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By the time Changbin got out of the shower, Seungmin had already set the food on the coffee table.
Seungmin told himself that he refused to call it a date, because calling it a date felt too formal for the way Changbin’s duffel bag had been dropped beside the door like it belonged there, for the way his shoes sat crooked on the mat next to Seungmin’s, for the way steam still clung to the bathroom mirror while Changbin moved through Seungmin’s apartment in a borrowed pair of sweatpants and a black T-shirt he had left there three nights ago by accident.
Not by accident, probably, but Seungmin was choosing not to think too hard about that.
It had started with a text at 8:11 p.m., when Seungmin was already home from work, standing in front of his open fridge with the kind of hollow concentration that meant he was considering eating shredded cheese directly from the bag and calling it dinner.
Bad Groceries: Practice is over.
Bad Groceries: I am alive.
Bad Groceries: Before you ask, I drank water.
Seungmin had stared at the messages, mouth threatening to betray him.
Seungmin: Congratulations on doing the bare minimum for survival.
Changbin’s reply came almost immediately.
Bad Groceries: I have improved so much under your care.
That was a dangerous sentence. Too close to something Seungmin didn't want to name while standing barefoot in his kitchen, in his underwear and a tank top, with the refrigerator open and cold air spilling over his legs.
He had typed, ‘You are not under my care.’
Then deleted it.
Seungmin: Did you eat?
Seungmin sighed, when Changbin didn’t respond, he closed the fridge, and ordered Korean takeout before he could think better of it. He sent Changbin a screenshot of the confirmation page with only one message beneath it.
Seungmin: Shower when you get here. You probably smell like a practice room.
Bad Groceries: 😭🩶😘
Bad Groceries: Thank you.
Seungmin told himself the warmth in his chest was annoyance, that's all it was.
Now, twenty-eight minutes later, the takeout containers sat open across the coffee table, steam curling into the low light of the living room. There was kimchi jjigae because Changbin had once mentioned offhand that he liked it after long practices. There was japchae because Seungmin wanted it and refused to pretend every choice in his life revolved around Changbin’s stomach. There was rice, banchan, mandu, and two glasses of water placed very intentionally beside the food because Seungmin knew better than to trust Changbin’s self-preservation instincts.
The television was on too, paused at the beginning of an episode of Business Proposal, because they had started it the last time Changbin came over and had made it exactly fourteen minutes in before Changbin fell asleep with his head tipped against Seungmin’s shoulder.
Seungmin didn't move for forty two minutes and fifty seven seconds. He would deny that number if asked.
The bathroom door opened, and Seungmin looked up before he could stop himself.
Changbin stepped out with a towel hanging around his neck, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends, face flushed from the heat of the shower. He looked softer like this. His shoulders were still broad beneath the T-shirt, his arms still strong, his body still carrying the leftover tension of rehearsal, but there was something unguarded about him in Seungmin’s apartment. Something almost domestic.
Domestic.
It kept appearing in Seungmin’s head uninvited. Changbin drinking water from Seungmin’s glasses. Changbin leaving a charger plugged in beside Seungmin’s couch. Changbin knowing where the clean towels were. Changbin standing in the doorway after a shower, looking at the coffee table like Seungmin had set out something holy instead of takeout.
His eyes softened immediately “Min, you didn’t need to order this much”
Seungmin looked back down at the containers because eye contact felt like a trap. “You didn’t eat.”
“I was going to.” Changbin laughed, quiet and tired, and walked over to the couch. “Maybe.”
He smiled as he put his knees on either side of Seungmin’s hips, straddling him before shaking his wet hair all over Seungmin.
Seungmin shrieked and tried to shove Changbin off of him, pushing at his chest. Changbin grabbed his hands and pinned them on the top of the couch before leaning close to Seungmin’s ear.
“I like to see you under me. It’s my favorite sight after a long day,” He whispers, sticking his tongue out and licking the shell of Seungmin’s ear.
They still hadn’t had sex; sure, they had messed around, but Seungmin didn’t feel like he was ready to go for it. He was still having a hard time believing that the man from his photocards had taken over his house and his heart. However, he wouldn’t admit that last fact out loud.
Changbin smiled when he felt Seungmin press his hips up, trying to get some kind of friction. Changbin pulls back and stares at Seungmin, water droplets scattering his face, his head tilted back, and his eyes closed. Changbin smirks and leans down, taking Seungmin’s bottom lip between his own, kissing him softly.
Changbin pulls back ever so slightly. “I’m starving, let's eat.” He says before releasing Seungmin’s arms and sitting next to him on the couch
“All I had was a protein bar.”
Seungmin slowly lifted his head, his eyes slightly dazed, his face red with heat. “A protein bar,” he repeated. “Is that why you just came on to me, to soften up the fact that all you have had today was a stupid protein bar?”
Changbin’s mouth twitched like he already knew he was in trouble. “It had nutrients.”
“Eat some food before I change my mind and make you eat outside.” Seungmin scolds, rolling his eyes. He grabs the top of his shorts and adjusts them slightly, rolling his eyes
Changbin was still laughing under his breath, and the couch dipped beneath his weight. He sat close enough that Seungmin could feel the warmth coming off him, but not so close that it could be called deliberate. That was another thing they had started doing. Leaving enough space to pretend they were behaving normally while both of them knew the space was a lie.
Changbin reached for the glass of water first. He lifted the glass slightly. “See? Growth.”
Seungmin looked unimpressed. “Drink it before you ask for praise.”
Changbin took a long sip, eyes on him over the rim. Seungmin dragged his teeth over his bottom lip, watching him, and hated how fond that made him feel.
It had been happening more often. Changbin showing up after schedules, exhausted but smiling when Seungmin opened the door. Seungmin ordering food without asking because he knew Changbin would forget. Changbin falling asleep on his couch, or against his shoulder, or once with his face half-buried in Seungmin’s lap while Seungmin sat perfectly still for nearly an hour because moving felt like a crime.
“Business Proposal again?” Changbin asked, nodding toward the television as he set the water down.
“You slept through most of it.”
“I was resting my eyes.”
“You snored during a confession scene.”
Changbin stared at him for half a second, then smiled, slow and warm, the kind that made Seungmin immediately regret being funny because Changbin always looked at him like he wanted to keep every small piece of him. “You’re mean.”
“You like me.” The words slipped out too easily.
Seungmin felt them the moment they left his mouth. Not because they were untrue, but it had been too close to something neither of them had agreed to name yet.
Changbin went still beside him. Then his smile softened into something quieter. “I do.”
Seungmin’s fingers tightened around his chopsticks. He reached for the rice with far more focus than it had required. “Eat before it gets cold.”
For a while, they ate with the show playing quietly in the background, the volume low enough that neither of them really had to pay attention. The characters on-screen argued brightly over something neither of them were following. Rain tapped lightly against the living room window, softer than it had been on the yacht, less dramatic, more ordinary. The kind of rain that made a home feel warmer.
Changbin ate like someone trying very hard to prove he knew how.
He took a bite of rice, then japchae, then drank water with the exaggerated seriousness of a man being graded.
Seungmin watched him for almost a full minute. “You’re beautiful”
Seungmin looked down at his food before he could be caught smiling too hard.
He picked up a piece of mandu and held it out without thinking.
The dumpling hovered between them, pinched in Seungmin’s chopsticks. For one absurd second, neither of them spoke. Changbin’s eyes flicked from the mandu to Seungmin’s face, amusement returning slowly.
“Feeding me before we’re official?”
Seungmin should have pulled it back, but because stubbornness had ruined his life several times already and seemed determined to continue, he lifted his eyebrows. “Do you want it or not?”
Changbin leaned forward, taking the mandu directly from Seungmin’s chopsticks, eyes still on him, mouth closing around the food carefully.
Seungmin withdrew the chopsticks, sticking his tongue out and biting his lips slowly. He turned to the television as if Business Proposal had suddenly become the most compelling piece of media ever created.
A few minutes later, Changbin returned the favor. He picked up a piece of japchae with far too much concentration, held it out toward Seungmin, and said, “Your turn.”
Seungmin stared at the chopsticks. “You’re making it weird.”
