The first few weeks back in Los Angeles were a lesson in emotional endurance. The "16-hour gap" was no longer a novelty; it was a ghost that haunted your every move. You were living a double life: a rising global star by day, and a girl huddled under her duvet with a portable charger by night.
Being in a relationship with Anton meant becoming an expert in the "Digital Date." Because of the time difference, your 3:00 AM was his 7:00 PM. You both had downloaded an app that allowed you to sync your screens, so while the rest of the KATSEYE residence slept, you’d watch grainy indie movies together. He’d be in his room in the RIIZE dorm, whispering into his mic so Sungchan nor Sohee disturbs him, while you sat on your balcony, watching the LA smog turn into a sunrise.
The low point came on a Tuesday. Anton hadn’t texted in twelve hours—unusual for a boy who usually sent "🦕" emojis every time he had a five-minute break. When he finally answered your FaceTime, he didn't even have the energy to smirk. His face was pale, his eyes glazed with fever, and he was wrapped in three blankets despite the summer heat in Seoul.
"Music show rehearsals," he rasped, coughing into his hand. "The AC in the studio was too high. I think my body finally realized I haven't slept more than four hours a night since June."
Your heart twisted. You were 6,000 miles away, and you couldn't even give him a glass of water. "Anton, did you eat? Did the managers bring you anything besides caffeine?"
"They brought vitamins," he sighed, leaning his head back against the headboard. "Everyone is busy, Y/N. We have a fan-con finale to prep for. It’s fine."
It wasn't fine. You spent the next hour navigating a Korean delivery app, using every ounce of your "Translation Girl" knowledge (Yoonchae you are heaven sent) to bypass the South Korean phone verification errors. Finally, you successfully ordered a warm bowl of porridge and honey-ginger tea to be delivered to the RIIZE dorm.
An hour later, your phone buzzed with a photo. Anton, looking slightly more human, holding the spoon with a weak smile.
A 🦕: You're still taking care of me from across the world. I’m a lucky thief.
Y/N: Just get better. I don't want to date a ghost.
A 🦕: I’ll be back soon. I have a surprise for late August. Stay awake.
The universe finally paid its debt in late August. RIIZE was granted a rare four-day "family break" before their Japan debut, and Anton headed straight to his childhood home in New Jersey. At the same time, KATSEYE was flown to Manhattan for a high-profile press circuit.
For the first time since the Han River, you were in the same time zone.
"I'm at the George Washington Bridge," Anton’s voice crackled over the phone, sounding clearer than it ever had on FaceTime. "I asked a friend to give a ride. Give me twenty minutes. Wear something... not famous."
You snuck out of the side entrance of the Soho hotel, wearing an oversized trench coat and a New York Yankees cap. When a black Mazda CX-5 pulled to the curb, you hopped in, and the smell of the interiorold leather and the lingering scent of a New York bagel shop hit you instantly.
Anton wasn't wearing stage makeup. He was in a faded hoodie and glasses, looking exactly like the boy he was before the world knew his name. He didn't say a word to you; he asked to pull the car into a quiet area and pulled you across the center console into a hug that lasted for an eternity.
"No lag," he whispered into your neck. "Your voice doesn't have any static."
He drove you to a rocky park overlooking the Hudson River. The Manhattan skyline glittered across the water. "This is where I used to come when I wanted to forget about the pressure," Anton said, sitting on the hood of the car beside you.
He showed you his wrist. He was wearing a new string of black beads that mirrored your blue ones. "A matching set. One for the girl in LA, one for the boy in Seoul. It’s like a tether."
He leaned in, his hand cupping the back of your head as he kissed you—a slow, grounding kiss that tasted like the end of a long journey. "I grew up in these streets," he murmured. "I know how to find my way home. And right now, Y/N, home is wherever you’re standing."
i will be finishing this story don't worry! just taking a while to update, been dealing with things lately. hope you lot like this one- pchaes₍^. .^₎⟆
∇ synopsis: anton and y/n are huge cinephiles whose relationship mostly unfolds through online movie dates, or the one where letterboxd is their form of love
∇ genre: fake texts, smau, fluff, one!shot smau, + headcanons under the cut
〇〇〇 LETTERBOXD
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10 Things I Hate About You (1999)
★★★★ Watched March 11, 2023
🍥 says: enemies-to-lovers but make it chaotic 90s high school romance. the insults, the prom drama, the poetry, everything about this movie is honestly iconic. also if someone *wink wink* ever sang to me in a stadium like that i would simply fall in love immediately
🦕 says: if i didn’t sing for a living i would so book a stadium just to embarrass myself for your happiness<3 ps. i would write you poems everyday
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To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018)
★★★ Watched February 14, 2026
🦕 says: fake dating trope my beloved! letters accidentally sent absolute social nightmare BUT amazing plot. SOME PEOPLE say peter kavinsky did not raise the bar with this movie but i like to say otherwise… best sequel out there tbh
🍥 says: not going to argue with the best sequel statement, but babe kavinsky raised the bar AND THEN brought it down after that hot-tub scene (yes i will forever talk about that detail) i loved my girl LJ tho!!!
edited to add: is this not the time to say you’re the lara jean to my kavinsky ,,>﹏<,, - 🦕
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Past Lives (2023)
★★★★ Watched June 3, 2024
🦕 says: quiet, beautiful, and emotionally devastating. the whole idea that people are connected across lifetimes is very romantic to me:,) “인연” has permanently altered my brain chemistry ╥‸╥ ps. if there are infinite lives i’d still pick you every time 🍥
🍥 says: the thought of us meeting in at least 8 lives is making my heart hurt omg. i wish that in at least one of those lives i also dream in your language :)
edited to add: if you ever start dreaming in my language i’m considering that proof we were meant to find each other again, your 인연 🦕
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Pearl (2022)
★★★★ ½ Watched October 13, 2025
🦕 says: technicolor horror farm girl slowly losing her mind, unsettling but weirdly mesmerizing. that monologue??? 🍥 i love you please never go crazy and smile at me the same way she did at the end… i honestly think that smile is forever going to haunt me, insane acting!!! (mia goth i love you my absolute goat)
🍥: do u want me to go crazy and smile like that 🦕?
