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The bell above the café door chimed your arrival, a soft counterpoint to the hiss of the espresso machine.
It was your sanctuary.
The one place between your disastrous 8 AM lecture and your soul-crushing shift at the campus library where you could just exist in peace.
You gave your usual nod to the barista, and he was already reaching for the oat milk.
“The usual?” he asked, a grin on his face.
“You know it,” you replied, fishing out your wallet to pay.
That’s when you saw him.
In the corner, tucked away like a secret, the boy with the sleepy eyes and the expensive-looking grey sweatshirt.
He was already sipping from a ceramic mug, a book open in front of him, but his gaze was fixed on the rain-streaked window.
You’ve never spoken to him, but you’ve noticed him a lot, ge always got the same thing as you.
Iced American with an extra shot of vanilla and oat milk.
Today, your barista messed up.
“Order for Juhoon!” the barista called, setting down two identical cups.
You were closest, so you grabbed the one with your name on it—or so you thought.
Scrawled in black sharpie was not your name, but the korean letters of *‘Juhoon’*.
Your heart did a weird little stutter, *Juhoon*, so that was his name.
Building up the courage to go up to him, you made your way to his table,
“Excuse me?” you said, walking over, cup in hand.
“I think we got swapped.”
He looked up, and up close, he was even more striking.
A sharp jawline, cute brown hair, and eyes so dark they seemed to pull you in.
“Oh,” he said, his voice a low, smooth rumble.
He looked at the cup in his hand, then at the one you were holding.
“Ah, I already drank from this one. Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine! You can just have my cup.”
He smiled then. A small, almost shy curve of his lips. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Same order anyway, right?” you shrugged, trying to play it cool even as your insides warmed.
“Okay,” he murmured, a hint of amusement in his eyes.
You walked back to your table, a little dazed, clutching his cup with his name on it.
For some reason, you didn’t throw it away.
———
The next morning, you woke up to chaos.
Your phone was a molten slag of notifications. Friends, sending you the same link to a Weverse post that had exploded overnight.
*‘Is no one talking about how CORTIS’s JUHOON had a GIRL’S NAME on his coffee cup, the cup has a name written on it! Is he dating someone?!’*
The photo was just a casual photo-dump, the kind people would post on instagram, and one specific photo showed Juhoon sipping from a cup with your name so visible on it.
Within an hour, your name was plastered across three Twitter hashtags. #WhoIsShe, #JuhoonsCup, and the terrifying #FindHer.
By noon, your phone rang.
You didn’t recognize the number, but the voice on the other end was crisp and terrifyingly professional.
“Hello, this is Manager Seok from BigHit Entertainment. We need to see you today. A car will be at your dormitory in thirty minutes.”
——
The BigHit building was a sleek monolith of glass and anxiety.
You were ushered into a sterile conference room where Manager Seok—a man with kind eyes and a steel spine—sat across from you.
A stack of papers lay on the table.
“You’re a college student,” she stated, not a question. “And this was an accident, of course.”
“Completely,” you confirmed, your voice a little shaky. “We just go to the same café, we’ve never even talked before.” you said defensively,
She nodded, sliding the papers toward you.
“We need you to sign a non-disclosure agreement. You will not speak about Juhoon, this meeting, or the café to anyone, in exchange…”
She named a figure.
And it was enough to pay your student loans, more than your parents’ car, It was basically life-changing money.
You didn’t hesitate and signed.
As Manager Seok walked you out, she paused in the sterile, white hallway. “Wait here. There’s… someone who wants to see you.”
Your heart hammered as heavy footsteps echoed. And then he appeared.
Juhoon.
But not the sleepy, grey-sweatshirt boy from the café.
This was an idol.
His brown hair was perfectly styled, his clothes designer, and his face was set in a hard mask of guilt.
He stopped a few feet away, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “I’m really sorry,” he said, his voice raw.
“You got dragged into this because of me. I should have been more careful.”
“It’s fine,” you said, and you meant it.
The money was already a warm, comforting blanket over your future afterall.
He looked unconvinced. “How can I repay you?”
It was a ridiculous question, asked by a ridiculously beautiful boy.
The absurdity of it all—the scandal, the NDAs, the hush money—made you bold.
“Maybe just treat me to a drink?” you said with a small, wry smile. “A coffee, maybe at another cafe…and no pictures this time!”
He blinked.
And then smiled. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and he looked, for a second, like the boy in the café again.
Your breath caught in your throat. Damn. That smile was a weapon of mass destruction.
“Okay,” he said, a new lightness in his voice. “How does Friday sound?”
“Sounds great,” your voice barely a whisper, your face suddenly burning.
——
Thursday night, you typed in ‘Juhoon from Cortis’ into the search bar and your brain promptly exploded.
He wasn’t just an idol.