Changbin was looking at him, hopeful in a way he kept trying to hide and never fully managed. So Seungmin leaned forward and took the bite; Changbin’s eyes never left his lips. He stuck his tongue out to lick the soy sauce off.
Seungmin chewed with as much dignity as possible while heat spread up his neck. “Happy?”
Changbin nods gently, “Very, I’m easy to please.”
“No, you’re not.”
Changbin looked at him, surprised. Seungmin realized too late what he said.
He was easy to make laugh, maybe. Easy to feed if you put food in front of him and glared hard enough. Easy to tease until his ears turned pink.
But underneath all of that, Changbin carried too much. Too many people wanting him to constantly be bright, funny, grateful, available, untouchable, tired but not too tired, successful but not changed by it.
Changbin’s voice softened. “What do you mean?”
Seungmin looked down at the takeout containers, suddenly embarrassed by his own thoughts. “Nothing.”
“Seungmin.”
He hated the way Changbin said his name when he was not teasing. Like he was putting both hands around it.
Seungmin sighed through his nose. “I just mean people probably think you’re easy to make happy because you smile a lot.”
Changbin looked down slightly; the television kept playing softly in the background. On-screen, someone gasped dramatically, but neither of them looked.
Seungmin picked at the edge of a napkin. “But that doesn’t mean it’s true.”
“You think about me too much,” Changbin said eventually.
Seungmin’s throat went tight. “Someone has to.”
Changbin’s expression shifted. For one second, Seungmin thought he might kiss him.
Instead, Changbin reached over and brushed his thumb over the corner of Seungmin’s mouth. “You had sauce,” Changbin said softly.
Seungmin swallowed. “You could have told me.”
“I know.” Changbin’s thumb lingered for half a second too long before he pulled his hand back and licked the sauce off his thumb.
The room felt warmer after that.
Seungmin reached for his water and drank because he didn't know what else to do with his mouth.
They ate slowly, sharing bites without calling it sharing, stealing pieces from each other’s containers with increasingly weak excuses. Changbin claimed the mandu were better from Seungmin’s side of the table. Seungmin told him the table was not large enough for geography to affect flavor. Changbin said love changed things, then froze for half a second like the word had escaped without permission.
Changbin looked down at his rice, ears going pink.
Seungmin looked at the television, where two characters were very loudly misunderstanding each other in a way that suddenly felt offensive.
Changbin cleared his throat. “I mean, affection.”
Seungmin’s fingers tightened around his glass. “Obviously,” he said.
“General affection.”
“Universal.” Seungmin added
“Platonic mandu affection.”
Seungmin nodded once. “Very common.”
Changbin pressed his lips together while Seungmin tried to hold his face still.
They both failed at the same time.
The laughter came quietly at first, then harder, the kind that bent Changbin forward and made Seungmin cover his mouth even though there was no one there to hear them. It broke the tension without erasing it. Maybe that was why it felt so good. Because the word was still there, somewhere underneath the laughter, but they didn't have to look directly at it yet.
When the food was mostly gone, Changbin leaned back against the couch, one hand resting over his stomach, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and warmth. “I’m full.”
“Good.”
“I ate real food.”
Changbin turned his head against the couch cushion, looking at him with a smile so soft Seungmin felt it somewhere behind his ribs. “Do I get approval now?”
Seungmin looked at him.
Damp hair. Tired eyes. Bare feet tucked near the edge of the coffee table. The empty takeout containers between them. The show still playing, though it has been forgotten at this point. Rain making the window glow with scattered reflections of the city outside.
He thought about the yacht. About Changbin saying he didn't need the label that night, but he needed Seungmin to know where his head was. About the way he had said he didn't want vague forever and meant it more than he had been prepared to admit.
He thought about the fact that vague was starting to feel less like safety and more like cowardice.
So he reached over, picked up one of the last pieces of mandu, and held it out.
“Approval,” Seungmin said.
Changbin smiled brightly as he leaned in and took it from Seungmin’s chopsticks, slower than necessary, eyes bright with something that made Seungmin’s stomach turn over.
“You’re very generous,” Changbin said once he swallowed.
The episode ended without either of them noticing. The autoplay countdown started, then the next one began, filling the apartment with cheerful music neither of them moved to stop. Changbin shifted closer at some point, or Seungmin did. It was hard to tell anymore. Their shoulders brushed. Changbin’s knee pressed lightly against Seungmin’s.
Changbin tips his head sideways, resting against the back of the couch as he looked at Seungmin. “Can I stay a little longer?”
Seungmin glanced at him. “You ask that like you haven’t fallen asleep here twice already.”
“I have a different intention tonight.”
Seungmin looked back at the television, clearing his throat. “You can stay.”
Changbin laughed under his breath, then leaned closer until his temple rested against Seungmin’s shoulder. It was such a simple touch that it shouldn't have made Seungmin’s chest feel too full.
Seungmin let him rest there.
Moments later, Changbin’s breathing slowed, not asleep yet but close. Seungmin looked down at him, at the curve of his cheek, at the soft part of his mouth, at the shadow of exhaustion still sitting beneath his eyes. He thought of stages again, because sometimes he still did. He thought of lights and music and thousands of voices screaming Changbin’s name.
Then he looked at the man on his couch, half asleep against his shoulder after eating takeout in his apartment, and the distance between those two versions felt impossible.
“Hey,” Seungmin whispered, kissing the top of Changbin’s head. “Let's go to bed, come on”
Seungmin stands up slowly, holding out his hand for Changbin. “Come on,” he urges.
Changbin reaches out and grabs Seungmin’s hand, lacing their fingers together as he leads them to his bedroom. Seungmin pulls the sheets back and lets Chanbin slip in.
“Arms up,” Seungmin tells him gently. Changbin lifts his arms, and Seungin slips his shirt over his head, followed by slipping his bottoms off, leaving him in his underwear. He follows suit and slips into the other side of his bed, slipping his arm under Changbin’s pillow, cuddling against him.
—
Seungmin woke up warm.
That was the first thing he noticed, before the pale morning light leaking around the curtains, before the quiet hum of the apartment, before the ache in his neck from sleeping at a slightly terrible angle. The slow, steady rise and fall of Changbin’s breathing against him.
For a few seconds, Seungmin didn't move.
He let himself wake in pieces.
Changbin was still asleep beside him, one arm heavy over Seungmin’s waist, his face tucked close to the pillow. His hair was messy from sleep, his mouth parted slightly, and the exhaustion from the night before softened into something almost peaceful. He looked less guarded. ust Changbin in Seungmin’s bed, breathing quietly, one leg tangled with Seungmin’s beneath the sheets like he had found him in the night and decided to stay close.
Seungmin’s chest tightened. Changbin shifted, and his body pressed closer, warm and sleepy, and Seungmin went still for an entirely different reason.
Changbin made a low sound into the pillow, not fully awake, his arm tightening around Seungmin’s waist. The movement brought them closer, close enough that Seungmin felt the unmistakable evidence of Changbin’s morning wood against him.
Heat rushed through him so fast it made him dizzy.
For a moment, he stay still, staring at the ceiling, pulse suddenly too loud in his ears, while Changbin’s breath moved warm against his shoulder.
Changbin shifted again, and this time his eyes fluttered open.
For one soft, confused second, he only looked at Seungmin like he was trying to remember where he was. Then awareness came back to him in pieces. Seungmin’s bed. Seungmin’s face inches from his. His own arm wrapped around Seungmin’s waist. The way their bodies were pressed together beneath the sheets.
His eyes widened. “Sorry,” he rasped, immediately trying to move back.
Seungmin caught his wrist before he could get far, his face burning, but he didn't let go. “You apologize too much.”
Changbin’s gaze dipped to his mouth, then back up. That was what pushed Seungmin over the edge.
The kiss was soft at the beginning, slow with sleep and morning breath and the warmth of two people who had woken up wrapped around each other before either of them was ready to admit how much it meant. Changbin sighed into it, carefully sliding his hand over Seungmin’s side, and the sound went straight through him.
The exchange didn't stay soft for long.
There was something different about kissing in daylight, even with the room dim and curtains half-drawn. It made everything feel more honest. Seungmin could see the color rising in Changbin’s face, could feel the way Changbin’s fingers trembled once against his back before steadying, could hear the little break in his breath when Seungmin shifted closer instead of away.