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La La Land (2016)
★★★ Watched May 17, 2025
🍥 says: first time i watched this i deadass compared mia and sebastian to me and 🦕 and then tragedy struck and wow….. safe to safe i stopped comparing movie couples to me and bae! anyways, this movie is dreamy, romantic, beautiful… and then the ending emotionally punches you in the face. up to this day i REFUSEEEE to accept that ending!!!!!
🦕 says: you type so beautifully i think i want to kiss you hehe. ANYWAYS, in some alternate universe sebastian proposes to mia while dancing at the planetarium and after that they live happily and have beautiful kids…. oh wait, that kinda sounds like our future ˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵
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Frankstein (2025)
★★★★ Watched December 7, 2025
🍥 says: jacob elordi (sorry babe)😍😍😍😍😍 besides this absolute hottie on my screen this gothic tragedy about loneliness and responsibility was portrayed to the point. also victor creating life and then immediately abandoning it is insane behavior #daddyissues?
🦕 says: apology not accept ◞‸◟ ps. i’d become immortal with you if it meant never losing you (something j***b e****i would never do)
edited to add: i would love being immortal with YOU<333, 🍥
The luxury of the hotel suite felt like a gilded cage the next morning. At 9:00 AM, a sharp, rhythmic knock at the door signaled the end of the "LA Dream." It wasn't the girls returning from breakfast; it was the KATSEYE lead manager, her face a mask of professional neutrality, holding a tablet that displayed a frozen frame of a very familiar signed ball.
"Conference room. Ten minutes," was all she said. No "Good morning," no "Great show last night."
Across town, in a different hotel, Anton was facing a similar storm. The RIIZE floor was uncharacteristically silent, the usual boisterous laughter of the members muffled behind heavy doors.
The conference room was sterile, smelling of bitter coffee and corporate stress. You sat on one side of the long mahogany table, with Sophia sitting firmly beside you—a silent, fierce show of sisterhood. On the screen was a high-definition video call with the label heads in Seoul.
"Y/N," the voice from the speaker was calm but cold. "The 'Bracelet Gate' was a successful viral moment. It gave KATSEYE visibility. But the interaction last night? The signed ball? That wasn't marketing. That was personal. In this industry, 'personal' is a liability."
"He was just being a senior—" you started, your voice steady despite the tremor in your hands.
Sophia squeezed your hand under the table, signaling you to stop. "It was an impulsive move by a senior artist," she added smoothly, taking the heat. "Y/N handled it professionally. She didn't cause a scene or encourage the fans."
"The fans don't care about 'professionalism,'" the executive countered. "They care about the fact that Anton looks like he’s about to risk his career for a girl he’s known for months. We need a statement. A denial of any 'special relationship.'"
Your heart hammered against your ribs. A denial. To tell the world that the "16 Hours" song didn't exist, that the Hollywood Hills didn't happen, and that the blue beads were just a PR prop. You looked at the signed ball sitting on the table—the ink was still fresh.
Suddenly, a notification popped up on the manager's tablet. Her eyes widened, and she began typing furiously. "Sir... we have a problem. Or a solution. I'm not sure which."
She turned the tablet toward you. It was a post from RIIZE’s official account—not a company-drafted statement, but a personal update from Anton. It was a photo of his own wrist, bare and empty, with the caption:
“Luck isn't something you own. It’s something you give to the people who deserve it. I’m glad mine is in good hands. See you soon, LA.”
He hadn't denied it. He had doubled down. The room went dead silent. Anton had just effectively told two of the biggest companies in music that he wasn't going to play the "denial" game. He had turned a potential scandal into a legendary moment of "idol chivalry."
The companies, realizing that a heavy-handed "dating ban" scandal would be more damaging than a "wholesome friendship" narrative, pivoted. They allowed a final, supervised meeting at LAX—under the guise of "collaborative content filming"—to say goodbye.
The private terminal was a whirlwind of security and staff. The KATSEYE girls were standing near their van, and the RIIZE members were a few yards away, preparing to board their flight to Seoul.
Yoonchae was clinging to your arm, looking back and forth between you and Anton like a nervous bird. "Unnie, don't cry," she whispered, her own lower lip trembling. "We'll be in Korea for the Asia tour in September. That’s only two months!"
Anton broke away from his group. He didn't run, and he didn't sneak. He walked straight up to you in front of both sets of managers. He looked exhausted, his hair messy under a black beanie, but that signature smirk was back—though it was softer now.
"I heard you had a fun morning in the conference room," he said, his voice dropping to that low, private register.
"I heard you’re a nightmare for your PR team," you countered, a single tear finally escaping and rolling down your cheek.
He reached out, and for the first time in front of the world, he didn't just brush your pinky. He pulled you into a quick, fierce hug. It lasted only five seconds, but in that space, the noise of the terminal vanished. He smelled like coffee, the LA morning, and the woody scent that had become your favorite thing in the world.
"The 16 hours starts again," he whispered into your hair, his grip tightening for a fraction of a second. "But this time, I'm not chasing a thief. I'm waiting for my girl."
He pulled back, reaching into his pocket and pressing something into your palm. It was a small, polaroid photo from the Hollywood lookout—the only physical evidence that the night had actually happened.
"Keep it safe," he said. He gave a quick nod to Sophia and Yoonchae, then turned to join his members.
As the RIIZE van pulled away toward the runway, you stood on the tarmac, the hot California wind whipping your hair. You looked down at your wrist. The blue beads were there. The silver 'A' was there. And as the plane took off into the blue sky, the distance didn't feel like an ocean anymore—it just felt like a countdown to September.
sorry for the long wait for the next chapter, been going through some stuff and haven't really been able to edit the next ones. hope yall enjoy this one
The "Hollywood Escape" had felt like a movie, but the walk back into the hotel suite at 2:00 AM felt like a walk to the gallows. You moved through the darkened foyer of the luxury suite, trying to be a ghost, but the light in the living area was already on.
All of them were there—Sophia, Manon, Megan, Daniela, and Lara. But sitting right in the middle, looking the most wide-awake of all, was Yoonchae. She was hugged up against a giant squishmallow, her eyes tracking you the second you stepped into the light.
