Angel

by trisha711

Summary:

“I have a thing for crying men.”

Felix doesn’t have an OnlyFans.
Hyunjin isn’t actually a sasaeng.

But out of annoyance at Felix’s rudeness and the ridiculous reason he was fired, Hyunjin created a “fake” sasaeng Twitter account just to get a little revenge.

Felix doesn’t sue him as punishment. He has… other plans.

Chapter 1: The Split

Notes:

All my fics are Felix bottom and this is the only Hyunjin bottom.

So I made a different style of writing. All Hj bottom will be written in first person pov so you guys can easily identify. That's all.

Let's gooooo ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻)

---

 

First day on the job, and I felt like I could barely breathe.

 

I stood in front of the mirror in the hallway, straightening my name badge for the third time, patting down my hair like it would suddenly change texture under pressure. “Personal Assistant – Hwang Hyunjin” was printed in simple font, but it felt like my entire life was now condensed into that line. Five of us had been selected. Out of hundreds of applicants, they only picked five to serve the Lee Felix. And by some miracle or curse, I was one of them.

 

Felix. Lee Felix.

 

Idol. Megastar. Heartthrob. My ultimate bias since I was sixteen and watching his first debut stage on my old tablet. I used to fall asleep to his live performances. Used to watch fan edits when I was too tired to study. He was the definition of charming, golden, playful perfection.

 

So naturally, I was excited. Nervous, but excited.

 

That was until I stepped behind the camera. And it didn’t take long for that excitement to curdle.

 

“Hyunjin, right?” a voice said behind me. It was one of the senior PAs, I forgot his name the second he gave it, too overwhelmed by the rapid-fire instructions he launched at me. “You’re on soda duty. He wants Coke, five ice cubes. Not four. Not six. Five. Count them.”

 

I blinked. “Five?”

 

“Exactly five,” he repeated, without looking up from his tablet. “If he notices it’s wrong, someone’s getting screamed at. And it won’t be me.”

 

I stood frozen for a beat. Was this a joke? Or some weird rookie hazing ritual?

 

But no one laughed.

 

So I nodded, swallowed the weird feeling in my throat, and went to the kitchenette. I counted the ice cubes like my life depended on it. Plopped them into the glass one by one. I even checked from different angles to make sure none had fused together.

 

When I pushed open the dressing room door with the soda balanced carefully on a coaster, I wasn’t ready for what I saw.

 

Felix, sweet, smiling, sunshine Felix, had his hand tangled in someone’s hair. Gripping it so tight, the man was kneeling. And not in any casual way. Like actually kneeling. I froze in the doorway, unsure whether I was even allowed to witness this.

 

It took me half a second to recognize the man on the floor. It was Changbin-hyung,another PA. One of the ones who had been here for over a year. Muscular. Confident. The kind of guy you wouldn’t expect to kneel for anyone.

 

Yet there he was, back hunched, eyes on the ground.

 

Felix’s voice was sharp, icy. “Are you stupid? I told you I wanted the new Mercedes in black matte , not this fucking shining showroom finish.”

 

Changbin said nothing. Didn’t even move.

 

I wanted to speak. Or breathe. Or blink. But my whole body was locked in place. My mind scrambled to compute what I was seeing, what I was hearing.

 

This wasn’t the Felix who giggled at puppies and blushed when fans screamed his name. This wasn’t the boy who made hearts with his hands on stage.

 

This was someone else entirely. Someone colder. Crueler.

 

Felix finally released Changbin’s hair, watching as he slowly backed away, still silent. Then those sharp eyes turned on me.

 

“Who are you ?”

 

I almost dropped the soda. “I-I’m… Hwang Hyunjin,” I stuttered, voice small. “New PA. First day.”

 

He didn’t smile. Didn’t say welcome . Just blinked once. His eyes scanned me head to toe like I was an object he was considering buying.

 

“What’s in your hand?”

 

“Soda. With… uh, five ice cubes.”

 

A beat of silence. Then, a smirk. Barely a twitch of his lips, but I caught it.

 

“Good. You listen.”

 

I nodded, clutching the glass tighter.

 

Felix leaned back on the couch like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just humiliated someone for a car. His tone shifted like a light switch—lighter, more casual. “Put it on the table.”

 

I obeyed. I placed it down with the delicacy of someone handling explosives.

 

He picked up the glass and swirled it. I waited, holding my breath. Then he took a sip. His lashes fluttered slightly. “Perfect.”

 

I forced a smile. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might show through my shirt.

 

Felix didn’t look at me again. He turned to his phone, scrolling with one hand, sipping with the other. The room was silent except for the soft clink of ice cubes in the glass.

 

Changbin had already left. I didn’t even notice when. And me? I stood there, unsure if I was dismissed or just forgotten.

 

All I knew was the idol I’d adored for years—the person I thought I knew so well from interviews and fancams—was a complete stranger.

 

And that stranger had claws.

 

“What are you doing?” Felix snapped. “Are you dumb? Leave. ”

 

I didn’t even have time to react. His voice hit me like a whip. Sharp, cutting, and loud enough to make my ears ring. He didn’t look at me again. Just waved a hand like I was some fly in his airspace, not a human being standing there holding my breath and everything I thought I knew about him.

 

I left. My shoes squeaked as I turned too fast on the polished floor. I didn’t even know where I was going, just that I had to put as much distance between myself and that dressing room as possible. My chest was tight. I felt embarrassed, like I’d been slapped in public.

 

Down the hallway, I found Jeongin crouched beside the staff lockers, his head down.

 

He looked up the moment he heard me. His eyes were already red and glassy, a damp tissue clenched in his fist. “He—he told me to stop breathing so loud.”

 

I blinked. “What?”

 

“I was just… taking notes,” he stammered. “He didn’t like the sound of my nose. Said it was annoying. Said I was ruining his silence.”

 

I didn’t know what to say. I sat down beside him, legs folded awkwardly, the air between us thick with the kind of disbelief no one dared name aloud. We just sat there, breathing carefully, as if Felix might hear us from across the building and snap again.

 

“He’s not what I thought,” I finally muttered. Jeongin sniffled and nodded. “He’s not what anyone thinks.”

 

We didn’t realize someone was approaching until a shadow fell over us. It was Changbin. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were sharp. “Don’t talk badly about him,” he said, arms crossed. “Say whatever you want when you’re not on the clock, but here—keep your mouth shut. You don’t know who’s listening.”

 

I swallowed. Jeongin wiped his face again.

 

“Even if you’re right,” Changbin added, voice low, “it won’t matter. This is the job. Either you adjust, or you get replaced.”

 

And with that, he left. Just like that.

 

Jeongin and I didn’t say another word. We sat still for a while longer, until someone called for standby positions. The fan meeting was about to begin.

 

We made our way backstage, blending into the sea of crew and staff. Jeongin stood on my left, his eyes still puffy, while I adjusted the comms in my ear, hands trembling.

 

Behind the curtain, everything felt surreal. The lights dimmed. The crowd erupted like a volcano of sound. Cheering, screaming, the kind of pure joy that hit you like wind in a tunnel. Ten thousand people filled the arena, and almost every one of them held a strawberry-shaped lightstick, flickering red and pink like stars in a private galaxy made just for him.

 

Then he appeared.

 

Lee Felix.

 

Soft golden hair. Dewy skin. A white knit sweater tucked into soft beige trousers that made him look like a human marshmallow. His smile lit up the stage like a sunrise, and I swear, I heard people sob just from seeing him. He waved, heart-shaped fingers thrown into the air, and the crowd responded like they were under a spell.

 

“Hello, my loves!” he chirped, voice high and sweet. “Did you miss me?”

 

The sound that followed was deafening. Banners shot into the air. Some printed with his face, others hand-drawn with glitter. One fan held up a huge poster that said “FELIX YOU’RE MY HOME” in neon marker. Another screamed out “I LOVE YOU!” and Felix pointed straight at her with a grin so blinding it could’ve powered the entire arena.

 

Behind the curtain, Jeongin and I just watched.

 

It didn’t make sense. The man we saw earlier—the one yanking Changbin’s hair, cursing at us, treating people like insects—was gone. What stood under the lights was someone else entirely. Someone impossibly radiant. Someone who looked like he deserved this kind of devotion.

 

He knelt to tie a fan’s shoelace when she tripped coming up on stage. Laughed when someone handed him a plush strawberry. He even wiped a tear from one girl’s cheek and hugged her gently, whispering something too soft for the mic to catch.

 

And the crowd lost it. They worshipped him.

 

I looked at Jeongin.

 

He was still crying but now for a different reason.

 

“Do you see that?” I whispered.

 

Jeongin didn’t reply, but he nodded. Just once.

 

I didn’t know what I was feeling. Confusion, mostly. A strange, unsettling disconnect between the Felix on stage and the Felix backstage. Like someone had flipped a switch and turned him into another person entirely. A perfect simulation of love and light.

 

The crowd kept screaming. And Felix kept smiling.

 

And behind the curtain, I stood frozen, watching a man I used to idolize become a stranger right before my eyes.

 

 

---

 

The music hit, and the arena roared.

 

Felix stood under the spotlight like he was born there. Eyes shimmering, mic in hand, strawberry lightsticks flickering like fireworks around him. The bass thumped beneath our feet as he opened with Honey Sun , his latest single, voice smooth as silk, movements sharp and fluid. Each line rolled out like honey, sweet and intoxicating, and the crowd swayed along, waving banners and singing back every word.

 

He didn’t miss a beat. His smile was soft, eyes full of sparkle. I watched from behind the curtain with Jeongin, clutching the next prop tightly in both hands. We were part of the show now—small, invisible parts, but parts nonetheless.

 

When the games section started, I rushed onto the side of the stage, handing Felix a basket of rubber ducks. “Duck memory challenge,” the host announced, and the crowd laughed as Felix peeked into the basket, pretending to pout. He pulled out the first duck and kissed it for extra fanservice.

 

They lost their minds.

 

Then came the cute props. Strawberry glasses, oversized bows, animal headbands. I handed him a giant pink bunny ear headband during the Q&A segment, and he wore it like it was the latest fashion from Paris. One fan asked, “Felix, what’s your secret to always being adorable?” and he winked and said, “I was born this way!”

 

I swear people were sobbing.

 

Even I caught myself smiling more than I should have. It was…disarming, how effortlessly lovable he seemed. I couldn’t reconcile it with what I’d seen earlier. Not the yelling, not the cruel eyes, not Changbin kneeling.

 

And then I messed up.

 

One of the stagehands waved frantically, and I rushed forward, holding a tray of paper flowers for Felix to toss to the fans. But the second I stepped out, I tripped on the cord and stumbled, barely catching the tray before it hit the floor. Gasps rippled from the front row. I felt like time froze. A dozen cameras pointed at me. Panic flared.

