#the8au

[moncherriecoups]

Muted Hearts

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

This is ours.

Take me with you to go find her My one and only And smile, tears, breath The eternal castle And the lonely island all by its lonesome No warning can stop me

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

Tags:tense relationship, idolxoc, slowburn relationship, angst

Word count: 7.4k

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Chapter 15 - End

The cup slipped from her fingers before she even realized it.

Hot tea spilled down the counter, soaking into the pages of the open notebook she’d left by the sink. The ceramic shattered on the floor a second later, the sound sharp and final.

But Sua didn’t flinch.

She stood there, her phone still clutched in her hand, screen dark now. Her fingers were trembling. Not violently. Not the kind of tremble that made you gasp or stagger. No, this was quieter—subtle and horrifying. The kind of shaking that crept into your bones when your body knew something your mind wasn’t ready to admit yet.

Pledis had called her.

They had spoken gently. Calmly. With the kind of rehearsed sympathy that was more insulting than comforting.

She couldn’t breathe.

Her knees gave out before the tears did. She slid to the kitchen floor, the broken cup beside her, the spilled tea now lukewarm beneath her palms. Her mouth opened—but no sound came out. Only air, shaky and thin. Her chest rose and fell, uneven, like her lungs had forgotten how to do their job.

He had been fighting with them. With his members. His brothers.

Because of her.

She just didn’t know it.

Not until now.

Not until Pledis handed her the truth like a loaded gun and asked her to pull the trigger herself.

He had been fighting for her.

Fighting because of her.

And the worst part?

She knew him.

Even though they’d only been together for just under a year, she knew him. Knew how easily he’d burn down the whole damn world if it meant protecting someone he loved. How recklessly he’d throw himself into the fire if he thought she was hurting. How much he hated seeing her in pain.

He would leave it all behind. In a heartbeat. The group, the career, the stage he’d built piece by piece since he was a kid.

He would walk away for her.

And she couldn't let that happen.

Her fingers curled tighter around her phone. Her breath hitched again, and this time the tears came—slow and stinging. No sobs yet. Just the kind of crying that felt like drowning. The kind where your body didn’t move, didn’t shake—just leaked. Quiet. Defeated.

It was too much.

Too loud in her chest.

Too final.

She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth as a strangled sound escaped her throat. A sob. Guttural. Painful. It was like her lungs had ripped themselves apart from the inside.

She wasn’t just heartbroken.

She was destroyed.

Because loving Seungcheol had never been the problem.

It was losing him—choosing to lose him—that would kill her.

And now she had to do exactly that.

—

Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

The tea was still soaking into the notebook by the kitchen sink. Shards of the broken cup were scattered around her knees, but she couldn’t move. Not yet. The tears hadn’t stopped, not since the phone call. Her lungs hurt. Her throat ached. She was still gasping like she’d just run a marathon in a dream she couldn’t wake up from.

She needed someone.

Just one person.

With trembling fingers, she unlocked her phone, her vision still blurry with tears. She scrolled through her contacts until she found his name—Minghao—and pressed “Call.”

It rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then—

“Sua?”

Her breath caught. Just hearing his voice made the wall she’d been building inside her crack wide open. Her voice came out in a jagged whisper, barely human.

“Ha-Hao…”

A pause. “What happened?”

“I—” Her voice cracked completely, collapsing into sobs. “They called. Minghao, they called me—Pledis—they said I have to stay away from him. They said he’s fighting with the members—he’s losing everything—and it’s because of me. They said…”

She pressed her palm against her mouth, trying to stifle the sound, but it was too much. Her whole body was shaking now.

From the other side, Minghao was moving. She could hear it—the sharp shuffle of feet, the click of a door, his breath speeding up.

“Where are you right now?”

“At home—” she gasped. “I didn’t know who else to call—I didn’t—I can’t let him find out, Hao. If he finds out, he’ll leave everything behind for me. You know he will.”

She was choking on every word, guilt curling like poison in her chest.

And Minghao knew. Of course he knew. There was a pause—a beat too long—but then his voice came back, calm, gentle, grounding.

“I know,” he said. “I know, Sua. I’m at rehearsal, but I’ll come to you as soon as we’re done, okay? Just… breathe. You’re going to be okay. We’ll figure it out.”

“No,” she whispered, wiping at her face with the back of her trembling hand. “Don’t tell him. Please. I can’t be the reason he throws everything away. I won’t survive it, Hao. I won’t.”

“I won’t say anything,” he promised. “I swear. Just hold on for me, okay?”

“I’m trying,” she whispered. “I’m trying.”

But even as she said it, she already knew the truth.

She wouldn’t be there when he arrived.

She hung up first. Not because she wanted to. Because if she stayed on that call for one more second, she would’ve begged him to come now, begged him to take her somewhere far away, and she didn’t have the strength for that kind of desperation anymore.

The screen dimmed.

And in the hollow silence that followed, another buzz lit up her phone.

Just arrived at the venue. Members are all here.

She stared at the message like it was a knife.

Like it was a goodbye she hadn’t written yet.

Tears rolled silently down her cheeks.

Because he didn’t know.

Because he was still trusting her with his heart, not knowing she was about to break it.

She typed, barely seeing the letters.

Good luck. I’m rooting for you.

She hit send.

And then she let herself scream—into the pillow, into the silence, into the kind of heartbreak that didn’t sound poetic or pretty.

Because it didn’t feel like anything but ruin.

—

It took her a long time to move again.

Time blurred after that last message. Seconds stretched into minutes, minutes dragged into hours, and she just sat there on the kitchen floor—knees pulled to her chest, eyes blank, throat raw. The tea had long dried into a sticky stain across her tiles, seeping into the edges of her notebook, her palms red from gripping them too tight against her knees.

Her body ached, not from injury but from holding it all in. Her ribs felt bruised from crying. Her lungs were sore from silence.

She had nothing left in her, but the world outside kept spinning.

And Seungcheol was still out there—laughing, rehearsing, maybe smiling at something someone said—completely unaware that the ground beneath him was already cracking.

And she was the one holding the match.

The call echoed in her skull like a bell: He recently had a conflict with several members and staff over this matter. Her breath caught again.

Fighting with them. His brothers. The people who'd held him up, been by his side since he was a teenager, who knew every inch of who he was even before she did. She could see it—his voice raised, jaw tight, the vein in his neck throbbing the way it always did when he was angry. She could hear him defending her again and again until his throat went raw.

And he’d never tell her.

Because he was protecting her, even when it destroyed him.

She knew him too well.

And because she knew him, she had to go.

There was no “talking this through.” No middle ground. If he found out what they said—if he found out they threatened to choose for him—he wouldn’t hesitate. He’d leave the company, the group, the life he built with his own hands. For her.

And that would kill him.

So this would have to kill her instead.

Her limbs moved before her brain did. A kind of mechanical instinct took over, like her soul had already decided and was dragging the rest of her body along for the ride. She got up, slow and stiff, wiping her face with the hem of her shirt. Her throat burned. Her eyes stung. But she didn’t let herself cry again. Not yet.

She walked to the living room, took a shaky breath, and picked up her phone.

Her thumb hovered over the screen for a long moment before she scrolled through her contacts and tapped on a name she never thought she’d call again—not for this.

“Hello?” her boss answered on the second ring, voice clipped and surprised.

Sua swallowed the knot in her throat.

“I’ll take the job,” she said, quiet but steady. “The one you offered me in Paris. If it’s still open.”

A pause. “Wait—what?”

“I’ll take it,” she repeated. “You said the position was available. That you’d help me settle in if I ever wanted a fresh start.”

Another pause—longer, heavier. Then a breath on the other line.

“It’s still open,” her boss said carefully. “You’re sure?”

No. Not at all. Not in the ways that mattered. But she had to be. For him.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Her boss exhaled. “Okay. I’ll arrange everything. When are you thinking of leaving?”

“Tomorrow. I'll hand over everything to Ari and handle the rest when I land there.”

A pause so sharp she could feel the disbelief through the phone.

“Jesus, Sua.”

“I know,” she said softly, rubbing her temple with the heel of her palm. “Just… I can’t be here anymore. I’ll pack tonight. I don’t want anyone else to know until I’m gone.”

There was understanding in the silence that followed. The kind that only came from watching someone hold themselves together with shaking hands.

“I’ll make some calls,” her boss said finally. “Text me your passport info. I’ll have Ari help you at the airport. You’ll be okay.”

“I don’t think I will,” Sua replied.

But she hung up anyway.

Her hands dropped to her sides. For a second, she just stood there in the middle of her apartment, staring at nothing, listening to the buzz of the fridge and the faint hum of the outside world that didn’t know she was crumbling.

And then she moved.

Boxes.

Suitcases.

Trash bags.

Old gift boxes from Seungcheol she couldn’t bear to look at but still folded gently, like they meant something, before laying it on a box.

She packed her books first—quietly, carefully—like she was tucking away pieces of herself. Her memories. Her safety. One by one, she placed them into the cardboard box she used for winter clothes.

Then came the closet. Her sweaters, her dresses, the hoodie she always wore when she was anxious—his hoodie.

She stared at it for too long.

And then she packed it anyway.

It was almost 8 p.m. by the time the last suitcase was zipped. She hadn’t eaten. Barely drank. Her phone was buzzing somewhere in the mess, but she ignored it. She couldn’t look at his name again. Not until she was gone.

But then—

A knock.

Sharp. Sudden. Two beats against the door that made her flinch.

She froze.

The sound was so real it knocked the air out of her.

Her gaze darted to her phone.

Six missed calls.

Four from Minghao.

Two from Seungcheol.

Her stomach twisted.

And then—another knock.

She moved. Legs heavy, bare feet dragging across the wood floors. She opened the door slowly, barely daring to breathe.

It was Minghao.

His hood was up, cap pulled low, mask covering half his face—but she knew those eyes. She’d know them anywhere.

He stepped inside.

And the first thing he did was stare at the boxes.

Then the suitcases.

Then her.

And something inside him shattered.

—

Minghao didn’t speak for a while.

He stood at the doorway, frozen like someone had knocked the air out of his lungs, eyes slowly scanning the room as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The boxes. The open suitcase. The folded clothes. The taped-up memories. Her face.

And then his voice cracked, low and quiet.

“...You’re really doing this.”

Sua looked down at her feet. She couldn’t meet his eyes. Not now. Not when they still held pieces of her past, and maybe worse—reminders of the part of her that almost stayed.

“I have to.”

“No, you don’t.”

She didn’t reply. Her fingers curled around the edge of the suitcase, knuckles white. She could still feel the burn behind her eyes, but the tears had dried up hours ago. Now there was just this hollow ache, the kind that sat under your skin like a bruise you couldn’t stop pressing.

Minghao stepped deeper into the room. His steps were slow, tentative—like he was afraid one wrong move would make her disappear completely.

“Does he know?” he asked softly.

Sua shook her head.

His jaw clenched. “And you’re not going to tell him?”

“I can’t.” Her voice cracked this time, barely more than a whisper. “If he knows, he’ll come after me. You know he will.”

“I do,” Minghao said. “Because I would.”

She looked up.

And there it was—that ache again. That quiet, unbearable ache between two people, one who loved the other in silence. His eyes held her like they always had: gently, fully, with everything he never said out loud.

“Minghao—” she started, but her voice broke.

He stepped closer.

“I know I’m not the one you’re in love with,” he said, his voice shaking just slightly. “I know that. But I still can’t let you go like this.”

“It’s not fair,” she whispered. “You shouldn’t have to see me like this.”

“I don’t care,” he said, too fast. Too desperate. “I’d rather see you broken than disappear without a word.”

Sua’s breath caught.

And that’s when he really saw her.

The way her shoulders shook. The puffiness under her eyes. The trembling in her hands even as she tried to hide them. She looked like someone who had used up every last ounce of strength just to survive the day.

And for the first time since they met, Minghao dropped everything.

His mask. His calm. His logic.

He walked to her, fast and silent, and pulled her into the tightest hug he’d ever given anyone. No words. No explanation.

Just him, holding her like he was trying to keep her from falling apart.

Sua melted into him like she’d been waiting for it—like her body had been craving this very thing she didn’t even know she needed. The comfort. The safety. The familiarity.

This was the hug that used to save her before Seungcheol.

And now it only hurt more.

Her knees gave in first. Then the sobs followed—slow at first, then harder, until they ripped out of her like a dam had finally broken. She buried her face in his chest, shaking, her fists gripping the fabric of his hoodie like she could anchor herself to it.

And Minghao just held on tighter.

He said nothing.

Because what could he say?

He didn’t want to be the one she ran to, not like this. Not as a last stop before goodbye. Not when he still loved her in a way that was so painfully, helplessly quiet.

But he would be there anyway.

Always.

Eventually, she pulled back, eyes red and swollen, hair clinging to her cheeks. Her hands were still trembling when she walked back to the half-packed suitcase and zipped it shut.

“I have to finish,” she murmured.

Minghao didn’t move. He watched her quietly, jaw clenched, breathing uneven.

“Do you need help?” he asked.

She hesitated. Then nodded.

And just like that, they went back to the silence.

She packed.

He taped.

They folded clothes they once laughed in. Sorted through books he once borrowed. Moved furniture that had held so many memories they didn’t dare speak of.

And when everything was almost done, and the room started looking less like a home and more like a stranger’s apartment, Minghao finally spoke again.

“I’ll help you get a moving company for this,” he said. His voice was lower now. Defeated.

Sua paused, her back to him.

“Okay,” she whispered.

He sat on the edge of her bed, watching her fold the last sweater.

“Stay,” he said suddenly, almost too soft to hear. “Please.”

Her hands froze.

He didn’t look at her this time. His eyes were on the window. The way the city lights spilled across her walls. The way everything felt like it was slipping through his fingers.

“You don’t have to go. Not like this. I’ll help you hide if I have to. I’ll talk to them. We’ll figure something out.”

“You know I won’t,” she said, barely audible.

“I know,” he said, just as softly.

Silence.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly between them. Like he was trying to hold himself together.

“I just hate that I’m not enough to make you stay.”

She turned to him, eyes wide, heart breaking all over again.

“Minghao…”

“It’s okay,” he said quickly, standing up before she could say anything more. “Don’t say anything.”

She didn’t.

He crossed the room and opened his arms again—and this time, when he pulled her in, she collapsed before he could even close them around her.

And he held her like he always had.

With everything.

Even if he had to let her go.

—

The apartment is silent now, save for the hum of the fridge and the occasional shuffle of paper. Neither of them has spoken much since the move was discussed, but the words that linger in the air feel heavier than anything that’s been said. Minghao hasn’t left, not yet. He’s still here—sitting on the couch, arms crossed, eyes lost in thought as he stares at nothing in particular.

Sua is sitting beside him, close enough that their shoulders brush, but it feels like there’s an ocean between them. She’s exhausted, drained, her mind still tangled in the chaos of the past few hours. Her heart is shattered, and she doesn’t know how to put it back together. How can you fix something when the pieces are scattered everywhere, and you’re too afraid to pick them up?

The clock on the wall ticks on, reminding them both of the time slipping away. It’s nearly 3 AM now, and neither of them has slept. Not that they could. Their bodies are wrecked, but their minds are far worse off.

Minghao glances at her, his gaze soft but filled with worry. He hasn’t asked her if she’s okay. Because he knows the answer. How could she be? How could either of them be?

She hasn’t cried much since the last time. Not out loud, anyway. But he can see the way her shoulders tremble as she folds a shirt in her lap, as if the simple task is the only thing anchoring her to the present. His heart breaks just a little more every time she avoids his gaze, every time she looks away as if she’s trying to disappear.

“I can’t do this, Minghao,” she says quietly, her voice barely audible over the quiet of the room. She’s staring down at the shirt in her hands like it’s the only thing in the world that matters right now. The words slip out of her lips with a finality she can’t take back.

Minghao opens his mouth, then closes it again. There’s nothing to say, really. He’s known all along, hasn’t he? He’s known from the moment she made the decision. He knew the weight of it long before she ever said the words aloud.

“You don’t have to go,” he says softly, but there’s no real hope in his words. He’s just saying them because he doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know how to stop this. He doesn’t know how to stop her from leaving.

Sua looks at him then—finally looks at him, her gaze haunted, broken, like the pieces of herself are scattered all over the room. “I do, though. I have to.”

She exhales shakily, and Minghao watches her chest rise and fall, every breath an effort. His heart breaks again, not just for her but for himself. He can’t bear seeing her like this, yet he knows he can’t make her stay.

“I can’t keep doing this, Minghao,” she adds, her voice thick with emotion, though she refuses to let the tears fall. She’s past the point of crying, it seems. “I can’t keep being the reason everything falls apart.”

Her words sting, even though he’s heard them before. He knows what she’s saying, but it doesn’t make it any less painful. He wants to tell her that it’s not her fault—that none of this is her fault. But the words feel empty. Because he knows it won’t make a difference. She has already made her decision.

Minghao shifts on the couch, the ache in his chest almost unbearable now. His hand twitches, wanting to reach out, to take hers, to pull her close and tell her it will be okay. But he doesn’t. Because he knows it won’t be okay. Not this time.

“I just wish…” Minghao starts, but he can’t finish. The words choke in his throat. He doesn’t even know what he wants to say. Maybe he wishes things were different. Maybe he wishes she could stay, that she didn’t feel like she had to leave. Maybe he just wishes he didn’t feel so powerless.

Sua shifts beside him, and for a moment, she’s so still that Minghao wonders if she’s already gone—if she’s left him without a word, without a look back. But then she turns to him, her eyes wide, vulnerable, as though she’s afraid to show him what’s been happening inside her all along.

“I'll write a letter,” she says, the words barely escaping her lips. “For Seungcheol.”

Minghao’s heart twists at the mention of Seungcheol’s name. He can’t imagine what the letter says, but he doesn’t want to ask. He knows it’s not his place.

Without another word, Sua stands up, and Minghao watches her go to the desk in the corner of the room. She grabs a pen and a piece of paper, the familiar rustling sound of the paper echoing in the otherwise quiet space. She places the paper down with careful precision, her hand hovering over it for a long moment.

Then, she begins to write.

Her handwriting is elegant, careful, the pen gliding across the paper like it’s the only thing she can control right now. As she writes, her brow furrows, and the tears that she’s been holding back for so long finally begin to spill. But she doesn’t stop writing.

She writes, pouring everything she feels into the letter, every bit of sorrow, every apology, every fear she’s tried so hard to bury. She writes the words she can’t say out loud, the things she can never tell Seungcheol in person. The letter becomes a confession, an apology, and a goodbye—all wrapped into one fragile piece of paper.