"Oh, look who decided to join us," Megan said, her voice dripping with mock casualness.
"How was the 'walk'?" Daniela asked, leaning forward with a predatory grin. "You’ve been gone for three hours, Y/N. That’s a very long walk in the hills."
"We just... talked," you said, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. You tried to hide your wrist, but Yoonchae was faster. She scrambled off the couch and grabbed your hand, her eyes going wide as she spotted the silver ‘A’ charm.
"He gave it back!" she gasped, looking up at you with pure, unfiltered excitement. "Y/n, does this mean he’s officially our brother-in-law now?"
"Yoonchae, no!" you hissed, though you couldn't stop the laugh.
"I mean, he did say I could keep the beads," you whispered, glancing at the older girls who were now leaning in, hungry for details. "As long as he gets to keeps me."
The room erupted. Megan threw a handful of popcorn, Lara shrieked into a pillow, and Yoonchae started doing a little victory dance around the coffee table.
"Okay, okay!" Sophia laughed, waving them down. "He’s cute, and he’s clearly obsessed. But Yoonchae, if you mention 'brother-in-law' within ten feet of a camera tomorrow, we are all cooked. Go to sleep. Scrub that 'glow' off your face, Y/N, before the makeup artist sees it."
The Crypto.com Arena was a fortress of screaming fans and flashing lightsticks. Behind the scenes, the "Closed Set" energy of the previous night was gone, replaced by the frantic adrenaline of a global event.
You were in the wings of the stage, dressed in your "Touch" performance outfit. Yoonchae was standing next to you, bouncing on her heels. She kept looking toward the RIIZE dressing rooms, her eyes darting around like she was on a secret mission.
"Y/n, look!" she whispered, nudging you hard.
Anton was standing by a gear flight case, looking effortlessly cool in a loose jersey. As you walked by, he didn't say anything, but as he caught your eye, he gave a tiny, subtle tilt of his head. Yoonchae, bless her, decided to be the world's best wing-woman.
"Oh! I think I left my water bottle over there!" she announced loudly, pointedly walking in the opposite direction and dragging a confused-looking Daniela with her to give you space.
Anton used the two-second window. He stepped closer, his shoulder brushing yours. "Don't trip and fall for me." he whispered, his eyes flashing. "I'm watching."
"Don't get distracted, Thief," you shot back.
During the grand finale, all the idols were out on the catwalk. You were waving to a section of fans when Anton moved into the space behind you. The fans were already losing it, sensing the "Bracelet Couple" was in close proximity.
Anton reached into his basket, pulled out a signed ball, and instead of throwing it into the crowd, he handed it directly to you. The scream from the arena was deafening. Yoonchae, standing just a few feet away, practically vibrated with the effort of not screaming herself.
As you took the ball, you saw the black marker: Property of the Thief. (Call me after the show).
The van ride back to the hotel was usually a time for the girls to crash, but tonight, the interior was illuminated by the frantic glow of six smartphones.
"It’s trending," Lara said, her eyes wide. "No, wait. It’s the number one trending topic worldwide. #BraceletBall and #AntonYN."
"Give me that," Sophia said, grabbing Megan's phone to see the damage. You sat in the back, the signed ball still clutched in your lap. You opened Twitter and your heart nearly stopped. The fans hadn't just noticed the hand-off; they had treated it like a crime scene.
@kpop_detective: THE BALL. Look at the way he hands it to her. He doesn't toss it, he places it in her hand. AND LOOK AT THE REACTION IN THE BACKGROUND—Yoonchae is literally about to combust. WHAT IS ON THE BALL???
"Y/n, look at this TikTok!" Yoonchae squealed, shoving her phone in your face. It was a slow-motion edit of your pinkies brushing in the wings, set to a romantic remix. The caption read: “The 16-hour gap is officially closed. I’m crying.”
"The labels," you whispered, the reality finally sinking in. "They’re going to call us, aren't they?"
Suddenly, your phone buzzed. A text.
unknown: My manager just took my phone. I’m using Sungchan’s. They saw the trends. They aren't happy, but they can't delete what happened in front of 20,000 people.
unknown: I don’t regret it. Check the ball again. There’s something written on the bottom, under my signature.
You turned the ball over. Hidden near the seam, in tiny, hurried script, were three words that made the Twitter meltdown feel like a distant hum:
The post-rehearsal energy was electric. Instead of splitting up to return to their respective hotels, the groups decided on a whim to hit a late-night In-N-Out. It was a logistical nightmare for the managers, but in Los Angeles, the rules felt a little more flexible than the rigid protocols of Seoul.
"I’m telling you, the animal-style fries are the only way to go," Megan was explaining loudly to Wonbin as you all piled into a large, tinted SUV. Wonbin was nodding with intense focus, looking like he was receiving sacred, ancient information from a high priestess of fast food.
You were crammed into the back row between Manon and Anton. The car was a chaotic symphony of English, Korean, and the rustle of snack bags. The air was a mix of salt, leather, and the faint, woody scent of Anton’s cologne that seemed to anchor you in the middle of the noise.
In the middle of the laughter, you felt a hand slide across the seat and find yours. Anton didn’t look at you; he was staring out the window, pretending to be fascinated by the neon palm tree signs of Sunset Boulevard. But his fingers interlaced with yours, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles over your knuckles.
"You're quiet," he murmured, his voice a low vibration that only you could hear over Wonbin’s dramatic retelling of a dance mishap.
"I’m just watching everyone," you whispered back, squeezing his hand. "I didn't think our groups would get along this well. It feels... normal. Which is the weirdest part of our lives, isn't it?"
"They're not the ones I'm worried about," he said, finally turning his head. The passing streetlights flickered across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the softness in his eyes. "I'm worried about the fact that I'm sitting six inches away from you and I still feel like I'm chasing you across an ocean."
Suddenly, the car swerved to merge onto the freeway, and the momentum threw you against his shoulder. Anton didn’t move away. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you firmly into his side. Across the seat, Manon caught your eye and gave you a tiny, supportive wink. The secret wasn't exactly a secret to the people in this car, and that realization made the burger run feel like the most beautiful, reckless night of your life.
