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the first time jiung does it, nobody thinks anything of it. not even intak.
it’s a thursday morning, way too early to be functional. everyone is crusty eyed and half heartedly stretching while regretting all their life choices.
keeho shuffles in holding a coffee like it’s the only thing giving him the will to go on. jiung looks up from where he’s slumped against the wall, a blanket pooled around his shoulders.
“kee,” he says, voice cracking with sleep, “you look like you got hit by a bus.”
keeho blinks at him. “what did just you call me?”
“kee,” jiung repeats, shrugging.
“it sounds like your sneezing,” keeho mutters, but he doesn’t fight very hard.
intak snorts. it’s funny. nothing much to think about.
jiung curls deeper into his blanket, sipping from a mug that definitely isn’t his. the room resumes its sleepy buzz.
and intak? he pushes his hair back, yawns, and doesn’t register the tiny spark of something that will later turn into a wildfire.
it happens again on a monday.
practice runs late, and everyone is dragging themselves out of the room like zombies. jongseob is complaining about sore shoulders, shota is threatening to sleep on the floor, and jiung—somehow—still has energy.
they file into the hallway, and jiung bumps shoulders with taeyang.
“tae-bear, i swear you stretch like a sloth.”
taeyang stops mid step. “what?”
jiung grins, eyes creasing. “see what i did there?”
“no.”
“it suits you,” keeho says, instantly throwing him under the bus.
intak laughs along with them, but this time he glances at jiung just a moment longer. just enough to file away a mental note.
nicknames.
huh.
but he still doesn’t think much of it. jiung is just… jiung.
unpredictable. subtly affectionate. a big softie.
right?
he shakes it off.
but then it starts becoming noticeable.
they’re at the dorm kitchen island, demolishing takeout. shota is poking holes in the plastic lid of his soup like a bored cat when jiung wanders in wearing mismatched socks and a hoodie that's slipping off one shoulder.
he plucks a fry from his plate.
“hey—” shota begins.
“shosho,” jiung interrupts cheerfully, “you’re gonna spill that if you keep poking it.”
the entire room pauses for half a second.
“shosho?” taeyang repeats.
jiung shrugs. “what? it’s cute.”
shota opens his mouth to argue, then closes it again, deciding he doesn’t care enough to fight.
the others move on.
intak doesn’t.
or rather, he tries to. he really, sincerely tries to.
but the moment jiung turns away, humming under his breath while rummaging for a spoon, something prickles behind intak’s ribs. the faintest, fragile sting. not painful. not yet.
just…
he has one for shota now too?
intak turns back to his noodles, pushing them around without eating.
okay. cool. whatever. who even cares.
he definitely, absolutely, decidedly does not care.
except intak notices everything now.
he’s not even trying to. his brain just subconsciously logs it.
jiung tossing a water bottle to jongseob during break:
“jongster, catch!”
jiung walking to the van with keeho’s arm clinging to his shoulders:
“kee, get off of me. you’re scaring pedestrians.”
jiung poking taeyang’s cheek while he naps on the couch:
“tae-bear, go nap in your room. your neck is going to hurt.”
it trickles in slowly. naturally. easily.
a pattern of sorts.
a small ritual jiung grows into like a new habit.
and intak… waits.
not obviously. not pathetically.
just quietly, in the back of his chest.
waits for the moment jiung looks at him with that same soft grin and gives him something silly, maybe something dumb, maybe something that sounds awful but feels warm because it came from him.
but every time, when jiung turns to him, it’s:
“hey, intak.”
“intak, you ready?”
“pass me that, intak.”
“intak let’s go.”
always crisp.
always normal.
always just… intak.
never personalized.
never changed.
and one afternoon, while they’re filing out of practice and jiung jogs past him to drape himself over shota, intak feels that prickling sting sharpen into something with teeth.
not jealousy.
something smaller.
more embarrassing.
disappointment.
he swallows it down and keeps walking. but the splinter in his heart has started sinking deeper.
it doesn’t hit all at once.
it’s more like exhaustion that sets in over a week. a slow slide.
little things start bothering intak in ways they shouldn’t. or wouldn’t if his brain weren’t stuck on the same loop, a quiet question replaying under everything he does:
why not me?
it’s ridiculous. he knows it’s ridiculous. he tries to laugh at himself about it—tries to brush it off as overthinking, bad timing, jiung’s unpredictability.
but it sits under his skin anyway.
it happens one afternoon during a break when they’re sprawled across the practice room floor. jiung is leaning against the mirrors, half asleep, and taeyang is scrolling beside him.
jiung nudges taeyang’s knee with his foot.
“tae-bear,” he mumbles, “wake me in ten.”
