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kyunghwannie · 3 days ago

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“White Noise” (Part: 1)

Kim Dahyun x M!Reader

Available in Patreon too (Free and Paid members all can see, no worries lol.)

➤ Genre: Slight Angst / Romance/ Smut (in Pt.2 | This part doesn't have here)

➤ Teaser: You and Dahyun accidentally get locked inside a top-secret “White Room”—a completely soundproof studio used by JYPE’s R&D division to test new acoustic designs. The door auto-locks for 4 hours during internal maintenance tests. No phones. No communication with the outside world. Just complete silence. It’s said to mess with people’s heads if they’re in there too long. But for Dahyun and you… silence makes things louder.

➤ Note: I was just experimenting with concepts hehe. And wassup people. Iam finally back after 2 months. 🥀

The hallway lights flicker faintly as you walk past the secured area beneath JYPE’s main building. You tap your badge, waiting for the scanner to blink green. The door slides open with a sharp hiss.

“Creepy,” a voice chirps behind you. You turn. Dahyun’s standing there with her arms crossed, a curious tilt to her head. She's already ditched her stage heels for comfy slides, her hair loose. “What is this place? Some kind of vault?”

You smirk, motioning her inside. “Kind of. It’s called the White Room. Soundproofed testing lab. Engineers use it to simulate pure silence for audio calibration.”

“Or a very boring episode of Black Mirror,” you say, pulling out the tablet to run a systems check.

Dahyun steps in slowly, her gaze drifting up the stark white walls and seamless panels. “So… like an anti-studio? This is freaky. I feel like I’m in a sci-fi horror movie.”

“Engineers measure vocal decay. Musicians test isolation mixes. I’m just here to supervise the new acoustic software they’re testing.”

She spins in place, arms slightly raised. “So you just… sit here in silence?”

Dahyun walks to the center and claps once. Nothing. No echo. No feedback. The sound just dies in the air. “Whoa.”

You chuckle. “Exactly. It absorbs 99.9% of all sound. Even your breathing sounds weird after a while.”

You raise an eyebrow.

She stares at you, lips slowly forming a grin. “Wanna know something weird?”

“My heart's beating louder than my thoughts right now.”

You blink. Before you can reply, a red light flashes above the only door. Then silence.

A robotic voice echoes once through the system: “SECURE LOCKDOWN ACTIVATED. DOOR SEALED FOR FOUR HOURS.”

Complete silence. Dahyun’s smile fades as she turns to you. “…Was that supposed to happen?”

You slowly lower the tablet. The battery display is dead. No service. No connection. You meet her eyes. “No. It wasn’t.”

She stares at you. You stare back. And in that perfect, pure silence, you both realize: You’re completely alone.

You lean against the wall, the white panels cold through your shirt. Dahyun’s still standing near the center of the room, but now, her shoulders relax a little.

You speak softly, your voice almost unsure if it belongs in a place this silent. “So… what brings you here, Dahyun?”

She turns to you, that soft look in her eyes—the one that only shows when she’s not trying to entertain a camera or carry a stage. “You,” she answers simply.

You blink. Your lips curl just slightly. She’s always been like this with you lately—warm, effortlessly close. It wasn’t always like that.

“I saw you head down here after our recording, and I thought… why not follow?” She shrugs, casually, but her gaze lingers on yours.

But over the past few months, after countless late-night recording sessions, guide vocal practices, and snack runs during long mixing hours, something between you two clicked—not just as idol and manager-producer, but something softer. Something that lingered in the way she’d bump your arm with hers when no one was looking, or how she always waited for you to walk her out of the studio, even if the others had already gone. With TWICE, you were always their comfort. But with Dahyun, you were her… curiosity. Her choice.

“You didn’t have to,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. She steps closer now. Two feet away. One. The silence makes her footsteps feel heavier than they are. “You always wait for us after recordings. Thought it was my turn.”

There’s a pause. You watch her tilt her head gently to the side, eyes studying your expression like a puzzle she’s trying to solve without rushing.

Her scent reaches you first—something clean and subtle. Laundry soap, vanilla lotion, and maybe a hint of iced americano still clinging to her hoodie.

You swallow. She looks around the room again, then back at you. “It’s weird in here… how quiet it is.”

“Yeah. Almost feels like the world doesn’t exist outside.”

She nods slowly, then takes another step forward. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

Your shoulder brushes hers. She doesn’t move away. Neither do you. The rising tempo of two hearts choosing not to speak.

Dahyun turns away briefly, eyes scanning the wall where the red emergency lock light still glows faintly. Her brows furrow as if only now realizing what just happened.

“Wait… Four hours?!” You nod slowly, arms crossed as you lean into the wall behind you.

“Yeah. That ‘my heart’s beating louder than my thoughts’ line?” You raise a brow, smirking slightly. “Pretty sure it triggered the vocal sensitivity test. Voice command mode. It's supposed to pick up natural speech and lock in to test acoustic decay.”

She stares at you—mouth slightly open, a flash of panic in her eyes. “So I did this?” “Oh my god,” she mutters, looking mortified, “I just wanted to say something poetic…”

You shrug casually. “I mean, your voice is officially the reason we’re stuck. Congratulations.” You laugh softly. The silence around you swallows even that—making the moment feel surreal. She’s pacing now, her steps echoing through your bones more than your ears.

That’s when you really look at her.

The sterile white walls of the room only make her glow more. Dahyun’s black hair, long and softly curled, cascades over one shoulder like silk. The slight side part frames her face in a way that’s effortlessly mature, almost cinematic under the harsh lighting.

Her fitted white crop tank clings just enough to hint at the gentle curve of her waist. A soft, almost unreadable font is printed across her chest, teasing your eyes even when you try not to linger. The thin straps show off her collarbones, delicate and toned, and the natural gleam of her skin is almost hypnotic—pure, porcelain-like… tofu, just like her nickname. Silver hoop earrings catch a glint of light as she turns. Her thin necklace sways gently with her motion.

“You look really good today,” you say, tone genuine—quiet, but firm enough to carry meaning in a room like this.

She stops mid-step. Turns to you. Her lips part, eyes blinking once… then she gives a breathy laugh, cheeks blooming with color that even the cold light can’t hide.

“W-What?” Her hand instinctively rises to her cheek.

You walk slowly toward her, hands still in your pockets. “I mean it. Hair looks amazing. That outfit’s… dangerously stylish.” You smirk a little. "But the blush kinda completes it"

“Stop,” she says softly, almost giggling. “You’re not allowed to say things like that in here.”

You take one more step. You’re close enough now to see the subtle shimmer in her eyeliner, the way her pink lips part slightly with every quiet breath. “Because I can’t hide my reaction.”

She turns her body slightly, flustered, but her eyes remain locked on yours. “It’s too quiet. I feel like you can hear my skin heat up.”