When she finishes, her hand lingers on the paper for a moment, the ink still fresh. She doesn’t read it again. There’s no need. She already knows what it says. But she can’t shake the feeling that she’s written a final chapter to a story she never wanted to end.

She folds the letter carefully, the crease sharp and deliberate. Then, she hands it to Minghao, her fingers trembling as she presses the paper into his hands.

“Can you give this to him?” she asks quietly, her voice breaking as she fights to hold back the tears that threaten to spill. “When you see him. Can you tell him I’m sorry?”

Minghao looks down at the folded letter in his hands, the weight of it almost too much to bear. His eyes blur, but he doesn’t let the tears fall. Not yet. Not until he’s alone.

“I’ll give it to him,” he says finally, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll make sure he gets it.”

Sua nods, looking down at her hands, almost as if she’s ashamed. “Thank you, Minghao. You’ve always been there for me. You’ve been so good to me.”

Minghao doesn’t know how to respond to that. He wants to tell her that he’s not just a friend, that he’s always wanted more, but now isn’t the time. He can’t make this about him. Not when she’s already hurting so much.

Instead, he just gives her a sad smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes, and leans back against the couch.

—

The sun comes up too quickly, like a cruel reminder of how time never waits for anyone—especially not for people who are already broken. The air feels different today, colder, heavier, as though the world itself is aware of the gravity of the moment, pressing down on her with a weight too great to bear.

Sua barely notices the bags she’s packed the night before. Her clothes, her books, the small, intimate pieces of her life that once felt so familiar, now seem like foreign objects. It’s like she’s packing up a version of herself that she’ll never get back, closing the door on a chapter she didn’t want to end. The apartment that once held her dreams, her laughter, her pain, is now almost completely bare—echoing with silence, filled only with the remnants of memories.

She doesn’t even look at Minghao when he enters the room, his face a mask of quiet sorrow. She already knows what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. The soft pleading in his eyes is enough to break her all over again, but she can’t let herself go there—not now. Not when the decision has already been made.

She’s leaving. She has to.

Her phone buzzes with a new message. Sua doesn’t look at it at first. She knows who it’s from. Seungcheol. The texts have come in relentlessly all morning, each one more desperate than the last. She hasn’t opened any of them. She can’t. She knows that if she reads one, she won’t be able to leave. She won’t be able to do this to him.

But then, just as she’s about to zip her suitcase shut, her phone buzzes again, louder this time, and she sees the name on the screen. Seungcheol.

She ignores it.

“Are you sure about this?” Minghao’s voice is low, almost a whisper, like he’s afraid the answer will shatter whatever’s left of them. He stands by the doorway, his body tense, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie. His posture is stiff, like he’s bracing himself for the storm that he knows is coming.

She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she picks up the small picture frame on the desk, the one with a photo of her and Seungcheol laughing at some stupid inside joke, and her heart tightens in her chest. The smile on her face seems so foreign now, so distant. A time when everything was easier, before the weight of their love and their pain had taken over.

“I don’t have a choice,” she finally says, her voice breaking under the strain of the words. “I can’t let him destroy everything for me. For us. For Seventeen. I can’t let him do that.”

Minghao steps closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “And what about you, Sua?” His voice cracks, the vulnerability in it cutting through the coldness in the room. “What about your happiness? Don’t you deserve to fight for what you want too?”

Her throat tightens, and she blinks back the tears that threaten to spill. She hates herself for feeling this way. She wants to fight. She wants to stay. But she knows that it’s not just about her anymore. It’s about Seungcheol, about the people he loves, about the career that’s been built with blood, sweat, and tears. If she stays, it’ll tear everything apart, and she can’t live with that.

“I can’t be the reason he loses everything,” she says softly, almost to herself. “He deserves so much more than me. He deserves to be happy with his members, with his brothers. He doesn’t deserve to fight for me. Not when I’m just…” She chokes on the words, unable to finish the sentence.

Minghao’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t say anything, but the look on his face is enough to tell her that he doesn’t agree with her, that he wants her to stay, to fight for herself—for them.

But Sua just shakes her head, the tears finally spilling over, running down her cheeks in a quiet stream. She wipes them away quickly, angry at herself for still caring. Angry at herself for feeling so weak when she should be stronger.

“I’ll never forgive myself if I destroy everything for him. If I’m the reason he loses his family, his career…” Her voice falters. “He’ll hate me.”

Minghao reaches out, his hand hovering in the air as if he wants to comfort her but doesn’t know how. She doesn’t look at him, doesn’t let him see the rawness of the pain that’s splitting her apart. Instead, she takes a deep breath and turns back to her suitcase, zipping it up with finality.

She’s done.

“Help me with the rest?” she asks, her voice small, almost too small for the weight of what she’s about to do.

Minghao doesn’t hesitate. He walks over and starts picking up the last few things from the floor, folding them gently before placing them in her suitcase. He doesn’t say a word as he works, but the silence between them is heavy, thick with things neither of them can say. His hands tremble slightly, his eyes flicking to her every few seconds, but he says nothing. He’s already said too much, already begged her too much, and it’s clear that none of it matters.

By the time the last of her things are packed, the apartment feels emptier than it ever did before. It feels like the last vestiges of what could have been are being erased with every movement.

It’s almost time to leave.

Minghao glances at the door, knowing that the moment she walks out of it, things will never be the same. He doesn’t want her to leave, not like this, not with so much unsaid between them, but he knows he doesn’t have the right to stop her.

He knows that no matter what he says, Sua will leave.

As she picks up her suitcase, she hesitates by the door for just a moment, a single glance back at the apartment she’s leaving behind. Her eyes flicker over the space—over everything that once felt like home—and for a brief second, she wonders if she’s making the biggest mistake of her life.

But then, she shakes her head.

No, she tells herself. This is what has to be done. For Seungcheol. For everyone.

—

The airport air always felt cold, no matter what season it is.

Sua wrapped her coat tighter around herself, but no amount of fabric could protect her from the way her chest was collapsing inward. Everything felt sharp. The wheels of her suitcase rolled against the polished tile with a rhythm that sounded too loud in the silence between them—her and Minghao. He walked beside her without a word, face masked, eyes hidden, his hands tucked into his jacket like he didn’t trust them not to reach for her again.

She had barely slept the night before, her limbs trembling as she packed what little life she had left behind. It didn’t feel real. It still didn’t. But there was no turning back.

At the gate, two figures waited.

Ari, cheeks red and puffy, barely held it together the moment she saw Sua. She dropped everything and ran into her arms. “You’re really doing this?” she whispered, breath shaking. “You’re really leaving?”

Sua didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

She only nodded, her lips trembling too hard to form words, and hugged Ari even tighter. She felt her friend’s tears soaking into her shoulder. Then her boss stepped forward, quieter but not any less emotional. She touched Sua’s arm gently.

“You did good,” her boss said. “And you’ll do even better there. I’ll take care of things here. I promised, didn’t I?”

Sua nodded again. Her throat burned from holding back the sob that had been lodged there since dawn. “Thank you,” she rasped. “I’m sorry for doing this so fast—”

“Don’t apologize,” the woman said gently. “This is what I offered, remember? You just finally had the courage to take it.”

The moment felt suspended in air. Too much was left unsaid, and yet everything felt understood.

Sua turned around to face Minghao.

He hadn't moved from his spot since they arrived. He was watching her with eyes full of things he would never say. His hands were clenched in his pockets. His posture stiff. He didn’t cry in front of others. He never did.

But when she reached for him, when she pulled him into a hug—his arms folded around her so tightly, so painfully—it nearly broke him.

He squeezed his eyes shut behind the shades. His shoulders trembled.

“I hate this,” he whispered into her ear. “I hate this so much.”

“I know,” Sua murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry.” His voice cracked. “You’re doing what you have to do, right? You’ve always done that. Even when it hurts you the most.”

She smiled sadly, her fingers clutching the back of his jacket. He still smelled like mint and oakwood. Safe. Familiar. Home—at least the version of it that used to catch her quietly every time she fell.

But he was never the one.

And he knew that.

Still, he stayed until the very end.

Still, he let her go.

When the final call echoed through the speakers, she stepped back slowly. Ari was crying again. Her boss had turned away to wipe her eyes. And Minghao stood still, like a statue carved out of grief, his lips pressed in a tight line, jaw clenched so hard she thought it might crack.

“Tell him…” Sua said quietly, eyes searching his for the last time. “Tell him I’m sorry.”

Minghao nodded once. Not because he agreed. But because he would.

She gave one last glance at the life she was leaving behind—three people who had meant so much in such different ways. Then she picked up her bag, turned toward the gate, and walked away.

Minghao didn’t look away until she was gone from view.

Only then did he let himself cry—quietly, behind his mask, shoulders shaking in silence.

Ari leaned against him, sobbing.

And Sua’s boss placed a gentle hand on his back.

But nothing helped.

Because letting someone go out of love doesn’t make it any less painful.

Sometimes, it hurts even more.

—

The morning Seventeen was scheduled to fly out to Japan, Seungcheol woke up with a strange tightness in his chest. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened. No texts left on read, no obvious red flags. And yet—something felt wrong.

He texted Sua.

Good morning. Can’t believe we’re flying out again. Eat well today, hmm? No reply.

He figured maybe she was still asleep.

But two hours passed. Then three. Then six.

And she still hadn’t answered.

His messages went from playful to curious to mildly concerned.

Babe? Are you okay? You home? Sua. Still nothing.

It wasn’t like her. She always texted, even if it was just a sleepy “mhm.” She always made sure he ate, always sent those little emojis he teased her about but secretly loved.

But today—nothing.

By mid-afternoon, dread had already started to spread through his veins. When the manager called to remind them to get ready, he tried not to show it. Tried to smile, crack a joke, be the leader everyone expected him to be. But his hands were shaking when he pocketed his phone.

He called her. No answer.

He called again. Straight to voicemail.

At 4:12 PM, he left rehearsal early and went straight to her apartment.

He rang the bell three times. Knocked until his knuckles turned red. Nothing. No lights. No sound. Just the silence that told him: she wasn’t there.

His breathing picked up. Panic curled under his ribs like a cold hook.

He texted again, just once.

Please. Just tell me you’re okay. Behind him, the black van pulled up, their departure to the airport waiting.

He was still staring at the front door when Minghao stepped out of the van and walked toward him.

“Hyung,” Minghao said quietly, eyes unreadable behind his sunglasses.

Seungcheol turned. “She’s not answering.”

Minghao hesitated. Then, without saying anything, he pulled a folded letter out from his coat pocket—crushed slightly at the edges, the ink smudged from the grip of someone who didn’t want to let go.

“What’s that?”

Minghao looked at him for a moment longer. And then handed him the letter. “She asked me to give this to you.”

The van engine hummed faintly behind them. The world kept moving. But in that moment, Seungcheol’s heart stopped.

He opened the letter.

"Seungcheol,

If you’re reading this, then I’ve probably landed somewhere far away by now… Or maybe I’m still asleep, tucked into the window seat of a plane, drifting somewhere between clouds and dreams. And you’re still here—holding this letter. Breathing. Living. Exactly how I want you to be.

I don’t know how to begin. I don’t even know how to say goodbye properly, Cheol. I never thought I’d have to.

But I love you.

I love you more than I’ve ever known how to love. And I know you love me too. Enough to fight for me. Enough to throw everything away just to keep me beside you.

That’s why I had to go.

Because I love you too much to let you do that.

You’ve worked so hard, for so long. I’ve seen it in your eyes—in the way you pour yourself into every song, every show, every moment you spend building a world that was never easy to carry. You gave it your all.

And I can’t be the reason you burn it down.

I can’t let your heart choose me if it means you’ll lose everything you’ve bled for. I couldn’t live with that. I’d never forgive myself if I became the thing you had to sacrifice it all for."

He read it. Every line. Every sentence. Each word falling like a knife. A poem written in heartbreak. A confession dressed in goodbye.

His vision blurred halfway through.

"So I left. Quietly. Quickly. I didn’t give you a chance to stop me, because if you did… I know I would’ve stayed. You’d look at me and I’d break. I’d crumble. You always did that to me, you know?

You made me feel safe. Real. Like I belonged somewhere in this world.

I’m sorry I called Minghao instead of you. I know how much that must hurt, and I hate that I did it—but I had to. I needed someone who wouldn’t try to make me stay. You would’ve begged. And I would’ve said yes.

Please don’t blame him. He didn’t want this either.

I don’t know where life will take me after this. I don’t know how long it’ll be before we meet again. But if we’re meant for each other… if this love of ours really was something the universe carved into our bones—then we’ll find our way back. Someday.

Until then, don’t come looking for me. Don’t try to chase a shadow.

Just… live.

Sing. Laugh. Be happy. And when the night gets too quiet and you miss me, I hope you remember that I didn’t leave because I stopped loving you. I left because I couldn’t bear the thought of being the reason you lost yourself.

So live, Seungcheol. For me. For all of us.

And when it’s time… I’ll see you again.

Always, Sua."

He clutched the paper like it was alive. Like if he held it hard enough, she’d come back.

“Where is she?” he asked, his voice a low quake.

“I don’t know,” Minghao said honestly. “She didn’t tell me.”

Seungcheol stared at him. Silent. Wrecked.

But he didn’t say another word.

—

The knock came just past midnight. Sharp. Panicked. Unrelenting.

Minghao had barely finished drying his hair when he opened the door.

And there he was.

Seungcheol—flushed from the cold Osaka air, jaw clenched, eyes feral with panic. The moment Minghao appeared, Seungcheol shoved past him, storming inside like he couldn't breathe unless he was moving.

“Where is she?”

His voice was already fraying.

Minghao froze. “Cheol—”

“Where is she, Minghao?” he snapped, turning around. His whole chest rose and fell like he’d just run from the airport. “Tell me where she is.”

“I don’t know.”

“You were with her.”

“Yes,” Minghao said, quietly.

“You gave me that fucking letter!”

“I still don’t know where she went, Cheol.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“I’m not lying—!” Minghao’s voice raised a fraction, and it was enough to make both of them go still.

Seungcheol’s breathing turned ragged, hands trembling by his sides.

“She left because of me,” he said, voice cracking like dry wood. “Because I wasn’t careful. Because I let it all get too loud. Because I fought with the members, and the company, and I—”

He bit down on the rest of the sentence, but it was too late. The guilt had already poured out, too raw to hold back.

“She told you, didn’t she?” he whispered. “She told you why she left.”

Minghao looked away.

That was answer enough.

Seungcheol’s face twisted. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

“Because she knew you’d drop everything for her!” Minghao’s voice snapped like a whip. “She knew you’d burn the whole world down if it meant keeping her, and she didn’t want that blood on your hands, Seungcheol!”

“Then she should’ve let me make that choice!” Seungcheol shouted.

The room echoed with his words.

Minghao clenched his jaw. “You think it didn’t kill her to leave? You think she just walked out like it was easy?”

Seungcheol’s fists balled at his sides. “She called you. Not me.”

That one hurt deeper than it should have.

“I was the only one she could call,” Minghao said, voice lower now, but heavy with hurt. “Because if she called you, she would’ve stayed. You would’ve begged, and she would’ve stayed—and she didn’t want to ruin you.”

“I wouldn’t have let her go,” Seungcheol said through gritted teeth.

“I know,” Minghao whispered. “That’s exactly why she had to ran.”

A silence followed. Thick. Devastating. Alive with pain.

“I was supposed to protect her,” Seungcheol said, breaking again. “I promised I would. I swore I’d never let anyone hurt her.”

“You didn’t,” Minghao said softly, stepping closer. “But you would’ve hurt yourself if she stayed. She chose you over her own heart, Cheol.”

Seungcheol sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. His hands covered his face as if trying to hold in the grief swelling inside him. But it broke free anyway—spilling in tremors down his spine, in wet gasps behind his palms.

And Minghao—God, he couldn’t stand it.

Because while Seungcheol mourned the loss of the love of his life… Minghao mourned the loss of both of them.

The girl he loved, and the brother he couldn’t fix.

He stepped forward and dropped down beside Seungcheol again, knees to the cold floor, just like before.

“You’re not the only one hurting, hyung.”

Seungcheol looked at him through red eyes, broken. “You love her.”

“I still love her,” Minghao admitted, tears silently streaming down. “But she was never mine.”

Seungcheol looked down at his hands, the ones that used to hold her like she was the center of his universe. Now they were empty. Useless. Shaking.

“I didn’t even say goodbye…”

Minghao’s throat tightened. He didn’t answer. Just leaned forward and pulled Seungcheol into a trembling embrace.

And for a moment, neither of them were idols.

They weren’t artists, leaders, dancers, performers.

They were just two men—two broken hearts—mourning the same girl in two completely different ways.

Seungcheol cried until his chest ached. Until his eyes burned. Until he couldn’t breathe without tasting her name in his mouth.

And Minghao stayed beside him the entire time. Silent. Steady.

Hurting.

Because some love stories don’t end in fireworks or forever.

Some end in hotel rooms far from home, with nothing but unsent messages, unanswered questions, and letters written by hand.

And still—

Even as the pain swallowed them whole—

They couldn’t hate her for it.

Because she left to protect him.

Because she loved him that much.

Because she had to.

────────────────────────────── See you guys again soon ;) <3

[moncherriecoups]

Muted Hearts

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

This is ours.

When I push through the front door again

I feel like becoming a different person

The two different worlds inside and outside of me

Pointing fingers, cursing, and calling me a coward

Me, with two names

Live two lives

Which one do you love?

Despite the two of me

I have one heart

So to you, I am one

──────────────────────────────

Seungcheol x f!oc

MINORS DNI

MINORS DNR

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

TW: Rough-angry intercourse

Word count: 3k

──────────────────────────────

Chapter Fourteen

The office was unusually quiet for a Tuesday morning. The usual murmur of collaborative chaos—the tapping of keyboards, soft conversations, someone humming over their coffee—felt muted today. Sua’s steps echoed lightly against the concrete floor as she made her way toward the break area, hands wrapped tightly around a ceramic mug she didn’t remember pouring.

She had arrived earlier than usual. She always did these days. Not because there was more work to do—though there always was—but because staying home meant being alone with her thoughts. And lately, that was much harder than pretending to be okay.

Outside the window, the sky was a dull blue, bright but lifeless, like the world was trying to trick her into thinking things were fine. She sat down on the edge of the small couch tucked beside the kitchenette. It was the one no one really used except when they needed five minutes to breathe. She figured it was fair game.

On the coffee table in front of her, a stack of art magazines lay fanned out. She grabbed one without thinking and flipped it open to a page somewhere in the middle. A photograph of an installation caught her eye—an abstract piece, scattered mirrors suspended mid-air, fragments reflecting slivers of people walking by. It was disjointed, sharp, uncomfortably honest. She stared at it for a long while.

