasn’t just about staying in shape anymore—it was about the rare stillness. A moment in his schedule that belonged to him.
And then, there was her.
It wasn’t immediate. No dramatic first meeting, no slow-motion glances across the gym.
She was just another regular at first. Someone who happened to be there at the same time.
Until she wasn’t just that anymore.
The little things started standing out. The way she always tied her hair back in a loose ponytail, strands slipping free by the end of her session. The way she scrolled through her phone between sets, completely lost in whatever she was reading. The way she carried herself—focused, steady, like nothing around her mattered.
Tuesdays. Thursdays. Fridays.
Always at the same time.
Always leaving just as he arrived.
He shouldn’t have cared about that.
But somehow, he did.
Because for someone he had never spoken to, who had never even looked his way—she was taking up space in his mind in a way he didn’t know how to stop
–
March, 2024
Seungcheol liked to believe he wasn’t easily distracted.
But lately, something had shifted.
It wasn’t the usual exhaustion from packed schedules or the weight of being SEVENTEEN’s leader. This was different—subtle, creeping in before he even realized it.
At first, it was just a passing thought. A brief glance at the clock before heading to the gym, an unconscious check to see if she was there.
Then, it became routine.
The moment he stepped inside, his eyes would instinctively scan the room, searching for a familiar figure. He told himself it was nothing—just habit, like any other part of his workout.
But on the days she wasn’t there, when the space felt a little emptier, a strange sense of disappointment settled in his chest.
Which made no sense.
He didn’t even know her.
She was just another gym-goer, part of the usual crowd.
And yet, habits were hard to break.
And once something—or someone—caught his attention, Seungcheol wasn’t the type to ignore it.
So, when he finally saw her up close for the first time, it hit him harder than expected.
The gym was quiet that afternoon, with only a few regulars scattered around. Seungcheol had just finished warming up when he turned—and there she was.
By the weights, adjusting her wrist wraps, completely focused on the task.
He shouldn’t have stared.
But something about the moment made it hard to look away.
Maybe it was the way she moved—calm, composed, lost in her own world. Maybe it was the way she carried herself, as if nothing could shake her.
Or maybe it was something else entirely.
Something he wasn’t ready to put into words.
He forced himself to look away, shaking off the thought.
Because that’s all it was.
A passing moment.
Nothing more.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
But the feeling lingered longer than it should have.
–
Obsession wasn’t in his nature. He was a leader, a decision-maker—someone who set goals and saw them through. But this? This was different.
The mystery of her lingered.
For weeks, she had been a presence just beyond his reach, slipping away before he could ever get close. Not once had they spoken, not once had he managed to be in the right place at the right time, yet somehow, she had taken up space in his thoughts.
And that wasn’t something he could ignore.
So, for the first time in a long time, curiosity got the better of him.
Answers weren’t hard to find—people talked, and the gym staff knew him well. A few casual questions here and there, nothing too obvious, and finally, he got what he wanted.
Her name.
Jang Sua.
He turned it over in his mind, testing how it sounded, how it felt. Simple, refined, carrying a quiet sort of confidence. It suited her.
And yet, the moment he had it, something about it tugged at him.
Familiar.
Like a name he had heard before but never really registered.
The realization didn’t hit him until later, when he was lounging in the practice room, half-listening to the others’ conversation.
Jang Sua.
Minghao’s Jang Sua.
The name that had surfaced in passing, always spoken with quiet admiration. The gallery girl, the art specialist—the one who had guided Minghao through paintings, pushed him beyond his comfort zone.
Recognition struck first. And then, something heavier. Something far more unsettling.
Minghao liked her.
Maybe not openly, maybe not in a way the others had picked up on, but now it was clear—the way Minghao’s voice shifted when he spoke about her, the way he lingered on details that had nothing to do with art.
And now, he wanted her too.
A slow exhale left his lips as he leaned back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Of course, it had to be her.
Because nothing was ever simple.
And walking away had never been his style.
—
“You look like you’ve got something on your mind,” Jeonghan mused, lazily swirling the straw in his iced americano.
