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Hyunjin doesn't really remember when it started, only that it never really stopped. Somewhere along the line, Felix had become the easiest place for him to rest his body, his hands, his gaze. If he wasn't hanging off Felix's shoulder, then Felix was perched on his, like gravity had quietly redrawn itself around the two of them.
Onstage, it was the small things first. A brush of fingers that wasn't written into choreography. A laugh pressed into Felix's ears between verses. A spin that ended with Hyunjin holding Felix half a second too long before letting go. The fans thought it was fan service; the members thought it was ridiculous; Hyunjin thought it was necessary, like breathing after a long note.
Encore stages turned into their playground. Confetti stuck to Felix’s hair, and Hyunjin was always the one to pluck it out with a soft little smile, ignoring the way Minho groaned into the mic about how “this isn’t a drama, guys”. Felix just laughed, tipping his head closer like he was daring Hyunjin to keep going. He always did.
Offstage, the patterns repeated with less subtlety. Someone would crack open a snack bag, and somehow Hyunjin would be eating out of Felix’s hand instead of his own. Long rehearsals dissolved into whispered jokes at the back of the room, both of them choking on laughter while Seungmin threatened to throw his shoe if they don’t shut up. Even exhaustion didn’t separate them—Felix’s head naturally found Hyunjin’s shoulder, Hyunjin’s arm naturally curled around Felix’s waist, and suddenly the two of them were folded into each other like they’d rehearsed that, too.
“Do you guys have Velcro under your shirt or what?” Jisung once asked, pointing between them as they tried to wedge themselves into a single chair backstage. Hyunjin didn’t even bother answering, just grinned and threw an arm around Felix, pulling him tighter. Felix squeaked but didn’t move.
“They’re magnets,” Chan said from across the room, as if it explained everything.
“Defective magnets,” Minho muttered, “because they don’t detach.”
The staff picked it up too. At photoshoots, stylists would sigh when they had to physically separate Hyunjin from Felix to fix their outfits. Camera operators would tilt their lenses slightly, resigned, when the two drifted into each other’s frame without instruction. The joke around the set became just film them together, it’ll save time later.
Hyunjin loved that Felix always blushed when someone pointed it out. Not the kind of blush that hid behind shame, but the one that curved into a smile, like he secretly liked the attention. Hyunjin stored those smiles like they were currency.
And still, Felix never pulled away. If Hyunjin leaned close, Felix leaned closer. If Hyunjin whispered, Felix answered. If Hyunjin touched, Felix stayed.
The peak was subtle, disguised as another long trip. Schedules were packed, flights were endless, but the moments in between stretched warm and unhurried. Hyunjin remembered that one flight in particular, somewhere over an ocean, when the cabin lights had dimmed and the members had already sprawled in various sleeping shapes. He’d barely shifted in his seat when Felix’s head slid naturally onto his shoulder, blond hair tickling his jaw.
Hyunjin didn’t even bother moving. He titled this head instead, resting it lightly against Felix’s, and closed his eyes. Because in the quiet, weightless space between countries, Felix was still his gravity, and Hyunjin had no intention of pulling away.
Paris was supposed to be just another city on the tour map, but for Hyunjin and Felix, it tilted the world on its axis. The lights looked brighter, the food tasted sweeter, and somehow, every photo snapped of them together carried the kind of glow that made even the members shake this heads.
It started small, as always. A walk down some random cobblestone street, the two of them tucked into scarves and oversized coats, heads bent together against the wind. A fan spotted them first, blurry photo posted online with the caption: Hyunlix date in Paris?! The internet detonated within minutes.
Hyunjin didn’t even noticed the camera. He was too busy leaning into Felix, pointing at the tiny café like it was the most magical thing he’d ever seen. Felix laughed, his voice bubbling out like champagne, and followed him inside without hesitation.
Later, when they scrolled through their phones in the hotel room, Hyunjin posted on his story first—Felix standing in front of the Seine, the city lights scattering across the water behind him. No caption, just tagging Felix’s Instagram handle. Felix retaliated with a shot of Hyunjin, head slightly tilted as he studied a Van Gogh painting, also tagging Hyunjin’s handle. Hyunjin answered back, this time on his grid, with a series of photo of them together, still with no caption. And Felix, ever the competitive one, slipped a photo of them looking at Van Gogh’s version of Pietà in his carousel and added the caption “I like da view” complete with Paris flag colored hearts and Hyunjin’s handle.