“Seungmin,” Changbin moaned against his mouth.
Seungmin kissed back harder, he threw his right leg to the other side of Changbin’s waist, straddling him. He grinding down gently, he moans at the pressure of his now hard cock rutting against Changbin’s.
He kisses the corner of Changbin’s lips, and down his neck. He sucks a small portion of skin into his mouth, biting down gently. He smiled into Changbin’s neck as a deep moan left his throat.
Seungmin kisses down Changbin’s chest, sucking his nipple into his mouth, biting lightly, and tugging. Changbin brings his hand up Seungmin’s back and laces his fingers through his hair, gripping lightly.
“Seungmin..fuck” Changbin moans, “Stop.”
Seungmin pulls back and sits up straight
“You sure about this?” Changbin asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Seungmin’s eyes met his, and for a moment, Changbin saw the same flicker of desire he’d noticed earlier. “Yeah,” Seungmin replied, his voice steady. “I’m sure.”
Seungmin shifted down Changbin’s body reaching for the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down slowly, deliberately. Changbin’s breath caught in his throat as the cool air of the room brushed against his exposed skin. Seungmin’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, taking in the sight of Changbin’s hardness before leaning forward, his lips brushing against the head of Changbin’s cock.
Changbin let out a sharp gasp, his hands instinctively tangling in Seungmin’s hair. Seungmin hummed softly, his lips wrapping around the tip, his tongue swirling in a slow, teasing motion.
Changbin’s head fell back against the pillow, his body arching slightly as Seungmin began to move, his mouth sliding down the length of him with a rhythm that was both deliberate and intoxicating.
“Fuck, Seungmin,” Changbin groaned, his voice thick with pleasure. “You’re gonna make me-”
Seungmin pull off, a string of saliva connecting his lips and the tip of Changbin’s hard cock. He leaned forward and pressed a small kiss to his tip. “Not yet,” he murmured, kissing along the inside of his thigh, licking a strip up balls before bringing his hand up and rolling them between his fingers. His breath warm against Changbin’s thigh.
Changbin throws his head back and groans loudly at the sensation, arching his back slightly.
“Fuck” Changbin moans, his eyes fluttered closed as Seungmin’s mouth took him back in, his tongue tracing the pattern of his vein on the underside of his cock, which sent shivers down Changbin’s spine.
Seungmin’s hand joined in, one playing with his balls and the other gripping the base of his cock. Changbin’s hips twitched involuntarily, his body straining against the sheets as Seungmin’s mouth moved faster, tighter, his lips creating a suction that had Changbin gasping for breath.
“Seungmin,” Changbin pleaded, his voice breaking. “Please-”
Seungmin pulled back slightly, his eyes locking with Changbin’s. “What do you want?” he asked, licking his lips, voice low and husky.
“You,” Changbin replied without hesitation. “I want you to-”
Seungmin leaned forward, his mouth engulfing Changbin once more, his tongue pressing deep, his throat tightening around him in a rhythm that had Changbin’s toes curling. Changbin’s hands tightened in Seungmin’s hair, pushing his head down, revelling in the sound of Seungmin’s wet gagging, his body tense as he teetered on the edge, every nerve ending screaming for release.
“Seungmin, I’m-”
Changbin’s words were cut off by a sharp cry as he came, his body shaking as he spilled into Seungmin’s mouth. Seungmin took it all, his lips moving gently, his tongue soothing the oversensitive skin as Changbin rode out his orgasm.
Seungmin leaned back, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Changbin let out a ragged breath, his chest heaving as he tried to regain his composure. “Holy shit,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.
He lay on his back, one arm thrown over his face, chest rising and falling as if he had just finished another practice. Seungmin was curled against his side, face hot, heart still moving too quickly beneath his ribs.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
“I think I died.” Changbin said, voice muffled by his arm,
Seungmin’s face heated again, and he shoved lightly at Changbin’s stomach. Changbin laughed, catching his hand before he could pull away, bringing it to his mouth to press one soft kiss to his knuckles.
That was worse than anything else.
Seungmin stared at him.
Changbin lowered his arm from his face, cheeks still flushed, eyes warm and sleepy and too fond. “Do you want me to help you?”
Seungmin hated that his throat tightened.
He shook his head gently “I.. uh.. Already came” he smiles gently.
Changbin’s smile softened, he tugged him closer until Seungmin gave in and tucked himself against his side. It should have felt embarrassing. Maybe it did. But Changbin’s hand moved slowly up and down his back, grounding and gentle, and Seungmin let himself have it for a few minutes before the reality of morning returned.
He had work and Changbin probably had a schedule.
The day existed, unfortunately, and it didn't care that Seungmin had woken up with Seo Changbin in his bed and then had done things that made clear thinking feel unreasonable.
“We need to get up,” Seungmin said eventually.
Changbin groaned. “No.”
Seungmin sat up, dragging the sheet with him, Changbin watched him with open appreciation.
Seungmin pointed at him before he could say anything. “Wipe that look off your face. It’s annoying”
Changbin smiled. “So you hate my face.”
Seungmin got out of bed. “Shower.”
Changbin sat up too, hair sticking up on one side, looking far too pleased for someone who had just been ordered around. “Together?”
Seungmin paused in the doorway.
Changbin’s smile softened at whatever he saw on Seungmin’s face. “We don’t have to.”
Seungmin looked at him for another second, then turned toward the bathroom. “Come on before I change my mind.”
Changbin moved so fast he nearly tripped over the sheet.
The shower was less graceful than it should have been, mostly because Seungmin’s bathroom was not built for two grown men trying to pretend they Weren't deeply aware of each other.
Changbin complained that the water was too hot, and Seungmin told him his tolerance was weak while reaching for the shampoo. Changbin laughed, warm and rough, behind him, then quieted when Seungmin’s fingers slipped into his hair. For once, he didn't argue. He only closed his eyes and let Seungmin wash him, eyes half-closed.
It made something in Seungmin’s chest soften in a way he didn't feel prepared to examine.
“You’re quiet,” Seungmin said, working the shampoo through his hair.
Changbin hummed. “Feels nice.”
Seungmin smiled, guiding him back under the spray. Changbin went easily, water running through his hair and down the line of his neck, and when he opened his eyes again, he looked at Seungmin with so much sleepy warmth that Seungmin immediately handed him the shampoo to make it stop.
“Your turn,” he said.
Changbin’s smile softened. “Bossy.”
Changbin stepped closer, and Seungmin dipped his head lower so he could reach his hair without too much of an effort. He let Changbin’s hands move through his hair, gentler than necessary, careful around his forehead when he rinsed the shampoo away. It was ridiculous, being handled like something delicate in his own shower by a man who had spent the morning making him forget how to think, but Seungmin only stood there beneath the warm water and let it happen.
When Changbin leaned in and kissed the wet curve of his shoulder, Seungmin closed his eyes.
“Don’t start,” he muttered.
Changbin smiled against his skin. “I didn’t do anything.”
“I did enough for both of us this morning.” Seungmin responds
Changbin laughed, and the sound stayed with Seungmin even after they got out, even after towels were wrapped around waists and steam clouded the mirror.
Seungmin stayed in the bathroom to do his morning routine because moisturizer waited for no man, not even Seo Changbin standing in his doorway with damp hair and a towel slung low on his hips. Changbin watched him for a minute, before heading back to the bedroom, amused, while Seungmin patted toner into his skin with the seriousness of someone performing surgery.
Changbin opened the closet, he only meant to put the hoodie away.
That was the whole plan, and for once, it was not extravagant. No flowers too large for a vase, no tinted car, no private dinner, no expensive privacy arranged around them like a wall. Just a hoodie, folded badly in his hands, left somewhere Seungmin would find it later and pretend to be annoyed about before wearing it anyway.
Changbin smiled to himself as he slid the closet door open.
The top shelf was crowded with sweaters, spare blankets, and a few storage boxes shoved back, as if Seungmin had organized them by pretending not to care. Changbin lifted the hoodie, looking for a place to tuck it in, when he noticed the binder.
It was half-hidden behind a stack of folded clothes, the glossy spine turned outward just enough for him to see the cover.
3Racha.
Changbin froze.
Then, despite himself, his mouth softened.