Across from him, the man in question sat slumped in his chair, arms crossed, brows furrowed. It wasn’t like Seungcheol to be this quiet, especially during their late-night café runs. Normally, he was the one rambling about schedules, workouts, or whatever drama had unfolded in the group chat that day. But tonight? Silence.
Jeonghan smirked. “It’s a girl, isn’t it?”
The sharp exhale that followed was all the confirmation he needed.
“Not just any girl,” Jeonghan continued, amused. “It’s her, isn’t it? The gym girl you’ve been secretly obsessed with.”
At that, Seungcheol groaned, tilting his head back against the booth. “I’m not obsessed.”
“Sure. That’s why you’ve been going to the gym religiously every day at the same time, hoping to ‘accidentally’ run into her.”
He had nothing to say to that, so he took a slow sip of his drink instead.
Jeonghan leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. “Alright, so what’s the problem? You like her. She doesn’t even know you exist. What’s stopping you?”
A beat of hesitation.
“…Minghao.”
That wiped the smirk off Jeonghan’s face. “Ah.”
Seungcheol exhaled, fingers tapping against his cup. “He likes her.”
There it was—the thing that had been gnawing at him for weeks now. Minghao wasn’t the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve, but it was painfully obvious. The way he talked about her, the subtle way his expression softened whenever her name came up… it didn’t take a genius to figure it out.
And yet, despite years of knowing her, he had never made a move.
“So let me get this straight.” Jeonghan sat back, tapping his fingers against the table. “Minghao’s liked her for years but never confessed, and now you like her too.”
Seungcheol nodded.
“And you’re debating whether or not to do something about it?”
Another nod.
Jeonghan let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “You know, for someone who acts all tough, you’re surprisingly considerate.”
Seungcheol scoffed. “Hannie.”
“Listen,” Jeonghan leaned in, voice low but firm, “if you make a move first and she chooses you, then that’s how it’s supposed to be. Minghao had years, Seungcheol. If he really wanted to be with her, he would’ve done something by now.”
That… was cruel.
But also true.
Seungcheol hated to admit it, but the thought had crossed his mind before. If Minghao was really that serious about her, why hadn’t he said anything? Why had he stayed in the safe zone all this time?
“You’re not doing anything wrong,” Jeonghan added, as if reading his thoughts. “You like her. You want to ask her out. That’s normal. What happens next? That’s up to her.”
The words settled in his chest, heavy but strangely reassuring.
He’d spent so much time hesitating, caught between his own feelings and the unspoken ones of his friend. But at the end of the day, the choice wasn’t his—or Minghao’s—to make.
It was hers.
And he was done waiting.
—
April, 2024
He never thought she'd say yes.
Even as the words left his mouth—carefully measured, laced with quiet hesitation—he had braced for rejection. He had prepared himself for the moment she would scoff, roll her eyes, maybe even look at him like he was out of his mind.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she tilted her head, studied him like she was searching for something beneath his careful composure, and then—"I’ll sign it."
And just like that, the ground beneath him shifted.
—
Dating Sua was unlike anything he had known before.
There were no grand declarations, no textbook romance gestures. She didn’t expect flowers or public displays of affection, didn’t demand more than what he could give.
Instead, she gave him something far more dangerous—a place to rest.
She never pried, never asked about things he wasn’t ready to share. Yet somehow, she always knew—when to let him be, when to tease him out of his exhaustion, when to lean against his shoulder and let the silence stretch comfortably between them.
Seungcheol had never met someone so effortlessly steady.
And he was already in too deep before he even realized he was falling.
—
The night it happened, he hadn’t planned for it.
They were at his apartment, the air thick with unspoken things. She sat on the couch in his hoodie, fingers wrapped around a cup of tea, looking so effortlessly like she belonged there that it made his chest ache.
Then, somewhere between soft laughter and quiet touches, she kissed him first.
It was barely there at first—a gentle press of lips, like she was testing something, waiting for him to stop her.
But he didn’t.
Instead, his hands found her waist, anchoring himself to her, deepening the kiss with a hunger he hadn't let himself acknowledge until now.
He felt her sigh against him, soft and warm, and something inside him broke.