“Soft launch?” Jisung wheezed when he saw the posts, brandishing his phone like a detective exposing evidence.
“Finally going public?” Seungmin added with mock seriousness.
Felix flushed red all the way to his ears. “It’s just photos!” he protested, burying himself under a hotel blanket.
Hyunjin just smirked, unbothered, stretching out on the bed next to him. “What if it is a soft launch?”
That made the room erupt—Minho groaning, Changbin cackling, Chan pretending to cover Jeongin’s ears. Felix swatted Hyunjin with a pillow, his accent thickening as he sputtered. “You can’t just say that!”
“Why not?” Hyunjin grinned, dodging the pillow. “I’d be the most aesthetic relationship reveal ever. Paris. City of love. Perfect timing.”
“Bro, you’re insane,” Jisung muttered, but he was laughing too hard to be convincing.
The teasing became a running joke for the rest of the trip. Every time Hyunjin and Felix drifted too close—sharing an umbrella, splitting a pastry, lingering in front of a painting at the Louvre—someone would pipe up with a deadpan, wow, the soft launch continues. Hyunjin never denied it. Felix tried to, but his smile always betrayed him.
And truthfully? It did feel different. The closeness wasn’t new, but Paris wrapped it in gold leaf. Hyunjin caught himself staring at Felix when he thought no one noticed—at the way the city lights softened against his skin, the way his laugh echoed off cathedral walls, the way his hand brushed Hyunjin’s arm in crowded streets like a tether. It wasn’t just comfort anymore. It was wonder.
On their last night, Hyunjin stood on a balcony overlooking the skyline, the Eiffel Tower glittering in the distance like a cliché Hyunjin didn’t mind falling into. Felix leaned on the railing, breath fogging in the cold air, and whispered, “It feels like we’re the only ones here.”
Hyunjin didn’t answer. He just nudged his shoulder against Felix’s, close enough that the silence between them said everything words couldn’t.
The next morning, the internet was flooded again—photos of the two of them side by side, soft smiles and easy laughter under Paris skies. Fans dubbed it the Hyunlix Paris date. Edits bloomed, hashtags trended, speculation ran wild.
And for the first time, Hyunjin didn’t mind being seen.
Because if there was ever a moment worth eternalizing, it was this one.
It was almost funny how quickly a pattern could break.
One month ago, Felix had been everywhere—at Hyunjin’s side onstage, pressed against him backstage, tangled into every photo and memory like they were stitched together. Now, Hyunjin noticed the spaces first. The absence.
During rehearsals, Felix laughed at jokes across the room instead of in Hyunjin’s ear. During soundcheck, Felix busied himself with mic levels and in-ear adjustments instead of nudging Hyunjin’s shoulder. Even during fan signs, when Felix once leaned so naturally into his space, he now angled toward another member, a polite smile stretched across his face.
Hyunjin didn’t know when it shifted. He only knew it had.
He tried to play it off. When Felix touched him during choreo, Hyunjin held on a little longer, hoping the warmth would bleed into real life. When Felix looked his way in interviews, Hyunjin smiled wider, just in case. But outside of scripted moments, Felix slipped through his fingers like water.
Fans noticed, of course. They always did. “Hyunjin staring at Felix for five minutes straight,” edits started cropping up online, stitched together from broadcasts and fancams. Clips of Hyunjin’s gaze lingering—at Felix laughing at someone else, at Felix walking past without stopping—filled his feed. The captions ranged from playful (he’s so whipped) to pointed (what happened to Hyunlix?).
The worst part was the fans were right. Hyunjin’s eyes betrayed him every time.
He told himself it was nothing. Felix was busy, schedules were heavy, moods shifted like weather. It wasn’t distance, just exhaustion. But then there were nights when Hyunjin lay awake scrolling through his own gallery, pausing on the Paris photos, and the ache in his chest whispered otherwise.
It wasn’t that Felix never looked back. Sometimes Hyunjin caught him—just a flicker, a quick glance during encore stages, a soft smile when they brushed too close. But those moments ended as soon as they began, as if Felix was folding them back into some secret drawer Hyunjin no longer had the key to.
“Why do you look like a kicked puppy?” Jisung asked once, catching Hyunjin mid-stare in the practice room.