By the time the groups finished their meal at a quiet corner of the parking lot, the moon was high and the rest of the members were slipping into a "food coma" haze. While the others were busy arguing over which K-pop song to blast on the ride back, Anton leaned in close to your ear.
"Check your pocket," he breathed.
You reached down and felt a cold, metallic weight. A car key. You looked at him, confused, and he just gave you a subtle nod toward a nondescript, silver rental car parked two rows away. While Megan and Sohee were distracted by a TikTok challenge, you and Anton slipped away. It was a clean break one second you were part of the group, and the next, you were pulling out of the parking lot, the sound of the others' laughter fading into the distance.
Anton was driving, his hands steady on the wheel, looking completely at home in the LA night. He navigated the winding roads of the Hollywood Hills with a quiet confidence, the city shrinking into a grid of shimmering gold and white lights behind you.
"Where are we going, Thief?" you asked, finally letting out the breath you’d been holding since the parking lot.
"Somewhere where I don't have to share you," he said simply.
He pulled over at a hidden lookout point, a small dirt turnout that overlooked the entire sprawling basin of Los Angeles. He turned off the engine, and the silence that followed was heavy and sweet, broken only by the ticking of the cooling engine and the sound of your own heart.
He didn't say anything at first. He just reached over and took your left hand, lifting it so he could see the blue beads on your wrist in the moonlight. His touch was electric, a stark contrast to the cool night air coming through the cracked window.
"I missed this," he said softly, his thumb brushing over the silver 'A' charm he had added back in Seoul.
"The beads?" you teased, though your voice was trembling. "I thought you liked being the one wearing them."
"No," he said, turning in his seat until he was inches from you. The shadows of the hills made his features look sharper, his gaze more intense. He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray hair away from your forehead, his touch lingering against your skin as if he were memorizing the feel of it.
"I don't need the beads anymore. I realized something while I was staring at the clouds for ten hours on that flight." He leaned forward, his forehead resting gently against yours. You could feel his breath on your lips, warm and steady. "I spent all summer holding your jewelry hostage just so I’d have an excuse to see you again. But now that I’m here..."
He leaned in, closing the distance in a kiss that was slow, deep, and tasted like a long-overdue promise. It was the kind of kiss that made the rest of the world the schedules, the fans, the 16-hour gap simply cease to exist. When he finally pulled back just an inch, his hand was cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip.
He looked at the bracelet on your wrist one last time, then met your eyes with a soft, lopsided smile that was purely Anton.
"You keep the beads, Y/N," he whispered, his voice thick with a sincerity that made your heart melt. "While I keep you."
author notes: made this while listening to anton's october notes, my love for lang leav and listening to very romantic music/late night drives ( ꈍᴗꈍ) happy 22nd birthday anton! 🥳
There is a specific kind of silence that belongs only to Lee Chanyoung.
It isn't the empty kind of silence that makes you want to fill it with noise; it’s a dense, textured quiet, like the weight of water when you’re ten feet under the surface of a pool, where the world above is just a blur of light and distorted sound. To love him is to learn how to breathe in that pressure—to realize that while he might be built like a cinematic lead, his heart beats with the jagged, nervous energy of a producer who stayed up until 4:00 AM trying to find the perfect frequency for a single synth note.
You find him on the balcony of the apartment, his large frame hunched over the railing. He looks "cool"—he always does, even in a faded hoodie and glasses—but you know better. You know the way his brain works like a browser with too many tabs open, constantly analyzing the "why" of every moment. He’s a romantic cynic, someone who believes in the magic of a melody but worries that every beautiful thing is just a countdown to a memory.
"The air is different when you turn a year older," he says, not looking back as you slide out beside him. His voice is that soft-spoken, low-register mumble that feels like it vibrates in your bones. "It’s like the world expects you to have more answers, but all I have are more questions."
"You don't need answers today, Chanyoungie," you whisper, leaning your head against his bicep. The muscle is firm—a reminder of the years spent in the water, the discipline of a professional athlete—but his hand, when it reaches for yours, is tentative. Almost shy. "Today is just about the fact that you exist. That’s enough of an answer for me."
He turns then, his glasses sliding slightly down the bridge of his nose. He looks at you with an intensity that feels like a physical touch. This is the duality of Anton—the sharp, athletic exterior housing a mind that is constantly wandering through scores of music and philosophical "what-ifs." He is so humble it’s almost frustrating; he genuinely doesn't see how his existence is a gift. He just sees a boy who likes the way cello strings feel against his calloused fingers.
"I was thinking about my parents earlier," he says, his voice dropping an octave as he opens up—the kind of emotional honesty that feels like a private catharsis. "About how they created me, and then I became... this. This person who lives in front of cameras but feels most at home in a dark studio. I’m grateful, you know? That they let me be me. That they let me be the guy who thinks too much."
You reach up, pushing his glasses back into place, your fingers lingering on his temple. "The world doesn't need another 'perfect' guy, Chanyoung. We needed someone who knows how to speak his mind even when his voice shakes. We needed a guy who is a masterpiece and a work-in-progress at the same time."
He huffs a small, self-deprecating laugh, pulling you into the crook of his arm. The "boyfriend" energy he radiates is effortless—not because he’s trying to be romantic, but because he’s naturally protective, a quiet anchor in a storm of industry noise.
You spend the rest of the night in a state of shared solitude. There are no flashing lights or loud music. Instead, you sit on the floor of his workroom, surrounded by his instruments. He sits at his keyboard, and for a long time, he just plays. It’s not a song anyone will ever hear on an album; it’s a conversation between him and the keys. It’s messy, it’s beautiful, and it’s deeply personal.
As the clock ticks further into the 21st, he stops playing and looks at you. He looks tired, but it’s a good kind of tired—the kind that comes from finally letting go of the need to be "on."
"Thank you," he says, so quietly you almost miss it.
"For what?"
"For not making me be 'Anton' today. For just letting me be Chanyoung. For liking the nerd part of me as much as the rest."
You crawl over to him, settling between his knees as he sits on the piano bench. You wrap your arms around his neck, feeling the warmth of him, the reality of him. He is a dreamy guy, a once-in-a-lifetime kind of person, and yet, in this room, he is just yours.