It had been so long.
Too long since he let himself have this, let himself want without hesitation, without restraint.
And now, with her beneath him, her skin warm beneath his fingertips, her name a quiet prayer on his lips—he realized just how much he had missed this.
Missed her.
His hands trembled slightly as he traced the curve of her back, mapping the shivers he pulled from her, the soft gasps that sent heat curling through his veins.
"Are you okay?" she whispered, her fingers threading through his hair.
He exhaled a quiet laugh, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Yeah." His voice was rougher than he expected. "You?"
She nodded, eyes heavy-lidded, lips swollen, beautiful.
And when he finally sank into her, when she breathed his name like it was something sacred—he knew.
There was no coming back from this.
—
After that night, it was over for him.
Seungcheol had always been careful—always kept a part of himself tucked away, guarded.
But now?
Now he was completely gone for her.
It was in the way he caught himself staring when she wasn’t looking. The way he found excuses to touch her, even in the smallest ways—a hand on the small of her back, fingers brushing hers, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against her skin.
The way he would wake up before her just to watch the slow rise and fall of her breath, to commit the softness of her to memory before the world pulled him away again.
He was in love with her.
So hopelessly, maddeningly in love with her that it scared him.
Because for the first time in a long time, he had something he couldn’t afford to lose.
—
August, 2024
Seungcheol had been careful.
At least, he thought he had been.
No one was supposed to know—not yet. Not until he figured out how to handle this properly. The moment the members found out, it would spread like wildfire. Not to the public, of course; he trusted them more than anyone. But within the group, between the teasing and the pestering, there would be no keeping it to himself.
So he had been careful. He had hidden it well. Or so he thought.
But now, as he sat in the dressing room, staring at the read receipt on his phone, he realized maybe he hadn’t been as subtle as he’d believed.
He had been smiling.
And someone had noticed.
"Who the hell is ‘Sua’?"
Seungcheol’s head jerked up.
Mingyu was standing over him, eyes locked onto his screen before he could react. He locked it immediately, but it was too late. DK was already launching himself onto the couch, eyes wide with betrayal.
"HYUNG, WHO IS SUA?? Secret girlfriend? Hidden manager? Are you being blackmailed? BLINK TWICE IF—"
"Mind your business," Seungcheol muttered, shoving him off, but his voice didn’t have enough bite.
Mingyu grinned, nudging his shoulder. “No, but really. Who is she?”
Seungcheol exhaled, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek.
"Someone important."
That should’ve been enough. That should’ve ended it.
But when he stood, stretching to make his escape, his gaze flickered across the room—
And there was Minghao.
Silent. Watching.
Seungcheol froze for a split second, just enough to feel the weight of Minghao’s gaze.
And then he turned away.
He knew that look.
Knew it too well.
Minghao had already figured it out.
—
Seungcheol wasn’t sure how long he had before Minghao confronted him, but he knew it was coming.
Minghao never reacted impulsively, never made a scene. He was careful, methodical, always waiting for the right moment to ask the right question.
So when the others had filtered out, leaving just the two of them backstage, Seungcheol didn’t need to turn around to know he was there.
"You’re seeing her."
It wasn’t a question.
Still, Seungcheol took his time turning. He could pretend to be surprised. He could play dumb. But there was no point.
Instead, he just met Minghao’s gaze.
"Yes."
Minghao didn’t flinch. Didn’t sigh. Didn’t react the way the others would have.
He just studied him.
"You never told me."
It wasn’t an accusation, but it wasn’t just a statement either. It held something else—something heavier, something that made Seungcheol’s stomach twist.
Because there was a truth underneath it.
You never told me.
But I told you about her.
I talked about her. I admired her. I trusted you.
And now, suddenly, she’s yours.
Seungcheol clenched his jaw, exhaling slowly. He could say I didn’t have to. He could say I didn’t think it mattered.
But both of those would be lies.
Minghao had noticed before anyone else. That was the kind of person he was—someone who paid attention, someone who saw things before they were spoken aloud. He had noticed the way Seungcheol lingered on his phone, the way his expression softened before locking the screen. He had noticed the flowers, the careful way Seungcheol crafted his words.
