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Minho is fine.
Minho is definitely fine.
No he’s not.
What do you mean Kim Seungmin deliberately faked a smooching sound?
What do you mean Kim Seungmin leaned in, a ghost of breath separating his cheek from his lips, and he faked it?
Like he didn’t pretend to get an ick on show, for the cameras, for the fans, for everyone else’s delusional takes. Trying to feign a reaction from the other members as well like he wasn’t the one who asked Seungmin to be his active lip service.
Minho is not fine.
But Minho doesn’t show it. He’s not the type to fuss over small things like this. He gets plenty of kisses from all of his members after all! Kim Seungmin isn’t someone special for being the one to neglect his rightfulness of planting kisses affectionately.
The fanmeet all blurred within the past few days, and Minho, is internally finally dreading on the settling feeling that’s been buried within his mind for the past couple of years; hoping it would eventually die down, but it’s clearly resurfacing.
He is downbad for Kim Seungmin.
Why else would he do a temper tantrum on stage, only for Kim Seungmin, sitting so poised on his chair, not get any reaction out of him?
It’s a challenge.
He’s being ragebaited. And he’s falling for it.
He’s being dragged into Seungmin’s game, and he’s having the time of his life.
“Hyung,” Jisung shakes his shoulders, “you’re missing the toothbrush.”
Minho looks down. The toothpaste is a mess, smeared all around the sink as the water continues running.
Minho scrapes the bit of toothpaste onto his brush.
“Fuck, say it ain’t so, Sungie,” Minho grumbles as he brushes his teeth too hard, which bends the bristles.
“Say it ain’t what?” Jisung reaches for his skincare pouch.
“Nothing,” he gargles.
Minho scrolls through social media.
It flashbangs him.
The video.
Him. Seungmin.
Minho looks at his own reaction, eyes boring a hole through his screen. His cheekiness is definitely not playing it off. During that moment, he felt so giddy inside that he had to naturally play it off with disgust.
But there was that missing feeling. Of contact.
Minho rewinds. The video is somehow louder than he anticipated.
Seungmin, bearer of plump lips, sneaks up behind him, also watching that same angle.
“Everyone really got a good view, huh.” He comments. So nonchalant.
Minho squeaks, fumbling his phone, but he manages to steady.
“Yah! Can you stop sneaking up so ominously?” Minho’s cheek pinken, locking his phone.
“Honestly, it looked believable.” Seungmin perks, he’s still wearing that dumb varsity jacket that never fails to ooze his cool, charismatic side.
Minho tries not to stare so badly, imagining rated scenarios of Seungmin in that varsity jacket.
“You and that teasing manner of yours,” Minho scoffs.
“I mean, you didn’t think I would actually kiss you—” Seungmin starts, before he catches himself on the implication, “—did you?” He raises an eyebrow.
“O-Of course. Not!” Minho sputters the last word a second too late.
So much for being obvious.
“Wouldn’t wanna ruin my delicate face with your grubby lips.” Minho fights back.
“I think the fans all know what an honour it is for me even to be the one kissing,” Seungmin argues back, leaving Minho with a thought.
When Seungmin is a few rooms away, he hears Chan whistle.
“What in the… why do I hear background music?” Chan muses.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Minho unlocks his phone, trying to ignore Chan.
“Felt like I witnessed the start of the fanmeet all over again.” Chan giggles as he sits beside him. Another video of that moment appears in his timeline; this time, it was from a back angle.
And, damn. Minho feels himself redden.
“You guys look like you could act in dramas.” Chan ropes, when he watches it.
“Like you know how to play the part.”
Minho decides that’s enough social media, mumbling incoherent words to himself.
“Can you shut up?”
“‘Fraid I can’t do that. But Seungmin seems to know best how to. Want me to call him again—”
Minho’s already leaving the room, ears blushing with him.
Felix bumps into Minho in the hallway, but he rushes past him, confused. He looks to Chan.
“What was that?”
Chan just huffs lightly. “Love is in the air, as they quote.”
Felix watches Minho’s retreating figure, the way his ears practically glow through his hair.
“…Okay, love triangle teaser much,” Felix mutters, more to himself than to Chan.
Chan snorts. “Love triangle? Mate, that’s just Minho versus his own feelings.”
Felix pads over and drops onto the seat Minho abandoned, eyes flicking to the still‑open app on Chan’s phone.
The video replays automatically.
Seungmin leaning in, the fake smooch, the mic blocking what really happened, Minho’s exaggerated grimace that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Felix hums. “You’re evil for letting him spiral like that, you know.”
