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The bright lights in the green room are blinding, and they’re all crammed into the space like mismatched puzzle pieces, the MCs slotted in at the front. There’s barely enough room to breathe, let alone think.
Rumi feels the heat rise beneath her collar. She shifts slightly, her body angled just enough to see Jinu, standing only inches away, close enough that if she exhaled too loudly, he’d feel it.
But he doesn’t look at her.
He can’t.
The director’s voice cuts through the chatter. “We’re live in one minute!”
Behind the cameras, staff shuffle like ghosts in a hurry. The other Saja Boys are murmuring quietly to each other while Mira and Zoey run through their spiels in low voices. Rumi is nodding along, or pretending to. Her focus is elsewhere. Her pulse, already quick, spikes when the director raises his voice again.
“Positions!”
The group clusters in tighter. Rumi’s shoulder knocks into Zoey. Someone’s elbow brushes her back. And then—
Her arm brushes his. Jinu. Just barely.
A whisper of skin. A ghost of something forbidden.
He doesn’t flinch. But she feels it — that sharp inhale. That quick, imperceptible twitch in his jaw.
They haven’t spoken since yesterday. Not really. Just a look exchanged during rehearsal. Just a glance that lasted too long at the vending machine, both reaching for the same drink and pulling back like it burned.
Rumi’s gaze drops to the floor, anchoring herself.
You’re fine. You’re fine. Just get through this.
The floor manager counts them in with fingers held high.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two—
Live.
The bright red tally light on the camera blinks on. And Rumi smiles like nothing’s wrong.
“Who are the artists getting ready to take the stage right now?” the MC calls cheerfully.
Rumi keeps her eyes fixed ahead, pretending not to feel the static crawling up her spine.
“Welcome, Huntrix! Saja Boys!”
Applause, cheers, bows exchanged on camera. But in this suffocating closeness, it’s like every sound is coming from underwater.
She hears him breathe beside her. Sees the side of his face in her periphery. Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.
The MCs begin their usual round of questions.
“How has preparing for this comeback been?”
“What should fans look forward to in today’s performance?”
Rumi answers automatically when it’s her turn, voice steady, practiced, nothing revealing. But inside, her thoughts keep looping.
Does he remember what he said last night?
The question had slipped out of her mouth like a dare, whispered in a stairwell no one uses, long after lights-out in the studio where they filmed a variety show together. “Are we really doing this?”
Jinu hadn’t answered right away. Just stared at her for a long, unbearable moment before saying, quietly. “I think I already am.”
Now here they are, standing next to each other like nothing’s changed. Like they are nothing to each other. Like her hands haven’t memorized the weight of his hoodie, or the rhythm of his heartbeat against her palm.
Someone asks Saja Boys to demonstrate their point choreography. The members cheerfully move into formation for the cameras.
Jinu steps forward, briefly. Just one singular step. That’s all it takes to widen the space between them again.
And it’s that tiny, deliberate move that nearly shatters her.
A message only she will understand. An oath and reassurance. We’re okay. Everything’s fine. But Rumi’s throat tightens anyway. She’s not sure if she wants to kiss him or scream.
The interview goes on. Longest three minutes of her life.
“Let’s look forward to both amazing performances from Huntrix and Saja Boys, coming up right after this!”
The MCs wave. The red light clicks off.
Rumi exhales shakily.
It’s over.
But as the director yells cut and people begin to move again, someone’s hand lightly brushes against hers. A swift, intentional, gone before anyone can notice. Jinu doesn’t look at her. He doesn’t have to. Her fingers curl inward like she’s catching something before it can fall.
The moment they’re off-camera, the spell breaks. Barely.
The crew starts moving again and the stagehands usher them out, Mira already rolling her eyes. Zoey mutters under her breath, “Why do they always act like they’re the main event?”
Rumi doesn’t reply. She can’t afford to. Her silence passes as indifference, which is better than betrayal.
Behind them, the Saja Boys are still in their corner, laughing too loudly, all swagger and smugness. It doesn’t help that Jinu’s smirk looks too natural. Too practiced. Mira makes a sound of disgust.
“God, they’re so fake.”
“Don’t look at them,” Zoey snaps, pulling Rumi’s elbow. “You’ll catch secondhand ego.”
Rumi forces a nod. It’s all muscle memory now, pretending their rivalry is the only thing that exists between the two groups. Pretending she doesn’t flinch when she hears his voice cutting through the chatter, even if it’s not aimed at her.
