moncherriecoups

[moncherriecoups]

the definition of pocket sized 😭🤏

[moncherriecoups]

Muted Hearts

Some love stories are whispered, not spoken. Some promises are signed, not said.

This is ours.

I feel tired tonight, unforgettable words I can't turn back, sorry I'm selfish, I'm sorry The colored city lights, the cold voice I can't turn back, sorry I'm selfish, I'm sorry I'm too late but I'm sorry

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Seungcheol x f!oc

Tags: tense relationship, idolxoc, slowburn relationship, angst,

Word count: 3.6k

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Chapter Thirteen

Sunday, October 13th 2024

02:17 AM

Minghao didn’t speak the entire walk to his car. He was riding the elevator with Ari after Sua asked them to leave, and Ari stops at the lobby, giving him a knowing nods before she leaves.

The silence clung to him like smoke, trailing behind each step, seeping into the folds of his jacket, the creases of his hands. The air outside was colder than he remembered. Or maybe he was just finally feeling it now that he wasn’t holding her anymore.

She had asked him to leave. Quietly, gently, but firmly. And so, he did.

The car door closed with a muted thud. He turned the engine on, slipped his hands around the steering wheel, and just… sat there.

Still.

Numb.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t even blink for a long moment.

And then, slowly, he shifted into drive.

The streets were quiet, washed in the pale glow of streetlights and the occasional passing headlights. The concert traffic had thinned out. The fans had gone home. The city had moved on. But he hadn’t.

Not really.

His knuckles tightened on the wheel as he turned onto the expressway. It wasn’t until the buildings started blurring past that the thoughts began to crack open.

Seungcheol had always been reckless. Bold, sometimes brash. But never like this.

Tonight was different.

He didn’t know when it happened—when Seungcheol stopped thinking and started acting on instinct, emotion. Maybe it started the moment he showed up at that gallery. Maybe the day he stayed overnight at her apartment, car parked in plain sight. Or maybe it was earlier, in the way he looked at her—like she was gravity, and he was already falling.

Minghao exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw clenched.

He should’ve known.

No—he did know. He just didn’t want to believe it.

Because Seungcheol wasn’t supposed to fall like this. Not him.

He was the leader. The constant. The spine. The one who carried their burdens without ever asking to share his own.

Minghao had watched him for over a decade—watched him mold himself into someone the group could lean on. Even back when they were trainees, just kids barely scraping by on ramen and anxiety, Seungcheol had stood at the front of the line. Taking responsibility. Setting the standard. Always the one with answers.

Always the one pretending he had nothing to lose.

Except… he did.

Minghao’s grip on the wheel loosened slightly.

There was a time Seungcheol had loved someone. Briefly. Before they debuted. A trainee like them, all flushed cheeks and hidden smiles between practice sessions. Minghao remembered the way Seungcheol used to sneak glances at her between choreo runs, the soft kind of look that didn’t know it was visible yet.

But it didn’t last.

Their debut came. The weight of becoming "S.Coups" settled heavy on his shoulders. Leader of thirteen. Face of the group. There wasn’t space left for anything soft after that. So he dropped it—quietly, cleanly, like it had never even happened.

He never talked about her again.

Minghao remembered watching him back then. How he didn’t cry, didn’t spiral, didn’t even flinch. He just worked harder. Stayed longer at dance practice. Pushed his voice to the edge in the booth. Learned how to smile in interviews even when his knees were shaking.

And somewhere along the way, Seungcheol became untouchable.

Not invincible. Just… distant. Above it all.

Not because he didn’t feel.

But because feeling was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

And yet now—now—he was unraveling.

Tonight proved that. Every step toward the barricade. Every glance he threw Sua’s way. Every time his emotions overrode his sense.

He was in love.

Minghao’s throat tightened.

Not a crush. Not infatuation.

Love.

Real and messy and consuming.

The kind that makes you reckless.

The kind that makes you stupid.

The kind Seungcheol had never let himself have before.

Because he didn’t know how to have it. Not without trying to own it. To protect it so fiercely he ended up suffocating it in the process.

Sua didn’t stand a chance.

Not when Seungcheol loved her like she was a war he needed to win.

Minghao’s eyes flickered to the empty passenger seat.

He could still feel her weight against him. The way her body trembled. The way she fell apart in silence, and how she tried so hard to not ask for anything—even when she was breaking.

Seungcheol didn’t mean to hurt her. Minghao knew that.

But love wasn’t about intention.

It was about impact.

And Seungcheol had no idea how much damage he was causing—how loud his love was. How violent it felt, even when it came from the softest part of him.

Because Seungcheol was loved his whole life.

The youngest in his family. Coddled. Protected. Praised.

And he wanted so badly to prove he was more than that. That he was strong. Reliable. A man. A leader. A protector.

But he didn’t know how to be loved quietly.

Not the way Sua needed.

Not yet.

Minghao swallowed hard, the road blurring slightly as headlights streaked past. He blinked the burn away.

He wasn’t angry anymore.

Just… tired.

Tired for Sua. Tired with Seungcheol.

Because Seungcheol could change. He could learn. But not if he kept believing love was something he had to fight to keep. Not if he thought being in love meant standing on a stage and daring the world to come for her.

Because tonight? The world did.

And she shattered in the fallout.

Minghao didn’t know if they’d make it.

Didn’t know if Sua could forgive this. Or if Seungcheol would ever learn to love without making it hurt.

But he knew one thing for certain.

Seungcheol wasn’t the alpha male everyone made him out to be.

He was just a boy who had only ever known love when it came wrapped in duty.

And now, for the first time in his life, he was trying to give it freely—without knowing how to make sure it didn’t destroy the one he gave it to.

Minghao exhaled as the city lights began to fade behind him.

He didn’t know what would happen next.

But tonight?

Tonight, he finally understood.

Why Seungcheol was spiraling.

Why Sua was breaking.

And why love—real love—was never supposed to look like this.

Not even for someone like him.

—

09:24 AM

The morning crawled in slowly.

Sunlight pooled lazily through the edges of the curtains, casting warm streaks across tangled sheets and quiet breaths. There was a stillness in the room—not the kind that felt calm, but the kind that hummed with all the things left unsaid. The kind of silence that only comes after two people break and choose, against all odds, to stay.

Sua stirred first.

Her lashes fluttered as her mind clawed its way back from a restless, shallow sleep. Her body ached in places she didn’t expect—her temples, her back, the soft skin beneath her eyes. Everything felt too tender, like she'd been wrung out the night before and hadn’t fully settled back into herself.

It took her a few seconds to realize she wasn’t alone. That the warmth pressed against her wasn’t her blanket, but him.

Seungcheol.

One arm was looped around her middle, his large palm splayed across the curve of her stomach like it had landed there instinctively. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm against her back. His legs tangled with hers, anchoring her in place. And nestled against the back of her neck—his breath, warm and soft, like he hadn’t stopped holding onto her even in his sleep.

She stayed still. Not because she was afraid to move, but because she couldn’t.

Because despite everything—despite the fight, the pain, the tears that had soaked through both of their shirts last night—there was something about this moment that made her chest ache in a different way.

They hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

After he came—after that sharp, emotional collision that left them both exposed and trembling—neither of them had said a word. They’d just held each other. He kissed her like he was afraid it would be the last time, and she let him. She clutched the front of his jacket until he peeled it off, let herself fold into him when they sunk into bed, fully clothed, tear-stained and drained.

No plans. No conversation. Just two people too exhausted to let go.

Her fingers shifted slightly, brushing against the back of his hand that still rested over her. And even with the heaviness in her limbs, even with the dull throb behind her eyes, she felt… tethered.

Like maybe she wasn’t unraveling anymore.

She didn’t turn around—didn’t need to. She knew he was already awake.

He always was, when it came to her.

“Cheol…” Her voice was barely there, dry and quiet from crying too hard the night before.

He shifted behind her. Just a little. His arm tightened instinctively around her middle.

“I’m here.” His voice was gravelly, still thick with sleep, but sure. Like an anchor dropped into open waters.

They didn’t say anything else at first. Didn’t need to. The space between them—filled with slow breaths and lingering heat—spoke for itself.

When Sua finally rolled onto her back, her eyes met his. He was already looking at her.

Messy-haired, eyes swollen from crying, cheeks still marked from where she must’ve clung to him in her sleep. He looked terrible. And beautiful. And so heartbreakingly hers.

“I can’t believe we slept,” she whispered.

“I don’t think we did,” he replied, voice low. “Not really.”

Sua smiled—just barely. Her fingers found his, lacing them together as their hands rested between them.

He watched her, gaze dipping to the curve of her cheek, the softness of her lips, the way her eyes looked more tired than he remembered but somehow more open.

“I thought you were gonna tell me to leave,” he said honestly.

“I almost did,” she admitted.

A beat passed.

“But I didn’t want to wake up without you.”

He closed his eyes for a second, like the words physically hit him. When he opened them again, he leaned in, resting his forehead gently against hers.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

Sua didn’t answer right away. Instead, she tilted her head just enough to kiss the corner of his mouth. Soft. Not desperate like last night. Just real.

“You’re mine,” she murmured, “and I’m tired. But I still love you.”

His breath caught. His thumb brushed over the back of her hand.

Sua didn’t move—not yet.

Even with the morning pressing in and time inching forward, she wanted to stay suspended in this pocket of softness just a little longer.

Everything outside this bed felt too loud. The chaos. The whispers. The consequences of last night, the years of pain they hadn’t fully unpacked. It was all still there. But for now, she wanted to pretend that it wasn’t.

Seungcheol’s fingers brushed her wrist. Barely. Like a question.

She shifted closer.

“I hate that you look tired,” he whispered.

She blinked at him, a little amused. “You look worse.”

His nose scrunched. “Thanks.”

She laughed softly. It sounded a little like relief.

Seungcheol let his eyes trace her features—slowly, reverently. As if memorizing her again. Her skin, puffy and warm with leftover tears. Her lips, still parted like she wasn’t done telling him the truth. Her eyes, full of everything they hadn’t said yet.

“Last night…” he started, voice hesitant. “I was scared.”

Sua’s smile faded gently. Her brows pinched.

“Of me?”

He shook his head instantly. “No. Of losing you.”

She looked at him for a moment, then lowered her gaze.

“You almost did,” she whispered.

It wasn’t a threat. Just the truth. And it hurt because he knew it, too.

He leaned in slowly, kissing the center of her forehead. A long, quiet press of his lips like he was saying sorry all over again.

“Thank you for not letting go,” he murmured.

Sua didn’t answer. Instead, she closed her eyes and reached for his face, brushing her fingers along the faint stubble on his jaw. He leaned into her touch like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

“You know…” she said softly. “I used to wonder if loving you would ever feel easy.”

His eyes flicked up to hers.

“But now I think… maybe it’s not meant to be easy.”

Seungcheol swallowed.

“But it should at least feel safe,” she continued, voice cracking a little. “And I need to know that I’m not the only one trying to make it that.”

“You’re not,” he said immediately. “You’re not, Sua. I swear.”

A pause.

Then he added, quieter, “I just don’t always know how to do it right.”

Her fingers found his again.

“Then let’s figure it out,” she said. “Together. If you still want that.”

His hand tightened around hers like it was instinct. Like he couldn’t imagine not holding on.

“I do,” he breathed. “I always will.”

She smiled faintly—tired, but real.

And for a while, they just laid there. Wrapped around each other in a mess of limbs, blankets, and shared breaths. Not saying much. Just being. Healing in inches.

Eventually, his thumb started brushing over her knuckles in a rhythm she knew well—something he did when he was anxious, or thinking too far ahead.

“You have to leave soon, don’t you?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

He nodded against her pillow. “Soundcheck’s at four. They want me there by two.”

Sua tilted her head slightly to look at the clock. 9:46 AM.

Still a little time.

“Then stay a bit longer,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to his again. “Just a little.”

And he did.

Because no matter how much the world demanded from him outside these walls—right now, nothing mattered more than being next to her.

—

10:27 AM

By the time they pulled themselves out of bed, it was almost 10:30 AM.

Neither of them had really slept.

Four hours of uneven dozing and tangled limbs, punctuated by half-conscious whispers in the dark. A soft "are you okay" here, a mumbled "don’t go too far" there. It wasn’t restful, not in the way rest was usually defined.

But it was healing.

And maybe that was enough.

Sua moved first. She slipped into the kitchen with her sleeves still covering her hands, her hair a sleepy mess that Seungcheol found stupidly beautiful.

He followed a minute later, dragging his feet and yawning like he hadn’t just had the worst emotional breakdown of his life.

“Coffee?” she asked.

He nodded, already wrapping his arms around her waist from behind like a koala. “You make it better.”

“That’s just because you never measure your beans properly.”

“That’s just because I’m lazy.”

She huffed out a breath—half a laugh—and leaned back into him, letting his chin rest on her shoulder while she started the pour-over.

Everything was slow. Unrushed. A rare kind of silence that didn’t demand anything from them.

He helped prep breakfast—if cracking eggs and messing up her toast count as “helping.” She didn’t complain, just shoved him lightly and muttered something about him being worse than Ari in the kitchen.

He just grinned. “At least I’m prettier.”

She couldn’t argue with that.

They sat across from each other on the floor in front of her small table. Coffee steaming between them. Their plates only half-touched.

He caught her staring once—mid-bite—and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Sua hesitated. Then: “Just thinking.”

“About?”

She poked at her toast. “What happens after this.”

He was quiet for a moment.

Then, gently: “We keep trying.”

“Even when everything feels impossible?”

“Especially then.”

Sua’s throat tightened. “That sounds exhausting.”

Seungcheol nodded. “It is.”

She smiled faintly, eyes stinging again. “But you still want it?”

He leaned forward, brushing a crumb from the corner of her mouth with his thumb. “I still want you.”

Her heart did that thing again—that dangerous flutter that made her forget every reason she’d ever considered walking away.

And maybe that was what scared her most.

—

12:38 PM

By noon, he was standing by the door, reluctantly pulling on his jacket and ball cap.

Sua watched him from the kitchen, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

“Text me when you arrive.”

He nodded. “I will.”

“And don’t forget your in-ears this time.”

“Can’t promise anything.”

She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched. He stepped toward her again, slower this time, like he was afraid he wouldn’t get another chance. His hands came up to fix the collar of her sweater, brushing gently along her neck.

“Thank you for letting me stay.”

Sua exhaled shakily. “Thank you for coming.”

Their eyes met. That familiar ache returned.

And then he kissed her—soft and deep, like a goodbye he didn’t want to say.

—

01:43 PM

The second he stepped into the venue, the shift was palpable.

The staff didn’t greet him like they usually did. Their eyes flicked to him, then quickly away. His manager, who always had a light jab or smile ready, didn’t even look up.

It was cold. Not just the air. The energy. Like something had snapped overnight—and the fallout was waiting for him.

He barely made it past the dressing room threshold when he heard it.

“Choi Seungcheol.”

He turned. His manager stood in the hallway, stiff posture and clenched jaw. Flanked by two senior company staff—the ones who only came down when shit had really hit the fan.

“Now,” his manager said. “We need to talk.”

Seungcheol didn’t argue. He didn’t even ask. He just sighed and followed them into a rehearsal room nearby—one they never used. Too echoey. Too impersonal.

The door shut behind them with a soft click that felt like a verdict.

“What is this?” he asked, voice already heavy.

“We’ll get straight to the point,” said one of the execs, arms folded. “The rumors exploded overnight. Every private community has your name. Some even have hers. Her workplace.”

“She didn’t say a word,” Seungcheol said, jaw tightening. “She signed the NDA. She’s been careful.”

“We know,” the other staff member replied. “This isn’t about her.”

“This is about you,” the first added. “You’re the one breaking protocol—not with words, but actions.”

His stomach dropped.

“I haven’t—”

“You have,” his manager cut in, quietly. “You’ve made it obvious.”

“Obvious? Because I protected her?”

“Because you stood in front of her section during the concert,” the staff member said. “Because you showed up to her gallery. Because a fight broke out and her name was dragged through online hell overnight.”

“Do you know how close the press came to running the story this morning?” the other exec added. “Do you know what we had to do to stop it?”

“I was protecting her,” Seungcheol repeated, more firmly. “I didn’t do it to make headlines. I did it because I love her.”

“We’re not saying you don’t care about her,” his manager said, calmer now. “But you being in love can’t affect the group. The NDA isn’t to punish you. It’s to protect Seventeen.”

“I’m not the only one dating—”

“You’re the only one getting reckless.”

That stung. The words hit somewhere deep between his ribs, slicing through bruises already formed from weeks of sleepless nights and too many bottled-up emotions.

“So what?” he said. “You want me to end it?”

“We’re asking you to choose,” someone said.

His world paused.

“Because it’s starting to cost more than we can afford.”

That did it.

The last thread holding him together snapped.

“Choose?” His voice rose, disbelief laced with anger. “You want me to choose between the woman I love and the ten years I’ve given to this group?”

Silence. Uncomfortable. Heavy.

He let out a hollow laugh, one that didn’t reach his eyes.

“You don’t get it. She’s not just someone I’m messing around with. I love her. I’ve never—never felt this way about anyone in my life. And I’ve followed every goddamn rule for ten years. I’ve kept my head down. I’ve shown up to everything. Worked through injuries. Sacrificed sleep, time, health. I gave my life to this.”

He looked around the room.

“And if you’re asking me to choose—between that and the only person who’s been there for me when no one else was—then yeah. I choose her. Every fucking time.”

His manager’s expression darkened.

But before anyone could speak—before the air even settled—the door creaked.

“Wow,” someone said.

They weren’t alone anymore.

The door hadn’t shut properly.

Woozi stood just outside the threshold. Behind him, Hoshi. Dino. Their faces unreadable—but their eyes? They burned.