Hyunjin jolted, flushing, fumbling for an excuse. “Just tired.”
“Sure.” Jisung smirked, unconvinced, but didn’t push.
Hyunjin wished someone would. Because admitting it to himself felt heavier than silence.
So he kept looking, even when it hurt. He memorized the curve of Felix’s smile across the room, replayed it in his head when he couldn’t sleep, traced it onto blank sketch pages when words failed him. Lingering wasn’t the same as holding, but it was all he had left.
And if Felix had decided to drift, Hyunjin would be the quiet gravity waiting for him to fall back
Felix hadn’t planned it. He never did. Pulling back wasn’t some cold calculation—it was instinct, like flinching from fire even when the heat used to feel like home.
He told himself it was safer this way.
At first, it was easy to excuse. There were schedules stacked like dominos, rehearsals bleeding into shows, interviews strung together in languages that knotted his tongue. He was tired. Everyone was. No one would notice if he laughed with someone else, stood on the other side of the stage, filled the silence with anyone’s voice but Hyunjin’s.
But Hyunjin noticed. Felix always knew he would.
It wasn’t that Felix didn’t want to be close. God, if anything, his body betrayed him daily—hands twitching to reach, shoulders leaning before he caught himself. Every instinct screamed for proximity, for the safety that had always been waiting in Hyunjin’s orbit. But then he’d catch the cameras. The fans. The hashtags. The edits of their Paris photos replayed like gospel, captions speculating whether it was love or fan service or something dangerously in between.
Felix had scrolled past them all with his stomach twisting. He wasn’t ashamed of Hyunjin. He wasn’t. But what if people got it wrong? What if they turned something sacred into a spectacle?
So he pulled back. Not harshly—never harshly. Just small choices. Standing beside Seungmin and Minho during encore. Whispering to Chan instead. Turning his laughter toward Jeongin, his shoulder toward Changbin. He told himself Hyunjin had enough love without him constantly clinging.
But every time Hyunjin’s eyes found him, Felix felt the lie in his throat.
There were nights he couldn’t sleep, lying in the dark with his phone lit up against his sheets. He’d scroll back to Paris—the photo Hyunjin had posted of him by the river, the one Felix still hadn’t deleted from his own gallery. He remembered how the air had tasted like sugar, how Hyunjin’s laugh had sounded against the Seine, how simple it felt to just exist side by side.
He wanted that back. He wanted it so badly he almost reached across the hotel room floor one night, almost crossed the distance in the quiet. But then he pictured the comments, the speculation, the blurred lines drawn by hands that weren’t theirs. His chest caved in, and he stayed still.
Members noticed, of course. Minho once raised an eyebrow when Felix walked past Hyunjin without stopping, like he was watching a magic trick fail. Seungmin teased Hyunjin for staring too long, but his gaze lingered on Felix, too, sharper than his words.
Still, Felix kept the mask. Smiles in the noise, jokes in the spotlight, distance in the shadows.
Because loving Hyunjin—really loving him—was the easiest thing in the world. It was also the scariest.
And Felix wasn’t sure which truth he was ready to live with.
It started with a laugh.
Not Hyunjin’s—Felix’s. Bright and bubbling, the kind that usually belonged to him. But this time, it wasn’t pressed against Hyunjin’s ear or tangled into his sleeve. It rang out across the room, aimed at someone else, and Hyunjin’s chest twisted like a pulled string.
Changbin had told some ridiculous story, complete with hand gestures and sound effects, and Felix folded over with laughter, clutching his stomach. Hyunjin stood a few feet away, towel draped around his neck, watching the scene unfold with a smile he couldn’t quite make real. He told himself he wasn’t jealous—Changbin was their glue, everyone laughed with him—but it was the sharp absence that cut him. Felix used to turn toward him first, always, like instinct. Now his laugh skipped past Hyunjin entirely.
The ache followed him everywhere.
Backstage, Felix gravitated toward different anchors: Jeongin’s calm presence, Seungmin’s sarcastic remarks, Chan’s steady warmth. Hyunjin hovered on the edge, smile plastered on, pretending he wasn’t waiting for Felix to glance his way. When Felix finally did, the look slid past him, quick and apologetic, like brushing fingers in a crowded hallway.
Minho noticed. Minho always noticed.