It was an old photo on the front. Old enough that his hair looked different, his face a little less round, his smile less practiced. Han had one arm thrown around Chan’s shoulders. Chan was laughing at something off-camera. Changbin stood between them, younger and bright-eyed and so sure of nothing except the people beside him.
For a second, he forgot he was in Seungmin’s closet.
He reached for it before he thought better of it.
He should have stopped there. He knew that even as his fingers curled around the binder’s spine. The fact that Changbin recognized his own face on the cover didn't make it his to touch.
But curiosity moved faster than sense.
He pulled it down carefully, only to look at the cover properly, only for a second, but something behind it shifted. Another binder slid forward, heavier than he expected, and dropped from the shelf before he could catch it. It hit the closet floor with a dull thud and fell open.
Changbin stared down.
His own face stared back.
Rows of photocards tucked carefully into plastic sleeves, organized by era, by outfit, by some private system Seungmin had probably never expected anyone else to understand. Changbin crouched slowly and picked it up, his thumb resting against the edge of the binder without touching the cards themselves. Some of them were so old he barely remembered taking them. Predebut, early showcases, awkward styling, nervous smiles. A version of himself that had lived on stale convenience store food and borrowed confidence, trying to look certain when almost nothing in his life was.
He sat on the edge of the bed before he realized he had moved.
The 3Racha binder rested beside him, unopened now, but the Changbin binder lay across his lap. He turned one page carefully, then another. His stomach twisted with something he couldn't name. It was strange, seeing himself like this in Seungmin’s room, preserved in plastic sleeves with careful hands. Strange, but not ugly. Not even uncomfortable in the way he expected.
It made him feel young.
It made him remember Han falling asleep on studio floors and Chan pretending not to be exhausted. It made him remember the first time someone asked for a photo, and he had gone back to the dorm afterward, too stunned to speak properly. It made him remember being hungry, hopeful, terrified, and proud.
Then one sleeve near the back caught his eye.
A drawing.
It was him, in pencil, not perfect, but careful. The kind of care that meant someone had looked for a long time. His mouth had been erased and redrawn, faint lines still ghosting around the curve. His eyes were shaded with a softness that made his throat tighten.
The bathroom door opened and Changbin looked up.
Seungmin stood in the doorway with damp hair, one hand still holding a small bottle from whatever skin routine he had been doing. His gaze dropped to the binder in Changbin’s lap.
All the color left his face and, neither one of them moved.
Then Seungmin crossed the room quickly and ripped the binder from Changbin’s hands.
“What are you doing?” His voice came out sharp, but Changbin heard the panic beneath it immediately.
He stood, hands lifting. “Seungmin, I’m sorry. I was putting the hoodie away, and I saw the binder. I shouldn’t have touched it.”
“No,” Seungmin said, clutching the binder against his chest like Changbin might reach for it again. His fingers were tight enough to bend the cover. “You shouldn’t have.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get to just open my things because your face is on them.”
The words hit harder because they were true. Changbin swallowed. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Seungmin turned away and shoved the binder back onto the top shelf, then grabbed the 3Racha one from the bed and pushed it beside the other. He moved too fast, too roughly, like hiding them again could undo the fact that Changbin had seen them at all. When the binders were back in place, he stayed facing the closet, both hands braced on the shelf.
His shoulders were tight.
Changbin took one step forward, then stopped. “Seungmin.”
“Don’t.” Seungmin inhaled shakily, and the sound made Changbin’s stomach drop. “I didn’t want you to see that,” Seungmin said.
“I know.” Changbin replied gently.
“No, you don’t.” Seungmin turned then, and his eyes were already bright, and wet. Humiliated and defensive in a way that looked like it hurt. “You don’t know what that looks like.”
Changbin’s chest tightened. “It looks like something that you are passionate about.”
Seungmin let out a small, humorless laugh. “Don’t make it normal.”
“But it is normal, I’m an idol, im used to seeing this stuff.” Changbin tries to reason
“Stop trying to be kind,” His voice cracked, and he hated it. Changbin could see that immediately, the way Seungmin’s jaw tightened like he was furious with himself for sounding anything less than controlled. “You’re trying to be kind because that’s what you do, but I know what it looks like. A binder full of your face. Photocards. A drawing. God, the drawing.” He pressed one hand over his eyes for a second, then dropped it just as quickly, like even hiding his face felt too vulnerable. “I didn’t want you to think I was some obsessive fan who somehow got close enough to sleep with you.”
Changbin’s expression softened before he could stop it.
Seungmin saw, and his face crumpled further. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“I already told you, I don’t think it’s weird.”
“You should.” Seungmin’s voice rose, not in anger now, but desperation. “Because if I were you, I would. I would look at that and wonder if any of this was real. I would wonder whether I wanted you or the person in those sleeves. I would wonder if every time I said no special treatment, I was just trying to make myself look better.”
Changbin went quiet.
That seemed to scare Seungmin more than anything. His voice dropped, thin and shaking. “That’s not what this is.”
“I know.”
“I mean it.” Seungmin wiped at his face quickly, angry when the first tear slipped. “I liked your music. I collected things because they made me happy. I drew you because I was bored and sad, and your face was familiar. But when I met you, you were just this tired man in a convenience store buying terrible food. And then you kept showing up. And you were funny and annoying and kind, and you looked at me like I was doing something good by being mean to you.”
Changbin’s throat tightened.
Seungmin looked at him with wet eyes, “you looked at me like i mattered” his voice breaking around the honesty. “I don’t want you to think I confused those things.”
Changbin moved closer slowly, stopping just in front of him. “Hey, stop, I don’t think that.”
“You saw the binder.”
“I saw proof that you cared about my work before you cared about me.” Changbin’s voice stayed gentle, even when his own chest hurt. “That doesn’t make this fake.”
“It feels like it makes it look fake.”
“I know.” He reached for Seungmin carefully, touching the edge of his sleeve first. When Seungmin didn't pull away, Changbin let his fingers slide around his wrist. “But I know the difference.”
Seungmin looked down at his hand.
Changbin’s thumb moved once over his skin. “The person in that binder is part of me, but he’s not the one you keep feeding. He’s not the one you yell at for skipping meals. He’s not the one who woke up beside you this morning. And he’s not the one standing here wanting you to believe him when he says he knows you’re not using him.”
Seungmin’s face twisted, and for a moment, he looked like he might argue again.
He stepped forward instead. It was small, but Changbin met him halfway. Seungmin folded into his chest with a broken breath, forehead pressing against the shoulder of the shirt Changbin had borrowed from him. Changbin wrapped his arms around him carefully, one hand settling between his shoulders.
“I was a fan,” Seungmin whispered. “That doesn’t bother you?”
Changbin rested his cheek against the top of Seungmin’s damp hair. “Not as much as the idea of you thinking you have to cut that part of yourself away for me to trust you.” Changbin held him closer. “You don’t.”
For a while, Seungmin didn't answer. Then his fingers curled weakly into Changbin’s shirt, holding on like he hated needing to and couldn't help it.
“I’m still mad you opened it,” he muttered, pulling back enough to glare at him through wet eyes.
Changbin pressed his lips together immediately.
The glare lasted only a few seconds before Seungmin looked away again, embarrassed by the almost-smile trying to happen. Changbin didn't push it. He only reached for the hoodie from where it had fallen onto the bed and held it out carefully.
“This was the surprise,” he said.
Seungmin looked at the hoodie, then at him.
It was ordinary, just something of Changbin’s that he offered openly.
Seungmin took it, fingers curling into the fabric. “You’re ridiculous,” he whispered.
Changbin’s mouth softened. “But?”
Seungmin held the hoodie to his chest, exactly where the binder had been moments before. “But thank you.”
Four days passed before Changbin asked to come over again.
Not because they weren't talking.
That might have been easier, in a horrible sort of way. Silence would have given Seungmin something simple to hold against him. It would have made the humiliation easier to fold into anger, easier to tuck away with the binders and the drawing and every other private thing Changbin had accidentally dragged into the light.
But Changbin didn't disappear.
He texted that morning after leaving Seungmin’s apartment, only once, and only to say he had made it to practice. The next morning, he sent a picture of an actual breakfast: rice, eggs, soup, and water beside it like evidence, with the caption, You would approve of this, I think.
Seungmin stared at it for too long before answering.