It felt familiar. Like her.

She blinked, the heat of tears pressing behind her eyes, and quickly shut the magazine.

Just then, the soft click of heels approached from behind. Her boss—clean-cut blazer, sleeves rolled, hair tied back—stepped into view, holding two cups of coffee. She gave Sua a small, knowing smile and held one out.

“Morning,” she said gently. “Thought you might need something stronger.”

Sua forced a grateful smile and accepted it. “Thanks.”

Her boss didn’t sit right away. She studied Sua for a second—long enough to see past the carefully styled hair, the neutral lipstick, the pressed shirt. Long enough to notice the sleepless eyes and the stiff shoulders.

“Can I ask you something?” her voice was lower now. “Off the record.”

Sua paused. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

It wasn’t accusatory. It wasn’t even concerned in that overbearing way people tended to be when they just wanted to feel good about asking. It was real. Grounded. Honest.

But still—Sua smiled again. The tight, rehearsed one she’d gotten good at lately. “I’m fine.”

Her boss gave her a look that made it clear she didn’t believe that for a second.

“I saw the photos,” she said softly. “I know what happened at the concert. And… I know the kind of things that’ve been going around online.”

Sua’s hands stiffened around the mug.

“I also know a few reporters tried calling the office.”

Of course they did.

“I didn’t say anything,” her boss added quickly. “I won’t. But I need you to know that if you want to take time off… I’ll back you up. Fully.”

The silence that followed was a beat too long.

Sua swallowed hard. “Thank you. Really. But… I think staying is better for me.”

Her boss tilted her head. “Better how?”

Sua looked down at her lap. Her fingers were trembling, barely noticeable. “I just… need the normalcy. The structure. It’s helping. I don’t want to feel like a victim.”

The words surprised even her. But the second they left her mouth, she realized how deeply true they were.

She needed to believe she was still in control. That she could still walk into a space and earn her place and not be the girl the internet had turned into a spectacle.

Not Seungcheol’s girl.

Not the scandal.

Just Sua.

Her boss nodded slowly. “Okay,” she said. “But if that changes, I’m still here. Even if it’s just a ride home. Or a fake emergency to pull you out of something.”

That made Sua laugh—small, but real. “Noted.”

Her boss stood. “You're strong,” she added, before turning to leave. “But you don’t have to do it all alone.”

And then she was gone.

Sua sat in the silence again, surrounded by art and coffee and the lingering echo of kindness she didn’t know how to hold onto.

—

Sua entered her apartment with a loud sigh.

Finally.

It was already 9PM. Her work ended hours ago—at 4—but she hadn’t been able to leave on time. Not when stepping out the front door meant exposing herself to those relentless eyes. Cameras. Whispering mouths. People who weren’t supposed to know her name, let alone the license plate of her car.

But they did.

Even when she took the back exit, a few of them were waiting, clutching their phones like weapons. The day she saw someone checking her parked car in the basement was the day she stopped driving altogether.

Now, she stocked up on face masks like survival tools. Wore them in the subway, hidden beneath scarves, oversized hoodies, and tinted sunglasses. The disguise helped. But every layer made her feel less like herself.

Then again, she wasn’t really herself anymore.

Not lately.

She tossed her bag onto the couch, walked to the fridge, and grabbed a bottle of water, drinking it down in greedy gulps—like she could drown the fire clawing at her insides. But the water didn’t cool her. The pressure stayed.

Then—

Knock.

Her chest tightened.

Knock. Knock.

Sua didn’t move. She stared at the door. The sound alone was enough to send her heart racing. She hated this now—the ping of phone notifications, the shrill ring of the office line, and more than anything, the knock of unexpected visitors.

What if it’s one of them?

What if someone found her again?

Her breath caught.

She stepped silently toward the door, not even realizing she’d already curled her fingers around the knob.

And then—

A familiar presence behind the wood. A silence she could recognize with her eyes closed.

Of course.

She opened it. And there he was.

Choi Seungcheol. Cap pulled low, eyes dim with caution, jaw clenched like he hadn’t breathed since he got there. His face was a quiet storm.

“Hey,” he murmured.

Sua didn’t answer. She stepped aside and let him in.

The silence followed them like a fog. Thick. Claustrophobic.

He reached out to hug her—but she didn’t move. Didn’t lift her arms. Didn’t lean in. Not even when her body screamed at her to inhale the scent of him, to melt into him like she always did.

She stayed still.

And he noticed.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

Sua stepped back. “Am I okay?” Her voice cracked. Then sharpened. “Am I, Seungcheol?”

His brows drew together. “I just—”

Seungcheol didn't get a chance to answer before Sua snaps again, “What the hell are you doing here?” Sua’s voice cut through the quiet of the apartment like a blade, low and cold and sharp enough to bleed.

She hadn’t meant to blow up.

Sua had spent the entire day swallowing every ounce of frustration, every spiraling thought, every jab of anxiety that clawed at her chest. She smiled at her staff. Greeted artists politely. Handled deadlines. Made phone calls. Acted like everything was fine even when her chest felt like it might split open at any moment.

But now, standing in her apartment, staring at Seungcheol—something snapped.

He was just standing there like he always did. Calm. So sure of himself. Baseball cap pulled low, black hoodie and sweats like he could disappear into the crowd at any second. Hands in his pockets. Voice soft and low as he greeted her.

And for some reason, that was the final straw.

Seungcheol blinked, caught off guard by the venom in her tone. “I—what? I came to check on you. You haven’t been replying to—”

“I don’t fucking care.” She whipped around to face him, her arms crossed tight across her chest. Her jaw was clenched, eyes flashing with something between fury and heartbreak. “You can’t keep showing up whenever you feel like it. Like I’m some goddamn checkpoint in your day.”

“Sua—”

“No. Don’t Sua me.” She took a step closer, her voice rising. “Do you even realize what’s happening out there because of you?”

“I do realize,” he bit back. “Don’t treat me like I’m stupid.”

“Then act like it! Act like you fucking care!” She shoved past him toward the kitchen, pacing, trembling. “I can’t even go to work properly. I had to lie through my teeth to my boss while those fans are fucking waiting outside like they’re hunting me for sport—because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut!”

“I never said anything about you!”

“You didn’t need to!” she shouted. “You looked at me like I was the only person in the room! You touched me like the world was yours to burn! You made me the target!”

He looked at her, really looked at her, and something cracked open in his chest.

“I didn’t mean to ruin this for you,” he said, quieter now, the storm in his voice giving way to something rawer. “I just—I love you.”

She laughed, bitter and broken. “You think that makes this better? That if you say love enough times it’ll fix the fact that I’m being stalked? That I can’t breathe without someone snapping a picture or twisting it into something ugly?”

“I didn’t want this either.”

“Then why did you let it happen?” Her voice was shaking now, not from weakness, but from the sheer effort of keeping herself together. “Why couldn’t you just be careful, Cheol? Why couldn’t you just—why couldn’t you fucking protect me?”

“I’ve done everything I could!”

“No. You’ve done everything you wanted. You never once asked me what I needed.”

He was breathing harder now, chest rising and falling with each word she threw at him like a weapon. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

“You think this is easy for me?” he snapped. “You think I’m not getting chewed out every day by the company? I put everything on the line for this—for you!”

She froze. Her eyes narrowed. “I never fucking asked you to.”

He took a step toward her, furious now. “You didn’t have to. I did it because I fucking love you.”

“Well maybe your love is ruining me.”

—

The air was thick with tension, as suffocating as the space between them. Their words, their emotions—everything hung like a storm ready to break, and Sua felt herself on the brink. She hated him. She wanted to push him away. She wanted to scream, to shove him out of her life for good. But all she could feel, deep down, was the savage need to have him, to destroy him, and to be destroyed by him.

"Say it again," Seungcheol growled, his voice a raw rasp, low and seething with anger. The challenge in his tone was unmistakable, but there was something else lurking behind his eyes—something almost desperate. He wanted this. He wanted her.

Sua’s heart pounded. Her lips curled in a bitter smile as she met his gaze, eyes burning with fury and desire. "Your love is ruining me."

His face twisted with rage. "You don’t fucking get to say that."

“You think I’m just gonna let you walk away after that?” His voice was hoarse—low and dangerous. “You think you can just spit all that shit and I’ll leave you alone?”

“Why not? That’s what you’re good at, isn’t it?” She turned, eyes blazing, fury igniting every syllable. “Running your mouth. Making everything worse. Getting me followed, stalked, treated like some filthy secret when you're the one who can’t keep your damn feelings to yourself—”

He was in front of her before she could finish, crowding her space, face flushed with pure rage.

“I fucking told you I didn’t mean for any of that to happen,” he growled, stepping closer until their chests almost touched. “You think I wanted you to get hurt? You think I’d fucking let anyone near you if I had a choice?”

“You don’t protect me, Seungcheol. You parade your love like some badge of honor but I’m the one bleeding for it!”

That hit him hard. She saw it in the way his jaw clenched, the fire in his eyes flickering into something darker.

“Then leave,” he bit out. “If I’m that fucking toxic, if I’m so bad for you, then go.”

“I want to!” she shouted, shoving him with both hands. “But you keep pulling me back in! Every time I try to walk away, you show up again—fucking smiling like an idiot, like you didn’t just ruin my entire goddamn life!”

He grabbed her wrists, yanked her forward, crushing their mouths together with zero grace, zero tenderness—just teeth, breath, and fury. His kiss was war. It wasn’t about love—it was possession. A brutal, messy collision of mouths that tasted like punishment.

And she gave it right back.

She bit his lip so hard he hissed. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt and yanked him down, dragging him deeper into her chaos.

“Fuck you,” she growled into his mouth.

“Working on it,” he snarled back.

Clothes came off in harsh tugs. Buttons flew. Zippers jammed. His hoodie hit the floor, and her shirt followed. Neither of them was careful—fabric tore, seams popped. It wasn’t about undressing—it was about claiming. About stripping. About breaking.

He shoved her against the wall, his hands roaming rough, fast, gripping her thighs and lifting her like she weighed nothing. She wrapped her legs around him with a snarl, dragging him closer by the back of his neck.

He didn’t kiss her. He devoured her. Lips against her throat, teeth scraping down her skin, angry, desperate.

“You wanna pretend this means nothing?” he rasped against her skin. “You wanna act like you don’t need me?”

“Fuck off,” she hissed, grinding against him like she was daring him to fall apart.

“You hate me so much, huh?” His hand slipped between them, pushing her panties aside with no ceremony. “Then why are you soaking for me?”

She gasped, tried to speak, failed—then slapped him across the face. Hard. The sound cracked through the room.

His eyes darkened.

He didn’t stop.

He thrust into her with no warning, no buildup—just raw need. Her back slammed into the wall with the force, breath knocked clean from her lungs.

She cried out—not just from the stretch, but from the anger, the absolute surrender. Her hands tangled in his hair, yanking him in, nails raking down his back hard enough to leave lines.

“Harder,” she spat, voice wrecked.

He snarled like an animal and obeyed.

The wall shook with every slam of his hips. There was no rhythm—just power. Just fury. Just all builds up of everything unsaid crashing out of them in the dirtiest, most violent way possible.

His hand slid up her chest, gripping her throat—not hard, but firm enough to say, stay here. Feel this.

She locked eyes with him, gasping, shaking.

“I fucking hate you,” she breathed, voice cracking. “I hate what you do to me. What you make me become.”

He leaned in, sweat dripping from his temple, his lips brushing hers with venom. “Good,” he whispered. “Then hate me right. Hate me while I make you come so hard you forget why you ever wanted to leave.”

And he did.

She shattered—loud, messy, brutal. He didn’t stop. Drove her through it, chased his own climax with gritted teeth and a low groan that sounded more like pain than pleasure.

When he came, it was with his forehead pressed against hers, their breaths mingling like smoke and fire. Like poison and oxygen.

When it was over, he didn’t speak. Neither did she.

She peeled herself off him, stumbled back, legs shaking. He sat down on the floor, head in his hands, hair a mess.

They didn’t look at each other.

But the silence between them wasn’t peace—it was a warning.

They were the kind of lovers that left marks. And they’d both drawn blood.

—

The silence stretched as they lay there.

Still. Wrecked. Breathless.

The air was thick with heat and regret, but it was quiet now. Not peaceful. Just... still.

Sweat clung to their skin. The storm in their bodies had passed, but not in their hearts. Not in their heads.

Seungcheol’s arm was draped loosely over Sua’s waist, but neither of them moved. Their chests rose and fell at uneven rhythms, two people trying to come down from something they didn’t even want to name.

And then—

“I didn’t want it to be like this,” Seungcheol murmured, voice rough with exhaustion and shame.

Sua flinched like he’d slapped her.

She turned her face away, eyes stinging. “Don’t you dare make this sweet,” she said, low and hoarse. “That wasn’t love. That was us destroying each other.”

The silence after her words was heavier than any scream.

He didn’t defend himself.

Didn’t argue.

And maybe that was worse.

Because when Sua finally sat up—arms wrapping tight around her bare torso, back curling in like she was protecting something shattered—he didn’t reach for her.

He sat up too. Slower. Shoulders heavy, like every emotion was made of lead.

His eyes burned, but he didn’t cry.

Not yet.

She moved to the edge of the couch, pulled her couch blanket halfway over herself like it could shield her from the aftermath. Her hair was a mess. Mascara smeared beneath her eyes. Her lips were swollen and bruised from his kisses.

But it wasn’t the physical mess that broke Seungcheol.

It was the way she crumbled in silence.

Like her heart had given up trying to scream.

And then she did cry.

No warning. Just a soft sob that tore from her chest like a wound cracking open.

She turned away from him, hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking uncontrollably as she tried to muffle it—but she couldn’t.

Seungcheol’s breath caught.

He slid off the couch, down to the floor, like his body couldn’t carry him anymore. His head dropped between his knees. One hand pressed to his chest. The other clenched so tightly on his thigh that his knuckles turned white.

He didn’t make a sound, but his shoulders heaved.

They were both falling apart—together, but painfully alone.

Minutes passed. Maybe longer.

Then—

A shift.

Sua moved. Slowly. Hesitantly.

Her hand reached down, trembling fingers brushing against his.

Seungcheol froze. His breath stilled.

And then, without a word, he laced his fingers with hers.

They held on.

Not because they were okay.

Not because anything was fixed.

But because it was all they knew how to do.

Because they didn’t know how to be apart.

Even now.

Especially now.

Eventually, she tugged softly. He looked up, eyes rimmed red.

Her lips parted. “Can you stay?”

His chest caved in with a shaky exhale. “If you’ll let me.”

She nodded once. Eyes swollen. “Always.”

And that was enough.

They didn’t say more. Words felt useless. Cheap. Fragile.

Seungcheol climbs the couch slowly, guiding her gently back into his arms. This time she didn’t resist. She folded into him, burying her face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in like she was trying to find herself again.

His arms wrapped around her carefully. No hunger. No urgency. Just warmth.

They stay like that in the dim light of the living room, swaying slightly, heartbeats out of sync but trying to find rhythm again.

He kissed the top of her head.

Then her temple.

Then her cheek.

And when he pulled back to look at her—really look at her—there was something in his eyes that made her breath hitch.

Love. Undeniable. Raw. Bleeding at the edges.

“I don’t know how to do this without you,” he whispered.

She blinked hard, biting back a fresh wave of tears. “Then maybe learn how to protect me, not hurt me.”

He nodded. 

He kissed her again—soft this time. Gentle. Mouth brushing hers like he was afraid she’d disappear.

She pulled him closer.

They didn’t make it to the bedroom.

They stayed right there on the couch, tangled in the blanket and the wreckage of their fight, touching like it was the last thing keeping them sane.

It wasn’t lust this time. It wasn’t fury. It wasn’t punishment.

It was need.

Slow. Careful. Desperate in a different way.

His hands traced every inch of her like he was relearning her body. Her breath hitched with every kiss he pressed to her skin. She let herself be touched—not because it made anything better, but because it reminded her that they were still here. Still alive. Still clinging.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered at one point, forehead resting against hers, breath trembling.

She didn’t.

Instead, she kissed him again—deeper this time. And he took it as yes.

Their bodies moved in quiet rhythm. There was no rush. No roughness. Just long, lingering touches and quiet gasps.

She cried again.

So did he.

But this time, they didn’t cry alone.

When it was over, they lay tangled beneath the blanket, bare skin pressed together, her head on his chest, his fingers stroking her back in slow, soothing circles.

They didn’t speak.

But their hands were still clasped.

And even in the silence, it was clear:

This wasn’t a solution.

It wasn’t a promise.

But it was love.

Messy. Dangerous. Damaging.

But still love.

—

The light hit her face before the clock did.

Sua stirred against the warmth behind her, eyes squinting at the soft golden blur bleeding through her window. She blinked slowly. Her mouth was dry. Her muscles ached. Everything felt… heavy.

And warm.

There was a large hand resting across her waist. Fingers splayed, familiar. Too familiar.

She didn’t move at first.

The weight of the night before was still there, thick in the air, in her chest, in the faint bruises blooming on her skin.

His breath was even behind her, soft and steady against the curve of her neck. He was still asleep.

She should’ve moved. Gotten up. Put on clothes. Washed him off her skin.

Instead, she stayed.

Her hand drifted to her ribs. She flinched. There was a sore spot—she remembered his grip there. The heat of it. The desperation. The anger.

And then she saw it: the faint purple mark blooming along his collarbone where she'd bit down too hard. The scratch on his shoulder. A fading red streak down his arm.

The evidence of them. What they did to each other. What they always did.

She turned slowly in his arms, careful not to wake him, but Seungcheol stirred anyway. His brows knit, lashes fluttering. Then—

"Hey," he rasped, voice low and sleep-rough. He blinked at her, eyes still half-lidded.

"Hey," she whispered back.

They stared at each other for a moment, like strangers waking up in a crime scene.

And then, his thumb brushed her cheek.

Her chest squeezed.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

Sua looked at him for a second, then dropped her gaze. “Me too,” she said, quiet, like if she said it any louder it’d shatter the glass they were walking on.

“I didn’t mean to…” he paused, swallowing. His voice cracked a little. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“But we did.”

He nodded slowly. “We keep doing this.”

She exhaled, tired. “Yeah.”

He reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear, like it was the only thing he knew how to do right now. “Can we—” he hesitated. “Can we try again?”

Sua looked at him then. Really looked. Eyes swollen from sleep and everything else. Lips still chapped from last night. And yet… he was still him.

Her disaster.

Her disaster she still loved.

She leaned in, pressing her forehead to his.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s try again.”

Neither of them said how long it would last this time. Neither of them brought up the fight. Or the scars.