“You’re sulking,” he said one evening, voice low so the others wouldn’t hear.
“I’m not,” Hyunjin shot back too quickly, folding his arms.
“You are. You’ve got the face of a puppy who dropped his toy in the pool.”
Hyunjin rolled his eyes, but Minho didn’t soften. His gaze flicked toward Felix, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Seungmin, trading bites of a sandwich. “Talk to him,” Minho murmured. “Before you make yourself sick.”
Hyunjin wanted to. God, he wanted to. But every time he opened his mouth, fear caught his tongue. What if Felix denied it? What if Felix confirmed it? What if the space between them was already permanent?
So he said nothing.
The breaking point came after a performance—sweat still dripping, adrenaline buzzing in the air. They’d just finished their final bow, cheers echoing in their bones, and Hyunjin instinctively reached for Felix’s like he always did. For one dizzy second, he felt skin brush against his. Then Felix pulled away, turning instead to clasp Seungmin’s shoulder.
Hyunjin froze onstage, smile fixed, heart thundering too loudly for the encore music. The crowd roared, oblivious, while inside him something split.
Back in the dressing room, he couldn’t keep it in anymore.
“Why are you avoiding me?” The words came out harsher than intended, slicing through the chatter of members unwinding. Silence dropped like a curtain.
Felix blinked from across the room, water bottle halfway to his lips. “I’m not.”
“You are.” Hyunjin stepped closer, voice low but trembling. “You don’t laugh with me anymore. You don’t sit with me. You only touch me when choreo tells you to.”
The members shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting between them. Jisung muttered something about needing the bathroom and disappeared. Minho leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, watching like he’d seen this coming.
Felix’s throat bobbed. “Hyunjin…”
“What did I do wrong?” Hyunjin asked, softer this time, and that cracked something in Felix’s face.
“You didn’t,” Felix said, almost a whisper. “That’s the problem.”
Hyunjin’s breath caught.
Felix looked down, twisting the bottle in his hands. “It’s too much. Us. The way we’re… always together. People talk. Fans notice. They think it’s real.” His voice wavered. “And it is. That’s why it scares me.”
Hyunjin’s chest hollowed out. “So you’re punishing me for it?”
“I’m protecting us.”
“By pushing me away?”
Felix flinched, but didn’t answer.
The room held its breath. Chan finally stood, grabbing Seungmin and Jeongin by the shoulders, muttering, “Let’s give them space.” One by one, the others slipped out, leaving only silence and the sound of Hyunjin’s heartbeat in his ears.
Hyunjin stepped forward until he was close enough to see the shimmer in Felix’s eyes. “You think distance will keep us safe?” His voice cracked. “It already broke me.”
Felix’s grip tightened on the bottle, knuckles white. He didn’t deny it.
And for the first time since Paris, Hyunjin realized he might lose the gravity that held him together.
The universe had shifted, but not in the way Felix had expected.
After the dressing room fracture, after Hyunjin’s voice broke on the words you broke me, Felix thought things would snap back, that their gravity was strong enough to realign on its own. But weeks stretched thin, and instead of drifting back toward him, Hyunjin learned how to stay away.
Felix saw it everywhere: the way Hyunjin leaned into Jeongin’s shoulder during breaks, how laughter came easier when Changbin elbowed him at rehearsals. The “wife agenda” joke the members tossed around whenever Changbin told tales of domestic rhythm at their shared apartment. Fans ate it up, clips stitched into endless edits. Hyunbin supremacy! they captioned. Felix forced a smile whenever he scrolled past, but each post lodged itself in his chest like a splinter.
It wasn’t that Hyunjin ignored him. On stage, Hyunjin still offered the same glances, the same rehearsed skinship, but it was different. Contained. A performance instead of instinct. And when the lights cut out and the stage dissolved, Felix felt the emptiness yawning wider.
He told himself Hyunjin wasn’t retaliating. He knew Hyunjin wasn’t the kind to play games like that. But the mind is cruel when left to spiral. What if Hyunjin was learning to live without him? What if this distance became permanent?
The thought made Felix’s throat burn, but he stayed quiet.
It was Seungmin who broke the silence.
They were in the practice room, Felix slumped against the mirror, sweat dripping down his neck. Seungmin tossed him a towel, leaned against the barre, and looked at him like he’d already solved the puzzle.
“You look pathetic,” Seungmin said bluntly.
