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Before he debuted, Han never thought of himself as the type to get caught up in romance.
He’d had his fair share of high school flings—some fleeting, some longer than others, all beginning with the same script. A girl would confess, he’d feel too awkward to say no, and then a few weeks would pass in a haze of dates he didn’t mind but didn’t crave either.
He wasn’t heartless. He tried to be kind, accommodating, thoughtful in the ways he was taught to be. But eventually, they would realize the same thing he already knew: he wasn’t the man of their dreams. And that was fine. No tears, no dramatic goodbyes. Just the mutual understanding that it wasn’t love—it never really had been.
Because of that, Han thought he wasn’t the jealous type.
Guy friends? That was normal, especially in this day and age. He knew how to draw boundaries. He wasn’t the sort to overthink innocent laughter or passing touches. Not when he never really let himself care deeply in the first place.
But then he met JL.
JL—bright as morning sunlight, warm as spring air. There was something disarming about him, something that made people want to stay just a little longer in his orbit. At first glance, he seemed shy, soft-spoken even, with the kind of hesitant smile that peeked out like sunlight through clouds. But the more you got to know him, the more he bloomed—petal by petal, moment by moment, until you couldn’t help but crave the kind of closeness that let you witness that full blossom.
He was the kind of person who made simple things look beautiful. And Han—who never thought he could be swayed by something as tender as a laugh or a look—found himself swept up in the gentle chaos of JL’s world.
And suddenly, everything he thought he knew about himself began to shift.
He hadn’t realized it at first. Attraction crept in like light under a locked door—quiet, stubborn, impossible to ignore once noticed. Han found himself drawn not just to JL’s charm, but to the way he smiled through tired days, the way his laugh filled a room, the way his voice—clear, expressive, beautiful—cut through the noise and anchored everyone to him during their days on Universe League.
He remembered how even back then, JL’s stage presence was undeniable, magnetic. He was a performer who didn’t just command attention—he invited it, wrapped it around himself like a spotlight stitched to his skin. And yet, he never seemed to realize just how many people watched him when he moved.
He never really thought much about labels. Not before. And maybe even now, he didn’t care much for them. All he knew was that JL pulled him in like gravity, and Han had stopped resisting the fall a long time ago.
And with that realization came others.
For someone who used to coast through relationships with just the bare minimum, Han was suddenly doing things he didn’t even notice until later—subtle, quiet things that no one else seemed to catch, or maybe did but never spoke of it:
Making sure JL’s favorite snacks were always stocked in the dorm pantry. Keeping an extra jacket with him when JL inevitably forgot his. Untangling JL’s charger cords, tying them neatly when he wasn’t around. Watching his fancams late at night, not out of obligation, but because he missed the sound of his voice.
Brushing stray strands of JL’s hair away when he fell asleep during van rides. Standing between him and the crowd when things got too overwhelming. Waiting for him to finish late vocal sessions, or sometimes joining him just so they could walk back together. Reminding him to drink water, to eat, to rest—always quietly, never with fuss. It wasn’t about grand gestures. It was about the gentle, consistent presence he became in JL’s life, without asking for anything in return.
He’d become soft. For JL. Irritatingly so.
And worse than that?
He craved his attention.
Not the polite kind. Not the professional sort reserved for cameras and crowds. Han wanted JL’s real attention—the one reserved for off-camera laughter, for late-night conversations, for inside jokes exchanged in crowded rooms.
And when that attention was given to someone else—Jeongwoo, Steven, Chih En, even the fans—Han felt something inside him twist.
He disliked that feeling.
Jealousy had never suited him. It felt like a costume two sizes too small—tight in all the wrong places, exposing things he’d rather keep hidden. But no matter how much he tried to act unbothered, his body betrayed him in every way.
There were moments—too many, if Han were honest—when the claws of jealousy dug their way just beneath his skin, leaving invisible marks.
One of those was during their filming of Idol Human Theatre. It had started innocently enough, Woongki playing his usual exaggerated role of 'personal color analyst' for laughs when the cameras were rolling.