 

But then—

 

“Ah, our new helper’s a little clumsy, huh?” Felix chuckled, stepping forward. He looked at me. Not with anger, not with scorn but with a soft, amused smile. “It’s okay,” he said gently, his voice low enough only I could really hear. “You’re doing well.”

 

The crowd melted. Phones flashed. Some fans actually cooed.

 

I must’ve turned five shades of red as I backed out of sight, heart pounding in my ears. Jeongin was wide-eyed when I reappeared behind the curtain.

 

“Did… did that just happen?”

 

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Nothing made sense.

 

The fan meeting ended with Felix singing Goodnight Strawberry , the ballad that always made fans cry. He sat on a stool, a soft pink spotlight casting a glow around him, the crowd holding their lightsticks like candles. It felt like a dream—the kind you don’t want to wake up from.

 

And even after the final bows, even after the curtain call and encore chants, Felix didn’t disappear into his van like most idols would. He asked security to open a side door, and we watched from behind a barricade as he emerged at the exit, just for a few seconds.

 

Fans screamed. Some cried.

 

He walked out in a hoodie and mask, yet his energy felt exactly the same. He waved at them like they were old friends. Took a bouquet from a teenage girl with shaky hands. Thanked them, bowed. Said “I love you all so much. You’re everything to me,” in a voice that felt raw and honest.

 

The cameras caught it. Within minutes, it was trending.

 

#AngelFelix

#BestFanMeetingEver

#HyunjinTheCutePA —what?

 

I blinked at that last one, heart lurching as I saw a zoomed-in gif of Felix smiling at me on stage, calling me cute and clumsy. The comments were full of hearts, exclamation points, and guesses about whether I was his new trainee, or stylist, or… boyfriend. I nearly threw my phone across the hallway.

 

It was over.

 

The staff was already packing up, the glitter on stage being swept away like it had never existed.

 

Then someone called out, “Hyunjin. Jeongin. Dressing room. Now.” We froze. Both of us turned to each other like deer in headlights. My throat dried instantly. Jeongin’s eyes were full of terror.

 

We didn’t speak. Just walked in silence toward the hallway we now feared. My palms were clammy again. Just like they’d been that morning.

 

Something about being summoned after the show… it didn’t feel like a thank you.

 

It felt like judgment.

 

When we stepped into the dressing room, the door shut behind us with a quiet but heavy click. The lights were still on, but Felix was gone. The sofa where he’d sat, all smiles and praise in front of ten thousand fans, now looked like an abandoned throne.

 

Instead, someone else was waiting.

 

Minho.

 

Senior PA. Veteran handler. Rumored to have survived four world tours, a dating scandal, and one very public meltdown from Felix’s previous manager. He sat casually on the corner of the makeup table, arms crossed, chewing gum like he wasn’t two seconds from biting our heads off.

 

“You two,” he said flatly. “What. The fuck.”

 

I tensed. Jeongin shrunk beside me.

 

“Jeongin,” Minho continued, “you were late for the backstage cue. And Hyunjin, you walked into a live stage like a deer on stilts. Thank God Felix covered for you or we’d be cleaning your career off the floor.”

 

I opened my mouth, then shut it. I wanted to say sorry, but even the word felt useless.

 

“You’re two of the five new hires. One of you cries every two hours. The other’s already gone viral,” Minho said with a slow exhale. “Is this what I’m dealing with?”

 

“We’re sorry,” Jeongin whispered.

 

Minho nodded like he’d heard it a hundred times. “Listen. If this job isn’t for you, that’s fine. Nobody’s holding a gun to your head. You’re not prisoners. But working for Felix isn’t just being on time and smiling. It’s unpredictable, demanding, and you will get blamed for shit that has nothing to do with you. You’ll see sides of him you don’t want to. You’ll question your sanity. If you’re not sure, walk now.”

 

Silence spread. Then Jeongin shook his head. “I want to stay.” My mouth moved before my brain could stop it. “Me too.”

 

Minho studied us for a moment. His expression didn’t soften, but his voice did. “Then don’t fuck up again.”

 

---

 

On the ride home, Jeongin and I sat beside each other on the bus, still in our black staff hoodies and lanyards. Neither of us spoke for a while. The city passed us by in sleepy, golden blurs. My feet ached. My brain was fried. But my chest was still racing from the day.

 

“He’s not… normal,” Jeongin said eventually, pulling his hood tighter. “Felix.”

 

I huffed a laugh. “What gave it away? The compliments or the screaming?”

 

He gave me a weak smile. “I don’t get it. How can someone be so sweet in front of fans and so scary behind the scenes?”

 

I leaned back. “It’s like he turns it on and off. Like… a performance.”

 

“But he hugged that fan who tripped. He wiped her tears.”

 

“And screamed at you for breathing too loud.”

 

We were quiet again. Then Jeongin said, “Still can’t quit though.”

 

“Yeah,” I muttered. “The money’s too good.”

 

And it was. Stupidly good. Rent-killing, debt-clearing, dream-chasing good. Felix’s staff were some of the best-paid in the industry. No wonder Minho never left.

 

When we got off the bus, Jeongin gave me a tired smile and waved. “See you tomorrow?”

 

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Try not to breathe so loud.”

 

“Asshole,” he muttered, but he was laughing as he walked away.

 

I turned the corner onto my street, and that’s when it hit me.

 

Felix was everywhere.

 

A massive LED billboard loomed over the intersection. Felix in a cream sweater, holding a strawberry, his soft smile lighting up the night. “Felix’s Garden: New Skincare Out Now.”

 

A few steps down, another poster. “Lee Felix Live Tour 2025 – Seoul Sold Out.” His eyes were rimmed with glitter, lips parted just slightly. It looked like he was gazing right at me.

 

Then my phone buzzed. Trending: #FelixFanMeeting , #HyunjinTheCutePA , #StrawberryAngelFelix.

 

I ducked into the nearest milk tea shop just to escape the noise in my head. The barista didn’t even look up—just pointed to a QR code for the app.

 

I ordered brown sugar milk tea. Large. Less ice. My usual. And when I picked it up... There. On the cup sleeve.

 

Felix.

 

It was his fan meeting merch, apparently. His face in soft pastel print, big eyes and a shy blush on his cheeks, holding the same drink I just ordered. The caption read “Drink with me?”

 

I blinked. Then I blinked again.

 

Even he looked flustered on the cup. Like the Felix on the cup knew this was ridiculous too.

 

“I should be happy right? That my idol is getting all the brand deals.” I whispered.

 

It wasn’t a question anymore. It was a slow, spiraling realization.

 

 

>>>>>>

Notes:

Again, this is my first Hj bottom fic haha. So yeah, how was it? ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა

Please let me know in the comment section. Thank you! ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

Chapter 2: You’re Lucky

The next morning, we finally had a break. No frantic rushing. No stage lights. No screaming fans. Just… silence.

 

Sort of.

 

“Felix is sulking,” Minho told us the moment we stepped into the mansion, voice flat, expression too straight for his gay ass. “He had a fight with Chan-hyung last night. So no one goes into his room until lunch. He said, and I quote, ‘if I see anyone before 12, I’ll throw my phone at their face.’ So. Stay out.”

 

We both nodded quickly.

 

Felix’s house, if you could even call it that, was ridiculous. Not just big. Mansion big. Two floors, a private pool you could swim laps in, an interior that looked like it belonged in a magazine. But there was this strange… coldness to it. Too clean. Too curated. Like a showhouse no one really lived in.

 

There were rules, too.

 

“Living room, dining room, kitchen, movie room. That’s it,” Minho said, pointing. “The rest is off-limits unless you have direct permission. You don’t even look at the bedroom door.”

 

Jeongin leaned in and whispered, “What do you think is up there? Hidden lover? A shrine to himself?”

 

I nearly choked trying not to laugh.

 

Minho rolled his eyes and shoved a tablet into my hands. “Closet’s your task today. Organize the racks according to the new style codes. Felix wants to film an outfit vlog soon, and it needs to be color-balanced by theme.”

 

He opened a door near the hallway and gestured us in.

 

We stepped into Felix’s walk-in closet.

 

And stopped.

 

I felt my jaw drop.

 

It was bigger than my entire apartment. Not even an exaggeration. High ceilings. Gold racks. Glass drawers. A central island full of accessories. Hundreds, as in literally hundreds of hangers with perfectly steamed designer clothes, labeled by brand and occasion. Louis Vuitton, Versace, Fendi, Burberry, Bottega Veneta, Gucci. Sneakers in glass cases. A whole wall of sunglasses. Velvet boxes of rings and bracelets arranged by color and metal type.

 

Jeongin whispered, “I think I’m gonna cry.”

 

I nodded, dazed. “This is where fashion comes to be worshipped.”

 

We stood in silence for a while, just spinning slowly to take it all in. The room smelled like luxurious blend of rare, layered notes. Mostly like saffron, rose, and oud and expensive fabric softener. Soft music played from a speaker we couldn’t even see.

 

“He really lives like this?” Jeongin said after a while, tugging gently at a pastel cardigan with little cloud-shaped buttons.

 

I looked around, still overwhelmed. “It’s like a luxury boutique. But for one person.”

 

“Meanwhile, I live with three roommates and a lizard named Pepsi.” I snorted, nearly dropping the color chart tablet. “Pepsi?”

 

“He belongs to my cousin, but she went to New York and left him with us. He stares at me when I eat ramen. It’s very unsettling.”

 

I grinned. For the first time in days, I felt something close to normal. Jeongin had this way of being ridiculous but soft, like a cartoon character who wandered into the wrong universe.

 

I reached for a puffy lilac coat and held it up to him. “You’d look cute in this.”

 

He gasped. “You think?”

 

“Yeah. You have that ‘baby idol at the airport’ look.”

 

He posed dramatically. “Jeongin, rookie of the year, spotted at Incheon.”

 

“Wearing Felix’s 3,000 dollar jacket and running for his life because he wasn’t supposed to touch it.”

 

We both burst into quiet laughter.

 

As we folded some of the silk shirts and reorganized the accessory drawers, Jeongin leaned against the center island and sighed.

 

“You think we’ll get used to it?” he asked. “All of this? The weird rules. The mood swings. The cameras. Felix being… Felix?”

 

I paused, folding a pair of velvet pants. “Maybe.”

 

“But what if we don’t?”

 

I smiled softly. “Then we pretend we do. And maybe it won’t be so scary.”

 

He nodded slowly, and there was a quiet comfort in it. Just two assistants doing something absurdly fancy in a room we had no business being in, trying to survive in a world we never imagined we’d get close to.

 

The job was insane.

 

But this moment, laughing with Jeongin, surrounded by sequins and hangers and whispered jokes, felt strangely safe. And maybe that was enough for now.

 

“You know,” Jeongin said as he folded a pair of jeans that probably cost more than my entire bank account, “I still can’t believe I got this job.”

 

I glanced over from where I was rearranging Felix’s silver chains by length and weight. “How’d you even find it?”

 

“My cousin forwarded the listing. Said I had ‘big staff energy.’ I thought it was a scam at first. You?”