Felix blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve been moping for weeks. It’s unbearable.” Seungmin crossed his arms. “Either talk to him or stop staring at him like a sulking kitten.”
“I’m not—“ Felix started, but the protest collapsed under Seungmin’s stare. He buried his face in the towel, voice muffled. “He’s the one who pulled away this time.”
Seungmin tilted his head. “And whose fault was it that he had to?”
The words landed sharper than Felix expected. He looked up, mouth open to argue, but Seungmin didn’t give him a chance.
“You think Hyunjin woke up one day and decided he doesn’t care?” Seungmin pressed. “You pushed first. He’s just protecting himself. It takes two to keep this… whatever you two have.”
Felix’s chest tightened. He hated how true it sounded.
“You don’t get it,” Felix said quietly. “It’s not that simple. If I let it show—if I let him show—everyone will see it. And then what? What if it ruins everything we’ve built?”
Seungmin sighed, softer now. “And what if hiding ruins him? Ruins you? You can’t expect Hyunjin to keep reaching if you’re too scared to take his hand.”
The towel slipped from Felix’s grip. His reflection in the mirror looked small, almost unrecognizable—eyes red, lips pressed tight. He realized, with a shudder, that Seungmin was right. Fear had made him selfish. Fear had made him push Hyunjin away, and now fear was paralyzing him from reaching back.
Seungmin nudged his shoulder lightly, a rare show of gentleness. “You’ve always been stronger together. Stop making him fight alone.”
The words rooted deep, undeniable. Felix nodded slowly, the weight of decision pressing down. The ache wasn’t gone—it still twisted sharp in his chest—but for the first time in weeks, he felt the faintest pull of gravity again.
And maybe this time, he would follow it.
The days felt endless when Hyunjin wasn’t beside him.
Felix hadn’t realized how much of his rhythm was built around Hyunjin’s presence until it was gone—how silence filled the spaces where whispers used to live, how empty the greenroom felt without a shoulder pressing into his. Even laughter with the others rang a little hollow, as if a key note in the melody had gone missing.
The worst part wasn’t Hyunjin ignoring him because Hyunjin didn’t. He was polite, professional, gentle even. But that gentleness was sharp, the way frost bites skin without ever turning into snow. Hyunjin laughed with Jeongin now, leaned into Changbin when he was tired, let the others fill the space Felix used to occupy. He didn’t look angry; he looked like someone who had learned to live without.
And Felix hated it.
The fear was a living thing in his chest, curling tighter each day. What if this is it? What if he never comes back? He wanted to run to Hyunjin, to shake him, to beg him not to stop caring—but guilt held him back. Because Seungmin had been right: Hyunjin had pulled away because Felix had pushed first. He had let fear dictate his choices, and now fear was what kept him still.
But stillness was no longer an option.
It was one night after practice, sweat still clinging to his skin, body aching from hours of choreography. The others had already left the studio, their voices fading down the hallway, leaving Felix alone with the mirrors and his reflection—a reflection that looked both younger and older, worn down by longing.
He sat on the floor, back against the wall, and let the truth settle heavy in his chest. He loved Hyunjin. He had always loved him, in ways that blurred the line between fan service and reality, in ways that made Paris feel like more than a trip, more than a joke, more than a soft launch. He loved him in every backstage hug, every whispered joke, every lingering look that wasn’t part of the script. And the truth was both terrifying and freeing.
He pressed his palms together, head bowed. You’ll lose him either way. You’ll lose him if you stay quiet. At least if you try, you’ll know you chose him.
The decision tasted like salt, like surrender. He pushed himself up, legs trembling not from practice but from resolve, and headed for one of the recording booths.
The recoding studio’s lights were still on when Felix reached the room. Felix didn’t know Hyunjin had stayed behind. It’s only after Seungmin had texted him “Don’t come home unless you talked to him. He’s at Chan hyung’s studio.” He hovered outside the door, heart thrumming like a drumline in his chest. He almost turned back, almost let the fear win again. But then he remembered Paris—the way Hyunjin’s laughter had rung out over the Seine, unguarded and unashamed. He remembered the warmth of Hyunjin’s shoulder on the flight, the peace of being allowed to rest there. He remembered what it felt like to be chosen.
His hand trembled as he knocked.
