Chapter Text
Kwon Jiyong is trending again.
Not for a comeback. Not for music. Not even for that cryptic, artsy Instagram story he posted last night with a quote no one could decipher.
Nope. This time, it’s because he liked a photo.
That’s it. One photo. One innocent double-tap.
To be fair, the photo did feature Korea’s beloved romcom queen sipping wine in Paris, tagged at the same private gallery Jiyong had visited earlier that week. She’d even added a cheeky little heart emoji and tagged him directly. But it wasn’t a date. It wasn’t anything.
Just art. Just a like.
He’s on his couch in sweatpants, phone cradled against his chest, barely halfway through his iced Americano when his manager’s name lights up the screen.
He contemplates ignoring it. He really does.
But the second it stops ringing, it starts again. Persistent. Brutal. The digital equivalent of someone shaking him by the shoulders and yelling into his face.
He sighs and picks up. “Noona.”
“You absolute maniac,” she hisses before he can say anything else.
“Good morning to you, too.”
“You LIKED it! The post! Do you have any idea what kind of hell you’ve unleashed?”
“Come on,” he says, yawning. “It was just one like.”
“She tagged you. There was a heart. You know what that means to these people?”
“I thought it meant she liked the painting.” and he yawns. “It was a nice painting.”
Sooyeon groans like she’s aging five years by the second. “You were seen at the same gallery. Do you think this is nothing to Dispatch?! Do you think they sleep?! I’ve already had three calls from reporters, two from Galaxy, your stylist, three different gossip columnists, and a magazine intern I bribed last year—again. And last but not the least, the Foreign Ministry just called.”
He pauses. “The Foreign Ministry?”
“They want to know if you’re soft-launching your girlfriend during APEC. APEC, Jiyong! The international summit where you’re literally the face of the country’s PR campaign! This isn’t a music festival—it’s a diplomatic event. Heads of state. Trade delegates. Global media. Are you trying to give every single one of your brand partners a heart attack?!”
Sooyeon takes a moment to catch her breath, like she’s physically restraining herself from combusting.
“You are trending, Jiyong.”
“I’m always trending,” he says mildly.
“Not like this! #GDRAGON_DATING_ACTRESSXX is top three on Korean Twitter. Netizens think you’re going to soft launch a relationship at APEC or something. APEC! That’s a diplomatic summit, Jiyong, not a reveal party!”
He exhales through his nose, not quite laughing but definitely not sorry. “Well, if I were dating her, I wouldn’t use APEC. That’s tacky.”
“You need to fix this,” Sooyeon hisses. “Say it’s not true. Say you don’t even know her.”
“I do know her. We’ve met, like, four times.”
“Then say she’s just a friend.”
“Netizens don’t believe that anymore,” he mutters, scrolling through the hashtags.
Edits of them are already circulating—badly photoshopped candids of them "walking in Paris," which is actually a 2018 shot of him at an airport, and her from a Vogue shoot. He doesn’t even know where they got these angles.
“Okay, then date someone else publicly. Like, visibly. Someone less dateable.”
Jiyong raises an eyebrow. “Less dateable?”
“You know what I mean!” she huffs. “Someone scandal-proof. Boring. Safe.”
He doesn’t respond immediately.
Instead, his eyes land on a recent comment buried in the chaos.
A fan wrote: Can he just date Daesung or something? We’re all tired.
It has over 8,000 likes.
He stares at it for a long moment, and then:
“So what if I dated someone that can make it worse?”
Sooyeon groans. “Jiyong—”
“No, hear me out. What if I dated someone even more unexpected? Like… a hard left turn. Something no one would believe—until they have to.”
“You mean a fake relationship?”
“Exactly.”
“Okay, fine,” she says warily. “Who’s the lucky actress? We’ll draft an NDA.”
He leans back on the couch, slow smile spreading. “Daesung.”
There’s dead silence.
“...Come again?”
“I said, Daesung.”
“No.”
“He’s perfect. He’s safe. He doesn’t post thirst traps, doesn’t DM models, doesn’t even like leaving the house. He’s the opposite of scandal.”
“No.”
“He still uses a Yahoo email.”
“Jiyong. No.”