"Do you know what that means? It means the person is bright and warm," Woongki declared, dramatically gesturing toward JL with the flair of a seasoned entertainer.
Han stood not too far, already sensing where the tide was turning. He knew that tone in Woongki's voice, the slight smirk that meant mischief was on the way.
"But what does it mean when Steven next to him brings his colors to life?"
There it was. Han’s eyes narrowed slightly, arms crossing as if bracing himself for impact.
"It means he shouldn't do the ending alone. He should do it with another member." With that, Woongki slung an arm around JL’s shoulder and practically beamed. The others laughed and clapped, charmed by the performance. Han could only tighten his jaw.
"Steven, join him and do it together."
Han didn’t sigh. Not visibly. But his chest rose with the restrained breath, and his fingers curled slightly against the fabric of his sleeves as he watched Steven step forward. The two performed the final move of their title song’s choreography—Steven’s arm now resting across JL’s shoulders, the two leaning close enough for their heads to nearly touch. The cheers from the group were loud, the energy infectious.
Except for two.
JL tilted his head, nose scrunching with a mock frown. "I don’t think so."
Steven laughed, clapping, clearly unbothered.
Han, meanwhile, stared straight ahead. Not at the two laughing behind him, but at a fixed point off-camera. His lips were pursed, one hand slowly adjusting the collar of his shirt as if it suddenly felt too tight.
"You don’t like it?" Woongki asked JL.
JL hummed a soft affirmative, and somehow, Han felt the tension in his spine ease when Daisuke bounded up and took Steven’s place without a second thought.
A small victory. Pathetic, maybe. But Han took what he could get.
Jeongwoo had developed a habit of back hugging JL—a gesture that, without fail, always made something twist in Han’s chest. During photo ops, random interviews, even fansign events, it was like clockwork: the moment Jeongwoo wrapped his arms around JL from behind, Han would feel the warmth drain from his expression, replaced by something unreadable but taut with tension.
It happened again during a fansign. Han had been standing beside JL, cradling a small recording toy a fan had given them. The toy, black and round with a single red button, could capture and replay short audio clips—something the members had been using to amuse themselves between signings.
"Listen—this thing's interesting," Han said, holding the speaker close to JL’s ear. The crackly recording played: "AHOF FIGHTING!"
JL laughed, eyes creasing, head instinctively tilting toward Han as if to catch every word. "That's so cute—did you record all of them?"
"Almost," Han replied, his voice lighter than it usually was, as if the joy on JL’s face was enough to make the world spin slower. "Steven hyung’s one was funny, though."
JL was about to reply when suddenly—warm arms wrapped around his waist from behind. Jeongwoo’s familiar voice chimed in, cheerful and close: "Caught you!"
JL laughed, startled but not displeased, leaning slightly into the embrace. But Han—Han’s expression froze. The corners of his lips, which had been lifted just moments ago, fell almost imperceptibly. His eyes, once soft, now flicked to Jeongwoo with a look that was unreadable to most—except Jeongwoo, who saw it the moment he met Han’s gaze.
There was a flicker of amusement, then guilt, and then—classic Jeongwoo—he loosened his hold and gave JL’s shoulder a quick pat. "Chih's holding a funny toy," he quipped before slipping off toward the other members with a knowing smile.
Han tried to play it cool. He looked ahead, posture stiff but gaze carefully neutral. Yet his fingers still hovered near JL, and the distance he kept was barely worth mentioning.
JL, oblivious or pretending to be, reached for the toy still dangling from Han’s neck on a silver chain. "Let me try, hyung."
JL had reached out first, his fingers curling gently around the toy with curiosity before Han’s hand arrived—steady, warm, purposeful—settling over the same spot. Their hands touched. A rush of warmth spread like an unexpected bloom in JL’s chest, his heartbeat stumbling in surprise, then racing as if his skin had recognized something his mind hadn’t prepared for.
His breath caught in his throat. Instinctively, he pulled his hand back, too quick, too shy—as though Han’s touch had startled something tender awake.