Because that’s not what this morning was for.

This morning was for quiet. For gentle hands brushing against bruised skin. For his lips on her shoulder as he whispered “sorry” again. For her thumb tracing his jaw, memorizing him again.

For one more promise neither of them could keep.

And for a moment, that was enough.

—

Sua calls in sick to work. Her boss understand. She spent her entire morning worrying about the bruises on Seungcheol's body, how to cover it up, and Seungcheol mostly just laughed and calms her down, "My make up team did the most amazing job ever, don't worry," he said as he placed a kiss on her hand.

Seungcheol leaves around 2PM for another rehearsal before his Japan tour next week. He hughs her longer than usual before he leaves.

"I'll see you soon. And I'll set up some people to keep you safe when I'm gone," he promised.

Sua, slowly accepted that this is her life now, just nods, and bury her face on his chest.

"I'll miss you when you're gone."

She turned back and close the door behind her after he left, making a cup of tea for herself, then suddenly her phone rings.

Unknown number.

She answered anyway.

“Jang Sua?”

The voice was clipped. Professional. Cold.

"Yes, this is she," Sua answered. Her heart beats faster but she assure herself that might be just another client.

“This is a representative from Pledis. We’d like to inform you about some internal matters regarding your relationship with Choi Seungcheol.”

She froze.

“We’re aware you signed an NDA. We’re also aware that despite your compliance, Mr. Choi’s actions have caused significant backlash.”

A pause. “He recently had a conflict with several members and staff over this matter. It’s created a disruption in the team. We’re doing everything we can to minimize the damage.”

Sua’s throat closed, "What?"

“We’re asking—strongly advising—you to cease any and all communication with him until this is resolved. For your safety. And his career.”

The line went dead before she could say a word.

Her hand dropped to her side. Tea spilled onto the counter.

Everything inside her had gone still.

Like lightning, striking in broad daylight.

──────────────────────────────

Thank you for being extremely patient with this series :")

I'll try to finish soon! Love you aaalll lots <3

[moncherriecoups]

Muted Hearts

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

This is ours.

──────────────────────────────

Seungcheol x f!oc

MINORS DNI

MINORS DNR

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

Word count: 4.4k

──────────────────────────────

Give me hug, need your love, touch my thigh

Tell me what puts you in that mind

Frame it up, draw me in, do me right

Don't you dare leave my sight

I could be, be your prize, pick me up

Flying lights, paradise

Chapter Nine

It had been three days since Seungcheol showed up at her gallery—three days since he finally cornered her in her office and kissed the fight out of her. They were fine now, their tension unraveled in hushed words and lingering touches, but neither of them had the luxury of time.

Sua was drowning in preparations for the upcoming art fair, her days packed with meetings, logistics, and last-minute artist arrangements. Seungcheol, on the other hand, was barely keeping up with the relentless demands of their impending world tour. Every day was a cycle of rehearsals, meetings, and physical exhaustion that left him with barely enough time to breathe, let alone see her.

They had talked, exchanged texts and late-night calls whenever they could squeeze them in. But it wasn’t the same. A screen couldn’t replace the feeling of her beside him.

He missed her. A lot.

But tonight—tonight, he was going to change that.

—

The practice room smelled like sweat and lingering adrenaline. The speakers hummed from the bass-heavy track they had just finished running for what felt like the hundredth time. Seungcheol rolled his shoulders back, exhaling sharply. The exhaustion clung to him, but his mind was already elsewhere.

“Hyung, let’s grab a drink,” Seungkwan suggested, collapsing onto the floor dramatically. “We need it after today.”

“You always need a drink after practice,” Jeonghan teased, ruffling Seungkwan’s hair before turning his attention to Seungcheol. “You in?”

Seungcheol barely hesitated. “Nah, I’ll pass.”

A brief silence.

“What?” Seokmin blinked. “Did I hear that right?”

“You’re passing on drinks?” Joshua asked, clearly just as bewildered.

It wasn’t like Seungcheol never skipped out on drinking nights, but he was usually the one starting them. Turning them down was rare.

“Whoa, this is serious.” Jihoon leaned back against the mirror, crossing his arms. “What’s the occasion?”

Seungcheol huffed, shaking his head. “No occasion. I just have somewhere to be.”

Jeonghan smirked, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Ohhh, I see.”

Seungcheol shot him a wary glance. “What?”

Jeonghan leaned in slightly, his voice dripping with amusement. “Is it her?”

The room instantly perked up. Seungkwan gasped, Seokmin grinned, and even Wonwoo looked mildly interested.

Seungcheol exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “She’s still working. Won’t be done until one.”

“Wow.” Wonwoo raised a brow. “The dedication.”

“More dedicated than our leader, apparently,” Jeonghan snickered.

Seungcheol shot him a glare.

“Relax, I’m just saying,” Jeonghan said, raising his hands in surrender. “I like her. She makes you interesting.”

Another round of teasing followed before the group finally began dispersing, still chuckling at their leader’s expense. Seungcheol let them go, checking his phone as he headed toward his bag.

One unread message from Sua.

You don’t have to wait for me. Just go home, we’ll meet tomorrow.

Seungcheol scoffed. As if.

Just as he was about to reply, a voice cut through the quiet.

“You’re being reckless.”

Seungcheol didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

Minghao stood by the door, arms crossed, gaze sharp.

The teasing atmosphere from earlier was gone. This wasn’t a joke.

Seungcheol pocketed his phone. “And?”

“And you know exactly what I mean.” Minghao stepped closer, his voice low but firm. “You’re walking straight into a mess. The media’s already watching. Do you think they’ll just let it slide?”

“Since when do you care so much about the media?”

“It’s not about me.”

Seungcheol clenched his jaw. He knew what Minghao was implying.

It wasn’t his career that would take the hardest hit. It was Sua’s.

“You think I don’t know that?” Seungcheol’s voice dropped, dangerously close to a growl.

“So prove it.” Minghao’s eyes darkened. “You’re not thinking straight. Every move you make is being watched, and right now, you’re making it too easy for them to turn this into something bigger.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then, Seungcheol exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I’m not abandoning her just because it’s inconvenient.”

“No one’s asking you to abandon her.” Minghao’s gaze didn’t waver. “I’m asking you to be smarter.”

A muscle in Seungcheol’s jaw twitched.

He knew Minghao had a point. He just didn’t like hearing it.

Minghao sighed. “You’re too reckless when you care about something.”

Seungcheol’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And you’re too cautious when you do.”

Neither of them said anything after that.

Minghao didn’t stop him when he grabbed his bag and walked out.

Seungcheol didn’t look back.

—

The streetlights blurred past as Seungcheol drove through the near-empty city, one hand gripping the wheel, the other resting tensely on his thigh. The clock on the dashboard read 1:14 AM.

His phone buzzed beside him, a new message from Sua.

You really don’t have to wait. Just please go home

His jaw ticked.

I’m coming up.

He tossed his phone onto the passenger seat without waiting for a reply.

As if he was just going to go home after rehearsal and pretend he wasn’t thinking about her the whole damn time.

It was already late when he wrapped up at the company, but instead of heading back to his apartment—or hers—he found himself driving straight to the gallery.

Sua was probably still holed up in her office, buried under work, just like she had been all week. He knew she had an event coming up, but working this late? 

She needed to go home.

And if she wasn’t going to listen to reason over text, then he’d make sure himself.

By the time he pulled into the underground parking lot, the place was empty.

His tires rolled over smooth pavement, the soft hum of his engine the only noise cutting through the silence.

He parked in his usual spot, turned off the ignition, and exhaled.

Then, without hesitation, he got out and headed upstairs.

Sua didn’t even look up when the door creaked open.

The soft glow from her desk lamp cast warm shadows on her face, her brows furrowed in concentration as she traced over a layout with her stylus. The large monitor in front of her displayed a chaotic spread of artwork, text, and placement markers for the upcoming fair.

Seungcheol leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. Of course, she was still working.

He let the silence hang for a moment, just watching her.

Then, casually, he spoke. "You know it’s almost 2 AM, right?"

Sua sighed, not bothering to turn around. "I told you to go home."

"Yeah, well." He stepped inside. "You also told me you'd be done by midnight."

She glanced at the clock. 1:36 AM.

With another sigh, she set her stylus down and finally turned to face him.

"You’re so damn stubborn."

"And you’re not?" Seungcheol shot back, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Sua rolled her eyes but pushed herself up from her chair, stretching out her stiff limbs. "Fine. Let me just pack up."

Seungcheol didn't move as she gathered her things, just watched as she powered down her monitor and grabbed her bag.

The air shifted between them the moment she stepped closer. It was subtle—just the way her fingers brushed against his arm when she passed, the way her perfume lingered in the small space between them—but it was enough.

The same tension that had been simmering between them for days, since their last rushed goodbye, was suddenly electric again.

Seungcheol clenched his jaw. "Come on," he muttered, leading her out.

The walk to the basement was quiet.

Too quiet.

Seungcheol could hear every little sound—the soft click of her heels, the faint rustle of fabric, the way his own breathing felt heavier than usual.

Maybe it was exhaustion. Or maybe it was the fact that it had been a week.

A week since he last touched her.

A week since he felt the warmth of her skin, since he had her pressed against him, gasping his name. And fuck, was it getting to him.

By the time they reached his car, his pulse was already hammering.

Sua reached for the handle, but Seungcheol was faster, opening the door for her. She gave him a look but slid in without a word. He shut the door and rounded the front, slipping into the driver’s seat.

The second he settled, he exhaled.

Tension.

Thick.

Sua shifted slightly beside him, pulling the seatbelt over her.

But before she could click it into place—

Seungcheol reached for her. It was instinct. His hand tangled in her hair as he pulled her in, his mouth crashing against hers.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t soft.

It was raw—needy, impatient, fueled by every second he had to spend apart from her this past week.

—

Sua barely had time to react before Seungcheol’s lips crashed onto hers again, stealing her breath, her thoughts, her everything.

It was deep, insistent—no, desperate.

Like he had been starved for her, like the past week had been torture, like he had held back for far too long.

She felt it in the way his fingers tangled in her hair, in the way his free hand slid to her waist, gripping tight as if anchoring himself to her.

A soft gasp slipped from her lips when he bit down on her lower lip, tugging just enough to make her thighs clench together.

"Fuck," he muttered against her mouth, his breathing heavy, his patience snapping by the second.

He pulled her closer—no, yanked—until she was straddling him right there in the driver's seat, her knees pressing into the leather, the curve of her thighs molding against his own.

The gearshift dug into her side, but she barely noticed. Not when his hands were sliding under her blouse, fingertips skimming the bare skin of her waist, tracing up, up—

"I missed you," he murmured, lips ghosting down her jaw, her neck.

Sua swallowed hard, her head tipping back as his mouth found that one spot that made her shiver.

"Cheol—"

"Yes, baby?"

His voice was deeper now, rougher, vibrating against her skin as he sucked a bruise just beneath her jawline.

Her fingers curled into his jacket, needing something—anything—to hold on to as the heat coiled low in her stomach.

Then suddenly, he rolled his hips up.

Hard.

The friction—hot, intense, perfect—made her gasp, her fingers tightening in his shirt.

Seungcheol smirked against her throat.

"Sensitive?"

A flicker of annoyance sparked in her eyes, but before she could retort, he did it again—a slow, deliberate grind that sent shivers up her spine.

Her head dropped onto his shoulder, breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Seungcheol—"

He clicked his tongue, his fingers sliding up her spine.

"I like when you say my name like that." A teasing bite to her shoulder.

"Do it again."

And fuck, the way his voice dropped—deep, low, possessive—made her thighs clench even tighter around him.

His hands slide down to her ass, gripping hard as he thrusts upward, meeting her movements with a force that has her gasping, nails digging into his scalp. The dashboard creaks beneath her hands, but neither of them cares—lost in the push and pull of each other, the rhythm that drowns out everything else.

“Shit,” she hisses, voice shaking. “I’ve missed this so much. You don’t know how hard it is to hold myself back. To see you on my screen and—fuck—do nothing about it.” Her pace falters for a second as a deep, shuddering moan escapes her lips. “You stretch me so good.”

Seungcheol's grip tightens, dragging her closer, thrusting deeper. The possessiveness in his gaze is unmistakable, his voice rough when he speaks. “You’re mine, Sua. Always have been, always will be.” He kisses her hard, teeth catching her lower lip before he pulls back, watching her fall apart above him.

The car rocks violently, their moans swallowed by the heated space between them. Sua’s head falls back, exposing the delicate line of her throat, her hands reaching for his shoulders as she grinds against him, taking everything he gives.

“More,” she breathes, desperation lacing her voice. “I need more.”

That does it.

With a growl, Seungcheol moves—fast—flipping their positions in one swift motion. Sua barely has time to react before she’s beneath him, sprawled across the passenger seat, legs wrapped around his waist.

He buries himself to the hilt, drawing a sharp gasp from her as he sets a relentless pace, hips snapping forward, driving into her over and over. His fingers slide up her torso, wrapping lightly around her throat, tilting her head back just enough so she has no choice but to look at him.

"Eyes on me," he commands, voice dark, controlled. She obeys instantly, eyes locking onto him as he thrusts deeper, dragging a cry from her lips. He smirks, dipping down to press open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, down to the sensitive spot just beneath her ear.

Sua's nails rake down his back, her body arching into his. "Yes—fuck—just like that," she moans. Her voice drops, sultry, teasing. "Use me like you miss me."

Seungcheol groans, his pace stuttering for a fraction of a second before he slams into her harder, chasing the intoxicating sound of her pleasure. His grip on her wrists tightens as he pins them above her head, the dominance in his touch making her walls flutter around him.

"Missed this," he grits out, hips moving in a brutal rhythm. "Missed you."

He fucks her like he's making up for every second they were apart, like he’s trying to carve himself into her, make sure she never forgets who she belongs to.

A sharp cry rips from her throat when he angles just right, hitting that sweet spot inside her that has her legs trembling around him. His name spills from her lips like a prayer, her body tightening, clenching around him.

"Shit—Sua, I’m—" His breath hitches, movements turning erratic as the pleasure coils tighter, ready to snap. He buries himself deep one last time, groaning against her skin as he comes, filling her with every last drop of himself.

For a moment, neither of them moves, the only sound in the car their ragged breathing. Seungcheol finally collapses against her, forehead resting against her shoulder as he presses a lazy kiss to her damp skin.

Sua chuckles, hands running soothing circles down his back. “Couldn’t even wait to leave the basement, huh?”

Seungcheol huffs out a laugh, lifting his head just enough to meet her eyes. He smirks. “Would you have wanted me to?”

—

The drive back to Sua’s apartment was silent, but not in an uncomfortable way. The air still buzzed with the aftermath of what they’d just done, thick with lingering heat and something even deeper. Seungcheol kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on Sua’s thigh, his thumb stroking absentmindedly against her skin. A small, smug smile tugged at his lips when he felt the way she squeezed them together, still sensitive from how thoroughly he had wrecked her just minutes ago.

The soft hum of the engine and the glow of passing streetlights painted fleeting patterns across his face. Sua stole a glance at him—his damp hair sticking to his forehead, the slight tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twitched slightly against her skin, as if he was restraining himself from doing more.

She smirked. “You look proud of yourself.”

Seungcheol let out a breathy chuckle, flicking his gaze toward her for a second before returning it to the road. “Shouldn’t I be?” His fingers flexed against her thigh. “I mean… I made you scream my name in a parked car. That’s gotta be a new record.”

Sua scoffed, shoving his shoulder playfully, though the heat in her cheeks betrayed her. “Yeah, and if anyone had walked by, we’d be screwed.”

“We were already screwed.” He grinned, absolutely delighted with himself.

She groaned, but the laughter in her voice gave her away. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still here.” He gave her thigh a light squeeze before pulling up to her apartment building. The dashboard clock read 3:07 AM.

“You good?” His voice was hoarse, still raw from all the things he’d murmured against her skin.

Sua hummed, tilting her head against the passenger seat. “You’re still driving,” she mumbled, as if she’d expected him to teleport them home instead.

Seungcheol chuckled, his grip on her tightening briefly. “We’d be there already if your legs weren’t shaking so bad,” he teased, eyes flickering to her in amusement.

She huffed, though she couldn’t even deny it. “Shut up and focus on the road before we end up on Dispatch for a whole different reason.”

His laughter filled the car, low and deep. “Would be worth it.”

By the time they pulled into her apartment’s underground parking, neither of them made a move to get out immediately. Seungcheol sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck before glancing at Sua. She was staring at the dashboard, her lips pursed, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her skirt.

“Hey,” he called softly.

She turned, her expression unreadable. “This week was hell,” she admitted. “I kept thinking about you, but I was still pissed.”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Yeah? And what exactly did you think about?”

Sua rolled her eyes but let her fingers trail lower, brushing against his knee. “Mostly about strangling you.”

His laugh was immediate. “Jesus—”

“I was debating between snapping your neck or your kneecaps, honestly.”

Seungcheol groaned dramatically. “You do realize I have bad knees already, right?”

“Exactly.” She grinned, reaching for the car door. “Come on, old man, before you cramp up in that seat.”

He scoffed but followed her inside, the warmth of her apartment a welcoming contrast to the chilly night. Neither of them spoke as they made their way to her bedroom, their bodies naturally gravitating towards each other.

As soon as they hit the mattress, Seungcheol pulled her against him, pressing a lazy kiss to her shoulder. “Don’t even think about running from me again, got it?”

Sua didn’t respond immediately, her fingers tracing patterns on his bare chest. Then, softly, “Don’t give me a reason to.”

It wasn’t a promise, but it was something. And right now, he’d take it.

The morning came slowly, the golden afternoon light spilling through the curtains. Sua stirred first, feeling the solid weight of Seungcheol’s arm draped over her waist. His body was warm, radiating heat like a personal furnace, and—

Was he snoring?

She turned her head slightly, and sure enough, soft, rhythmic breaths left his slightly parted lips. It was quiet, almost soothing. Sua sighed, watching him for a moment before reaching for her phone. 3:08 PM. Not so morning, apparently.

“Babe,” she murmured, nudging him lightly.

Seungcheol groaned, burying his face against her shoulder. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled, voice raspy with sleep.

Sua rolled her eyes but made no effort to move away. She let him cling to her for a little longer, fingers absentmindedly running through his messy hair.

Eventually, though, hunger won over comfort. “Cheol, I’m starving. Get up.”

He groaned again but finally cracked an eye open, blinking blearily at her. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But I’m not cooking. You do that wifey shit so well.”

Sua smacked his arm, making him laugh. “Get your ass in the kitchen, Choi Seungcheol.”