“You’d throw it all away?” Woozi’s voice was low. Controlled. Dangerous. “Ten years, Cheol. We built this together.”

“I’m not throwing anything away,” Seungcheol said.

“You just said you’d choose her over everything,” Dino snapped. “You think that doesn’t include us?”

“You don’t know what she’s been through because of me!” Seungcheol’s voice cracked—emotion bubbling to the surface now. “She got harassed. Threatened. People showed up at her job. Because of me. And she still stayed. She still kept our secret.”

“That’s not the point,” Hoshi said, arms crossed. “The point is—you’re not just you anymore. You’re our leader. Our hyung. You’ve always carried us.”

“And leaders don’t put the team at risk,” Woozi said. “They don’t make reckless choices that could burn the whole thing down.”

“Then what?” Seungcheol snapped. “I was supposed to watch her fall apart while I sat on my hands and said nothing? Let people attack her? Call her names? I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“And what about us?” Dino said. “What happens when this explodes and we’re all dragged down with you?”

Some other members heard the yelling, decided to join them.

The room fell into chaos.

“Guys,” a voice tried to cut in—it was Joshua—but no one was listening.

“You think we’re heartless?” Woozi said, stepping closer. “That we don’t care about her? We like her, Cheol. But there’s a line. You crossed it.”

“I didn’t ask to fall in love,” Seungcheol shouted. “I didn’t plan for any of this!”

“But you did plan to stand in front of her section last night,” Woozi shot back.

That froze him.

Because… yes.

Yes, and no.

He hadn’t planned it, exactly. It was instinct. Panic. A need to see her. To make sure she was okay. After the incident earlier, when those fans shoved her… his body just moved. Like it knew what mattered most.

“I thought maybe I could stop it,” Seungcheol said quietly. “I thought if they saw me there, it would end. That maybe—just maybe—I could control the chaos.”

Woozi stared.

“Then you’re an idiot,” he said. “Because it only made it worse.”

—

02:11 PM

The room was a storm.

Shouting. Defending. Accusing.

Tension rolled in waves across the walls, thick and relentless, like humidity before a lightning strike.

Jeonghan now had both arms locked around Mingyu’s middle, holding him back from lunging at Woozi, who stood his ground with eyes like fire. Joshua had stepped between Hoshi and Dino, one hand raised toward each like he was trying to conduct the chaos into something softer—but his face betrayed the same boiling point the others had reached.

“I’m not saying what he did was right,” Joshua snapped, voice cracking with frustration, “but maybe let him breathe before you crucify him!”

“Oh, so now we’re defending recklessness?” Hoshi shot back. “We’re defending letting the whole group burn down just because our leader can’t keep his personal life under control?”

“We’re defending our friend,” Mingyu spat, chest heaving. “You think he wanted this? That he planned for this to happen?”

“No, but he let it happen,” Dino said bitterly. “And we’re the ones picking up the pieces.”

“Everyone shut up!”

Jeonghan’s voice cut through the air like a whip. Not loud, not screaming—but low, guttural, final. The kind of tone that made hearts drop before brains caught up.

Silence fell.

Not out of agreement.

Just exhaustion.

Breathless, stifling silence, like the air had finally caved in.

And then—

The door creaked open.

Soft. Slow. Controlled.

No one turned immediately. But they all felt it—like the air changed temperature.

The footsteps were quiet. Almost too gentle for the room’s leftover rage. But they carried weight, as if the ground moved to make space.

Minghao.

He didn’t speak at first. Just walked in and shut the door behind him with a deliberate click. Not a slam. Not a warning. Just control.

He stood in the middle of the chaos, still as glass, and scanned the room like he was counting casualties.

His gaze settled on Seungcheol.

“I saw what happened,” Minghao said, finally breaking his silence.

The room turned to him.

He wasn’t looking at anyone in particular, but his voice cut through the air like a blade. Calm. Controlled. Devastating.

“I was on the other side of the stage. But I saw it. Her. The barricade. The shoving.”

He took a step forward. His eyes were dark, unreadable.

“She didn’t even fight back. Just stood there, trying to disappear. And Seungcheol—” A pause. “He saw it too. You think he stood in front of her for fun? To show off?” Another beat of silence. “He did it because she was scared.”

He turned to the others. “It wasn’t reckless. It was instinct.”

Silence pulsed in the room like a second heartbeat.

Minghao’s gaze swept across them, steady and unflinching.

“Don’t mistake love for weakness,” he said. “You should know better.”

Then, quieter, as he looked back at Seungcheol—

“She looked safe when you stood there.”

No one moved.

Seungcheol exhaled through his nose, jaw still tense. His chest ached with something between fury and exhaustion.

But Woozi wasn’t done.

“You think that makes it okay?” His voice was sharper now, the fury unraveling in pieces. “You think just because it came from love, that excuses putting us at risk?”

“She was at risk!” Seungcheol’s voice cracked through the room. “And none of you were there. Not at the gallery. Not after the stalkers showed up outside her apartment. Not when she texted me that she was too scared to go to work!”

“She’s not your responsibility—”

“She is when she’s suffering because of me!”

Hoshi stepped between them before voices could rise further. “This isn’t about whether or not you love her,” he said, firmer this time. “It’s about how you’re handling it. You’re our leader, Cheol. You move—we all get dragged.”

“And what?” Seungcheol bit out. “You want me to stop moving? To sit still while the woman I love gets ripped apart by people who only hate her because of me?”

Dino laughed bitterly. “You’re not the only one with someone you care about, hyung. But we hide it. You’re out here standing in front of her section like a damn beacon. Of course the fans noticed.”

“She begged me not to go public,” Seungcheol snapped. “She begged me to keep it quiet—and I did. But you know what? It wasn’t enough. Because just breathing near her made her a target. So don’t act like I plastered our photos online. I was trying to live in the cracks.”

“Then live smarter,” Woozi shot back. “You think if she’s scared now, it won’t get worse once Dispatch picks this up? Once sponsors start pulling out? You think the backlash will only fall on you?”

“Enough,” Minghao said suddenly, voice calm but ice-cold. “You’re talking like he wants this.”

Jeonghan’s voice finally joined in, low and sharp. “You’re all acting like we didn’t meet her. Like we didn’t see what she’s like.”

Mingyu nodded quietly, speaking for the first time. “She didn’t even want to come to that villa. She looked terrified half the time.”

Joshua sighed. “And she never overstepped. Not once.”

Seungcheol glanced between them, throat tightening.

Jeonghan looked right at him. “You think we don’t see what you’re doing? How you’ve been pulling away from us just to protect her? But you don’t have to choose between being our leader and being hers.”

“Except they’re making me choose,” Seungcheol muttered, voice low, broken. “The company. The fans. The system.”

Joshua leaned against the wall. “Then maybe we should be the ones reminding the company who built this group in the first place.”

“And maybe we should stop treating love like it’s a scandal,” Mingyu added, expression grim. “It’s not like the rest of us are saints.”

Dino scoffed. “You’re all forgetting the main issue. The fans are turning. They’re angry.”

Jeonghan narrowed his eyes. “They’ve always turned on women who got too close. It’s not new.”

“And if we all let fear run this place,” Joshua said softly, “then what’s the point of everything we built?”

Seungcheol stared at them.

The room was split.

Hoshi, Woozi, and Dino—angry, anxious, desperately trying to preserve what they had.

Minghao, Jeonghan, Mingyu, and Joshua—calmer, more understanding, but still conflicted.

He had never felt so exposed in his life.

Never felt so alone—and yet, not alone at the same time.

Because they were all right.

And all wrong.

And he was just a man—torn between ten years of loyalty and the woman who had become his safe place.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” he said finally. “But if I had to choose again—I’d still choose her.”

He swallowed. “Even if it ruins me.”

For a long moment, no one said anything.

Then Woozi exhaled, shoulders slumping as he looked away.

“You better hope she’s worth it.”

—

02:51 PM

The room eventually emptied.

One by one, they filed out—some with heavy glances, others with tension still burning in their eyes. Hoshi lingered the longest before finally walking away, his silence louder than any words.

But Seungcheol didn’t move.

He just stood there.

Back to the door. Shoulders drawn up like the world had settled its full weight on them.

The anger was gone now. Replaced by something quieter. Sadder.

What am I doing?

He sat on the one of the chairs, hands clasped between his knees, staring at nothing. The echo of his own voice still rang in his ears—“I choose her.”

The company asked him to choose.

His brothers questioned him.

And now?

Now he felt like a man with no country. Too in love to belong to the industry that raised him, too much a leader to abandon the group that gave him purpose.

But wasn’t he allowed to be both?

Wasn’t he still human?

A quiet knock on the frame broke the silence.

Minghao stood at the doorway, arms crossed. He didn’t look angry. Just tired.

“Hyung.”

Seungcheol didn’t look up. "I thought you left already."

“I was. But you're not coming out. You okay?”

He let out a breath of laughter—bitter, exhausted. “No.”

Minghao stepped closer, taking a seat beside him on.

“Why’d you actually do it?” Minghao asked. “Why’d you go stand in front of her like that?”

Seungcheol chuckles, "I thought you knew, you told Woozi earlier."

"That was my personal opinion, but he doesn' have to know," Minghao laughed, then continued, "But was it true?"

For a second, Seungcheol couldn’t speak. His throat felt tight.

“I don’t know,” he said eventually. “I thought maybe if I stood close enough, they’d stop. Or at least think twice. Or maybe…” He swallowed. “Maybe I just needed to see that she was okay. My body moved. I didn’t plan it.”

Minghao didn’t answer right away.

Then he asked, “You love her a lot, don’t you?”

“I do.”

Silence.

Then, softer—

“You know it’s fucked up, right? That you even have to choose?”

Seungcheol turned his head.

Minghao stared straight ahead. “Everyone else gets to love freely. Our managers, our staff—they hold hands in public, post pictures, live normally. But you? You fall in love, and suddenly you’re a liability.”

A lump rose in Seungcheol’s throat.

“It’s not normal,” Minghao said. “What they expect from us. What fans demand from us. We sell them this illusion—of perfection, of availability, of loyalty to them and only them. But we’re not theirs. We’re not dolls or gods.”

He looked at Seungcheol. “We’re just people. And people fall in love.”

Something in Seungcheol cracked.

Because yes. That.

He didn’t want applause. Didn’t need a parade. All he wanted was to love someone without it turning into a scandal. To protect the one person who made all this noise bearable.

“Does it ever get better?” he asked, voice hoarse.

Minghao exhaled. “Maybe. If enough of us stop pretending.”

They sat in silence after that. Two idols. Two men. Just existing for a moment in a world that constantly asked them to lie.

Outside, the stadium buzzed back to life.

Inside, Seungcheol felt like a part of him had been left behind.

Maybe that was the price of choosing love.

—

03:37 PM

The backstage felt colder somehow.

Not the air—but the silence.

The members moved around him. Nodding. Offering brief glances. Mingyu’s hand on his shoulder. Jeonghan quiet beside him.

But Dino wouldn’t look at him.

Hoshi’s usual banter was gone.

Woozi’s jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful.

They were still a team. But barely.

Seungcheol sat in the makeup chair, head bowed, elbows on his knees. The stylist’s brush moved gently across his face, but he didn’t feel it. He was elsewhere. Still hearing choose her over all of us on repeat. Still seeing Sua’s eyes as he kissed her goodbye.

The door opened.

“Soundcheck in fifteen,” someone called.

No one reacted.

Everyone just… moved. Like machinery restarting after a shutdown.

They walked toward the stage.

No jokes. No humming. Even the sound of the fans cheering outside felt eerie—off.

Seungcheol adjusted his mic pack in silence. His hands were steady. His face unreadable.

But Minghao was watching.

He saw the tight jaw. The way Cheol gripped the mic just a little too hard. Holding himself together by sheer force.

“Hyung,” Minghao murmured, just before they stepped into the light, “You don’t have to prove anything right now.”

Seungcheol looked at him. Hollow-eyed. But he nodded.

Then the lights hit them.

And just like that, they became idols again.

Professional. Polished. Perfect.

They walked out to cheers. Fans sobbed. Screamed. Waved banners.

Minghao’s eyes flicked to the barricade section—where Sua had stood last night.

Empty now.

And still, haunting.

He remembered how she’d flinched when the crowd got loud. How she tried to shrink herself. He remembered Seungcheol drifting toward her during the set—like a compass drawn north. Instinctive. Uncontrolled.

He remembered security coming. The tension snapping. The illusion breaking.

But now, under the lights, the cracks were hidden again.

Seungcheol took center, smile playing at his lips like he wasn’t breaking.

“Let’s give them a good show,” he said.

It wasn’t for the fans.

It was for the group. For the silence. For the we're still here even when nothing is fine.

They raised their hands. Counted in.

The music hit.

And they danced through the chaos like nothing had happened.

[moncherriecoups]

[moncherriecoups]

I can’t see chapter twelve anymore 💔💔

Accidentally put it on private, my bad 😭 tumblr on phone is kinda confusing for me, I'm so sorryyyy but I've put it on public!

[moncherriecoups]

Muted Hearts

Some love stories are whispered, not spoken.

Some promises are signed, not said.

This is ours.

Vanishing into the dark, you're gone

Wait, don't hide from me again

Struggling, but even if you sink, it's fine

Make your way to me through the waves

I am not much without you

Day or night no longer matters

Lay this hollow heart upon the waves

All this and more I crave

──────────────────────────────

Seungcheol x f!oc I Minghao x f!oc (?)

Tags:tense relationship, idolxoc, slowburn relationship, angst

Word count: 3k

──────────────────────────────

Chapter 12

Backstage is a mess of noise—staff shouting, equipment being moved, the distant buzz of fans still lingering outside. But in the middle of it all, Seungcheol and Minghao stand like a storm ready to break.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Minghao’s voice is sharp, slicing through the noise like a blade. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes are burning. “Are you actually stupid, hyung?”

Seungcheol exhales harshly, tilting his head back. He’s exhausted, still drenched in post-concert sweat, but there’s no way Minghao is letting this slide. “What do you want me to say?” His voice is low, controlled—like he’s holding himself together by a thread.

Minghao scoffs, taking a step closer. “I want you to admit that you were reckless. That you put her in danger. That instead of letting security handle it, you had to go and make everything worse—”

“I was protecting her.”

“No, you weren’t.” Minghao’s tone drops, sharp with something dangerously close to disgust. “You were proving a point.”

Seungcheol’s shoulders tense.

“You just stood there,” Minghao seethed. “In front of thousands of people, looking at her like she was the only person in the goddamn world. Like you wanted every single one of those cameras to catch you.”

Seungcheol’s stomach twisted.

“That’s not—”

“Shut. Up.”

Minghao’s glare was scalding.

“You have no idea what you just did, do you?” he hissed. “No fucking idea.”

Seungcheol’s mouth opened, but no words came out.

Minghao scoffed, stepping back just enough to rake a hand through his damp hair before shoving Seungcheol, frustration rolling off him in waves.

"You think those were just fans?" he spat. "You think the front row is full of harmless people who just love our music? Wake the fuck up, hyung. Half of those seats are filled with those kind of fans. The ones who pay thousands just to be close enough to dig through your life. The ones who knew Sua’s face before she even stepped foot in this stadium.”

Seungcheol felt his blood turn to ice.

“What?”

Minghao let out a humorless laugh. "Do you really think she was safe just because she was in VIP?" His eyes were dark, burning. “They’ve been watching her, Seungcheol. Stalking her. You think her gallery incident was just bad luck? Think again.”

Seungcheol’s chest tightened.

He thought he had been protecting her.

But instead—

He had just thrown her to the wolves.

The word lands heavy between them.

Seungcheol’s fists curl at his sides. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Bullshit.”

The word lands heavy between them.

Minghao lets out a sharp breath, stepping even closer, lowering his voice. “You’re selfish, hyung.” His words are precise, hitting where it hurts. “You say you love her, but you never think about what’s actually best for her. You think about you. About how you feel. About what you want.”

Seungcheol snaps.

“You think I don’t think about her?!” His voice is loud enough to make nearby staff flinch. His exhaustion turns to anger, frustration spilling over like an overflowing dam. “You think I don’t fucking know what this is doing to her?!”

Minghao doesn’t back down. “If you knew, you wouldn’t have done that. You wouldn’t have made it worse.”

Seungcheol’s breath is uneven, his jaw clenched so tight it aches. He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping. “You act like you’re any better.”

Minghao’s gaze darkens.

“At least I’m not pretending I know what’s best for her while secretly waiting for her to fall apart,” Seungcheol bites out, voice dripping with venom.

Minghao’s entire body stills.

For a second, it’s just silence. The kind that suffocates.

Then—

“I just know she’d be better off without you,” Minghao says, voice cold, precise. “And deep down, you know it too.”

Seungcheol’s fists tighten, his breathing sharp, erratic. The tension is unbearable, thick like a rope pulling tight between them, ready to snap.

And it does.

“You son of a bitch—”

Before Seungcheol can lunge, before Minghao can fire back, a hand yanks Seungcheol backward. Joshua’s voice cuts through the tension, firm, exhausted.

“Enough.”

Other members have gathered, watching the scene unfold. Jeonghan, arms crossed, shakes his head like he’s seen this coming. Wonwoo, quiet but watchful. Hoshi, tense but unwilling to step between them.

Minghao exhales sharply and steps back, jaw clenched.

Seungcheol glares at him, breathing hard. But when Joshua’s grip doesn’t loosen, he scoffs, shoving his hand away.

“I’m done here,” he mutters, turning on his heel and storming off.

Minghao watches him go, his hands still trembling with anger. But as much as he wants to fight, to make Seungcheol see the damage he’s done—he knows it’s useless.

Because Seungcheol isn’t ready to listen.

And by the time he is—

It’ll already be too late.

—

The apartment felt too quiet. Too still.

Ari hated it.