Han noticed. Of course he did. And for the briefest moment, he wondered if JL was just that eager to let go. If maybe, to JL, his touch didn’t feel like home the way JL’s did to him. That thought settled in his chest—quiet and aching, like a note struck and left to hum unresolved in the still air.
JL, flustered but ever the performer, turned back to the fans with a cheeky grin, letting out a soft laugh as if they were all in on the joke. But as he turned back, the amused sparkle dimmed slightly at the sight of Han’s subtle pout.
It wasn’t exaggerated. Just the barest downturn of his lips, the soft furrow between his brows. Still, it was enough to make JL feel something curl in his chest.
So he reached forward again, fingers gently circling the toy. His hand lingered this time. "Hyung… let me hear the funny one," he said, voice quieter, warm with apology.
Han didn’t say anything at first. But the pout eased, and he allowed JL’s hand to rest beside his.
He still didn’t move away.
JL’s thoughts, a little flustered and a little endeared, echoed quietly in his head: So cute when he pouts like that.
✧✧✧
The last ripple of jealousy surfaced during late-night dance practice for polishing, where sweat shimmered faintly on polished wood floors and the mirrored walls caught every glint of light. JL, dressed in a black long-sleeved shirt, moved effortlessly beside Chih En, who wore a sleeveless white top that showed the defined cut of his shoulders. The routine called for proximity—faces close, hands almost grazing—as they moved together in precise synchronicity at the center.
Han stood far to the left in his white shirt, his reflection slightly blurred by the angle of the mirror. While the others focused straight ahead, eyes locked on form and rhythm, Han’s gaze betrayed him. He wasn’t watching his own movements. His attention—sharp, unwavering—remained fixed on the duo in the center.
He told himself he wasn’t jealous. Just observant. Just… meticulous. But when JL’s face tilted toward Chih En, that easy smile playing on his lips as they locked eyes for a beat too long, something in Han’s stomach coiled. He tried—gods, he tried—to redirect his gaze, to chase the rhythm with detached focus. But his eyes always returned.
It wasn’t just that they danced well together. It was the closeness. The comfort. The kind of ease that Han found himself selfishly wishing was his alone to witness. And in that split second where JL's hand lingered on Chih En’s shoulder, Han’s fingers twitched at his side.
The others wouldn’t have noticed. But the camera did. Just a sliver of a frame—Han, head tilted low, turned his back to continue the choreo. Lips parted in an exhale that never quite made it to a sigh.
A storm held tight behind his ribs, hidden behind tempo and control.
Practice had ended. The hum of footsteps and idle chatter had faded, leaving behind only the soft creak of the studio’s cooling walls and the faint buzz of a speaker left on standby. One by one, the members had filed out, some heading toward their evening schedules, others retreating to the comfort of their dorms. Only two remained.
JL, towel draped around his neck, slumped on the floor with his water bottle, catching his breath as he planned to squeeze in a bit more vocal practice after resting. Han lingered nearby, aimless yet rooted, like a shadow that refused to leave.
He leaned against the mirror, eyes drifting to where JL sat, basking in his own quiet glow. The overhead lights cast soft halos across the floor, and the air still smelled of sweat and citrus body spray. Han’s reflection stared back at him, half-hidden by the glass but unmistakable in its tension.
His fans had noticed. He remembered it now—an edited clip that had gone viral weeks ago, a compilation of what netizens jokingly referred to as Han’s "4-step Jealous Combo." A stare. A lip lick. A tug at his collar. And then—always—a look away.
He'd laughed it off at the time. Said it was all just coincidence. But now, catching his own posture in the mirror, watching JL scroll through something on his phone, cheeks still flushed from dance, Han could only sigh inwardly.
It’s just inevitable.
This feeling inside him—simmering, unspoken, endlessly gnawing at the edges—was reaching its boiling point. No matter how many times he buried it under professionalism and stage smiles, it surged back up every time JL smiled at someone else like that. Every time he laughed just a little too freely. Every time his attention, so addictive, landed anywhere but Han.