 

I snorted. “I followed the fan café updates. They posted the opening randomly at like 1 a.m. I filled it out half-asleep in bed with one eye open.”

 

Jeongin laughed. “I was so sure I bombed the interview. I kept stuttering when they asked why I wanted to work for Felix.”

 

“What’d you say?”

 

“I panicked and said ‘he seems like he smells good.’”

 

I dropped the drawer shut and wheezed. “ No way. ”

 

Jeongin looked embarrassed. “I mean… he does, though.” I nodded, trying not to grin too hard. “Yeah, terrifying but fragrant.”

 

A second passed, and then Jeongin asked, “What are you buying with your first paycheck?”

 

That made me pause. I sat on the edge of the closet island, fiddling with one of Felix’s fuzzy pink berets. “Rent. My mom’s meds. And maybe… if there’s enough left, a used bike. Nothing fancy.”

 

Jeongin smiled. “You?”

 

He leaned his chin on his hands. “A Nintendo Switch. And one of those jellyfish mood lamps. And—uhm… this is lame but I wanna take my grandma to a buffet.”

 

“That’s not lame,” I said, heart weirdly warm. “That’s kind of adorable.”

 

We were in the middle of debating whether Felix’s mirrored sunglasses were ironic or genuine when we heard a loud crash.

 

Glass shattering. Then a loud, sharp scream.

 

Both of us froze. We looked at each other, silent, eyes wide. And then we ran. We left the closet and sped down the hall, following the sound. It led us to the living room.

 

That’s when we saw him.

 

Felix.

 

He was standing by the marble coffee table, surrounded by broken glass. What was left of a designer vase now in glittering pieces on the floor. His chest heaved. His hands trembled at his sides, clenched tight like he was holding himself together by sheer will.

 

Minho stood a few feet away, stiff and silent.

 

“CALL HIM!” Felix screamed. “I’m not joking, Minho. Call Chan. Right now.”

 

Minho opened his mouth, hesitated. “Mr. Felix, he—”

 

“I know he blocked me,” Felix snarled. “I’m not an idiot.” His voice cracked. Not from weakness. No, this was something worse. It was the kind of crack that came from humiliation. From betrayal.

 

“I bought him a fucking Mercedes , Minho. A matte black Mercedes, custom seats, top specs— the whole thing and he BLOCKED me?” He pointed at the shards on the floor like they were evidence in a crime. “I paid for that shit myself . Out of pocket. And he just—he just leaves ?”

 

Minho said nothing. He stood still like a statue, maybe waiting for Felix to burn himself out.

 

Then Felix noticed us.

 

His eyes locked on mine. Then Jeongin’s. We both stood by the hallway, awkward and frozen, still in our black staff hoodies, probably looking like guilty schoolkids.

 

“Who are they ?” Felix asked, voice lower but no less sharp.

 

Minho didn’t get a word out before Felix clicked his tongue.

 

“Oh. Right,” Felix muttered. “The annoying one .” He pointed at Jeongin. Then his finger turned on me. “And the clumsy one .”

 

I swallowed hard. Jeongin looked like he was about to pass out. Felix blinked once. Then turned away from the mess.

 

“Both of you,” he said, casually, like the last five seconds hadn’t happened. “Eat lunch with me.”

 

We both blinked. “W-what?”

 

Minho just nodded to us and worded without sound, “go.”

 

Felix didn’t repeat himself. He just walked toward the kitchen like it was settled. The broken glass still shimmered behind him.

 

Jeongin leaned close and whispered, “Are we being punished or promoted?”

 

I didn’t know.

 

All I knew was that the room still buzzed with leftover tension. That Chan’s name seemed to hang in the air like smoke. That Felix looked furious and heartbroken and impossibly composed all at once.

 

And we were being invited into the lion’s den for lunch.

 

“Don’t sit across from him,” I whispered. “He might throw a spoon at you.”

 

Jeongin’s eyes widened. “Should we even eat? What if he yells at the way I chew?”

 

“I chew worse,” I admitted. He exhaled. “We’re so screwed.” And yet… we followed.

 

Because we were staff. Because we had no choice. And because, even in his worst moments, Felix still had gravity. Even when screaming, he pulled you in.

 

He sat at the long marble island in the kitchen like it was a throne, elbows propped lazily on the cool surface, chopsticks in hand, skin glowing even in the harsh overhead light. His blonde hair was slightly tousled, like he’d just woken up from a nap and hadn’t bothered to fix it. A soft, oversized cardigan draped off one shoulder, exposing a perfect collarbone like it was nothing. His lips were a little pouty, his lashes longer than seemed fair. Even his jawline looked expensive.

 

I couldn’t stop staring.

 

He looked unreal. Prettier than any photos. Prettier than any concert stage. The kind of pretty that made your brain short-circuit if you looked too long. The kind of pretty that didn’t belong in the same room as you.

 

I stared like a fool. I didn’t even realize it until Jeongin elbowed me under the table. Hard. I snapped out of it, blinking fast. Felix was already looking at me, a single brow arched.

 

“Are you a fan?” he asked, lips twitching slightly. “Because you’re staring.”

 

I opened my mouth, then nodded before I could stop myself. “Yeah. I mean—uh, I was. I mean, I am.”

 

Felix hummed, setting down his chopsticks with a clink. “I told them not to hire fans.”

 

My face burned. “I’m sorry.”

 

Then, to my absolute confusion, Felix laughed. It wasn’t loud. It was small, breathy, like the edge of a chuckle but it was real. His shoulders shook once, and he leaned back in his seat like something about me amused him.

 

Then there was silence. The kind that presses against your skin.

 

Felix turned back to his food and picked up his chopsticks again, eating calmly. Like nothing had just happened. Like he hadn’t broken a vase and screamed at Minho twenty minutes ago. Like we weren’t sitting at a table with someone who could end our contracts with a look.

 

Jeongin and I just sat there. Not touching anything. Not breathing too loudly. Just waiting for a cue.

 

Felix paused mid-bite and looked up. “Why are you not eating?”

 

We both flinched. He tilted his head. “Eat. But silently. I don’t want to hear any chewing.”

 

“Y-Yes, sir,” Jeongin said, scrambling for his plate.

 

I followed, picking up my utensils and moving like I was defusing a bomb. My hands were so sweaty the spoon nearly slipped. We both started eating like mice. Tiny bites, slow movements, no sound.

 

Half our plate eaten, Jeongin’s chopsticks slipped straight out of his fingers and clattered against the tile.

 

Felix didn’t even blink. “Oh. You’re clumsy too?”

 

Jeongin bowed his head, mumbling an apology. Felix smirked. “Stupid and clumsy. What a combo.”

 

I held in a breath. Jeongin looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.

 

The rest of the lunch passed in uneasy quiet. Felix ate with slow, practiced elegance. Everything about him felt holy. Controlled. Like he was always aware of the camera, even if one wasn’t there.

 

When he finished, he pushed his plate forward and leaned back.

 

“So,” he said casually, eyes flitting between us. “Names?”

 

I straightened. “Hyunjin.”

 

“Jeongin,” my companion said, still slightly red in the face.

 

Felix stared at us for exactly two seconds before waving a hand. “Too many names. I won’t remember.”

 

He pointed at Jeongin. “You look like a fox. Sneaky face. I’ll call you Fox.”

 

Then he turned to me. His gaze lingered a second longer.

 

“And you… You look like a ferret.”

 

“A… what?”

 

He smirked. “Yeah. All shaky and pointy. Like a nervous little ferret. That’s you.”

 

I opened my mouth, closed it, then nodded in defeat. “Okay.”

 

“Fox,” Felix called lazily, “go find Minho. Tell him to send Chan a huge bouquet of flowers and an apology letter.”

 

Jeongin stood up immediately, muttering, “Yes, sir,” and scurried off like his life depended on it.

 

That left just me and Felix.

 

Alone.

 

He turned toward me slowly, fingers steepled under his chin. “And you…” he said, voice low and unreadable. “Stay.”

 

The room was too quiet.

 

Felix stood up from his stool unhurriedly like a cat stretching after a nap. I stayed frozen in my seat, watching him with the same caution you’d give a flame… beautiful, mesmerizing, and absolutely dangerous.

 

He didn’t say anything. Just started walking.

 

Circling.

 

Like a boss mocking people beneath him.

 

I swallowed hard as he moved behind me, his footsteps light against the marble floor. I could feel his eyes on my back. On my neck. On the sweat probably pooling along my hairline.

 

I clenched my fists in my lap, trying not to tremble. Trying not to breathe too loud.

 

Then, just as he passed by my left shoulder, he paused.

 

“You’re sweating,” he said softly, almost amused.

 

Before I could respond, he walked to the counter, grabbed a pack of tissues from the drawer, and returned. I flinched when he stood directly in front of me. Without asking, he reached out and dabbed at my forehead.

 

I didn’t move.

 

The tissue was cool against my skin. His hand was warm.

 

“Such a nervous little ferret,” he murmured, eyes locked on mine. Then, he smiled.

 

Not the sunshine kind from fan meetings. Not the dreamy type plastered on billboards.

 

This smile was sharp. Devilish. Almost… playful. But there was something unsettling beneath it.

 

“You said you’re a fan,” he said.

 

I nodded once. Felix tilted his head. “Really?”

 

“Yes,” I croaked. “Then let’s test that,” he said, tossing the crumpled tissue onto his plate like it was nothing.

 

He took a step back, crossing his arms. “What was the name of the song I debuted with?”

 

“Dream On , ” I answered quickly.

 

“Where did I say my favorite place to cry was?”

 

“The shower.”

 

“What kind of plushie did I say I sleep with when I travel?”

 

“Pink cat,” I replied. “You named it Mochi.”

 

Felix’s lips curled. “Who was the first idol I said I ever had a crush on?”

 

I blinked. “Um… Taemin sunbaenim.”

 

He raised his eyebrows. “Impressive.”

 

I stayed quiet, heart pounding.

 

His gaze sharpened. “What color did I dye my hair the day after my pet rabbit passed away?”

 

“Lavender.”

 

“What injury did I hide during the ‘Daylight Blue’ promotions?”

 

“Your left ankle. You twisted it during rehearsal but still performed.”

 

His eyes gleamed with something unreadable.

 

“Interesting,” he said at last, voice quiet again. “Very interesting.”

 

I didn’t know whether it was praise or mockery.

 

Then he leaned forward, closer this time. Close enough that I could smell his perfume. It was sweet, musky, with some faint floral base note that made my head spin.

 

“Are you scared of me, Hyunjin?” he asked. My name dancing on his tongue.

 

My breath faltered. He didn’t move. Just stared.

 

I didn’t know how to answer. My throat tightened. Part of me wanted to lie. Say no. Pretend I wasn’t shaking inside. But the other part, the part that remembered his screams, the broken glass, the way Jeongin had nearly cried just from breathing wrong… I stayed silent.