"Happy birthday, Chanyoung," you whisper, pulling him into the space where your breath meets his. "They say the stars align only once in a lifetime, but I think the universe spent centuries perfecting the way your soul sounds. You are the poetry the world forgot to write, and I am the one who gets to read you between the lines. I don't just love you for who you are; I love you for the quiet universe you let me inhabit. You aren't just a moment in my life—you are the whole story."
He closes his eyes, burying his face in your shoulder, finally letting the weight of his 22 years rest. The sun will still rise, the world will still move too fast, but for right now, the universe is just the two of you, trapped in a perfect, quiet frequency.
The "Closed Set" rehearsal wasn't nearly as stiff as Anton had expected. He was used to the rigid, but not so silent hallways of music shows in Seoul, but the LA rehearsal space was loud. Music was thumping from three different rooms, and the staff were wearing flannels and sneakers instead of suits.
When RIIZE walked into the main hall, the KATSEYE girls were already there. They weren't standing in a formal line to bow; they were sitting in a circle on the floor, passing around a bag of dried mango and laughing.
"Yo! RIIZE is here!" Megan shouted, waving a hand.
The groups converged naturally. It wasn't the typical "90-degree bow and silence" routine. It was a chaotic mix of English, Korean, and hand gestures.
Shotaro was already talking to Daniela about dance footwork, and Sungchan was trying to explain something to Lara that involved a lot of dramatic acting.
Anton stayed at the back of the pack, his eyes scanning the room. Then he saw you.
You were leaning against a stack of speakers, talking to Manon. You were wearing a cropped KATSEYE jersey and sweatpants, your hair tied up in a messy bun. You looked like home. And there, on your wrist, was the flash of blue beads and his silver ‘A’.
"Anton! Don't just stand there like a statue," Sohee nudged him, grinning. "Go say hi to your 'Translation Girl.' Or did you forget how to speak English the moment we landed? which would be quite nonsense considering you're American"
Anton rolled his eyes, but he walked over. As he approached, Manon gave you a knowing look—one that told Anton she definitely knew more than she was letting on and excused herself to go find some water.
"You look like you survived the 16 hours," Anton said, stopping in front of you. He didn't check to see if anyone was watching. In this room, with the groups mingling so freely, it just looked like two friends catching up.
"Barely," you said, looking up at him. Your eyes were bright, and for a second, the noise of the room faded away. "I heard your demo, Anton. You’re lucky I’m the only one who has the file, or you’d be in a lot of trouble with your A&R team."
"I like trouble," he murmured, stepping just an inch closer. "Especially if it sounds like that."
"Hey, Y/N!" Wonbin called out from across the room. "Tell Anton he needs to stop being so moody. He’s been staring at his phone for ten hours on the plane."
"I wasn't being moody," Anton shot back in Korean, though he was smiling.
"He was pining," Sophia added, walking over with a smirk. She looked at Anton, then at you, then at the bracelet. "We’ve heard a lot about you, Anton. Thanks for 'keeping the luck safe' for our girl. But I think she can handle it from here."
The room felt light. It wasn't just you and Anton against the world; it felt like both groups were in on the secret, or at least, they were happy to let the two of you have your "thing." It was the kind of freedom they never got in Seoul.
"So," Anton said, turning back to you, his voice dropping so only you could hear. "The rehearsal ends at six. The girls are going for In-N-Out, and the guys are going to the hotel. But I think I left something in your van. Or maybe you left something in mine?"
"Is that your new move?" you teased. "Faking lost property?"
"Whatever gets me five minutes alone with you without Wonbin yelling at me," he whispered. He reached out a bold move and flicked the silver ‘A’ on your wrist. "I’m not leaving LA until that charm is replaced by something better, Y/N."
The hum of the plane was a constant, low-frequency vibration that usually helped Anton sleep, but today, it just felt like static in his brain.
He leaned his forehead against the cool plastic of the window, staring out at the endless expanse of clouds over the Pacific. Beside him, Sungchan was dead to the world with an eye mask on, and Wonbin was scrolling through a movie list. Anton, however, was staring at his own right wrist.
It felt empty. It had been weeks since he’d handed the blue beads back to Y/N at the cafe, and his skin felt strangely exposed without them.
He pulled his phone from his pocket flight mode on and opened his voice notes. He clicked on the file labeled 'Jetlag (Demo)'. He didn't need to play it; he could hear the melody in his head. Every chord was a reminder of the 2:00 AM calls, the grainy FaceTime pixels, and the way her voice sounded when she was tired—softer, less guarded.
“Are you okay?” Eunseok had asked him during practice yesterday. “You’re spacing out during the bridge.”
Anton had just nodded and blamed it on the jet lag he hadn't even experienced yet. The truth was harder to explain. How do you tell your members that you’re falling for a girl who lives in a different time zone? How do you explain that the "Bracelet Gate" joke, which the managers finally stopped scolding him for, had turned into the only thing he thought about when the lights went down?
He remembered the way her hand felt in the stairwell—small, but firm. He remembered the look of pure defiance in her eyes when she called him a thief. He liked that she wasn't intimidated by him. In a world where everyone bowed or looked away, Y/N looked him right in the eye and demanded what was hers.
He smiled to himself, a small, private thing he hid behind his hand. He hadn't just returned the beads; he’d staked a claim with that silver ‘A’. It was a gamble. If she’d hated it, she would have ripped it off. But every time they talked, he saw it. She was still wearing it.
"Landing in thirty minutes," the flight attendant’s voice crackled over the intercom.
The cabin began to stir. Wonbin stretched, yawning. "LA," he muttered, looking at Anton. "Ready for the heat? And the fans? It’s going to be a madhouse at LAX."
"I'm ready," Anton said, and he meant it.
He wasn't thinking about the red carpets or the screaming crowds at KCON. He was thinking about the schedule his manager had sent him earlier. Day 1: Rehearsals. Day 2: Meet & Greet. Day 3: Special Collaboration Stage.
His eyes skipped over the corporate text until he found what he was looking for: Joint Rehearsal with KATSEYE (Closed Set).