“It’d kill every dating rumor I’ve ever had instantly.”
Another beat of silence. Then, “Are you high?”
“No. My scandal ended two years ago, you know.”
“Are you hearing yourself?”
“No one would believe I’m dating her AND Daesung.”
Another pause.
“You want to fake-date your male bandmate,” she says slowly.
“Yes.”
“In South Korea.”
“Yes.”
“Where netizens think accidentally wearing the same nail polish is a confession of sin.”
“I know.”
“Where someone once tried to cancel you for breathing in the same room as Taemin for too long.”
“I know.”
“Where same-sex dating rumors are treated like career-ending scandals.”
“Exactly.”
“Where you being in the same room as a male idol for too long gets you trending with marriage edits.”
“Again. I know.”
Sooyeon lets out a noise halfway between a scream and a sob. “You’re the face of luxury brands. You’re headlining a diplomatic summit’s PR campaign. And you want to fake-date Daesung—who, by the way, still wears socks with cartoon animals on them in public.”
“That’s why it’ll work. He’s untouchable. People adore him. He’s not threatening. He’s not scandalous. He’s not me. And he's not a poor woman that will get harassed left and right. He’ll balance the scale. It'll bury the rumors with the actress immediately. No one will believe I’m dating a female celebrity and Daesung at the same time.”
Sooyeon lets out a strangled noise. “This isn’t damage control, this is career suicide. You think the tabloids are bad now?”
“I think the tabloids will run out of oxygen trying to wrap their heads around it. Plus, Daesung doesn’t even like leaving the house. He’s scandal-proof. He doesn’t flirt, doesn’t party, wakes up at 5 AM to do Pilates. If there’s one person I trust to not make this worse—”
“—it’s the one man in Korea who has the most squeaky-clean public image.” she finishes flatly.
“Exactly.”
“You’re insane.”
“Thank you.”
Sooyeon groans like he just proposed murder. “You’re not dragging Daesung into your PR dumpster fire.”
“It’s not a dumpster fire,” he says calmly. “It’s just… a small pile of smoking ash with the occasional headline.”
“I swear to god, Jiyong—”
“—I’ll talk to him. If he says no, I’ll drop it.”
“Don’t you dare go over to his place unannounced—”
But Jiyong is already sliding into sneakers. The call ends with the soft click of his front door closing.
“Daesung-ah!” Jiyong exclaims the second the apartment door swings open. “Fake-date me!”
The door slams shuts in his face immediately.
“Nonono, wait, don’t be like that,” he pleads when the door creaks open again five minutes later—after relentless knocking, one increasingly pathetic “please” at a time—only to reveal Daesung’s deeply unamused face.
Ooh, he probably saw the headlines this morning. “Just hear me out!”
The set of Daesung’s mouth is one of extreme censure, but he nevertheless takes a step back, and Jiyong doesn’t waste any time getting himself inside before Daesung changes his mind.
He ends up sitting at the kitchen table, holding the cup of tea that Daesung sets in front of him—rather pointedly.
Fair enough, Jiyong thinks, given the opening line.
“Okay, so,” he starts, gulping the tea and blurting out his explanation in one long breath—speeding up every time Daesung’s frown deepens. “Look, the stuff online’s been getting worse. Paparazzi are chasing every woman I breathe near, the Dispatch speculation is insane, and now some idiot's saying I’m keeping a ‘harem of stylists’ in Hannam-dong. Like, what?”
Jiyong exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I know how this sounds. I know. But you don’t understand how bad it’s getting. They’re asking if I’m soft-launching a girlfriend during APEC. APEC, Dae. I’ve got foreign ministries circling like vultures and every single brand I’ve partnered with calling my manager in a panic because I liked some girl’s post.”
Daesung raises an eyebrow. “And your solution is to date me?”
“Fake date. As in, controlled. Strategic. Temporary,” Jiyong rattles off. “Look, the media’s going to keep spinning stories no matter what I do. At least if I’m ‘dating’ someone totally unexpected—like, say, my male bandmate and oldest friend—it buys us control over the narrative. A distraction. No brand can accuse me of being disingenuous to their image when I’m very publicly not appealing to heteronormative fantasy. It undercuts the story entirely.”