“Me?” Chan clutches his chest. “I’m just the supporting role. You saw how he bolted. That’s main character behaviour.”
Another angle of the same moment loads on Chan’s feed, comments buzzing with theories and heart emojis.
Felix squints. “You think Seungmin knows?”
Chan’s smile fades into something softer, more thoughtful.
“About Minho?” He shrugs, but there’s a knowing tilt to his lips.
“Seungmin’s not dumb. If he doesn’t know…” He nudges Felix with his elbow. “He’s definitely enjoying the game.”
Felix watches the screen one more time, then locks Chan’s phone for him.
“You’re both terrible,” he decides. “Just… don’t let him crash too hard, yeah?”
Chan exhales a quiet laugh, tipping his head back against the couch.
“I won’t,” he says. “I just wanna see how long it takes before one of them stops acting.”
Down the hall, Minho ducks into the first empty room he can find, pressing his back to the door.
His heart is still racing.
He squeezes his eyes shut, Seungmin’s voice replaying in his head: You didn’t think I would actually kiss you—did you?
Minho curses under his breath.
“Say it ain’t so,” he whispers to nobody this time, palms covering his burning face.
1.
It starts because Felix is bored.
“Hyung, we should do that couple dance challenge,” he chirps, shoving his phone between Minho and Seungmin. “You know, for STAYs. Super cute. Super viral.”
Minho gives one look at the screen and immediately shakes his head. “Nope.”
The choreography is simple enough, but the problem is obvious.
It ends with one person catching the other’s hand and pressing a kiss to their knuckles.
“Why not?” Seungmin asks, far too casually. “Scared you’ll mess up the steps?”
Minho scoffs. “Please. I can do that half-asleep.”
“Then do it,” Felix says, already backing away like a man who’s set a fire and wants to watch from a safe distance.
“Camera’s ready. I’ll just… pretend I’m not here.”
Minho’s about to protest again, but Seungmin is already standing, stretching his arms out.
“Come on,” Seungmin says, that small, infuriating smile tugging at his lips.
“Or are you scared of the ending?”
Minho rolls his eyes so hard it hurts. “You wish.”
They stand side by side in front of the phone, music cued up, Felix crouched behind the tripod like it’s a nature documentary and he’s waiting for the animals to interact.
The beat drops. Muscle memory carries Minho through—turn, step, shoulder brush. Seungmin’s hand finds his waist for just a second, and Minho pretends his heart doesn’t skip a full measure.
The chorus comes, and Seungmin almost trips, as he laughs.
“Focus,” Minho mutters, but he’s grinning, teeth on display.
Then the bridge comes, and Minho remembers too late how it ends.
Seungmin’s fingers thread through his as they spin. It’s just TikTok choreography, practiced by strangers—but it feels like they’ve done it a hundred times.
Minho’s breath catches. He’s supposed to lift their hands to Seungmin’s lips.
Seungmin beats him to it.
In the half-second before the final pose, Seungmin lifts Minho’s hand, turns his wrist just so, and presses the lightest, quickest kiss to his knuckles.
The music fades. The recording ends. No one moves.
Minho’s brain goes completely blank.
Felix is the first to make a noise—a strangled sound that might be a gasp or a laugh.
“Oh, that was… wow,” he says faintly. “Yup. STAYs are going to lose their minds.”
“Heck, I’m losing my mind right now.” Felix squealed.
Seungmin doesn’t let go of Minho’s hand right away. His thumb skims an idle circle against Minho’s skin, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
“You were right,” Seungmin says, voice soft but maddeningly steady.
“You can do it half-asleep.”
Minho forces himself to scoff, even as heat climbs up his neck.
“Could’ve done it better if someone didn’t improvise,” he mutters.
Seungmin finally releases his hand.
“Next take, then,” Seungmin says, eyes crinkling. “Unless you’re shy now.”
“Who’s shy?” Minho demands, ears already betraying him.
Felix raises a hand like a student in class. “Me. Secondhand. Can I go scream into a pillow before you do another take?”
Seungmin laughs, bright and carefree, and Minho pretends that’s the only reason his chest feels so full.
He grazes his knuckles. At least it made contact this time.
2.
It hits Minho hours after the fanmeeting, sometime between washing off his makeup and scrolling aimlessly on his phone.
He’s lying on the dorm couch, phone held above his face, when a clip appears on his timeline. SKZOO segment.
PuppyM. Leebit.
He already feels his stomach twist.
The video auto-plays, sound up just enough that he can hear the MC laughing, the fans squealing. The staff had handed them the mascots and told them to “do something cute.”
Something cute. Right.