And now, standing in front of him, he wasn’t asking because he didn’t know.
He was asking because he wanted to know why.
Seungcheol swallowed. He could offer an excuse. Say it happened fast, that he didn’t want to make it a big deal. But none of those were true either.
He had avoided telling Minghao.
Because he knew it would feel like this.
Because he knew—deep down—that Minghao cared more than he ever let on.
And maybe that was the part that made Seungcheol feel guilty.
Minghao let out a quiet laugh, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just be careful, hyung.”
It wasn’t a warning. It wasn’t a threat.
It was a reminder.
Seungcheol didn’t ask what he meant.
Didn’t tell him that it was already too late for that.
—
September, 2024
It was supposed to be a casual night.
One of those rare evenings where practice ended early enough for them to grab drinks together, unwind after hours of sweating under bright lights and sharper critiques.
So here they were, packed into their usual spot—an upscale but quiet bar tucked away from prying eyes—nursing cold beers and emptying shared plates of anju.
Seungcheol had just returned from ordering another round when he felt it.
That shift in the air.
Subtle, but there.
The way the conversation slowed just slightly as he sat back down, the way glances flickered toward him—too fleeting to call out, but just enough to make his skin prickle.
And then—
“So,” Seungkwan began, slow, casual. A little too casual. “Sua, huh?”
Jun hummed, swirling his drink. “Interesting.”
"Very interesting,” Joshua echoed.
Seungcheol sighed, setting his glass down. “Just say it.”
Jeonghan, ever the executioner, leaned back with a lazy smirk. “We just realized something.”
A beat.
"She’s the same Jang Sua that Minghao always talks about."
Seungcheol barely reacted, years of self-control keeping his expression neutral.
But inside?
Inside, something twisted.
Of course, they figured it out.
He didn’t dare glance at Minghao, who sat a little too still, fingers resting lightly against his glass, gaze unreadable.
Vernon, unbothered as always, was the first to break the quiet. “Damn. Small world.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Woozi muttered.
DK, who always took a second longer to catch on, blinked. “Wait, so—” He turned to Minghao. “Isn’t she the one you always—”
“Drop it,” Minghao cut in smoothly.
The words weren’t sharp, but they carried weight.
DK shut up.
And just like that, the tension stretched taut.
Seungcheol breathed evenly, keeping his expression unreadable.
He didn’t owe anyone an explanation.
But under their scrutiny, he felt like he did.
Because he knew what they might thinking.
Was there something between them?Did she play them both?Did Minghao like her first?
It was bullshit.
Sua wasn’t like that.
And Minghao wasn’t the type to get strung along.
Seungcheol knew this.
And yet, the thought that even one of them might be entertaining the idea made his stomach coil uncomfortably.
He felt his jaw tighten, shoulders stiffening—
Then—
A soft nudge under the table.
Jeonghan.
Seungcheol turned slightly, catching the lazy way Jeonghan sipped his drink, the ever-knowing glint in his eyes.
“Cheol,” Jeonghan murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.
And just like that, the tension in Seungcheol’s body unraveled.
Because he knew what Jeonghan meant.
Let it go.
Starting an argument now would only make things worse.
So instead, Seungcheol exhaled. Forced himself to relax.
Shrugged.
“What can I say?” He reached for his beer, voice easy, light. “Guess Minghao has good taste.”
A beat.
Then—
Jeonghan snorted.
The others groaned.
And just like that, the weight in the air lifted.
Conversation picked up again, the scrutiny shifting elsewhere, and the moment passed.
Seungcheol took a slow sip of his drink.
Beside him, Minghao said nothing.
But Seungcheol didn’t miss the way his fingers curled around his glass just a little tighter.
Some love stories are whispered, not spoken. Some promises are signed, not said.
This is ours.
Fingers trace constellations on bare skin,
a quiet tether, an unspoken plea.
The world may call her name,
but here, in this hush of tangled limbs, she is his.
His lips press against the curve of her shoulder,
a silent claim, a whispered vow.