“I can.”

She doesn’t move. Not away. Not closer. But her expression softens, lips twitching like she wants to say something clever… but all that comes out is a whisper. “This room’s dangerous.”

You nod once. “Only if you’re hiding something.” And from the way she’s looking at you now? She’s not hiding much anymore.

You both settle down slowly—Dahyun perched casually on the low padded platform lining one wall, her legs crossed beneath her, and you a few feet across, leaning back on your palms. The White Room doesn’t echo, but it absorbs sound in a way that makes every word feel like it stays between your lungs and hers.

Time isn’t moving in here.

But the past seems alive in both your voices.

“We’ve been so busy lately,” she says, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Recording, meetings, fitting rehearsals… It’s like, no one’s officially said it, but we’re sprinting again.”

“I’ve noticed,” you reply, letting out a light sigh. “I think I’ve listened to the demo for ‘Set Me Free’ more times than I’ve slept this week.”

She laughs, bright and honest. “Sorry about that. I kept re-recording my lines for that one. I thought I sounded flat.”

“You never sound flat,” you say without missing a beat. “You sounded like Dahyun. That’s what makes it work.”

That earns you a small look—quiet thanks glowing in her gaze. “That’s what we wanted,” she murmurs. “We’ve done the cute stuff. The elegant stuff. The safe stuff. This one felt like… we were owning it.”

You continue, shifting your weight a bit as your back presses into the smooth wall behind you. “The whole ‘Ready To Be’ concept is really something though. Mature, open, confident. It’s like TWICE is finally stepping into that stage where you’re not just idols anymore. You’re artists.”

You watch her as she talks—her tone calm but passionate, her hands occasionally gesturing as she describes a scene in the recording booth or a moment during choreography rehearsals. The way she speaks, you can tell she’s proud. And she should be.

“You helped with the vocal direction for the chorus on ‘Got the Thrills,’ right?” she asks suddenly.

You nod. “Mhm. And some of the bridge layering on ‘Wallflower.’ A lot of that was just me and Minji whisper-fighting at 2 a.m. about whether reverb should shimmer or echo.”

“That’s the goal,” you reply. “You sing the dream. I build the cloud under it.”

She smiles again, a private little grin. “I didn’t know you were part of that. That part felt so dreamy when we sang it.”

For a moment, the room settles again. Your words sit between you, soft as mist. Then she asked, “Do you remember the first time we met?”

You chuckle under your breath. “Oh yeah. How could I forget getting smacked in the head by TWICE’s sunshine tofu? You apologized like ten times and offered me half your banana.”

She bursts into laughter, a sound that feels twice as loud in this padded silence. “I swear, I didn’t see you! I was stretching and then BAM—elbow right to your skull. And you ate it, too!”

“It was a very sincere banana,” you say solemnly.

You smile at the memory. That chaotic day, with cables everywhere, girls in sweats and vocal warm-ups filling the room, and Dahyun bouncing around with more energy than the rest of the team combined. And somehow, even in that whirlwind, you saw her. And she saw you.

Her laugh softens, eyes crinkling. “I remember thinking, ‘he’s not like the other producers.’ You didn’t get all stiff or weird about it. You just laughed and asked if you could keep the bruise as a souvenir.”

“I think that was the first time I felt comfortable around someone new so quickly,” she admits. “You didn’t try too hard. You didn’t treat me like glass.”

“Maybe it’s because you almost cracked my skull instead,” you joke, and she nudges you with her foot in protest.

There’s something about this moment—this room—that makes the air feel different. Time drips slowly, your heartbeats almost audible. The White Room was designed to remove distractions. But maybe, that’s what makes her the only thing you notice.

She leans back now, propping herself up on her elbows, face tilted toward the ceiling. “It’s so strange. In here, I don’t feel like an idol. Or a celebrity. Or anything with rules.”

You glance at her, studying the soft rise and fall of her chest, the relaxed curl of her fingers. “You feel like Dahyun.”

“Yeah.” She turns her head toward you. “And you don’t feel like a manager or a producer.”

“What do I feel like?”

She pauses. Looks at you, not with humor this time, but with something rawer—stripped of polish and idol composure. “You feel like… someone I don’t want to stop talking to.” That silence returns again—not awkward, not uncertain. It simply exists, like a bubble you’ve both stepped into together. “Then tell me something else,” she says.

“Like what?”

“Anything.”

You smile softly. “Well, we’ve got four hours.”

So you talk. About the time you accidentally called Jeongyeon “JYP” during a feedback session and she didn’t let you live it down for a week. About Mina’s obsession with the demo keyboard’s cat meow sound. About how you secretly think Sana rigs the snack voting results on the group chat polls.

She laughs at all of it. Adds her own stories. Little things. Tiny cracks in the walls of professionalism—moments neither of you ever dared to talk about in open space.

Here, in the room where sound barely echoes, you’re louder to each other than you’ve ever been. Things changes . Not with heat. But something close. Something called possibility.

“HELLO?” Dahyun suddenly yells, cupping her hands around her mouth dramatically. “Testing—testing—can the walls hear me?!” Her voice doesn’t echo. The sound just… dies softly in the padded air, like it never existed at all. “Wow,” she says, blinking in mock awe. “Okay, this is either a billion-won recording room or a really expensive padded cell.”

Dahyun nods gravely, still in character. “I knew it. This is JYPE’s plan to replace our dorms. Lock us in stylish prisons with soundproof despair.”

You let out a small laugh. “Definitely the second one if we stay here long enough.”

“Well,” you shrug playfully, “at least they’d be soundproof. No one would hear Sana stealing midnight cereal again.”

She grins wide, clearly amused by her own dramatic performance, before turning around and lightly tapping her knuckles against the wall. “You ever wonder,” she starts, voice dropping into a mock-spooky whisper, “what if these walls... remember?”

You arch a brow. “Dubu, are you seriously trying to summon ghost acoustics right now?”

“Maybe!” she beams, then immediately goes serious and slaps her cheeks. “No. Focus, Dahyun. No ghosting. Just... talking.”

But then something shifts. Her playfulness slows. A breath slips through her lips, and she walks back over, quietly sitting cross-legged again—closer this time. Not touching, not crowding. Just... closer. And for the first time in minutes, she doesn’t say anything. Neither do you.

The silence in the room swells like something alive, but not awkward—more like it’s waiting. She stares ahead for a beat too long before finally speaking again, softer this time. “You know,” she murmurs, “I think I like this place... because it lets things come out that I usually keep buried.”

You glance at her, sensing the sudden shift in her tone. She exhales, as if trying to unclench something that’s lived in her chest for a while.

“I’ve been smiling a lot lately. I mean, I always do. It’s my thing, right?” Her lips tug into a faint, tired smile. “Dahyun—the sunshine. The mood-maker. The one who’s supposed to cheer people up.”