The door opened a crack, and Hyunjin peeked out, headphones hanging on his neck. His eyes were bloodshot like he hasn’t slept for days and that twisted something in Felix’s chest. Surprise flickered across Hyunjin’s face, quickly masked into neutrality. “Yongbok?”
Felix swallowed hard. “Can I—“ his voice caught. He steadied it. “Can I come in?”
Hyunjin hesitated for a breath, then stepped aside. The room was quiet, save for the hum of a melody playing in the background. Hyunjin sat on Chan’s usual chair, watching carefully, while Felix stood in the middle of the room, hands twitching at his sides.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The silence stretched, taut as a wire.
Finally, Felix exhaled. “I messed up.”
Hyunjin blinked, startled.
Felix pressed on, words tumbling now that the dam had cracked. “I thought pulling back would protect us. That if I stopped clinging, stopped giving people reasons to… to speculate, it would keep what we have safe. But all I did was push you away. And then you pulled back, and I realized—“ His voice wavered. “I realized I was losing you. And that scared me more than anything the would could ever say.”
Hyunjin’s expression shifted, but he didn’t speak. Felix’s chest tightened, panic threatening to choke him. He forced himself to keep going.
“I don’t care if people talk. I don’t care if they think we’re too close, if they call it fan service, if they write stories that aren’t true. Let them. None of it matters if it means losing you.” His voice broke on the last word, raw and unsteady.
Hyunjin’s breath hitched, and for the first time in weeks, Felix saw the mask slip. The guarded calm gave way to something aching, something vulnerable.
“You think I wanted to stop?” Hyunjin whispered. “You think it didn’t kill me to pull away?”
Felix shook his head quickly, stepping forward. “I know. That’s why I’m here. Because I don’t want distance anymore. I don’t want fear deciding us. I just—“ He faltered, throat tight. “I just want you.”
The confession hung in the air, heavy and trembling. Felix’s hands curled into fists at his sides, waiting for rejection, for silence, for the moment to shatter.
But then Hyunjin moved. Slowly, carefully, he rose from the chair and crossed the space between them. His eyes searched Felix’s face, every flicker of doubt, every crease of fear. And then, without a word, he reached out and cupped Felix’s jaw, thumb brushing against his cheek.
Felix’s breath stuttered.
“You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear that,” Hyunjin murmured. His hand trembled against Felix’s skin, but his gaze was steady. “I thought if I gave you space, you’d come back. But it felt like waiting for a star to fall.”
Felix’s eyes burned. He leaned into the touch, desperate for it, clinging like gravity itself. “Then don’t wait anymore,” he whispered. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere anymore.”
Hyunjin’s lips curved into something fragile but real. He pulled Felix closer into a hug and Felix quickly melted into him. Hyunjin rested his chin on Felix’s hair, exhaling so loud that Felix felt the vibration to his own chest. He buried his nose into Hyunjin’s, drinking the familiar scent he had grown accustomed to. The smell of home. For the first time in months, the air felt whole again.
Neither of them kissed—not yet. It wasn’t about that. It was about the choice, the quiet promise that they were done running from each other. Felix wrapped his arms around Hyunjin’s waist, and Hyunjin wrapped his on Felix’s shoulders—both of them grounding each other.
The silence stretched, but this time it wasn’t empty. It was full—of relief, of love, of the unspoken vow that no matter how much the world speculated, no matter how close the cameras watched, their gravity was theirs to claim.
And they had chosen each other again.
Paris had always carried their secret.
The city had seen them before—laughing on cobblestone streets, huddled together against the chill, cameras snapping what became the infamous “Paris date.” Back then, the weight of what they were had been too heavy to name. Their closeness had spilled everywhere without a label, leaving the world to draw its own conclusions.
Now, months later, they stood on the banks of the Seine again. The moon hung low, silver light rippling across the water, and for once there were no cameras, no fans trailing behind, no stage waiting tomorrow. Just the two of them, breathing the same night air.
Hyunjin tugged Felix closer by the sleeve, their steps falling in rhythm. “Feels different this time,” he murmured.
Felix tilted his head, soft smile curving his lips. “Because we’re not hiding anymore.”
Hyunjin hummed, eyes never leaving Felix’s. “Because we chose it.”
The words settled warm between them. Felix stopped walking, turning to face him fully. His heart stuttered, but there was no fear now—only the relief knowing the choice had already been made.