“why do i have to be your alarm clock?” taeyang complains, but he still nods.
intak, lying with an arm flung across his face, hears the nickname and feels something in his chest tug—so soft it barely counts as feeling.
he sits up, stretches, and pretends to check his phone.
jiung notices him and brightens immediately.
for a split second, intak’s heart leaps stupidly.
then jiung continues, ““intak!” do you have a portable charger? mine’s dead.”
just his name.
his real, government name.
plain. clean. simple.
intak tosses the charger to him and laughs like nothing inside him deflated at all.
but when jiung catches it and smiles — that familiar, lazy, heart shaped smile — the air around him feels heavier than it should.
he doesn’t like that. doesn’t like that someone’s voice can make him feel both full and hollow at the same time.
he forces himself to stretch more aggressively, like he can wrench the feeling out of his muscles.
he’s fine.
he’s fine.
but every time jiung says someone else’s nickname in that soft, warm tone — the one intak secretly, stupidly wants directed at him — he feels something twist tight in his stomach.
and every time jiung says, “intak,” in his usual bright, unaffected voice something twists tighter in his chest.
the first person to notice is keeho.
it happens outside the elevator after a long schedule, everyone half dead and crumpled against the walls, waiting to get up to their dorm. the fluorescent lights flicker overhead, jongseob is humming nonsense under his breath, shota is silently eating a chocolate bar he stole, and jiung is texting someone with that intense, focused face he gets when he’s crafting a lengthy paragraph.
keeho eyes intak slumped in the corner, arms crossed, gaze fixed somewhere near the elevator buttons.
“you okay?” keeho asks quietly.
“yeah great.”
intak doesn’t even look over.
keeho raises an eyebrow.
“really? because you’ve been acting like someone’s wronged you for days.”
“no,” intak says, too fast. “i’m not. everything’s fine.”
“uh huh.”
intak scowls at the floor.
keeho presses. “did someone say something to you?”
“no.”
“did you do something?”
“no.”
“is jiung bothering you?”
intak freezes.
keeho notices instantly.
“oh,” he says softly. “so it’s jiung.”
“IT’S—not—” intak sputters, rubbing a hand over his face. “it’s literally nothing.”
keeho gives him that look — the one that’s half stern leader, half exhausted older sibling.
“intak, i know you,” he says. “you always get weird when it comes to—”
“stop,” intak mutters.
keeho stops. not because he wants to — but because the elevator doors finally open and jiung immediately steps up to them, grinning.
“kee! intak! let’s go!”
keeho sighs. “don’t call me—”
but jiung is already pushing him into the elevator.
intak watches the gesture happen. watches the nickname float through the air.
his stomach clenches.
keeho glances back at him. his expression softens.
“talk to me later, okay?” he mouths.
intak looks away like the floor is suddenly fascinating.
he doesn’t talk later.
but others keep noticing.
taeyang catches him zoning out during dinner.
shota notices him sighing at his phone for no reason.
even jongseob asks with a gentle frown, “hyung, are you feeling down lately?”
intak denies everything.
but jiung?
jiung doesn’t notice a thing.
and that was the worst part of all.
it finally happens during the most mundane moment imaginable.
they’re at the dorm. it’s late. everyone is scattered around the living room — shota playing a game on the couch, jongseob reading on the side, taeyang channel surfing, keeho searching for his headphones.
intak is on the floor, half lying beside the coffee table while scrolling through his phone. he’s tired. mentally chewed up. his chest feels tight in that annoying, restless way where something needs to come out—
and then jiung walks in with a bowl of cut fruit.
he drops onto the couch, brushing against intak’s shoulder in the process.
“hey, tae-bear, catch.”
he tosses taeyang a grape.
“thanks,” he says without looking away from the tv.
jiung nudges jongseob with his foot.
“jongster, want an apple?”
he accepts one with a smile.
then jiung turns to intak.
and intak’s heart stupidly lifts in his chest — ridiculously, pathetically hopeful.
jiung holds out a piece of melon.
“here, intak.”
just his name.
just intak.
something inside of him finally snaps like the end of a frayed rope.
he sits up abruptly.
“what’s wrong with me?”
jiung blinks. “huh?”
intak’s ears feel hot. “nothing. i mean — not me. it’s just—” he gestures aggressively at the room. “you gave everyone else nicknames.”
shota looks up. taeyang freezes mid chew. jongseob puts his bookmark in. keeho slowly lowers the headphones he finally found.
jiung tilts his head. “yeah?”
“yeah,” intak echoes, feeling stupid even as his chest aches. “everyone but me.”
jiung’s brows lift. “oh.”
“oh? that’s all you have to say?”
jongsoeb coughs to hide a laugh. keeho elbows him.
jiung stares at intak for a long moment — really looking at him for the first time in days — confusion softening into something gentler.
“do you want one…?” jiung asks quietly.
“no,” intak snaps, too fast.
“i mean—maybe.”
he groans into his hands. “i don’t know. forget it.”
jiung sets the fruit bowl down slowly.
“intak,” he says, but it’s softer than usual.
more careful.
more aware.
and intak hates how that tone alone almost makes him want to cry.
jiung moves closer — not a big movement, just a small shuffle on the couch — but it draws every gaze in the room.
the other members don’t even try to look away.
jiung leans forward, elbow resting on his knee, studying intak with worried eyes.