Seungmin: Barely.
Changbin replied almost immediately.
Bad Groceries: I’ll take it.
After that, the messages kept coming, quieter than before but still there. Changbin sent a photo of his wrapped ankle after practice, then followed it with the promise that he iced it. Seungmin told him he was proud of him for behaving like someone who wanted to keep his foot attached. Changbin sent a voice message at midnight, exhausted and laughing under his breath, saying he had eaten real food and drank water and was going to sleep before Seungmin could threaten him.
Seungmin listened to it three times.
He hated that the fourth day still felt strange.
Seungmin was not angry anymore. He knew Changbin was sorry. He knew Changbin hadn't meant to make him feel exposed. He even believed, mostly, that Changbin didn't look at him differently now.
“You sound tired,” Seungmin said when Changbin called that afternoon, because that was safer than saying he had missed him.
Changbin laughed quietly. “That’s because I’m tired.”
“You should sleep.”
“I’m at the studio.”
In the background, Seungmin could hear the low murmur of other voices, the faint scrape of a chair, a beat playing for three seconds before cutting off sharply. Changbin had called during a break, probably leaning back in one of those studio chairs Seungmin had only ever seen in behind-the-scenes videos, one hand over his eyes, hoodie pulled up around his neck.
Seungmin could picture it too easily now.
That was new too.
Before, he could imagine Changbin’s world because he had seen pieces of it as a fan. Now, he imagined Changbin inside it as someone he knew. Someone who forgot to eat. Someone who laughed when he was nervous. Someone who had stood in Seungmin’s bedroom holding a hoodie like an apology and looked devastated because Seungmin had cried.
“Did you eat?” Seungmin asked.
“Yes.”
Seungmin narrowed his eyes at nothing. “Changbin,” he scolded
Changbin laughed properly this time, soft and warm, and Seungmin felt some small piece of the tension in his chest loosen before he could stop it.
Then, faintly in the background, another voice cut through.
“Are you talking to your loooover boy?”
Changbin made a strangled sound. “Han.”
The background erupted immediately. Han was laughing, bright and delighted with himself, while another chair scraped and Chan’s voice came in low and firm, “Jisung, shut up and leave him alone.”
“I’m just asking,” Han said, far too pleased. “He gets all soft now. It’s suspicious.”
“Out,” Chan said.
“I support your love.” Han calls out
“I support you leaving,” Changbin grumbles in response
There was a muffled protest, the sound of something being thrown, Han laughing again, and then a door opening and closing with more drama than necessary. Silence followed, except it was not really silence. Seungmin could still hear Changbin breathing.
Neither of them spoke for a second.
“I’m sorry,” Changbin whispered.
Seungmin stared at the dark television screen across from him, where his own reflection looked far too frozen. His face had gone hot. Not because of Han, but the word. Lover boy. Stupid, like the kind of thing friends said to embarrass each other when they noticed someone smiling too much at their phone.
Except it landed too close to the place neither of them had touched yet.
“It’s fine,” Seungmin said, though his voice came out flatter than he meant it to.
“He’s an idiot,” Changbin said softly.
“I figured.”
“He doesn’t know anything.”
Seungmin’s fingers tightened around the phone. “Does Chan?”
Changbin went quiet. That answer was worse than any yes could have been.
Seungmin closed his eyes. “Changbin.”
“He knows there’s someone,” Changbin said carefully. “Not your details. Nothing like that. He just…” Changbin exhaled, and Seungmin could almost see him rubbing a hand over his face. “He knows me. He knew something changed,” Changbin added. “I didn’t tell him anything that wasn’t mine to tell.”
Seungmin believed him.
That didn't make the feeling in his stomach disappear.
For a moment, neither of them said anything. Seungmin looked toward his hallway, toward the bedroom beyond it, toward the closet where the binders were back in their place, hidden again but not forgotten.
Changbin’s voice came softer. “Are you upset?”
Seungmin thought about lying. Then thought better of it. “I don’t know.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t think I’m upset that Chan knows there’s someone,” Seungmin said slowly. The knowledge that he is talking about the Bang Chan like he is a friend makes his stomach twist. “I just don’t like realizing there are already people on your side of this who can notice me without knowing me.”
“That makes sense,” Changbin said gently
Seungmin hated how much relief that gave him.
“I’m sorry,” Changbin said again. “I should have told you.”
“Maybe.”
“I should have.”
Seungmin looked down at his own knees, at the blanket bunched over his lap. “It’s not like you did something horrible.”
“I still should have told you.” The apology settled between them better this time.
Changbin took a deep breath. Seungmin could hear the shift before he spoke. “Can I come over after we finish today?”
Seungmin’s chest tightened. He sat up a little straighter, even though Changbin couldn't see him. “Why?”
“Not bad,” Changbin said quickly, like he heard the panic in the silence. “It’s not bad. I just… I want to talk to you about something. In person.”
“That sounds bad.”
“It isn’t.”
“People only say that when it is.”
Changbin huffed out a small, nervous laugh. “I know. I’m horrible at this.”
Seungmin pressed his lips together tightly.
Changbin was quiet for a breath, then said, “I don’t want us to keep stepping around things because I’m afraid of saying the wrong thing.”
Seungmin’s smile faded.
Changbin continued, voice low enough now that Seungmin knew he had moved somewhere more private, or at least lowered himself into the part of the room where honesty was easier if no one was looking directly at him. “After the other morning, I keep thinking about what you said. About not wanting me to think you confused things. About what happens when someone on your side of the screen ends up close to someone on mine.”
Seungmin’s throat tightened.
“I don’t want to have this conversation through a phone,” Changbin said. “And I don’t want to rush it before I have to go back in there.”
In the background, something thumped softly, and Chan’s voice called Changbin’s name through the wall. Not impatient, exactly. Just a reminder that even this moment had a timer on it.
Changbin sighed.
Seungmin heard the frustration in it. “What time?” Seungmin asked.
“Probably late.” Changbin whispers
“How late?”
“Maybe ten. Maybe later. I can text if it’s too late and we can do another day.”
Seungmin looked around his apartment, at the couch where Changbin had slept against his shoulder, the coffee table that had held takeout containers, the quiet room that had somehow started making space for someone who was rarely allowed to stay anywhere for long.
“Come over,” he said.
Changbin didn't answer immediately.
When he did, his voice was softer than before. “Are you sure?”
“I’ll bring food,” Changbin offers.
“You'd better not bring convenience store food.”
“I’ll bring real food,” Changbin promised. Then, after a pause, quieter, “And the conversation.”
Seungmin’s fingers tightened around the phone. That should have scared him more. But beneath the fear, there was something else. Something small and stubborn, something that sounded too much like hope for Seungmin’s comfort.
“Okay,” he said.
Changbin exhaled softly, like the word had mattered more than Seungmin knew. “Okay. I’ll text you when I’m leaving.”
“Drink water.”
Changbin laughed. “Yes, sir.”
Seungmin rolled his eyes, but his chest felt softer when he heard the smile in Changbin’s voice.
Then Chan called his name again, louder this time. “I have to go,” Changbin said, regret already written into the words.
“I know.”
“I’ll see you tonight.”
Seungmin looked toward the bedroom again, then back at the dark television screen where his own reflection was still holding the phone too tightly. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Tonight.”
The call ended a few seconds later.
Seungmin sat there for a long moment with the phone still against his ear, listening to the silence that came after Changbin’s voice disappeared.
Then he lowered it into his lap and looked toward the hallway.
Four days ago, Changbin had found the part of him Seungmin had been most afraid to show.
Tonight, apparently, he was coming back to talk about it.
Seungmin was not sure whether that made him want to run or open the door early.
For the next seven hours, Seungmin tried to behave like a normal person.
No staring out the window with one hand pressed to the glass like someone in a music video. He did not sit by the door waiting for Changbin to text.
He did not open the closet every twenty minutes to make sure the binders were still hidden.
He opened it twice… three times, if you counted the first time
Work emails helped for a while. Cleaning the coffee table helped until he realized he was cleaning the coffee table because Changbin was coming over, and then he became so annoyed with himself that he left one water ring untouched out of spite.
At 5:43, Changbin texted.
Bad Groceries: Still at the studio.
Seungmin stared at the message for too long.