The production staff starts barking directions. Both groups are up next. They’re lined up shoulder-to-shoulder in the narrow hallway backstage, waiting for their cue. And that’s when it happens again.
Jinu shifts. Not much, just enough to close the space between them by a sliver.
Rumi doesn’t move. But she can feel it.
The tension between them has always been there. But now, it’s more than romantic. It’s dangerous. They’re not just hiding a relationship.
They’re hiding a betrayal.
Because Huntrix doesn’t just dislike Saja Boys . They despise them. The history is long and petty: overlapping comeback schedules, one too many “accidental shade-filled interviews, chart placements, fan wars. The girls call them privileged manchildren in private. The boys call Huntrix entitled princesses when they think no one’s listening.
But Rumi had listened. And fallen anyway.
Now she stands here, shoulder stiff, heart screaming, while Jinu stands beside her like a loaded secret. He doesn’t look at her. Not directly.
But his hand shifts ever so slightly behind his back, fingers brushing against hers in the shadows where no camera can see.
She doesn’t move. Can’t. Even breathing feels like a confession.
On stage, they keep the act going.
The MCs pretend everyone gets along. “Huntrix and Saja Boys, back-to-back today! How exciting!”
Zoey’s smile is tight. Mira doesn’t even pretend to clap when Saja Boys’ VCR starts playing on the monitor.
Rumi? She watches in silence as Jinu take the center.
She watches the way the crowd screams for him, the way he commands the stage with that dangerous calm she knows too well. The same calm he wore the first time he kissed her backstage at the Dream Concert, when she still hated him. Or thought she did.
Now, she can’t tell the difference.
As Huntrix prepares for their performance, Mira mutters, “Let’s show them how it’s done.”
Rumi nods, mic in hand. Her body is buzzing not from nerves, but adrenaline.
And somewhere in the wings, Jinu is watching her again. Because he always is. Because they always are each other's biggest secret and greatest risk.
The cheers are loud over the director’s order to call Huntrix onstage. Saja Boys just finished their live performance and Huntrix's VCR is already rolling.
As two groups meet halfway the corridor, Jinu walks past them, coming off-stage, sweat-drenched, still breathing hard from the performance. And he looks at her. Doesn’t say anything. But his eyes catch hers, holding them.
There’s something reckless in it this time. He mustered a smile and showed an obvious gesture of cheer directly towards her. In front of these people, with their friends around.
Zoey caught a glimpse of this and groaned, “Ugh, he really pisses me off.”
Rumi tries to suppress the big smile that’s breaking out of her and clears her throat, “Ignore him. Let’s focus on the stage.”
The rooftops of Bukchon have become their only safe place.
A hidden ledge behind a quiet hanok teahouse, just high enough to escape the wandering footsteps of tourists and far enough from the glow of passing cameras. Up here, it feels like the city doesn’t breathe without them.
Rumi sits cross-legged on the curved edge of the roof, hoodie pulled low, sleeves hiding her idol polish. Derpy the cat is curled up beside her, a lazy lump of fur. It should be peaceful. It usually is.
But tonight, even with the air still and the sky soft above them, Rumi feels the crackle of something coming. Jinu arrives five minutes late, hood up, mask on, breath shallow from probably running to avoid being recognized.
“You’re late,” she says without turning.
“You’re early,” he says, stepping beside her.
Their fingers find each other easily in the dark. They don’t speak for a while.
The quiet between them isn’t awkward. It never is. But there’s a weight in it tonight. A shared heaviness neither of them can shake. Rumi senses it in the way his thumb keeps fidgeting against her knuckle. The way he doesn’t look at her for too long.
“I think Mira and Zoey’s gonna kill me when they knew.” Jinu says jokingly as he moves closer and holds her hand firmly.
Rumi chuckles, “Well, you better be ready then.”
They fall silent again.
And that’s when it happens. Footsteps. Light, fast, and too close.
Then a small gasp.
Rumi’s body reacts before her mind does. She ducks low, tugging Jinu with her behind the chimney ledge, heart hammering so loud it might broadcast itself.
Below, on the street just a few meters away, a girl stands frozen. Young, phone in hand, mask dangling from her wrist. Her eyes are wide, locked on the rooftop.
On them. For a second, no one moves. Then Jinu speaks, low and sharp. “Stay still.”