 

Felix’s jaw twitched. His smile dropped.

 

“I asked you a question,” he said, sharper this time.

 

Still, I couldn’t say it. Then he shouted.

 

“ Answer me! ”

 

I jumped in my seat, heart in my throat. My voice came out before I could stop it. “A little!” I blurted. “I’m a little afraid.”

 

Felix stared at me.

 

Then, slowly, he smiled again. Not sweet. Not devilish. This one was darker. Satisfied.

 

“Good,” he said softly. “Fear keeps people in line.”

 

I looked down at my lap, pulse racing.

 

“Leave,” he said. I stood up immediately, nearly knocking my chair back.

 

I didn’t look at him. Didn’t say anything else. I just left the kitchen with my head down and my heart in pieces. Because I knew, somehow, deep in my bones… This job wasn’t going to get easier.

 

And Felix wasn’t going to get kinder.

 

---

 

I didn’t make it to my bed before I started crying.

 

The door had barely shut behind me when the first tear slipped out, warm against my cheek. I tried to breathe through it, clenching my fists at my sides, telling myself to get it together , but the dam had already cracked. My chest gave out before my pride did.

 

I sat on the floor, back against the wall, and buried my face in my arms.

 

Everything stung. My eyes, my throat, my heart.

 

The silence of my tiny room was deafening after Felix’s voice. After the way he circled me like prey, after how fast he switched from gentle to cruel, like it was second nature.

 

And yet… all around me was him .

 

Everywhere I looked, Felix stared back.

 

A poster from the Midnight Bloom tour was still taped above my bed. His smile was radiant there, arms thrown wide, like he was inviting the whole world into his heart. On the desk, there was the strawberry-shaped keychain I bought from the fan café, and in my drawer? God, I still had the notebook.

 

The one full of poems I’d written about him.

 

Stupid things. Whispers in ink. Pages soaked in longing I never thought would leave the privacy of my daydreams. Words like my angel, miracle, lighthouse . I used to imagine giving them to him someday, maybe with a laugh, maybe after I became someone important enough for him to notice.

 

What a joke.

 

Next to the notebook sat a sketchpad, one I’d been too embarrassed to ever show anyone. Inside were drawings of Felix—my Felix, the Felix I thought I knew. Laughing in concerts. Winking at fans. Curled up with a cat on his lap. I drew him from memory, from screenshots, from instinct.

 

And all of them were lies.

 

The real Felix wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t patient. He wasn’t even kind.

 

He was cruel in a way that didn’t feel accidental.

 

I wiped my face, but the tears kept coming.

 

I’d built a fantasy around him for years. Not just as a celebrity, but as a person. I thought he was the kind of soul that deserved soft things. I thought he would understand someone like me… quiet, hopelessly romantic, clumsy with real-world things but overflowing with feeling.

 

But today, I realized something. He didn’t need another admirer. He didn’t want love. He wanted control.

 

And I’d walked right into it with stars in my eyes.

 

I hugged my knees tighter, trying to stop the ache in my chest, but it wouldn’t go away. Not yet. Maybe not for a while.

 

I’d gotten the chance to meet the person I once called my light.

 

And now I couldn’t even look at my own room without feeling like it was haunted.

 

---

 

It had been a month.

 

Seven days of walking on glass. Of early mornings and long nights. Of learning which version of Felix you were getting that day. Either cold and detached, biting and furious, or worse, eerily sweet. But somehow, Jeongin and I were still here.

 

The other three weren’t.

 

One quit on day two after getting blamed for a missing charger. Another left after Felix threw her clipboard across the room. The last didn’t even say goodbye. He just vanished after a tear-filled call in the staff bathroom.

 

Now it was just me and Jeongin.

 

Fox and Ferret.

 

And oddly enough, we got used to it. Not comfortable , but functional. We learned when to stay quiet. When to nod. When to smile. When to disappear. Felix’s moods still hit like storms, but we stopped flinching as much.

 

I finally took down all the Felix posters in my room.

 

Every one.

 

The signed album stayed sealed in a drawer. The fanart I once proudly framed now sat face-down in a box under my bed. I thought it would hurt more but it felt like cleaning out a fever dream. Necessary.

 

Still, I couldn’t bring myself to throw any of it away.

 

Because as much as I hated who Felix really was, as much as the illusion shattered the night he called me stupid and walked away, there was a deeper truth I couldn’t shake.

 

He saved me.

 

Not the real Felix. But the version I believed in. The one who sang with a laugh in his eyes, who smiled like he meant it. That Felix kept me breathing when I was at my lowest. The night I almost didn’t make it, it was his voice in my headphones. His words in my veins. “You’re not alone. Keep going.”

 

So, I owed him my life.

 

Even if he’d never know. Even if he didn’t deserve it.

 

---

Today was a commercial shoot. Outdoor location. A luxury brand doing a concept called Wild Opulence. Felix, surrounded by nature and elegance. They’d built a white tent near the clearing, big enough to hold lights, staff, and stylists. The staff buzzed like bees.

 

Jeongin and I were assigned prop rotation and hydration duties. Standard stuff.

 

I was organizing the next wardrobe rack when I heard it: “ Fox! ” Felix’s voice, sharp and unmistakable.

 

Jeongin froze next to me.

 

“I’ll go,” he muttered. He disappeared into the tent.

 

The zipper flap closed behind him, and I kept sorting, pretending I wasn’t listening. But his voice carried.

 

“No—no, are you stupid?” Felix snapped. “I said natural curl not soaked. He’s not supposed to look like he came out of a fucking shower. Use your eyes, Fox. You have them for a reason.”

 

I winced. Silence.

 

Then I heard Jeongin again, softly: “I’m sorry.”

 

Felix didn’t respond. The flap zipped open again a few seconds later. Jeongin walked out with the same bottle in his hand.

 

He didn’t cry. But he was close. His eyes were shiny. His lips pressed tight. His steps just a little too quick.

 

We didn’t talk about it.

 

Not because I didn’t care. But because of what Changbin once told us: “If you’re smart, you never talk about it while on shift. You never react. You just move. You survive.”

 

So, I bumped his shoulder gently. Didn’t say anything. He nodded once.

 

And we got back to work.

 

It was almost golden hour when I heard the change in Felix’s tone.

 

We were between takes. He was sipping coconut water, staring blankly at the monitor playback when someone new appeared on set.

 

“Felix,” the director called. “We’ve got a guest.”

 

And then I saw him.

 

Chan.

 

Black cap, plain T-shirt, quiet smile.

 

The moment Felix turned and saw him, everything changed.

 

His whole face lit up. Like someone had flipped on the sun inside him. He dropped the bottle in his hand and ran over, launching himself into Chan’s arms with so much force it looked like a scene out of a romance drama.

 

“Hyung!” Felix breathed, squeezing him tight.

 

Chan smiled and hugged him back like nothing in the world was wrong.

 

They talked in hushed voices, Felix grabbing Chan’s hands, cheeks flushed with joy. He looked younger. Softer. So unrecognizably happy I almost forgot who he was when he screamed at Jeongin.

 

“Where are they going?” Jeongin asked beside me.

 

We both watched as Felix pulled Chan toward the white tent.

 

“Private catch-up, I guess,” I mumbled.

 

The zipper closed behind them.

 

Jeongin glanced at me, his voice barely above a whisper. “He didn’t even smile at me today.”

 

I didn’t answer. Because I knew how that felt. The way Felix could make you feel invisible one second, and irreplaceable the next.

 

But for now, we waited. While Felix disappeared again into his perfect little world. And we stood outside it, still just background noise.

 

They were in the tent for almost thirty minutes.

 

The camera crew reset lights. The stylist checked racks. The director muttered about chasing sunlight. Meanwhile, Jeongin and I stood under a tree, pretending to look busy while trying not to look like we were waiting .

 

I kept glancing at the tent flap, wondering if they were talking. Laughing. If Chan had his arm around Felix’s shoulder, if Felix was smiling the way he never did with us.

 

“He looked so happy,” Jeongin said quietly. I nodded, but didn’t reply. “Do you think they’re back together?”

 

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

 

But I did know what I saw: Felix lighting up in a way I’d never seen. Not even on stage. Not even in front of the fans who worshipped him.

 

He only ever looked like that for Chan.

 

The tent finally unzipped, and Felix stepped out first. His hair was slightly tousled now, lips pink from kissing or talking or crying—I couldn’t tell. He was smiling faintly, the calm kind that settled on his face like a satisfied sigh. Chan came out a moment later, adjusting his cap, the same warm energy on his face like nothing had changed.

 

And for a second, it felt like the entire mood of the set had shifted.

 

“Reset for the next scene!” the director called.

 

Felix nodded, walking to his mark like the earlier outburst never happened. He didn’t even look in our direction.

 

Jeongin took a shaky breath. “He’s nice to him,” he muttered.

 

I heard the bitterness behind his voice, even though he tried to hide it. “Because Chan’s not replaceable,” I said before I could stop myself.

 

Jeongin looked at me. “And we are.”

 

That was the quiet truth that followed us everywhere. That we were just staff. Just faces in black hoodies. No matter how long we lasted, we were disposable. Just shadows behind the spotlight.

 

The shoot wrapped near sunset.

 

Felix finished his final shot in a field of gold-dyed flowers, bathed in light. He looked ethereal. Untouchable. His last pose had him smiling, head tilted back, eyes closed like he was laughing at something only he could hear.

 

The fans would see that photo and fall in love again.

 

They wouldn’t know that twenty minutes before it, he made someone almost cry.

 

We helped pack the set. Jeongin carried water bottles to the van. I folded the wardrobe rack down, pretending not to notice how quiet Felix had gotten again. Chan had already left, slipping away just after the final cut, with a wave and a promise of “catching up soon.”

 

Felix didn’t say goodbye to him in front of us. He didn’t say anything to us. Until we were back at the van.

 

He slid into the back seat without a word, scrolling on his phone. I was about to climb into the front when his voice cut through the silence.

 

“Ferret.”

 

I stopped. “Yes?”

 

“Did you remove the safety tags from the Dior scarf?”

 

“Yes. Double-checked it too.”

 

He nodded, still not looking at me. “Good.”

 

Then he shut the door.

 

Jeongin looked at me across the hood of the van. “He didn’t even look at me.”

 

“He will tomorrow,” I said softly, but even I didn’t believe it.

 

We rode in silence on the way home. Felix had noise-canceling headphones in. His head leaned against the tinted window like he was somewhere far away. Maybe thinking of Chan. Maybe already forgetting our names again.

 

I stared out the window, city lights blurring past.

 

This job was messing with me in ways I hadn’t expected. Not just exhaustion. Not just confusion. But emotionally, this constant game of seeking approval from someone who gave it out in crumbs, then yanked them away the moment you got too close.

 

I remembered the poems I’d boxed up. The sketchpad in my drawer.

 

How much of my heart I’d once handed to him without even knowing who he truly was.

 

Now I saw the truth.