"Hani hyung," JL’s voice broke the silence. He twisted around, stretching his arms with a lazy yawn. "Tomorrow’s schedule starts at eight, right? We don’t have the vocal thing until after lunch though."
Han hummed, pushing off the mirror and moving to sit beside him. Their knees bumped, lightly. JL didn’t move away. "Yeah. I think we’ve got that brand meeting first… then dance."
JL nodded, letting his head roll to rest on Han’s shoulder with a sleepy groan. "I’m gonna die. My legs already hate me."
Han chuckled under his breath, fingers twitching with the urge to brush JL’s damp fringe aside. But he didn’t. Not yet. Not when his heart was this full and aching.
He turned slightly to better face him, voice soft. "Hey… your duo choreography with Chih. It was really cool."
JL perked up. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Han looked down at him, tone even. "Would you mind teaching it to me? I kinda wanted to try it out."
JL brightened, sitting upright again with his usual burst of energy. "Really? Sure! I’d love to. You wanna try now or after I warm up again?"
Han smiled at the spark in JL’s expression. But deep inside, behind the casual tilt of his voice, something had begun to crystallize.
He was done. Done pretending.
Enough of these quiet aches, these stolen glances, these pauses in conversation where he hoped something would change.
He was done thinking they were on the same page one day, only for JL to slip through his fingers the next.
Han didn’t hesitate. "Now," he said simply, gaze steady, unreadable. His voice held a quiet conviction—one that disguised the jealousy he’d swallowed all week, watching JL and Chih En’s flawless synchronicity like a dagger to the ribs.
In truth, Han had already memorized the choreo. Every step, every breath, every shift of weight that brought JL closer to someone who wasn’t him. He knew the way JL tilted his chin at the end of each line, the second where their foreheads almost touched. He’d dreamt of replacing Chih En—not for the spotlight, but for the nearness. The chance to be close without pretense.
But he said nothing.
Instead, he let JL guide him as if he were learning it for the first time.
The studio was quiet now—just the hum of electricity and the occasional rustle of fabric when they moved. JL stood in front of him, barefoot and flushed, hair damp from earlier practice. "Okay, it starts here," he said, stepping into position and gesturing for Han to mirror him. "Right foot back, then a sweep—like this. Your arm follows through, not too stiff, and… yeah, just like that."
Han mirrored every movement, intentionally half a beat off, just enough to prompt JL to step closer.
JL did. And when he reached out to guide Han’s arm, his fingers brushed across Han’s forearm—light, warm, tentative. Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch for too long.
"Your elbow was a bit high. Lemme fix it," JL mumbled, his voice softer now. He adjusted Han’s position, stepping into his space, until they were barely an arm’s length apart.
Han could feel it then. The subtle stutter in JL’s breath. The way his fingers trembled—just slightly—before he pulled away. "Sorry—um—your stance is fine now."
"You can take your time," Han said lowly, gaze never leaving him. "I’m a slow learner, remember?"
JL laughed, breathless, and rubbed the back of his neck. "You’re not. You’re just pretending to be."
He wasn’t wrong.
As they moved through the routine, JL’s initial composure melted into something flustered, scattered. Each time their hands brushed—when JL reached to adjust Han’s hip, or when Han caught him mid-turn—the air between them shifted.
It was near the end, at the part Han had obsessed over in silence, where they stepped closer, faces meant to align just shy of a kiss. Their breathing synchronized. Sweat clung to their skin. Han’s pulse pounded beneath the collar of his shirt, and JL’s breath hitched.
Han saw it then.
The soft, creeping flush across JL’s cheeks, spreading up to his ears. His lashes fluttered. He didn’t pull away.
And in that suspended moment, Han swore he could hear JL’s heartbeat—the sound of it rattling like wings behind his ribcage.
But still, JL whispered, almost shakily, "Like that. Yeah. Hold it here for one second longer..."
Han didn’t move. He watched him. All of him.
And in his silence, in his stillness, there was something loud and certain and new.
This time, JL stepped back with a pleased smile, brushing sweat-dampened hair from his brow. "That was good, hyung. I think we can try it with music now."