Changbin sent a voice message after that, only three seconds long, just a tired laugh, “I can’t wait to see you”
Seungmin listened to it once. Then twice. Then he put his phone facedown on the couch like that would fix him as a person.
It didn’t.
By seven, the apartment had started to feel too quiet. Since Changbin came into his life the silence had shape. It had the outline of someone who had fallen asleep on his couch, left shirts in his bedroom, drank from his glasses, stood in his bathroom with toothpaste on his chin, and left dirty dishes in the sink.
Seungmin hated that Changbin had made absence noticeable.
At 8:16, another message came through.
Bad Groceries: We’re wrapping soon. Maybe another hour.
Seungmin: You say that schedules respect you.
Bad Groceries: I am trying the whole manifestation thing.
Seungmin: Manifest faster.
Bad Groceries: You miss me, don't you?
Seungmin stared at the message, his thumbs hovered over the keyboard.
His phone buzzed again.
Bad Groceries: Too much?
Seungmin exhaled, something in his chest tightening and softening at the same time.
Seungmin: No.
By nine, he gave up pretending he was not waiting and changed into something softer. Not for Changbin, no, absolutely not. Just a clean shirt and comfortable pants because he had been wearing the same thing since morning and that was normal human behavior… totally normal.
He brushed his hair, then stopped halfway through when he realized he was making it worse. He checked the kitchen for no reason. Put out two glasses of water because Changbin could not be trusted to hydrate without supervision. Then, after a long pause, he took one of the glasses back and refilled it with fresh water because the first attempt had been sitting too long.
At 9:52, his phone buzzed.
Bad Groceries: Leaving now.
Seungmin’s stomach flipped.
A second message followed.
Bad Groceries: I just need to grab our dinner.
Seungmin stood, then sat back down, then stood again because sitting felt worse.
He made it all the way to the hallway before stopping outside his bedroom. The closet door was closed. The binders were hidden. Everything was back where it belonged.
Except that was not true anymore, was it?
Changbin knew now.
At 10:17, the final text appeared.
Bad Groceries: Downstairs.
Seungmin looked at it for a long moment, phone warm in his hand.
Changbin was standing downstairs with two bags in his hands.
One was obviously dinner, warm paper containers tucked into a plastic bag with condensation fogging the inside. The other was larger, black, and folded neatly at the top like Changbin had carried it too carefully for it to be casual. Seungmin noticed it immediately, because he noticed everything when he was nervous. He noticed Changbin’s damp hair tucked beneath a cap, the exhaustion sitting under his eyes, the way his hoodie hung slightly crooked on one shoulder. He noticed the careful smile Changbin gave him when the door opened, like he was relieved to see Seungmin and afraid to show too much of it at the same time.
“You brought a suspicious bag,” Seungmin said instead of hello.
Changbin looked down at the black bag, then back up with a larger than normal smile
Seungmin stared at him for a second, then stepped aside. “Come in before I regret this.”
He came inside carefully, toeing off his shoes by the door with the kind of familiarity Seungmin still had not figured out how to survive. The apartment seemed to shift around him again, quietly rearranging itself to make space for his presence. It had done that too many times now. Enough that Seungmin’s stomach tightened every time he noticed it.
Changbin set the food on the coffee table first.
Real food, thankfully. Soup, rice, meat, side dishes, dumplings because Changbin had apparently learned that Seungmin would pretend not to care and then eat half of them anyway. He unpacked everything with the focused nervousness of someone trying to delay the reason he had actually come over. Seungmin watched him from the end of the couch, arms folded loosely, pretending the strange tension in the room was not making his skin feel too tight.
“You ate today?” Seungmin asked.
Changbin glanced up. “Yes.”
“Real food?”Seungmin questioned
“Yes.”
“Before or after Chan yelled at Han for embarrassing you?”
Changbin froze for half a second, then huffed out a laugh. “Before.”
“Shame. I was hoping embarrassment improved your appetite.”
Changbin looked at him and smiled, humor thinned into something softer. “I missed this.”
Seungmin’s fingers tightened against his sleeve, sitting down on the couch reaching for a container of rice. “Eat before it gets cold.”
Changbin let him have the escape.
They ate quietly at first, the kind of quiet that was not uncomfortable but not easy either. It was full of the things they were both trying not to touch too quickly. The fact that Changbin had come back anyway, carrying dinner and something hidden in a black bag, asking for a conversation like he intended to stay until they finished it.
Seungmin hated how much he wanted that.
The food helped. It always did with them. Gave their hands something to do. Gave Seungmin somewhere to look besides Changbin’s face. Changbin ate enough for Seungmin not to scold him right away, though he still watched with suspicion whenever Changbin reached for water like he was trying to prove a point.
They finished dinner slowly. Changbin gathered the empty containers without being asked, stacking them neatly into the bag. The coffee table was clear except for two glasses of water, Changbin sat back down, the black bag now resting beside his knee.
Seungmin looked at it. “Suspicious bag,” he said.
Changbin rubbed one hand over the back of his neck. “It’s for you.”
That was worse.
Seungmin’s stomach tightened immediately. “Changbin.”
“I know,” Changbin said quickly, though Seungmin had not said anything beyond his name. “Just… look first. Then you can yell at me.”
Seungmin stared at him.
Changbin’s nervous smile flickered, then faded into something more serious. He reached for the bag and set it on the table between them like an offering.
“I saw what was missing,” he said quietly.
Seungmin’s chest went tight.
The apartment seemed to narrow around them. For one brief second, Seungmin was back there again, damp-haired and raw, watching Changbin with his private life open in his lap.
His voice came out careful. “What does that mean?”
Changbin swallowed. “In the closet..I noticed some of the old stuff. The eras. What you had. What you didn’t.” His hands flexed once against his thighs. “There was a hoodie from three years ago. Limited release. You didn’t have it.”
Seungmin stopped breathing normally.
Changbin reached into the bag.
The hoodie came out folded neatly, black fabric soft even from a distance, the logo across the front unmistakable. Seungmin knew it immediately. He had tried to buy it the morning it dropped, sitting at his kitchen table with three tabs open and his payment information saved, watching the queue crawl forward only for the item to sell out before he could get past the checkout page.
He had been annoyed for two days, maybe three.
Now it sat on his coffee table like it had been waiting for him all this time.
Beside it, Changbin placed an album in a clear protective sleeve.
Signed.
Chan’s signature curved across the top in silver. Han’s sat beneath it, messy and dramatic, with a tiny heart beside his name because of course Han would add a heart. Changbin’s signature was last, more familiar now than it had any right to be, tucked near the bottom with a short note Seungmin did not let himself read yet because his vision had already gone strange around the edges.
He stared at both gifts.
He did not touch either of them.
Changbin’s voice was gentle. “Seungmin.”
“No.” Seungmin shook his head once, small and sharp. “No.”
“Okay.” Changbin said wearily
“No, not okay.” Seungmin looked at him then, and the panic came up so fast he could not turn it into anything prettier. “This is exactly what I meant.”
Changbin’s face softened with understanding, which only made Seungmin’s chest hurt more.
“This is special treatment,” Seungmin said. His voice sounded too tight, too defensive, but he could not stop. “This is exactly the kind of thing I told you I didn’t want. You found out I collected things and now suddenly there’s a limited hoodie and a signed album from you guys sitting on my coffee table like I won some secret prize for sleeping with you.”
Changbin flinched.
Seungmin regretted the words immediately.
Not because they were dishonest, but they made something soft sound cheap, and he could see the hurt pass over Changbin’s face before Changbin swallowed it down.
“Fuck… I didn’t mean it like that,” Seungmin said, quieter, but the damage was already there.
“I know,” Changbin said.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I do.” Changbin looked down at the hoodie, then back at Seungmin. “I know why it feels that way to you.”
“Do you?”
“I’m trying to.”
Seungmin laughed once, but there was no humor in it. “You can’t give me a signed album by the people I used to collect and then tell me it isn’t access.”
Changbin’s gaze held steady. “I can tell you it isn’t access because you didn’t ask for it.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“No,” Changbin said softly. “But it makes it different.”
Seungmin looked away.