“you really thought i was ignoring you?” he asks quietly.
intak stares at the table. “it felt like it.”
jiung breathes out slowly. then:
“i didn’t give you a nickname because i like your name.”
intak’s head lifts.
jiung continues, voice barely above a murmur:
“it’s… yours. and it suits you more than anything else would.”
something warm flickers behind his eyes, soft enough to make intak’s breath catch.
“when i say your name,” jiung says, “it feels like—” he hesitates, cheeks going faintly pink. “I don’t know. like i’m calling you, the real you, not some version of you i made up.”
intak blinks.
his heart is a fist tightening and loosening all at once.
“i didn’t know it mattered to you,” jiung adds, quieter. “but if you want a nickname… i can think of one. just say the word.”
intak’s chest feels too full, too warm, too seen.
he shakes his head.
“no,” he says softly. “it’s fine. i just didn’t want to feel left out.”
jiung smiles — small, relieved, bright in that specific jiung way that always punches air from intak’s lungs.
“i would never leave you out,” he murmurs.
and then, very gently, like it’s the easiest truth in the world:
“i like your name the most.”
the room goes silent.
taeyang clears his throat. shota mutters “wow” under his breath. keeho looks like he wants to clap and cry and leave simultaneously. jongseob just stares, mouth agape.
intak feels his throat tighten.
his cheeks warm.
his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
“oh,” he whispers.
jiung leans back, still smiling. “yeah.”
and just like that—
the ache dissolves.
the next morning, the dorm is slow and quiet in that warm, weekend lazy way. sunlight spills through the kitchen window, there’s soft music playing in the background and the air smells like toasted bread and the faint citrus of dish soap.
intak wanders in wearing sweatpants and a hoodie that definitely wasn’t his, hair flattened on one side. he’s still rubbing sleep from his eyes when he hears a shuffle at the counter.
jiung’s there.
shifting awkwardly on his feet.
intak blinks. “are you okay…?”
jiung flinches, turning towards the fridge. “yeah, just grabbing something to eat. like a normal person.”
“right...”
then jiung clears his throat. a little too loudly.
“well—uh.” he stares straight ahead. “good morning… uh… takkie. did you sleep well?”
silence.
intak freezes mid step.
jiung is still facing the fridge door, absolutely refusing to make eye contact.
“what did you just call me? takkie?” intak asks carefully, like he’s checking on a wild animal.
jiung winces. “maybe?”
“why?”
“last night you said you didn’t want a nickname, but i was thinking what if you did want one but were just embarrassed to say you wanted one—”
“jiung.”
“—and i didn’t want you to feel left out anymore, because everyone does have one—”
“jiung.”
“—and your name is perfect but i wanted to try because it seemed like something you wanted—”
“jiung.”
jiung finally turns toward him.
and oh.
he looks mortified.
red to his ears, shoulders tense, fingers gripping a yogurt cup like it was a stress toy.
“i tried,” he says weakly.
intak just stares at him for a beat, the absurdity of the situation washing over him like warm water.
then he bursts out laughing.
it’s bright, sudden, unrestrained — the kind of laughter that bends him forward and scrunches his eyes shut.
jiung’s cheeks go even redder.
“i knew it,” he groans, covering his face. “it’s stupid. forget i said anything.”
“no—no, wait,” intak wheezes between laughs. “i just — takkie? you came up with that?”
“i panicked!” jiung whines. “all the good ones were taken!”
intak walks over and gently pries jiung’s hands from his face.
jiung looks at him, embarrassed and earnest and way too adorable for intak’s heart to handle before breakfast.
“you don’t have to force yourself,” intak murmurs. “i really do like when you call me by my name.”
jiung searches his face for a second, uncertainty softening into something warm and relieved.
“yeah?” he asks quietly.
“yeah.”
intak smiles — slow, lopsided, entirely sincere.
“it’s my favorite when you say it.”
jiung goes pink again.
“okay, then i’ll stick with that.”
intak nods. “good.”
jiung exhales like he’s been holding that breath all morning.
but then—just as intak reaches for the toaster—jiung suddenly blurts:
“takinator?”
intak stops dead.
“no.”
“tiktak”
“no.”
“tak…man?”
“absolutely not.”
jiung wilts dramatically over the counter. “i’m trying to be creative”
“stop that.”
jiung sighs, then brightens, leaning his chin into his palm.
“fine,” he murmurs. “i’ll just stick with your name.”
“good,” intak says again, fighting a smile.
and jiung, quiet and genuine, repeats it under his breath like a soft confession:
“intak.”
and this time —
this time it doesn’t feel plain.
it feels perfect.
intak’s cheeks warm.
his heart does that dangerous fluttering thing.
he turns away quickly before jiung can see.
but jiung sees.
he always sees.