 

Felix wasn’t a fantasy. He was real. Messy. Unpredictable. Capable of cruelty and softness in equal measure. And maybe that was worse than him being a lie.

 

Jeongin leaned on my shoulder for a moment, tired. I let him.

 

Somehow, we were still here.

 

Two kids with scraped-up hearts, still trying to survive in a world not built for softness.

 

And tomorrow, we’d wake up and do it all again.

 

---

 

Another month passed.

 

I stopped counting the days. There was no point. They blurred together. Set call times, emails at 2 a.m., coordinating snacks, steaming clothes, following Felix like a shadow. The rhythm of this job wasn’t something you learned. It was something you survived .

 

Today, we were in a studio somewhere in Gangnam. A sleek, high-end building with floor-to-ceiling windows and coffee machines that probably cost more than my rent. Felix had a scheduled recording session for a new single. Something the label was already teasing with moody black-and-white concept photos.

 

Jeongin was handling the snack run.

 

I was on tech support. Which basically meant: hand the aux cord, refill the humidifier, and know where the backup headphones are at all times.

 

Felix had been in the booth for fifteen minutes. Everything was fine. His voice poured through the speakers, clear and sweet as always. Then he screeched.

 

The sharp yelp echoed through the studio.

 

I flinched, nearly spilling the cup of barley tea I’d just poured. The producer paused the track. We all looked at the booth, confused.

 

Felix spun around inside, eyes wide, hands fidgeting behind his back.

 

He opened the door to the booth and pointed directly at me. “Ferret! Come here. Something’s on me.”

 

I blinked. “Wait—what?”

 

“ Now! ” He spun around again, fingers still swatting behind him. “There’s something crawling. It touched my neck. Get it off.”

 

I rushed over, heart pounding. Everyone else was frozen in place, like a scene out of a sitcom. I didn’t know if this was serious or some weird diva panic. Still, I stepped behind him.

 

There it was.

 

A tiny bug, probably just a stray beetle, clinging to the edge of his collar.

 

“It’s just a beetle,” I said gently, reaching out. “Hold still.”

 

I pinched it carefully and flicked it into a tissue. Felix turned slightly, eyes meeting mine for a brief second.

 

We were close. Too close.

 

His lashes were ridiculously long, fanning his eyes. His skin, even under the harsh studio lights, looked smooth, near porcelain. His lips were parted slightly like he’d been holding his breath. His eyes looked up at me, wide, doe, and soft around the edges. I could see the veins in his cornea clearly and his dark brown orbs. It felt like he wanted to close the gap. And I felt his breath…

 

Then he blinked, and it was gone.

 

I stepped back immediately and bowed. “Sorry.”

 

Felix said nothing.

 

He just rolled his eyes and waved me away. “Took you long enough.”

 

And just like that, whatever that moment was gone. Sliced clean in half by his tone.

 

He returned to the booth like nothing happened.

 

Not five minutes later, he was yelling again.

 

“Why is the second verse mixed like that? ” he snapped through the glass. “I told you I wanted more space. The vocal layering sounds like a drowning robot.”

 

The producer, a seasoned man in his forties, raised his eyebrows. “We can adjust it in post. That’s usually how it works—”

 

“No,” Felix cut in. “You’re not hearing me. I don’t want to adjust it in post. I want it done right. ”

 

They went back and forth for ten minutes.

 

Then the composer chimed in. “Felix, the original melody already works. You’re asking us to rebuild the hook from scratch—”

 

“Because it’s boring!” Felix fired back. “It sounds like every other track. You said you wanted something fresh, so let me do it my way.”

 

From my spot near the cables, I exchanged a glance with Jeongin, who had just returned and was now gripping a tray of grape juice boxes like it was a shield.

 

The sound engineer lowered the volume on the monitor, muttering, “It’s gonna be one of those days.”

 

And it was.

 

Felix was on fire. Barking notes, arguing, swiping his hand through his hair like it was everyone else’s fault the session wasn’t going his way. The producer eventually walked out to take a call, muttering something about needing a break before he said something regrettable.

 

Meanwhile, Felix sat slouched in the booth chair, twirling a pen between his fingers, mumbling about how no one ever listens to him. “I know what sells,” he was saying, mostly to himself. “They want to put me in a box. Same sugar-pop bullshit. I’m not a damn puppet.”

 

Jeongin leaned over. “Should we… bring him the juice?”

 

I shook my head. “Let the storm pass first.”

 

But even as I said it, I watched him.

 

Felix. The boy who could do the deep voice but mostly used angel voice and the devil’s temper. The idol who could light up a stadium one day and nearly set a studio on fire the next.

 

Earlier, for a split second, I’d seen his real face. Startled. Unfiltered. Close.

 

And then, like always, he buried it.

 

Behind another argument. Another complaint. Another wall.

 

And me?

 

I was just the Ferret.

 

Still here. Still watching.

 

Still trying to figure out if the moment our eyes met meant anything at all.

 

---

 

The ride back was quiet. At first.

 

Just me, Felix, and the driver. Everyone else, Minho, Jeongin, stylists, manager, were in the other van. I was in the front passenger seat, Felix sprawled across the middle row, phone in hand, scrolling with a bitter kind of tension in his fingers.

 

I could hear the soft buzz of his screen. Then the sudden stillness.

 

“ He blocked me again, ” Felix said out loud.

 

The driver didn’t react. I held my breath.

 

Felix’s voice grew louder. “Again! Can you believe that? After everything—I texted him three times today. Nothing. Then boom—blocked.” His foot hit the back of my seat. “Blocked like I’m some stranger!”

 

I stayed still. I didn’t know what to say.

 

Then, abruptly: “Ferret.”

 

I turned slightly in my seat. “Yes?”

 

Felix leaned forward. I could feel his stare even without looking.

 

“Am I pretty?”

 

I blinked. “What?”

 

“ Am I pretty? ” he snapped.

 

I nodded quickly. “Yes. You are.”

 

He leaned back again, scoffing under his breath. “Exactly. I’m pretty. I’m me. So why the hell would he block me?”

 

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. There was no right answer to that.

 

Felix stared out the window now, his reflection caught in the glass. For a second, he looked small. Not fragile, not fake but just… lost.

 

“Why would he do that?” he said again, softer this time. “He knows I hate that.”

 

His voice cracked. And then, without warning, he started crying.

 

Silent at first, just the sound of his breath hitching. Then his hand wiped furiously at his face, but the tears kept falling. The driver glanced at me in the mirror, unsure, but said nothing.

 

I reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a tissue pack.

 

Twisting around, I offered it to him. He took it without a word.

 

Then he looked at me with wet, bloodshot eyes.

 

“You’re lucky, you know,” he said.

 

I blinked. “What?”

 

“You’re lucky I even let someone like you this close.”

 

I froze. The words hit like cold water. Sharp. Casual. Meant to be a slap, not a conversation.

 

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled.

 

Felix looked away. And just like that, the van was silent again. Just the hum of the engine. The city lights outside blurring past.

 

---

 

Felix’s house was quiet when I arrived.

 

The others had already left after unloading the van. I’d stayed behind to help Minho carry in the last of the boxes. Some new PR kits, two bags of luxury shoes, and a tray of custom protein drinks. Minho had taken a call and disappeared upstairs, leaving me to organize the boxes by the kitchen island.

 

I heard footsteps behind me. I turned and saw Felix.

 

He wore a simple black tank top, hair damp from a shower, skin glowing like he’d just stepped off a skincare ad. He moved like he always did, graceful, casual, like he owned the space around him without even trying.

 

I straightened immediately. “I just finished putting everything by category. Minho said—”

 

“I know,” Felix interrupted, walking closer.

 

I stilled. There was something in the air. Not anger. Not the usual sharp edge I’d come to expect.

 

Just… something heavy. Something warm.

 

He stepped right in front of me, just barely an arm’s length away. My heart climbed into my throat.

 

“You didn’t answer me earlier,” he said, voice quiet.

 

I blinked. “About what?”

 

“Why would Chan block me?”

 

His eyes searched mine like the answer was written across my face.

 

“I don’t know,” I said softly. “I really don’t. I’m sorry.”

 

Felix stepped in closer. His body almost touched mine now. The air between us was so thin I could feel the heat coming off his skin. His gaze dropped to my lips. For a second… just one second, I thought he might kiss me.

 

I didn’t move.

 

I didn’t breathe.

 

I couldn’t.

 

His face was inches from mine. So close I could see the shimmer in his lashes. So close I could smell his shampoo, something soft, peach-like, familiar in a way that made my chest ache.

 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he whispered.

 

I swallowed. “I’m not.”

 

“You are.”

 

Another breath.

 

The tension stretched tight like a pulled thread. One more second and it would snap.

 

Then he leaned in.

 

But not all the way.

 

Our noses nearly touched. And then, like a switch flipped, he stepped back.

 

“Go clean the closet,” he said flatly.

 

Just like that.

 

Like the moment didn’t happen.

 

Like we hadn’t just stood on the edge of something dangerous and intimate and impossibly confusing.

 

I nodded, throat dry. “Yes, sir.”

 

And I walked away with my heartbeat pounding in my ears, wondering what the hell just happened… and why part of me wished it hadn’t stopped.

 

>>>>>>

Notes:

Decided to make this 5 chaps only not 15 ₍^. .^₎⟆

Chapter 3: Bbok Bbok

“You’re fired,” Minho said, voice cold and final.

 

I stared at him. I heard it. I was fired. Yes, I know. But those words didn’t make sense. “What?”

 

He didn’t flinch. “You’re fired.”

 

My stomach dropped. How could I be fired if I was the only one who can calm him down when he had tantrums, when Chan blocked him again, when some new comer got his wants wrong, when everything else was making him mad.

 

Me. I was that person. Or an animal to him.

 

Ferret. He called me more than he called Fox. He wouldn’t let anyone ride with him. Even Minho had to take the other van. I knew everything he wanted. From the number of ice cubes down to the thermostat. 

 

“Why?” I asked, my voice barely coming out. I did my best. I couldn’t find anything that I did lacking. I always got compliments from Felix, even if some were backhanded. 

 

Minho sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose like this was a migraine he’d been waiting to deal with. “Because you’re too handsome.”

 

I blinked. “What?”

 

“You mogged Felix,” he said bluntly. “One of the fan videos went viral. From the studio shoot last week. You were in the background handing him water. The comments were—” he made a vague, annoyed gesture, “—brutal. ‘Who’s the guy in black hoodie?’ ‘Is that his boyfriend?’ ‘Felix looks normal next to him.’”

 

He shook his head. “It pissed him off.”

 

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I didn’t even know what to say to that.

 

Minho walked to the counter and handed me a sealed envelope. “You’ll be compensated. Twice the amount you were supposed to get this month.”

 

I stared at it. Like it was some consolation prize for being… too noticeable. Too visible.