You stay quiet, knowing she isn’t fishing for comfort.

She’s peeling something. “But lately, I’ve been scared,” she confesses. “Scared that... I’m getting older in this industry. That people will stop looking at me with the same light in their eyes. That my voice will be too soft, or my image too tame. That maybe... TWICE moves on and I just fade into white noise.”

The air is too still now. Even your breath feels loud. You shift, not to interrupt, but just to be present. So she knows you’re not pulling away from her words.

“Sometimes I look in the mirror and wonder if I’m actually enough.”

There it is. Soft. Heavy. Raw. Her eyes don’t meet yours now. They stare at the blank wall, like she’s talking to herself but wants you to hear it.

You don’t rush your response. You take your time. Let her know her voice is safe here. Then gently, “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who fills a space just by existing the way you do, Dahyun.”

That gets her attention. Her eyes flick to you, surprised—but not dismissive. You continue, voice calm but firm. “You could be the last to enter a room and still be the first person people feel. And it’s not about your laugh, or your energy, or your idol image. It’s... you. You, when you’re just being.”

Her lips part slightly. “And when you are scared... that’s okay too. It makes you real. Not less.”

There’s a silence again, heavier this time, because now it holds everything she said—and everything you meant. Then… Dahyun breathes in. “You always know how to say things like that.”

“Even when I’m pretending I’m okay. Even when I’m not sure I want anyone to see what’s underneath… you just see it anyway.”

She says it softly, but it lands hard. She doesn’t look away now. She shifts closer, her knee brushing yours. Neither of you moves away.

“Do you know how rare that is?” she whispers. You don’t. You feel it, though.

Her gaze falls on your lips for a brief second before snapping back to your eyes, and now your own heart stirs in your chest like a stirred pot—something simmering that’s no longer just comfort or friendship.

You open your mouth to speak but she beats you to it.

She leans in slightly, not all the way, but just enough to make your skin hyperaware of the space between your mouths. You swear you can feel the warmth of her breath. “You made me feel like I was enough. Just now. And that means more to me than I can explain.”

You blink, throat dry, not from nerves—no, something else. Something awakening. “Dahyun…”

“I’m not trying to make this weird,” she whispers quickly, voice hushed. “I just... I don’t want to pretend I don’t feel it anymore.”

You search her expression. Her eyes are wide—but not afraid. Hopeful. Vulnerable. A beat passes.

You swallow thickly. “Feel what?”

“This.” She presses her palm gently against your chest, right over your heart. Not forcefully. Just... being there. Feeling your heartbeat answer her touch like it was waiting for her hand. “Being with you, even in this white silence,” she says slowly, “feels louder than most of the stages I’ve stood on.”

Your breath stutters.

“You make me feel safe… but also like I’m standing on the edge of something I’ve never tried.”

Your hand finds hers, resting over your chest, and you close your fingers slowly around it. Your voice is low now, almost hoarse. “I know the feeling.”

The contact is soft. But the weight of it? Undeniable.

And suddenly, the room doesn’t feel so white anymore. It feels warm. Colorless but not empty. Quiet, but full of something on the verge of blooming.

You held her hand a few seconds longer than you should have. Her palm, resting against your chest, felt impossibly small and warm. And yet, the intimacy of it—raw, silent, and steady—was almost too much to bear.

Your throat worked around a lump you didn’t know was there. “Dahyun…”

You had to say something. Anything. Because if you didn’t, if the silence stretched even one second longer, you weren’t sure what either of you would do next. So you reached for humor. A shield. A lifeline.

“You know,” you began, forcing a small chuckle into your voice, “when we were designing this white room system, someone actually joked it could turn into a secret idol dating booth.”

Dahyun blinked. You felt her tense very slightly before her brow arched in curiosity. “Wait, what?”

You nodded, backing up just enough to put a breath of space between you. It took effort. “Yeah. The acoustic padding, temperature control, no mics, no cameras, no echoes…” You smirked faintly. “Someone said it was so private, it could probably host the first ever K-pop underground speed-dating event.”

She stared. And then— “PFFT.” Dahyun burst into laughter, body curling in a small reflex of joy as she slapped your arm lightly. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was.” You leaned back against the wall, smiling. “Our sound engineer actually coined it ‘The Secret Sin Suite’ once during testing. JYP nearly choked on his tea.”

Her laughter spilled out again—light, clean, effortless. You let it wash over you, grateful. Because for a second there, you were sure you were about to kiss her. And not out of impulse or lust—but because the room had suspended everything else. Because she’d reached into something unspoken, and you had almost answered.

You weren’t even sure what stopped you. Maybe it was the way her hand trembled just a little. Maybe it was the knowledge of how complicated this could get. So you stepped back—gently, comically. Masked with ease.

And Dahyun, ever bright, let the laughter carry her for a while. But even as she grinned, you noticed it. A flicker. Small. Subtle. There—just behind her eyes. Not pain. Not frustration. Just... disappointment. The kind you don’t want to admit, even to yourself. And that hit deeper than you expected.

You looked down at your hands, clasped in your lap now. You could still feel the echo of her fingers against your chest, where your heart had thudded loudest. “I didn’t mean to ruin the mood,” you said quietly, a touch of remorse slipping in despite the joke.

Dahyun tilted her head, smile softening. “You didn’t.” You looked up at her. She offered a small shrug, eyes tracing your features like she was trying to read between the lines. “You’ve always known how to make me feel safe,” she said, “even if it means pulling me back from the edge.”

You opened your mouth, unsure what you wanted to say, but she cut in gently. “It’s not a bad thing, Y/N.” Her voice dropped a little. “Just… sometimes I wonder if I could be reckless, even once. And if I’d still feel okay afterward.”

There it was again. That something blooming beneath the surface. Longing, maybe. Freedom? Maybe just a moment of selfishness she rarely lets herself have. You sighed, leaning your head back against the padded wall. “I get it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Wanting to do something just because it feels like it’s yours. Not a concept, not a schedule, not a headline. Just... yours.”

Dahyun looked at you for a long moment. “Maybe that’s what this room really is,” she murmured.

You turned to her. “What do you mean?”

“A place where you don’t have to worry about being someone for everyone else.” She smiled faintly. “Just for each other. Even if it’s just for four hours.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. Because the warmth that filled your chest was starting to lean into something heavier. Something magnetic. And again, you were standing on that invisible edge.

You chuckled under your breath, trying to break the tension. “If we really wanted to go full rom-com cliché, we’d just start playing Truth or Dare or something.”

Dahyun laughed—thankfully. “Please. You’re like the human embodiment of ‘slow burn.’ You’d spend 80% of the movie convincing me not to fall for you.”

You grinned. “That’s better than being the guy who kisses the girl and disappears in Act Two.”