He pulled his black face mask on and tugged his beanie low over his eyes. As the plane dipped through the clouds and the sprawl of Los Angeles appeared below, his heart did a slow, heavy thud against his ribs.
I'm coming for my beads, Y/N, he thought. And maybe, if I'm lucky, I'm coming for the girl who wears them.
The walk through LAX was a blur of flashing cameras and security guards shouting for space. Anton kept his head down, the noise of the fans sounding like a distant ocean. He felt the weight of his "Idol" armor—the expensive clothes, the untouchable aura, the mask.
But as he stepped into the back of the black SUV waiting at the curb, he pulled out his phone and sent a single text.
A 🦕: I just touched down. The air here tastes like jasmine. Or maybe that’s just because I know you’re breathing it too. See you at the rehearsal, Y/N.
He locked his phone and leaned back into the leather seat, a quiet, predatory smirk playing on his lips. The 16-hour gap was officially closed.
my fellow engenes :(( 🫂🫂
sorry for the delay in update, been running on a tight schedule lately.
July arrived with a heavy, sweltering heat that draped over Seoul like a curtain. In the fast-paced world of K-pop, the "Bracelet Gate" mystery had already begun to fade into the background of the news cycle. It had been replaced by a fresh wave of new scandals—dating rumors involving senior idols, a shocking lineup change for a rookie group, and the high-energy buzz of summer festival announcements. To the public, the "Translation Girl" and the "Thief" were just a viral summer memory.
But for you and Anton, the fire hadn't gone out; it had just moved underground.
While the world looked elsewhere, you were dealing with a massive hurdle: the Pacific Ocean. KATSEYE had moved back to Los Angeles to prepare for the global launch of "SIS (Soft Is Strong)" and the premiere of "Touch." Suddenly, your relationship existed in the cracks of a 16-hour time difference. You were waking up to the smell of smog and jasmine in LA just as he was finished with his final music show of the day in Seoul. You were heading to a grueling choreography session just as he was collapsing into bed.
It was 2:00 AM in LA. You were sitting on the balcony of the KATSEYE residence, the distant hum of the 405 freeway acting as white noise. You were wrapped in a thick hoodie to ward off the California night chill, your phone screen illuminating your face in a soft, blue glow.
A 🦕 calling...
You swiped "Accept" immediately. Anton’s face appeared, his hair damp from a post-performance shower. He looked exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes visible even in the dim light of the RIIZE dorm, but his expression brightened the moment he saw you.
"You look tired, Y/N," he said, his voice raspy. He was speaking English—a quiet, private bridge between your two worlds.
"I just spent ten hours learning the blocking for the music video," you whispered, leaning your head against the cold metal railing. "My legs feel like lead. How was the stage today?"
"Fine," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "We won another trophy, but the encore felt... quiet. I kept looking at the wings of the stage, half-expecting to see you glaring at me from the sidelines."
You smiled, lifting your left wrist into the camera's view. The blue beads were there, the silver "A" charm glinting under the moonlight. "I'm wearing them. They're my only reminder that the last month wasn't just a fever dream."
"I have something for you," Anton said, his expression turning serious. He leaned away from the camera, and a second later, the sound of a soft, acoustic guitar melody began to play through your phone speakers.
It was a rough recording—you could hear the sound of his breath and the slight squeak of fingers on strings. It wasn't the polished, synth-heavy sound of RIIZE. It was melodic, melancholic, and deeply personal.
"I wrote it this morning," he murmured over the music. "When I couldn't sleep because the time difference meant you were just starting your day while I was supposed to be ending mine. It’s called 'Jetlag'."
The lyrics were devastatingly honest. They were about a girl who was always a day ahead, and a boy who was constantly trying to catch up in his dreams.
"Anton," you breathed, your eyes stinging. "You can't let anyone hear that. Especially not your producers. They'll know exactly who it's about."
"I know," he said, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. "It’s not for them. It’s for you. I just needed you to know that even if we're on opposite sides of the world, I'm still 'holding onto' more than just a bracelet."
Suddenly, a door creaked on his end. Anton’s eyes widened, and he instantly muted his mic. You saw him shove his phone face-down against his sheets. A muffled voice—likely Wonbin or Sungchan—asked him something in Korean. Anton replied casually, his voice steady despite the fact that he was hiding a secret relationship under his pillow.
A minute later, he picked the phone back up. He was whispering now, his face inches from the camera. "I have to go. Manager is doing a final room check before we leave for the airport tomorrow."
"Wait where are you going?" you asked, a spark of hope lighting up in your chest.
"LA," he smirked, that familiar, teasing glint returning to his eyes. "KCON is in two weeks. I guess you'll just have to hold onto that 'A' until I get there to check on it myself. Don't let any 'new scandals' distract you until I arrive."
Jetlag by Simple plan was playing when i wrote this 🙂↕️ just to let you luvs know, I've pre written majority of the chapters, they're just waiting to be edited and finalised (hence the fucked up timeline lol but we're just gonna ignore that) ｡◕‿◕｡ I do apologise if I'm updating quite slowly, My family resides in the Middle East (and I previously have for the last 19 years of my life before moving) so I'm worried about them and praying for their Safety along with my friends. -pchaesᶻ 𝗓 𐰁
The hardest part of a sneak-out isn’t the leaving; it’s the return. At 1:00 AM, the hallway outside the KATSEYE dorm was silent, the air heavy with the scent of floor wax and the faint, lingering smell of the girls' evening skincare routines. You pressed your back against the heavy front door, slowly turning the handle. It didn't creak—not until the very last second, a sharp click that sounded like a gunshot in the stillness.
You froze, holding your breath. The living room was bathed in the cool, blue glow of the Seoul skyline filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. You began to tip-toe toward your room, sneakers clutched in your hand, when a lamp in the corner flickered on.
Sophia was sitting on the sofa, a blanket pulled over her shoulders and an iPad resting in her lap. She wasn't looking at her screen; she was looking directly at you.
"The bathroom must be very far away if it takes two hours to get back," she said, her voice gentle but laced with a leader’s authority.
"Sophia, I—"
"You don't have the beads," she noted, her eyes landing on your bare, empty wrist. "Which means you didn't get what you went for. Or you found something else instead."