But it’s too late. The girl fumbles her phone. She raises it.
Flash.
A single burst of light. Then she’s gone. Running.
The sound of her shoes slapping against stone fades into the distance, but it’s already done. Rumi clutches the edge of the roof like it might hold her together.
“Oh my god,” she whispers. “Oh my god, Jinu.”
“I saw her face,” he says quickly. “She was young. We might have time. If she doesn’t post right away-”
“She already did.” Rumi’s voice is hollow. “You know she did.”
Jinu pulls his hood down, face now visible in the low moonlight. His expression has shifted. No longer soft. No longer safe.
“I’ll take care of it,” he says. “I’ll talk to my manager. Say it was a staff meetup. Blame it on the lighting. Something.”
“And if it’s not just one post?” she says, voice barely holding. “If this is it?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he reaches for her face, carefully and slowly, like it’s the last time, and brushes a thumb across her cheek.
“We’ll deny everything,” he says quietly. “But I won’t regret it.”
Rumi’s breath catches.
Neither of them say I love you. They’re not that reckless. But in this moment, in the fear and the nearness and the moonlight, it’s the loudest thing between them.
Below, the city stirs again. Above, everything they’ve built trembles on the edge.
It starts quietly.
A single tweet. Blurry photo. No context.
“This is either two rookies being reckless… or a drama in the making 👀” — a fan tweeted, as the pictures being passed around gaining reactions and impressions.
The photo is grainy. Just silhouettes on a rooftop, the outline of a girl in a hoodie, someone taller beside her, heads close, light from the teahouse flickering behind them. It could be anyone. It could be no one.
But the internet doesn’t need proof. It just needs belief.
Within an hour, the tag #BukchonSpotted trends.
Old clips resurface. People over-analyzing a video of Saja Boys backstage where Jinu glances off-camera a second too long and suddenly, everyone’s convinced it was toward Rumi. A gif of Rumi on a variety show, stiffening when Saja Boys is mentioned. Now captioned, “Girl’s got a secret.”
The fanbase wars reignite like a match to gasoline.
“Of course it’s her. She thinks she’s above the rivalry.”
“No way Jinu would date someone from that group.”
“Okay but they both disappeared from the frame during that Inkigayo interview???”
“I’ve always said their hate is weirdly flirty.”
“Protect Jinu at all costs.”
“Protect Rumi. He’s not worth it.”
By morning, there are fancams from weeks ago being dissected frame by frame. A shot where Rumi is handing Zoey a mic, but her eyes flicker somewhere else.
A behind-the-scenes moment where Jinu walks past Huntrix’s despite the wide space on stage during the announcement of winners at an award show and slightly lowers his head when he nears Rumi’s side.
With these collected clips and dormant believers, the general public have confirmed that the two leaders of the current top leading groups are definitely dating.
The line between fiction and truth is blurring online. Fans can feel it. And in the center of it are two idols: Rivals on paper, liars to their teams. And real only in stolen moments and blurry shadows.
The leaked photo is everywhere.
Rumi and Jinu on the rooftop, silhouettes under moonlight, a flash too bright to deny. The enhanced versions show too much — the curve of his jaw, the braid peeking from Rumi’s hoodie, the way their shadows lean toward each other like gravity is no longer optional.
The hashtags haven’t stopped trending in twelve hours.
#JinuRumiRooftop
#TraitorIdol #NotSoRivalry
In the Huntrix dorm, the air is electric. No one speaks at first. The silence stretches like wire.
Until Mira tosses her phone down on the coffee table and says, “Okay. Who’s going to explain this?”
Rumi looks up from her cereal that now turned bland, soggy, untouched. Zoey’s arms are crossed. “We’re trending again,” She says flatly. “And not because of Golden 2.0. ”
Rumi does not speak. She could not find words to say to her friends. “Don’t tell me they edited those rooftop pics too,” Zoey adds. “Because the internet thinks it’s you.”
Silence.
“You lied to us.”
Mira doesn’t yell. Her voice is worse. It's quiet, frayed, and disappointed.
Zoey’s pacing, arms crossed, expression tight. She looks like she hasn’t slept and probably hasn’t. The tension in the room could split a stage light.
“I didn’t mean for it to get out,” Rumi says quietly.
“So it is you,” Zoey says, stopping mid-step. Rumi flinches at the unconscious admission. Well, there’s no point in denying it. The world already knows.