The kitchen was filled with the aroma of warm butter and eggs, a stark contrast to the chaotic mess they had made of themselves the night before. Seungcheol leaned against the counter, watching as Sua flipped a pancake with practiced ease.

“Domestic looks good on you,” he commented, voice still heavy with sleep.

“Everything looks good on me,” she deadpanned.

He grinned. “That’s true.”

As they ate, Sua nudged his foot under the table. “What time’s your meeting?”

Seungcheol glanced at his phone. “Five-thirty. I should head out soon.”

She frowned slightly but nodded. “Text me after.”

“I will,” he promised, reaching over to steal a bite from her plate.

—

The board meeting had been unbearable.

Seungcheol sat through all of it, nodding and biting his tongue as executives danced around the real issue—his distraction. They spoke in circles, throwing out words like "brand risk" and "group stability," but he knew what they were getting at.

It was his fault that fans were speculating. His fault that articles were circling. His fault that the company had to do damage control because one gallery visit turned into a damn media frenzy.

But it wasn’t his fault that he had fallen for her.

And now, after everyone else had filtered out, Minghao was still in the room—lingering with his arms crossed, his expression a storm waiting to break.

Seungcheol could feel it coming. He knew that look.

Minghao didn’t move at first. Then, with a sharp inhale, he did.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

Seungcheol exhaled, already exhausted. "Hao, don't."

"Don't?" Minghao let out a humorless chuckle. "Don’t? You have any idea what you've done?" His voice was tight with restrained anger, the kind that only built up when you cared too much. “Do you even realize what kind of attention you just threw her into?”

Seungcheol’s patience thinned. “I didn’t throw her into anything.”

Minghao scoffed. “No? Then what do you call it? A soft introduction?” His eyes darkened. “Her gallery is flooded with people who don’t give a shit about art. Her workplace—her safe space—is now a damn tourist attraction because you couldn’t stay away.”

That stung.

Because Seungcheol knew Minghao was right.

But he still bristled, his pride not letting him fold so easily. “I get it, alright? I fucked up.”

"No, you don’t." Minghao stepped closer, his tone low and sharp. “You don’t get it, because if you did, you never would’ve set foot in her gallery. You never would’ve made her part of this.”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched. “You act like I had a choice.”

Minghao let out a slow breath, shaking his head. "You did. You always have a choice."

Silence stretched between them.

Seungcheol hated this. He hated the fact that Minghao wasn’t just angry—he was disappointed. He could see it in the way the younger man looked at him, like he had expected better.

And maybe he should have.

Because truthfully?

Seungcheol had been selfish.

He could’ve waited. He could’ve been more careful. But after a week of Sua ignoring him, he hadn’t been thinking straight. He just wanted to see her. He wanted to fix things.

And now, she was the one paying for his recklessness.

Seungcheol ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “You think I don’t want to protect her too?”

Minghao’s expression softened—just a little—but his frustration was still there. “Then start acting like it.”

The room felt suffocating. Seungcheol opened his mouth, but before he could fire back, a calm voice cut through the tension.

“Alright, enough,” Jun sighed, stepping between them with practiced ease. “No one’s solving anything by throwing words at each other.”

Minghao huffed but took a step back. Seungcheol let out a sharp exhale, running a hand through his hair.

Jun crossed his arms. “You both have a point. Seungcheol, you need to be more careful. Minghao, blowing up at him isn’t going to change the fact that he’s already involved. So, let’s find a way to control the damage instead.”

Seungcheol narrowed his eyes. “And how exactly do you suggest we do that?”

Jun gave him a pointed look. “You like art, right?”

The question caught him off guard. “What?”

“You,” Jun continued, glancing between him and Minghao, “should go to galleries. Together.”

Minghao blinked. “Excuse me?”

Jun shrugged. “Think about it. Right now, the media is making it seem like you, Seungcheol, are only visiting the gallery because of someone. But what if we shift that narrative? If you start showing up at galleries with Minghao, making it clear you actually have an interest in art, the public will start associating you with that instead of just Sua.”

Seungcheol stared at him, absorbing the idea.

Minghao, however, remained skeptical. “And you think that’ll be enough?”

“No, but it’s a start,” Jun admitted. “The media follows whatever story we feed them. Give them something else to focus on. The more they see Seungcheol with you at galleries, the more they’ll believe he’s into art because of you—not because of Sua.”

Seungcheol leaned against the table, considering it. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was better than nothing.

Minghao sighed, rubbing his temples. “This is such a dumb idea.”

Jun smirked. “Dumb ideas usually work.”

Seungcheol exhaled slowly. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Minghao scoffed but didn’t argue. “Then let’s hope you don’t screw this up.”

Jun clapped his hands together. “Great! Now, can we all stop looking like we’re about to kill each other?”

The tension hadn’t fully disappeared, but for now, it was settled.

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Chapter 9 yayyy! I don't think I can wrap this up on chapter 10.... so maybe let's try 15? Hehehehe

Don't forget to vote for HoWoo!!!!

[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]

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]

Muted Hearts

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

This is ours.

Fingers trace constellations on bare skin,

a quiet tether, an unspoken plea.

The world may call her name,

but here, in this hush of tangled limbs, she is his.

His lips press against the curve of her shoulder,

a silent claim, a whispered vow.

Let them watch, let them want—

but no one else will ever know her like this.

──────────────────────────────

Seungcheol x f!oc

MINORS DNI

MINORS DNR

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

Word count: 3.6k

──────────────────────────────

Chapter Five

The gallery was empty now, save for the echo of her own footsteps. The aftertaste of the exhibition lingered in the air—soft chatter still felt alive in the walls, the scent of expensive cologne and warm wine still clinging to the air. Sua moved through the dimly lit space, her body exhausted but her mind restless.

She had done it. Months of planning, endless sleepless nights—this exhibition had been hers to build from the ground up, and tonight, she had watched it unfold perfectly.

But she couldn’t shake it.

Minghao’s words. The way he had looked at her. The quiet knowing in his voice, the weight of something unspoken pressing into the space between them.

"You ever wonder what you’re getting yourself into?"

A slow exhale slipped from her lips as she reached her office, hands trembling slightly as she gathered her things. She knew the answer. She had known it the moment she signed that NDA, the moment she let Seungcheol pull her deeper into his world.

No turning back now.

Suddenly, she heard a soft rustle. A presence.

Her breath caught as she turned—only to find him standing there.

Seungcheol.

Leaning against the doorway, a bouquet in hand, watching her with something unreadable in his eyes.

Her lips parted. "You—what are you doing here?"

His smile was small. Almost knowing. "Figured my girl deserved flowers after tonight."

He stepped forward, slow, deliberate, until he was close enough for her to catch the scent of his cologne—His scent wrapped around her, thick and inescapable, a blend of smoky birch, crushed blackcurrant, and the lingering warmth of ambered musk. It didn’t just settle in the air; it clung to her skin, curled around her senses like a slow-burning ember, searing him into memory.

He held the bouquet out to her, but his gaze never wavered from her face. Sua took them carefully, fingers brushing against his. "You didn’t have to."

"I wanted to."

Silence. Heavy, charged.

She should be happy. She was happy. But something about the way Seungcheol was looking at her—like he was waiting for something—made her heart pound against her ribs.

"You okay?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Of course," she said, too quickly.

A pause. His eyes flickered over her, sharp, knowing. Then—

"Minghao was here."

Her breath stilled.

Of course, he knew.

There was no hiding from Seungcheol, not when it came to this. He knew where his members were at any given time, knew their schedules, knew who would be free enough to stop by.

Seungcheol’s voice wasn’t accusing, but it wasn’t light either. It carried something else—something deeper, something darker.

"He stopped by for the opening," she admitted, fingers tightening around the bouquet. 

A low hum. 

Sua swallowed. "He bought two pieces."

Seungcheol’s jaw tensed. "Of course he did."

A flicker of something sharp, something unreadable in his eyes. Jealousy wasn’t an unfamiliar look on him, but this—this was something else.

"Cheol," she sighed, stepping closer. "It wasn’t like that."

He let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. "I know." His voice was softer now, but his body was still tense. "Just—fuck. I wish I could’ve been there." The words settled between them. Sua exhaled, reaching for his hand, "I wanted you there too," she murmured.

His fingers curled around hers. Warm, grounding.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then je broke the silence, "You’re distracted."

Her eyes flickered up to meet his, startled.

Seungcheol studied her carefully. "It’s not just me, is it?"

She hesitated. A slow smirk curled at the corner of his lips, but there was something else beneath it—something unreadable. "Did he say something?"

Silence.

His grip on her fingers tightened just slightly. Not demanding. Just waiting.

Sua swallowed. "He—" She hesitated. "He... Was just making sure, about us. Just asked if I knew what I was getting into."

A flicker. A shift.

Seungcheol’s jaw ticked. "Did you tell him you did?"

Sua let out a small, dry laugh. "Would it have mattered?"

Something in his eyes darkened.

Then, suddenly, he was moving.

Slow, deliberate steps until her back hit the edge of the desk. Until he was close enough for his breath to fan against her skin.

"Would it have?" he murmured, voice dangerously soft.

Her breath hitched. "Cheol—"

His fingers found her waist. Light, barely there. Teasing.

"You’re overthinking again," he murmured. "Worrying about things you don’t need to."

"I just—"

His fingers now found her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. "Look at me."

She did.

And immediately, she was drowning. Dark eyes, heavy-lidded with something unreadable. A gaze that stripped her bare, left her exposed in ways she wasn’t sure she could handle.

"I don’t care what he said," Seungcheol continued, his thumb ghosting over her bottom lip. "But I need to know if you do."

Sua hesitated. She wanted to say no.

Wanted to tell him she didn’t care. But she did.

Because Minghao had seen through her too easily. Had made her question things she had buried too deep.

Seungcheol’s jaw ticked. He exhaled, slow and measured, before his fingers traced lower, down the column of her throat, over the bare skin of her collarbone.

A slow, featherlight touch.

"Do you regret it?" he asked, low and quiet.

A beat of silence.

She exhaled. "No."

His lips twitched. "Then stop thinking about anyone else but me."

And then, his lips found hers.

—

It started slow.

A slow, simmering warmth—his hands moving with purpose, tracing every inch of her like he was memorizing her. Sua’s fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, closer, until the space between them no longer existed.

Seungcheol was all-consuming—his touch, his scent, the quiet hum of approval that rumbled against her lips when she tugged at his hair.

She could feel it. The tension. The unspoken need.

"You drive me crazy," he murmured against her skin.

She wanted to say something—wanted to push back, wanted to call him out on the way he was avoiding his own jealousy—but then he was lifting her, gripping her thighs, and suddenly, her back was against the cool surface of the desk, and Seungcheol was between her legs, looking down at her with something unreadable in his gaze.

"You always look so pretty like this," he murmured, his fingers trailing up the inside of her thigh. "So pliant. So eager."

Her breath caught.

His fingers ghosted higher. "Tell me what you want," he murmured.

A shiver ran down her spine.

"You," she whispered.

His breath hitched, and he gave her exactly that.

—

It was slow. Torturously so.

He took his time, lips trailing down her body, hands mapping out every inch of her as if he wanted to commit it to memory.

His touch was both soft and firm, teasing and demanding, every move designed to unravel her piece by piece.

And god—he knew exactly how to.

His mouth, warm and wet, against her skin.

His hands, rough and steady, gripping her thighs, her waist, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.

"You’re trembling," he murmured against her stomach, lips pressing against the sensitive skin there. "You're that desperate already?"

Sua let out a shaky breath.

"Seungcheol, please—"

"Patience," he tutted, his fingers digging into her hips. "I want to take my time with you tonight."

And he did.

He pushed her to the edge over and over again, only to pull back just as she was about to fall.

It was maddening.

Deliciously cruel.

Every time she thought she had a moment to breathe, he would shift, his mouth, his hands, something new pressing against her, inside her, pushing her higher, making her beg.

"You like this, don’t you?" he murmured against her ear, his fingers teasing, his breath hot.

She couldn’t even answer.

Could barely form a coherent thought.

And god, he loved it.

"You’re so wet for me," he muttered. "So fucking needy."

Sua whimpered.

And finally, finally, he relented.

When he pushed into her, when their bodies finally came together, when he filled her so completely that all she could do was cling to him—

She knew.

She had already lost herself to him.

—

Seungcheol didn’t stop until he had her exactly where he wanted—writhing, breathless, her nails digging into his shoulders, her body arching under him like she was made to fit against him.

And fuck, she was.

He groaned, dragging his lips down the column of her throat, down to the dip of her collarbone, before biting down just enough to make her gasp.

“That’s it,” he murmured against her skin, voice thick with something raw. “Let me hear you.”

Sua was past the point of shame.

Her thighs trembled around his waist, her fingers tangled in his hair, her breath coming in sharp, shaky pants as he thrust into her—slow, deep, deliberate.

Every movement sent heat pooling low in her stomach, every drag of his body against hers sent pleasure sparking through her veins.

But it wasn’t enough.

Not nearly enough.

"Seungcheol," she gasped, her hips rolling up to meet his. "More—"

A sharp exhale, his fingers tightening around her waist.

"You’re so greedy," he muttered, but there was no real bite to his words. Only something dark, something amused, something dangerously fond.

Then, just as she was about to protest, he shifted, adjusting their angle—

And fuck.

Her breath hitched, her back arching off the desk as wet-hot pleasure shot through her.

"Seungcheol—"

"I know, baby," he groaned, dropping his forehead to hers. "I feel it too."

She clenched around him, her body desperate, aching, and Seungcheol cursed, his grip on her hips turning bruising.

And then he gave in.

His movements turned rougher, faster, his rhythm growing frantic as he chased the heat building between them.

The room was filled with nothing but the sound of their breathing, their bodies moving together, the sharp, quiet moans spilling from her lips every time he hit just the right spot.

And god—he loved that sound.

"Fuck," he gritted out, his fingers finding her jaw, tilting her face up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. "Look at me when you come."

The words alone nearly pushed her over.

She was close, so close, her body tightening, her nails dragging down his back, her thighs trembling—

Then—

A sharp thrust.

A whispered name.

And she shattered.

Pleasure flooded through her, blinding and all-consuming, and she barely even registered the low groan Seungcheol let out as he followed her over the edge, his grip turning desperate, his body pressing deeper, closer—

Until there was nothing left but the ragged sound of their breathing, the heavy weight of his body against hers, the slow, steady return to reality.

—

Seungcheol exhaled a quiet laugh, his lips grazing the damp skin of her shoulder as they lay tangled together on the sofa in her office. Their breaths were still uneven, the heat of their bodies lingering in the space between them. His fingers traced absent patterns along her spine, a silent conversation in the aftermath of pleasure.

“You good?” he murmured, voice hushed, like he didn’t want to break the fragile stillness wrapped around them.

Sua let out something between a sigh and a laugh, her cheek pressed against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. “Shut up.”

He huffed out a soft chuckle, the warmth of it brushing against her hair. "I’ll take that as a yes."

She rolled her eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it—only warmth, only the quiet hum of something deeper. He tightened his arms around her just a little, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple. And for a moment, the rest of the world ceased to exist. Just them, tangled together, basking in the afterglow of something neither of them were quite ready to name.

—

Seungcheol kept one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on his thigh, fingers curled into a fist. The car hummed softly around them, the city lights blurring past in streaks of gold and red. Beside him, Sua had fallen asleep, her body slack with exhaustion, her breathing slow and steady.

She was his.

She had given herself to him with no hesitation, had let him unravel her completely in that dimly lit office, her body fitting against his like it was meant to be there. And yet—he could still feel it. That small, nagging weight pressing against his chest, that flicker of hesitation in her eyes when she thought he wasn’t looking.

Minghao.

Seungcheol never thought he'd feel jealous of Minghao.

Not like this.

They’ve spent years together, trained through exhaustion, built a bond that was supposed to be unshakable. Seventeen was his family, his pride. But the second he realized Minghao had been there first—had known Sua before he even got the chance—something ugly curled in his chest, twisting sharp and unrelenting.

The words Minghao left her with weren’t much, just a simple warning, but it was enough. Enough to linger in Sua’s mind, enough to make her hesitate, enough to plant doubt where Seungcheol had spent weeks making her feel sure about them. About him.

Seungcheol wanted to scoff. What the fuck did Minghao know?

But Minghao isn’t just some guy he can despise and be done with. He’s family. A brother. And Seungcheol would never let himself be the reason that bond breaks. But damn it, the thought of Sua, his Sua, standing next to Minghao, listening to his words, considering them—

The car stopped at a red light. Seungcheol turned his head slightly, his gaze softening when it landed on her. She looked so small like this. So quiet, so at peace, her body tucked into the seat, her head tilted ever so slightly toward the window, strands of her hair slipping over her cheek like a delicate veil. The faint rise and fall of her breath was the only movement, as if the world outside couldn’t touch her in this moment.

She’s here with me now. That’s all that matters.

At least, that’s what he told himself. But deep down, he knew—he wasn’t done proving it to her.

──────────────────────────────

hehe

good morning :)

[moncherriecoups]

Muted Hearts

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

This is ours.

Petals unfurl, soft scents linger,

velvet red against her skin.

A question blooms with every stem—

does she dare to let him in?

His world is hushed, a vow in ink,

secrets locked behind his name.

She should resist, she should beware,

yet still—she stays, she plays the game.

──────────────────────────────

Seungcheol x f!oc

Potential another love interest

Tags: tense relationship, idolxoc, slowburn relationship, angst

Word count: 2.4k

──────────────────────────────

Chapter Three

The flowers arrive on a Wednesday.

Sua almost doesn’t notice at first—too caught up in the usual chaos of the gallery. Ari, her co-worker, is complaining about a delayed shipment, their inbox is overflowing, and a patron won’t stop asking if they can lower the price of a painting that’s already sold. The morning passes in a blur of emails and half-drunk coffee, and then there’s a knock at the entrance.

A courier stands at the door, dressed in all black, holding out a bouquet wrapped in soft cream-colored paper.

“Delivery for Jang Sua.”

She blinks, caught off guard, before hesitantly reaching for it. The petals are delicate, pale pink, and full—peonies. Her fingers brush against a small card tucked between them. The ink is precise, deliberate.

They mean bashful love.

There’s no name. But she doesn’t need one.

She knows.

Ari whistles low when she sees it, setting down her tablet with a smirk. “Wow. That’s the third one this week.”

Sua hums in response, already turning back to her screen. Maybe if she doesn’t engage, Ari will drop it.

She does not.

“Alright, so who’s sending you flowers every morning? Some art collector? A rich old man trying to impress you?”

Sua rolls her eyes, reaching for her coffee. “A client.”

Ari narrows her eyes, unconvinced. Ari isn’t buying it. “A client who sends you flowers every single day? What, did you sell him a Monet?”