Daesung’s face hardens. “You do realize being caught in gay rumors with your male bandmate could torpedo your career in this country, right? Ours. This isn’t the same as tagging a model in a post, Jiyong. You want me to hold your hand at Incheon and smile for Dispatch when the consequences are a hundred times worse.”
"It will only look bad if we didn't embrace it and acted like it was a scandal." Jiyong quiets. Then, softer, “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t trust you.”
That makes Daesung pause.
Jiyong continues, slower now. “You’re the only one who knows how this industry works, how fast the rumors spin. You’re also the only person I’ve ever been seen with who didn’t make things worse. Because you’re... you. You keep me grounded. You keep people guessing. You’re the only one I feel safe around when all eyes are on me.”
Daesung sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “You don’t need a fake relationship, Jiyong. You need to log out.”
“Too late. The internet already thinks I’m dating three actresses and a diplomat’s niece,” Jiyong says dryly. “I’d rather feed them a lie I can control than have them run wild with ones I can’t.”
A long silence.
“I just need the rumors to calm down,” Jiyong says, hands spread in surrender. “I don’t want my female friends harassed. I don’t want anyone else dragged into it. I need something clean. Solid. Boring. But not too boring that people can latch onto it instead of making up crap.”
Daesung’s expression doesn’t move.
“And you thought I was the solution to ‘clean and boring,’” he finally says.
“Yes!” Jiyong cries, pointing at him. “Exactly! You’re the human embodiment of unproblematic. You recycle. You go to church. You wake up at 5 AM to do Pilates. You’ve had the same manager since debut. People trust you.”
Daesung stares.
Jiyong backpedals. “In a good way! Like—you’re the safest person in Korea. If Dispatch saw me holding your hand, they’d probably write a heartwarming essay about loyalty and brotherhood instead of accusing me of luring backup dancers into my penthouse.”
He peeks up at Daesung, whose expression remains unconvinced.
Time to pivot.
“Come on, Daesungie,” Jiyong groans, leaning dramatically across the table to tug at his sleeve. “It’s genius! You’re single, I’m single, and if we fake-date, we can stay peacefully single together! It's the perfect loophole!”
He leans across the table, hands clasped for maximum sincerity. Daesung doesn’t flinch, but his eyes do narrow slightly—as if mentally noting Jiyong’s exact proximity to his personal space perimeter.
Jiyong presses on. “It stops the harassment. It stops the headlines. I stop being The Guy Who Smiled At A Woman Once. I get a lifeline out of PR hell. The band gets less bad press by association. Everyone wins. And honestly? We already spend too much time together. People think we’re weird anyway. This just... gives them a folder to file us under. It’s efficient!”
“Not dating your bandmate is also efficient,” Daesung replies.
“You have a convenient excuse to stop turning down blind dates. No more weird setups. No more ‘I have a friend I think you’d like, just meet her once,’” Jiyong continues, mimicking their mutual acquaintances with cruel accuracy. “You wouldn’t have to keep ghosting your own stylist or faking dentist appointments.”
Daesung raises an eyebrow.
“That only happened twice,” he says evenly.
“Three times,” Jiyong corrects, grinning. “That I know of.”
Daesung exhales, the way people do when they realize a mosquito won’t leave them alone until it’s either killed or fed.
A beat.
“And,” Jiyong adds, sitting back with mock seriousness, “I’m cute.”
Daesung looks at him for a long second.
“You’re exhausting.”
“And yet,” Jiyong says, eyes gleaming, “you still haven’t kicked me out.”
Daesung’s still frowning, but there’s a flicker—barely there—of hesitation in his expression. Jiyong can see it. The tiny softening between his brows, the micro-shift of his shoulders. It's not a yes, but it's not a no either.
He pounces.
“You wouldn’t even have to do anything,” Jiyong says quickly, scooting a little closer and grabbing Daesung’s hand before he can pull it away. “I’ll take care of it. You just have to… exist. Near me. Sometimes. Maybe stand close at dinners. I’ll do all the smiling and touching and pretending.”
Daesung makes a small sound in his throat—protest, maybe—but doesn't pull his hand back. He’s clearly too polite for that.