He was *the* idol of the year.
A former child model who had been scouted at twelve,
trained for five grueling years and debuted as the center and main vocalist of Cortis, a group that had just sold out a world tour.
He had millions of followers, and his group had won awards you’d never heard of.
He was on variety shows, magazine covers, and had a net worth that made your student loan debt look like the price of a piece of candy.
The hush money suddenly made a terrifying amount of sense.
“Oh my god,” you thought, staring at a fancam of him dancing with electrifying precision.
———
Friday arrived with the weight of a thousand suns.
You walked into the café, half-expecting a team of saesangs to tackle you.
Instead, you just saw him, in the corner, with two iced americanos with oat milk and an extra shot of vanilla waiting on the table.
He stood up as you approached, a shy smile on his face. “Hey, you came.”
You slid into the seat across from him, your hands trembling slightly as you took the cup. “Hey, I uh, have a question first.”
He tilted his head.
“You’re… kind of a big deal, aren’t you?” you asked, gesturing vaguely.
“Oh so you’ve heard?”
“Being a child model, world tours and stuff…”
He let out a low laugh, a sound that was more boyish than you expected. “Yeah,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess it’s easy to forget in a place like this. I was a child model, then a trainee, now I’m in Cortis.”
“Wow,” you breathed, the full scope of it finally hitting you. “That’s just so cool.”
He looked at you and smiled again—that same, devastating smile—and your heart lurched in your chest.
You looked down at your coffee, flustered.
“So,” you said, desperate to change the subject before you combusted. “After this… do you want to link on WeChat?”
His smile widened. “I’d like that.”
———
A few days later, your phone buzzed with a message from a new contact: **Juhoon**
*‘Hey. My group has a show in Seoul this weekend. Nothing big, just a showcase. I can get you a VIP pass. Want to come?’*
You stared at the screen for a solid minute. Then you typed back: *Okay, ‘I’ll be there.’*
———
The day of the show, you felt like you were walking into a different dimension.
The venue was enormous.
The crowd was a sea of glowing light sticks, and when Cortis took the stage, you forgot how to breathe.
Juhoon was incandescent.
The sleepy-eyed boy from the café was gone, replaced by a creature of pure charisma and ecstasy.
His entire aura owned the stage, his voice soaring over the screaming fans, his movements sharp as a knife. Halfway through the second song, his gaze swept over the VIP section.
And found you.
He didn't wave, he didn't point, but he smiled. A private, knowing smile just for you.
You were frozen, your heart a hummingbird in your ribcage.
When the show ended, you were still dazed, trying to find the exit, when a harried-looking intern grabbed your arm.
“Hello, Juhoon-ssi asked to bring you to the back.”
You were dragged through a labyrinth of hallways, past security guards and stacks of equipment, and unceremoniously shoved into a dimly lit green room.
The members of Cortis were scattered around—drinking water, towel-drying their necks, reeking of hairspray and sweat, and in the middle was Juhoon.
He’d just pulled his jacket off, his hair damp and pushed off his face.
“Ooooooh,” one of the other members, a guy with a mischievous grin, immediately sang out. “So *this* is the coffee cup girl!”
“The one who got the NDA!” another one added, cackling. “Hyung, she’s cute!”
“Yeah, shut up!” Juhoon snapped, but his ears were turning a bit red.
He walked over, ignoring his group’s wolf-whistles. “Did you like the show?” he asked, his voice low.
“It was really cool! ” you admitted in awe.
He smiled, that shy one again, then he took a breath, his eyes locking onto yours.
The teasing from the other members faded into a distant buzz.
“Listen,” he said, his voice steady despite his red ears. “Would you… want to do this again? Go out, I mean. Like… a real date, just you and me.”
From the couch, all of the members yelled, “OOOOOOOOOH!”
Juhoon winced, but he didn't look away from you.
Your heart was screaming. Your brain was screaming louder. *He’s an idol and you’re some broke college student. You signed an NDA!*
But he was looking at you like you were something worth buying a million cups of coffee for.
“Are you sure?” you whispered, a bit skeptical,
He didn’t hesitate.
He stepped closer, and his hand—warm, a little calloused—found yours. He laced his fingers through yours and gave a small, firm squeeze.
“Yes,” he said, his smile turning tender.
The other members erupted into a chorus of ‘ooo’s and catcalls. The intern buried his face in his hands.
And you, surrounded by the chaos of his world, looked at your joined hands and then back up at his hopeful, beautiful face.
“Okay,” you said, and a grin of your own broke across your face. “Okay.” he replied smiling sweetly at you.
Behind Juhoon, Cortis started chanting.
And as he laughed, pulling you a little closer, you realized your boring life as a college student wasn’t gonna be so boring anymore.
And with your hand in his, you were absolutely fine with that.