She nodded. “Fair. But maybe I’d rather be in a messy, unscripted one-shot anyway.”

Your eyes met again. And for a second—just a second—you both sat in the static hum of mutual restraint, tangled with awareness.

You didn’t know what would happen next. But the white room didn’t feel empty anymore. It felt like a heartbeat. Like breath against skin. Like something neither of you were ready to name. Yet.

Time slowed in the White Room. That was part of the design—no clocks, no echoes, no distractions. Just you, your breath, your heartbeat, and whoever was in there with you.

And right now, that was Dahyun.

You could feel the shift begin—the atmosphere doing its strange, sterile magic. The kind you and a few others theorized about during development. “Psychological bareness,” someone had called it once. A sensory state that stripped away noise and made people more honest. It sounded like a gimmick back then. But now? It felt real.

Because the moment after your playful banter, silence wrapped around you again—not awkward, not tense. Just... transparent. It was like sitting in a snow globe of truth. Everything you said echoed inside your head instead of the room.

“Okay, okay,” Dahyun suddenly said, pushing her hair behind one ear, her eyes glinting with a smirk. “Truth or Dare, but make it memory edition. We swap funny or embarrassing stories until one of us breaks.”

You laughed. “You mean cries or walks out?”

“Cries. Obviously. No walking out. We’re trapped here, remember?”

“Right. Four hours of hell.”

“You mean heaven.” She leaned her cheek into her palm, grin widening. “With me here?”

You shook your head, playing along. “Yeah, yeah. Sunshine tofu incarnate. Alright, go.”

“Okay…” Her brow furrowed, lips twitching as she searched her memory. “Ah—remember that time we had to record ‘Talk That Talk’ and I totally forgot the lyrics mid-take, so I just made up fake English that sounded sexy?”

You choked. “You mean ‘Touch the cup and fly, baby elevator’?”

“YES.” She collapsed into laughter. “And nobody stopped me for, like, three takes!”

“I was in the booth dying, you know. I thought you were doing some avant-garde remix.” You both laughed until your stomachs hurt.

Then it was your turn. “Alright,” you said, wiping tears from your eyes. “This one’s bad. There was a day I was reviewing your group’s solo tracks for that unreleased unit project. I accidentally left a mic on while praising your vocals… very dramatically.”

Dahyun raised a brow. “Define ‘dramatically.’”

You mimicked your own voice, exaggerated and swooning. “‘Dahyun’s tone is like being kissed by clouds. If clouds had hips. And a master’s degree in emotional control.’”

She shrieked. “WHAT?”

“Minji still brings it up.”

She was wheezing. “You’re never living that down.”

The more you talked, the more the room faded. It was just you and her now. And each laugh peeled away another layer. It didn’t stay entirely innocent, though. Things slipped. As they tend to do when you feel too safe.

“Okay, my turn,” you said. “But be nice. I’m trusting you.”

“Spill it.” You hesitated, but... the room demanded truth. “I haven’t kissed anyone since my last ex.”

Dahyun blinked. “Wait… how long ago was that?”

You rubbed the back of your neck. “Six years.”

Silence. Then— “PFFT—six?!” She cackled, nearly doubling over. “No way!”

You groaned. “Why is that so funny?”

“I don’t know!” She was breathless now. “It’s just… you! You’re you! All… warm and responsible and nice—how is no one climbing you like a tree?!”

You squinted at her. “I’ll pretend that wasn’t the weirdest compliment I’ve ever received.”

Still, her laughter wouldn’t stop. “I’m serious!” she giggled. “You mean to tell me, in all this time, not one kiss? Not even a mistake?”

“Nope. And,” you raised a finger dramatically, “Don't dare ask about my sex life”

That did it. Dahyun slapped the floor with a laugh, her whole body vibrating with the force. “STOP!” she wheezed. “I can’t breathe!”

You waited. Then raised a brow. “You’re one to talk.”

Her laughter slowed, replaced by a playful squint. “Excuse me?”

“You’re also pretty conservative,” you said, eyes gleaming now. “Why are you teasing me like you’ve been out here living wild?”

She crossed her arms, clearly pretending to be offended. “I’ll have you know I’ve at least kissed people since my trainee days.”

“Two? "

“Maybe four.”

You grinned. “Wow. Scandalous.”

“Shut up!” she smacked your arm again. “I just don’t believe in wasting energy on someone who doesn’t feel right.”

Her tone sobered a little as she said it. And your smile faded into something softer. “Yeah.” You nodded. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The White Room had returned to its usual magic. No noise. No echo. Just the thrum of two hearts, and the quiet unraveling of guardrails.

Dahyun looked at you again, still amused—but beneath it, her eyes held a new sort of warmth. “You’re kind of a unicorn, you know that?”

You tilted your head. “Because I’m rare or because I’m a mythical virgin?”

She burst into laughter again, but this time, it faded faster. “No,” she said, voice suddenly gentle. “Because... you still believe there’s value in waiting.”

You shrugged. “Or maybe I’m just scared of the wrong kind of intimacy.”

Dahyun leaned closer, resting her chin on her knees. “Or maybe,” she whispered, “you’re the only one in this industry who still knows what intimacy really is.”

That caught you off guard. Because she didn’t say it like a compliment. She said it like a confession. Her eyes searched yours for a long moment. And for the first time tonight, you didn’t laugh. You didn’t tease.

You just let the silence hold both of you, like a weighted blanket. There was more to say. There was always more. But tonight, the room didn’t demand it. It only asked that you sit with the truth. And maybe—for now—that was enough.

You let out a dramatic groan and threw your head back. “Ugh, Kim Dahyun, why’d you have to make it weird?”

She burst out laughing again, the sound echoing only inside your chest thanks to the room’s eerie silence. You heard nothing but the breathy rhythm of her joy and the beat of your own pulse hammering in your ears.

“I didn’t make it weird!” she grinned. “You’re the one dropping six-year celibacy bombs and mythical unicorn lines.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one looking at me like I just unlocked a new level of intimacy or something.”

“Because you did!” she pointed at you like a scandalized toddler. “Do you know how rare it is to find a guy who hasn’t kissed anyone in six years? That’s not even rare—that’s endangered!”

You rolled your eyes, but the red rising to your cheeks betrayed you. You pulled your knees up to your chest and turned slightly away from her, hiding behind your hands like a kid caught with a crush. “I should’ve just lied,” you muttered.

“But you didn’t,” she said softly, her teasing tone dropping for a moment. “And that’s what made it sweet.”

You peeked at her between your fingers. She was grinning again. That warm Dahyun grin that always reached her eyes—eyes that crinkled, soft and sunshine-filled, and made you forget the rest of the world existed.

“Still weird,” you grumbled, trying to sound annoyed.

“Oh, for sure,” she agreed cheerfully. “But the kind of weird I like.”