Onscreen, PuppyM and Leebit are facing each other, handlers barely off-camera. Leebit’s long ears droop as PuppyM tilts his head, paws up like he’s about to confess. The staff had whispered to make a scene.
“And then you made them hold hands,” Minho mutters to himself, watching as PuppyM’s paw shyly slides into Leebit’s.
PuppyM looks shy, the MC had joked.
Leebit too, someone else had chimed in.
On the video, PuppyM lifts their joined paws and gives a tiny, exaggerated shake, as if he’s nervous. Leebit tilts his head and leans in until their foreheads bump.
The fans had screamed.
Minho’s heart had done something very similar.
Watching it now—just him, his phone, and his stupidly cooperative heart—it feels… different. Too on the nose.
He’s so focused he doesn’t hear footsteps until a knee nudges the couch by his hip.
“Still watching fanmeet stuff?” Seungmin’s voice slides easily into the quiet.
Minho jumps, nearly dropping his phone on his face.
“Can you stop sneaking up like a horror sound effect?” Minho grumbles, pressing the screen to his chest for a second, as if that’ll hide anything.
Seungmin ignores the complaint and reaches anyway, prying the phone gently from Minho’s fingers.
The video is still playing, the screen frozen on PuppyM and Leebit mid-head-bump.
“Oh,” Seungmin says, a smile already curling at his mouth. “This part.”
He drops down next to Minho, their shoulders almost touching. The cushions dip under his weight, and Minho’s body leans toward him automatically before he forces himself to sit straighter.
“You really made them do a couple confession,” Seungmin snorts. “STAYs are never letting that go.”
“I made them?” Minho scoffs. “You were the one shaking their hands together like a priest at a wedding.”
Seungmin taps the screen, rewinding a few seconds.
PuppyM fidgets. Leebit leans in. Their heads bump. The audio glitches with the screams.
Seungmin laughs—properly laughs this time, head tipping back, eyes crinkling. The sound is bright and warm, tugging at Minho’s heartstrings.
“Look at you,” Seungmin says, nodding toward the clip. “Leebit’s practically shaking. That’s you.”
Minho bristles. “I do not shake.”
“You do.” Seungmin turns the phone so Leebit’s fumbling paw is inches from Minho’s face. “See? That’s exactly how you looked when I leaned in earlier.”
Minho’s ears burn immediately. “I was acting.”
“Sure,” Seungmin hums, unconvinced. “Just like this guy.” He points to PuppyM again.
The absurdity of it hits Minho all at once—him, a fully grown adult, being roasted via his own mascot for being flustered over a fake kiss.
The laugh punches out of him before he can stop it.
“Shut up,” he wheezes, even as his shoulders shake.
Seungmin’s grin widens, delighted that he’s broken through.
They watch the clip again, this time already braced for the cutesy choreography. Seungmin mimics Leebit’s head tilt, leaning closer to Minho on the couch.
“Hyung,” he says in his best mascot voice, overly soft, “let’s do what they did.”
Minho chokes on air.
“Absolutely not.”
“Why? It’s literally us.” Seungmin bumps his shoulder lightly. “We’ll give PuppyM and Leebit closure.”
“Closure?” Minho repeats, incredulous.
Seungmin nudges him once more, then tilts his forehead until it gently taps Minho’s temple, just like the mascots.
The contact is brief and stupidly soft.
Minho splutters, half-gasp, half-laugh, shoving at Seungmin’s shoulder—but he doesn’t actually move away.
“You’re so annoying,” he says, a little breathless.
“And you’re so jumpy,” Seungmin counters easily.
Seungmin’s arm ends up stretched along the back of the couch, close enough that his fingers brush the edge of Minho’s shoulder whenever either of them shifts. Minho keeps pretending he doesn’t notice.
Onscreen, SKZOO stumble through their last pose and break into giggles.
“Quick, take a picture!” Someone whispers, hushed in the dark hallway.
“Ow! Jisung, don’t push me!”
3.
The practice room is a mess in the way it always is when all eight of them are in one place.
Hyunjin is sprawled on the floor like a dying swan.
Chan and Changbin are arguing over counts in front of the mirror, Jisung is half-rapping, half-yelling his own ad-libs over the speaker, and Felix is filming everything for “content” while Jeongin sips an iced drink like he’s at the cinema.
Minho and Seungmin are off to the side, running through the same eight counts again, shadows moving in sync in the mirror.
“Again,” Minho says.
“Perfectionist,” Seungmin mutters, but he’s smiling.
“Okay, I’m bored,” Hyunjin announces suddenly, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Hwang Fairy is open for business. One wish each. I am granting dreams.”