She hated that after everything—after being shoved and grabbed, after running for her life, after being hated by people who didn’t even know her— Sua just sat there, curled up on the couch, hands limp in her lap, her breath barely making a sound. She hated the way her eyes, always so full of life, looked dull and empty now,  looks like she’s not even here.

Ari clenches her fists, her heart pounding with frustration. She’s never seen Sua like this before. Even when the gallery started getting flooded with fans, even when they had to sneak out the back entrance because of those fans, even when things were getting worse—Sua always held on.

She hated the way Sua kept whispering, “I’m sorry,” over and over again, like she had something to apologize for.

she just sat there, curled up on the couch, staring at nothing.

Not crying. Not shaking. Just...silent.

And Ari hated it.

“Sua,” she tried again, softer this time. “Hey, talk to me.”

Nothing.

Ari bit her lip, glancing at her phone. Minghao hadn’t replied to her text yet, but he might still at the venue for the post-show rundown. He’d see her message soon.

And sure enough—twenty minutes later, her phone buzzed.

What happened? How is she?

Ari exhaled in relief, typing back as fast as she could.

She’s shutting down. It was bad, Hao. Some of the fans... she was shoved, grabbed. They were calling her names, whispering, pointing, following us. She won’t talk. Won’t even move. She just keeps apologizing. I've tried everything, but she won't respond.

Three dots appeared. Then stopped. Then started again.

Then—

Send me the address.

Ari sent it without hesitation.

She glanced at Sua again, chewing on her lip. "Sua, babe. I texted Minghao. He’s coming.”

The moment his name left her lips, Sua tensed. Her fingers stilled, gripping onto her sleeve like she needed something to hold onto. Ari wasn’t even sure if she was fully processing it, but there was a flicker of recognition in her eyes—something that looked like hesitation, maybe even guilt. Of course. Minghao had warned her. He had seen this coming from miles away. And now, here he was, being called in to pick up the pieces, just like Ari knew he would. But instead of protesting, Sua just exhaled shakily, pressing her forehead to her knees, looking so utterly small. No fight. No resistance. Just silent, exhausted acceptance.

At that, Sua finally reacted. Her head lifted slightly, but her expression remained hollow. "You shouldn't have," she whispered.

Ari stared at Sua, her heart twisting at the sight of her curled up on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, fingers clutching at the fabric of her sleeves. She was shutting down. Barely responding. And Ari hated that she knew exactly who could pull her out of this. The answer was so obvious it made her want to throw something. But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t call Seungcheol. Not after what happened tonight. Not when his recklessness was the very reason Sua was like this in the first place. If he showed up now, she didn’t know if he’d help or just make it worse. But someone had to do something. So she did the only thing that made sense—that's why she texted Minghao instead.

"You weren’t saying anything, Sua," Ari shot back, exasperated. "You’re scaring me."

Sua didn't argue. She just looked back down, curling in on herself again.

Ari sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Look, I know you’re overwhelmed. But I also know that if there’s one person you’ll let in right now, it’s him."

—

Minghao had never driven so fast in his life.

The concert had ended over an hour ago, but the weight of everything still sat thick in his chest. He barely remembered getting into the van, barely remembered telling their manager he needed to leave. 

“She’s not okay.”

He had known that already.

He had seen it happen in real time—watched as the crowd turned vicious, as Sua shrank under the weight of their stares, as Seungcheol made it worse by standing there like a goddamn idiot, confirming every suspicion.

Minghao had done everything he could in that moment. Sent security, kept his distance, bit his tongue even when rage clawed up his throat. He had done what was right. But right now, it didn’t feel like enough.

The drive from the venue to Sua’s apartment took over an hour. Minghao had spent every second of it gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles went white. By the time he pulled up outside her building, his hands were shaking.

Ari was already waiting by the door.

She looked exhausted, her face drawn with worry, but the second she saw him, relief flashed in her eyes. Without a word, she stepped aside, letting him in.

“She’s in the living room,” she whispered, her voice hushed like she was afraid of breaking something fragile. “She hasn’t moved since I texted you.”

Minghao barely nodded before he stepped inside.

The air in the apartment was heavy.

The lights were dim, the only glow coming from a lamp in the corner. The soft hum of the air conditioning filled the silence, and then—

Then, he saw her.

Sua sat curled up in the farthest corner of the couch, knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around them like she was trying to make herself disappear. Her face was pale, her lips pressed into a tight, bloodless line. But it was her eyes that made his stomach drop.

They were vacant. Hollow.

Like she wasn’t really there.

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

He had seen her angry before. Had seen her frustrated, irritated, even on the verge of tears. But this?

This was different.

This was what breaking looked like.

“Sua,” he said, stepping closer.

For a second, she didn’t react.

And then—

A harsh, gasping sob tore from her throat, and suddenly she was moving.

Minghao barely had time to register it before she crashed into him, her fingers twisting into his sweater, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the ground. Her body shook, her shoulders trembling violently as ragged sobs broke free from her chest.

Minghao caught her instantly.

One arm wrapped around her back, the other cradling the back of her head as she buried her face into his shoulder. Her breath hitched, coming out in sharp, uneven gasps, and Minghao tightened his hold without thinking.

“I—” She choked on her words. “I can’t—”

“I know,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know.”

Sua only gripped him tighter.

Behind them, Ari stood near the doorway, watching with her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes were misty, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

He just held her.

—

Minghao didn’t let go of her.

Not when her sobs turned into quiet shivers. Not when her fingers loosened their grip but refused to leave his jacket. Not when Ari silently placed a glass of water on the table and sat down beside them, watching with quiet concern.

He just held her—firm, steady, unmoving—until her breathing slowed, until the tension in her shoulders softened, until the overwhelming weight of the night didn’t feel like it was crushing her anymore.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“You should rest.” His voice was low but certain, like he wasn’t just suggesting it—he was telling her.

Sua only shook her head. “I can’t.”

Minghao exhaled through his nose, glancing at Ari, who looked just as exhausted. There was only so much comfort they could offer when her mind was still stuck in everything that had happened tonight.

His gaze flickered to the coffee table, to the phone screen that was still lighting up every few seconds.

52 missed calls.

All from one name.

Minghao’s jaw tensed. He didn’t hesitate. Before Sua could react, he reached down, grabbed the phone, and pressed answer.

Ari’s breath hitched. Sua’s body jolted in shock.

And then—

“Don’t worry,” Minghao said, voice cutting through the tense silence. “She’s safe. She’s with me.”

For a moment, there was nothing. Just static. Just the distant sound of someone breathing on the other end of the line.

Then—“Put her on the phone.”

Seungcheol’s voice was low. Strained. Dangerously close to breaking.

Minghao’s grip tightened around the device. He stood up, walking a few steps away, lowering his voice as he spoke. “She doesn’t want to talk to you right now.”

A sharp exhale. “Like hell she doesn’t.”

“Minghao,” Sua finally croaked out, voice raw. “Give it back.”

He turned around. She looked wrecked. Swollen eyes, face pale, lips pressed together like she was barely holding herself together. And yet—there was still something so, so desperate in her expression.

Minghao stared at her. And then, without a word, he ended the call.

The silence that followed was thick.

Sua inhaled sharply. “Why—”

“You don’t need to hear him right now.” Minghao’s voice was calmer than before, but his eyes were sharp, unwavering. “And he needs to understand that he can’t just fix this by calling you fifty times.”

Ari didn’t say anything. She just looked between them, lips pressed together, heart pounding.

Sua’s lips parted slightly, like she wanted to argue. But then, just as quickly, her shoulders dropped.

And then she crumbled.

Ari barely had a second to react before Sua pressed herself into Minghao’s side, burying her face into his shoulder. He stiffened for a split second—then immediately relaxed, wrapping an arm around her, his hold just as steady as before.

Ari didn’t hesitate. She scooted closer, wrapping her own arms around Sua from the other side, resting her chin on top of her head.

For a moment, there were no words. Just warmth, exhaustion, the quiet sound of their breaths in the stillness of the apartment.

“It hurts,” Sua finally whispered, voice muffled against Minghao’s hoodie. “It hurts so much.”

Ari squeezed her eyes shut. “I know.”

“I love him,” she choked out. “I love him so much, but I—”

She cut herself off. Swallowed hard. And then, in the smallest, most broken voice—

“…Maybe this is just how his love will always feel.”

Minghao squeezed his eyes shut, the weight of her words settling deep into his chest like a rock.

He wanted to tell her no. That love wasn’t supposed to feel like this. That she deserved more. That there was a whole world beyond Seungcheol where she wouldn’t have to constantly suffer for the sake of loving someone.

But he couldn’t say it.

Because right now, it wouldn’t change anything.

Instead, he just tightened his hold. Held her closer. Let her cry into him, let her break, let her feel everything without having to justify it.

They stayed like that for a long time.

Minutes stretched into an hour. Then two.

At some point, Ari got up and returned with warm tea, pressing it into Sua’s hands despite her weak protests. She sipped it slowly, wordlessly.

Minghao sat with her the whole time, silent but solid, his presence grounding. Ari stayed too, murmuring soft reassurances, rubbing gentle circles on Sua’s back whenever she trembled too hard.

It wasn’t enough to fix things. But it was enough to make the weight of everything feel a little more bearable.

And then—finally, after what felt like forever—Sua exhaled shakily.

“…You should go,” she whispered.

Minghao frowned. “What?”

Sua lifted her head. “You too, Ari.”

Ari’s eyes widened. “Sua, no—”

“I’m grateful,” she cut in. Her voice wavered, but she forced herself to keep going. “But I need space. Please.”

Minghao didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. He just watched her, watched the way she shrank into herself, watched the way she was barely holding on—and hated that he couldn’t do anything more.

But still, he listened.

“…Okay.” His voice was quiet. Defeated. “I’ll go.”

Ari hesitated, looking between them, before sighing and standing up. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

Sua nodded. But she didn’t look up.

And as Minghao and Ari walked toward the door, as the lock clicked behind them—she was alone again.

---

Silence.

Sua sat curled up on the couch, legs pulled tight against her chest, staring at nothing. The apartment felt unbearably quiet now. No Minghao. No Ari. Just her and the steady hum of the fridge, the occasional creak of the floorboards as the night deepened.

She exhaled shakily, fingers tightening around the now-empty cup of tea Ari had forced her to drink.

She knew they didn’t want to leave. She could see it in the way Ari hesitated by the door, in the way Minghao lingered just a moment longer before stepping out. But this was better.

Because she knew herself.

She knew how suffocating it felt to be a burden, how much she hated the thought of people carrying her problems when they had their own to deal with.

Minghao had another concert tomorrow. Another long, exhausting day of rehearsals and performances. He should be resting, not sitting on her couch, watching her fall apart.

Ari had work too—their work. There was a technical meeting for the upcoming art fair, an important one that required both of them to attend. Ari already covered for her once, and Sua refused to let her do it again. 

This was why she needed them to leave. Not because she didn’t appreciate them. But because she didn’t want to be a weight they had to carry.

Her fingers curled around the sleeve of her sweater, pulling it over her knuckles. She let her head fall back against the couch, closing her eyes.

It was late. Too late. Probably past 4 a.m. by now.

She should sleep.

She knew she wouldn’t.

She sighed, forcing herself to stand, stretching her arms over her head as she made her way toward her bedroom. Maybe if she just laid down, closed her eyes, let herself pretend for a moment that the world wasn’t caving in—

Knock, knock.

Her breath stilled.

A cold shiver crawled down her spine, every muscle in her body locking in place.

For a second, she thought she imagined it.

But then—

Knock, knock.

Harder this time. Louder.

Her chest tightened. Not again.

Her hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms as she took a slow, unsteady step backward. Her mind raced, a sickening wave of panic rising in her throat. They found me.

They found my apartment.

She could still hear them—the whispers, the cameras, the way they had shoved her, surrounded her, trapped her.

Her breath quickened.

She shouldn’t open the door.

She couldn’t.

And then—

Her phone rang.

The vibration rattled against the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a name she knew far too well.

Seungcheol.

Her pulse pounded in her ears as she stared at the phone, frozen.

Then, from the other side of the door—

“Sua.”

His voice.

Deep, rough, laced with exhaustion.

“Please open the door.”

Her stomach twisted painfully.

Slowly, cautiously, she took a step closer.

Through the peephole, she saw him—standing there, shoulders tense, brows furrowed in barely restrained desperation.

He wasn’t leaving.

---

Sua stood frozen, her fingers trembling against the door handle.

Seungcheol was still there.

Waiting.

His phone was pressed to his ear, his free hand clenching and unclenching by his side. He wasn’t pacing. He wasn’t knocking again. He was just… standing there.

Waiting for her to open the door.

Her phone vibrated in her grip.

Another call.

She swallowed hard, staring at his name flashing on the screen. 

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Why did he come?

Why now, when her chest was still tight with everything—fear, exhaustion, pain, love?

She wanted to scream at him.

She wanted to pull him into her arms.

But most of all, she wanted to pretend she didn’t hear him. Pretend that if she ignored him long enough, he’d walk away.

But Seungcheol wasn’t the type to walk away.

He never was.

Knock.

“Sua,” he murmured, softer this time. “Baby, please.”

Her throat tightened.

He sounded wrecked.

She knew she shouldn’t do this. She should stay quiet. Let him believe she was asleep or out or—anything but standing here, breaking apart just from hearing his voice.

But her fingers had already curled around the handle.

And before she could stop herself, she turned the lock.

The moment the door cracked open, Seungcheol was there.

His eyes swept over her, dark and stormy and filled with something heavy. His jaw clenched, his breath slow and measured, like he was trying not to explode with everything he was holding back.

Sua didn’t say anything.

Neither did he.

For a long moment, they just stood there, the weight of the night pressing down between them.

Then, finally—

“Are you okay?” His voice was quiet. Rough.

Sua let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head.

Was she okay?

She didn’t even know anymore.

She opened her mouth—maybe to tell him to leave, maybe to ask why he was here, maybe to say something that would make this ache in her chest disappear.

But then—

Seungcheol moved.

One step forward.

Closing the space between them.

And Sua?

She didn’t step back.

---

Silence, again.

Not the kind that settled comfortably between two people who knew each other well, but the kind that made the air feel thick, suffocating. The kind that stretched long enough for something inside her to crack wide open.

Sua wasn’t just crying—she was exhausted.

Her breath came out in shaky pulls, her fingers gripping the sleeves of her sweater like she was trying to hold herself together. Her eyes—red, swollen—lifted to his, and she finally whispered what had been lodged in her throat for weeks.

“I can’t do this anymore, Seungcheol.”

His chest tightened. His whole body went still.

“Sua—”

“Your world…” She shook her head, blinking as another tear slipped past her lashes. “It’s not meant for me.”

Seungcheol took a sharp breath—like she had just knocked the wind out of him.

“No.” He shook his head immediately, stepping closer, hands trembling at his sides. “No, Sua, don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”

She closed her eyes. Because what else was there to say? She had tried. God, she had tried.

Tried to live in a world that wasn’t built for her. Tried to endure the whispers, the stares, the violations.

Tried to love him without it destroying her.

But the longer she stayed, the more she disappeared.

Seungcheol’s voice was quiet when he spoke again—pleading, like the thought of losing her was unbearable.

“I don’t care what it takes, I’ll make this right. I swear, Sua.” He reached for her—then hesitated, as if afraid she might pull away. His voice was raw, open, vulnerable in a way that made her chest ache. “Just—please, don’t leave me.”

And oh, she wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that this time, he could make it right.

But the truth was, this wasn’t the first time.

Her lashes fluttered shut, another tear slipping down her cheek. “You always say that, Seungcheol.”

A pause.

“And every time, it just gets worse.”

His lips parted, his entire expression crumbling.

That was what killed him. The realization that his love—his best—wasn’t enough to protect her.

Sua wiped at her face aggressively, forcing herself to keep standing, to keep breathing.

But then she said it.

“The NDA protects me more than you do.”

Seungcheol actually flinched.

His hands curled into fists—not in anger, but in frustration at himself.

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice cracked, his breathing unsteady. “You think I don’t hate myself for that?”

His head dropped for a second, fingers threading through his hair, shoulders heaving.

“I love you, Sua.” His voice was almost a whisper now—hoarse, broken. “But I keep hurting you.”

And he wasn’t even trying to deny it.

Sua let out a shaky breath, her chest rising and falling too quickly.

Because she knew. She knew he wasn’t trying to hurt her.

And yet—he did.

He always did.

But even now, she still loved him.

Loved him so much it hurt.

And seeing him like this—collapsed in front of her, stripped bare in a way no one else had ever seen—it shattered something inside her.

But why did he come so late?

It had taken him 1.5 hours to get here from the venue—but that wasn’t the worst part.

After the concert, he was immediately pulled into the team’s evaluation meeting. He had no choice; it was protocol.

And when Minghao simply walked out of it, ignoring every rule in the book, Seungcheol had stayed. He had stayed because he was the leader. Because he was expected to.

And then, just when he was ready to leave—his manager held him back.

Because of the fight.

Because it wasn’t just him who had fought with Minghao—Minghao had fought with him too. But unlike him, Minghao had already left, dodging any consequence that might’ve come his way.

Seungcheol, though?

He was stuck.

He could only sit there, getting scolded for something he already regretted, while all he could think about was her. And when they finally let him go—when he was free to run to her—

She had already broken.

Now, standing here, with Sua’s tear-streaked face in front of him, all of it—the hours he spent away, the choices that kept him from getting here sooner—they didn’t matter.

Because he was here.

And instead of walking away, Sua did the stupidest thing she could do.

She stepped forward.

And he just—grabbed her.

His hands were warm on her waist, his forehead pressing against hers, his breaths coming out ragged and desperate. He was holding her like he was afraid she’d disappear the second he let go.

Like she was the only thing keeping him together.