You sighed and dropped your hands with a half-hearted glare. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I am.” She inched closer on the padded white floor, now sitting cross-legged right beside you. Her shoulder brushed yours, casual but electric in the sterile stillness. “I’m enjoying you,” she added, quieter this time.

Your stomach flipped. You stared at her, but she just kept looking forward, fiddling with her necklace like she hadn’t just thrown a verbal grenade between you both.

The silence didn’t help. The lack of sound made every heartbeat louder. The absence of echo made her presence feel louder. Her nearness felt sharper. You opened your mouth to say something—anything—to diffuse it. But nothing came. She finally turned to you with that impish smile again, tone lightening. “You okay there, unicorn?”

You groaned and flopped sideways onto the floor, covering your face. “Please stop calling me that.”

“Never.” She giggled, laying beside you, staring up at the blank white ceiling.

“Well,” she sighed dramatically, “only three and a half more hours to go. Think we’ll survive without accidentally falling in love or something?”

Your heart stuttered. But you didn’t answer. Because something in her voice sounded too light… and something in your chest felt too heavy to joke back. You just smiled—small, quiet—and let the White Room take the silence again. For now.

You exhaled deeply, eyes flicking up toward the seamless panel of the door. There had to be a way to override the damn thing. Even if it was designed to be foolproof, you were one of the fools who helped build it. So, naturally, you stood up and marched toward the wall with a new sense of purpose.

Dahyun’s gaze followed you, her head tilted in amused curiosity as she rested her chin on her palm. “What are you doing now, MacGyver?”

“Bypassing the lock,” you said with faux confidence, brushing your hands along the edge where the seamless panel met the wall. “This room may be high-tech, but I know its secrets.”

“Do you now?” Her smile widened. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to start talking to the walls like they’re listening.”

You grinned, kneeling by the near-invisible access point, fingers tracing the faint notch. “You’re laughing now, but I helped design this room’s AI interface with Jihoon. There’s a hidden manual override. All I need is to—”

You stopped. Your brain blinked. Dahyun raised a brow. “Don’t tell me.”

You turned slowly to look at her, the color draining from your face. “...Jihoon changed the override code last month.”

She blinked. “Okay… and?”

You gave her a tight-lipped, awkward smile. “And I told him to make sure only he and I could access it.”

Her eyes narrowed with mock suspicion. “...Let me guess.”

You nodded grimly. “I made him program it to only accept his fingerprint and a one-time voice passphrase.”

“And?”

“And we left our phones outside.”

There was a beat of silence. And then Dahyun burst out laughing. She collapsed back on the cushioned floor, wheezing like she had just watched the best comedy of the year. You could only stare, equal parts embarrassed and annoyed.

“This isn’t funny,” you grumbled.

“It’s hilarious!” she cackled, kicking her legs lightly against the white floor. “You really locked yourself in a room you designed with no way out?”

“I didn’t lock myself in, you did when you mumbled some poetic crap about your heartbeat activating the system!”

She paused. “That’s fair. But you’re the genius who gave full access to the guy who eats cereal with chopsticks.”

“It keeps the flakes crispy!” you argued, half-heartedly defending Jihoon before sighing and leaning your back against the door.

Dahyun rolled onto her side to face you, still grinning. “Well, at least now we know we’re here for the full ride.”

You nodded slowly, letting your head thud gently against the wall. “Four hours in a memory-erasing room with Kim Dahyun. I mean, could be worse.”

She smirked and playfully tossed a small pillow at you from the center seat. “Careful. I might make you spill more secrets.”

You caught it and threw it right back. “Only if you promise not to laugh at my tragic dating history again.”

“No promises.”

The air between you shifted again. Even after all that teasing, all that banter, there was still a warm hum settling in the space between you. The kind that didn’t echo or fade—just lingered, quiet and charged.

Dahyun sat up, legs folding beneath her, her long black hair cascading like velvet across her shoulder. Her silver hoops caught the sterile white light, and the way her tank top clung to her frame felt almost too intimate for such a bright, neutral place.

You watched her out of the corner of your eye. She was watching you too. “So,” she said softly, “we really can’t get out early, huh?”

You sighed. “Not unless Jihoon breaks protocol, which he won’t. I specifically told him to treat the system like a sacred vow. ��No interruptions. No overrides unless it’s a real emergency.’”

“And us being stuck together with growing tension and no phones doesn’t count?”

You turned to her slowly. “...Was that your way of saying there’s tension?”

Her lips curved. “You said it first.”

You rubbed the back of your neck. “That was implied tension. Yours sounded confirmed.”

She gave a lazy shrug, but there was a spark in her eyes now. Mischievous. Bare. “Maybe the room’s doing what it was meant to. Strip away the noise, the distractions, the outside world…”

Her voice trailed as her eyes fell to the floor between you. Then slowly back up to yours. “...and make it impossible to lie.” You swallowed, throat suddenly dry.

The white room held no echo—but somehow, her words felt louder than ever.

You drop beside her like a deflated balloon, shoulders sagging as your pride leaks out your pores. "There. Happy? I'm your prisoner now. Do whatever you want."

Dahyun doesn't even try to hide the satisfaction curling on her lips. She's reclined comfortably, legs stretched out, her hand lazily fiddling with a loose thread on her sleeve like she owns this soundless little white cube. "Took you long enough to give in. Didn’t expect the great boss of JYPE to lose to a room."

You let out a dramatic sigh, resting your head back against the smooth white wall. The silence in this place is maddening. Not a single echo. Not even the sound of your heartbeat feels natural. You can hear your every blink.

"Well, this boss forgot his phone," you mutter.

"And forgot he told Jihoon to change the code," she adds smugly, nudging your foot with hers.

"And that too."

She hums, pleased. You glance over at her as she starts playing with the hem of her top, eyes wandering around the blank ceiling.

The room does weird things to your mind. Maybe it’s the sensory deprivation, maybe it’s Dahyun’s calm presence—but you don’t feel the need to fight it anymore. You let yourself breathe. Let your brain unspool for once.

She glances at you again, and her smile softens. "You always act like you're carrying the whole world. Even now, you sat down like a tragic hero."

"A tragic idiot, maybe."

She snorts. Then silence again. But this time, it doesn’t feel pressing. It feels… shared.

You tilt your head sideways and look at her. "So, what now? Gonna interrogate me? Make me sing? Force me to play 'Truth or Dare' with no dares allowed?"

"Nah." She pulls her knees up slightly. "I just want you to relax. I already got you to sit. That’s enough for today."

You sigh again, but this one has less weight. "Why do you always know what I need before I know it myself?"

"Because I actually look at you when you’re not pretending."

That stops your breath for a second. You blink. You think she realizes what she just said too, but she doesn’t take it back. Instead, she hugs her knees and leans her cheek on them, her gaze still on you. "You’re always pretending a little. Even when you smile at us."

