Peachy

by Timmy_turner28

Summary:

The Saja Boys are one of the biggest K-pop boy groups in the world. The four of them are prepping for a world tour for their new album Peachy! Everything’s going to plan—until the news breaks that a soloist will be joining them on the tour and featuring in one of their songs. And Abby… he falls hard. Too hard to be correct. So hard that he doesn’t notice the signs that something’s off about their new tour mate. But that can wait, can’t it?

Idk how I feel about the title so I might change throughout the story, or maybe not.

Notes:

We’re back! Soooooo back!!!

Chapter 1: Dairy boy

Backstage, the air was thick with the smell of hairspray, old coffee, and sweaty costumes. The fake leather couches were uncomfortably warm under the buzzing mirror lights, which threw sleepy rings of light onto the walls. A crumpled protein bar wrapper poking out from under the coffee table showed just how exhausted everyone was after the show.

Abby was sprawled on the couch, stuck between falling asleep and being awake, with stage makeup smudged under his eyes. His hoodie was half off one shoulder, and he could feel a good kind of heaviness in his body from performing. The adrenaline rush was long gone, leaving just a nice weight in his arms and a familiar ache in his knees—reminders of every step and leap he’d taken under those bright lights.

Jinu flopped onto the armrest beside him with a sigh.

“Seoul’s already sold out.”

Abby cracked one eye open.

“That was fast.”

“Pre-sale barely lasted twenty minutes. I refreshed the site, and the fan servers were already crashing.”

Across the room, Baby was doing lunges in front of the mirror, as if they hadn’t just performed full choreography for two hours.

“Do we have the full list of tour cities yet?”

“Mostly,” Jinu said, scrolling on his phone. “Busan, Tokyo, Bangkok, Toronto, Singapore, LA, New York, Berlin. Europe leg’s still being finalized.”

“Do we get more rest days this time?” Abby asked.

“Define ‘rest,’” Jinu replied.

Mystery, stretched out on the floor with a hoodie over his face, let out a low groan.

“They’re giving us one-day turnarounds again, aren’t they?”

Jinu didn’t answer.

“That’s a yes,” Baby muttered.

Abby pushed himself upright and reached for the bottled water on the table.

“When are we dropping the tracklist?”

“Next week,” Jinu said. “They want to announce the concept first, do the teaser photos, then roll out the previews.”

“Do we even know what the concept is?” Mystery asked.

Baby’s grin peeked out from behind his water bottle. “I overheard the stylists. It’s called Peachy.”

Abby blinked. “Peachy?”

“Think retro summers. Warm, glowing colors. Innocent, soft—” he smirked, “—but not too soft. It’s playful. They want us to toe the line.”  

Jinu raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”  

“Meaning short sleeves, flushed cheeks, leaning close in photos like you’re sharing a secret. Youthful, but a little scandalous if you look long enough.”  

Mystery pulled his hood down just enough to frown. “So basically they want us to sell crushes?” 

“Exactly,” Baby replied with a nod.  

Abby let out a short laugh. It sounded ridiculous, but he could already picture it—their smiles caught half in shadow, a soda can passed between two hands, a thin current of tension threading through the light. It was a concept that looked innocent until you lingered too long. 

“Apparently, the label’s calling it a love letter to youth,” Baby read from his phone, running a hand through his hair. “Bright, feel-good, but subtle. They want something that makes people ache a little without knowing why.”  

Abby leaned back again, letting the thought settle. After years of sharp edges and heavy styling, the idea felt… strangely disarming.

“Sounds like breathing out,” he said quietly. Like something they hadn’t done in years.

The others didn’t argue. For once, nobody teased him.

There was a knock on the door before anyone could say more. Their manager poked her head in.

“Final sweep in ten. Change out of your stage clothes, grab your things, and don’t forget—9 a.m. call time tomorrow. Full-day tour rehearsal.”

Everyone groaned.

The door closed again.

Baby slung his bag over his shoulder. “Convenience store run. I’m starving.”

“Didn’t you eat half the green room spread?” Jinu asked, but he stood anyway.

Mystery followed, slow and reluctant, but his hood was already up. Abby pulled his hoodie tighter, grabbed his mask, and trailed them out into the warm night air.

The convenience store near the studio was tucked beneath a pharmacy, next to a claw machine that hadn’t worked in over a year. It was nearly empty at this hour, except for the soft buzz of coolers and flickering neon lights.

They walked in like shadows—hoods up, masks on, voices low.

Baby darted toward the drink aisle and held up a neon-orange soda like he’d just discovered treasure.

“Dinner of champions.”

Jinu rolled his eyes and reached straight for cold coffee.

“More like sugar crash of champions.”

Mystery lingered by the instant noodles, browsing through cup lids one by one as if the fine print held some secret code.

Abby wandered the snack aisle without much thought. He wasn’t hungry—just caught somewhere between wired and worn out. He picked up a bag of gummies anyway. Jinu glanced at it and gave a sideways smirk.

“Starting method acting early?”

Abby frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“The concept. Sweet, soft, all that.” Jinu plucked the bag from his hand and tossed in an extra soda. “Gummies fit the role.”

“Shut up,” Abby muttered, but his ears warmed under his hood.

Baby came back with enough food for three people balanced in his arms.

“Emergency morale booster,” he announced, unloading his haul into the basket.

Mystery raised a rice ball and a canned energy drink, as if it were evidence.

