EUN JAE-HYUNG
The van was packed tight for the first leg of the spotlight tour. Jiho was half-asleep with her headphones in, Hana was scrolling through setlists on her tablet like she was mentally reprogramming the universe, and Min-woo sat beside me, thigh pressed lightly against mine. Normally, that kind of contact would've been comforting. Today, it felt… vacant. Like he was holding his breath.
We passed a gas station blinking under the morning sun. I caught him staring out the window, his expression unreadable.
"You okay?" I asked quietly.
He offered me a half-smile. "Yeah. Just tired."
But his voice had no weight. It hovered, paper-thin.
I leaned in. "Tired, or avoiding something?"
He glanced at me, then quickly looked away. "Not now, Jae."
His words stung, not because they were harsh—but because they were distant. Detached. And it only got worse at the venue.
During sound check, the band that played before us was packing up. One of the stagehands—tall, athletic, way too charming for someone wearing cargo shorts—approached me to adjust the mic stand. He cracked a joke about lead singers being picky with their mic heights. I laughed. It wasn't even funny, but I laughed anyway. It felt good to be in a new space, performing for a new crowd.
What I didn't expect was the look on Min-woo's face from across the stage.
Tense. Jaw set. His hand gripped the neck of his guitar like he was about to snap it in two.
I frowned.
Later, while rewinding cables with Jiho backstage, he didn't even look my way. Not even a casual glance. It was as if I had vanished from his radar. And when I did try to approach him, all I got was a stiff nod, then silence.
We'd kissed. We'd admitted things. I thought we were… something.
Now it felt like we were strangers again.
---
KANG MIN-WOO
Jealousy crept in like a poison you couldn't detect at first.
I didn't want to be this guy. The clingy, possessive, insecure mess. But watching that stagehand lean close to Jae-hyung—laughing, grinning, like he knew him—like he could know him—it made my stomach churn.
Jae-hyung had always been magnetic. I wasn't the only one who noticed. But now that he was mine—or, I thought he was—I realized how exposed everything felt. How fragile the space between us really was.
He looked so at ease with that guy. Like there had never been a closet, or rumors, or anxiety. I'd never seen him that relaxed. Not with me. Not yet.
I told myself it wasn't jealousy. I told myself I was being ridiculous.
But when Jiho handed me another coil of cable and said, "You know he didn't mean anything by it, right?" I froze.
She raised an eyebrow. "Jae-hyung. With the stagehand."
I tried to shrug. "I didn't say anything."
"You didn't have to."
I sighed, frustrated. "It's not like I think he's cheating on me. It's just… easy. For him. It looked easy. I don't feel easy to love."
Jiho's face softened, which almost made it worse. "Min-woo… he likes you. Like, likes-likes you. You make him nervous, not bored."
I wanted to believe her.
---
EUN JAE-HYUNG
By the time we reached the second venue, the tension between us had thickened into something nearly visible. Min-woo was quieter than ever. He still helped me carry my gear, still tuned my guitar behind the scenes—but his eyes avoided mine.
After our performance—tight, strong, but weirdly mechanical—we found ourselves alone near the dressing rooms. I couldn't take it anymore.
"Okay," I said, pulling him into the hallway where only the hum of equipment could hear us. "What is going on with you?"
He blinked. "Nothing."
"No. Don't give me that. You've been cold ever since Seoul. Did I do something wrong?"
He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting to the scuffed floor tiles. "It's stupid."
"I don't care. Say it."
He hesitated. Then: "I didn't like how that guy looked at you. The stagehand. I know it's dumb, but—he made you laugh. And I felt like you weren't mine. Or maybe like I was the only one who thought you were mine."
I stared at him.
His jealousy was written in the slope of his shoulders, the way his voice cracked just a little.
"Min-woo," I said gently, stepping closer. "You're an idiot."
He frowned. "What—"
"I was flirting with you. I am flirting with you. I've been flirting with you since you corrected my harmony notes the first week of practice."
He looked stunned.
"You don't need to worry about anyone else," I said. "But if you do get jealous, don't ice me out. Let me know. I can't guess what's in your head."
His eyes searched mine for a long time. Then he leaned in, voice low and cracking.
"Okay. I can do that."
He took my hand.
And for the first time since we'd kissed, it felt like we were finally on the same page.
---
KANG MIN-WOO
That night in the hotel room, while Jiho and Hana slept on the other side of the suite, I sat on the carpet with Jae-hyung, a single dim lamp glowing beside us.
He pulled out his lyric journal and opened it to a half-finished page. "Want to help me finish this?"
The chorus was about being out of sync. A melody that keeps changing tempo. A harmony that can't quite fall into rhythm.
It felt like us.
"Needs more tension," I said, reaching for a pen.
He smirked. "Like you getting jealous of people who wear cargo shorts?"
I groaned. "I'll never live that down, huh?"
"Nope."
We sat in silence, rewriting lines. My leg brushed his. This time, neither of us moved away.
And when our hands touched again—pen ink smudged between our fingers—it didn't feel like a spark.
It felt like a promise.
A messy, jealous, sincere kind of promise.
And I liked it.