Han nodded, his throat dry. "Yeah. Let’s do it."
The studio lights had dimmed slightly with the hour, casting long, tired shadows along the walls. The mirrored floor reflected their silhouettes as the music began—bass thumping low like a heartbeat, rhythm steady but mounting. JL moved with the same practiced grace, his black sleeves clinging to him like inked script across parchment. Han followed, matching pace for pace, tension riding just beneath the surface of every step.
As they moved, something shifted. A current. The tempo built toward its crescendo, and with it came the choreo’s apex—faces drawing close, breath shared across the narrowest of spaces.
Their bodies slowed to the beat, hips aligned, foreheads tilting forward in practiced motion. But when the music paused, silent for a beat, as if holding its breath, Han didn’t turn forward like they’d rehearsed.
Instead, he lingered.
JL blinked, startled by the stillness. His breath caught—shallow, delicate, as if the air between them had turned sacred. The silence pressed close, warm and trembling, like the hush before a storm or a confession.
Han’s gaze held his; unwavering, unreadable, and devastatingly tender.
And then, soft as moonlight kissing the edge of still water, he leaned in and kissed him.
Not rushed. Not ravenous.
Just a quiet unravelling of every word he couldn’t say. A whisper made flesh, pressed gently to JL’s lips.
Han’s outstretched hand, once meant to sweep through the air in a final flourish of the routine, instead found its place gently cradling the side of JL’s neck, thumb grazing just beneath his ear, fingers curving into the soft dip behind his jaw.
It wasn’t possessive. It was grounding. Like anchoring himself to the moment, or to the boy who had unknowingly stolen every beat of his heart.
JL froze, his world narrowing to the warm brush of Han’s mouth against his. His heart burst open in his chest, wild and reckless—drumming a rhythm louder than the music that once guided their steps. He forgot how to breathe, forgot what came next, forgot the years he spent keeping everything inside.
Because this—this kiss, was not a step in the choreography.
It was a fall. Sudden. Unscripted. Honest.
The music resumed behind them, fading into soft pulses of sound, but they no longer moved to its rhythm.
JL froze, his body caught somewhere between instinct and disbelief. The kiss was real—undeniably so, yet every nerve in him lit up as if trying to verify it. His arms stayed suspended, unsure, his breath stalled in his throat.
But then Han shifted.
A subtle tilt of his head, a softening of lips, his kiss gentled, like a lullaby offered after a storm. There was no pressure, no demand—only a quiet, patient offering. A question asked not with words, but with closeness.
And slowly, impossibly, JL began to melt.
His lashes fluttered, and the air seemed to sigh around them. His hands moved on their own, one trembling as it reached for Han’s chest, fingers bunching into the fabric of his shirt, seeking steadiness or maybe proof. The world spun slower.
Is this real?
Han’s scent filled him, clean sweat, warmth, something indescribably him, and JL felt his walls splinter under the gentleness. His chest ached with the gravity of it, like a dam breaking from too much held-back feeling.
This is Hani hyung. This is happening.
The thought crashed through him like light through stained glass—colorful, fragile, and painfully beautiful.
And just like that, JL gave in.
He let his eyes fall shut, lips parting as he leaned into the kiss with a trembling sigh, returning it not with practiced grace but with the fullness of a heart that had never dared to hope so much.
Han’s lips curved into the barest smile, breath warm against JL’s skin. Then, a subtle press, deeper this time. A soft coaxing. JL gasped faintly, startled by the glide of Han’s tongue against his bottom lip.
Han’s hands had moved, one sliding down from JL’s nape to the curve of his waist, pulling him in, steady but slow, like waves drawing closer to shore. When JL tensed, fingers fluttering against Han’s chest as if unsure whether to hold or push away, Han stilled—eyes half-lidded, lips brushing softly as he whispered, voice dipped in honey and hesitation:
"Just a bit more, hmm?"
That was all it took.