“If you meet someone real, we can fake-break up,” Jiyong adds, swinging their hands gently. “Very tragic. Very dignified. I’ll even cry on cue if you want.”
Daesung exhales through his nose. It’s not irritation exactly. More like the sigh of someone who once agreed to be in a group with this man and has never known peace since.
Then—
“Who else were you going to ask?” Daesung mumbles, eyes fixed on the table.
Jiyong blinks. “What?”
Daesung shifts a little in his seat, ears turning faintly pink. “If I say no… who’s your backup?”
Jiyong pauses, then laughs, scratching the back of his neck. “Oh. I didn’t think that far. I kind of… just assumed you’d go along with it.”
Daesung gives him a dry look. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Come on,” Jiyong wheedles, leaning forward again. “I’m harmless! And I’m your hyung. You like me.”
Daesung mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “That’s the problem,” but before Jiyong can press, he adds under his breath:
“Fine.”
“Wait—what?”
Daesung clears his throat. “I said I’ll do it.”
Jiyong grins so wide it’s ridiculous. “This is gonna be amazing.”
“I’m already regretting this,” Daesung says, half-hiding his face behind his cup.
Jiyong beams. “Too late. We’re fake boyfriends now. You can’t take it back.”
In the weeks that follow, Jiyong starts picking Daesung up whenever their schedules align.
It’s surprisingly easy to catch him. Daesung’s almost always somewhere these days—taping a trot variety segment in Gyeonggi, doing a recording session for a theme song in Mokdong, or filming late-night for some obscure but wholesome cable show that only ajummas watch religiously. He also reads Bible verses in between road safety PSAs, and volunteers quietly behind the scenes for stuff Jiyong would normally announce in neon letters and daisy branding on Instagram.
How he does all that and still manages to prep for solo concerts, go to lessons, and keep his insanely spotless image intact, Jiyong may never know.
This is, after all, the same man who once waited in a nondescript rental outside the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency after Jiyong’s 2023 questioning, said nothing the entire ride home—just handed him a vitamin C drink at a red light and muttered,“…The outfit was nice, but maybe save it for literally any day you’re not under investigation.”
In any case, Jiyong’s not complaining. Daesung’s clean-cut schedule means their little fake-dating ruse gets a ton of natural exposure. And minimal effort on Jiyong’s part—just stand next to him, look vaguely innocent, don’t flash grillz at church ladies.
Things they encounter in the course of their “casually maybe-dating, not-not-dating” soft-launch era include (but are not limited to):
Youngbae spotting them backstage at a fashion event and immediately turning to walk away, only for Tablo—who’s there doing a feature on streetwear and Korean hip-hop legacy—to catch him by the collar and say, “Nope. You’re staying. I want to watch this unfold in 4K, as the kids say these days.”
Staff noonas from their early YG days seeing them together at a pojangmacha and whispering in that partially-concerned, partially-gossiping auntie tone, later texting Jiyong, “You’ve finally grown up 🥲” and texting Daesung, “If you ever need to talk, or run.”
A hilarious detour at a fan-organized charity event where a group of schoolkids recognize Daesung from Family Outing reruns and start following him around like ducklings. One makes him hold her hand crossing the street. Jiyong takes a hundred pictures.
A series of stern-looking church elders and KBS producers whom Daesung starts subtly avoiding. Jiyong only catches on when Tablo mentions that a few of them have been cornering Daesung at events with lines like: “You have a good image. Don’t ruin it with… distractions.”
Jiyong knows exactly who the distraction is.
And while, yes—fine—he’s had scandals. The weed thing when he was 20 something or so, where he swore he didn’t know it was weed and then had to go face the press looking like a ghost in an oversized blazer, apologizing to the nation. That one still haunts him because of the way people stopped making eye contact with him for a year after.
He’s also, admittedly, done some unhinged things since then. Like showing up at the 2017 Seoul Biennale in a shredded mesh top and those leather shorts no one could take seriously. Or getting that heart-shaped Basquiat tattoo that matched Soo Joo’s and pretending it wasn’t planned, even though they clearly got it on the same day in Paris.