Sua exhales slowly, fighting the warmth creeping up her neck. She should have thrown them in the break room vase like she did yesterday’s bouquet, but instead, they’re still in her hands, the petals soft beneath her fingertips. She doesn’t know what to call this yet. It’s not a relationship. Not really. But it’s something.

Something that lingers in her inbox at night.

How was your day?

Did you eat?

That painting you liked—it got sold, right?

Did you manage to say goodbye to it?

He notices things. He listens.

And that’s the problem.

—

Seungcheol sits in the dressing room, scrolling through his phone.

The others are loud around him, half-dressed for rehearsal, voices overlapping in every direction. He barely hears any of it, too focused on the read receipt that appears at the bottom of his screen. She saw his text. She hasn’t answered yet.

He doesn’t realize he’s been smiling until—

“Who the hell is ‘Sua’?”

His head jerks up.

Mingyu is standing in front of him, squinting at his phone. Seungcheol locks the screen immediately, but it’s too late. DK is already lunging across the couch.

“HYUNG, WHO IS SUA??” DK shrieks, eyes wide with betrayal. “Secret girlfriend? Hidden manager? Are you being blackmailed? BLINK TWICE IF—”

“Mind your business,” Seungcheol mutters, shoving him off.

Mingyu doesn’t let up, grinning as he nudges his shoulder. “No, but really. Who is she?”

“Someone important,” Seungcheol says simply, standing before anyone else can pry.

Across the room, Minghao doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t need to. He’s seen the way Seungcheol's shoulders relax when he checks his phone, the way his fingers hover before sending a text, as if every word has weight.

He already knows.

Minghao had noticed long before anyone else.

Not because Seungcheol was obvious—he wasn’t. He had always been careful, measured, keeping his private life locked behind knowing smiles and well-timed subject changes. But Minghao had been paying attention. He always did.

It started small.

The way Seungcheol checked his phone more often, how his gaze softened—just barely—before locking the screen again. The way he lingered in quiet moments, fingers hovering over a reply. And then there were the flowers.

The first time Minghao caught a glimpse of a delivery note sitting on Seungcheol’s desk, he didn’t think much of it. But then, he noticed another. And another. Different dates, the same sender. Seungcheol, who rarely entertained distractions, who always put logic before impulse, was sending flowers to someone almost daily.

Someone important.

Someone named Sua.

He had to hear it from Mingyu and DK first, of course—both of them far too loud, far too eager to dig into Seungcheol’s secrets. But Minghao didn’t need them to spell it out. He already knew.

And that was the problem.

Because Jang Sua wasn’t just a name to him.

She was someone he had worked with for months, someone he had admired—not in the way Mingyu or DK would tease him about, but in the way an artist recognized another. She had an eye for detail, an understanding of space, a quiet way of commanding a room without trying. He had mentioned her before—too many times, probably.

But Seungcheol had never reacted. Not once. Not even when Minghao brought her up in passing, when he spoke about her insight, her work.

Now, suddenly, she was his.

Minghao wasn’t angry. Not really.

But something about it sat wrong in his chest, like a half-finished brushstroke, like a piece of art that didn’t quite fit in its frame.

And maybe Seungcheol could sense it, because when they crossed paths backstage—just the two of them, away from the others—he hesitated. Just for a second.

“You’re seeing her.” Minghao’s voice was even, steady. He wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement.

Seungcheol didn’t deny it. Didn’t brush it off. He just met Minghao’s gaze, unreadable. “Yes.”

Minghao exhaled slowly, tilting his head. “You never told me.”

A pause. Then—“Did I need to?”

No. He didn’t.

But Minghao still felt the weight of something unsaid pressing between them, something that had nothing to do with jealousy and everything to do with the way Seungcheol had kept this hidden—not from the world, but from him.

He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Just be careful, hyung.”

Seungcheol didn’t ask what he meant.

And that, Minghao thought, was answer enough.

—

The cursor blinked at her, waiting.

Sua’s thumb hovered over the keyboard, the weight of her own hesitation pressing against her ribs. It shouldn’t be this hard. It was just a text. Just a few words. But the moment she sent it, there would be no taking it back.

She glanced at the bouquet sitting on her desk—the one he sent that morning. Something softer this time, pastel tulips arranged in a way that felt almost careful. Deliberate. It was ridiculous how easily he had woven himself into her routine, how his presence lingered in something as simple as the scent of fresh flowers filling the small space of her office.

With a deep breath, she tapped out the message before she could second-guess herself again.

Are you free for dinner?

Three dots appeared almost immediately. Then—

Tell me when and where.

No teasing. No hesitation. Just quiet certainty.

She stared at his reply for a second longer than necessary, then typed—

Tomorrow night. The same place.

A pause. Then three dots reappeared—

I’ll be there.

Her phone felt heavy in her palm as she set it down, exhaling slowly. The decision had been made. Now, there was nothing left to do but face it.

—

The restaurant was quieter this time. No flashing signs, no murmurs of recognition from nearby tables. Just warm lighting, the hum of soft music, and the gentle clinking of silverware against porcelain. It was intimate—too intimate, maybe, for what this was.

Sua sat across from Seungcheol, fingers loosely wrapped around the stem of her wine glass. The envelope rested between them, untouched, yet unbearably heavy. She could feel his gaze on her, waiting, patient in a way that made her chest tighten.

"You’re not eating," he said finally, voice quieter than usual.

She blinked, startled out of her thoughts, and glanced down at her barely touched plate. “Neither are you.”

His lips curved, but the amusement didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I guess I’m a little… preoccupied.”

So was she. The weight of her decision pressed against her ribs, an unspoken question lingering between them.

Seungcheol reached to the envelope between them, pushing it closer to her. The sight of it made her pulse skip—a simple, unassuming thing, yet heavy with everything it meant.

“This is it,” he said, voice low. “No pressure. If you need more time—”

“I don’t.” Sua reached for the envelope, fingers brushing against the fine paper, then hesitated. For a moment, she simply ran her fingertips along the edge, tracing the weight of the choice before her. Then, finally, she slid it toward her side of the table.

“I’ll sign it,” she said, her voice steady despite the whirlwind inside her.

Something flickered in his expression—relief, gratitude, something else she couldn’t quite name. He exhaled, watching her, and when his fingertips grazed hers as he gently pushed the pen toward her, a quiet shiver curled down her spine.

"Thank you," he murmured.

She swallowed, unsure what she was thanking him for. For asking? For waiting? For making this so much harder than it should be?

Seungcheol didn’t pull his hand away right away. His gaze lingered, softer now, something dangerously close to tenderness settling between them. “Are you sure?”

"No," she admitted. "But I want to be."

A slow breath left him, and then—so effortlessly it made her heart stutter—he reached across the table, his fingers brushing against hers. Not demanding. Not pushing. Just there, warm and steady.

Sua let him. Let the moment linger. Let herself believe, just for tonight, that maybe this wasn’t as complicated as it felt.

"Then that’s enough," Seungcheol said. And the way he looked at her—like she was something worth waiting for—made her think, just for a second, that maybe he was right.

—

As they stepped out into the night, the quiet hum of the city surrounding them, Seungcheol reached for her hand—slow, unassuming. Sua could have pulled away, could have let the moment slip between them like all the unspoken things that still lingered in the air. But she didn’t. Instead, she let her fingers slip between his, warmth meeting warmth, and when she finally looked up at him, he was already smiling.

──────────────────────────────

GAHHHHHHHHH here comes chapter 3!! If you haven't read the 1st and 2nd, go check my pinned!

And also, how do we feel about the HxW teaser???!!!!!

New chapter coming soon!!!

With love,

-S

[moncherriecoups]

Muted Hearts

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

This is ours.

I knew you before the tide turned,

before your heart learned his rhythm.

Now I watch, quiet as the moon,

while you drift where I cannot reach.

Would you have stayed, if I had asked?

Or was I always just a passing shore—

a place to rest, but never remain,

a name you were never meant to keep?

──────────────────────────────

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

Tags: tense relationship, idolxoc, slowburn relationship, angst

Word count: 1.4k

──────────────────────────────

Chapter Four

It started with the little things.

The coffee that appeared on her desk every morning, always exactly how she liked it. The way he’d tug her scarf higher around her neck when the air outside turned crisp. The soft press of Seungcheol’s palm against her lower back when they walked side by side. The stolen moments in the car before he dropped her off at the gallery—his hand curled around hers, the warmth of his thumb tracing absent circles against her skin.

But most of all, it was the way he looked at her. Like she was something precious. Like she was something his.

It had been two weeks since Sua signed the NDA and officially became Seungcheol’s something. What that something actually was—she wasn’t entirely sure yet.

Not quite defined, not yet official, but unmistakably theirs.

No one knew. No one could know.

—

"You're staring," he murmured one morning, standing in her kitchen, pouring coffee into a mug.

Sua, still half-asleep, blinked at him from where she was perched on the countertop, arms wrapped around her knees. "I am?"

His lips curled into a small smirk as he set the mug in front of her. "Yeah. Not that I mind."

She took the coffee, blowing softly at the steam before taking a sip. "I was just thinking how unexpected you are."

Seungcheol leaned against the counter beside her, arms crossed over his chest, looking effortlessly at ease despite the early hour. "How so?"

"I figured you'd be… I don't know. Not on this level of clingy?" she teased, earning a scoff from him.

"I am not clingy."

"You texted me seven times yesterday asking what I was doing."

"Because I was curious," he defended, but the corner of his lips twitched. "Fine. Maybe I just like knowing what you're up to."

Sua shook her head, a small laugh escaping her. "You’re so busy, though. How do you even have time to check in on me this much?"

"Busy doesn’t mean I don’t think about you," he said simply, as if the answer was obvious.

And just like that, her heart stumbled.

It was terrifying, how easily he could make her feel everything.

She covered it up with a sip of coffee, ignoring the way he watched her with knowing amusement. "Well, you don’t have to worry about me today. I’m going to be swamped with last-minute prep for the opening."

Which was true. The past month had been a whirlwind of long nights and meticulous planning, ensuring every detail of the new exhibition was perfect. She had worked tirelessly to arrange the layout, carefully curate the pieces, and coordinate with the artist—Marcela Suaznabeer. This was her project, her first major one since working at the gallery, and she wanted everything to be flawless.

"Still, make time to eat," Seungcheol reminded her, gently squeezing her knee before stepping back. "I’ll see you later, okay?"

"Okay," she murmured, "I wish you could come."

"I know," he said softly.

They both knew he couldn't.

Instead, he let his forehead press against hers, just for a moment, before stepping back with again, now with a grin. "Have fun today, be amazing."

—

The gallery was alive with warm light and murmuring voices, the scent of fresh paint lingering beneath expensive colognes and velvety wine aroma. Sua moved through the room like a quiet pulse, making sure everything ran smoothly. Tonight was the opening of Marcela Suaznabeer’s exhibition—an event that had drawn collectors, art critics, and enthusiasts alike.

And among them, Xu Minghao.

He stood near one of the featured pieces, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. He had always carried himself with a quiet elegance, blending into spaces rather than demanding attention. But Sua knew better—he saw more than he let on.

"You're looking at it like you're trying to hear what it's saying," Sua teased, stepping up beside him.

Minghao let out a quiet laugh. "Maybe I am."

It wasn’t a lie. He found meaning in paintings beyond their strokes and colors. But tonight, his thoughts were elsewhere. He had made the decision to purchase two pieces from the collection, but that wasn’t what kept his mind preoccupied.

It was Sua.

He had been watching her all night—how she floated from one conversation to another, how her eyes softened when she spoke about the art, how she was in her element. But there was something else, too. Something different.

A secret.

"Did you see something you liked?" Sua asked, her voice pulling him back.

Minghao tilted his head toward the paintings. "I’ll take this one," he said. "And that one too."

She blinked, surprised. "Seriously?"

"You sound like you didn't expect me to."

"I didn’t," she admitted with a small smile. "You always take your time."

"I do," he said. "But sometimes you just know when something belongs to you." His own words sat strangely in his chest. "Consider it my way of supporting your work," He added, his lips curled slightly.

"You could just say ‘good job’ instead of spending a ridiculous amount of money," she teased.

But he didn’t laugh.

Instead, he studied her.

A slow, deliberate once-over—not in a way that was rude, but as if he was looking for something.

"You’ve been busy lately," he observed.

Sua hesitated. "Yeah. The exhibition took a lot of work."

"That all?"

Her fingers tensed around the champagne flute in her hand.

Minghao wasn’t the type to pry. He was careful with his words, never pushing unless necessary. But tonight, there was a weight to his gaze. A quiet suspicion.

A slow exhale.

"You ever wonder what you’re getting yourself into?" he asked, voice lower now, quieter.

Her heartbeat stuttered.

Before she could respond, he turned back to the painting.

Minghao wasn’t someone who wasted words. If he said something, he meant it.

And right now, she could tell—he was debating whether or not to say more.

Sua swallowed. "Hao…"

"I won’t ask," he murmured, almost too soft to hear.

Her breath hitched.

Because if he asked, she’d have to lie.

His jaw tightened. A long silence stretched between them. Then, with an unreadable look, he exhaled. "Tell Suaznabeer I’ll finalize the purchase later."

And with that, he turned and walked away.

Sua didn’t move.

Her fingers clenched around her glass, the weight of his unspoken words lingering long after he was gone.

—

Minghao left the gallery with his thoughts tangled.

He should be happy for her. Proud, even.

But there was something that didn’t sit right.

Sua had always been bright—sharp. The type to think before she leaped. But lately, she had been different. Not in an obvious way, but in the smallest details. The flicker of hesitation before she spoke. The way her phone was always tucked away, as if she was hiding something.

And maybe he was just paranoid.

But he had seen this before.

He had seen people—friends, colleagues—fall under the weight of secrets.

Minghao had spent years carefully crafting his own boundaries, drawing lines between his public and private life. It wasn’t just about protecting himself—it was about protecting the people he cared about.

And Sua—

His fingers curled into a fist.

She wasn’t built for this world.

She didn’t belong in the chaos he and Seungcheol lived in.

He knew Seungcheol.

Knew the way his heart worked—how he loved.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t soft. It was all-consuming.

And that kind of love?

That kind of love destroyed.

Minghao exhaled sharply, tilting his head back to look at the night sky.

He wasn’t sure what scared him more—the idea that Sua didn’t know what she was getting into, or the idea that maybe, just maybe, she did.

And she was willing to take the risk anyway.

And the worst part?

He felt something bitter about it.

He wasn’t sure if it was jealousy or frustration. He wasn’t even sure if it was about her or the situation itself. Because if Sua had signed the NDA—and something in his gut told him she had—then it meant she had willingly stepped into the life he and Seungcheol had spent years trying to survive.

And he hated that.

Not because of Seungcheol.

But because it was Sua.

The thought of her being dragged into their world, the scrutiny, the suffocating lack of privacy—it unsettled him in a way he didn’t want to admit.

And yet.

He had known her first.

He didn’t own her. He had no right to feel this way. But still, the realization stung—that by the time he understood what he was feeling, Seungcheol had already claimed her.

—

He had tried to push the thought away.

He had tried to tell himself it wasn’t his business.

But it was too late.

And he had failed to protect her from it.

──────────────────────────────

Dare I say that this one breaks my heart :")

A short one for today because I kinda wanna add more depth in Minghao's POV......

And also a bit emotional with Wonwoo's enlistment news today....

I'm not okay.

But hey, new chapter will be coming sooooooon!!

Thanks for all the likes and reblogs, I really really appreciate it! ;D

With love,

-S

[moncherriecoups]

Muted Hearts

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

This is ours.

This rule or mine

On my mind

We are two main characters

Without supporting actors on stage

Sharing our breaths, even the familiar flow

Through this eternal work, let's stay together

──────────────────────────────

Seungcheol x f!oc

Tags: tense relationship, idolxoc, slowburn relationship, angst

Word count: 3.2k

──────────────────────────────

Chapter Eight

A week passed. Seven full days of unanswered texts. Seven full days of silence. Seven full days of pretending like Choi Seungcheol didn’t exist.  

If she were being honest, it was harder than she thought.  

Ignoring his messages was one thing—she could set her phone on Do Not Disturb, let his calls go straight to voicemail, and pretend the notifications didn’t make her heart clench. But the problem with loving someone like Seungcheol was that he existed everywhere.  

She saw him when she walked past a billboard near the train station, his face staring down at her with that same confident smirk. She heard him when the radio played Super—and that was the worst of all. His deep voice cut through the static like a blade, the way he growled his lines sent a sharp tremor down her spine, tightening around her ribs like a vice. It was embarrassing how easily her body reacted, how just the sound of him could pull her back into the memories she was desperately trying to suppress. The way he had whispered against her skin, how his voice had actually sounded like that when he was right next to her. The heat that curled low in her stomach was both unwelcome and inevitable, leaving her pressing her lips together in frustration.

And at night, when she finally closed her eyes, she felt him—the ghost of his touch still lingering on her skin, refusing to fade.

But she needed this. She needed time.  

And so, Sua ignored him.  

His gifts, however, were another story.  

It started with flowers. A bouquet of white roses and orchids waiting for her at the gallery, the note attached reading a simple, 

Please.  

She threw them away.  

The next day, another delivery arrived at her apartment—a small Cartier box wrapped in silver ribbon. She didn’t open it, just tossed it onto her desk like it was any other package. Then came the Chrome Hearts necklace, neatly placed in its signature pouch. Seungcheol’s favorite brand. She rolled her eyes at the thought.  

By the time the fourth package arrived—this time a pair of diamond earrings—Ari, her coworker, was eyeing her with something between amusement and disbelief.  

“Okay,” Ari drawled, arms crossed as she leaned against Sua’s desk. “Are we gonna talk about how you apparently have a sugar daddy?”  

Sua sighed, closing the latest gift box with a soft snap. “He’s not my sugar daddy.”  

“Right. Just some insanely rich man sending you luxury gifts every day because he has nothing better to do.” Ari raised a brow. “Did you piss him off or something? Is this an apology?”  

Sua huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “Something like that.”  

Ari whistled, plucking the Cartier box off the desk and inspecting it. “Damn. I should start dating rich men and drive them mad, too.”  

At that, Sua only chuckled. Because what else could she do? She wasn’t going to sit here and explain the intricacies of loving someone like Seungcheol—the way he gave too much and too little all at once, the way he thought money could fix things because it was the only thing he had full control over. Ari wouldn’t get it.

Hell, Sua barely understood it herself.  

So instead, she said nothing. Just smiled, shrugged, and went back to work.  

—

Despite the silence, despite the unread messages and unopened gifts, Sua still watched him.  