"Please don’t go," he whispered.

Sua exhaled sharply, the sound closer to a sob than she’d like to admit.

He wasn’t even kissing her yet. But the way he was holding her—the way his thumbs brushed over the curve of her waist, the way his forehead pressed against hers like he was praying—it felt too much.

She should push him away.

Should tell him to stop.

But she didn’t.

Because Seungcheol was looking at her like she was something fragile. Like he was afraid to touch her, afraid she might shatter beneath his fingertips.

Like he was the one breaking.

And when he lifted a hand—hesitant, almost cautious—Sua didn’t stop him.

His knuckles grazed her cheek first, the touch so light she barely felt it. And then—he cupped her face.

Warm. Gentle. Desperate.

She let out a soft, trembling breath, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers traced her jaw. She knew this was reckless. Stupid.

But God, she was so, so tired of fighting.

And when his lips brushed her forehead—slow, lingering, hesitant—she melted.

She didn’t think. Didn’t question it. Didn’t stop him when he pressed another kiss there, then lower—the tip of her nose, the corner of her mouth.

And when he finally—finally—kissed her, she let him.

Because this was Seungcheol.

The man who had made her fall so utterly, devastatingly in love that she forgot how to breathe without him.

And when he kissed her, it felt like he was memorizing her. Like he already knew this might be the last time.

Sua’s fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, her grip weak, uncertain.

Her voice was barely a whisper against his lips.

“…I don’t know.”

[moncherriecoups]

Muted Hearts

Some love stories are whispered, not spoken. Some promises are signed, not said.

This is ours.

──────────────────────────────

Seungcheol x f!oc | Minghao x f!oc (?)

Tags: tense relationship, idolxoc, slowburn relationship, angst

Word count: 3k

──────────────────────────────

Chapter 11

Ari barely slept.

Correction: Ari did not sleep at all.

Despite Sua’s countless reminders that they had to wake up early, Ari had spent the entire night tossing, turning, and buzzing with uncontrollable energy. Every time Sua started drifting off, a sharp whisper would cut through the silence—pulling her back into the waking world.

“Where did you even get the ticket?”

Sua groaned into her pillow. “Ari.”

“No, like, where?” Ari flopped onto her side, hugging her giant Hoshi plushie like it contained the answers to life’s greatest mysteries. “You just—had a spare VIP ticket lying around? For a Seventeen concert? A BARRICADE ticket?”

Sua pulled the blanket over her head. “Go. To. Sleep.”

Ari did not go to sleep.

Instead, she kept running her mouth, voice growing increasingly dramatic.

“I’ve never even won a raffle. I never get lucky. I have, like, the worst karma in the universe! But suddenly, my best friend is out here casually flexing VIP seats?”

Sua kicked her.

Ari shrieked, half-laughing, half-offended. “HELLO? EXCUSE ME??”

"Shut up." Sua turned away, trying to bury herself deeper into the mattress.

But Ari wasn’t done.

She gasped, sitting up as if she’d just cracked a conspiracy theory. “Wait. Wait.” She turned to Sua, narrowing her eyes. “Did Xu Minghao give it to you?”

Sua froze.

Ari leaned in, lowering her voice like they were exchanging black-market information.

"You know... since you're, like, besties now or whatever?"

Sua groaned, rubbing her temples. "Ari."

“I mean, it makes sense!" Ari started counting on her fingers. "One: You’re his favorite gallerist. Two: You guys always talk at the gallery. Three: He was totally into your exhibition, all of it, don’t even deny it." She wiggled her brows. "And four—"

"Ari." Sua shoved her back down onto the mattress. "Shut. Up."

Ari huffed, flopping onto her back. She did not shut up.

Morning came too fast.

Even with less than four hours of sleep, Ari was fully charged.

She emerged from the bedroom dressed head-to-toe in Horangdan gear—a bright orange tiger hat perched on her head, complete with floppy ears. Her nails were painted with tiny tiger stripes, and her oversized Hoshi fan was tucked securely under her arm like a prized possession.

Her phone screen? A live countdown to the concert.

Her energy? Unmatched.

Sua, meanwhile, was exhausted. She barely had the strength to grab her purse, let alone deal with Ari’s never-ending excitement.

The moment they stepped into the apartment lobby, a sleek, black luxury van pulled up to the entrance.

The door slid open—revealing plush leather seats, dim mood lighting, and a fully stocked snack bar.

Ari froze mid-step.

Silence.

Then—

“EXCUSE ME?” Ari turned so fast her tiger hat nearly flew off. She grabbed Sua’s wrist, voice rising an octave. “WHO DID YOU SLEEP WITH TO GET THIS?!”

Sua smacked her arm. “Shut up.”

Ari pointed at the van like it was a holy relic.

“This is a PRIVATE VAN. A luxury van. This—this is IDOL TREATMENT.” She turned back to Sua, eyes wild. “SUA.”

Sua ignored her and climbed in, casually settling into the plush seats.

Ari scrambled in after her, immediately inspecting the interior.

“Oh my God. It has mood lighting.”

—

If Ari had been feral in the van, she was borderline unhinged by the time they arrived at the venue.

The second their tickets were scanned, and they were let inside for soundcheck, Ari nearly fell to her knees.

“Sua.” She gripped her shoulders. “I need you to physically restrain me.”

Sua deadpanned. “I think I need to put you on a leash.”

They made their way into the standing section, right up to the barricade. The massive stage loomed ahead, still empty, save for a few staff members setting up in the background. Around them, other VIPs were already buzzing with excitement, adjusting their cameras and murmuring in anticipation.

Ari? Absolutely losing it.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS,” she whisper-shouted, gripping the barricade. “HOSHI IS GOING TO BREATHE THE SAME AIR AS ME. IN APPROXIMATELY FIVE MINUTES.”

Sua rubbed her temples. “Can you chill?”

“CHILL? CHILL?!” Ari turned to her, wide-eyed. “HOW CAN I CHILL? LOOK WHERE WE ARE, SUA.”

Before Sua could reply, the music started.

The crowd erupted into cheers as the stage lights shifted, and one by one, Seventeen members stepped out.

The energy in the venue spiked instantly. Even though it was just a soundcheck, the sheer presence of thirteen idols on stage was overwhelming.

And then—

Hoshi walked out.

Ari died on the spot.

She grabbed Sua’s arm so hard she nearly cut off her circulation. “OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD—”

Sua sighed, gently prying Ari’s claws off her. “Please don’t pass out.”

“I MIGHT.”

Hoshi adjusted his in-ear monitor, scanning the crowd casually. Then, his eyes landed on Sua.

For a split second, he hesitated.

Then—his expression shifted.

A knowing smirk.

His head tilted slightly, recognition flickering in his eyes.

Oh, he remembered her.

Sua blinked. Oh, no.

She quickly looked away, but it was too late.

Other members had noticed too.

Minghao, for one, had been casually chatting with Jun when he followed Hoshi’s gaze—and his expression hardened slightly.

Seungcheol?

Well.

Seungcheol had already spotted her the moment he stepped onto the stage.

He hadn’t reacted much—just a quick glance, a brief flicker of something in his eyes—but the slight tightening of his jaw didn’t go unnoticed.

Ari, however, was blissfully unaware.

Because at that exact moment, Hoshi waved.

Directly. At. Them.

Ari stopped breathing.

“H—H—H—” She made an unholy noise, slapping Sua’s arm aggressively. “DID YOU SEE THAT?! HE LOOKED AT ME. HE LOOKED. AT. ME.”

Sua exhaled. “You’re literally wearing a full Horangdan uniform. Who else would he look at?”

But Ari wasn’t listening. She had entered a new plane of existence.

Meanwhile, just a few feet away, a cluster of hardcore fans in the VIP section had begun whispering.

Not about Hoshi.

About Sua.

One of them—a fan with a DSLR camera slung around her neck—narrowed her eyes, staring directly at Sua like she was trying to confirm something. She whispered something to the girl next to her, who immediately glanced up, her face twisting in recognition.

Then—a phone appeared.

The girl began typing rapidly, her fingers moving fast across the screen.

Ari didn’t notice.

But Sua?

She felt it.

That familiar, uneasy feeling.

It was subtle, but it was there.

The shift in energy.

The quiet murmurs.

The stolen glances.

She swallowed hard, gripping the barricade a little tighter.

Something told her something will happen.

—

“You’re staring.”

Seungcheol blinked.

Jeonghan smirked. “Should I get you a telescope?”

“Shut up,” Seungcheol muttered, adjusting his in-ear monitor.

But he wasn’t fooling anyone.

Because his eyes kept darting back to the barricade.

Specifically—to Sua.

She was right there.

Front row, center.

His girlfriend, in the middle of thousands of fans.

She looked adorable.

Her oversized sweater swallowed her frame, her Seungcheol fan tucked under one arm like she was embarrassed to hold it up. Her hair was tucked behind her ears, and she kept adjusting her grip on the barricade, her eyes flickering between the stage and the fans around her.

He knew she was nervous.

Even from this distance, he could tell.

She was standing still, too still, while Ari bounced beside her like an overcaffeinated rabbit.

And Seungcheol—he hated that he couldn’t do anything.

Not now.

Not when the lights were dimming, and the soundcheck was about to start.

Still, he couldn’t stop looking at her.

And apparently, everyone noticed.

“HYUNG!”

Seungkwan yanked his arm, hard.

“You’re BLUSHING,” Seungkwan whispered dramatically, eyes gleaming with pure chaos.

Seungcheol scowled. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” Jeonghan hummed, eyes twinkling.

“You look like you wanna jump off the stage,” Mingyu added.

Seungcheol was this close to throwing his mic at them.

But before he could snap, the music cue boomed through the venue, and they moved into their positions.

Just as the lights hit the stage—

A scream pierced through the air.

Not just any scream.

Sua’s scream.

But she wasn’t screaming for him.

She was screaming for—

“DOKYEOOOOM!!!”

Seungcheol whipped his head around so fast he almost snapped his neck.

Dokyeom, who had just been vibing peacefully, flinched.

“Huh?” he blinked, clearly startled as he looked toward the crowd.

Sua waved enthusiastically.

Seungcheol’s eye twitched.

Jeonghan burst out laughing.

“Oh, this is PRICELESS,” he cackled. “She just screamed for Dokyeom right in front of you.”

Mingyu clapped a hand over his mouth, trying—and failing—to stifle his wheezing laughter.

Meanwhile, Dokyeom looked extremely confused.

Because he knew exactly who Sua was.

And she was, very much, his hyung’s girlfriend.

So why was she yelling for him like some excited fangirl?

Seungcheol felt his blood pressure rise.

Because he knew why.

She was messing with him.

That little—

He turned back to the barricade, and—

Yup.

Sua was smirking.

Smirking.

Like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Seungcheol narrowed his eyes.

“You okay, hyung?” Seungkwan snorted, nudging him.

“I’m fine,” Seungcheol gritted out.

But he wasn’t.

Not when Sua was still grinning at him, her face full of mischief, as if daring him to react.

Oh, it’s war.

—

The soundcheck had been an experience. For Sua, it was a mix of secondhand embarrassment from babysitting Ari and the awkward tension from the members recognizing her. For Ari, it was the greatest moment of her life—or at least that’s what she had been shrieking about the entire walk back to the van.

Now, as they finally climbed into the vehicle, Ari collapsed onto the seat with the drama of an Oscar-winning actress.

“Oh. My. God.” She clutched her chest like she had just run a marathon. “I can die happy now. Hoshi looked at me. He actually—” She gasped. “We made EYE CONTACT.”

Sua, still reeling from her little stunt with Seungcheol, let out a breathless laugh.

“Uh-huh.” She plopped down beside Ari, kicking off her shoes.

“No, you don’t get it, Sua,” Ari whined, clutching her wrist. “He saw me. He acknowledged me. He even—” She suddenly grabbed Sua’s shoulders.

“WHAT IF HE RECOGNIZED ME?!”

Sua blinked. “…Why would he recognize you?”

Ari froze.

Then she slowly let go, clearing her throat. “Right. Never mind. Not important.”

Sua narrowed her eyes. “Ari…”

“ANYWAY.” Ari abruptly turned away, eyes lighting up as she finally noticed the inside of the van.

And then she froze.

Her mouth fell open.

“Sua,” she whispered.

Sua turned to her, confused. “What?”

Ari’s eyes darted around the spacious, pristine interior—the plush leather seats, the stocked mini fridge, the perfectly arranged blankets and warmers, the small basket of snacks nestled beside them.

A basket of snacks that was filled with…

Ari snatched one of the packs of shrimp chips and held it up like it was evidence in a crime scene.

“This is your favorite snack.”

“...Yeah?”

Ari grabbed a bottle of chamomile tea from the fridge. “And this. You always drink this at night.”

“Ari—”

Ari slowly turned to her, eyes narrowed.

“…Sua.”

Sua gulped.

Ari’s voice dropped. “Be honest with me.”

Sua swallowed hard.

“Are you,” Ari leaned in, “dating Xu Minghao?”

Sua choked.

“What?!”

Ari pointed at the snacks. “Be fr! No friend would go this far unless he’s—” she gasped, hand flying to her mouth. “Oh my God. Are you his secret muse?!”

Sua buried her face in her hands. “Oh my God, Ari.”

“I KNEW IT!”

“You did NOT.”

“Then how do you explain this?!” Ari waved around the luxurious setup. “A VIP ticket. A private VAN. Snacks stocked exactly to your taste?!”

Sua sputtered.

“Admit it, Sua,” Ari said dramatically. “You and Minghao… It all makes sense now. You’re secretly dating—”

“Ari.”

Ari stopped.

Sua gave her a deadpan look.

“I’m not dating Minghao.”

Ari squinted. “Then who—”

Sua’s phone vibrated.

She glanced down and saw a text from Seungcheol,

Hey, I'm glad to see you

I hope the van is comfortable enough

Did you eat yet? See you again soon

Sua’s stomach flipped.

She hesitated, thumbs hovering over the screen.

Ari leaned over.

Sua immediately tilted her phone away. “HEY.”

“OH MY GOD.” Ari gasped. “WHO WAS THAT?!”

“N-NO ONE.”

“NO. THAT REACTION??” Ari grabbed her shoulders. “SUAAAAA. WHO WAS THAT??”

Sua shoved her off. “NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS.”

Ari LET OUT A SCREAM.

“Oh my God, YOU’RE DATING SOMEONE—”

“ARI, DROP IT.”

“OH, I AM NOT DROPPING THIS.”

Ari slumped back into her seat, arms crossed.

“Fine,” she huffed. “I’ll find out eventually.”

Sua sighed, rubbing her temples.

Ari suddenly leaned forward. “Can I have these shrimp chips?”

“…Take the whole basket, Ari.”

Ari cheered.

—

By the time the concert was about to start, the atmosphere inside the venue had shifted completely. What had been a chaotic mix of screaming, excitement, and restless energy during soundcheck had now transformed into something electric—anticipation crackling in the air like a storm about to break.

Sua felt it.

The vibration beneath her feet as the bass thumped through the speakers, the collective hush of thousands of fans waiting, the way her own heart pounded in her chest.

Ari, on the other hand—

“OH MY GOD, IT’S STARTING!!”

Sua barely had time to register the sudden assault on her eardrums before Ari was grabbing her arm, shaking her violently as the lights dimmed.

“Ari, please,” she wheezed, prying her fingers off.

But Ari wasn’t even listening. She was too busy clutching her Hoshi fan like a lifeline, practically bouncing on her feet as the intro VCR played on the massive screens.

And then—

The music HIT.

The first beat of “Fearless” BOOMED through the stadium, and the entire venue exploded.

Screams, flashing lights, the sheer force of thousands of fans jumping in sync—it was overwhelming in the best way possible.

Sua felt the rush of it, the kind of thrill she hadn’t experienced in years. The kind that only came from being one of them.

Not Seungcheol’s girlfriend. Not an outsider.

Just a fan.

And then the members emerged on stage.

Ari LOST IT.

“OH MY GOD, HOSHI—”

Sua, meanwhile, had her eyes locked on one person.

Seungcheol.

He was at the center, stepping forward like he owned the entire stage. Dressed in all black, his gaze sharp, his stance powerful, his movements precise.

He looked so different from the man who had clung to her in bed, whining about missing her just a night ago.

No—this wasn’t her Cheol.

This was S.COUPS, the leader, the performer, the man the entire world was watching.

And yet—

When the lights flashed across the stage, and their eyes met for the briefest second—

Sua saw it.

The slight quirk of his lips. The way his brows lifted just a little in amusement.

He knew she was watching.

And then, just like that—

He was gone, swept into the performance.

Sua swallowed hard.

And then, because she was still a fan first, she reached into her bag and pulled out her own Seungcheol fan.

Yes.

A massive impict of her own boyfriend.

Ari, who was too busy screaming over Hoshi, didn’t notice at first.

But when Sua hesitantly lifted the fan in front of her face, half-hiding behind it—

Ari froze.

And then she let out a choked sound.

“OH. MY. GOD.”

Sua winced. “Ari—”

“ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!”

Sua turned red.

Ari pointed at her in disbelief. “YOU’RE FANGIRLING OVER S.COUPS???”

Sua hissed. “SHUT UP.”

But Ari was howling. “YOU’RE SO EMBARRASSING.”

Sua ignored her.

Because on stage, Seungcheol had noticed.

For just a split second, his eyes flickered to the fan she was holding up—

And then—

He grinned.

Before Sua could even process that—

The music transitioned.

Straight into “Ash.”

Sua froze.

Oh, no.

Because that meant—

That meant this was one of Seungcheol’s most intense performances.

And sure enough—

The moment the beat dropped, Seungcheol’s entire expression changed.

Gone was the amused boyfriend.

Now, he was serious. Focused. Dangerous.