JL’s hands curled into the front of Han’s shirt as he leaned back in; breath trembling, chest caving inward with the weight of everything unsaid. Their mouths met again, this time open, unguarded. Han’s tongue found his with gentle insistence, and JL melted, clinging to him like gravity had finally remembered him.
It was only a kiss.
But for Han, it felt like the moment the world finally, finally tilted into place.
He wasn’t breathing, he couldn’t. Not with the way JL trembled against him, not with the way he felt those fingers tighten against his chest like they were reaching for something long-lost. It was a kiss, yes, but it was also an answer. One he’d waited too long to hear.
So this is what it feels like.
To stop guessing. To stop holding back.
To know—truly know, that he wasn’t the only one falling.
The press of JL’s lips, shy but open, the way he sighed into Han like his lungs had been waiting for this too, it carved something permanent into him. Like a signature left behind in the soul.
You feel it too. Don’t you?
His thoughts surged with the ache of every moment he hadn’t touched, hadn’t said, hadn’t dared to hope. All those late nights watching JL laugh from across the room, all those quiet gestures that made no sense to anyone else but him—this kiss unravelled them. Thread by thread. Truth by truth.
And now that he had it, had him, Han knew.
There would be no going back.
This wasn’t a crush. It wasn’t some fleeting infatuation blurred by dorm closeness and starlit training days. This was deeper. Realer. It had always been. He just hadn’t let himself believe it until now.
You’re here. With me. And you’re not pulling away.
He kissed him again, slower this time. Like a vow. Like the promise of every morning he wanted to wake up and see JL’s face first. Like the confession his mouth had fumbled to speak, but his heart had been screaming all along.
And when JL leaned into him, completely, breath shaking, lips warm and yielding—Han's chest clenched with something close to worship.
They’d been kissing for what felt like the kind of dream one is terrified to wake from. JL’s breath came in soft, quick waves as he pulled back—just enough to part from Han’s lips, his chest rising and falling between them. His hands remained fisted in the fabric of Han’s shirt, grounding himself to something real.
Han didn’t move. His arms stayed around JL’s waist, holding him gently, as if releasing him might end it all.
JL blinked, dazed, cheeks flushed. His voice was barely above a whisper. “Hani hyung… what was that?”
Han’s throat worked. The question wasn’t accusatory—it was breathless. Disbelieving. And Han could feel the tremor in JL’s fingertips where they still clung to him. He exhaled, grounding himself in the moment.
“That,” he began, brushing a strand of JL’s hair from his cheek, “was me telling you what I’ve been holding in for far too long.”
JL’s lips parted again, but no sound came. So Han continued, voice low and unwavering.
“I like you. No—” He paused, eyes searching JL’s face, heart pounding like a drumline beneath his ribs. “I love you. And I don’t say that because of what just happened or because we’re caught up in the moment. I’ve known it for a while now. I just… didn’t know how to say it without risking what we already have.”
A beat passed. The silence between them was thick, not with hesitation, but with everything unspoken.
JL’s eyes flickered, uncertain. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” His voice was soft, full of something that could’ve been wonder or fear or both. “Was I that hard to read?”
Han gave a breathy chuckle, bitter at the edges. “No. You’re the brightest person I know. Everyone loves you, Jeyelie. You’re kind. You're warm. You make everyone feel like they matter."
"I just... didn’t want to be another person who took from that light and gave you nothing back.”
JL’s brows pulled together slightly, his fingers now splayed against Han’s chest. He could feel how fast Han’s heart was beating.
“But you’re not just anyone to me.” JL’s voice was barely there, as if he too was discovering the truth as he said it. “You never were.”
Han blinked. The air shifted.
“Then why do I always feel like I’m watching you from across a room I can’t walk into?”
JL hesitated, his eyes wide, emotions pooling in them like morning dew. He let his forehead drop gently against Han’s, and in the quiet space between their breaths, he whispered;
“Maybe I was waiting for you to open the door.”
Han let out a soft breath, almost like a quiet sigh of relief, and pulled him close again, hands trembling just slightly.
And this time, when their lips met, it wasn’t out of fear or confusion or urgency.
It was an answer.
It was home.