She wasn’t talking to him, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t watching him.  

She saw the new photo he uploaded on Instagram—a candid shot of himself, sitting on the patio of that quiet little café they went to a month ago. The one where he had worn that stupidly expensive sweater and complained about how hot it was, only to refuse to take it off because, in his words, “fashion over comfort, baby.”   

Sua had taken that picture.  

And there it was, sitting on his feed like a quiet message only she could understand.  

She remembered it vividly—how she had told him to stay still, how he had pouted and said she was embarrassing him, how he had still done exactly what she asked because she liked capturing moments like that. Moments where he wasn’t an idol, but just hers.  

She watched his random live at 2 AM, when he was half-asleep and scrolling through comments with unfocused eyes. Someone had asked if he was okay. He had laughed—low and breathy—before muttering, "I don’t know, man."  

And when his schedule was over for the day, when he was supposed to be asleep, she saw him online. Just like her.  

Ignoring him was easy. Not missing him was impossible.  

But this was the test, wasn’t it?  

Could she handle this? Could she handle him? Could she handle loving someone whose world would always, always come first?  

Well, she already knew the answer. She’s just not ready to face it yet.  

Not when she could still pretend.

—

It had been a week.  

A full fucking week, and Sua still hadn’t answered him.  

Seungcheol wasn’t a patient man to begin with, but this—this was hell. The kind of slow, torturous suffering that made his chest feel tight every time he looked at his phone and saw nothing. No texts, no calls, not even a goddamn emoji reaction to his messages.  

He tried everything.  

Flowers? Jewelry? Ignored. Chrome Hearts—the brand she knew he loved? Untouched.  

Seungcheol wasn’t the type to beg, but fuck, she was pushing him to his limits.  

And now the entire world knows it, too.  

It wasn’t like he meant to cause a scene. He was just frustrated. He had gone live at two in the morning, phone propped against his pillow, half his face buried in his blanket while he scrolled through the chat. He wasn’t even thinking, just running on exhaustion and the kind of loneliness that felt too big to keep inside.  

Then someone asked, "Coups, are you okay?"  

And because his filter was nonexistent at that hour, he had sighed and muttered, “I don’t know, man.”  

That was it. That was all he said.  

And somehow, overnight, the entire internet lost their mind.  

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL SAID HE’S NOT OKAY—WHAT HAPPENED???

IS IT HIS HEALTH??? HIS MENTAL STATE??  

SOMEBODY CHECK ON HIM, PLEASE???  

His company had to issue a statement before noon, assuring fans that he was fine. He wasn’t. But what was he supposed to do, tell them he was losing his shit because a girl was ignoring him?  

Absolutely not.  

Instead, he poured all his frustration into one final move.  

Something Sua couldn’t ignore.  

Something that would force her to see him.  

So, he walked into the art gallery in broad daylight, draped in an oversized black coat, as if that would make him less noticeable. A mask covered half his face, but it did nothing to dim the sheer presence he carried.

He could already hear the murmurs the second he stepped inside.  

“Wait… is that—”  

“Oh my god, isn’t that—?”  

“No fucking way, Choi Seungcheol is in an art gallery?”  

He didn’t care.  

His eyes swept across the space, searching, waiting—there.  

Sua.  

She was at the far end of the room, speaking to a client, completely unaware of the way everything in him settled the second he saw her.

God, she was beautiful.  

He had spent seven days trying to remember every little detail—the curve of her lips, the way her hands moved when she talked, the quiet elegance in the way she carried herself. But nothing compared to seeing her in real time, breathing the same air, existing in his orbit again.  

She still hadn’t noticed him.  

So, naturally, Seungcheol did what any sane, rational man would do.  

He’s gonna buy a painting.  

A fucking expensive one. 

Let’s see if Sua could ignore this.

—

Ari, standing behind the front desk, gasped so dramatically that she nearly knocked over a stack of brochures. The gallery’s visitors—people who were here for art, not idols—stared in stunned silence. Even the ones who weren’t fans could recognize him.  

Sua, who had been flipping through exhibition notes, felt his presence before she even saw him.  

What the hell was he doing here?  

Ari recovered fast. “Oh my god,” she whispered, gripping Sua’s wrist like she needed to physically restrain herself. “Sua. SUA. That's him.”  

“I see that.”  

“Do you?! Do you SEE how gorgeous he is in real life?”  

Sua wanted to say yes, painfully so, but she kept her expression neutral. “He’s just a visitor, Ari.”  

Ari, very much not believing that, smoothed down her blouse and put on her best customer service smile. “I’ll handle this.”  

Except Seungcheol didn’t even glance at her.  

His eyes locked onto Sua immediately, like he had walked in already knowing exactly where she was.  

And when he spoke, it wasn’t to Ari.  

“Sua.”  

Ari blinked. “Wait, what?”  

He ignored her, taking slow, deliberate steps toward Sua. He looked—God, he looked so good. Dressed in all black, silver rings glinting against his fingers, eyes dark and intense. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t playing the role of “Seventeen’s Leader.” No, this was just him.  

And he had come here for her.  

Ari looked between them, confused. “Wait, hold on. You two know each other?”  

Sua could have dragged this out, let Ari spiral a little. But she was too focused on Seungcheol—on the way his shoulders were rising and falling like he was steadying himself, on the way his fingers twitched at his sides, like he was barely keeping himself from reaching for her.  

“I’ll take it from here,” Sua said, voice measured.  

Ari gasped. “WHAT—”  

But Sua was already stepping forward, already walking past the stunned gallery visitors, already leading Seungcheol deeper into the exhibition halls.  

She didn’t look back. But she felt his gaze burning into her like a silent plea.  

And she wasn’t sure if she could ignore it much longer.  

—

The air in the gallery felt thick, like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for something to happen.

Sua, however, was determined to act like nothing was out of the ordinary.

Never mind the fact that Choi Seungcheol just waltzed into her workplace in the middle of the day. Never mind the way Ari was practically vibrating with excitement (and barely contained nosiness). And definitely never mind how her own pulse was thrumming a little too fast just from being in the same space as him again.

She inhaled deeply, straightened her spine, and turned to face him. “Right this way.”

She didn’t give him a chance to respond before she started walking, the soft click of her heels against the polished floor the only sound between them.

He followed without hesitation, his footsteps slower, heavier—deliberate.

For a moment, they walked in silence.

It wasn’t comfortable.

It wasn’t easy.

It was awkward.

Frustrating, even, because Seungcheol didn’t even seem awkward. He just walked beside her like he belonged there, like this wasn’t the first time they’d seen each other in weeks, like she hadn’t been ignoring him entirely.

Sua, on the other hand, felt like she was seconds away from combusting.

Still, she kept her voice professional as she spoke. “This piece is from an emerging artist based in Bangkok. It explores themes of solitude and self-reflection.”

Seungcheol hummed, stepping closer. “It’s nice.”

...

Nice.

NICE?

That was the most noncommittal response possible, and it irritated her more than it should have. But before she could snap at him, he moved again—this time, stopping in front of another painting.

“I like this one more,” he murmured, his voice softer, more thoughtful.

Sua turned—and immediately regretted it.

Because of course he was standing in front of her favorite piece. Of course he picked the one she’d personally fought to include in this exhibition. And when he turned his head to look at her, when their eyes met—

It was over.

Because that look—that damn look—was the same one he used to give her when she was lying in his bed, bare and vulnerable beneath him.

Like she was the only thing worth looking at.

Like she was his favorite piece of art in the room.

Her throat felt tight.

She forced herself to break eye contact.

“Are you buying a painting today, or just here to waste my time?” she asked, keeping her tone clipped.

A slow smirk curled his lips. “I think I’ll buy this one.”

She arched her brow. “Really? What, did Minghao get to you?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe.”

Liar.

But she didn’t call him out on it. She simply turned on her heel, making her way toward her office. “Fine. Let’s finalize the purchase.”

—

Sua’s head was already throbbing from the sudden influx of visitors, but now she had to deal with him again. After that entire gallery scene, she knew this was inevitable. She had let it happen.  

And now, here they were.  

Seungcheol sat across from her in her office, leaning back in the chair like he owned the place. His long legs stretched comfortably, one arm lazily draped over the armrest. His expression was unreadable, but the slight smirk tugging at his lips told her he was enjoying this.  

Sua, on the other hand, was trying to remain professional. She felt his eyes on her the entire time.

“You’re really not gonna talk to me?” he finally asked, voice low.

She exhaled sharply, already irritated. “I am talking to you.”

“You know what I mean, Sua.”

She did. And she hated that he wasn’t letting her get away with it.

So, instead of answering, she focused on the papers in front of her. “Sign here.”

He didn’t move.

She looked up.

He was still watching her, lips pressed into a tight line.

Something about that look—about the frustration simmering beneath the surface—made her want to push.

“You know,” she said casually, “if you were really serious about collecting art, I’d be more inclined to help you.”

His jaw ticked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugged. “It means I don’t believe for a second that you’re here because you suddenly developed an interest in fine art.”

His silence was loud.

Her heart pounded.

Then, finally—

A slow, almost amused exhale.

“You always saw right through me, huh?” he murmured, stepping closer.

She held her ground. “Not exactly difficult, Choi Seungcheol.”

His lips quirked. “I did want to see the gallery.”

“Sure.”

“And I did want to buy a painting.”

“Right.”

“And I definitely wanted to see you.”

Her breath hitched.

Damn him.

She tapped her pen against the table, glaring at him. “You specifically requested the pickup to be sent to my apartment.”  

Another hum. “That’s what I did.”  

Sua exhaled. “Seungcheol—”  

He cut her off with a slow grin. “What? I figured it’d be easier for you.”  

She wanted to throw something at him.  

Her fingers tightened around the pen, and she took a deep breath. “You do realize this makes things worse, right?”  

Seungcheol tilted his head, feigning innocence. “How so?”  

She narrowed her eyes. “You showed up here, made a scene, approaced me like it's nothing, and now you’re having the painting delivered to my apartment. Do you want people to find out?”  

At that, his smirk faded slightly, but the amusement remained in his eyes.  

“I don’t care if people find out,” he said smoothly. “You do.”  

Sua clenched her jaw. Of course he doesn’t care.  

She knew this was his way of testing her. Of pushing her. He had been too patient this whole week, letting her ignore him, letting her keep her distance. But today, he had enough.  

“Besides,” he added, leaning forward slightly. “It’s not like this is the first time I've been here. Also not the first time we’ve been alone in this office.”  

Sua froze.  

Her soul left her body.  

Slowly, her eyes snapped to his, and the knowing glint in them made her stomach flip.  

“You—”  

He shrugged. “What? I’m just saying.”  

Her entire face burned. “Shut up.”  

Seungcheol chuckled, absolutely thrilled by her reaction.  

“Don’t look so offended, Sua,” he teased, resting his chin on his hand. “We had a great time. Well—at least I did. You were too busy pretending you weren’t enjoying it.”  

Sua threw the pen at him.  

He dodged it with a laugh. “You’re so violent.”  

“You’re insufferable,” she snapped, standing up.  

But before she could even take a step, he was already moving.  

In a blur, he was out of his chair, closing the distance between them so fast that Sua barely had time to react. She found herself backed up against her desk, his hands on either side of her, caging her in.  

Her breath hitched.  

It had been so long since they’d been this close.  

Too long.  

She could smell his cologne, the familiar warmth of it making her head spin. His presence was overwhelming, and she hated how her body reacted immediately.  

Her pulse pounded.  

Seungcheol wasn’t touching her—not yet—but the way he looked at her was enough. His eyes flickered between hers, searching, waiting.  

“Say you didn’t miss me,” he murmured.  

Sua’s fingers curled against the desk.  

“I—”  

“Say it,” he challenged.  

Her lips parted, but nothing came out.  

Because she had missed him.  

She had missed him so much it hurts.  

And in the next second, he was kissing her.  

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t hesitant.  

It was desperate.  

The second their lips met, Sua felt everything she had been trying to push away come rushing back. She clutched his shirt tightly, as if letting go would make this disappear. Seungcheol groaned against her mouth, one hand sliding to her waist, pulling her even closer.  

God, she hated him.  

She hated that he made her feel like this.  

That he knew exactly what to do, exactly how to break down her walls with just a single touch.  

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing hard. Sua’s head was spinning, and Seungcheol’s lips were red, slightly swollen.  

“I hate you,” she muttered breathlessly.  

He smirked. “Liar.”  

She was a liar.  

Because she was already pulling him back in.  

—  

Photos of Seungcheol leaving the gallery had already begun circulating online.  

At first, fans were just curious.  

Then they started analyzing.  

And now?  

Now, Sua’s gallery was turning into a hotspot. The next day, the usual art crowd had been replaced. The gallery was still packed—but the visitors weren’t here for the art.  

They were here for him.  

“This is insane,” Ari hissed under her breath as she watched another group of girls excitedly whisper while looking at the paintings. “They’re not here to buy anything, are they?”  

“Nope,” Sua muttered.  

Ari turned to her. “So… are you gonna explain?”  

Sua stiffened. “Explain what?”  

Ari squinted at her. “Why Seungcheol was here. Why he suddenly cares about art. Why he requested the painting be sent to your apartment.”  

Sua gave her the most deadpan look. “Maybe Minghao finally got to him,” she shrugs. “He’s one of the loyals anyway, not weird seeing a friend of his now involved.”  

Ari laughed out loud. “Yeah, okay, sure. Let’s pretend that’s the reason.”  

Sua refused to say more.  

Because even though she trusted Ari, she also knew how insane the internet could be. The NDA was still in place, and despite Seungcheol’s complete disregard for secrecy, Sua had to be careful.  

She sighed, rubbing her temples. “It’s fine. This will die down soon.”  

Ari raised a brow. “Are you sure?”  

No.  

No, she wasn’t.  

Because from the way things were going…  

It was only getting worse.

──────────────────────────────

I'M BACKKKKKKKKKKKK OMG finally i have time to finish this! Pls enjoy!!!!

see u on the next chapter! ><

[moncherriecoups]

Muted Hearts

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

This is ours.

He sees no distance, no line in the sand,

To him, she's a choice—one he holds in his hand.

She sees a wall, too high to climb,

A love that is borrowed, never quite mine.

──────────────────────────────

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

Tags: tense relationship, idolxoc, slowburn relationship, angst

Word count: 2.5k

──────────────────────────────

Chapter Seven

The morning after Seventeen’s monthly gathering was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of sheets and muffled groans from hungover bodies scattered across the villa.

She stretched lazily, taking in her surroundings. A neatly arranged room, a queen-sized bed all to herself, separate from the other members. Seungcheol had made sure of that. Seventeen were nothing if not gentlemen, willing to sacrifice their own comfort so that she had a proper place to rest. A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she recalled how they had argued over it—Jeonghan insisting she take the master bedroom, while DK dramatically proclaimed that they weren’t about to let their leader’s girlfriend sleep in an overcrowded room with them. Eventually, she had agreed to a smaller guest room just down the hall.

Swinging her legs over the bed, she padded toward the door and carefully pulled it open. Right in front of her room, sprawled out across a large couch, was Seungcheol. He was still fast asleep, one arm tucked under his head, the other draped over his chest. His face was completely at ease, a stark contrast to his usual composed, leader-like presence. His dark hair was messily tousled, lips slightly parted. He looked so peaceful like this, so human, so… hers.

A warmth spread in her chest, and she bit back a smile. If only they knew the way you clung to me in your sleep.

She watched him for a moment longer before shaking herself out of it. Instead of waking him, she made her way to the dining area, hoping to find some water. The villa was still relatively quiet, though she could hear faint voices coming from the outside deck. As she reached the kitchen, she was met with an unexpected sight—Seungkwan, dressed in workout gear, finishing up a protein shake.

“Morning,” she greeted, her voice still slightly hoarse from sleep.

Seungkwan turned and grinned. “Morning. You slept well?”

“Surprisingly, yeah.” She grabbed a bottle of water from the counter and took a sip. “You’re up early.”

“I always wake up early after drinking,” he said matter-of-factly. “I went for a quick jog. Needed to sweat all that out.”

Sua shook her head in amusement, leaning against the counter. “Impressive.”

As they chatted, the sound of footsteps approaching caught her attention. Hoshi appeared, stretching his arms above his head with a lazy yawn. His hair was sticking up in all directions, and he looked like he had barely escaped the grasp of sleep.

“Ugh,” he groaned, rubbing his face. “I feel like I got hit by a bus.”

Seungkwan snorted. “That’s what happens when you digest gallons of mixed maekju like an idiot.”

Hoshi ignored him, turning to Sua instead. “Morning, Sua.”

“Morning,” she said, biting back a laugh at how miserable he looked.

He grabbed a banana from the counter and peeled it sluggishly. “So... you survived your first official gathering, huh?”

“Barely.”

Hoshi beamed. “See? We’re not that bad.”

“No, you guys are fun,” she admitted. “A little loud, though.”

“A little?” Seungkwan scoffed. “They’re being nice because you were here. You should see these animals on normal nights.”

Sua chuckled, shaking her head. But just as she was about to respond, Hoshi turned to Seungkwan, suddenly remembering something.

“Oh, did you see the schedule announcement yet?”

Seungkwan perked up. “The tour?”

“Yeah, the official dates are out.”

Sua stilled.

Tour?

Seungkwan let out a small hum of acknowledgement. “Nice. The company should be announcing it in a few days, right?”

Hoshi nodded. “It’s been planned for so long, I almost forgot it was happening.”

A strange, tight feeling formed in Sua’s chest.

She stayed silent, but she could feel the way her fingers curled slightly around the bottle in her hand. The conversation in front of her suddenly felt muffled, as if she were hearing it through water.

Tour.

They were going on tour.

And Seungcheol hasn’t told her.

—

Seungcheol stirred awake, his body aching from the awkward position he had slept in. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the soft morning light filtering through the villa's curtains. The scent of food lingered in the air—someone had already started breakfast. As he rubbed his eyes and sat up, his gaze landed on Sua, standing near the kitchen with Seungkwan and Hoshi. They were talking, laughing, completely unaware of the tightness growing in his chest.

She looked... different. Lighter, maybe. It was subtle, but he knew her well enough to notice the way her shoulders were slightly tenser than usual, her expressions more carefully placed. Something was off.

Shaking off the discomfort, he stretched and made his way toward them, just as Joshua placed a plate of food in front of Sua. "Eat up, we ordered way too much."

"Thank you, Josh," she said, offering him a small smile before picking up her chopsticks.

Seungcheol slid into the seat next to her, bumping her arm lightly. "Morning."

"Morning," she replied, voice smooth, unreadable.

They all ate together, conversations filling the space with ease. The members moved around the villa—some showering, some lazing around after the long night of drinking. Everything felt natural, but Seungcheol could feel the growing weight between him and Sua.