You sat on the edge of the sofa, the adrenaline finally fading into a bone-deep exhaustion. "He wants to meet on Sunday. No cameras. No 'Translation Girl' stuff. He actually used my name, Sophia. Not the nickname, not the joke. My name."
Sophia’s expression softened, the 'leader' mask slipping to show the friend underneath. She looked at you for a long time, the weight of their debut and their future hanging in the air. "Y/N, you know how dangerous this is. If a sasaeng followed that taxi... if Dispatch was at that bridge... it’s not just a scandal. It’s the group's reputation. It’s everything we worked for."
She paused, then sighed, reaching out to squeeze your hand. "But I haven't seen you look this 'awake' since we moved to Seoul. Just... be careful. Sunday has to be the end of the mystery. Okay?"
Sunday arrived with a sky the color of bruised plums, heavy with the threat of summer rain. You had spent the entire day in a daze, nearly tripping during choreography and missing your cues in the recording booth. This time, you didn't sneak out—you told the girls you were going for a long walk to clear your head, a "mental health break" that no one questioned, though Sophia gave you a knowing nod as you left.
The cafe was different in the daylight. It looked like a regular, upscale spot for artists, tucked into a quiet alleyway. You found him in the very back corner, shielded by a large, leafy monstera plant. He was wearing a simple cream sweater and glasses, looking less like "RIIZE's Anton" and more like a university student lost in thought.
When you sat down, he didn't say a word. He just reached across the table and placed the blue beads on the wood between you. The silver "A" charm he had added caught the afternoon light, gleaming stubbornly.
"I thought about taking the charm off," Anton said, his eyes meeting yours over the rim of his coffee cup. "But then I realized, I don't want you to forget who has been keeping your luck safe for the last two weeks."
"I have a very good memory, Anton," you replied, your fingers finally hovering over the beads. The cool plastic felt familiar, like coming home. "I don't need a silver letter to remind me who the thief is."
"Good," he murmured, leaning forward. His voice dropped below the level of the ambient lo-fi music playing in the shop. "Because I have no intention of letting you forget. Today isn't really about the beads, Y/N. I just wanted to see if you’d actually show up when there wasn't a bracelet on the line. I wanted to see if you wanted to see me, or just your property."
"And?" you asked, your heart doing that familiar, frantic dance.
He smiled—a real, wide smile that reached his eyes and stayed there. "And I think this is the first time I've seen you without your 'Idol' armor on. No stage makeup, no script. I like it."
He didn't reach for the beads. He reached for your hand instead, his fingers tracing the place where the bracelet used to be. "So, no more Translation Girl. No more Thief. Just... us?"
The KATSEYE dorm was never truly silent, but at 10:30 PM, it reached a sort of rhythmic stillness. The hum of the refrigerator, the distant muffled sound of Lara’s hummed melodies from the shower, and the soft glow of the city lights filtering through the blinds.
You stood in front of your closet, your heart performing a frantic percussion against your ribs. You needed something that said “I’m just here for my beads,” but didn't scream “I’m an idol on a secret date.”
You settled on an oversized black hoodie, leggings, and a baseball cap pulled low. You stuffed your face mask into your pocket—the universal uniform of a trainee trying to disappear.
"Where are you going?"
You jumped, nearly knocking over a lamp. Manon was leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed, looking entirely too observant for someone who was supposed to be asleep.
"I... forgot something at the studio," you lied, the words tasting like copper on your tongue.
Manon raised an eyebrow, her gaze dropping to your phone clutched tightly in your hand. "The studio? Or the 'Thief'?"
"Manon, please," you whispered, glancing toward the hallway to make sure Sophia wasn't lurking. "I just need to get the bracelet back. He’s making it a whole thing on his Lives, and I need it to stop before the labels get involved."
Manon stared at you for a long beat, then sighed, stepping aside to let you pass. "If the manager calls the dorm, I’ll tell them you’re in the bath with a massive headache. But Y/N? Be careful. The Han River at 11 PM isn't exactly 'low profile' for people like us."
"I know," you breathed, slipping your sneakers on without tying the laces until you were safely in the hallway.
The elevator ride down felt like it took a lifetime. Every time it hummed, you expected the doors to open to your manager or a security guard. When you finally hit the lobby, you didn't go through the main doors. You slipped out through the side service entrance, the cool night air of Seoul hitting your face like a wake-up call.
You hailed a taxi three blocks away from the dorm, your head down as you climbed into the back seat.
"Banpo Bridge area, please," you told the driver, your voice muffled by your mask.
As the car merged into the late-night traffic, you pulled out your phone. Your thumb hovered over his name.
Y/N: I’m on my way. If this is a prank and you’re not there, I’m blocking your number for real this time.
The reply came back before you could even lock the screen.
A 🦕: I don’t prank people about things I actually want, Y/n. Look for the black SUV near the path. I’ll be inside the cafe.
The "actually want" part sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the car's AC. You watched the city lights blur past, the Namsan Tower glowing in the distance. You were breaking every rule in the trainee handbook for a string of beads—or at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.
The Han River at night was a sea of dark ink reflecting the neon skeletal frames of the bridges. The taxi dropped you off near a cluster of trees, and you walked quickly, your hands shoved deep into your hoodie pockets. You spotted the black SUV tinted windows, engine off parked discreetly in the shadows of the overpass.
Just past it was the cafe, a small, modern structure with "Closed" signs on the door, but a warm, amber light glowing from within. You checked your surroundings one last time, pulled your mask higher, and pushed the door open. A bell chimed softly, sounding like a gong in the absolute silence.
The cafe was empty of customers, smelling of roasted beans and expensive cologne. Standing by the large window, silhouetted against the bridge lights, was Anton. He had his hood up, but the height and the posture were unmistakable. He turned as the door closed, and for the first time since this started, he didn't have a smirk waiting for you.
"You actually came," he said. His voice was low, devoid of the usual teasing lilt.
"I want my bracelet back, Anton," you said, trying to sound firm despite the fact that your heart was trying to exit your chest.