With the way he moved, the way his jaw clenched, the way sweat dripped down his temple—

He looked GOOD.

Sua gulped.

And then—

Seungcheol did something evil.

He glanced toward her section—right at her—and ran a hand through his damp hair.

And smirked.

Sua. DIED.

Ari screamed. “OH MY GOD, HE DID THAT ON PURPOSE.”

“I HATE HIM,” Sua wheezed, clutching her fan.

Ari cackled. “YOU LOOK LIKE YOU’RE ABOUT TO PASS OUT.”

“I AM.”

Meanwhile, Seungcheol just went back to rapping, like he didn’t just end her entire bloodline.

And worst of all—

The whispers had started.

Right around them.

Sua didn’t notice at first, still reeling from the fact that her ultimate bias was TOO powerful for her heart to handle.

But then she saw it—

A few heads turning toward her section.

Some fans in the VIP barricade were typing rapidly on their phones, whispering to each other.

A girl a few rows back was pointing.

Another had her camera trained on Sua.

And when Sua turned slightly—

She froze.

Because a few rows away, staring straight at her—

Was the same girl who cornered  her at  the gallery.

—

The concert was supposed to be at its peak—laughter, euphoria, and the exhilarating chaos that came with Aju Nice’s never-ending encore.

But for Sua, it felt like she was being swallowed whole.

The air around her was stifling.

It wasn’t just the whispers anymore. Eyes were on her. Sharp, prying, accusatory.

And it wasn’t just the people near her.

From the corner of her eye, she caught movement from other sections—some hardcore fans were shifting closer. Some were moving from the upper VIP rows, weaving their way down toward her.

Ari saw it too.

A lot of them were foreign fans, decked out in merch, their phones already raised. Some had their cameras recording, whispering rapidly in another language, pointing—at Sua.

Ari’s stomach twisted.

She was no idiot. She had seen how things worked in fandom spaces. The way certain types of fans reacted when they thought their idols were getting "too close" to someone.

And Seungcheol had been coming to their section too many times tonight.

The energy was turning.

From the moment Seungcheol had looked their way during soundcheck, the whispers had started. But now, the intensity was different. More dangerous.

And then—

A sharp shove.

Sua stumbled forward.

It wasn’t an accident.

Someone had pushed her.

Ari snapped around.

But before she could catch the culprit, another girl—a different one this time—brushed against Sua, her elbow digging into her side a little too forcefully.

Sua went rigid.

It kept happening. Small, subtle touches—but each one held weight.

An arm pressing against hers. A lightstick knocking into her shoulder. A step just a little too close, forcing her backward.

It was like they were closing in.

And then—

One of them grabbed her wrist.

Sua jerked back, heart hammering.

Ari snapped.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” she barked, shoving the girl's hand away.

The girl barely even reacted—she just smirked and turned away, disappearing back into the jumping crowd.

Sua’s breathing was shaky.

Ari grabbed her immediately.

“Sua—”

And then—movement on stage.

Seungcheol.

He had been laughing, caught in the chaos of the never-ending encore—but then his gaze landed on their section.

He froze.

His expression darkened.

And then, he started moving.

Ari cursed. No, no, no—

Seungcheol walked straight to the front of the stage, stopping directly in front of them.

Sua felt everything crash at once.

The fans noticed immediately.

“What the hell?”

“Why is he looking over here?”

“That’s the girl from—”

“Holy shit, it’s her. It’s really her.”

Ari felt her entire body go cold.

And then—another shove.

This time, it was harder. Sua barely managed to keep her balance.

Ari saw red.

But before she could do anything—

Another movement—not on the main stage,

Minghao.

His expression was thunderous.

He had seen everything.

And before Ari could even process it, he had already moved.

He wasn’t even on their side of the stage, but he was calling for security.

Within seconds, staff members began moving toward them.

Ari yanked Sua toward the aisle.

“We’re getting out of here. Now.”

“But—”

“Sua.” Ari’s voice was firm, almost frantic. “Come on. Now.”

Before Sua could say another word, Ari was already pulling her toward the exit.

—

Getting out of the concert hall should have felt like a relief.

It wasn’t.

The second Sua and Ari stepped into the open corridor leading to the exit, the whispers followed.

No—not whispers.

Sneers.

Muttered insults.

The low hum of resentment bubbling just beneath the surface.

And then—

A deliberate bump against Sua’s shoulder.

Ari reacted immediately.

“Watch it!” she snapped, her voice sharp as she turned.

The girl—a petite thing in a crop top and a Seventeen jacket—didn’t even look guilty.

If anything, she looked satisfied.

And she wasn’t alone.

Just a few steps ahead, another group of girls had stopped walking altogether, blocking the hallway.

Ari’s stomach dropped.

This wasn’t random.

This wasn’t an accident.

They were waiting for them.

Sua must have realized it too, because she subtly grabbed onto Ari’s wrist. Her fingers were ice cold.

Ari exhaled sharply.

Fine. If they wanted a fight—

“You should be ashamed.”

The words came from the girl who had bumped into Sua. Her voice was calm, almost bored.

But her eyes—sharp, cruel—told a different story.

Another girl, standing next to her, tilted her head mockingly.

“Seriously. How much did you pay?”

Ari’s blood boiled.

“What the hell are you talking about?” she snapped.

A quiet laugh.

“You think we don’t know?” Another girl crossed her arms. “We’ve known about her for weeks.”

Sua’s grip on Ari’s wrist tightened.

Ari’s pulse spiked.

This wasn’t just random hate.

They knew.

They knew.

The private forums. The underground sasaeng sites. That’s where this was coming from.

And that meant—

They had been watching. Waiting.

The girl at the front smirked. “You must be so proud of yourself. Playing innocent when you’re just another—”

Ari snapped.

“Say another word and see what happens.”

The group of girls laughed.

It was so casual, so mocking, it made Ari’s vision blur with rage.

But then—

Another voice.

A male voice.

“Excuse me. You need to keep moving.”

The security staff.

Minghao’s men.

The girls’ expressions twisted. They weren’t stupid—they wouldn’t risk getting kicked out.

For a moment, Ari thought they might push back.

But after a tense few seconds, they scoffed and walked away.

Ari didn’t move until they disappeared completely.

Only then did she turn back to Sua—

—only to find her shaking.

Not crying.

Not reacting.

Just—standing there, frozen.

Ari’s stomach clenched.

She gently grabbed Sua’s wrist. “Come on.”

Sua didn’t say anything.

Didn’t protest.

She just let Ari pull her away.

—

The van felt too quiet.

Sua hadn’t said a word since they got in.

Not when the doors shut.

Not when the driver asked if they were okay.

Not even when Ari ranted the entire ride back about those psychotic sasaengs.

She just sat there, hands clenched in her lap, eyes blankly staring at nothing.

Ari was worried.

Like, really worried.

Because Sua wasn’t just shaken.

She looked like she was somewhere else entirely.

Ari had seen her upset before—angry, frustrated, annoyed—but this?

This was different.

“Hey,” Ari finally said, nudging her lightly. “Say something. You’re freaking me out.”

Sua blinked.

Slowly.

Like she’d just remembered where she was.

“…Sorry.”

Ari frowned. “You don’t have to apologize. That was insane. Are you okay?”

Another pause.

Then—

A small, forced smile.

“I’m fine.”

Liar.

Ari narrowed her eyes. “No, you’re not.”

Sua exhaled, tucking her hands between her knees.

“I should’ve known,” she murmured.

Ari froze.

“What?”

Sua didn’t look up. “I should’ve known this would happen.”

Ari stared at her.

For a moment, she didn’t know what to say.

And then—

Her stomach dropped.

Because she realized what Sua meant.

She thought this was her fault.

“Okay, absolutely not,” Ari said firmly. “That’s not on you. Those girls were insane.”

Sua shook her head, still staring at her lap.

“They weren’t wrong.”

Ari’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

Sua finally looked up.

And that’s when Ari saw it.

The guilt.

The deep, suffocating guilt in her eyes.

“They knew about me before today,” Sua said quietly. “Which means people have been talking about me for weeks.”

Ari didn’t respond.

Because she knew where this was going.

“And now, because of tonight…” Sua inhaled sharply. “It’s going to get worse.”

Ari felt sick.

Not just because Sua was blaming herself.

But because she wasn’t wrong.

Minghao had called security for her. Seungcheol had stood there on stage, staring directly at her.

Even if people hadn’t been sure before…

Now they would be.

The rumors weren’t just whispers in sasaeng circles anymore.

By tomorrow, they would be everywhere.

Ari clenched her fists. “Listen to me.”

Sua didn’t.

She just kept going.

“I’m putting him at risk.”

Ari froze.

“That’s not true,” she said immediately.

But Sua laughed softly.

Not because it was funny.

Because it was helpless.

“It is, though.” She leaned back against the seat, pressing her fingertips against her temples. “He’s about to go on tour, and now I’m a liability.”

Ari hated that she couldn’t argue.

Because as much as she wanted to say Sua was wrong…

The truth was, she wasn’t.

The sasaengs weren’t going to let this go.

Neither would the hardcore fans.

And Seungcheol?

His entire career depended on his public image.

If things spiraled…

Ari swallowed hard. “Seungcheol doesn’t care about that.”

“I do.” Sua’s voice was quiet.

And that’s when Ari realized.

This wasn’t just about what happened tonight.

[moncherriecoups]

Muted Hearts - Before Us

The one who let me know and see myself

You are my only reason

If you'll remember me forever

Then it's okay for me to get hurt

My heart carved with your light

Only makes me stronger

Your sharp thorns, please give it to me

'Cause you're my flower

Chapter 10.2

February 2024

Seungcheol didn’t particularly like change.

His life was structured—schedule after schedule, practice, meetings, rehearsals, workouts. If he could keep at least one thing constant, he would. And for the longest time, that one thing was the gym in the company building. It was close, private, and most importantly, familiar.

But then came Kim Mingyu.

"Hyung, please," Mingyu had whined, practically draping himself over Seungcheol's back after practice. "I found this gym, and it’s so much better than the one at the company. The vibe is cozy, the equipment is brand new, and they even have protein shakes made fresh at the counter—fresh, hyung!"

Seungcheol had barely looked up from his phone, already suspicious. "Then go by yourself?"

"I hate going alone."

Of course he did. Mingyu was practically a golden retriever in human form—thrived in companionship, hated doing anything solo. But Seungcheol wasn’t about to be dragged across town just because the younger one wanted a change of scenery.

Until Mingyu pulled out the final weapon.

"You do realize that our company gym is getting boring, right? Same people. Same routines. Same everything. Don’t you feel a little tired of it, hyung?"

Seungcheol had scoffed at the time, brushing it off with a lazy wave. But later that night, when he was back at the company gym, cycling through the same warm-ups, the same weights, the same sterile environment—he felt it.

That nagging sense of monotony.

And somehow, that was how he found himself standing outside a gym on the other side of town the following week, arms crossed, watching Mingyu practically bounce with excitement.

"See? It’s nice, right?" Mingyu beamed, swiping his membership card at the entrance. "And the people here are so chill, no one even looks twice at us!"

Seungcheol hummed noncommittally as he followed inside. The gym was… decent. Smaller than their company one, but the atmosphere was different. Cozy, like Mingyu had said. Warm lighting instead of the harsh fluorescents he was used to. A good mix of people—some regular gym-goers, others just there to stay active. No overly eager fans, no suffocating attention.

Alright, fine. Maybe Mingyu had a point.

"I'll give it a shot," Seungcheol finally muttered, rolling his shoulders.

"YES!" Mingyu fist-pumped like he had just won a bet.

–

This gym was never supposed to be a regular thing.

Originally, it was just a favor to Mingyu—a one-time visit, or so he thought. The younger member had insisted, claiming it was quieter than their company gym, had better equipment, and was “literally the perfect place to work out without distractions.”

"Just try it once, hyung," Mingyu had grinned, throwing an arm over his shoulder. "You’ll thank me later."

That never happened. But somehow, he kept coming back.

Not because of anything particularly special. He wasn’t someone who enjoyed changing up his routine. And yet, after that first visit, the place stuck in his mind.

It was quiet. No fans waiting outside, no cameras catching him off guard. The staff and members treated him like anyone else—just a guy coming in for a workout. No stares, no whispers.

It felt… normal.

And maybe that’s why his schedule started shifting around it.

At first, he only went when Mingyu was free. But, predictably, the younger man’s enthusiasm didn’t last long.

"Hyung, I can't today—early shoot."

"Hyung, let’s go tomorrow instead, I need sleep."

"Hyung, you’re still going? Damn."

One excuse after another, until he was going alone.

But stopping never crossed his mind. Somewhere along the way, this place had carved itself into his day, becoming as routine as practice or work. It wasn’t just about staying in shape anymore—it was about the rare stillness. A moment in his schedule that belonged to him.

And then, there was her.

It wasn’t immediate. No dramatic first meeting, no slow-motion glances across the gym.

She was just another regular at first. Someone who happened to be there at the same time.

Until she wasn’t just that anymore.

The little things started standing out. The way she always tied her hair back in a loose ponytail, strands slipping free by the end of her session. The way she scrolled through her phone between sets, completely lost in whatever she was reading. The way she carried herself—focused, steady, like nothing around her mattered.

Tuesdays. Thursdays. Fridays.

Always at the same time.

Always leaving just as he arrived.

He shouldn’t have cared about that.

But somehow, he did.

Because for someone he had never spoken to, who had never even looked his way—she was taking up space in his mind in a way he didn’t know how to stop

–

March, 2024

Seungcheol liked to believe he wasn’t easily distracted.

But lately, something had shifted.

It wasn’t the usual exhaustion from packed schedules or the weight of being SEVENTEEN’s leader. This was different—subtle, creeping in before he even realized it.

At first, it was just a passing thought. A brief glance at the clock before heading to the gym, an unconscious check to see if she was there.

Then, it became routine.

The moment he stepped inside, his eyes would instinctively scan the room, searching for a familiar figure. He told himself it was nothing—just habit, like any other part of his workout.

But on the days she wasn’t there, when the space felt a little emptier, a strange sense of disappointment settled in his chest.

Which made no sense.

He didn’t even know her.

She was just another gym-goer, part of the usual crowd.

And yet, habits were hard to break.

And once something—or someone—caught his attention, Seungcheol wasn’t the type to ignore it.

So, when he finally saw her up close for the first time, it hit him harder than expected.

The gym was quiet that afternoon, with only a few regulars scattered around. Seungcheol had just finished warming up when he turned—and there she was.

By the weights, adjusting her wrist wraps, completely focused on the task.

He shouldn’t have stared.

But something about the moment made it hard to look away.

Maybe it was the way she moved—calm, composed, lost in her own world. Maybe it was the way she carried herself, as if nothing could shake her.

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

Something he wasn’t ready to put into words.

He forced himself to look away, shaking off the thought.

Because that’s all it was.

A passing moment.

Nothing more.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

But the feeling lingered longer than it should have.

–

Obsession wasn’t in his nature. He was a leader, a decision-maker—someone who set goals and saw them through. But this? This was different.

The mystery of her lingered.

For weeks, she had been a presence just beyond his reach, slipping away before he could ever get close. Not once had they spoken, not once had he managed to be in the right place at the right time, yet somehow, she had taken up space in his thoughts.

And that wasn’t something he could ignore.

So, for the first time in a long time, curiosity got the better of him.

Answers weren’t hard to find—people talked, and the gym staff knew him well. A few casual questions here and there, nothing too obvious, and finally, he got what he wanted.

Her name.

Jang Sua.

He turned it over in his mind, testing how it sounded, how it felt. Simple, refined, carrying a quiet sort of confidence. It suited her.

And yet, the moment he had it, something about it tugged at him.

Familiar.

Like a name he had heard before but never really registered.

The realization didn’t hit him until later, when he was lounging in the practice room, half-listening to the others’ conversation.

Jang Sua.

Minghao’s Jang Sua.

The name that had surfaced in passing, always spoken with quiet admiration. The gallery girl, the art specialist—the one who had guided Minghao through paintings, pushed him beyond his comfort zone.

Recognition struck first. And then, something heavier. Something far more unsettling.

Minghao liked her.

Maybe not openly, maybe not in a way the others had picked up on, but now it was clear—the way Minghao’s voice shifted when he spoke about her, the way he lingered on details that had nothing to do with art.

And now, he wanted her too.

A slow exhale left his lips as he leaned back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Of course, it had to be her.

Because nothing was ever simple.

And walking away had never been his style.

—

“You look like you’ve got something on your mind,” Jeonghan mused, lazily swirling the straw in his iced americano.

Across from him, the man in question sat slumped in his chair, arms crossed, brows furrowed. It wasn’t like Seungcheol to be this quiet, especially during their late-night café runs. Normally, he was the one rambling about schedules, workouts, or whatever drama had unfolded in the group chat that day. But tonight? Silence.

Jeonghan smirked. “It’s a girl, isn’t it?”

The sharp exhale that followed was all the confirmation he needed.

“Not just any girl,” Jeonghan continued, amused. “It’s her, isn’t it? The gym girl you’ve been secretly obsessed with.”

At that, Seungcheol groaned, tilting his head back against the booth. “I’m not obsessed.”

“Sure. That’s why you’ve been going to the gym religiously every day at the same time, hoping to ‘accidentally’ run into her.”

He had nothing to say to that, so he took a slow sip of his drink instead.

Jeonghan leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. “Alright, so what’s the problem? You like her. She doesn’t even know you exist. What’s stopping you?”

A beat of hesitation.

“…Minghao.”

That wiped the smirk off Jeonghan’s face. “Ah.”

Seungcheol exhaled, fingers tapping against his cup. “He likes her.”

There it was—the thing that had been gnawing at him for weeks now. Minghao wasn’t the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve, but it was painfully obvious. The way he talked about her, the subtle way his expression softened whenever her name came up… it didn’t take a genius to figure it out.