He’s worn skirts, corsets, pearls, sheer everything. One time in Tokyo, he got snapped at a private party standing next to two drag queens—one of whom posted on Instagram: "GD is prettier than me, I'm sick." It had 88,000 likes before it got taken down.
But he still thinks obsessing over his manicure or the way he walks next to Daesung is maybe not the most pressing issue here.
Anyway, they didn’t bring up the time someone gave him a birthday cake where Jesus’ body had his face on it—like full Messiah-core, with the brush strokes and everything. Which, in his opinion, is growth.
Other key moments include:
Jiyong’s uncle spotting them near the COEX parking lot—after a joint YG anniversary dinner—catching the way their hands brush, and sighing deeply like it confirmed every bad feeling he’s ever had about K-Pop idols who have too much skinship with each other.
A former indie idol-turned-commentator that Jiyong vaguely remembers seeing online, turning ghost-white at the sight of them together. Turns out the guy—Soo-shik—used to post fan edits of Daesung, but has since pivoted to posting bitter essays titled things like “The Fall of Purity: How Daesung Abandoned His Image for Aesthetics.”
Soo-shik starts sarcastically tagging every photo of Daesung with #Nation’sSonInLaw, especially after a 2024 fancam of him bowing to every fan at his solo fanmeeting hits 5 million views. Ironically, Daesung’s fans turn the phrase into a rice donation campaign for low-income seniors. Soo-shik deactivates for three weeks.
Later, Jiyong shows Daesung one of Soo-shik’s videos—something about “losing faith in grounded idols.”
Daesung just squints. “Who’s that?”
“You seriously don’t know him?”
“Never seen him before in my life.”
Jiyong stares at him. “How do you not notice people who are weirdly obsessed with you?”
Daesung shrugs. “I only search my name to check my haircut line.”
Jiyong stares at him. “You are infuriating.”
Daesung, straight-faced: “I’m the fake boyfriend you chose.”
“You didn’t even try to say no!”
“I did,” Daesung mumbles, eyes flicking away. “You just… pout faster than I can think.”
Jiyong drifts off mid-rant—somewhere between plotting a passive-aggressive comment on that old variety show PD’s Instagram and imagining an untraceable exposé if anyone messes with Daesung again—and wakes up to find Daesung’s hoodie draped over his lap.
Daesung is still in the seat next to him, earbuds in, calmly watching some mukbang video on 1.5x speed like nothing happened.
He really would make an excellent boyfriend, Jiyong thinks, before something tightens in his chest. It can’t be jealousy—because 1) they’re best friends, and 2) they’re fake-dating for optics for his image and until everyone stops trying to blind set Daesung up with random people.
Still, he tugs the hoodie up closer and rubs vaguely at his sternum.
Must be indigestion.
“So,” Youngbae says casually the next time they meet for dinner. (The place is a cramped back-alley spot Jiyong insisted on after seeing it on Threads. The kimchi jjigae is so spicy it’s making Daesung visibly sweat, but he doesn't say a word.) “There’s a rumor going around online that you two aren't actually dating because no one’s seen you doing anything... couple-like in public.”
Jiyong spits out a mouthful of spicy jjambbong, narrowly avoiding hitting Youngbae across the table.
“What the fuck?” he splutters, although the fact that he’s simultaneously wiping up the splash zone with his napkin might detract a little from his aura of righteous indignation. “Why? How? Where would a rumour like that even start?”
“Maybe from the fact you’re not actually dating.” Youngbae says, pulling out a handful of napkins and tossing them over.
“Well, yes,” Jiyong coughs, accepting them. “But we literally went to church together. There are photos. Fans saw us holding hands at COEX.”
“There’s also the fact that one of you is constantly speculated to be gay,” Youngbae adds.
“True,” Jiyong agrees, blotting his shirt. “But we’re both men. Who are publicly dating. So who’s bearding whom here?”
Daesung, methodically picking out ingredients he doesn’t like, pipes up: “What does the rumor actually say?”
“That Jiyong is trying to clean up his image by dating Daesung, who’s scandal-free.”
“That is ridiculous,” Jiyong thunders, completely outraged. “How do people come up with this shit?!”
“It’s the truth, though?” Youngbae points out.