He didn't move toward you. Instead, he leaned back against a high table and held out his right hand. The blue beads were still there, resting against his skin. But as you stepped into the light, you noticed something new. He hadn't just re-strung them; he had added a tiny, silver charm to the end of the string—a small, delicate letter.
"What is that?" you asked, pointing to the silver glint.
"A reminder," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your hand as you reached for his wrist. "That even when you get these back, you're still carrying a part of this moment with you."
"You're unbelievable," you whispered. You grabbed his wrist to begin untying the knot, but he didn't let you. He turned his hand, interlacing his fingers with yours, pulling you just a few inches closer until the scent of his cologne something woody and clean swirled around you.
"The fans think we're a mystery," he said, his voice a low hum that seemed to vibrate in the quiet cafe. "But I think the real mystery is why you're so desperate to get these back when they look so good on me."
"I'm not desperate," you lied, finally looking up at him. The height difference felt even more pronounced in the empty room, making you feel small but strangely protected. "I just... I don't want to have to talk to you through a phone anymore. It's exhausting."
Anton went silent. His thumb traced the back of your hand, a slow, deliberate movement that made the air in the room feel heavy. The playful "Thief" you had been chasing for weeks seemed to vanish, replaced by the boy standing in front of you.
"Then don't," he said softly. He didn't call you Translation Girl. He didn't use the nickname that had become your shield. Instead, he used your real name—Y/N.
The way it sounded in his voice—deep, quiet, and steady—made your breath hitch. It felt like a secret being told for the first time.
"The beads stay with me for one more night, Y/N," he said, his eyes locking onto yours, refusing to let you look away. "If you want them back, you have to meet me here on Sunday. No work, no managers, and no more characters. Just us."
He let go of your hand, but the heat of his touch remained. He walked toward the door, stopping just beside you to lean in close to your ear, his breath warm against your skin.
"Sunday. Don't be late."
been dealing with things and got sick (canada weather got to me) but here's the long awaited update- pchaesᶻ 𝗓 𐰁
"first birthday post in five years where she hasn't professed her love for him 🤨 yeah no this isn't heran" what y'all don't know is that they're making out hanging out😁
The cake was small, a solitary square of strawberry shortcake sitting on a desk cluttered with textbooks and old concert streamers. It was February 9th, 2026. Outside the window, the city was a bruised purple, the kind of cold that felt like it could shatter if you stepped into it too quickly.
In the glow of a single candle, you looked at the screen. Jungwon was smiling—that sharp, feline curve of his lips that hadn’t changed, even as his jawline had sharpened and his shoulders had broadened into those of a man.
Two worlds apart, and the distance tastes like iron.
It had been five years. You did the math in the quiet of your room, the numbers tasting metallic and heavy on your tongue. Five years of waking up to his voice, five years of watching him navigate the crushing weight of leadership, and five years of you simply... surviving.
When you first found him, you were both children of a sort. He was sixteen, thrust into a spotlight that demanded he be perfect, and you were drifting, trying to find a reason to keep your head above water. While he was busy becoming a legend, you were busy learning how to survive the aftermath of your own life—the quiet failures, the lonely nights, the transitions that felt more like subtractions.
You had built an altar in the space between your paths. It wasn’t made of stone, but of digital archives, pieces of papers, lyric translations, and the way you held your breath whenever he spoke.
“Dear me,” he had sung, a letter to himself. But to you, it felt like a letter to the person you used to be before the world got its hands on you.
People called it obsession. They saw the posters and the hours spent streaming and labeled it a delusion. They didn't understand that for you, this wasn't a hobby; it was a cross you chose to hold. It was heavy, yes, but it was yours.
He was the salt air stinging, refreshing, and inevitable. He was the chilling breeze that reminded you that you were still capable of feeling something, even if it was just the cold.
"Happy birthday, Jungwon," you whispered to the empty room.
You pressed play on a video of his latest live stream. He was talking about his birthday, about growing older, about the fans. When he spoke, the chaos of your mind the anxiety about the future, the ghost of your past simply went still.
If I am crazy, why is the sea so calm when you speak?
It was a paradox. He was a stranger across an ocean, yet he was the only sanctuary you were ever allowed to seek. You had spent half a decade praying to a boy who became a man, watching him from the sidelines of a race you weren't even running.
You thought about the geometry of your lives. Two parallel lines. In theory, they never touch. They run side by side into the dark, infinitely close but destined to remain separate.
But as Dear ME swelled in your headphones Jungwon’s voice hitting that sweet, melancholic grit you felt the spark. It was a quiet, burning thing. You weren't touching, but you were burning with the same fire. He worked until his bones ached because he loved the stage; you worked until your eyes burned because his success gave your days a rhythm.
The distance tasted like iron, but the connection felt like gold.
The candle was flickering now, nearly drowned in its own wax.
"I hope you're happy," you said, your voice cracking. "I hope you know that even if we never meet, even if I'm just a speck in a sea of light sticks, you saved me. You kept me here."
That was the gut-wrenching part. The realization that you owed your survival to someone who didn't know your name. It was a beautiful tragedy. It was a love that required nothing in return, a pure, crystalline devotion that transcended the physical.
If this was love this ache, this distance, this silent prayer then you were more than willing to drown in a piece of it.
You blew out the candle. The smoke curled into the air, a grey ribbon disappearing into the dark.
On the screen, Jungwon leaned in close to the camera, his dimples catching the light. "Thank you for being with me," he said, as if he could hear the thoughts swirling in your head.
You leaned back in your chair, the "iron" taste of the distance fading into something softer. The five years hadn't been a waste. They were a bridge.
He was the man he was meant to be. And because of him, you were finally becoming the person you were meant to be, too.
"Happy birthday, my solace" you whispered.
The room was dark, but for the first time in a long time, the dark didn't feel lonely. It just felt like the space between two stars, shining together in the same sky.
I ended up journaling my thoughts around 1am, same time Dear Me by Jungwon was released. I ended up crying for like 2 hours. Jungwon means so much to me, you guys don't even understand 😔 I fell asleep listening to dear me, and i pretty much had it on loop. So here i present whatever word vomit this is of me spiraling lolol hope you guys like it- pchaes₍^. .^₎⟆