And yet, despite years of knowing her, he had never made a move.

“So let me get this straight.” Jeonghan sat back, tapping his fingers against the table. “Minghao’s liked her for years but never confessed, and now you like her too.”

Seungcheol nodded.

“And you’re debating whether or not to do something about it?”

Another nod.

Jeonghan let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “You know, for someone who acts all tough, you’re surprisingly considerate.”

Seungcheol scoffed. “Hannie.”

“Listen,” Jeonghan leaned in, voice low but firm, “if you make a move first and she chooses you, then that’s how it’s supposed to be. Minghao had years, Seungcheol. If he really wanted to be with her, he would’ve done something by now.”

That… was cruel.

But also true.

Seungcheol hated to admit it, but the thought had crossed his mind before. If Minghao was really that serious about her, why hadn’t he said anything? Why had he stayed in the safe zone all this time?

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” Jeonghan added, as if reading his thoughts. “You like her. You want to ask her out. That’s normal. What happens next? That’s up to her.”

The words settled in his chest, heavy but strangely reassuring.

He’d spent so much time hesitating, caught between his own feelings and the unspoken ones of his friend. But at the end of the day, the choice wasn’t his—or Minghao’s—to make.

It was hers.

And he was done waiting.

—

April, 2024

He never thought she'd say yes.

Even as the words left his mouth—carefully measured, laced with quiet hesitation—he had braced for rejection. He had prepared himself for the moment she would scoff, roll her eyes, maybe even look at him like he was out of his mind.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she tilted her head, studied him like she was searching for something beneath his careful composure, and then—"I’ll sign it."

And just like that, the ground beneath him shifted.

—

Dating Sua was unlike anything he had known before.

There were no grand declarations, no textbook romance gestures. She didn’t expect flowers or public displays of affection, didn’t demand more than what he could give.

Instead, she gave him something far more dangerous—a place to rest.

She never pried, never asked about things he wasn’t ready to share. Yet somehow, she always knew—when to let him be, when to tease him out of his exhaustion, when to lean against his shoulder and let the silence stretch comfortably between them.

Seungcheol had never met someone so effortlessly steady.

And he was already in too deep before he even realized he was falling.

—

The night it happened, he hadn’t planned for it.

They were at his apartment, the air thick with unspoken things. She sat on the couch in his hoodie, fingers wrapped around a cup of tea, looking so effortlessly like she belonged there that it made his chest ache.

Then, somewhere between soft laughter and quiet touches, she kissed him first.

It was barely there at first—a gentle press of lips, like she was testing something, waiting for him to stop her.

But he didn’t.

Instead, his hands found her waist, anchoring himself to her, deepening the kiss with a hunger he hadn't let himself acknowledge until now.

He felt her sigh against him, soft and warm, and something inside him broke.

It had been so long.

Too long since he let himself have this, let himself want without hesitation, without restraint.

And now, with her beneath him, her skin warm beneath his fingertips, her name a quiet prayer on his lips—he realized just how much he had missed this.

Missed her.

His hands trembled slightly as he traced the curve of her back, mapping the shivers he pulled from her, the soft gasps that sent heat curling through his veins.

"Are you okay?" she whispered, her fingers threading through his hair.

He exhaled a quiet laugh, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Yeah." His voice was rougher than he expected. "You?"

She nodded, eyes heavy-lidded, lips swollen, beautiful.

And when he finally sank into her, when she breathed his name like it was something sacred—he knew.

There was no coming back from this.

—

After that night, it was over for him.

Seungcheol had always been careful—always kept a part of himself tucked away, guarded.

But now?

Now he was completely gone for her.

It was in the way he caught himself staring when she wasn’t looking. The way he found excuses to touch her, even in the smallest ways—a hand on the small of her back, fingers brushing hers, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against her skin.

The way he would wake up before her just to watch the slow rise and fall of her breath, to commit the softness of her to memory before the world pulled him away again.

He was in love with her.

So hopelessly, maddeningly in love with her that it scared him.

Because for the first time in a long time, he had something he couldn’t afford to lose.

—

August, 2024

Seungcheol had been careful.

At least, he thought he had been.

No one was supposed to know—not yet. Not until he figured out how to handle this properly. The moment the members found out, it would spread like wildfire. Not to the public, of course; he trusted them more than anyone. But within the group, between the teasing and the pestering, there would be no keeping it to himself.

So he had been careful. He had hidden it well. Or so he thought.

But now, as he sat in the dressing room, staring at the read receipt on his phone, he realized maybe he hadn’t been as subtle as he’d believed.

He had been smiling.

And someone had noticed.

"Who the hell is ‘Sua’?"

Seungcheol’s head jerked up.

Mingyu was standing over him, eyes locked onto his screen before he could react. He locked it immediately, but it was too late. DK was already launching himself onto the couch, eyes wide with betrayal.

"HYUNG, WHO IS SUA?? Secret girlfriend? Hidden manager? Are you being blackmailed? BLINK TWICE IF—"

"Mind your business," Seungcheol muttered, shoving him off, but his voice didn’t have enough bite.

Mingyu grinned, nudging his shoulder. “No, but really. Who is she?”

Seungcheol exhaled, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

"Someone important."

That should’ve been enough. That should’ve ended it.

But when he stood, stretching to make his escape, his gaze flickered across the room—

And there was Minghao.

Silent. Watching.

Seungcheol froze for a split second, just enough to feel the weight of Minghao’s gaze.

And then he turned away.

He knew that look.

Knew it too well.

Minghao had already figured it out.

—

Seungcheol wasn’t sure how long he had before Minghao confronted him, but he knew it was coming.

Minghao never reacted impulsively, never made a scene. He was careful, methodical, always waiting for the right moment to ask the right question.

So when the others had filtered out, leaving just the two of them backstage, Seungcheol didn’t need to turn around to know he was there.

"You’re seeing her."

It wasn’t a question.

Still, Seungcheol took his time turning. He could pretend to be surprised. He could play dumb. But there was no point.

Instead, he just met Minghao’s gaze.

"Yes."

Minghao didn’t flinch. Didn’t sigh. Didn’t react the way the others would have.

He just studied him.

"You never told me."

It wasn’t an accusation, but it wasn’t just a statement either. It held something else—something heavier, something that made Seungcheol’s stomach twist.

Because there was a truth underneath it.

You never told me.

But I told you about her.

I talked about her. I admired her. I trusted you.

And now, suddenly, she’s yours.

Seungcheol clenched his jaw, exhaling slowly. He could say I didn’t have to. He could say I didn’t think it mattered.

But both of those would be lies.

Minghao had noticed before anyone else. That was the kind of person he was—someone who paid attention, someone who saw things before they were spoken aloud. He had noticed the way Seungcheol lingered on his phone, the way his expression softened before locking the screen. He had noticed the flowers, the careful way Seungcheol crafted his words.

And now, standing in front of him, he wasn’t asking because he didn’t know.

He was asking because he wanted to know why.

Seungcheol swallowed. He could offer an excuse. Say it happened fast, that he didn’t want to make it a big deal. But none of those were true either.

He had avoided telling Minghao.

Because he knew it would feel like this.

Because he knew—deep down—that Minghao cared more than he ever let on.

And maybe that was the part that made Seungcheol feel guilty.

Minghao let out a quiet laugh, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just be careful, hyung.”

It wasn’t a warning. It wasn’t a threat.

It was a reminder.

Seungcheol didn’t ask what he meant.

Didn’t tell him that it was already too late for that.

—

September, 2024

It was supposed to be a casual night.

One of those rare evenings where practice ended early enough for them to grab drinks together, unwind after hours of sweating under bright lights and sharper critiques.

So here they were, packed into their usual spot—an upscale but quiet bar tucked away from prying eyes—nursing cold beers and emptying shared plates of anju.

Seungcheol had just returned from ordering another round when he felt it.

That shift in the air.

Subtle, but there.

The way the conversation slowed just slightly as he sat back down, the way glances flickered toward him—too fleeting to call out, but just enough to make his skin prickle.

And then—

“So,” Seungkwan began, slow, casual. A little too casual. “Sua, huh?”

Jun hummed, swirling his drink. “Interesting.”

"Very interesting,” Joshua echoed.

Seungcheol sighed, setting his glass down. “Just say it.”

Jeonghan, ever the executioner, leaned back with a lazy smirk. “We just realized something.”

A beat.

"She’s the same Jang Sua that Minghao always talks about."

Seungcheol barely reacted, years of self-control keeping his expression neutral.

But inside?

Inside, something twisted.

Of course, they figured it out.

He didn’t dare glance at Minghao, who sat a little too still, fingers resting lightly against his glass, gaze unreadable.

Vernon, unbothered as always, was the first to break the quiet. “Damn. Small world.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Woozi muttered.

DK, who always took a second longer to catch on, blinked. “Wait, so—” He turned to Minghao. “Isn’t she the one you always—”

“Drop it,” Minghao cut in smoothly.

The words weren’t sharp, but they carried weight.

DK shut up.

And just like that, the tension stretched taut.

Seungcheol breathed evenly, keeping his expression unreadable.

He didn’t owe anyone an explanation.

But under their scrutiny, he felt like he did.

Because he knew what they might thinking.

Was there something between them?Did she play them both?Did Minghao like her first?

It was bullshit.

Sua wasn’t like that.

And Minghao wasn’t the type to get strung along.

Seungcheol knew this.

And yet, the thought that even one of them might be entertaining the idea made his stomach coil uncomfortably.

He felt his jaw tighten, shoulders stiffening—

Then—

A soft nudge under the table.

Jeonghan.

Seungcheol turned slightly, catching the lazy way Jeonghan sipped his drink, the ever-knowing glint in his eyes.

“Cheol,” Jeonghan murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.

And just like that, the tension in Seungcheol’s body unraveled.

Because he knew what Jeonghan meant.

Let it go.

Starting an argument now would only make things worse.

So instead, Seungcheol exhaled. Forced himself to relax.

Shrugged.

“What can I say?” He reached for his beer, voice easy, light. “Guess Minghao has good taste.”

A beat.

Then—

Jeonghan snorted.

The others groaned.

And just like that, the weight in the air lifted.

Conversation picked up again, the scrutiny shifting elsewhere, and the moment passed.

Seungcheol took a slow sip of his drink.

Beside him, Minghao said nothing.

But Seungcheol didn’t miss the way his fingers curled around his glass just a little tighter.

──────────────────────────────

two chapters in a day bcs why not :)

[moncherriecoups]

Me, reading my fic drafts: Damn this is pretty good, when's the author gonna finish it?

[moncherriecoups]

"You have to become comfortable with the fact that most people who enjoy your fic will never bother to kudos or comment on it."

Shockingly, I am comfortable with this fact. Lack of kudos or comments doesn't bother me.

That doesn't mean it shouldn't change.

If you enjoy a fic, leave a kudos or a comment.

[moncherriecoups]

Muted Hearts - Before Us

To falling petals No one gives a warm touch A smile that hurts more because it's beautiful Like a heart filled with sadness

Chapter 10.1

Minghao always believed there were some things in life that words could never truly express.

He had spent years perfecting his control over his body—his limbs slicing through the air with precision, his footwork light and sharp, his movements honed to perfection. Dance had been his first love, his first language. But as the years passed, he realized that even dance had its limits. There were feelings too complex to be captured in a single motion, emotions too tangled to be unraveled in just a routine.

That was when he turned to art.

At first, it had been nothing more than a quiet pastime—something to do when the world outside felt too loud, when the constant hum of schedules, cameras, and expectations became overwhelming. He remembered the first time he picked up a brush, the way the bristles felt foreign in his grip. It wasn’t graceful like dancing; his first strokes were clumsy, hesitant. But as the colors bled onto the canvas, as his thoughts took shape in smudges and lines, he felt something loosen in his chest.

Relief.

Minghao had never been the loudest in the room. He was known for his sharp words and sharper glances, but beneath that exterior was someone who carried too much inside. The pressure of being an idol, of being constantly watched, judged, expected to perform—sometimes, it suffocated him. Art became his sanctuary.

He started with sketchbooks, small and easily tucked away. His first drawings were simple—abstract patterns, scattered brush strokes, vague silhouettes that only made sense to him. But as time passed, he grew more confident, more deliberate. He found inspiration in places he never expected: the way the city lights reflected on wet pavement after a night of rain, the quiet melancholy in a stranger’s gaze, the fleeting colors of sunset when he was heading home after practice.

Then, he started going to exhibitions.

He went alone, slipping in and out of galleries between schedules, a cap pulled low over his eyes. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, only that being surrounded by art made something inside him settle. The stillness of it, the way paintings told stories without noise—it was a comfort he didn’t know he needed.

He started reading about artists, watching documentaries about their lives. He admired those who painted not just with skill, but with emotion—those who bared their souls on canvas, unafraid of how the world would perceive them. It was different from being an idol. In his world, perfection was expected. But in art? Imperfection was what made something real.

He envied that kind of freedom.

By the time 2018 arrived, painting had become more than just an escape. It was a part of him, a second language he was still learning but one he deeply cherished. He didn’t tell many people about it. It was something he wanted to keep for himself, something that was untouched by the expectations of the world.

That year, he received an invitation to an exhibition opening.

—

Seoul, 2018

The invitation sat on the corner of his desk for weeks before he finally decided to use it.

Minghao wasn’t sure why he hesitated. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been to galleries before. But this was different—it was an exhibition opening, an event filled with collectors, critics, and artists who belonged to a world he was only beginning to understand. He wasn’t there as an idol. No cameras, no flashing lights, no screaming fans. Just him, surrounded by art.

That should have made it easier.

But as he stepped into the gallery that evening, he realized the quiet pressure in the air felt familiar. It wasn’t the suffocating intensity of a stage, but it was still an audience, still a performance of sorts. People weren’t just looking at art—they were looking at each other. Who was there, who was talking to whom, who was important enough to know. Minghao had lived in that kind of world for years, just in a different form.

He adjusted the sleeves of his jacket, glancing around. The gallery was bright, spacious, the walls lined with pieces from contemporary artists. He moved between them slowly, hands tucked in his pockets, trying to take in the details. Bold brushstrokes, delicate inkwork, sculptures frozen in motion. He wasn’t an expert—not yet—but he liked to observe. He liked how art made him feel, how it told stories without needing words.

He was only twenty years old at the time. Young, but not a child. Experienced in some things, but still figuring out others.

He didn’t belong to just one world. He had debuted at eighteen, spent years training before that, and by now, the stage felt like home. But this? This world of collectors, curators, and critics? He was still an outsider looking in.

And then, in the middle of the room, he noticed her.

She was standing near a sculpture, her posture straight but her fingers gripping the edge of a brochure a little too tightly. She looked young—around his age, maybe a little younger—but there was something about her that seemed out of place among the crowd of seasoned collectors and critics. Not in a bad way, just… different.

Minghao had an eye for detail, and he could tell when someone was nervous.

She was trying to hide it, the way her shoulders stiffened every time someone passed by, the way she nodded a little too quickly when an older woman spoke to her. But there was a flicker of something else in her expression too—determination, maybe. Like she was here for a reason, even if she wasn’t completely sure of herself yet.

He didn’t know why he kept looking.

Maybe because, in a way, he understood.

This was one of his first big art events, and he was sure she was new to this world too. Unlike the other staff members, she was wearing a name tag, which meant she wasn’t just another gallery assistant. Maybe she was an intern, or a student working the event for experience.

Or maybe, like him, she was just trying to figure out where she belonged.

Their eyes met—just for a second.

She quickly glanced away, but the moment stuck with him.

He didn’t approach her that night.

He didn’t even know her name.

But he would remember that brief moment—the girl gripping her brochure a little too tightly, trying to hold her own in a world that could be so intimidating.

He would remember because, in that moment, he saw a bit of himself in her.

And maybe, just maybe, that was why he never forgot her.

—

Seoul, 2020

Minghao wasn’t expecting to see her again.

Not in another gallery. Not two years later. Not when he had almost convinced himself she was just a fleeting memory—one of those people who pass through your life in an instant and leave only the faintest impression.

But the moment he saw her, he remembered everything.

It was late autumn in Seoul, and the air was crisp, carrying the scent of dried leaves and the first hints of winter. The gallery was smaller than the grand exhibition hall where he had first seen her, but it had its own charm—tall ceilings, soft lighting, and walls lined with carefully curated pieces. He had come alone, as he often did when he had time between schedules, dressed in a way that wouldn’t draw attention.

Minghao had always been careful in public. He had spent years perfecting the art of blending in, of existing quietly when he wanted to. But when he stepped inside and saw her standing by the counter, flipping through an artist’s portfolio with a concentrated expression, he almost forgot himself.

She looked different now. More confident, more composed. The nervous grip on brochures was gone, replaced by a quiet assurance in the way she carried herself. But she was still her.

He had learned enough about galleries over the years to recognize staff members and curators, and it didn’t take long for him to piece things together. She wasn’t just assisting—she was running things now.

Minghao observed her for a while, pretending to study a nearby painting.

She didn’t notice him at first, too focused on a conversation with another staff member. But when she finally looked up, her gaze swept across the room—and then stopped.

It was subtle, the way her expression shifted. A flicker of recognition, the faintest crease of her brows. She remembered him too.

That was unexpected.

He let a few seconds pass before he finally approached.

"Do you take walk-ins?" he asked casually, nodding toward the counter where she stood.

She blinked, clearly thrown off for a second before recovering. "Of course. Are you looking for anything specific?"

Her voice was steady, professional.

Minghao tilted his head slightly, pretending to consider. "Not really. Just looking."

It was a half-truth. He was looking for something. But he wasn’t sure if it was art.

She studied him for a moment, as if trying to figure him out, before nodding. "Let me know if you need any recommendations."