“Then let’s say it,” Felix whispered.
Hyunjin’s breath hitched, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Say what?”
“That we’re not just fan service… Not just maybe. That we’re us.”
For a moment, silence stretched, delicate as glass. And then Hyunjin’s laugh broke through, quiet and awed, as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment. He reached up, cupped Felix’s jaw, and leaned in until the space between them disappeared.
The kiss was unhurried, steady as the tide. Not stage, not performed—just two boys finally naming the gravity that had pulled them together all along. The Paris moonlight caught on their lips, etched the promise into silver.
When they broke apart, Felix rested his forehead against Hyunjin’s, voice barely above the water’s hum. “We’re us,” he breathed.
Hyunjin closed his eyes, smile soft. “We always have been.”
The next morning, all hell broke loose.
They hadn’t pose a thing, hadn’t hinted online—but members notice everything.
Jeongin groaned first, flopping dramatically onto the couch when Hyunjin and Felix walked in together, still radiating that suspiciously glowy aura. “Great. Fantastic. You’re officially disgusting.”
Seungmin shot them a deadpan stare over his coffee. “Finally. Took you long enough. Do you realize how exhausting it was watching you two orbit each other like confused satellites?”
Felix flushed. Hyunjin only grinned wider.
Chan and Changbin, however, looked like proud parents at graduation. Chan clapped them both on shoulders with misty eyes. “Remember kids, keep it PG alright? Don’t make management bite my ass or I’ll bite yours.”
“That’s kinky, hyung” Changbin chortled. “Guess all that dorm bonding really prepared you, huh, Hyune?” he said sagely, wiggling his eyebrows.
Hyunjin shoved him, laughing. Felix buried his face in his hands.
Then Jisung burst in, already yelling. “WAIT. WAIT. YOU MEAN TO TELL ME I SPENT MONTHS SHIPPING YOU TWO AS A JOKE AND NOW IT’S REAL?! IS THIS WHY YOU TURNED ME DOWN, LIX-YAH, WHEN I ASKED YOU OUT?!!!” He spun in circles, hands flailing, like he was announcing breaking news to the universe.
“Congrats, you manifested it,” Minho said, appearing behind him with the most unhelpful grin in existence. “As expected of our resident chaos magician.”
Jisung gasped, eyes wide. “Does that make me their matchmaker? Do I get godparent rights?!”
“You get nothing,” Seungmin deadpanned.
Hyunjin and Felix exchanged a look, laughter bubbling between them until they couldn’t hold it in. For once, they didn’t care about being teased, didn’t care about the circus spinning around them. The world could speculate, the members could clown them, the fans could write their version of stories.
Because here, in their small universe, the truth was simple.
They had chosen each other, under the Paris moonlight, and will choose each other again and again.
Time did not slow after Paris. The schedules kept their pace, rehearsals stacked, flights blurred into one another. Life as idols moved on as it always did—exhausting, relentless, unstoppable.
But something had shifted.
Felix no longer second-guessed the warmth in Hyunjin’s gaze, because he knew it wasn’t for show. He leaned into it on purpose now, smiling back with the same unguarded joy.
Hyunjin no longer ached with what-ifs. His touches weren’t hesitant, weren’t afraid of being misread. A hand on Felix’s shoulder, a shared laugh pressed too close, a hug that lingered—all of it carried the quiet weight of this is ours.
On stage, their gravity looked the same to the world—magnetized, inevitable—but backstage, it was different. It was Felix’s hand slipping into Hyunjin’s without hesitation. It was Hyunjin brushing the hair from Felix’s forehead during late-night rides home. It was easy the way they found each other in crowded rooms, as if no distance could ever undo their orbit again.
The members still teased, of course. Jeongin’s exasperated sighs, Jisung’s conspiracies, Seungmin’s dramatics, Minho’s commentary—none of it stopped. Chan and Changbin kept looking at them like doting parents who had finally seen the family puzzle snap into place.
But under the noise, Hyunjin and Felix carried something quiet. Something unnamed for so long, finally spoken, finally theirs.
They didn’t need Paris for proof anymore. They carried the city in them—the memory of moonlight, in the echo of laughter on the riverbank, in the kiss that had sealed the truth.
They were gravity, chosen and steady.
And for the first time, they didn’t just feel like almost.
They felt like always.