You stay quiet. You’ve never felt more seen in your life. The silence doesn't push. It lets you breathe. Let things pass through, like she said.

"It's okay to let go sometimes," she adds softly. "You don’t need to be the strongest one in the room. Especially not with me."

You glance away, heart skipping oddly. "Then what do I do? Just... lie here and obey you?"

"Exactly," she says playfully, stretching like a cat. "Lie down, teddy bear. I'm leading this session now."

You groan, but comply, letting yourself slump sideways onto the floor. You’re close enough to feel her warmth, but not touching. The air between you hums.

"You know," she says, voice lower now, more relaxed, "this might sound weird… but I like seeing this version of you."

"Which version?"

"The one that’s tired but still here. The one that stops fighting when he doesn’t need to fight."

You turn your face toward her. She meets your eyes, and suddenly there’s something thick in the air. Not heavy—just… full. Like something unspoken might bubble up if either of you breathes too deeply.

"And what if I stop fighting for too long?" you ask, quietly.

She shrugs. "Then I’ll fight for you instead."

Your heart clenches—hard. There’s no laughter now. No teasing.

Just two people sitting in a white room, letting things pass through. Letting walls fall that neither of you realized were still up.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself do nothing but be. And she doesn't ask for anything else.

You leaned your head back against the sterile white wall, sighing as Dahyun paced in front of you with that unmistakable smirk she always wore when she knew you were on the ropes.

“You’re trying to score me into one of your rare-kiss club, huh?” you said, voice low and teasing. “One of the few, the proud, the chosen?”

She paused mid-step, her head whipping toward you with a sharp but amused glare. “Excuse me?”

You shrugged, letting your lips twitch into a small smirk as you locked eyes. “You said it earlier yourself. You barely kissed anyone before. So, what? You wanna make me number… what, three? Four?”

Dahyun scoffed, crossing her arms but unable to hide the smile tugging at her lips. “I didn’t say barely kissed anyone. I said I was selective.”

“Which in K-pop translation means barely,” you shot back playfully. “Gotta protect the image, right?”

She walked closer, arms still crossed as she loomed over where you sat. “You really think I’m trying to kiss you?”

“I mean…” you raised your brows dramatically, gesturing to the isolated room, the weird tension, the locked doors. “We’re alone. In a white void of emotional exposure. You’re laughing at my lack of experience. I’m feeling weirdly comfortable. If this isn’t a slowburn rom-com episode, I don’t know what is.”

She burst into laughter, slapping your shoulder lightly before sitting down beside you again. “You’re such a loser.”

“A virgin loser,” you added, mock-proud. “But also, emotionally reliable. Very kissable loser, from what I’ve heard.”

Dahyun giggled again, covering her mouth, but she wasn’t denying anything. You turned your head slightly to look at her, catching her side profile—the gentle line of her jaw, the tiny birthmark near her ear, her warm yet mischievous gaze as she stared ahead.

There was a pause. Not awkward. Just present. Comfortable in a way you only get with someone you trust too much. Or not enough.

“So?” you asked. “Would I even qualify for your kiss list? Or do I need to go through some application process?”

She gave you a sideways glance, eyes narrowed. “Hmm… well. You’re not terrible-looking. You make me laugh. You’re emotionally honest. And clearly deprived.”

“I prefer the word: pure.”

“You cried watching ‘Inside Out.’”

“Because Bing Bong deserved better!” you defended, pushing her lightly.

She giggled again, this time leaning back with her palms behind her. Her hoodie sleeves were slightly rolled up, revealing her wrists, delicate and pale. She tapped one of her knees idly, then glanced at you.

“But for real,” she said, the air thinning just a bit, “what would you do… if I did kiss you?”

Your smile faltered for a second. You weren’t expecting that turn. Not yet. “…I’d probably combust.”

She snorted. “No, seriously.”

You tilted your head, giving her a more genuine look now. “I’d probably freeze. Then overthink it. Then joke about it. Then wonder what it meant for weeks. Then…” you trailed off, voice softer. “Then I’d probably want it to happen again.”

She looked at you, expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she smiled. “You're hopeless.”

“So you’ve told me.”

Another silence settled, warmer this time. The weird white acoustics of the room made even your light breathing sound loud. Your shoulder was barely grazing hers, but it felt amplified under the sterile lights.

“You know I don’t kiss easily,” she murmured, almost to herself.

“I know.” You nodded. “That’s why I’m teasing. Because if you ever did… I’d know it meant something. Even if it’s tiny. Even if it’s just curiosity.”

She played with her hoodie drawstring, pulling at it slowly. “I think it’s funny… how it’s always the unexpected ones that make you think about stuff.”

“I’m the unexpected one?”

She met your eyes. “You’re the one I never thought I’d talk like this with. Or feel this… weirdly at ease with. Even when you’re being annoying.”

“Aw, Da. You really do like me.”

She groaned, but her cheeks were pink. You both laughed again, the mood lifting slightly.

“You’re not getting a kiss out of me tonight, don’t get your hopes up,” she warned, poking your side.

“So, there’s a chance next time?”

“Ugh.”

You chuckled, then leaned back again beside her. And in the calm silence of that too-white room, your heart beat just a little louder in your chest. You didn’t need a kiss tonight. Not really.

The fact that the thought was possible… that she didn’t say “never”… was enough to keep your smile going for the rest of the night.

#twice #nayeon #sana #momo #jihyo #mina #chaeyoung #jeongyeon #tzuyu #dahyun smut #twice dahyun #kim dahyun #twice x male reader #twice smut

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mimiu3usoft · 15 hours ago

Text

Broken Glass| 9 ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴀ ꜰᴀɴ 💘

You were back on track, resuming your roles as their co-manager. After the past few weeks, Huntrix and the Saja boys had been in a full-blown showdown—each track, competing for attention, and the girls still making time to hunt demons at night who tried to steal innocent souls. While they often hunted together, you always went alone.

Today was one of the more peaceful days—a fan meet and greet event. You and Bobby stood at the front, facing a line of excited fans and your girls, the members of Huntrix.

You wore a sharp blazer over a fitted shirt, styled just like Bobby's taste. Your wide-leg jeans and sleek sneakers added a comfortable, trendy vibe. Around your neck hung your staff ID, displaying your name and photo—though the ID was clearly bedazzled with glitter stickers and a tiny cartoon doodle. Zoey's handiwork, no doubt.

"All right, team!" Bobby clapped his hands, his voice already peaking in energy. "I know it's been Saja, Saja, Saja! But today—it's gonna be Huntrix, Huntrix, Huntrix!"

"These fans actually slept on the sidewalk overnight!"

"Overnight?" you echoed, your expression shifting to concern. "Um, should we get water for them, Bobby?"