For the next twenty minutes, he wandered through the gallery, letting himself enjoy the silence. He was used to noise, to movement, to schedules packed so tightly that even breathing felt like a luxury sometimes. But here, surrounded by paintings and sculptures, time moved differently.

Every now and then, he caught glimpses of her talking to other visitors, explaining an artist’s technique, gesturing toward a particular piece with a thoughtful expression. She was good at what she did—that much was obvious.

And for some reason, that made him want to buy something.

Not just for the sake of it. Not because he had money to spare.

But because it felt right.

When he finally walked back to the counter, she glanced up again.

"Find anything you like?"

Minghao nodded, slipping his hands into his coat pockets. "This one."

He handed her the information card for a painting—a modern abstract piece, bold yet controlled, full of sharp lines and softened edges. Something about it had caught his attention, though he wasn’t sure if it was the painting itself or the person selling it to him.

She looked at the card and then back at him. "Good choice."

He tapped the counter lightly. "You don’t even know my taste."

She arched an eyebrow, and for the first time that evening, a small, amused smile played at the corner of her lips. "I have a feeling."

Minghao liked that answer more than he should have.

—

That was how it started.

His first-ever art purchase.

The first of many gallery visits that would eventually stop being about just art.

Because once the transaction was done, once the polite small talk faded, they somehow kept finding reasons to talk. At first, it was casual—recommendations, new exhibitions, artists worth following. Then it became something more.

Minghao started stopping by whenever he had time. Not frequently enough to be suspicious, but enough that she started expecting him. They started having conversations that weren’t just about paintings—discussions, debates, theories about the art world.

She was different from anyone he had met before. They often spoke about art as an investment, as a market. But she talked about art as if it was something alive, something to be felt, not just owned.

He liked that.

He liked talking to her.

Enough that, after a few months, he found himself saying, "We should get lunch sometime. Business casual, of course."

She gave him a pointed look. "Business casual?"

Minghao smirked. "So you don’t think I’m asking you out."

She rolled her eyes, but he saw the small smile she tried to hide.

And that was how it became a thing.

Business lunches.

Discussing new artists, dissecting exhibitions, exchanging opinions on the latest trends in the art world. Sometimes she challenged his views, sometimes she surprised him with how much she knew. He enjoyed it. She was a good conversation partner. A good friend.

His cousin noticed first.

The first time she tagged along for a gallery visit, she caught Minghao watching Sua when she wasn’t looking. When they left, she didn’t even wait until they were out of earshot before smirking.

"So. How long have you been in love with her?"

Minghao sighed, exasperated. "Don’t start."

But his cousin only laughed. "I knew you weren’t just buying art these days."

He ignored her.

But deep down, he knew she wasn’t entirely wrong.

He liked Sua. He liked her a lot.

But Minghao was careful. Always careful.

He had seen what happened when people like him fell in love with people like her—people who weren’t built for his world, who didn’t sign up for the chaos, the attention, the scrutiny.

Sua loved her quiet life.

And Minghao? He loved being part of it.

Even if that meant never crossing the line.

Even if that meant keeping his feelings exactly where they were—buried deep, untouched, and unspoken.

Because above all, he wanted to protect her.

And if protecting her meant keeping his distance, then he would.

No matter how much it hurt.

—

Xu Minghao was a man of few words.

At least, that was what everyone thought.

Quiet. Observant. A little detached at times. That was the image he often carried—especially when he wasn’t performing. He spoke when necessary, never wasted his words, and preferred actions over excessive chatter.

But lately, something had changed.

Lately, he wouldn’t shut up about Jang Sua.

—

It started subtly. A passing mention at the dorms. “I had lunch with an exhibition manager today. We talked about contemporary impressionism.”

No one thought much of it. Minghao had always been into art, and meeting people in the art industry wasn’t unusual for him.

Then it happened again.

And again.

And again.

One evening, the members were lounging in the living room after a long rehearsal. Seungcheol was sprawled across the couch, half-asleep, while Jun was scrolling through his phone, completely ignoring Woozi and Hoshi arguing over what movie to watch.

Minghao, sitting cross-legged on the floor, was flipping through an art catalog when he casually spoke.

“Sua thinks the use of light in modern pieces has become too exaggerated.”

No one reacted at first.

Then, Seungkwan, from across the room, narrowed his eyes.

“…Who?”

Minghao looked up. “Hm?”

“Who’s Sua?” Seungkwan asked, turning to face him fully.

Minghao blinked, like the name should be obvious. “Jang Sua.”

Silence.

Then, Seokmin leaned forward, intrigued. “Who’s Jang Sua?”

Minghao let out a soft sigh, shutting his catalog. “She works at this gallery. I met her a while ago at a gallery event. We’ve been talking about art.”

Hoshi raised an eyebrow. “And you bring her up…why?”

“Because she has interesting opinions.”

Dino scoffed, unimpressed. “Hyung, you’ve been talking about her nonstop for weeks.”

That got everyone’s attention.

Jun, who had been silent until now, smirked knowingly. “Really? I didn’t notice.”

Dino threw his hands up. “It’s all he talks about! ‘Sua said this, Sua thinks that, Sua recommended this artist—’ Minghao-hyung, be honest, do you have a crush on her?”

Minghao rolled his eyes. “I just respect her thoughts on art.”

Jeonghan, who had just walked into the room, grinned like a devil. “So you do have a crush.”

Minghao sighed, standing up. “I’m done with this conversation.”

He turned to leave, but before he could escape, Seungkwan called after him.

“HYUNG. ARE YOU BLUSHING?”

Minghao slammed the door on his way out.

—

Of course, that wasn’t the end of it.

Now that the members had caught on, they refused to let it go.

Every time he mentioned her name��even casually—someone had a remark.

“Are you sure it’s the art you like? Or is it the art girlie?” “Wahhh, hyung, you’re glowing these days. Love does that, right?” “When are we meeting her? She must be special if you talk about her more than you talk about Jun.”

Even Wonwoo—who usually stayed out of these things—raised an eyebrow one day and muttered, “You do talk about her a lot.”

Minghao ignored them all.

(Or at least, he tried to.)

He wasn’t blind. He was aware of his own emotions—too aware.

Yes, he admired Sua.

Yes, he liked being around her.

Yes, she made him feel at ease in a way not many people did.

But he wasn’t going to ruin that by acting on something that might be one-sided.

Sua saw him as a client. A friend, at most. Someone to discuss art with, to exchange thoughts with over quiet lunches.

She didn’t look at him the way he looked at her.

And even if she did—he knew better.

She was happy in her quiet world, away from the chaos of his.

He wouldn’t—couldn’t—drag her into that.

So he let them tease him.

He let them laugh and joke and whisper about “Minghao’s secret crush.”

But deep down, he knew the truth.

It wasn’t that simple.

Not for him.

And definitely not for her.

— 2023

Minghao had never been one to seek validation.

Not from the public. Not from his peers. Not even from his fans, who showered him with unconditional support.

His art was personal. A secret, sacred thing. It wasn’t meant for gallery walls or exhibition spaces. It wasn’t meant for the eyes of thousands.

It was his.

A private solace. A quiet escape from the pressures of an industry that demanded perfection.

So when Sua—Jang Sua, with her sharp gaze and quiet understanding—looked at his work and said, “You should showcase these,” he almost laughed.

Almost.

Because she wasn’t joking.

—

They were sitting in a café near one of the galleries they often visited together. The air smelled like freshly brewed coffee, and the afternoon sunlight filtered through the windows, casting golden streaks over the wooden tables.

Minghao had brought his sketchbook—he always did when he met her. Sua liked flipping through his pages absentmindedly while they talked. She never rushed, never skimmed over the details. She took her time, as if his work deserved to be studied.

Today was no different.

Sua was holding his sketchbook open, running her fingers over the lines of a half-finished painting he had started the night before. It was abstract—swirls of color and shadow, hints of movement frozen in time.

Minghao watched as her eyes flickered with something thoughtful.

Then, she sighed.

“Minghao.”

He raised a brow. “What?”

She tapped the edge of the page. “You should showcase these.”

Minghao stilled. “No, I shouldn’t.”

Sua looked up, unimpressed. “Why not?”

“Because they’re not meant for that.”

“Says who?”

He blinked. “Me.”

She sighed again—longer, more frustrated. “You don’t even realize how good you are.”

Minghao didn’t respond. He just took a slow sip of his tea, hoping she would let it go.

She didn’t.

Instead, she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she studied him. “You put so much thought into your art. You study techniques, history, movement—more than most people I’ve met in this industry.”

Minghao gave her a dry look. “That doesn’t mean I want to sell my work.”

Sua tilted her head. “Then don’t sell it. Just showcase it. Let people see.”

Let people see.

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You think too highly of me.”

“No, I think you don’t think highly enough of yourself.”

His fingers tightened around his coffee cup.

Sua was serious.

She really believed in his art.

And that was the problem.

She believed in him too much, when he couldn’t even bring himself to believe in himself.

—

A few weeks later, when he received an invitation to submit a piece for a private gallery event, he almost said no.

Almost.

But then he remembered Sua’s words.

Her voice, steady and certain.

“Let people see.”

So, for the first time ever—he let them.

And when his painting was displayed in that small, intimate space, bathed in soft lights and surrounded by quiet admiration—he knew.

Sua had been right.

She always was.

And he—he was falling too deep.

—

2024

Seoul night air was thick, humid even in the early hours of summer. Neon lights flickered along the street, casting distorted reflections in the puddles left behind by the evening drizzle. The rhythmic thud of Minghao’s boots against the pavement was uneven, his usually graceful steps slightly off-balance.

He wasn’t drunk—not yet.

But the burn of alcohol in his throat wasn’t doing much to numb the weight pressing against his ribs.

You signed it, didn’t you?

His own voice echoed in his mind, sharp and accusing. The way Sua had looked at him—calm, composed, utterly convinced in her choice—only made it worse.

"And since when do you care about my personal choices?"

He had no answer for that. He never had.

Not when he started noticing the way she laughed when she won an argument, smug but never arrogant. Not when she casually flicked through an exhibition catalog, completely absorbed, as if the world outside didn’t exist. Not when he found himself looking forward to their gallery visits, to the effortless way she made art feel like home.

Not when he realized, far too late, that she was the only place he felt at peace.

And now, she was Seungcheol’s.

He let out a sharp breath, stepping into the dimly lit bar tucked away near the company. It was the kind of place where no one asked questions. No cameras, no prying eyes. Just the quiet murmur of low conversations and the occasional clink of glass against wood.

Minghao slid into a seat at the bar, rubbing a hand over his face before ordering a drink.

It didn’t take long before his phone vibrated. A text from Jun. Where are you?

Minghao exhaled sharply, ignoring the message. He wasn’t in the mood for questions. Not now. He was never one to drink recklessly—he preferred the slow sophistication of wine, or the quiet comfort of tea. But tonight, neither could wash down the bitterness sitting heavy on his tongue. This kind of pain needed something stronger.

Another drink. Then another. The warmth settled in his limbs, but the hollow ache in his chest remained.

How stupid was he? He had never even tried. Never even let himself think about what it would mean to want her like that.

Because he knew.

He knew what his world did to people like Sua. Knew that if he let himself have her, he would be the one pulling her into the mess of cameras, scandals, and shattered privacy.

So he had stayed still. Watched from the sidelines.

And now Seungcheol—his leader, his brother—had stepped in.

Minghao let out a quiet laugh, though there was no humor in it.

"You look like shit."

He didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

Jun slid onto the stool beside him, waving off the bartender before he could ask if he wanted anything.

Minghao sighed. "How’d you find me?"

Jun lifted a brow. "You think you’re the only one who comes here when they need to disappear?"

Minghao scoffed but didn’t argue.

Jun didn’t say anything for a while. Just watched him, like he was waiting for Minghao to crack first.

Minghao didn’t.

So Jun leaned back, stretching his arms. "So. You finally figured it out, huh?"

Minghao frowned. "Figured what out?"

Jun gave him a look. "That you’re in love with her."

The words hit harder than they should have.

Minghao swallowed, his fingers tightening around the glass.

"I already knew," he admitted, voice quieter than he intended.

Jun hummed, as if he wasn’t surprised.

"Then why do you look like you just lost?"

Minghao exhaled sharply. "Because I did."

There was no point pretending anymore.

She wasn’t his. Never had been.

And now—she never would be.

—

Monthly meeting today. Hoshi insisted for them to rent a villa, he said he got this feeling that their leader will finally bring his girl, so Hoshi wants to welcome her warmly, and making sure she feels comfortable. Seungkwan agreed. Everyone agreed.

Then Minghao felt it the moment she walked in.

Even before Seungkwan’s dramatic gasp, before the teasing and the laughter, he had already sensed the shift in the air.

And then there she was.

Sua.

Standing beside Seungcheol, a little hesitant, but still carrying herself with that quiet confidence he had always admired.

It shouldn’t have surprised him. He had known, of course. Had known for a while now. But knowing something and seeing it were two entirely different things.

The way Seungcheol stood close to her, a hand resting lightly on her back as he guided her into the room. The way her lips twitched in amusement at the members’ reactions, like she was already used to Seungcheol’s world. The way she fit into their chaos so effortlessly, as if she belonged there.

It was easy. Natural.

Like she belonged with him.

Minghao lowered his gaze to his drink, forcing himself to take a slow sip. He could feel Jun’s eyes on him, quietly observant, but he didn’t acknowledge it.

Instead, he listened to the conversation, letting their laughter and teasing words blur together.

The warmth in Seungcheol’s voice whenever he spoke to her. The way Sua seemed to lean in just slightly when he did. The way Seungcheol looked at her when he thought no one was watching.

Minghao clenched his jaw and reached for his drink again, but the glass was already empty.

He exhaled softly, setting it down with deliberate care.

And then, for just a second, his gaze flickered across the table—meeting Sua’s.

She hesitated. Only briefly.

But it was enough.

A split second of something unspoken passed between them before she quickly looked away.

And Seungcheol noticed, too.

Minghao’s grip tightened slightly around the edge of the table.

He needed to step out for a moment.

Before anyone could say anything, he stood up, quietly excusing himself as he made his way toward the balcony. He didn’t need fresh air. He just needed a second.

Just long enough to remind himself that this was what he had chosen.

That it was too late to wish for anything else.

────────────────────────────── HIIII! I just wanna add more pain with this bonus chapter hehehehehehe. Chapter 11 coming soon! (after i finished the two other bonus chapter :p)

[moncherriecoups]

patiently waiting for you to update i LOVEE muted hearts 🫶🏼

OMGGG IM SORRY IVE BEEN INACTIVEEE BUT i have this whole weekend free, brace urself!!!!!!!!!!!

[moncherriecoups]

subscribing to a fic isn’t enough I need the author to blast a bat signal into the night sky whenever they update

[moncherriecoups]

#199

Chan: Some cute petnames please?

Seungcheol: Honey

Jeonghan: Sugar

Soonyoung: Flour

Seokmin: Egg

Soonyoung: 1/2 pound butter

Seokmin: Stir

Soonyoung: Pour into pan

Seokmin: Preheat oven to 375°

Soonyoung: Bake for 15-20 min

Seokmin: Take out of oven

Soonyoung: Cut into slices

Seokmin: Put onto plate

Soonyoung: Enjoy

[moncherriecoups]

💐💐💐

thank you @sixpennydame for supporting me during this one 🥹 🫶🏻

[moncherriecoups]

[ Woozi Posted 🌟 Weverse ]

250320 - 23:53 KST

> ‘ㅠㅠ’

[ Hoshi & Woozi Comment 🌟 Weverse ]

250320 - 23:58 KST

H: ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

W: ㅠㅠ

[moncherriecoups]

Muted Hearts

Some love stories are whispered, not spoken. Some promises are signed, not said.

This is ours.

Love I said real love, it's like feeling no fear When you're standing in the face of danger 'Cause you just want it so much A touch From your real love It's like heaven taking the place of something evil And lettin' it burn off from the rush

──────────────────────────────

Seungcheol x f!oc | Minghao x f!oc (?)

Tags: tense relationship, idolxoc, slowburn relationship, angst

Word count: 3.6k

──────────────────────────────

Chapter Ten

Seungcheol stared blankly out the car window, watching the city blur past as Minghao drove in stiff silence. The tension in the air was almost comical—two grown men forced into a situation neither of them had asked for, yet here they were.

He wasn’t sure what was worse: the awkward silence in the car or the fact that Jun had stood outside the company building, grinning and waving like a proud mom sending her kids off to school.

"Just try not to kill each other," Jun had said, voice filled with the kind of fake optimism only an instigator could have.

Easier said than done.

Fifteen excruciating minutes passed before Seungcheol finally cracked.

"So, do you always drive like this, or are you just actively trying to kill me?"

Minghao didn’t even glance at him. "I drive normally."

"You nearly ran a red light—"

"It was yellow."

"IT WAS NOT—"

Minghao sighed. "Try shutting up and just breathing. You might live longer."

Seungcheol glares at him, "Maybe if you turned on some music, I wouldn’t be forced to listen to my own heartbeat—"

Without a word, Minghao reached over and hit a button.

—SHUT UP, JUST SHUT UP, SHUT UP—

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Seungcheol gawked as Minghao smirked and let Black Eyed Peas drown him out.

By the time they arrived at the first gallery, Seungcheol was already questioning all of his life choices.

Jun had way too much faith in them.

—

The tension still clung to them before they stepped out of the car to the gallery.

Minghao hated going to galleries with other people. He preferred to experience art alone, in complete silence, or occasionally with his cousin. But this? A PR stunt? With Seungcheol of all people? In one of his sacred spaces? He wanted to scream.

Seungcheol, meanwhile, was trying to suppress his own irritation. He didn’t get art. Never had. Never would. Why would someone spend millions on paintings when they could buy actual, useful things? Investments? Watches? A damn house? Rich people were weird. Minghao was weird. Zen my ass, he thought as he watched Minghao stroll through the gallery with an unreadable expression.