His hands were curled tightly in his lap. He could feel his nails pressing into his palms, grounding and useless. Two things he would have wanted so badly before any of this, before the convenience store and Changbin falling asleep on his couch. Before he knew how Changbin sounded when he was tired, how he smiled when he was nervous, how carefully he touched when he wanted to make sure Seungmin had room to say no.
Before he knew him.
That was the part that made the gifts feel impossible.
“I don’t want to be rewarded for being close to you,” Seungmin said, and his voice came out smaller than he wanted. “I don’t want to become that person.”
Changbin leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, but he did not reach for him. “You’re not.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“No,” Changbin said. “You do. By how you treat me, what you ask from me, by whether you make me feel like a person or a thing you finally got your hands on.” His voice roughened slightly. “You have never made me feel like a thing.”
Seungmin’s throat tightened.
Changbin looked at the gifts again, and when he spoke, his voice was quieter. “This isn’t special treatment.”
Seungmin looked up.
Changbin’s eyes were warm, but serious. “It’s treatment for someone special.”
Seungmin pressed his lips together, but Changbin kept going before Seungmin could turn the feeling into another defense.
“I’m not giving a fan something because he asked,” Changbin said. “I’m giving you something because I know you. Because I saw something you loved, and I wanted you to know that I don’t think that part of you is embarrassing. I don’t want you to shove it into the back of a closet like it makes you less trustworthy.” His voice softened further. “You liked my music before you liked me. You collected things because they made you happy. You don’t have to erase that for me to believe what we are now is real.”
Seungmin’s eyes burned, tears threatening to fall.
After a long moment, Seungmin reached out and touched the edge of the hoodie with two fingers, like it might burn him.
The fabric was soft beneath his touch. Not a screenshot from a resale site, or a bitter memory of a failed queue.
Seungmin’s voice came quiet. “I tried to buy this.”
“I thought you might have.”
“It sold out.” Seungmin lips curved downward in the memory
Changbin smiled faintly. “It was a very proud morning for our merchandise team.”
Seungmin’s mouth threatened to move into something too soft, so he looked at the album instead. His fingers hovered over the plastic sleeve, not touching the signatures yet. “Han drew a heart.”
“Chan wrote something inside too.”
Seungmin’s eyes snapped to him. “Inside?”
Changbin nodded, then looked suddenly nervous again. “Nothing weird. Just… kind. I told them a little. Not everything. Not your details. Just that there was someone important to me who had cared about our music for a long time.”
Seungmin’s chest tightened.
“And Han said if I didn’t give him permission to sign dramatically, I was disrespecting the arts.”
Changbin’s expression changed, the carefulness returning. He looked down at his hands, then back at Seungmin, and all the softness from the gifts settled into something heavier.
“There are things I need to tell you before I ask you what I came here to ask,” Changbin said.
Seungmin’s fingers stopped against the hoodie as his stomach tightened. “That sounds ominous.”
“It’s not meant to be.” Changbin breathed out slowly. “But I need to be honest.”
Seungmin sat back, leaving the hoodie on the table. “Okay.”
Changbin rubbed his thumb across one knuckle, the way he did when he was nervous. “There’s a no-dating clause in our contracts.”
For a moment, Seungmin only stared.
The words were simple. Too simple, maybe, because it took several seconds for them to arrange themselves into something that made sense.
“A what?”
Changbin’s mouth tightened faintly. “A no-dating clause. Or dating restrictions. It’s complicated.”
“Is that allowed?”
Changbin gave him a humorless little smile. “Allowed is also complicated.”
“That sounds illegal.”
“It sounds a lot of ways.” Changbin leaned back, but his body stayed tense, like relaxing was only something he could imitate. “It’s not always as simple as one line saying we’re not allowed to have relationships. It’s image clauses, morality clauses, public behavior, company approval, penalties. Dating openly can become a contract issue. Dating privately can become a problem if it affects the group, the brand, the schedule, anything they can argue damages what they built.”
Seungmin’s mouth went dry.
The album and the hoodie suddenly looked different on the table, surrounded by a life Seungmin had only understood from one side.
“So you can’t date?” he asked.
Changbin looked at him. “Not openly.”
The answer hurt in a way Seungmin did not want to show.
He looked down at his lap. “But people do.” Changbin was quiet for a second. “Han and Chan do.”
Seungmin’s head snapped up. “They what?”
Changbin pressed his lips together, and for one insane second he looked like he wanted to laugh. “They have partners.”
Seungmin stared at him.
The sentence moved through his head once. Twice.
Then understanding hit hard enough that he sat straighter.
“They’re dating Minho and Jeongin?”
Changbin blinked. “You got there very fast.”
“Han and Minho?” Seungmin said, still processing. “And Chan and Jeongin?”
Changbin nodded.
Seungmin leaned back slowly, staring at him with the quiet horror of a person realizing several old fan theories were about to crawl out of the internet and personally haunt him. “Oh my god. I fucking knew it.” he said in disbelief, “Do they know that almost everyone knows?” he asked
Changbin smiles gently before looking down “Yeah, they have been together for some time now.”
Seungmin rubbed a hand over his face. “I hate knowing things.”
“That might become a theme.”
Seungmin dropped his hand and looked at him sharply.
Changbin’s humor faded. “They’re live in assistants,” he said. “That’s the story. It explains why they’re around each other so much, why they travel together sometimes, why they’re seen going in and out of the same places. It gives people something boring enough to believe.”
Seungmin stared at the coffee table.
Assistants.
Such a simple word for something so heavy.
“I’m telling you because I don’t want you to think hiding automatically means shame,” Changbin said. “Sometimes it means safety. Sometimes it means keeping a job. Avoiding fines. Avoiding the company deciding someone is too much of a risk. Sometimes it means stopping people from digging through your life because they think they’re entitled to everything attached to mine.”
Seungmin looked up slowly. “You could lose your job?”
“Not easily,” Changbin said, which was not no. “Not because someone sees us once. But if things got messy, if it became public in a way the company couldn’t control, if they thought I broke a contract or damaged the group’s image, there could be consequences. Fines. Restrictions. Legal issues. Pressure. It depends on timing and how bad it gets.”
Seungmin’s stomach turned.
He thought of Changbin onstage. Of lights and crowds and the life he had built with years of work Seungmin had once watched from a distance. He thought of one wrong photo, one rumor, one person deciding they deserved to know more, and suddenly Seungmin standing near him was not just standing near him.
It was risk.
Changbin seemed to see the thought cross his face, because he moved closer. “You are not dangerous to me.”
Seungmin looked away. “It kind of sounds like I am.”
“No.” Changbin’s answer was immediate. “The industry is dangerous. The contract is dangerous. The way people think they own us is dangerous. You are not.”
Seungmin swallowed. “Maybe this is where it needs to end then…” he confesses, closing his eyes before tears can fall “I don’t want to be the reason you lose everything. You can find someone better than me. Later ya know?”
Changbin’s voice softened, but it did not lose its seriousness. “No.” Changbin demands “That is not the reason I am bringing this up. I want you.. Fuck.. I need you. But there may be times when I have to be careful. Times when I can’t hold your hand outside. Times when I can’t walk through your front door if someone follows the car. Times when I have to ask you to wait, or take a different exit, or let someone call you my friend.”
Seungmin’s jaw tightened. “That sounds like being hidden.”
“It is.” Changbin’s honesty landed hard. “Sometimes it will be. And I hate that. I hate that I’m saying this to you after everything you told me. I hate that I’m sitting here with a hoodie and an album and trying to tell you that you matter to me, and then in the same conversation admitting there may be moments where I have to make it look like you don’t.”
Seungmin’s throat tightened.
“But I would rather tell you the ugly part now than hurt you with it later,” Changbin said. “If we do this,” he continued, “I don’t want to make decisions around you and call it protection. I don’t want to disappear behind managers and excuses and leave you guessing. If there’s something I can’t do, I want to tell you why. If I need you to be hidden for a night, I want you to know it is not because I’m ashamed of you.”
Seungmin looked at him.
Changbin’s face was open, but guarded at the edges, like he was braced for Seungmin to decide all of this was too much.
“It’s because I’m trying not to lose the life I built before I’m ready to choose what parts of it can change,” Changbin said.
Seungmin’s fingers tightened around the edge of the hoodie.
“And Chan and Han?” he asked quietly.