—

It wasn’t until they were in the car, heading back to her apartment, that the unspoken tension finally cracked open.

"So," Sua started, her voice measured. "When were you planning to tell me about the tour?"

Seungcheol’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. There it was.

"I—" He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was going to tell you soon."

Sua let out a soft scoff. "Soon? Cheol, the announcement is literally in a few days. The tour has been planned for years, hasn’t it?"

He didn’t answer immediately. He knew she was right, and that frustrated him. "It’s not a big deal."

Sua’s head snapped toward him, her gaze sharp. "Not a big deal?"

"I mean—" He exhaled, trying to find the right words. "It’s just work, Sua. Just another schedule. We’ll be apart, yeah, but I can visit. You can visit. I’ll be back here in no time. It’s not like I’m disappearing from your life."

She laughed, but it was humorless. "That’s the thing, Seungcheol. You get to decide when we see each other, where we see each other, how we see each other. But me? I don’t get that choice. You think I can just fly out to whatever country you’re in like I don't have a life? Do you even hear yourself?"

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched. "I’m trying to make this work."

"Are you?" She turned to him fully now, her expression unreadable, but he could feel the weight of every emotion behind it. "Because it feels like I’m just along for the ride. Like I’m just supposed to adjust to whatever your life throws at me."

"That’s not fair."

"No, what’s not fair is finding out about my own boyfriend’s world tour from someone else."

Seungcheol ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling. "I didn’t think it was something that needed to be a whole discussion. It’s my job, Sua. It’s not like I’m keeping a secret—"

"But you are," she cut in, voice quiet but firm. "Not in the way you think, but in the way that makes me feel like I’m just... another part of your life that has to be managed. Not someone you consider when making decisions."

The car pulled up in front of her apartment, but neither of them moved.

Sua exhaled, running a hand down her face. "You know, I get it now."

Seungcheol turned to her, his stomach sinking at the look in her eyes. "Get what?"

She let out a dry chuckle, shaking her head. "So this is what the NDA meant when it said ‘the company holds the right to dictate the terms of personal relationships.’ I get it now."

His heart dropped. "Sua—"

But she was already unbuckling her seatbelt. "See you, Seungcheol."

He reached for her wrist, desperate. "Wait, Sua, please—"

She pulled away, offering him one last glance before stepping out of the car. Seungcheol watched as she disappeared into the building, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

For the first time in a long time, he felt powerless.

His jaw clenched, his breath unsteady as he watched Sua disappear into her apartment building. He wanted to move, to run after her, to knock on her door until she let him in, let him explain, let him fix this—

But he couldn’t.

Not here. Not where anyone could see.

Choi Seungcheol couldn’t be the man banging on his girlfriend’s door, begging her to listen, not when a single passerby could pull out their phone and turn this into a scandal by morning.

So he sat there, suffocating under the weight of his own choices, watching as the woman he loved slipped through his fingers.

—

The door clicked shut behind her, and Sua finally exhaled. The lump in her throat thickened as she stepped deeper into her apartment, her steps unsteady. She hadn’t let herself feel it in the car—not fully. She had held her composure, kept her back straight, and refused to let her voice waver. But now, with no one to see, the weight of it all came crashing down.

Her purse dropped onto the floor. Her jacket slipped off her shoulders, pooling at her feet, but she didn’t care enough to pick it up. Instead, she stumbled toward her bedroom, pressing a trembling hand to her mouth as her breath hitched.

Minghao had warned her.

The thought struck her like a whip.

She had pushed his words aside back then, convinced that she knew better, that what she had with Seungcheol was real enough to defy all the complications that came with it. But was she wrong?

"Do you have any idea what you’re getting into?"

Minghao’s voice echoed in her head, sharp and unrelenting.

No, she hadn’t known. Not fully. And now, she was starting to understand in ways she wished she didn’t.

Sua sank onto the edge of her bed, burying her face in her hands. Maybe she had overreacted. Maybe it wasn’t as big of a deal as it felt. Maybe she was being irrational, blowing this out of proportion.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe this was her fault for believing too much. For letting herself sink into him so completely, when in reality, she was still an outsider in his world. 

Was I expecting too much?

She thought about the way Seungcheol had looked at her in the car—brows furrowed, jaw clenched, utterly confused. He hadn’t hidden the fact that he was upset. That he didn’t understand why she was making a big deal out of this.

That was the problem, wasn’t it?

He hadn’t even thought to tell her.

Not because he was keeping it a secret. Not because he wanted to hurt her.

But because it didn’t even cross his mind that she needed to know.

Her throat tightened.

How could two people love each other but live in such different realities?

For him, this tour was just another part of his life—just another schedule. But for her, it was another reminder that she would never be his priority. That she had to come second, third, maybe even last. That she had to wait for him, always.

She wasn’t mad that he was going on tour. Of course, she had known that was inevitable. What crushed her was the fact that she had to find out from someone else—like she was just another person in his orbit, not someone who mattered. Not someone he needed to consider.

She had swallowed down her doubts, convinced herself that she could handle it. That being with him, even in the shadows, was enough.

But was it?

Her vision blurred.

Was she just setting herself up to be hurt?

Minghao’s words echoed again, sharper this time.

"I’ve spent years making sure the people I care about don’t get hurt by this world… and you’re willingly walking into it?"

Back then, she had thought he was being overdramatic. But now, sitting alone in a dark apartment, feeling like she had been blindsided, abandoned—

She understood.

Her chest ached.

She wanted to believe in Seungcheol. She wanted to believe that his love was enough to bridge this gap between them. But love wasn’t supposed to make her feel like this—like she was constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The tears she had been holding back finally slipped down her cheeks.

And for the first time since falling for him 4 months ago, Sua wondered if she had made a mistake.

—

Her phone buzzed.

Her stomach twisted.

Sua, please. Let’s talk. Let me fix this.

I swear I didn’t mean to hurt you.

Sua?

Read.

The only thing that greeted him was silence.

[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

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

This is ours.

The contract binds, but love breaks free,

A vow unspoken, yet meant to be.

With desperate hands, he pulls her near,

Hoping she will see him clear.

──────────────────────────────

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

Tags: tense relationship, idolxoc, slowburn relationship, angst

Word count: 2.5k

──────────────────────────────

Chapter Six

The rehearsal had gone on longer than expected, but no one seemed to mind. Now, the members of SEVENTEEN were sprawled across the studio, surrounded by takeout containers and half-empty cups of iced coffee.

Vernon lay on the floor, arm draped over his face, while Seungkwan sat cross-legged beside him, scrolling through his phone. Mingyu and Joshua were in charge of distributing the food, passing bowls of noodles and chopsticks around.

Seungcheol sat at the edge of the couch, one arm resting on his knee as he absentmindedly scrolled through his phone. The relaxed atmosphere, the easy banter—it was familiar. It was home.

"Hyung, eat."

Mingyu pushed a container toward him, filled with still-steaming tteokbokki. Seungcheol barely looked up, but he accepted it with a muttered "Thanks."

The conversation swirled around them, jumping from their recent schedules to the latest nonsense Hoshi had pulled. It was easy. Natural. But then, Mingyu—always too observant for his own good—tilted his head and spoke.

"You never told us if that someone special finally signed it."

The room didn’t go silent, but the shift was subtle. A few heads turned. Some just glanced up before returning to their food.

Seungcheol didn’t react immediately. He kept chewing, kept his expression neutral. But his heart picked up just a little.

"I did," he said finally. Short. Unbothered.

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

Mingyu hummed. "Must be serious, then." His tone was casual, but the look in his eyes wasn’t.

Seungcheol didn’t respond, but he felt it. The weight of that statement. Jeonghan, who had been observing the shift in energy, leaned forward with interest. “An NDA?” His lips curled into a smirk. “Now that is interesting.”

Seungcheol, to his credit, didn’t react outwardly. If anything, he looked almost amused. “Yeah,” he finally said, voice steady.

It was a simple confirmation, but it only made the tension worse.

Minghao’s chopsticks hit the edge of his bowl as he set them down, jaw tightening.

Seungcheol noticed, he watched as Minghao grabbed his phone and stepped out of the room. He didn’t need to ask where he was going. He already knew.

—

The knock on Sua’s office door was sharp. Purposeful.

She barely glanced up from her screen.

"Come in," she called out.

The door swung open, and when she saw who it was, she blinked in surprise.

"Minghao?"

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He was still in his rehearsal clothes, but his expression was unreadable.

Sua set her pen down. "Did something happen? Is something wrong with the piece you bought?"

Minghao let out a quiet, humorless chuckle. "No," he said. "But I should be the one asking that."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

"You signed it," he said. "Didn’t you?"

Sua’s fingers curled slightly.

"The NDA?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

Minghao nodded. "Yeah."

Sua leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "And?"

“Are you insane?” He shot back. "Do you have any idea what you’re getting into?"

Sua huffed, shaking her head. "I can handle it."

"Can you?" Minghao’s gaze was sharp. His frustration only grew. “No, you don’t get it, Sua. This isn’t just some casual arrangement—there are consequences. You think you can just walk away from this, back to your normal, peaceful life when it’s over?”

Something in her bristled. “And since when do you care about my personal choices?”

His jaw clenched. “Since I realized you don’t understand what you’re risking.”

She stared at him, searching his face.

“Why do you care so much?” she asked quietly.

His voice firm. "I’m trying to protect you." His jaw clenched before he exhaled sharply, frustration bleeding through his words. "I’ve spent years trying to survive in this world, making sure no one I care about gets caught in the worst parts of it. And now you’re voluntarily walking into it?"

The words hit differently.

Sua stilled for half a second.

For a moment, she only looked at him, the weight of his words settling in.

Minghao was serious. He wasn’t just speaking as a client. As an acquaintance.

He cared.

And yet—Sua still forced a small, dismissive smile.

"I appreciate it, Minghao," she said softly. "But this is my choice."

Minghao exhaled, shaking his head. He looked like he wanted to say more—like he wanted to convince her to change her mind.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he turned. “I hope you don’t regret this,” and walked out.

Her coworkers later whispered about how Xu Minghao left her office looking more frustrated than they’d ever seen.

And deep down, she wondered why that was what stuck with her the most.

—

It was already past 10 PM.

Sua was in her apartment, curled up on her sofa, the soft hum of the city outside barely reaching her ears. She should’ve been winding down for the night, but her thoughts were still tangled up in the events of the day. In Minghao, to be precise.

His sudden visit to the gallery earlier had left her feeling… uneasy. Not because she was afraid of him—Minghao wasn’t the type to explode without reason—but because his words had gotten to her. The way his usual calm had cracked, the frustration lacing his voice when he confronted her about the NDA. The concern in his eyes.

“I’m trying to protect you.”

Sua exhaled sharply. She hated how it lingered, how it made her chest feel heavier than it should.

So, she did what anyone would do when they didn’t want to think too much—she grabbed her phone and started scrolling.

She wasn’t expecting to laugh, much less because of Seungcheol, but the universe had a funny way of distracting her at the right moment.

A fan edit of him appeared on her feed, the kind that was so well-made it almost deserved an award. It was a montage of Seungcheol in his most adorably flustered moments—ducking away when teased, ears turning a deep shade of red, covering his face with his hands whenever he got too shy.

The caption? “Leader-nim is so shy ☹️💖 protect him at all costs.”

Sua snorted. Shy. Right.

She had half a mind to comment, “y’all don’t know what this man is capable of,” but before she could, a sudden knock at her door pulled her out of her thoughts.

She frowned, locking her phone. At this hour?

When she opened the door, Seungcheol was standing there, looking way too comfortable in a hoodie and sweatpants, hands stuffed into his pockets like he belonged here.

"Didn’t know I was expecting company tonight," she mused, leaning against the doorframe.

"You weren’t," he admitted, stepping past her into the apartment without waiting for an invitation. "But I figured I’d stop by since I was in the area."

"And by ‘in the area’ you mean you drove all the way here, unannounced?"

Seungcheol grinned. "Maybe."

Sua sighed, shutting the door behind him. "You’re ridiculous."

"You like it."

She rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it.

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, Seungcheol leaning back against the couch, completely at ease in her space.

Then, casually, he said, "So. Monthly meeting this weekend."

Sua blinked. "Huh?"

"Seventeen’s monthly get-together," he explained. "We do it every month, just a little gathering with food, drinks, and talking shit about each other. I want you to come."

Sua hesitated. "Cheol…"

His eyes immediately narrowed. "Don’t even think about saying no."

"I wasn’t—"

"Yes, you were."

She pressed her lips together. "I just… don’t know if it’s a good idea."

Seungcheol exhaled loudly, slumping forward. "Sua," he whined, "please?"

"Why do you even want me there?"

"Because I want you there," he cut in stubbornly. "And if you say no, I will—"

He paused, furrowing his brows before his lips curved downward into a deep, exaggerated pout.

Sua stared. "Are you… sulking?"

"I will keep sulking until you say yes," he declared. "I will not stop. You don’t know what I’m capable of."

"Cheol."

"Mmm. Don’t care. Sulking now." He sank deeper into the couch, crossing his arms like a petulant child. "Oh, wow. This meeting’s gonna feel so empty without Sua. If only she would just say yes. If only she—"

"Alright, alright!" Sua groaned, nudging his shoulder. "I’ll go!"

Seungcheol perked up immediately. "Really?"

"Yes, you big baby."

He grinned victoriously. "See? That wasn’t so hard."

Sua shook her head, laughing softly as she watched him settle back with the smuggest expression.

Then, her eyes flickered back to her phone on the table, recalling the video edit she just watched.

She scoffed.

Shy, my ass. This man is a menace.

—

This month, Seventeen’s monthly gathering was held at a private villa they had rented for the weekend—a cozy yet spacious retreat with warm lighting, plush seating, and a dining table overflowing with an overwhelming spread of takeout.  Chicken wings in different flavors, steaming bowls of jjajangmyeon, a few pizzas, and an almost excessive amount of alcohol and tteokbokki, thanks to Wonwoo’s insistence that they needed something spicy to "keep their blood pumping."

Sua hesitated at the entrance, her fingers tightening slightly around the sleeves of her cardigan. Seungcheol, standing beside her, nudged her lightly. "You don’t have to be nervous, they don’t bite."

"I’m not nervous," Sua lied smoothly.

Before Seungcheol could say a word, a loud gasp echoed from the living room.

"Oh my god."

Seungkwan shot up from his seat so fast that his chair nearly tipped over. His eyes darted between Sua and Seungcheol, widening with each second. "Is this—wait. Is this her?!"

Then, the members erupted all at once, their voices overlapping in chaotic disbelief.

"No. Way."

"Cheol actually brought her?!”

"She’s real??"

Sua raised an eyebrow. “Was that in question?”

Jeonghan grinned. “It’s just—Cheol’s never done this before.”

“Oh?” Sua smirked, turning to Seungcheol. “Never?”

 Seungcheol groaned. “Guys.”

"Hyung actually did it," DK murmured in shock, his mouth half-full of tteokbokki. "He actually brought someone."

Mingyu, who had been lazily sprawled across the floor, suddenly sat up straighter. He glanced at Seungcheol, then at Sua, then back at Seungcheol, before breaking into a slow grin. "Ohhh, so this is the special someone, huh?"

Sua noticed the slight emphasis on special and immediately connected the dots—Mingyu must’ve been the first to figure out about her and Seungcheol.

Seungcheol, meanwhile, exhaled through his nose. "Yah, can you all act normal for five seconds?"

"No," Joshua answered immediately.

Before Sua could say anything, Seungkwan had already linked his arm through hers, tugging her further inside. "Cheol-hyung, step aside," he declared. "I need to personally welcome our guest."

"You’re not the host," Jeonghan pointed out, amused.

"I am now."

Seungkwan pulled Sua toward the dining table, making her sit down in an empty chair right between him and Joshua, Seungcheol followed behind. "You have no idea how long we’ve been waiting for this moment," he said dramatically. "I have so many questions."

"Oh?" Sua tilted her head, playing along.

"First of all, how did you tolerate him for this long?" Seungkwan asked, dead serious. "Because we’ve known him for years, and we still struggle sometimes."

Laughter burst around the table as Seungcheol groaned, already questioning his decision to bring her along.

"Yah," he muttered under his breath.

"More importantly," Jeonghan cut in, smirking, "how did he convince you to come?"

"He sulked," Sua answered simply.

A beat of silence.

Then, the room exploded with laughter.

"OF COURSE HE DID," Woozi said, shaking his head. Seungkwan is currently rolling on the ground, holding his stomach, laughing, as Seungcheol takes his seat beside Sua.

DK was practically wheezing at this point. "Oh my god, I knew he was acting weird today!"

Mingyu wiped a fake tear from his eye. "Leader-nim really out here being a lovesick fool, huh?"

Seungcheol groaned louder, pressing his forehead against the table. "I hate all of you."

Sua watched him suffer for a second before leaning in slightly. Her voice was just loud enough for him to hear, but quiet enough that it didn’t draw attention."You’re acting all shy now," she teased, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Like you weren’t wrecking me senseless in my office that night."

Seungcheol visibly stiffened. 

"Sua," he hissed, his ears turning red instantly.

She only smiled innocently, picking up a piece of tteokbokki with her chopsticks. "Yes, babe?"

Seungcheol sat up straighter, shooting her a look that screamed you’re playing a dangerous game.

Before he could retaliate, a sudden shift in the atmosphere made Sua glance across the table—straight at Minghao.

He was quieter than usual. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes—sharp and observant—flickered briefly between her and Seungcheol.

Tension crackled, almost undetectable to anyone else in the room, but she felt it.

She knew why.

Minghao’s gaze lingered on her for a second longer before he casually reached for his drink, as if dismissing whatever thoughts were running through his mind.

But Sua saw the slight tension in his shoulders.

Seungcheol noticed, too.

Still, no one said anything.

Instead, Mingyu clapped his hands, breaking the moment. "Alright, let’s eat before the food gets cold!"

Conversations picked up again, laughter filling the space as the members bantered over food. Seungkwan made sure Sua had a plate full of everything, while DK and Vernon argued over who got the last slice of pizza. Woozi, as expected, remained unbothered by everything, simply sipping his drink.

At some point, Sua found herself relaxing, easily blending into their dynamic.

It was comfortable. Warm.

And though Seungcheol wasn’t the first to bring a girl to their gatherings, the fact that she was here—sitting beside him, watching as he got flustered over their teasing—felt significant.

He wanted her here.

And despite everything, despite the weight of doubts on her, she found herself wanting to stay.

──────────────────────────────

just got time to write! i hope you enjoy this chapter ehehehe. should i add more fluff??

[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]

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)