They stole occasional glances at each other, neither speaking. The only sound was the low hum of classical music playing in the background.

Finally, Minghao broke the silence. "You’re good at acting for the camera. Use that. Convince them."

Seungcheol groaned. "That was my plan all along."

And just like that, the moment they stepped in front of other people, their smiles switched on. The tension melted into easy laughter. They looked like the best of friends, sharing inside jokes, admiring the art like true enthusiasts.

Superstars, indeed.

They wandered from piece to piece, until Minghao stopped in front of a massive canvas, layered with chaotic red and black strokes, accented by scribbled blue handwriting.

"This one—ah, I remember this piece. The artist painted it while mourning the loss of someone close," Minghao explained, his tone reverent.

Before he could finish, Seungcheol cut in.

"Loss? I thought his cat knocked over his paint cans, and he just rolled with it."

Minghao turned to him, deadpan. "Hyung."

Seungcheol shrugged. "What? Isn’t art about interpretation?"

Minghao inhaled sharply. "Whatever." He walked ahead, desperate for an ounce of peace.

They stopped at a porcelain installation—tall, delicate stacks of circular shapes forming a slim tower.

"The artist developed a unique red glaze for this piece. It required a special kiln, and each part was handcrafted," Minghao said, his voice filled with reverence.

Seungcheol squinted. "Why are the donuts stacked on a stick?"

Minghao’s brain short-circuited. "The what?"

Seungcheol nodded toward the sculpture. "The donuts. Why are they stacked like that?"

Minghao stared at him for a long time.

Before Seungcheol could respond, a group of people entered the gallery, whispering excitedly as they stole glances at them.

"They’re recognizing us," Seungcheol muttered.

Minghao gave him a dry look. "That was the plan."

Seungcheol resisted the urge to groan. "I feel like a zoo animal."

"You’re literally an idol, for Christ’s sake."

They moved on to the next piece—a metal sculpture, twisted and warped into chaotic loops.

Seungcheol leaned in, examining it with exaggerated curiosity. "Oh, okay, let me try this one."

Minghao sighed. "Go ahead."

"A fork… dropped into a garbage disposal?"

Minghao pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don’t even know why Sua wants you."

"HEY!" Seungcheol sputtered. "I’m smart! Just… not for this."

"...Twelve years," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "I have put up with you for twelve years."

Seungcheol grinned. "And yet, here we are."

Minghao took a slow, deep breath. "I should’ve let Jun come instead."

"You say that, but we both know you’d rather suffer with me than listen to Jun ramble about conspiracy theories."

Minghao pressed his lips together like he didn’t want to admit that was true.

—

By noon, their first gallery visit had already gone viral.

Sitting in Minghao’s car, they scrolled through the flood of online reactions.

"SEE??? I TOLD YOU MINGHAO INFLUENCED HIM!" "Whoever blamed the girls from yesterday’s gallery needs to be jailed." "They were just doing their jobs! Some of y’all are embarrassing."

And, of course, the skeptics:

"This is just a PR stunt. Y’all are dumb if you believe it." "Do you really think Seungcheol is into art? Be serious."

Seungcheol scoffed. "They’re talking like I’m incapable of appreciation."

Minghao side-eyed him. "You called a sculpture a fork in a garbage disposal."

"...Fair point."

Minghao scrolled further, studying the negative comments. "We need something stronger. More convincing." He glanced at Seungcheol. "Let’s go to Sua’s gallery."

Seungcheol’s heart skipped a beat. "...Why?"

"If we interact with her the same way we did with the other galleries, people will see her as just another gallerist doing her job," Minghao reasoned.

It made sense. It was also incredibly awkward.

But Seungcheol nodded. "Fine."

—

The drive to Sua’s gallery felt different.

Seungcheol was trying not to fidget, but his nerves were getting the best of him. He hadn’t been back since that incident. Fans still loitered outside, and the guilt still weighed on him.

And then there was her.

When they stepped inside, Sua turned to greet them, and Seungcheol nearly forgot how to breathe. She looked effortlessly composed—an emerald blouse tucked into a sleek black skirt, her hair pinned up neatly. Professional. Beautiful. Dangerous to his self-control.

She froze for half a second when she saw him, her expression unreadable. But then she smiled. "Minghao," she greeted warmly, hugging him.

Seungcheol expected a handshake. He got a hug instead. A longer hug.

Minghao fake-coughed.

"We need to talk in private," Minghao said.

Moments later, in Sua’s office, they explained the plan.

Silence.

Then Sua burst out laughing.

Seungcheol frowned. "What’s so funny?"

Minghao sighed, rubbing his temples. "See? Told you this was dumb."

"No, no, I love this," Sua wheezed. "Jun is a genius!"

Seungcheol groaned as Sua wiped tears from her eyes.

And Sua? She laughed even harder.

—

"This way, gentlemen," Sua announced, her voice silky and professional, as she stepped out of her office. Her posture was perfect, her expression composed, the very definition of a competent gallerist.

Of course, she was going to play her part flawlessly.

Minghao, ever the art enthusiast, adjusted his cardigan and followed her with the quiet confidence of someone who actually belonged in a gallery. Seungcheol, on the other hand, was taking careful, measured steps—like someone walking into a classroom unprepared for a pop quiz.

He had been here before, of course. But the last time, he had practically sneaked in like some guilty teenager trying to avoid being caught in his girlfriend’s house. Now? Now, he was walking beside her in public view, and that was an entirely different kind of nerve-wracking.

Still, he was an actor at heart. So, he exhaled, straightened his shoulders, and slipped into character: charming, effortlessly cool, and completely unbothered.

The perfect public persona.

The moment they emerged into the main gallery space, whispers started.

Guests, art collectors, and a handful of curious fans who had wandered in by chance—all of them were sneaking glances at the two men flanking Sua. The sight of one superstar in an art gallery was interesting enough, but two?

The internet was about to have a meltdown.

Sua didn’t acknowledge the whispers. She was too good at her job for that. Instead, she led them toward a featured collection, walking with a kind of elegance that made Seungcheol realize—oh, she really belongs here.

She guided them past a few sculptures and into one of the more intimate exhibition spaces. The lighting dimmed slightly, spotlighting each piece with careful precision. The air felt heavier here, as if people instinctively knew to lower their voices.

The first piece they stopped at was a sleek, modern sculpture—something abstract, all curves and angles, titled "Transcendence."

Sua gestured toward it like a game show host. “This piece represents the journey of self-discovery and—”

“Looks like a pretzel.”

Sua blinked. “Excuse me?”

Seungcheol squinted. “A very expensive pretzel.”

Minghao sighed so hard it could’ve shut down a typhoon.

Sua placed a hand over her heart. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

Seungcheol shrugged. “I call it like I see it.”

Minghao smacked his arm. “Shut up before someone hears you.”

Sua cleared her throat, struggling to keep a straight face. “Moving on.”

—

The second piece was a mixed-media installation—a canvas with chaotic splashes of paint and delicate, hand-sewn embroidery woven through it.

Sua turned to them. “So, what do we think?”

Seungcheol studied it for a moment. “It’s giving... stress.”

Sua covered her mouth, failing to hide her laughter.

Minghao nudged him. “It’s about the balance of chaos and precision, idiot.”

Seungcheol pointed at a particularly violent splatter of red. “That’s my stress.” Then he pointed at the careful embroidery. “That’s the patience I don’t have.”

Sua lost it.

—

The third piece was a large, oil-painted portrait—a haunting, eerie rendition of a man standing in front of a slightly open blue door. What Lies Beyond is written underneath it along with the name of the artist.

Sua lit up. "Ooooh, this is one of my favorites!"

Minghao hummed. "It’s a modern take on the Bluebeard legend."

Seungcheol frowned. "Didn’t that dude kill all his wives?"

Sua smirked. "That’s the one."

Seungcheol stared at her, unimpressed. "And this is your favorite?"

Sua shrugged. "What can I say? I love a good story."

Seungcheol turned back to the painting, narrowing his eyes. "Feels like a very passive-aggressive message."

Minghao snorted. "You’d be the idiot that opens the door."

Seungcheol scoffed, turning to him. "Excuse me?"

Minghao pointed at the painting. "The whole lesson is don’t open the damn door."

"And you think I’d be dumb enough to do it?"

Minghao didn’t hesitate. "Yes."

Sua burst into actual giggles. Actual giggles.

Seungcheol scowled. "I hate this tour."

Sua immediately turned away again, her entire body trembling with silent laughter.

Minghao, meanwhile, dragged his hands down his face.

—

By the time they reached the last exhibit, Seungcheol was practically glowing with amusement, while Minghao looked like he had aged five years.

The whispers in the gallery had grown louder.

People were fascinated by this trio—the elegant gallerist, the refined artist, and the absolute menace of an idol who had clearly never been to an art gallery for anything other than his girl.

But perhaps, that was the beauty of it.

Because, despite everything, they did look comfortable together.

And maybe, just maybe… this PR stunt was actually working.

—

The next day, Sua’s gallery wasn’t just busy—it was suffocating.

The space, usually a haven of quiet appreciation, had transformed into something else entirely. People swarmed in like a rising tide, their eyes flitting around the gallery, pretending to admire the art when, in reality, they were scanning. Searching.

They weren’t here for the exhibition.

The news of Seungcheol and Minghao’s visit had spread like wildfire, dragging Sua’s name into the spotlight. For most, it was easy to believe she was just another gallery employee—someone who had been polite, well-spoken, and lucky enough to guide two famous men through the exhibition.

But not everyone bought the act.

Sua had expected this. She had prepared for it. She knew the attention would come.

What she hadn’t prepared for—what no amount of mental rehearsal could have steeled her against—was them.

At first, it was just a feeling.

A subtle prickle at the back of her neck.

She brushed it off, refusing to let paranoia sink in. It wasn’t unusual for visitors to stare, especially now. Maybe they recognized her from the photos floating online. Maybe they were just curious.

But the feeling wouldn’t go away.

“Miss Jang,” a voice called.

Sua turned to see a young woman smiling sweetly at her—too sweetly. There was something artificial about it, something that made her stomach twist.

“Could you tell us more about this painting?” the woman asked, gesturing to a textured, shadowy canvas near the entrance.

Sua forced a polite smile and walked over, hands clasped neatly in front of her. “Of course. This is a piece by an emerging artist who specializes in mixed media. The composition reflects—”

“That’s interesting,” the woman interrupted, tilting her head. “It must be nice working here. You get to meet so many… important people.”

Sua’s heartbeat stuttered.

She kept her expression neutral, her voice unwavering. “Yes, it’s a privilege to be surrounded by art and artists every day.”

The woman hummed thoughtfully, but the way her gaze flickered over Sua—calculating, dissecting—sent a shiver crawling down her spine.

Sua shifted, pretending to inspect the placement of a nearby sculpture, her hands hovering just above the pedestal.

It’s fine. You’re imagining things.

She took a slow breath, convincing herself it was nothing. People stared all the time. It came with the job.

They’re just curious. It’s nothing.

Then she noticed it.

One girl was watching her.

Then another.

And another.

Her stomach tightened.

It wasn’t paranoia anymore.

She tried to ignore it, tried to focus on her work, but the weight of their stares followed her like shadows. Even when she wasn’t looking, she could feel them.

Then there were two women.

They weren’t part of the usual crowd. They didn’t linger in front of the exhibits, didn’t take pictures, didn’t whisper to each other about the pieces.

They stayed near the corners.

Always in sight.

Never approaching.

Just watching.

Sua told herself it was fine. She’d dealt with lingering visitors before.

But then, as she moved toward the back hall to check on an installation, she realized something.

They were following her.

At first, it was subtle.

A few seconds after she moved, they moved too.

It wasn’t immediate—never enough to be obvious—but she saw them, always appearing again in her peripheral vision.

Her pulse quickened.

Okay. Let’s test this.

Instead of heading toward the back office as she originally intended, she took a sharp left, leading herself into one of the lesser-known wings of the gallery. The number of visitors thinned out here, the buzz of the crowd muffled by the distance.

And yet—

They followed.

That was all the confirmation she needed.

Cold dread coiled in her stomach, but she didn’t let it show. She kept walking, slow and deliberate, making a loop back toward the more populated areas. If she could just get to Ari, or another staff member—

But as she turned the next corner, she stopped short.

One of them was already there.

Blocking her path.

Her breath hitched.

Before she could react, the second woman stepped up behind her.

Too close.

Trapping her.

Sua’s pulse pounded in her ears.

The woman in front of her smiled. Soft. Polite. Wrong.

“Miss Jang,” she said smoothly, voice honeyed. “I was hoping we could have a little chat.”

Sua’s fingers curled against her palm.

“It won’t take long.”

The second woman shifted closer behind her. Not touching, but near enough that Sua could feel her presence pressing in.

Every instinct in her body screamed at her to leave.

Keeping her expression neutral, she asked, “How can I help you?”

The first woman tilted her head. “You were with Seungcheol last Tuesday.”

It wasn’t a question.

Sua forced herself to stay still. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

The woman’s smile widened, but there was no warmth in it.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

Sua’s breath came slower, measured.

“There was no public schedule,” the woman continued, voice deceptively casual. “But he was there, wasn’t he? With you.”

The second woman finally stepped around, positioning herself at Sua’s side. Her eyes gleamed with something sharp. Something dangerous.

“I saw him,” she murmured.

Sua’s stomach twisted.

They knew.

The air between them turned suffocating.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sua said firmly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to—”

A hand lifted—not touching, but hovering too close.

“You don’t have to lie,” the first woman cooed, her voice almost gentle. “We saw him.”

The second woman’s gaze flickered with something dark, something ugly.

“Leaving your apartment.”

Sua’s blood ran cold.

She kept her face blank, but inside, everything seized.

They knew.

They had been watching.

How?

Had they followed him? Had they been lurking outside? Had they seen them together before?

The first woman stepped closer, her smile never wavering. “It must be nice,” she murmured, voice light as air. “Spending time with someone like him.”

“I’m sorry,” Sua said, her voice softening, laced with careful politeness. Feigned innocence. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re implying, and since it’s unrelated to my work, I’m afraid I’m not obligated to answer.”

The girl with sharp eyes took a slow, deliberate step closer.

“Oh, you understand,” she murmured. “Don’t you, Miss Jang?”

The way she said her name sent an icy prickle down Sua’s spine, each syllable curling with something far more sinister than mere curiosity.

It was calculated.

It was a warning.

Before she could think of a response, another voice broke through—louder, sharper.

“Sua!”

Ari.

Sua nearly sagged in relief as Ari marched through the crowd, her expression carefully composed but her eyes burning with something dangerously close to fury.

“There you are,” Ari said, slipping an arm through Sua’s. “I need you for a moment. Now.”

The sharp-eyed girl’s lips twitched, like she was amused. But she stepped back, allowing Ari to pull Sua away.

The moment they passed through the back door and into the safety of the office, Ari locked it behind them.

Sua sucked in a breath, pressing a hand to her forehead.

“That was…” she trailed off, swallowing hard.

“Too much,” Ari finished, crossing her arms. “Jesus, Sua. They weren’t even trying to be subtle.”

Sua didn’t respond. She just let out a slow, shaky breath, pressing her palms against the edge of the desk to steady herself.

Ari watched her for a moment, then sighed.

“You’re not leaving through the front.”

Sua blinked. “Ari, I don’t think—”

“I know,” Ari interrupted, her voice firm. “You’re going out the back. I’ll cover for you.”

Sua hesitated.

Ari stepped closer, her voice softening. “Look, I don’t know everything. But I know enough. And I know this isn’t just going to go away.”

Sua clenched her jaw. She hated that Ari was right.

“…Okay,” she finally said.

Ari nodded, relieved. “Good. Now sit. Breathe. I’ll handle the rest.”

—

By the time Sua got home, exhaustion weighed heavy in her bones.

She barely had time to drop her bag before arms wrapped around her, pulling her against a warm, familiar chest.

“You’re late,” Seungcheol mumbled against her hair.

Sua melted into him, closing her eyes. “Long day.”

He hummed, lips pressing against her temple. “Want to talk about it?”

She hesitated.

The words sat heavy on her tongue.

She should tell him.

But she also knew how he’d react.

He’d get angry. Protective.

And with his tour starting tomorrow, the last thing he needed was another reason to worry.

So she just exhaled softly. “Not tonight.”

Seungcheol studied her for a moment, then nodded. He didn’t push. Instead, he pulled her onto the couch with him, arms still wrapped tightly around her.

They sat in silence for a while. Then, quietly—

“You’ll come to the opening show, right?”

Sua hesitated.

Her mind flashed back to the gallery, to those cold, knowing smiles, to the way they watched her.

She was scared.

But she was also his.

She wanted to be there, to support him.

Seungcheol must have noticed her hesitation because he tightened his grip around her. “Please?” he murmured.

Sua bit her lip. “I’ll go.”

His eyes lit up. “Really?”

“But only if I can bring Ari,” she added.

Seungcheol pouted. “I wanted you in the VIP room.”

“No way,” she said immediately. “That’s just asking for trouble.”

He sighed dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. “Fine. But I’m giving you the best seats in the barricade section.”

Sua smiled. “Deal.”

He looked at her for a long moment, his thumb tracing gentle circles against her arm.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked.

She hesitated.

“…I’m okay,” she lied.

Seungcheol didn’t look convinced. But he didn’t argue. Instead, he just held her tighter, tucking her against his chest.

And for now—just for tonight—Sua let herself feel safe.

──────────────────────────────

damn, this was pretty suffocating to write tbh. hope u enjoy this!! see u on ch 11 <3

[moncherriecoups]

Xu Minghao's weibo update 03/19/25 🫶🏻