“Your dream is to skip stretching,” Changbin says flatly, not even turning around.
“Shut up and believe in magic, Bin,” Hyunjin huffs.
Jeongin perks up immediately. “Any wish?”
“As long as it’s funny,” Hyunjin replies. “Or cute. Or both.”
Jisung bounces over, already grinning. “I wish Chan-hyung would admit I’m his favourite.”
Chan doesn’t miss a beat. “That’s already true, though?”
The room erupts in laughter, and it leaves Jisung in a flushed mess.
“See?” Hyunjin sighs dramatically. “I already granted one without even doing anything.”
Jeongin leans down to whisper something.
“Make Minho-hyung and Seungmin re-enact the fanmeeting kiss.”
Hyunjin’s gaze follows his, lips curling. “Oh?”
Felix, who has absolutely heard that, zooms his camera in on them. “This sounds promising.”
A few minutes later, Chan finally calls for a proper break.
“Five minutes,” he says. “Hydrate. Stretch. Don’t die.”
The members scatter. Minho slides down the wall until he’s sitting, back hitting the mirror, towel around his neck. Seungmin drops beside him, their knees bumping lightly.
“Water,” Seungmin offers, passing him a bottle.
“Thanks,” Minho mutters, trying not to focus on how their fingers brush.
Before the sudden awareness can settle too deep, Hyunjin claps once, loud enough to echo.
“Group activity!” he announces. “Making wishes come true: SKZ edition.”
“Oh no,” Chan groans.
“Oh yes,” Jisung counters, already invested.
“What now?” Changbin asks, resigned.
“For this session, I got a special incoming request!” Hyunjin points to Seungmin and Minho.
“Re-enact that fanmeeting kiss!” Hyunjin starts.
“Without any blocking.”
The room explodes except for Seungmin and Minho.
“And why would I deliberately put myself in that position again?” Seungmin snickers.
Minho tries not to imagine too hard, but it doesn’t help that his mind is already running through courses.
“For content. For our SKZ-behind!” Felix enthused, camera at hand.
“Hey, look at Minho,” Chan points out next to Changbin, giggling between themselves.
Minho is slowly shrinking in on himself; his hoodie has covered his face.
Actually, due to the reason he’s so obvious when it came to redness showing on his facial features.
“Minho-hyung’s not objecting,” Jisung points out, cheeky smirk displayed on his face.
That finally catches Minho’s attention.
“A-Absolutely not! I was just—” Minho sputters.
“It’ll be a goldmine for STAY’s. The ending closure.” Jeongin reasons.
“What closure does this even give?” Seungmin argues, hands crossed.
“The closure in my fanfic—” Chan’s cut off when Jisung hurls over the room to shut him up.
“What did he just say?” Minho looks over to the two play-fighting.
“Ignore them.” Changbin looks over to see Chan being restrained.
“Just do it! Just a quick peck!” Felix eggs them on, ignoring the background wails of Chan getting nibbled by Jisung.
“Like Seungmin here is actually gonna do it again—”
Smooch
Everyone in the room pauses.
Jeongin’s mouth opens agape.
Chan and Jisung take a second to function.
Felix and Hyunjin clasp their open mouth with diva hands.
“Wait, what—do it again, I blinked." Changbin relents.
“Nope. Whoever saw it, saw it.” Seungmin cheekily smiles. And beside him, Minho is a full beetroot.
“WAIT, DO IT AGAIN PLEASE. I NEED IT FOR HOW I’M GONNA WRITE THIS KISS SCEN—” Jisung is knocked out by Chan this time, the two out of three racha trio having occupied everyone’s attention for their constant fumbling.
While the chaos ensues, Seungmin looks beside Minho.
“Are my lips grubby still or…?”
“Shut up. Please.”
4.
The recording booth is dim and familiar, all soft lamp light and blinking LEDs, the air heavy with that mix of dust and warmth and leftover autotune.
Minho’s been here a thousand times.
It’s never felt like this.
“Okay, last harmony section,” Changbin’s voice crackles through the talkback. “Minho-hyung, you go first, then Seungmin, then we’ll stack.”
Minho adjusts his headphones, fingers fidgeting with the cable. Through the glass, he can see Changbin leaning back in the producer chair, one hand on the keyboard, and Jisung perched on the armrest, legs swinging, eyes bright.
Seungmin stands beside Minho in the booth, shoulder just close enough to graze his arm whenever either of them breathes too deep.
“Ready?” Jisung grins, wiggling his fingers in a tiny, chaotic wave. “This cover’s gonna eat.”
“Focus on your levels, not your metaphors,” Changbin mutters, but he’s smiling.