“I never meant for it to get this far.”
“Too late for that,” Mira mutters. “The fans are fighting. You turned us into a spectacle.”
Rumi flinches. “It wasn’t a stunt.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Zoey bites. “Falling for Jinu? Of all people?”
“He’s not the enemy,” Rumi says, firmer now. “Not to me. Not anymore.”
“You went behind our backs,” Mira says, slowly standing up. “We trusted you. We believed in each other.”
“I still believe in us,” Rumi says.
“But you were lying,” Zoey snaps. “To our faces.”
“I was scared!” Rumi blurts out. “I didn’t know how to tell you without breaking this. Without making you hate me.”
Silence again. It’s heavier this time. Zoey’s voice comes quieter. “How long?”
Rumi breathes in. “Since before the comeback.”
Zoey laughs bitterly, but it’s not cruel, it’s just sad. “And we were still making jokes about how much we hated Saja Boys.”
“I know,” Rumi says. “And I laughed. And I felt horrible. Every time.”
Mira looks at her. Really looks at her. Her expression softens just slightly. “Do you love him?” she asks.
Rumi doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I do.”
That’s when something in Mira shifts, a visible sag in her shoulders, like she’s exhausted from holding it in.
Zoey exhales, long and slow. “You should’ve told us.”
“I wanted to,” Rumi says. “But it didn’t feel like I could have both.”
“Maybe you still can,” Mira says. “But you have to fix this. With us. First.”
Rumi nods. “Whatever it takes.”
Zoey doesn’t say anything right away. She just sits back down and mumbles, “If he breaks your heart, we’re egging his dorm.”
Rumi smiles through the sting in her eyes. “Deal.”
After deciding to just tell Bobby the truth altogether, the company statements go out within hours.
“The photo circulating online does not depict Huntrix’s Rumi and Saja Boys’ Jinu. The two artists do not have a personal relationship beyond brief encounters at music broadcasts.”
“We ask fans to refrain from spreading unconfirmed speculation.”
It’s polished. Dismissive. Cold. But the internet has already made up its mind.
Clips are being rewatched. Outfits analyzed. Fan edits appear overnight, some laced with betrayal, others tentatively romantic. People pick sides. Some leave angry comments. Others whisper, they look happy together, like it's a secret they’re rooting for.
“We should be laying low, you know.” Rumi hushes as she meets Jinu in another location near the Huntrix’s dorm this time. He’s seated at the dusty slide near the old park, 10 minutes away from Rumi’s apartment.
Two weeks since the dating rumor have sparked and they have not met nor talk to each other through their phones. Rumi had no choice but to turn off her phone and take a time out as it kept on buzzing every hour, with people trying to fish out the truth out of her to get a scoop.
Jinu removes his mask and smiles at her, “I missed you too.” He says, tugging her close for an embrace, burying his face on her tummy.
Rumi caresses his face, tugging it lightly to face her. “We saw each other a couple weeks ago, you know?”
He leans into her touch and mumbles, “Then I missed you the past couple weeks.”
That earns a small, crooked, but real from Rumi. They stayed there for a while. Not hiding, just existing.
Now settled near the gazebo, away from the prying eyes, Jinu breaks the silence. “You okay?” he asks eventually.
“I don’t know,” she admits. “But I’m here.” He nods.
“I told my manager I needed air,” Jinu says. “Didn’t tell them what kind.”
Rumi chuckles under her breath. “Told mine I was going to the pharmacy.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
A pause.
“I brought snacks, though.”
She pulls out a convenience store bag: peach gummies, banana milk, a pack of spicy chips that make him laugh just looking at it.
He stares at the chips. “You’re not gonna eat those.”
“No, but watching you suffer makes me feel better.”
“I’m touched.”
They eat in silence, passing the drink between them. It feels almost normal. Almost. When she leans her head on his shoulder, chasing his warmth.
Jinu doesn’t speak. Just gently rests his cheek against her hair. They stay like that for a long time.
No questions.
No what-ifs.
Just two tired hearts in sync, not falling apart, but falling toward each other.
If the world wants to spin, let it. Right now, they’re still.
The backstage of the benefit concert is buzzing with stylists darting around with hair wands, last-minute outfit steams, and staff yelling time checks through walkies. It’s chaos, but the beautiful kind, the one Rumi used to find comfort in.
Now? She can’t stop glancing over her shoulder.