✧✧✧
Han was never the jealous type.
Or at least, that’s what he used to tell himself. Even believed it once, back when his life was predictable and his heart wasn’t tangled in someone else’s orbit.
But that was before JL.
Before the chaos of a boy who laughed like summer wind and moved through life with unfiltered light pouring from his every smile.
Before Han learned what it meant to crave someone’s attention so much that even a glance not meant for him could stir something ancient and unfamiliar in his chest.
They were backstage after a recording, still warm from stage lights, still giddy from adrenaline. Laughter bubbled in pockets around the room, members sprawled on couches and half-packed gear cases. JL stood near the mirror, fixing the clasp on his earpiece, lips curved in that ever-genuine smile that made hearts skip—Han’s especially.
And then, Jeongwoo moved.
It was casual at first, grabbing a water bottle, passing behind JL with all the mischievous grace of someone who’d known Han for years. But there was a glint in his eye. One only Han caught.
“Yah—JL-ah,” Jeongwoo drawled, voice playfully low as he stepped in close, arms lifting as if about to pull the smaller boy into a teasing back hug.
Han didn’t even think.
He moved.
With a smooth, almost feline stride, Han reached them in two steps and hooked his hand around JL’s wrist, gently but firmly. The moment JL turned to look at him in surprise, Han tugged him forward, tucking him against his chest in one clean motion.
His arm wrapped around JL’s waist, possessive but not rough, just enough to stake a silent claim. His chin hovered near JL’s hair, close enough to breathe him in.
Jeongwoo froze mid-hug, raising both brows with mock innocence. “Whoa—territorial much?”
JL blinked up at Han, who hadn’t even tried to look apologetic.
Instead, Han narrowed his eyes at his best friend, the faintest pout tugging at the corner of his lips. “Try that again and I’ll lock you out of the dorms, hyung.”
Jeongwoo snorted. “I’d like to see you try. You couldn’t even change the Wi-Fi password without help.”
JL, cheeks now pink from being manhandled, let out a breathless laugh. He turned slightly in Han’s hold, not pulling away, but nudging him lightly in the ribs. “Hani hyung, seriously—what was that?”
“Preventative measure.” His voice was muffled in JL’s hair. “You looked too huggable.”
“I always look huggable.”
“Exactly.” He tightened his grip a little, fingers splaying across JL’s side.
Jeongwoo watched with a long, dramatic sigh, arms folded as if witnessing a soap opera unfold in real time. “You know,” he drawled, “you hold onto him any tighter, he might file for emotional suffocation.”
Han didn’t even flinch. His arm only tightened around JL’s waist. “He hasn’t complained.”
JL chuckled, leaning just slightly into Han’s side. “Not yet.”
Han's brows pulled together immediately, his lower lip jutting out in a sulky little pout. “Don’t joke like that.”
JL blinked, then smiled—soft and full of fondness. He tilted his face toward Han and pressed a light kiss against his cheek, his lips lingering just long enough to soothe the tiny storm. “I won’t. Promise.”
Jeongwoo groaned in the background. “Get a room.” Han shot his hyung a look, eyes narrowing, nose scrunching just slightly, and lips twisting into a mock glare.
“Oh no,” Jeongwoo smirked. “Give it time. The great Park Han, possessive and jealous king of AHOF. You better be careful, JL. Might not even be able to breathe without his permission soon.”
Han shot him a glare. “You done?”
Jeongwoo grinned. “Not even close.”
The three of them dissolved into laughter then, but Han didn’t let go.
JL giggled quietly, nudging Han’s side. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”
Han sighed, defeated, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him—curling up in a smile he couldn’t quite suppress.
Even as the conversation shifted and the others returned to packing up, his arms stayed loosely around JL’s waist, his hand absentmindedly playing with the hem of his shirt. JL didn’t seem to mind—in fact, he leaned back slightly into him, more relaxed than before.
Jeongwoo caught it all and chuckled to himself as he turned away—because nothing delighted him more than seeing cool, collected Han fall apart over someone who glowed just a little brighter in his orbit.