“Yes,” Jiyong cedes grudgingly, “but what kind of person thinks it’s a reasonable truth?! That was the beauty of this plan, Youngbae–the idea of us fake-dating was so stupid that no one would even consider that it was a possibility!”
There’s a moment of table wide speechlessness.
“That is a very valuable, but also very disturbing insight into your decision-making processes,” Youngbae says. “But even so, it failed because the comments are like: ‘This can’t be real. Even if he was gay or something, Daesung doesn’t even date. He’s said so on TV.’”
Daesung keeps chewing, expression unreadable.
“He has said that,” Jiyong mutters, jabbing at his rice. “Multiple times. Like, with his whole chest.”
“He also said he’s avoiding relationships until he’s more ‘mature,’” Youngbae adds. “And you,” he gestures vaguely at Jiyong’s platinum hair, tattoos, Cartier chain, and ‘Bigger is Better’ button pin, “don’t exactly radiate ‘wholesome life partner.’”
Jiyong glares at his rice. “Right. Because he’s Mr. Good Guy. And I’m just... what? The reckless one trying to fix my reputation with a boyfriend rental service?”
“No one said that,” Youngbae says. “But you’re rebuilding. And people know it. You’ve had a rough few years, and suddenly you’re back in the spotlight—clean, composed, giving interviews with actual eye contact. It’s working. But Daesung?”
He jerks his chin toward the other man.
“He’s never needed a comeback. He stayed out of trouble. Kept his head down, private, respectful, consistent. He never talks about dating, and when he does, it’s always about how he’s not ready. He’s safe. You’re chaos. Together, it doesn’t compute.”
It computes,” Jiyong says defensively. “We’ve always been close.”
“Exactly,” Youngbae says again. “Too close. That’s what makes it easy to sell—and easy to doubt. All I’m saying is, if people think it’s fake, it’s not because you two aren’t convincing. It’s because no one believes Daesung would willingly date you.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Jiyong stares at him. “...You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am,” Youngbae says, sipping his tea. “I’m just also living on planet Earth.”
At that, Daesung finally speaks. “He’s not wrong.”
Jiyong turns to him, betrayed. “You too?”
Daesung shrugs.
“We’ve known each other for twenty years!”
“Which is why I agreed to this,” Daesung says, perfectly calm. “Because I trust you. And because no one else would have made it look this real.”
There’s a pause. Jiyong stares at him.
“...Was that a compliment?” he asks, cautiously.
Daesung wipes his mouth with a napkin. “No. It’s strategic alignment.”
Me
okay, I’ve thought about it
and I realized the real problem here
we have no photos
no proof of life
no curated social media presence
no blurry couple pics in matching masks at the airport
no paparazzi shots of us looking suspiciously cozy near a black van
how can we be (fake) boyfriends
if there’s literally nothing for you to scroll through when you miss me???
this is a brand failure
so. prepare yourself, Daesung-ah.
because I,
Kwon Jiyong
am about to flood your phone
with an unacceptable number of photos of myself
selfies. mirror shots. questionable outfits.
pictures of me staring wistfully out a window like I’m in a drama OST teaser
you’ll never be safe again
As soon as he hits send, Jiyong realizes—tragically—that he probably should’ve curated his gallery before making that bold declaration.
Because what greets him when he opens it?
A warzone.
A disaster.
A digital crime scene.
Half-blurry stage shots, cursed reaction screencaps from variety shows, 2:00 a.m. meme saves, one (1) espresso photo with an untraceable aesthetic filter, and a mirror pic where his eyeliner is immaculate but his hair looks like it lost a fight with a ceiling fan.
This will not do.
Daesung deserves better.
Daesung is the maknae—sure. But he’s the kind of maknae who notices everything. Who rolls his eyes at chaos but quietly saves the photos anyway.
So Jiyong gets to work.
Premium boyfriend content™, from scratch.
He puts on three different outfits, two watches, and sunglasses indoors. He tests lighting by spinning slowly in his apartment like a human selfie ring. He toggles between “gentle retro fade” and “full sparkle vomit.” He overlays gif stickers of hearts, tiny roses, sparkles, and one flying peach emoji that makes no sense contextually but feels right spiritually.
He's mid-pose, trying to find the right angle where the neon sign behind him reads “Eros” instead of just “ros,” when his phone buzzes.