 

“Oh,” Minho added, as if reading my mind, “Don’t forget you signed the NDA. You talk about anything you’ve seen or heard, and legal will find you before the sun sets.”

 

I nodded numbly. My throat burned.

 

And then I cried.

 

Right there, in the empty hallway of Felix’s house, with my contract still warm in my hand. I wasn’t sobbing. I wasn’t loud. It just leaked out of me quietly. Tears slipping down my cheeks as the truth settled into my bones.

 

Apparently, I wasn’t enough to stay. Not invisible enough. Not quiet enough. Not forgettable enough.

 

---

 

After work, I sat outside a convenience store with Jeongin. He’d already heard.

 

“I should’ve messily tied your hair back tighter,” he joked, pushing a can of beer toward me. “Or slapped some mud on your face. Uglified you a bit.”

 

I laughed through the tears. “It’s not funny.”

 

“It kind of is.”

 

I took a sip. The cold hit my throat, bitter and sharp. “I didn’t even do anything.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Just handed him water.”

 

“And smiled,” Jeongin added, grinning. “Your fatal mistake.”

 

I wiped my eyes. “Why does it hurt so much? I knew what he was. I knew he wasn’t who I thought. I boxed up everything. I was over him.”

 

Jeongin leaned back against the metal wall of the store, looking up at the darkening sky. “Because you still wanted him to see you. Even just a little.”

 

I didn’t answer.

 

I didn’t need to.

 

Because he was right.

 

I wanted to be seen. Not by the fans. Not by the world.

 

By Felix.

 

And now, I was just a shadow again. But Jeongin stayed by my side. And that, at least, felt real.

 

---

 

I bed-rotted for two days.

 

Didn’t move. Didn’t shower. Didn’t open the curtains. Just laid there under my blanket like a lump of sadness, flipping between sleep, crying, and watching ceiling shadows stretch with the daylight.

 

Twice I opened the box of Felix stuff. Not because I missed him. God, no. But because I wanted to see if any part of me still felt something. The answer was no. Only bitterness. Regret. And this aching kind of hollowness that comes from being discarded like trash for looking too good.

 

I kept thinking: if I’d just stood further back… if I hadn’t smiled… if I’d worn something uglier.

 

Stupid, right?

 

The one thing I’d always hated about myself was being too visible, too “pretty,” too noticeable and ended up being the reason I got fired from my dream job.

 

On the third morning, I finally got up. Showered. Ate cold rice. Looked at my reflection and told myself, Okay. You’re done sulking. You need to work.

 

Because bills don’t care that Felix kicked you out for having cheekbones.

 

So, I started looking. And believe it or not, I applied to everything .

 

I wasn’t picky. I didn’t have the luxury.

 

Barista. Assistant photographer. Admin clerk. Dog walker. Delivery runner. Retail staff. Café dishwasher. Receptionist. Content moderator. I even applied to be a mascot at a theme park. I was ready to sweat in a giant bear suit if it meant I could afford lunch next week.

 

I tailored every resume, wrote every cover letter. I triple-checked grammar. Googled “how to sound enthusiastic without begging.” I added fake hobbies. Removed the Felix job from my resume entirely.

 

And still, nothing.

 

Every email I opened came with a variation of “We regret to inform you…”

 

One even said I was “overqualified” to wash dishes.

 

Overqualified.

 

I stared at that one for ten straight minutes, then screamed into my pillow.

 

At one point, I went into a convenience store and stared at the “Help Wanted” sign for twenty minutes before walking out because I couldn’t bring myself to ask.

 

I tried handing out my resume in person, but no one called.

 

I refreshed job boards until I memorized the listings.

 

One night, I even considered reapplying to an idol company but I didn’t have the face or stomach for that world anymore.

 

By the end of the week, I was back in bed. Staring at the ceiling again.

 

Wondering if it was always this hard to start over.

 

There’s this thing no one tells you about being a fired ex-PA: once you’ve worked behind the curtain, regular jobs feel like foreign planets. And no one trusts you not to spill secrets, even if you never planned to.

 

I was trying. Really trying.

 

And still, no one wanted me. Not even as a mascot.

 

I grabbed my phone. Typed another email. Another resume. Another long shot.

 

And hit send.

 

Then I curled back into my blanket and waited for silence to answer again.

 

---

 

I was mid-sulk, unshowered and half-buried in my blanket, when Jeongin knocked on my door with a six-pack of beer and a pet carrier.

 

“You’re not allowed to rot in bed forever,” he said as soon as I opened the door.

 

“I’m trying,” I muttered, voice hoarse.

 

He raised the carrier like it was sacred. “I brought Pepsi.”

 

Inside, his pet lizard blinked once, looking both tired and disappointed in me.

 

“You brought your lizard?”

 

“He’s more emotionally stable than you right now,” Jeongin said, walking straight into my apartment like he lived there.

 

I didn’t stop him. Because I didn’t have the energy. Because part of me needed it. And because he still worked for him , and yet here he was.

 

We ended up sitting on the floor of my tiny apartment, backs against the couch, a can of beer each. Pepsi sat quietly beside us in his little carrier, entirely unbothered. My place was dim, save for the soft glow of the TV playing reruns of a cooking show we weren’t even watching.

 

The silence between us wasn’t awkward, it was easy. Familiar. The kind you can only have with someone who’s seen you cry and didn’t say anything, just handed you a drink and sat beside you.

 

I cracked open another beer and sighed. “So, how’s hell?”

 

Jeongin snorted. “Hell’s been screaming about his toner levels and yelling at his stylist for folding a shirt the ‘wrong way.’ You know. Just another Tuesday.”

 

I managed a weak laugh. “I don’t miss that part.”

 

“You miss some part, though,” he said, giving me a side glance.

 

I hesitated. “I miss… feeling useful.”

 

Jeongin didn’t say anything for a moment. Then: “It’s weird without you.”

 

I looked over.

 

“I keep expecting you to make dumb faces behind his back,” he said. “Or complain in code. Or mouth ‘help me’ while he monologues to the lighting guy.”

 

“Didn’t think I’d be missed.”

 

“You are,” he said simply, sipping his beer. “By me, at least.”

 

I smiled, but it didn’t last long. “I still can’t believe I got fired for being too handsome. That’s not real. That’s not a real reason.”

 

“It is when the universe decides to make you prettier than your boss.”

 

“Nah, he’s prettier than me. Especially those damn freckles. He looks like he is an angel or or at least a fairy—” I cut my self spewing train of nice words who almost forgot he was a monster. I lowered my voice. “He could’ve just… not looked at me.”

 

“He did, though,” Jeongin said, raising an eyebrow. “A lot.”

 

I blinked several times in disbelief. “You noticed?”

 

“Hyunjin, he stared at you like you were his reflection and he didn’t like what he saw.”

 

I sighed again and let my head fall back against the couch. “God. What a mess.”

 

“I don’t know. He doesn’t look at me whenever I was explaining something to him. However, he stared at you while you were talking. From start of your sentence to the last word.” He sighed. “Also, I always caught him looking at you like he wanted to put you in his pocket.”

 

“What? To make me his Labubu? That ugly monster?” I grimaced, scrutinizing my friend.

 

Jeongin nudged a new can of beer toward me. “Yeah right, you’re way too handsome to be a Labubu. Maybe a La-baby will do. Cheers to being unemployed and unreasonably hot.”

 

I clinked mine against his. “Cheers to surviving Felix Lee.”

 

We sat like that for a while. Talking about everything except the big, unspoken thing. Him still being there. Me not.

 

I tried not to ask, but eventually it slipped out. “Has he said anything? About me?”

 

Jeongin looked down at his beer. “Not directly.”

 

“But?”

 

“He’s quieter. Angrier. He keeps asking Minho to change assistants, but he won’t say why.”

 

“Typical.”

 

“He’s not the same without you. He even called me Ferret multiple times then rolled his eyes before correcting himself. He even said I’m a useless Fox without Ferret.”

 

I wanted that to mean something. I wanted it to be more than coincidence. But it didn’t change the fact that I was here and he was… him.

 

“I still check his name online,” I admitted, voice low. “I don’t know why. I don’t even like him anymore.”

 

“Yeah,” Jeongin said, soft. “But you loved the version you made up. The soft boy that everyone loves. Including you. You dedicated your life for a person you barely know. You called him my angel.”

 

I stayed quiet.

 

Because he was right. No matter how bad he was in person, I always owe him my life. He was the reason I was still here and didn’t give up during those darkest moments.

 

Guess it was true to ‘never meet your superheroes in real life.’ Because you will be disappointed. They’re just humans after all. With real emotions, real feelings. They’re not perfect. And some even wear masks in front of fans.

 

After all, that was just his job as an idol. Train hard, debut, build a fanbase, give fan service, smile at the camera, create music, do concerts, meet fans, sell merch, bag that money.

 

But I hope he realized he literally changed lives… including mine. I mean, not him firing me. I mean, him, giving me a reason to continue living when I wanted to unalive myself before.

 

Eventually, the mood softened. We started laughing over nothing. memes, dumb rumors, the time Jeongin tripped in front of Felix and pretended he meant to kneel. I told him he was brave for going back every day.

 

“Brave or broke,” he said, raising his can.

 

We drank more than we should have. Laughed harder than we meant to. Pepsi watched us like we were idiots.

 

But for the first time in days, I felt like myself again. Not the failed assistant. Not the rejected fanboy.

 

Just Hyunjin.

 

And Jeongin was still Jeongin. Friend. Survivor. Fellow idiot.

 

And maybe, even with everything crashing down, nights like this made it bearable. Made the sadness smaller. Made the silence warmer.

 

Even if Felix never looked at me again.

 

Even if I was just the ghost of someone who once stood in his light.

 

---

 

The next day, I woke up to nothing.

 

No job offers. No emails. No missed calls. Not even a “we’ll keep your resume on file” rejection. Just silence. I laid in bed for an hour, staring at my cracked ceiling, wondering if it was possible to physically rot from unemployment.

 

Then I opened my phone.

 

Big mistake.

 

Felix was trending. Again.

 

I shouldn’t have clicked. I told myself not to, but I did. Out of habit. Out of pettiness. Out of that sick little ache in my chest that hadn’t fully gone away.

 

#SunshineFelix

#FelixAtTheStudio

#SoftestBoyEver

 

There were new preview pictures from the studio session two days ago. One shot had Felix in a hoodie, hugging a coffee cup with a sleepy smile. The caption said something like, “So gentle even in the morning!”

 

Gentle?

 

I scoffed. I’d seen him throw a shoe at a stylist for bringing the wrong lip balm.

 

It pissed me off.

 

I zoomed in on the photo. His lashes looked long. His mouth slightly parted, like he hadn’t even noticed someone was taking his picture. Soft, sweet, painfully beautiful.

 

I hated him.

 

I hated how good he looked.

 

I hated that he still got to smile and trend and drink overpriced oat milk lattes while I was here, jobless, eating rice crackers for dinner.

 

So I did something stupid.