The track rolls.
Minho’s part comes first—smooth, practiced.
He slips into it easily, muscle memory and years of training doing the work. His voice sits right on top of the backing track, steady.
But he can feel Seungmin there in his peripheral vision, humming along under his breath, catching the words as if they’re already his.
“Nice,” Changbin says when Minho finishes, hitting stop. “Clean. One more for safety, then we’ll punch Seungmin in.”
Of course he phrases it like that.
“Punch me in?” Seungmin repeats, deadpan. “Violence in the studio.”
Minho huffs a quiet laugh, the tension in his chest easing for a second.
They run it again. Minho’s take lands just as solid. And Seungmin is staring a little too dreamlike.
“What?” Minho asks, a beat late.
“Nothing,” Seungmin says, lips twitching. “I keep forgetting how much I really do love when you sing, hyung.”
Minho stutters. God.
He might age faster if he stays with Seungmin any longer.
Huh.
Growing old with Seungmin. Minho starts to daydream.
“Flattery will not get you out of high notes,” Changbin cuts in, hitting play again, and it breaks Minho from his delusions.
“Seungmin, your turn. Let’s go from the pre-chorus.”
Seungmin lifts his headphones fully on, closing his eyes for a second as the instrumental swells.
When he comes in, it’s seamless—his tone slots under Minho’s like it was made to be there.
Minho shouldn’t be surprised. He never is. But every time, it still hits.
Jisung’s head starts bobbing immediately. “Ugh, that blend. Main vocal behaviour.”
Changbin’s already nodding along, fingers dancing over the knobs. “Yeah, that texture on ‘stay with me’—keep that. One more take and then we’ll do both of you together.”
“Together?” Minho repeats before he can stop himself.
The third take hits even better. Seungmin’s vibrato sits right at the end of Minho’s line, almost like an answer.
“Great,” Changbin says, satisfied. “Now we do the fun part.”
“Fun part?” Jisung echoes. “The secret weapon part.”
Seungmin glances at Minho, then at the glass.
“What did you two cook up?” Minho demands.
Jisung lifts both hands innocently. “We just thought, you know, for the last chorus… try a closer mic position. Little more intimacy. For the fans. For art.”
“For the chaos,” Changbin mutters.
Either way, he’s already wheeling his chair forward, pressing the talk button again.
“Step closer to the mic, both of you,” Changbin instructs. “Share it. I want you practically breathing the same air on that final ‘stay.’ It needs to feel like a confession.”
“This is literally only a recording. What even does this have to do with anything?” Minho sputters, keeping the heat in his cheeks contained.
But, of course. Seungmin is a relentless little shit.
“Oh come on, hyung. We’ve gotten close enough to be comfortable.” Seungmin smirks.
Minho resists the urge to laugh hysterically.
They shuffle forward until they’re both framed by the same pop filter. It’s a tight squeeze—Minho can feel the warmth of Seungmin’s arm from shoulder to wrist, their elbows almost brushing.
“This is ridiculous,” Minho mutters.
“Little more to the left,” Changbin says. “No, Minho, your left. There. Good. Now don’t move. If you bump the mic, we’re redoing it.”
“Don’t mess up, hyung,” Jisung sing-songs.
“I am going to turn off your ad-libs permanently,” Minho threatens, but there’s no real heat in it.
The track cues again.
This time, Minho can hear every breath Seungmin takes.
They trade lines, voices weaving around each other. On instinct, Minho leans in a fraction when he hits his sustained note, eyes closing, trusting the muscle memory.
He only realizes how close they are when he opens his eyes on the held harmony and sees Seungmin’s mouth right there, inches away.
The last “stay with me” lands perfectly in sync.
“Beautiful,” Changbin says, awed despite himself. “One more for—”
“Wait,” Jisung cuts in. “Keep them there.”
There’s a shuffle, a muted scuffle sound in the control room.
“Don’t move,” Jisung adds, suspiciously eager. “I have… an idea.”
“That’s never good,” Minho mutters under his breath.
The talkback clicks again.
“Okay,” Jisung says, all faux-professional.
“For this last one, think… music video ending. Like, the emotional payoff shot.”
“What does that even mean?” Minho asks.
“Means feelings,” Changbin says. “You two have plenty. Use them.”
Seungmin snorts softly, shoulders shaking against Minho’s.
“Just—look at each other more,” Jisung insists. “Don’t just stare at the lyrics. Pretend the mic is… I don’t know, some boundary you’re debating crossing.”
Minho would like to file a complaint.
Instead, he exhales slowly and lifts his gaze.
Seungmin is already watching him.
The instrumental swells again.