Let them watch, let them want—
but no one else will ever know her like this.
──────────────────────────────
Seungcheol x f!oc
MINORS DNI
MINORS DNR
Tags: tense relationship, idolxoc, slowburn relationship, angst, sexual interaction
Word count: 3.6k
──────────────────────────────
Chapter Five
The gallery was empty now, save for the echo of her own footsteps. The aftertaste of the exhibition lingered in the air—soft chatter still felt alive in the walls, the scent of expensive cologne and warm wine still clinging to the air. Sua moved through the dimly lit space, her body exhausted but her mind restless.
She had done it. Months of planning, endless sleepless nights—this exhibition had been hers to build from the ground up, and tonight, she had watched it unfold perfectly.
But she couldn’t shake it.
Minghao’s words. The way he had looked at her. The quiet knowing in his voice, the weight of something unspoken pressing into the space between them.
"You ever wonder what you’re getting yourself into?"
A slow exhale slipped from her lips as she reached her office, hands trembling slightly as she gathered her things. She knew the answer. She had known it the moment she signed that NDA, the moment she let Seungcheol pull her deeper into his world.
No turning back now.
Suddenly, she heard a soft rustle. A presence.
Her breath caught as she turned—only to find him standing there.
Seungcheol.
Leaning against the doorway, a bouquet in hand, watching her with something unreadable in his eyes.
Her lips parted. "You—what are you doing here?"
His smile was small. Almost knowing. "Figured my girl deserved flowers after tonight."
He stepped forward, slow, deliberate, until he was close enough for her to catch the scent of his cologne—His scent wrapped around her, thick and inescapable, a blend of smoky birch, crushed blackcurrant, and the lingering warmth of ambered musk. It didn’t just settle in the air; it clung to her skin, curled around her senses like a slow-burning ember, searing him into memory.
He held the bouquet out to her, but his gaze never wavered from her face. Sua took them carefully, fingers brushing against his. "You didn’t have to."
"I wanted to."
Silence. Heavy, charged.
She should be happy. She was happy. But something about the way Seungcheol was looking at her—like he was waiting for something—made her heart pound against her ribs.
"You okay?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.
"Of course," she said, too quickly.
A pause. His eyes flickered over her, sharp, knowing. Then—
"Minghao was here."
Her breath stilled.
Of course, he knew.
There was no hiding from Seungcheol, not when it came to this. He knew where his members were at any given time, knew their schedules, knew who would be free enough to stop by.
Seungcheol’s voice wasn’t accusing, but it wasn’t light either. It carried something else—something deeper, something darker.
"He stopped by for the opening," she admitted, fingers tightening around the bouquet.
A low hum.
Sua swallowed. "He bought two pieces."
Seungcheol’s jaw tensed. "Of course he did."
A flicker of something sharp, something unreadable in his eyes. Jealousy wasn’t an unfamiliar look on him, but this—this was something else.
"Cheol," she sighed, stepping closer. "It wasn’t like that."
He let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. "I know." His voice was softer now, but his body was still tense. "Just—fuck. I wish I could’ve been there." The words settled between them. Sua exhaled, reaching for his hand, "I wanted you there too," she murmured.
His fingers curled around hers. Warm, grounding.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then je broke the silence, "You’re distracted."
Her eyes flickered up to meet his, startled.
Seungcheol studied her carefully. "It’s not just me, is it?"
She hesitated. A slow smirk curled at the corner of his lips, but there was something else beneath it—something unreadable. "Did he say something?"
Silence.
His grip on her fingers tightened just slightly. Not demanding. Just waiting.
Sua swallowed. "He—" She hesitated. "He... Was just making sure, about us. Just asked if I knew what I was getting into."
A flicker. A shift.
Seungcheol’s jaw ticked. "Did you tell him you did?"
Sua let out a small, dry laugh. "Would it have mattered?"
Something in his eyes darkened.
Then, suddenly, he was moving.
Slow, deliberate steps until her back hit the edge of the desk. Until he was close enough for his breath to fan against her skin.
"Would it have?" he murmured, voice dangerously soft.