 

I made a dummy account on X.

 

@truthgrape96. No profile pic. No followers. The kind of account made just to be ignored or loud.

 

Then I started typing.

 

“Anyone else think Felix’s whole soft boy thing is an act? Just me?”

 

Posted.

 

“Y’all need to stop pretending he’s some angel when he clearly treats his staff like crap behind the scenes lol”

 

Posted.

 

I didn’t tag him. I wasn’t that stupid. I didn’t even use hashtags. Just… vague jabs. Things I knew to be true. Things only someone close would understand but nothing incriminating enough to point back to me .

 

It felt gross.

 

But it also felt good.

 

A little release. A way to scream into the void without breaking the NDA or losing what was left of my dignity.

 

I stared at the account. No one had noticed. No one liked or reposted it.

 

Still, I tossed my phone across the bed and stared at the ceiling again.

 

Until my screen lit up.

 

A message. From someone I hadn’t heard from in years.

 

[Soojin (HS Dance Club 💃): Heyyy Hyunjin? Random question. u still looking for work?]

 

I frowned.

 

[Hyunjin: yup y?]

 

Her typing bubble appeared instantly.

 

[Soojin: I’ve got something. Kind of random but $$$. U interested?]

 

[Hyunjin: Depends. What is it?]

 

[Soojin: OnlyFans]

 

I stared.

 

What.

 

I waited for a follow-up. A “jk.” A laughing emoji. Something.

 

Nothing came.

 

[Soojin: our team needs another acc to manage. i do it. Easy money. You’ve got the look, tbh. Just post once or twice a week. Can blur your face if ur shy.]

 

I blinked again. I sat up.

 

OnlyFans?

 

I looked around my disaster of a room. Empty ramen cups. A dying plant. My laptop with fifty tabs of failed applications. A cold beer from last night still on the floor.

 

Then I looked at myself in the mirror across the room. Hair a mess. Eyes puffy. Still somehow… pretty.

 

Too pretty, apparently.

 

Pretty enough to get fired.

 

Maybe pretty enough to get paid.

 

My phone buzzed again.

 

[Soojin: I can help u set it up. Think about it 😘 ]

 

And I did. God help me, I did.

 

But, hear me out.

 

I didn’t take the OnlyFans job.

 

I hovered over it for hours. Clicked through the setup. Drafted a bio. Deleted it. Then opened the app again. It wasn’t that I was ashamed. Honestly, after everything, shame felt kind of irrelevant. It was more that I couldn’t bring myself to fully cross that invisible line between desperation and surrender.

 

Still, curiosity got the better of me.

 

I made an anonymous account. Just to look. One second I was browsing out of boredom, the next… I stopped.

 

There was a body on the screen. No face. Just abs, arms, a lazy lean on a couch. All dimly lit. Sensual. Confident.

 

I stared.

 

It was the body type that caught me first. Slim, defined, pale. Familiar. And I don’t mean in the “seen-it-once” kind of way. No. I mean the knew-every-line kind of familiar. My stomach twisted.

 

“Felix?” I muttered.

 

I leaned in.

 

It couldn’t be. The photos didn’t show the face. Just angles. Carefully posed shots showing enough to stir curiosity but not enough to identify.

 

I clicked the next one.

 

And then another.

 

Then I saw it.

 

A tattoo.

 

Low on the abdomen. Very low. Just near the line of his underwear. Practically flirting with exposure. A small, barely-there cartoon of a chicken’s head. Simple. Cute. Dumb.

 

I looked hard. “Come on…”

 

It was right above—well. That. Above the penis’ head when erected. Too intimate. Too close.

 

And yet…

 

Felix liked chicken motifs. Had a chick emoji in his bio once. Owned yellow chick socks. Hell, he’d even called himself “chickling” during a livestream months ago.

 

But still.

 

“That’s not Felix,” I said aloud. “Just same body type.”

 

My voice sounded hollow.

 

There was no evidence. No face. No timestamp. Anyone could have that build. Anyone could get that tattoo.

 

And Felix would never post anything like this. He’s still my angel? He might be treating everyone else bad but he won’t do this. He’s rich. Why would he post his naked body here? No, he won’t do this. Right? 

 

…Right?

 

I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was the frustration. The rejection. The months of being screamed at and humiliated only to be discarded like I was nothing. Or maybe it was just the wrong emotion at the worst time.

 

I grabbed the screenshot.

 

Opened my burner X account. And uploaded it. No tags. No names. Just one line:

 

“Not so innocent, huh.”

 

It wasn’t a lie. I didn’t say it was him. I didn’t say it wasn’t. I left it open, like bait in the water.

 

My heart thudded in my chest.

 

Part of me told myself I was just stirring the pot. That it was meaningless. That no one would even notice.

 

But part of me wanted it to explode. Because he got to keep smiling. He got to keep his stage, his followers, his fans chanting his name like he hadn’t made me feel small.

 

And me?

 

I was broke. Alone. Reduced to guessing games in the dark and watching from the outside.

 

The post gained traction faster than I expected.

 

Likes. Comments. Shares.

 

Some laughed. Some gasped. Some defended him. Some didn’t.

 

I just sat there, staring at my phone.

 

And told myself it wasn’t personal. Even if it was.

 

---

 

I woke up to my phone buzzing non-stop.

 

At first, I thought maybe someone had finally responded to one of the thirty job applications I’d sent out. I reached for it with groggy fingers, eyes still adjusting to the morning light. Then I saw the notifications.

 

And my heart stopped.

 

#ChickenTattoo was trending.

#FelixExposed

#FelixScandal

 

There were thousands of tweets. Thousands. People dissecting the photo, reposting edited versions, slowing down fancams to match skin tone and body proportions. It was everywhere. Some were laughing. Others were furious. Some were defending him like their lives depended on it.

 

I shot up in bed, heart pounding. My phone screen blurred for a second as I tried to process what I was seeing.

 

Felix’s company, his actual agency, had released an official statement.

 

The circulating photo is being investigated. We ask fans to refrain from spreading unverified content. Legal action will be taken against false claims and defamation.

 

I froze. My mouth went dry. What have I done?

 

I tossed the phone onto the blanket, like it burned me. I stared at the wall, my pulse racing. Last night it felt like petty revenge. Something stupid and wild and small. But this… this was a storm I didn’t mean to start.

 

A wave of guilt hit me hard.

 

He may have been cold. Cruel. He may have humiliated me and discarded me like trash but I still knew what this kind of scandal could do. Especially when it was sexual. Especially with him —the golden boy. The flawless one.

 

The one fans swore was too pure to even kiss.

 

I paced the room, raking my hands through my hair. I should delete the tweet. I should log out and throw my phone into the sea.

 

But then I remembered his voice, sharp and condescending, calling me lucky just to be near him. I remembered him crying in a van while he looked away. I remembered getting fired for the crime of existing beside him.

 

I stared at the phone again.

 

And before I could talk myself out of it, I opened X and typed:

 

“You want the truth? I’m a sasaeng. I hacked his phone. There’s more where that came from.”

 

Posted.

 

A lie. A stupid, reckless, dangerous lie. But one I knew would catch fire.

 

And it did.

 

People went feral in the comments. Some believed it.

 

“Of course he has nudes. They’re all fake anyway.”

“WAIT. Did you really hack him?!”

“This is too detailed to be fake…”

 

Others weren’t buying it.

 

“This is clearly fan fiction.”

“No real sasaeng would admit it this easily.”

“Stop slandering him. We know Felix. He’s not like this.”

 

The internet split down the middle. But they were talking. Which meant I’d done something irreversible.

 

I sat back down on the edge of my bed, my hands shaking.

 

The buzz of my phone hadn’t stopped all morning. New follows. DMs. Mentions. People digging. People guessing.

 

I knew it was only a matter of time before someone found something. A connection. A timestamp. A flicker of a guess that the quiet assistant with the too-pretty face might know more than he let on.

 

And beneath the buzz and attention and chaos.

 

I felt sick.

 

The kind of sick that doesn’t sit in your stomach but curls into your spine. That hum of knowing you’ve crossed a line you can’t uncross. That you’ve done something permanent.

 

I hated him.

 

I did.

 

But maybe I hated myself a little more.

 

I wasn’t planning on running into anyone, especially not Jeongin. But there he was, in the corner store, standing in front of the drinks fridge like he’d just forgotten how to read.

 

“Hyunjin?” he called, holding two bottles of banana milk. “You’re alive?”

 

“Barely,” I muttered.

 

Next to him was another guy. Good looking, puppy-eyed, hoodie up. He nodded once, then went back to texting.

 

“That’s Seungmin,” Jeongin added. “My roommate. He hates everything.”

 

“Hey,” Seungmin said flatly.

 

“Hi,” I replied, awkward.

 

Jeongin glanced at the instant noodles in my hand. “You’re not seriously eating that alone in the dark again.”

 

“It’s a lifestyle now.”

 

He stared at me for a second, then sighed. “Come over. We have snacks. Seungmin just restocked the fridge. And I’m not letting you turn into mold in your apartment.”

 

I hesitated.

 

“C’mon,” he added. “You don’t even have to talk. You can just sit there and judge us silently.”

 

Seungmin spoke up, deadpan: “That’s what I do.”

 

Somehow, that sold me.

 

Their apartment was small but comfortable. Posters taped to the walls, a lizard tank on the shelf, an open bag of shrimp chips on the coffee table. We sat on the floor with drinks and random snacks while a variety show played softly in the background. It wasn’t anything grand but it felt like a pocket of air I didn’t know I needed.

 

Jeongin was doing most of the talking, mostly about nothing. Seungmin chimed in with sarcastic one-liners, most of which Jeongin ignored. I just sat there listening, slowly relaxing, the dull throb in my chest easing a little with every passing minute.

 

It was nice.

 

Then Jeongin brought him up.

 

“You saw Felix trending again, right?”

 

My shoulders stiffened before I could stop it. “Yeah.”

 

Seungmin scoffed. “What’s it this time? Another crying fancam?”

 

“No,” Jeongin said, tossing a rice cracker into his mouth. “The photo.”

 

Seungmin looked up. “The…?”

 

“You didn’t see? There’s this sensual photo making the rounds. No face, but people think it’s him. Like, really think it’s him.”

 

I kept my eyes on the can in my hands.

 

“Oh,” Seungmin said, unimpressed. “And what does Felix say?”

 

Jeongin rolled his eyes. “He’s denying it, obviously. Said in the press release he doesn’t even have a tattoo.”

 

My stomach dropped. Of course he denied it. Of course he would.

 

No one knew about the chicken tattoo. No one ever saw it. No one ever should’ve. It was in the photo I posted. The photo I still told myself was probably not even him.

 

“He’s freaking out about it at work,” Jeongin continued. “Legal’s involved now. He’s saying someone faked the photo, that it’s defamation. Said he’s going to sue for harassment.”

 

I tried to act casual. “Really?”