They sing.
This time, there’s no space to hide—every note feels heavier, threaded with something that’s been simmering between them since the fanmeet.
The final line hits—stay with me—and they nail the harmony so clean even Minho gets chills.
Silence hangs for a second.
“Don’t move,” Changbin says quietly.
It’s not an order, exactly. More like a held breath.
Minho can feel his own pulse in his throat.
They’re still sharing the mic, breaths mingling, headphones slightly askew. Seungmin’s eyes flick down to Minho’s mouth, just for a heartbeat, then back up.
Minho swallows.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Seungmin says softly.
“What thing,” Minho whispers back.
“Getting shy.”
It’s stupid how fast the words hit.
Minho opens his mouth to deny it—of course he does—but before he can get a single syllable out, Seungmin leans in the tiniest bit more.
“We’re still recording, you know,” Minho manages, voice barely above a breath.
“Mm.” Seungmin’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Then let’s give them something to hear.”
Minho blinks. “Hear wh—”
He doesn’t get to finish.
Seungmin turns his head just enough and presses his lips to the corner of Minho’s mouth—barely off-centre, not quite a full kiss, but nowhere near as safe as a cheek.
It’s quick, soft, so real that Minho’s hand curls into a fist at his side.
Through the headphones, he hears Jisung shriek.
“BRO.”
Changbin makes a noise that’s somewhere between a cough and a laugh. “Did that—did that just pick up on the mic?”
Felix isn’t even here and Minho can hear his future cackle in his head.
Seungmin pulls back half an inch, eyes searching Minho’s face.
“Sorry,” he says quietly, though he doesn’t look sorry at all. “That one wasn’t for content.”
Minho’s brain static-screens.
“You—you just—”
“Hyung?” Jisung’s voice crackles through the talkback, way too entertained. “You good?”
“No,” Minho says honestly.
Jisung bursts out laughing.
Changbin clears his throat, toggling a few switches like he’s giving them a second to breathe.
“Take five,” he says. “Water, snack, existential crisis break. Whatever you need.”
The track stops.
The little red RECORD light above the booth door finally clicks off.
Minho doesn’t move.
His cheek still feels warm where Seungmin’s mouth brushed too close, where it could’ve been a full kiss if either of them had leaned in a fraction more.
Seungmin lifts a hand, hesitates, then gently adjusts Minho’s headphones, like that was the only reason he’d stepped in.
“See?” he murmurs, a tiny smile pulling at his lips. “Told you the studio was good for intimacy.”
Minho lets out a weak laugh.
“You’re unbelievable,” he says, ears burning.
“Fourth time’s the charm,” Seungmin replies, too casually.
Minho blinks. “Fourth?”
Jisung’s voice explodes through the talkback, completely ruining the moment.
“HELLO? CAN YOU GUYS STOP BEING MAIN CHARACTERS FOR ONE SECOND, I’M STARVING, LET’S ORDER CHICKEN.”
Changbin snorts. “Yeah, wrap up your drama scene, we’ve got adlibs to record.”
Seungmin steps back with a soft huff of laughter, but his eyes don’t lose that lingering brightness, moving to the booth door.
Minho watches him go, pulse still loud in his ears.
+1
Movie night starts like any other chaos.
The living room is a battlefield of blankets and limbs.
Chan’s laptop is hooked up to the TV, Felix has claimed the middle of the couch with a giant bowl of popcorn, Jisung is already whining about snacks, and Hyunjin is arguing passionately about picking something with “actual plot and good lighting.”
Minho, unfortunately, is stuck on the far end of the couch. Right next to Seungmin.
Of course.
“Cinema experience!” Felix chirps, dimming the lights. “Welcome to SKZ Theatres.”
“Refund,” Changbin says immediately, though he still grabs a cushion and kicks Jisung until he makes space.
Jeongin pads in last, balancing cans of soda against his chest. “I almost died getting these,” he announces, dropping two into Minho’s lap. “You’re welcome.”
“Such a good maknae,” Minho hums, patting his arm.
Seungmin doesn’t say anything, but Minho can feel his gaze for a second. Warm. Knowing.
They eventually settle on some romantic comedy because Hyunjin and Jisung team up and the others are too tired to fight it.
“Love, but make it funny,” Jisung says sagely.
“Relatable,” Chan deadpans.
The movie starts. Opening credits. Soft music. City lights. A pair of leads bump into each other in slow motion.
“Fake,” Minho mutters.
He feels Seungmin’s shoulder brush his.
“You like this stuff,” Seungmin says quietly.
“Excuse me?”