Her breath hitched. "Cheol—"
His fingers found her waist. Light, barely there. Teasing.
"You’re overthinking again," he murmured. "Worrying about things you don’t need to."
"I just—"
His fingers now found her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. "Look at me."
She did.
And immediately, she was drowning. Dark eyes, heavy-lidded with something unreadable. A gaze that stripped her bare, left her exposed in ways she wasn’t sure she could handle.
"I don’t care what he said," Seungcheol continued, his thumb ghosting over her bottom lip. "But I need to know if you do."
Sua hesitated. She wanted to say no.
Wanted to tell him she didn’t care. But she did.
Because Minghao had seen through her too easily. Had made her question things she had buried too deep.
Seungcheol’s jaw ticked. He exhaled, slow and measured, before his fingers traced lower, down the column of her throat, over the bare skin of her collarbone.
A slow, featherlight touch.
"Do you regret it?" he asked, low and quiet.
A beat of silence.
She exhaled. "No."
His lips twitched. "Then stop thinking about anyone else but me."
And then, his lips found hers.
—
It started slow.
A slow, simmering warmth—his hands moving with purpose, tracing every inch of her like he was memorizing her. Sua’s fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, closer, until the space between them no longer existed.
Seungcheol was all-consuming—his touch, his scent, the quiet hum of approval that rumbled against her lips when she tugged at his hair.
She could feel it. The tension. The unspoken need.
"You drive me crazy," he murmured against her skin.
She wanted to say something—wanted to push back, wanted to call him out on the way he was avoiding his own jealousy—but then he was lifting her, gripping her thighs, and suddenly, her back was against the cool surface of the desk, and Seungcheol was between her legs, looking down at her with something unreadable in his gaze.
"You always look so pretty like this," he murmured, his fingers trailing up the inside of her thigh. "So pliant. So eager."
Her breath caught.
His fingers ghosted higher. "Tell me what you want," he murmured.
A shiver ran down her spine.
"You," she whispered.
His breath hitched, and he gave her exactly that.
—
It was slow. Torturously so.
He took his time, lips trailing down her body, hands mapping out every inch of her as if he wanted to commit it to memory.
His touch was both soft and firm, teasing and demanding, every move designed to unravel her piece by piece.
And god—he knew exactly how to.
His mouth, warm and wet, against her skin.
His hands, rough and steady, gripping her thighs, her waist, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.
"You’re trembling," he murmured against her stomach, lips pressing against the sensitive skin there. "You're that desperate already?"
Sua let out a shaky breath.
"Seungcheol, please—"
"Patience," he tutted, his fingers digging into her hips. "I want to take my time with you tonight."
And he did.
He pushed her to the edge over and over again, only to pull back just as she was about to fall.
It was maddening.
Deliciously cruel.
Every time she thought she had a moment to breathe, he would shift, his mouth, his hands, something new pressing against her, inside her, pushing her higher, making her beg.
"You like this, don’t you?" he murmured against her ear, his fingers teasing, his breath hot.
She couldn’t even answer.
Could barely form a coherent thought.
And god, he loved it.
"You’re so wet for me," he muttered. "So fucking needy."
Sua whimpered.
And finally, finally, he relented.
When he pushed into her, when their bodies finally came together, when he filled her so completely that all she could do was cling to him—
She knew.
She had already lost herself to him.
—
Seungcheol didn’t stop until he had her exactly where he wanted—writhing, breathless, her nails digging into his shoulders, her body arching under him like she was made to fit against him.
And fuck, she was.
He groaned, dragging his lips down the column of her throat, down to the dip of her collarbone, before biting down just enough to make her gasp.
“That’s it,” he murmured against her skin, voice thick with something raw. “Let me hear you.”
Sua was past the point of shame.
Her thighs trembled around his waist, her fingers tangled in his hair, her breath coming in sharp, shaky pants as he thrust into her—slow, deep, deliberate.
Every movement sent heat pooling low in her stomach, every drag of his body against hers sent pleasure sparking through her veins.
But it wasn’t enough.
Not nearly enough.