D-Lite of my Life🐯
You done yet?
You just posted three blurry selfies and tagged me in one.
Me
yabaiii~~ that was just the teaser
the real photo dump is coming
brace yourself 😌💋💖💖💖💖💖🌈✨🍓✨💖
D-Lite of my Life🐯
You’re 36.
Me
And hot.
Stay focused.
D-Lite of my Life🐯
StillWaitingSkeleton.jpg
Jiyong cackles.
Not wanting to keep his audience waiting, he quickly sends off the three cutest photos he has. And then sends another four, just to be safe.
Me
now u
When his phone buzzes a few minutes later, he opens the chat and is greeted with a photo of Daesung’s completely blank face. No smile. No pose. Just deadpan. Like he accidentally opened the front cam and hit send.
Me
WHAT—
is that a MUGSHOT??
I am your (fake) BOYFRIEND!!
Where is the CUTENESS
where is the YABAII
WHERE is the “I miss you 🥺👉👈” energy???
Exactly one minute later, his phone buzzes again.
Same photo.
Only this time, it’s been edited.
Across Daesung’s forehead, in bright pink Comic Sans:
“Notice me, Senpai~”
"Yabai!" Jiyong lets out an unholy screech of laughter, nearly drops his phone, and collapses face-first onto the couch.
Once he can breathe again, he sets it as his lock screen immediately and sends Daesung a screenshot with a massive sparkly “<3” sticker slapped on top.
Me
Oppaaaa~
👀💥
We need to step up our game to defeat these rumors.
Couple photos!
P! D! A!
Go reserve us some seats at the restaurant. Don't eat without me 😤
By the time Jiyong pushes open the sliding door to their private room at Gold Pig, Daesung is already there—cap low, sleeves rolled, flipping slices of pork belly on the grill with surgical precision.
Jiyong throws himself dramatically into the seat across from him. “You didn’t even wait to start the meat?! Wow. And here I thought this relationship meant something.”
Daesung doesn’t look up. “You were thirty-five minutes late.”
“I was choosing the right outfit. This is Dispatch bait, Daesung.” Jiyong gestures at his completely impractical, very designer leather jacket. “And you’re just in your usual black hoodie. You’re not even trying.”
Daesung picks up a piece of grilled garlic with his tongs and places it gently on Jiyong’s plate.
“Matching rings next time,” Jiyong mutters as he picks up his chopsticks. “I’m talking black-and-silver Cartier. The subtle flex. You think I’m joking, but I already bookmarked them.”
Daesung finally glances at him, blandly. “And I already know your ring size. Who’s not trying?”
Jiyong pauses mid-bite, then grins like he’s just been proposed to.
“Ugh, you're so dangerous.”
They tuck in, and once Jiyong judges that the grilled pork and side dishes have cooled enough not to scald his tongue (or his lips, which took twenty minutes to line just right), he stretches out under the table and hooks his ankle around Daesung’s.
Subtle. Natural. Couple-core.
(He has serious suspicions about the table near the kitchen—two women with masks half-down, not touching their food, phones aimed suspiciously low. One of them definitely muttered “GD” earlier.)
Taking cues from the many couple posts he’d studied—“for research,” he told himself, with the zeal of a method actor—Jiyong whips out his phone. First, a flat lay of their table: pork belly, banchan, the grill mid-sizzle. Then a candid of Daesung lifting a lettuce wrap to his mouth.
He zooms. Crops. Adjusts lighting. Post.
Then, with exaggerated tenderness, Jiyong picks up a fat slice of grilled garlic and lays it in Daesung’s lettuce wrap like it’s a rare truffle. Snap. Another post.
His phone buzzes.
Bora has reacted ❤️ to your photo.
…and then again, seconds later:
Bora has reacted ❤️ to your photo.
Jiyong blinks. “Daesung.” He looks up, half-amused and half-bewildered, then turns his phone toward Daesung without a word. Daesung takes it and reads the notifications calmly.
“Ah,” he says, not missing a beat. “My sister’s really... invested these days. She’s been bored at home since quitting that one drama.”
Jiyong bursts out laughing, then says, “I didn’t expect her to be the first to react.”