“Dramas,” Seungmin clarifies, leaning in just enough that his breath fans Minho’s ear. “Slow burn. Pining. Dense main characters, like you.”
Minho pointedly pops popcorn into his mouth instead of responding.
Onscreen, the leads are arguing about feelings. Offscreen, Minho’s brain is arguing with itself.
Four times.
Fanmeet. Hand kiss. Practice room. Recording booth.
Four times Seungmin crossed the invisible line.
“And you’re just gonna sit here like a background extra?” his own thoughts hiss.
His fingers drum restlessly against his thigh.
Next to him, Seungmin shifts, the couch dipping as he relaxes back. Their knees bump again.
Minho exhales.
He doesn’t move away.
“Mong,” he says under his breath.
Seungmin’s head tilts, just slightly.
Minho keeps his eyes trained on the screen.
“Mong mong.”
There’s a pause.
But then…
“Mong mong mong.”
Seungmin’s lips twitch.
From the floor, Jisung squints up at them. “Is… is he short-circuiting?”
“That’s just hyung making dog noises,” Jeongin says, cracking open his soda.
“He does that all the time.”
“Yeah, but that was, like, full conversation length,” Chan points out.
Hyunjin shushes them. “People are talking about love on screen, respect the art.”
Minho pointedly ignores all of them.
He risks a sideways glance.
Seungmin is already looking at him.
“Mong,” Minho repeats, softer this time.
He lets the weight of it sit in the air between them.
Seungmin’s eyes soften like he’s translating in real time.
Quietly—so quietly only Minho hears—Seungmin answers.
“Mong-mong,” he says back.
Jisung sits up a little. “Okay, seriously, what level of telepathy—”
“Secret language,” Felix whispers, delighted. “This is like a nature documentary. Look at them in their natural habitat.”
Changbin tosses a popcorn kernel at his head. “Watch the movie.”
Onscreen, the main couple finally confesses under a streetlamp.
“See, just say it,” Hyunjin mutters. “So dramatic for what.”
Seungmin huffs a laugh under his breath.
“Minho-hyung,” he murmurs, eyes on the TV, voice low enough not to carry. “You’re really doing this now?”
Minho’s heart lurches.
“Mong mong,” he says.
He doesn’t have actual words for it. Not in front of the others. Not with his chest this tight.
Mong mong mong means a lot of things depending on the day.
Right now, it means: Do you get it? Do you see what I’m trying to say?
Seungmin’s hand shifts on the couch between them. His pinky brushes Minho’s.
“Mong,” Seungmin replies, steady.
Minho swallows.
He forces his face to stay neutral, eyes still on the glowing TV.
You do get it, he realizes. You’ve gotten it this whole time.
The movie swells into some cheesy montage. City lights, holding hands, almost-kisses.
“Wow, they’re really idiots in love,” Felix says around a mouthful of popcorn.
“Relatable,” Jisung mutters.
“Who?” Chan asks. “Them or—”
Hyunjin kicks him lightly. “Focus.”
The room settles back into a soft hush.
Minho’s pulse is ridiculous.
He waits until the others are properly distracted—until Jisung is complaining about the second lead, until Changbin is mumbling about soundtrack mixing, until Felix is whispering something to Jeongin about scooters in the next vlog.
Then he leans in, just a fraction.
“Mong,” he says, barely audible.
He feels Seungmin turn his head the tiniest bit.
“Mong?” Seungmin answers, gentle.
Minho doesn’t overthink it this time.
He tilts his face, slow and deliberate, until his lips find Seungmin’s.
The first contact is clumsy.
Too much force, angle a little off—Minho’s nose bumps Seungmin’s cheek, and his hand flies up instinctively to steady himself against Seungmin’s chest.
Seungmin makes a startled sound in his mouth.
Jisung, on the floor, jerks upright. “Wha—”
Felix slaps a hand over his own mouth, eyes huge.
Minho’s first coherent thought is—Too late now.
His second is—He’s kissing me back.
Because Seungmin does.
He recovers fast—of course he does. His fingers curl lightly into the front of Minho’s hoodie, tugging him closer. The movie’s glow washes over them in soft colours as they fall into a messy, breath-stealing rhythm.
It’s not neat or pretty. Their teeth click once, Minho exhales a half-laugh against Seungmin’s mouth, and Seungmin chases it like it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.
Somewhere to their right, Changbin mutters, “Are they—are you kidding me,” but he doesn’t get up.
Chan makes a strangled noise. “In front of the Dolby surround sound?”
Hyunjin sputters, “At least wait for the credits—” but he’s not moving, either.
No one actually stops them.
Seungmin pulls back just a little, their lips still brushing.
