"The company made me watch it back seventeen times." He cut in, his jaw tight, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "As 'correction.' To make sure I'd never forget again."
"Seventeen times?" The playfulness drained out of me entirely, replaced by something sharper. "Tae-min, that's not correction. That's cruelty."
"It worked." He shrugged, but the gesture was stiff, his shoulders tight with old tension. "I haven't forgotten choreography since. But I also can't watch any debut content without feeling sick."
The bond pulsed in my chest, and I felt his feelings bleeding through — old shame, fear of failure, the crushing weight of expectations he'd been carrying since he was barely more than a kid.
"The golden maknae." I said it softly, understanding clicking into place. "That's what they call you."
"That's what I'm supposed to be." His voice was flat, stripped of its usual energy. "Perfect. Better than everyone else at everything. Fans send letters calling me 'flawless' and I can't even open them anymore because—" He stopped, looking away from me, his expression closing off. "Sorry. This is supposed to be fun. I'm ruining it."
"Hey." I set the pillow aside and shifted closer to him, close enough that our knees touched, close enough to feel the warmth of him. "Look at me."
He looked, wary and vulnerable in a way that made my chest ache, his dark eyes shimmering with emotions he was trying to hide.
"You know what I think about 'golden' and 'flawless'?" I held his gaze steadily, refusing to let him look away. "I think they're boring. I think the guy who forgets choreography and builds ramen cup monuments and gets competitive about Mario Kart is way more interesting than any perfect idol could ever be."
He stared at me, something shifting in his expression, hope warring with disbelief. "You're just saying that."
"I'm really not." I poked his knee firmly, making sure he felt it. "Perfect people are exhausting. I should know — I spent years trying to be invisible because I thought that was the same as being acceptable. Turns out it just made me lonely and weird."
"You're not weird." He said it automatically, like a reflex, “But I am glad to see you like this and not being quiet and running away from us.”
"I'm extremely weird." I corrected with exaggerated pride. "I ran away from five soulmates in a week. I categorize my socks by thickness. I once cried at a commercial for dish soap because the puppy looked sad."
A surprised laugh escaped him, breaking through the heaviness. "The puppy dish soap commercial?"
"Don't judge me, it was very emotional." I sniffed with exaggerated dignity, lifting my chin haughtily.
"I'm not judging." He was smiling now, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he relaxed. "I'm... honestly kind of relieved. That you're weird too."
"We can be weird together." I bumped my shoulder against his, feeling the warmth of the contact. "Start a club. 'Weirdos Anonymous.' You bring the ramen cups, I'll bring my sock categories."
He laughed — really laughed, the sound bright and surprised, his whole face lighting up. "Deal."
We sat there for a moment, something warm settling between us, the easy comfort of shared vulnerability. Then Tae-min's expression shifted, turning more serious, his eyes searching my face.
"Can I tell you something?" He asked, and his voice was different now — less playful, more earnest, almost nervous.
"Depends." I kept my tone light even as my heart rate picked up. "Is it going to make me have feelings? Because feelings are banned today."
"I lied about that." He admitted, his ears going pink again as he met my eyes. "Feelings aren't banned. They're just... scary. But you're scarier."
"Me?" I raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smile. "I can't even hold a controller right side up."
"Exactly." He said it like it made perfect sense, his gaze intense despite his nervous energy. "You're terrible at games and weird about socks and you literally ran away from me, and I still can't stop thinking about you. That's terrifying."
My heart did something complicated at his words, warmth spreading through my chest. "Tae-min..."
"I'm going to kiss you and I hope it don’ts make you uncomfortable or run away…” He said it in a rush, the words tumbling over each other in his haste. "If that's okay. If you want. You can totally say no and we'll just pretend this didn't happen and maybe play more Mario Kart?—"
I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him toward me, cutting off his rambling with my mouth. He made a surprised squeaking sound against my lips — genuinely adorable — and then his hands were on my face and he was kissing me back with enthusiasm if not skill. When our teeth bumped together, he jerked back, mortified, his face bright red.
"Sorry!" His voice cracked with panic. "Sorry, that was?—"
"Cute." I finished for him, grinning at his horrified expression.
"Cute?" He looked genuinely distressed, his eyes wide. "That's not what I was going for. I was going for smooth. Suave. Mysterious?—"