"I already did," he nodded quickly. "Staff's handling it now."

You sighed in relief. Once Bobby moved on to handle other logistics, you made your way to the girls' table with a soft smile. "Now that that's settled, do you girls want anything? Drinks? Snacks?"

"Oooh! OHHH! MEEEEEE! I want banana milk!" Zoey practically bounced in her seat with excitement. Mira smiled and nodded beside her.

"I'll go with whatever Zoey wants to."

You turned to Rumi, tilting your head slightly. "And you, Rumi?"

She blinked, as if just snapping back to reality—apparently unaware she'd been staring.

"U-Um, just water. Thank you..." she murmured, slightly flustered.

You paused, watching her for a second, then nodded. "Okay then. Be right back, girls."

Just as you were about to walk off, Zoey suddenly lunged forward over the table—nearly knocking over her poster—and grabbed your wrist.

"Come on, Yuna! Join us!"

Startled, you stumbled back as she tugged you toward the table. All three girls had their pens raised high in the air, like warriors rallying for a chant.

"Happy fans!" Zoey shouted.

"Happy Honmoon!" All of you four followed cheerfully.

Laughter followed. The girls giggled as you stood there, smiling so fondly at them—your heart swelling with pride. These girls had come so far, and every little moment like this reminded you why you stayed.

Then, with that same warm smile still lingering, you turned and walked off to fetch their drinks.

"What about you, Bobby?"

"Oh! Coffee please! Thank you!"

______

The fan meeting had officially begun as you slipped behind the curtains to grab the drinks the girls requested. While walking past a group of staff chatting near the storage racks, you nearly dropped the bottles in your hands at what you overheard.

"Saja boys are also here!"

'They're what now?' you frowned, pausing mid-step. A jolt of surprise hit your chest—and oddly, so did a strange little hope. 'Is Mina here too?'

You exhaled through your nose sharply. How the hell did they even get in here in the first place? Then your gaze drifted toward the memory of the five sleeping bags lined up outside earlier. 'Don't tell me... those were theirs?' You deadpanned, gripping the drinks tightly as you made your way back.

But the moment you returned, your steps slowed.

The first thing you saw was the Huntrix girls sitting at the table—with the Saja boys beside them.

'Weren't they supposed to stay separate? 'Your gaze instinctively found Rumi, and there he was—Jinu—sitting very close to her, whispering something in her ear.

Your heart twisted.

"What's happening...?" you muttered to yourself.

Before the thought could settle, Bobby appeared beside you, holding out a coffee. You handed him his drink without looking.

"Rumi thought it'd be genius to have the Saja boys sit with them," Bobby said with a proud smile, completely oblivious to your face. "Honestly? She's a genius." A single dramatic tear slid down his cheek.

You, however, had stopped moving.

Your eyes were fixed on Rumi and Jinu—still whispering, still close.

Unconsciously, your grip on one of the bottles tightened. The plastic creaked ominously under the pressure of your fingers.

Bobby blinked and glanced at you. "Uh... Yuna? You okay?"

Snapping back to reality, you blinked down at the bottle now slightly dented in your hand. You cursed softly.

"Yeah—sorry. I'm okay. Totally okay," you muttered, though your brow was still tightly furrowed.

"I can give it to them if you want?" Bobby offered gently.

You shook your head, voice low. "No. It's fine. I got it."

With slow, steady steps, you walked toward the table.

Behind you, Bobby sighed and took a sip of his coffee. One of the nearby staff looked from him to your retreating figure.

"She's jealous, isn't she?"

"Yeah... yeah, she is."

______

As you approached the table, something on one of the fans' shirts caught your eye. Your steps faltered.

It was a printed image of Jinu and Rumi—side by side, surrounded by a giant heart. They even have a ship name now, "Rujinu"

Your frown deepened. 'Seriously?'

Still, Jinu and Rumi were chatting quietly, too close, too comfortable. You could almost feel the heat rising to your cheeks—not from embarrassment, but from frustration you tried to push down.

Without warning, you stepped in between them and placed Rumi's drink on the table with a loud thud.

The sudden sound made both of them jolt in their seats. Rumi flinched, her body going cold as she looked up. Your eyes met hers for a second—but only briefly—before narrowing at Jinu, who suddenly looked like he was about to break into a cold sweat.

The silence between the three of you was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Rumi gave a small, shaky laugh, forcing on a nervous smile. "Th-Thanks..."

You didn't answer. You simply scoffed and turned on your heel, rolling your eyes as you walked away to deliver the rest of the drinks.

It wasn't subtle. Rumi saw it, and her stomach dropped.

'I messed up...' she thought miserably.

Mira and Zoey, who witnessed the entire exchange, exchanged wide-eyed glances. Their silent expressions practically screamed, 'Did you just see that too?!'

Both nodded at the same time, then looked down quickly, pretending not to notice a thing as you reached them.

"Thank you!" Mira said sweetly.

"Banana milk~!" Zoey added cheerfully.

You didn't say much. Just a soft hum in response, trying to keep your expression calm, professional.

But inside, you were burning.

______

Rumi cursed under her breath, quickly scooting her chair away from Jinu.

"Don't you know what personal space is!?" she hissed, half-whispering, half-snapping at him.

Jinu blinked, startled by her sudden shift. "Wha—What did I do?" he muttered, still stunned from the loud drink slam earlier.

He dared a glance back toward you—only to find your eyes still locked onto him and Rumi like a predator sizing up its target. A chill ran down his spine.

"Why is she so angry...?" he mumbled, shrinking slightly in his seat, trying not to look too obvious.

The tension in the air was thick, pressing heavily between the three of you. And somehow, despite the dozens of fans chattering excitedly nearby, Jinu could only hear his own heartbeat—and the imaginary sound of you cracking your knuckles.

'She's different now... unlike last night,' Jinu thought, eyes fixed on you as you moved around the room. Last night, you had been calm—so calm. But now? You were glaring at him like he'd personally committed a crime.

Trying to cut through the tension, Jinu leaned a little closer to Rumi and whispered, "So... does she know about your patterns?"

Rumi groaned, visibly annoyed. "So what if she does? I have them, don't I?" she hissed through clenched teeth.

Jinu raised an eyebrow. "Then why haven't you told your other friends?"

"That's none of your business," she snapped, her frown deepening as she looked down at the fan poster in front of her—then noticed the drink bottle next to it.

Wait.

That wasn't water.

Her brows twitched slightly as she stared at the label—it was your favorite tea.

A glance at you confirmed her suspicion. You held a water bottle of your own... but it was slightly crumpled, as if it had been clenched in your fist.

Rumi's stomach dropped.

"...Now stop talking," Rumi muttered, finally lifting her head to glare at Jinu, her voice sharp and accusing. "You want me to talk about my patterns? I hate them! Just like I hate all demons. How I hate Gwi-ma!"