"Seungcheol," she gasped, her hips rolling up to meet his. "More—"
A sharp exhale, his fingers tightening around her waist.
"You’re so greedy," he muttered, but there was no real bite to his words. Only something dark, something amused, something dangerously fond.
Then, just as she was about to protest, he shifted, adjusting their angle—
And fuck.
Her breath hitched, her back arching off the desk as wet-hot pleasure shot through her.
"Seungcheol—"
"I know, baby," he groaned, dropping his forehead to hers. "I feel it too."
She clenched around him, her body desperate, aching, and Seungcheol cursed, his grip on her hips turning bruising.
And then he gave in.
His movements turned rougher, faster, his rhythm growing frantic as he chased the heat building between them.
The room was filled with nothing but the sound of their breathing, their bodies moving together, the sharp, quiet moans spilling from her lips every time he hit just the right spot.
And god—he loved that sound.
"Fuck," he gritted out, his fingers finding her jaw, tilting her face up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. "Look at me when you come."
The words alone nearly pushed her over.
She was close, so close, her body tightening, her nails dragging down his back, her thighs trembling—
Then—
A sharp thrust.
A whispered name.
And she shattered.
Pleasure flooded through her, blinding and all-consuming, and she barely even registered the low groan Seungcheol let out as he followed her over the edge, his grip turning desperate, his body pressing deeper, closer—
Until there was nothing left but the ragged sound of their breathing, the heavy weight of his body against hers, the slow, steady return to reality.
—
Seungcheol exhaled a quiet laugh, his lips grazing the damp skin of her shoulder as they lay tangled together on the sofa in her office. Their breaths were still uneven, the heat of their bodies lingering in the space between them. His fingers traced absent patterns along her spine, a silent conversation in the aftermath of pleasure.
“You good?” he murmured, voice hushed, like he didn’t want to break the fragile stillness wrapped around them.
Sua let out something between a sigh and a laugh, her cheek pressed against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. “Shut up.”
He huffed out a soft chuckle, the warmth of it brushing against her hair. "I’ll take that as a yes."
She rolled her eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it—only warmth, only the quiet hum of something deeper. He tightened his arms around her just a little, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple. And for a moment, the rest of the world ceased to exist. Just them, tangled together, basking in the afterglow of something neither of them were quite ready to name.
—
Seungcheol kept one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on his thigh, fingers curled into a fist. The car hummed softly around them, the city lights blurring past in streaks of gold and red. Beside him, Sua had fallen asleep, her body slack with exhaustion, her breathing slow and steady.
She was his.
She had given herself to him with no hesitation, had let him unravel her completely in that dimly lit office, her body fitting against his like it was meant to be there. And yet—he could still feel it. That small, nagging weight pressing against his chest, that flicker of hesitation in her eyes when she thought he wasn’t looking.
Minghao.
Seungcheol never thought he'd feel jealous of Minghao.
Not like this.
They’ve spent years together, trained through exhaustion, built a bond that was supposed to be unshakable. Seventeen was his family, his pride. But the second he realized Minghao had been there first—had known Sua before he even got the chance—something ugly curled in his chest, twisting sharp and unrelenting.
The words Minghao left her with weren’t much, just a simple warning, but it was enough. Enough to linger in Sua’s mind, enough to make her hesitate, enough to plant doubt where Seungcheol had spent weeks making her feel sure about them. About him.
Seungcheol wanted to scoff. What the fuck did Minghao know?
But Minghao isn’t just some guy he can despise and be done with. He’s family. A brother. And Seungcheol would never let himself be the reason that bond breaks. But damn it, the thought of Sua, his Sua, standing next to Minghao, listening to his words, considering them—
The car stopped at a red light. Seungcheol turned his head slightly, his gaze softening when it landed on her. She looked so small like this. So quiet, so at peace, her body tucked into the seat, her head tilted ever so slightly toward the window, strands of her hair slipping over her cheek like a delicate veil. The faint rise and fall of her breath was the only movement, as if the world outside couldn’t touch her in this moment.
She’s here with me now. That’s all that matters.
At least, that’s what he told himself. But deep down, he knew—he wasn’t done proving it to her.