It’s been more than a month since the rooftop photo leaked. The storm has quieted. The fans are still split, the hashtags still surface occasionally, but Huntrix hasn’t crumbled. And that alone feels like a miracle.
Still, being here with Saja Boys on the lineup is nerve-wracking.
Mira is fixing her earpiece. “Stop looking like you're about to get hit by a truck.”
“I’m not,” Rumi mutters.
Zoey arches a brow. “You haven’t blinked since we arrived.”
“I’ve blinked,” Rumi says. Then pauses. “Once.”
“Girl.” Mira steps in front of her, gently tapping her forehead. “Focus. We’ve got a live stage in twenty. And you look too good to be this stressed.”
Zoey nods, applying a dab of powder to Rumi’s jawline. “Also, if you mess up the choreo, people are going to blame him .”
“That’s not helping.”
“That’s exactly why I said it.”
Their banter warms the room. It’s not fully healed — nothing ever is in K-pop — but they’re still together. Rumi doesn’t say it, but she feels it in how Zoey’s been sharing snacks again, how Mira rests her hand on Rumi’s back right before they walk on stage like she always used to.
Then the hallway crowd parts — and Saja Boys walk in.
They’re on right before Huntrix, as usual.
Rumi’s breath catches involuntarily when she spots Jinu. He’s wearing all black, hair slightly wet, earpiece already in. He looks tired. Golden. Real.
Their eyes meet for half a second.
That’s all.
A blink.
But it’s enough to make her stomach flip. He gives the smallest nod. The kind only she would catch. Not a smile. Just a quiet confirmation.
“Let’s go,” Mira says, tugging her sleeve. “Before Zoey starts a silent war with that tall one.”
“I already did,” Zoey mutters, brushing past a Saja Boys member with all the grace of a sugar-coated dagger.
As they pass each other in the narrow hall, Rumi keeps her eyes down. But she feels it — the smallest brush of a pinky against hers, a whisper of contact that no camera could catch. Her heart stumbles and stutters, but she doesn’t stop walking.
Mira leans in. “He touched your hand, didn’t he?”
“No,” Rumi says way too fast.
“You’re a terrible liar.”
Zoey smirks. “I give it a week before someone edits a fancam.”
They take the stage to loud cheers — louder than Rumi expected. And when the lights go up, and the music hits, she feels it again, that she still belongs here.
Rumors and all.
All the idols are lined up now and rows of glowing, perfect people, waving to fans and flashing peace signs as the camera cranes sweep across the stage.
Saja Boys stands next to Huntrix, as scripted by the show, milking everything they could with the dating rumor. Jinu is two spots to her right. Rumi doesn't look at him.
But she feels him.
She doesn't know how he does it — that quiet gravity. He never stares too long. Never breaks formation. But she feels it in the way his shoulder angles slightly toward her.
In the way he says “thank you” into the mic but his voice dips lower when he says “to those who believe in us.”
Her ears burn.
As the MCs wrap the show, they all bow together, then wave. Just as the music hits its final note, confetti rains down from the rafters — fluttering gold, weightless and loud.
Rumi turns to wave one last time and feels something against her wrist.
His fingers. Two seconds.
Brush. Retreat.
Her skin tingles like someone set off fireworks underneath. Zoey corners her the moment they’re alone. “Okay, what did he give you.”
“Nothing,” Rumi says quickly.
“Liar.”
Mira walks over, a towel around her neck, expression suspicious. “Was it a note again?”
Rumi’s blush betrays her. Zoey sighs like a drama heroine. “She’s in deep.”
Mira crosses her arms. “And we’re supporting this… why?”
Rumi looks at them both, smiling sheepishly. “Because you love me.”
Zoey groans, but she pulls Rumi into a side hug. “Barely.”
“I’m going to throw up,” Mira says flatly. “But also… he’s weirdly good at sneaking stuff. I’m lowkey impressed.”
“Right?” Rumi whispers. “Last time it was a hairpin. I didn’t even see it coming.”
Zoey cackles. “He’s a magician. With abs.”
“Shut up.”
They laugh together, falling into the kind of chaos that makes Rumi feel safe again. And when she checks her pocket later, there’s one more thing inside the wrapper.
A matchstick doodle of her — eyes scrunched, tongue out, ridiculous — and below it, a note, “My favorite stage is the one where I get to look at you and pretend I’m not.