Daesung gives a small shrug. “She said we looked natural during Dispatch. She’s been watching fancams… does that bother you?”
Jiyong quickly shakes his head.
“It doesn’t bother me. It’s just a bit... surprising?”
Daesung blinks at him.
“Why?”
Jiyong bites down on an incredulous “What do you mean, ‘why’?”
Shouldn’t it be surprising that Kang Bora has stepped out as captain of the GDae ship? Then again, he thinks, from a different perspective, maybe not. Bora-noona has always been her younger brother’s biggest supporter in everything, and given that Daesung has never expressed interest in a romantic relationship in so long, isn’t it natural that her older sister would be excited about it?
Welp, now Jiyong feels bad again
Daesung glances up, chopsticks mid-air. “What?”
Jiyong wordlessly flips the screen around.
Daesung studies it for a second, expression unreadable. “Ah. She follows you now?”
“I didn’t even know she used Instagram.”
“She doesn’t,” Daesung says, picking up a perilla leaf. “She just stalks mine. And yours, apparently.”
“Does she think this is real?” Jiyong says, voice pitched somewhere between delighted and horrified.
Daesung shrugs. “She thinks you think it’s real.”
Jiyong blinks. “...Do I?”
Daesung side-eyes him. “Do you?”
Jiyong makes a strangled noise and decides not to answer that. Instead, he buries his face in his phone and mutters, “Should’ve worn matching sunglasses. Missed opportunity.”
Daesung passes him a lettuce wrap stacked like a Michelin tasting menu. “Don’t worry. She already texted me ‘Couple goals.’”
Jiyong looks up, mouth full. “You’re evil.”
“I learned from the best.”
Jiyong sighs dramatically, but checks the time and straightens up. “Okay, okay—focus. We’ve got, what, twenty minutes before someone from Dispatch pretends to trip near the door? Couple selfies. Now.”
He grabs his chair and drags it around the table to Daesung’s side, scoots in so close their shoulders touch, and holds the phone out like a practiced influencer. They both instinctively tilt their heads slightly — angles, always — and Jiyong mutters, “Smile like you tolerate me.”
Daesung’s lips quirk just enough.
Click.
The first shot they take is classic: Jiyong is beaming at the camera, chin tilted toward Daesung’s shoulder, his grin bright enough to rival the Gold Pig’s neon signage behind them. Daesung, as expected, looks mildly tolerant—expression unreadable but at least not outright annoyed.
“We can do better,” Jiyong declares.
Daesung’s eyebrow arches slightly, but he doesn’t argue. That’s permission enough.
And so, being a firm believer in taking initiative (and perhaps emboldened by the nostalgic glow of pork belly and cheap beer), Jiyong waits until the timer counts down again—and leans in impulsively to plant a kiss on Daesung’s cheek.
Click.
The photo is gold.
Jiyong stares at the screen in delight: his own lips clearly pressing into Daesung’s cheek while Daesung’s expression is caught mid-frame—eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar in sheer disbelief. Not angry, not pulling away, just… shocked. Like a man who’s just watched a pigeon steal his lunch.
“Oh my god,” Jiyong wheezes. “You look like I slapped you with a contract, not affection.”
Daesung looks down at the phone without a word, unreadable as ever, though the tips of his ears are turning the same shade as the kimchi stew between them.
“You can’t look that surprised,” Jiyong teases, jabbing his arm. “I’m your hyung! This isn’t new! We’ve shared rooms, cars, stage outfits—”
“Exactly,” Daesung mutters, but it’s so quiet Jiyong barely hears it.
Still, no protests. No retreat.
So Jiyong grins and raises his phone again, this time careful to save the first shot (absolutely going into his private album) before switching to selfie mode again.
They go for another. This time, Jiyong gives a quieter kiss—gentler, intentional. Not about shocking Daesung now. Just… wanting to.
The shutter clicks.
And the result is perfect.
Daesung’s expression is the usual impassive calm—but he’s glancing at Jiyong from the corner of his eye, and his cheeks—oh, his cheeks—have the faintest, warmest flush. Like he’s holding in a laugh. Or something else.
Ba-dump, goes Jiyong’s heart.