But the moment the words left her lips, her chest tightened. Her stomach dropped. It sounded hollow—even to her own ears.

"If hate could defeat Gwi-ma," Jinu said quietly, "I would've done it a long time ago."

He met her eyes, then looked down, voice low.

Rumi's expression softened for a moment—just a flicker—before she furrowed her brows again.

"So... that means you hate Mina?" he asked.

The name alone made her body go rigid. Her shoulders tensed visibly.

"She... she's different," Rumi muttered under her breath, fingers curling tightly around her pen.

Jinu gave a dry scoff. "You always say demons are the same. That they don't feel. That you hate them." He looked at her again, more directly this time. "But now you say she's different?"

Rumi stayed silent, unsure how to respond.

"Miss Yuna!"

Both she and Jinu snapped their heads toward the source of the voice.

A little girl was running toward you, her tiny footsteps quick and excited. One of the staff tried to gently stop her, but you raised a hand to let her through.

Kneeling down, you offered a warm smile. "Hi, little one. Is there something you need?" you asked kindly.

"Um, Mommy said if I see you today, you'd sign this!" she said brightly, rummaging through her small, adorable bag. With both hands, she offered you a light stick and a rolled-up poster.

Your heart dropped.

'Oh dear.'

With teary eyes, you took the items delicately.

'I never imagined I'd see our lightstick again...'

As you unrolled the poster, your breath caught. It was a picture of you, Mina, and Ayana—back when everything was still whole. You quickly blinked back the tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

"Miss Yuna?" the little girl asked, tilting her head with concern. "Are you okay?"

You sniffled and gently rubbed your eyes, offering her your best smile. "Yes, dear. I'm fine."

You glanced around. "Where's your mommy?"

"Mommy's busy right now, but I came with my sister!" she said cheerfully, then her eyes lit up. "Oh! Can I take a picture with you? For Mommy!"

Your heart squeezed at her sweetness. "Oh, sure! Of course!" you said, beaming.

You watched the little girl bounce in excitement as she ran back toward the crowd, tugging on her sister's hand and eagerly explaining that you agreed to take a picture.

From the side, Rumi watched the scene unfold. Her chest tightened. That smile—the one you gave the child—it had been so long since she'd seen it. That real, wide, glowing smile on your face.

You gently lifted the little girl into your arms, holding the lightstick in one hand, and smiled brightly for the photo.

After the picture was taken, you carefully set her back down and signed the poster, handing it to the siblings with a soft, grateful smile. "Thank you, girls."

"Thank you, Miss Yuna!!" they chorused happily before skipping off into the crowd.

"YUNAA!!"

You flinched at the sudden shout, turning just in time to see more fans rushing toward you—some holding old Solstice merchandise in their hands.

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Oh no..." you whispered under your breath, nervously smiling as the crowd grew.

The staff and guards quickly stepped in, trying to control the excitement. "Please don't go past the line! Step back, please!" one of them repeated firmly but politely.

You stood frozen for a moment, a bit overwhelmed, then quickly bowed. "I-I'm so sorry! This is supposed to be Huntrix's fan event... I didn't mean to cause any disruption..." you said, backing away and bowing again as you tried to leave the area quietly.

"We love you, YunA!!!" "Please! Sign my chest!!" "I'm still a fan of SOLSTICE!!"

The voices echoed behind you, making your heart flutter and ache all at once. You didn't know whether to cry or laugh.

From the side, Bobby—watching it all unfold with a smirk—turned toward the manager and barked, "HEY!! No pushing!! Watch the line, people!!"

______

Huntrix and the Saja Boys looked over at the scene, completely taken aback. The echo of fans cheering your name still lingered in the air, even as the staff slowly regained control of the crowd.

Rumi let out a soft scoff, a small laugh escaping her lips as she crossed her arms. The reaction caught Jinu's attention.

"I did tell her she still has fans," she muttered with a knowing smirk.

"Um... Rumi?" a shy voice called out.

Both Rumi and Jinu turned their heads. Standing in front of them was a teenage girl, nervously clutching four small paper bags, but wearing a sweet and hopeful smile.

"I was wondering... if you could give these gifts to Yuna—and maybe Mina too?" the girl asked politely.

Rumi blinked, surprised. "O-Oh! Sure! I mean... she'll definitely love these!" she said enthusiastically, her grin wide as the fan's eyes lit up with joy.

The girl continued, "I also brought something for you and Jinu, too."

At the mention of his name, Jinu stiffened slightly. "F-For me?" he asked, startled.

The girl nodded and gently handed each of them a bag.

Rumi's eyes widened as she examined the design—colorful, hand-decorated, and clearly made with love. Her name was written neatly on a tag, adorned with tiny sparkles. "Oh, this is so cute!" she beamed.

"Can I open it now?" she asked eagerly.

The girl nodded, "Yes, please!"

Rumi reached into the bag and gasped. "Oh my gosh! It's so pretty! And adorable!" She pulled out a tiny chibi figure of herself—complete with her signature pose and outfit—standing next to two smaller figures of Mira and Zoey.

Jinu quietly opened his own bag and was greeted by a miniature version of himself, crafted with impressive detail down to his earring and hair.

He blinked, unsure what to say. "...You made this?"

The girl nodded shyly. "I did. I made them all by hand. It's... kind of my hobby."

Jinu stared at the tiny version of himself for a second longer before quietly muttering, "...It's amazing."

Rumi grinned at the girl, her mood brightened. "Thank you. Really—this is seriously the sweetest thing ever."

The fan beamed. "I just... wanted to say thank you. To all of you. Your music and your story—it helped me through a lot."

Jinu and Rumi both fell silent for a moment, struck by the sincerity in the girl's voice.

"...I'll make sure Yuna and Mina get theirs," Rumi promised gently, holding the gifts close. "They'll love it."

The girl bowed slightly, "Thank you so much!" and then rushed back into the crowd, her heart probably racing just as fast as theirs.

Rumi glanced down at the remaining paper bag in her hands—the one labeled for you and Mina. For a moment, her expression softened, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes.

Then she looked over at Jinu.

He was still staring quietly at the tiny figure of himself, his brows slightly furrowed as if trying to make sense of it all.

Without saying a word, Rumi slid the small bag across the table toward him.

Jinu blinked, snapped out of his thoughts by the sudden movement. He looked up at her, confused.

Rumi met his eyes and shrugged casually, though her voice was quieter now. "Well... there should be a way to give this to Mina, right?"

She nodded at the gift. "You're the only one who knows her... so maybe you can give it to her."

Jinu hesitated, his hand hovering over the bag for a second. Then, gently, he took it. He didn't say anything right away, but his grip on the gift was careful—almost protective.

"...Yeah," he finally muttered. "I'll make sure she gets it."

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