 

“Yeah,” Jeongin said. “They’re trying to track whoever uploaded it. I heard Minho talking to the company’s lawyer this morning. Felix is furious. Like wants-to-stab-someone kind of mad.”

 

I took a sip of my beer to hide the way my hand was shaking.

 

Seungmin raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it kind of dumb, though? Freaking out over a tattoo no one even confirmed was his?”

 

Jeongin shrugged. “He’s always been sensitive about private stuff. But yeah, no one really knows if it’s even him. The body’s cropped. Could be anyone.”

 

Could be.

 

And I knew it.

 

Because I was the one who screenshotted it from a random OnlyFans user. The username was even far from Felix. It was bbokari69. What did it even mean?

 

And suddenly, the guilt that had been simmering low and slow in my chest for days surged.

 

They didn’t know. No one did. No one had noticed me. No one had asked why I disappeared.

 

No one had looked at the shaky little burner account that dropped the photo like a poison pill.

 

And here I was, sitting in their apartment, laughing at dumb shows, pretending I hadn’t just detonated a bomb in Felix’s career because I couldn’t handle being invisible.

 

“You okay?” Jeongin asked, nudging me lightly.

 

I nodded, fast. “Yeah. Just tired.”

 

He believed me.

 

Seungmin passed me another can. “Don’t fall asleep. We’re doing a dumb horror movie marathon after this.”

 

“Can’t wait,” I said weakly. And I sat there.

 

Holding the drink in my hands. Smiling with my friends. While a secret burned behind my teeth.

 

---

 

The next few days, I didn’t open the app. Hell, I barely touched my phone at all. I threw it into the laundry basket like it was radioactive and let it die there. No charging, no checking.

 

I deactivated the account. Deleted the burner email. I told myself I was done. Done with that world. Done with stupid choices.

 

Instead, I focused on looking for a real job. Like a decent, boring, soul-draining job that didn’t involve fame or Felix or scandal.

 

LinkedIn. Jobstreet. Even Reddit forums.

 

Nothing.

 

I’d scroll until the listings blurred into static. “Administrative Assistant, 2 years experience.” “Barista: Must be Fast, Friendly, and Familiar With Latte Art.” “Customer Support: Fluent in Korean and English.” “Urgent Hiring: Pet Hotel Cleaner.”

 

I clicked “apply” until I didn’t know what I was applying to anymore. Sometimes I just sat and stared. Other times, I wrote cover letters I’d never send. I restructured my résumé, added fake references, even lied about knowing Excel like a pro.

 

Nothing. No replies. Not even a rejection email.

 

The curtain in my apartment hung limp like it had given up on sunlight. The air felt stale, like breath stuck in a mouth that had forgotten how to exhale. I got up slowly, joints aching even though I hadn’t moved in hours, and shuffled to the kitchen.

 

I opened my tiny fridge, hoping for a miracle.

 

Inside: one sad egg, bottom shelf. A half garlic clove. A shriveled piece of ginger I didn’t remember buying.

 

I stared at it for a long time.

 

It felt personal. Like even the fridge was mocking me. I closed it and headed for the bathroom, figuring at least a shower could wash away the stink of failure.

 

I looked in the mirror.

 

My reflection looked like a ghost that hadn’t figured out how to haunt anyone. Sunken eyes, dry lips. Skin pale but not pretty. The kind of face you’d forget seeing. Hoodie hair. My jaw had a faint purple bruise from when I accidentally elbowed myself in sleep. I stared at it. I didn’t even flinch.

 

I brushed my teeth with mouthwash because I’d run out of toothpaste. Washed my face with body soap. Wore a hoodie that didn’t smell. Folded some printed CVs I still had from last week into my backpack.

 

Might as well walk and hand them out like it’s 2004.

 

I headed down the apartment stairs, my headphones in but no music playing.

 

That’s when I saw it.

 

A sleek black van parked directly in front of the apartment complex . Tinted windows. Engine running.

 

Weird.

 

I paused on the second-to-last step, frowning.

 

Then two men stepped out. I didn’t recognize them. Both in black caps, masks, wearing jackets zipped to the neck.

 

“Hyunjin?” one of them asked. I froze. “Yeah?” I said warily.

 

Then everything happened too fast.

 

One grabbed my arm. The other gripped the back of my hoodie like a leash and yanked.

 

“HEY! WHAT THE FUCK—”

 

I struggled, kicked, thrashed, but they were stronger. Not bulky, but practiced. Like this wasn’t the first time they’d done this.

 

They dragged me to the van, shoved me inside.

 

“HELP!” I screamed, but the door slammed and muted the sound.

 

Hands pinned mine behind my back. Rope. Cold and rough, slicing into my wrist. I writhed like an animal as one of them blindfolded me.

 

“No! Please! I didn’t—PLEASE—”

 

“Quiet,” a voice said. Calm. Cold.

 

I couldn’t see. I couldn’t move. My own heartbeat was so loud it sounded like gunshots behind my eyes.

 

I tried to remember if I had enemies. Real ones. Not Felix. Not fans. But someone who would go this far? 

 

What if this wasn’t about the post? Because I knew Felix won’t do something like this. I was expecting a warrant of arrest or a call from a court because I knew he will sue me.

 

What if this was really it?

What if they weren’t going to ask me questions?

What if they just wanted me gone ?

 

I thought of my mom.

 

I thought of Jeongin’s stupid lizard.

 

I thought of the sad egg in my fridge.

 

The van moved. I felt every bump and curve. My head thudded once against the seat. The rope burned my wrists when I shifted. My mouth was dry from screaming.

 

I wanted to throw up.

 

I thought if I died today, no one would even notice. That was the worst part. Not the fear. Not the ropes. But the thought that the world would keep going like I never existed.

 

We drove for what felt like forever. I tried to track turns, count time. Gave up.

 

Then, finally, the engine stopped.

 

Doors opened.

 

One man yanked me out, still blindfolded. Still bound. My knees scraped gravel. My breath hitched.

 

Then a voice. Unfamiliar. Sharp.

 

“Bring him in.”

 

They dragged me forward, my feet stumbling. Each step sounded like an echo. A hallway?

 

Tile?

 

Then silence. The blindfold came off.

 

Light stabbed my eyes. Everything blurred.

 

And standing in front of me was someone I prayed to never see again.

 

Felix.

 

Not the soft, glowy version. Not the angel. But the real one. Cold. Calculating. And furious.

 

“Hyunjin, my ferret,” he said slowly, like tasting my name. My heart slammed against my ribs. He stepped forward. One foot. Then another.

 

I took a shaking breath and tried to speak. But my voice cracked before it even left my throat.

 

Felix smiled. Not kindly.

 

“Did you really think you’d get away with it?” he whispered.

 

And I knew, this wasn’t a dream.

 

This was hell .

 

The room was silent, but my pulse was louder than anything I’d ever heard.

 

Felix stood too close in front of me. I was kneeling.

 

Not because he told me to, at first. But because my legs gave out the second the door locked behind the men in suits. He had told them to leave. And they did, no hesitation. As if they already knew what was coming.

 

He stared at me like I wasn’t a person. Like I was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

 

And still… he was beautiful.

 

Too beautiful for someone so dangerous.

 

His blond hair was now in pastel pink and messy bun, bangs curling at the ends, soft as if he’d just rolled out of bed. He looked like a sweet strawberry cotton candy. He was in a formal suit and tie, and his lips… they looked gentle, glossy, like he had just kissed someone with too much hunger.

 

But his eyes were anything but soft.

 

His eyes were knives.

 

He crouched to my level, silently. I dared not meet his gaze. My knees hurt on the cold concrete floor. My hands trembled, still bound behind.

 

“You’re quieter than usual,” he said.

 

I tried to breathe, but air barely came.

 

“You were loud online,” he continued, voice like velvet over steel. “So creative. So bold.”

 

I swallowed, but my throat was dry. “I—”

 

“Ah, ah, ah,” he clicked his tongue, standing again and circling me slowly. “Don’t ruin the moment. Let me enjoy this.”

 

His steps were slow. Measured. He stopped behind me, and I felt the air shift. The back of my neck was wet with sweat.

 

Then, he laughed.

 

A quiet chuckle, almost boyish.

 

“Did you think I wouldn’t find you?” he said, calm again, as if asking about the weather. “You thought you were clever?”

 

“Sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” I whispered.

 

“No,” he agreed. “You weren’t.”

 

He came to stand in front of me again. I looked up this time, just for a second.

 

Wrong move.

 

His expression shifted instantly, eyes wild, lips twitching like he might scream.

 

Or smile.

 

It was impossible to tell.

 

“I should destroy you,” he said, voice dropping. “I should ruin your name the way you tried to ruin mine.”

 

My chest rose and fell quickly. Too quickly. I couldn’t breathe right. “I didn’t mean to—” I started.

 

“Didn’t mean to?” he echoed, eyebrows lifting. “You uploaded a stranger’s dick and said it was mine.”

 

“I was angry—”

 

“You think I care?” he snapped.

 

And then… silence. A long one.

 

He stared at me, tilting his head like a curious cat. Something passed through his eyes, something sharp and unreadable.

 

“You’re still a fan, aren’t you?”

 

I blinked, unsure how to answer.

 

“You know what’s funny?” he said softly. “You hate me now, but you used to love me.”

 

He crouched again. This time, closer.

 

I didn’t flinch when his hand reached for me but I should have.

 

He grabbed my chin, forcing my gaze up.

 

“I saw the poems,” he whispered. “Your blog since my debut. The art. You made me into a god.”

 

Oh shit. I already forgot I had tumblr account I handled for two years and forgot the password. It was now just an abandoned fansite.

 

He was smiling now.

 

It was terrifying.

 

“You wanted me so bad,” he continued, leaning in. “And now you want me gone. It’s poetic, really.”

 

My whole body shook. Then he released me. Stood up. Walked to the table. Picked up a small bottle of water.

 

Drank.

 

I stayed where I was, eyes on the ground, waiting for something, for anything.

 

“Watch me,” he said.

 

I did.

 

Slowly.

 

He walked toward me again. No anger this time. Just something colder. A decision made.

 

Then without warning, he bent down and kissed me.

 

It wasn’t soft.

 

It wasn’t kind.

 

It wasn’t anything I’d dreamed it would be back when I still adored him.

 

It was violent.

 

His hand tangled in my hair, tugging back roughly, as if punishing me for every word I ever wrote against him. His mouth crushed mine with bitter heat. It didn’t feel like affection. It felt like war. A quiet, brutal message: you don’t get to touch me unless I allow it.

 

When he pulled away, I gasped for air, dazed, lips stinging.

 

He stood again, fixing his sleeve.

 

“I could ruin you,” he said. “I still might.”

 

And then he turned to the door. Knocked twice. The lock clicked from the outside.

 

Two suited men stepped in.

 

He didn’t look back as he said, “bring him to the penthouse.”

 

>>>>>

Notes:

Are u guys still reading this? 👀