His gaze drops, then lifts again, pupils blown wide.
“Mong,” he breathes.
Minho huffs out a shaky laugh.
“Mong mong,” he answers.
Then—because four times was Seungmin’s, and this one is his—Minho leans in and presses his mouth to Seungmin’s again, firmer this time.
Seungmin sighs into it, hand sliding up from Minho’s hoodie to the side of his neck.
His thumb grazes the soft skin just under Minho’s jaw.
Minho’s breath hitches.
The third kiss is where it unravels.
Seungmin tilts his head, deepening it, and Minho opens up for him without thinking. The kiss turns wetter, messier—less like a scene from the movie and more like something raw and real.
Minho’s hand finds Seungmin’s waist, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt to anchor himself.
He doesn’t even notice the way he’s leaning, half-turned toward Seungmin now, knees brushing, shoulders pressed flush.
Seungmin shifts again, mouth trailing off the corner of Minho’s.
He pauses just long enough for Minho to realize where this is going.
Then he ducks his head and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the side of Minho’s neck.
Right over his pulse.
Minho freezes.
The sound that leaves him is embarrassingly close to a whine.
Jisung yelps. “HELLO? RATING? WE DIDN’T APPROVE THIS RATING.”
Chan whistles low. “I feel like I should be paying for this, but I’m not complaining.”
Felix hides his face behind a cushion, peeking over the edge with wild eyes. “Oh my god.”
Hyunjin slaps a hand over Jeongin’s eyes. “Maknae censorship!”
Jeongin peels it off calmly. “Hyung, I’m an adult.”
“Not for this,” Hyunjin hisses, even as he keeps watching.
The room goes still except for Minho’s breathing and the quiet, wet sound of Seungmin’s mouth on his skin.
Seungmin’s lips linger, then he adds the faintest scrape of teeth, soothed with another slow, deliberate kiss.
Minho’s hand flies up, fingers trembling against Seungmin’s shoulder.
“M-Mong—” he manages, voice cracking.
Seungmin smiles against his neck.
“Mong what?” he murmurs.
Minho sucks in a breath.
“Mong… I like you, idiot,” he grits out.
There’s a beat of silence.
Then Seungmin laughs.
Soft. Disbelieving. Stupidly fond.
He lifts his head, eyes bright.
“Mong mong,” he says back.
Minho stares.
Seungmin bumps their foreheads together gently.
“Me too,” he translates.
There’s a collective groan from the rest of the room.
“Oh, now they say it,” Changbin complains.
“I’ve been living in a reality show without consent,” Chan mutters.
“When’s the rated sce—” Changbin throws a cushion at Chan.
“Do you hear yourselves?” Jisung wails. “Mong mong confession? I can’t use this in lyrics, I’ll get sued by dogs.”
Felix laughs so hard he nearly drops the popcorn. “This is the best cinema experience I’ve ever had.”
Felix snickers to himself when he thinks of it. “You could even say, absolute cinema.” He does the mock raised hands gesture.
Jeongin raises his soda can. “To our resident idiots in love.”
Hyunjin sighs dramatically. “Fine. The scene was kind of beautiful. Bad framing, though.”
Minho finally remembers to breathe.
His neck is still tingling. His lips are still swollen. His heart is doing cartwheels.
He looks at Seungmin.
Seungmin looks back like the movie is just background noise now.
“So,” Seungmin says quietly. “That’s your idea to confess? In front of everyone?”
Minho snorts, cheeks burning.
“Yeah,” he admits. “It is.”
He leans in again, just a quick press of lips this time—soft, sure, easy.
No more playing around fanservice. Or the idea of faking it.
Just them.
When he pulls back, he’s the one smiling first.
“Mong,” he says.
Seungmin’s answering grin is so bright it could outshine the paused TV.
“Mong mong,” he replies.
And surrounded by groans, cackles, and a half-finished movie, Minho figures this is the only kind of ending that ever made sense:
Silence hangs for half a second.
Then Chan, very helpfully, ruins it.
“So…” he says slowly, blinking at them from the other end of the couch. “Are we… clapping? Cheering? Subscribing to the Patreon? What’s the protocol here?”
“Soft-launch era is officially over,” Hyunjin announces, grabbing a cushion like it’s a mic.
“Hard launch boyfriend reveal in the group chat. I’m dropping screenshots.”
“Delete that sentence from your brain,” Minho warns.
“Too late,” Jisung says, fingers already flying over his phone.
“I’m tweeting ‘when your hyungs go from fanservice to fanFIC’—”
Changbin lunges for him. “HAND IT OVER. We can’t trend for this again.”