“They make it work,” Changbin said. “Not perfectly. Not easily. There are rules and lies and stupid cover stories. But they talk. Constantly. More than most people probably have to.” His mouth softened faintly. “Minho calls Han out when he gets scared and starts hiding behind jokes. Jeongin does the same to Chan when Chan tries to carry everything alone.”
Changbin leaned forward again, his voice careful. “That’s what I mean when I say we would have to communicate more than normal people. Trust more. There will be things that look bad if you only see them from the outside. There will be times when I can’t give you the public version of what you deserve, and I need you to know that doesn’t mean I’m giving you less in private.”
Seungmin looked down at the hoodie, still under his hand. “And if I say I can’t do that?” Seungmin asked.
Changbin’s face fell. “Then I’ll understand.”
The answer hurt because Seungmin believed it.
Changbin would understand. He would leave with his careful face and his soft voice and probably keep drinking water because Seungmin had asked him to once. He would go back to the studio, to the tour, to the life that had already taken so much from him, and he would let Seungmin go if Seungmin said the cost was too high.
That made Seungmin want to cry more than the fear did. “You’re asking for a lot,”
“I know.”
“You’re asking me to trust things I can’t always see.”
Changbin shook his head. “I’m asking you to let me explain when it happens. Not to be okay with it without feeling anything. You’re allowed to hate it. You’re allowed to tell me it hurts. You’re allowed to be angry if I handle it badly. I just need the chance to tell you the truth before you decide what it means.”
Then Seungmin looked toward the signed album again, at Chan and Han’s names beside Changbin’s, proof of a world he had known from one side and was only now being invited to understand from the other.
“Okay,” he said.
Changbin’s eyes sharpened with cautious hope. “Okay?”
“Okay as in I’m still listening,” Seungmin said. “Not okay as in I’m not freaked out.”
Changbin’s mouth softened. “That’s fair.”
“And if Han calls me lover boy to my face, I’m leaving.”
Changbin laughed before he could stop himself, one hand coming up to cover his mouth.
Seungmin pointed at him. “I’m serious. I will walk directly out.”
“I’ll warn him.”
“You better.”
Changbin’s laughter faded into something softer, warmer, and for the first time since the conversation began, the air between them loosened.
Changbin looked down at his hands again, and Seungmin knew there was more.
Of course there was more.
“The other thing is the tour,” Changbin said.
He already knew, because schedules were posted and fans talked and promotional clips had started appearing everywhere. He knew the cities that had been announced, the interviews tied to them, the little pieces of information people collected online and arranged into timelines. He knew enough to understand that Changbin’s life was about to stretch across airports, hotels, stages, and time zones while Seungmin stayed here, in this apartment, with his job and his quiet mornings and the couch Changbin kept falling asleep on.
Still, hearing Changbin say it out loud made it land differently.
“How long?” Seungmin asked, even though part of him already knew he would hate the answer.
Changbin’s mouth tightened. “Eleven months.”
The room went quiet.
Eleven months sat between them like something physical. Not forever, Seungmin knew that. People survived distance. People survived worse things than missed calls and time zones and hotel rooms in cities with names Seungmin would only see through livestream clips and fan photos. But this thing between them was still new, still soft in places that had not learned how to be durable yet, and eleven months suddenly felt less like a schedule and more like a test neither of them had studied for.
Changbin looked at him, and the guardedness was back again. Not cold. Never cold. But careful in the way he became when he was trying to protect Seungmin from the sharpest edge of his own life.
“I know it’s selfish to ask you this before I leave,” Changbin said quietly. “I know it would probably be kinder to say we should wait until I’m back. Until things are easier. Until I’m not asking you to start something with me right before I disappear for almost a year.”
Changbin reached out and grabbed Sungmin’s thigh.
“I won’t disappear,” Changbin added quickly, like the word had scared him too. “I don’t mean it like that. I’ll call, and text. I’ll send you proof that I’m eating real food so you can insult me from different time zones. If there’s time between cities, if there’s a break long enough, I’ll come back. Or I’ll fly you out if you want that someday. Not because you have to. Not because I expect it. Just…” He exhaled, rough and nervous. “I would try. I need you to know I would try.”
Seungmin looked away because that was worse than an easy promise.
Trying meant schedules would still win sometimes. Trying meant Changbin could mean every word and still be too far away. Trying meant there would be nights where the phone stayed silent because Changbin was asleep in another country, or onstage, or being pulled into another obligation by people who had every right to need him and no reason to care that Seungmin was waiting.
Changbin’s voice softened. “I know your life is quieter than mine. You have your apartment and your job and your routines. You can go to the store without thinking about who is behind you. And I’m asking you to let my life complicate yours.”
Seungmin let out a shaky breath.
Changbin’s eyes did not leave him. “I know the timing is unfair. But I don’t want to lose you because I waited until it was convenient.”
Seungmin looked at the album, at the hoodie, at the careful evidence that Changbin had noticed what mattered to him and had tried, maybe clumsily, maybe too personally, to meet him there. Then he looked at Changbin, who sat next to him in his apartment looking more nervous than he ever had on any stage Seungmin had watched through a screen.
“These last two months,” Changbin said, his voice quieter now, “you’ve managed to shake up my entire life. Maybe I should be scared of that,” Changbin continued. “Maybe I am, a little. But I wouldn’t have wanted anything else. Not the convenience store. Not you yelling at me to drink water. Not waking up here and realizing I didn’t want to leave.”
Seungmin’s throat tightened as Changbin scooted closer, careful even now, like he still wanted Seungmin to have room to run if he needed it.
“I don’t want to be vague anymore,” Changbin said. “And I know I’m asking at the worst possible time, but I know what I want.”
The room went very still.
Then Changbin swallowed.
“Can we date?” he asked, voice soft and scared and steady all at once. “For real?”
Seungmin looked at him.
The question was not dramatic, just Changbin in his living room with takeout cooling in the trash bag and an old hoodie on the table and a signed album Seungmin was still afraid to touch.
And Seungmin wanted to say yes, but it was terrifying, because saying yes meant all of it. The distance. The secrecy. The possibility of being hidden sometimes. The rumors. The contract. The eleven months. The phone calls that might come late or not at all. The parts of Changbin’s life that were loud enough to swallow quiet things whole.
It meant this was real enough to lose.
“If I say yes,” he said slowly, “you don’t get to decide what is too much for me without asking.”
Changbin’s face changed immediately, hope and seriousness crossing it together. “Okay.”
“I mean it. If you start protecting me so much it feels like hiding, I’m going to call you out.” Seungmin points out, voice hard. “And you don’t get to disappear when things get hard because you think silence is safer.” He continued
Changbin’s throat moved. “I won’t.”
“You might.” Seungmin points out
Changbin looked hurt for half a second, then nodded. “I might,” his voice softened. “But I’ll try not to. And if I do, I want you to tell me.”
Seungmin held his gaze.
That was the difference, maybe. Not that Changbin promised perfection. Seungmin would not have believed that anyway. But he promised effort. Honesty. The chance to be corrected instead of worshipped or feared or handled like something too fragile to touch.
Seungmin looked at the album again, at the signatures, at the hoodie, at the person sitting behind them with his whole strange, complicated life offered like a warning and a promise at the same time.
Then he exhaled shakily, “Yes,” he said, voice shaking, but he kept going. “We can date. For real.”
For a second, Changbin did not move, then his face broke open in the softest smile Seungmin had ever seen.
It made Seungmin’s chest ache in a way that felt dangerous and warm and already too late to stop.
Changbin breathed out like he had been holding that breath for two months. “Yeah?”
Seungmin rolled his eyes, because the alternative was crying and he had already done too much of that lately. “Do not make me say it twice.”
Changbin laughed, soft and wrecked, and crossed the small space between them.
Seungmin reached for him, fingers curling into the front of Changbin’s hoodie, and pulled him closer.
The kiss was not desperate.It was too tender for that, too full of relief. Changbin’s hands came carefully to his waist, and Seungmin let himself be held, let himself kiss him in the quiet of his living room with the gifts still sitting on the table and the future still complicated and waiting.
Nothing had gotten easier. The contract still existed. The tour was still coming. The world outside the apartment was still loud, hungry, and too close.
But Changbin was smiling against his mouth, because Seungmin had said yes.