“I’m good.”

Baby gave him a flat look. “That’s not a meal.”

“I’ve got protein bars in my hoodie.”

“That’s concerning,” Baby shot back.

“That’s just Mystery,” Jinu deadpanned.

They made it through self-checkout with their usual clumsy efficiency, piling everything into plastic bags and slipping back out onto the street. The city felt calmer now—muted, sleepy, almost kind. For a few blocks, they walked in silence, chewing and thinking.

“Do you think we’ll make it through the tour without anyone breaking?” Baby asked suddenly.

“Define breaking,” Jinu replied.

“Like, actual tears. Meltdown territory.”

“Then no.”

“Abby?” Baby asked.

Abby didn’t look over.

“Not first.”

Laughter broke the tension—something they hadn’t realized had been sitting with them all along. For a moment, they weren’t idols, weren’t products. Just boys out past midnight, carrying plastic bags that rattled with snacks. The dorm wasn’t far. The others filed inside, mumbling goodnights. Abby lingered outside a moment longer, watching the city lights buzz against the night sky.

 

Abby woke to the sound of Baby rifling through cabinets. The dorm was dim, blinds still drawn, and everyone was moving like shadows. Practice loomed, but breakfast supplies were nonexistent.

“We need food,” Baby muttered, slamming a cupboard shut. “Unless you guys want to survive on instant noodles.”

“Didn’t you buy half the convenience store last night?” Jinu grumbled from the couch, hair sticking up in all directions.

“Snacks don’t count.”

Within minutes, the four of them had dragged themselves out the door, hoodies up and masks on. The morning air was cool, soft with sunlight that hadn’t turned harsh yet. Their sneakers scuffed against the pavement as they moved down the quiet street, voices low and uneven with sleep. The grocery store was only a few blocks away, tucked beneath a row of apartments. Delivery trucks idled out front, and the glass doors breathed cold air into the already warm morning. Inside, fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, too sharp for the hour.

Baby made a beeline for the fruit section, holding up apples like trophies.

“Healthy era,” he said.

Jinu muttered something about needing caffeine and disappeared toward the coffee aisle. Mystery crouched near the drinks cooler, methodically checking labels like he was decoding a puzzle. Abby trailed after them, basket in hand, tossing in milk, bananas, and ice packs for sore knees. The ordinariness of it all felt strangely comforting, like they were just boys on a grocery run instead of idols about to throw themselves into weeks of rehearsals.

He was reaching for a pack of yogurt when something stopped him.

Down the aisle, near the rows of bottled water, stood someone Abby didn’t recognize. A stranger—but not one he could ignore.

He had long, pale pink hair tied back loosely, with platinum-blond bangs that fell softly over his forehead. His features were gentle but arresting—eyelids heavy like he hadn’t slept, lips faintly parted in thought, cheekbones smooth under the cold store light. He wore a basic white T-shirt under a lemon-yellow cardigan, tucked into simple blue jeans. Nothing flashy. Nothing branded. But the colors—bright, soft, sunlit—made him stand out like a brushstroke in the middle of something gray.

His frame was slender, partially hidden behind the loose cardigan, sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal slim wrists. He moved slowly, thoughtfully, pushing a half-full cart and scanning labels like the world wasn’t rushing around him.

Abby just stared.

Something about him made time feel syrupy—like it slowed down just enough for the image to burn itself in. Even under awful fluorescent lights, surrounded by cereal boxes and stacked pallets of soda, the boy looked… unreal. Not perfect, exactly. Just beautiful in a way Abby couldn’t define.

He realized too late that he hadn’t moved.

Then came Baby’s voice, deadpan and loud enough to sting:

“Okay, stop gawking at the pretty boy in the dairy aisle like it’s your debut drama.”

Abby startled, blinking hard.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” Baby said, already turning back to the juice boxes. “We’re here for carbs, not crushes.”

Heat shot up Abby’s neck. He shoved the yogurt into the basket and yanked his hood lower. When he risked one last glance, the boy was already turning the corner with his cart, long pink hair swaying behind him.

Gone.

The others didn’t notice—or if they did, no one said anything. Jinu was grumbling about espresso shots, Mystery was still comparing bottle caps, and Baby had moved on to arguing with himself about which juice had more actual fruit in it. But Abby couldn’t stop thinking about that face. Just a flicker, really. That hair. Those eyes. The way he moved like the world owed him nothing, and he owed it even less. Abby didn’t even know who the guy was, but the image had dug in, like a splinter behind the ribs.

By the time they reached checkout, the moment had folded itself into the hum of scanners and the crinkle of plastic bags. The boys filed out onto the sunlit street, balancing their groceries between them, already bickering over who had to carry what.

Abby adjusted the strap of his bag, keeping his head down as they walked back. His mind, though, was still caught on that glimpse in the aisle—bright and hazy, ordinary and unreal all at once. Just a stranger. Someone he shouldn’t have been looking at that long.

Practice waited, but Abby carried more than groceries back to the dorm.

 

Later that afternoon, the studio air felt heavier than the mirrors could reflect.

The choreography for the tour’s opening number was fast, layered, and relentless. By the fifth full run-through, everyone was flagging—shirt hems darkened with sweat, breaths uneven, shirts tugged over mouths between takes to cool down.

Abby landed the final pose half a beat late. His chest rose and fell as he bent forward, palms braced on his knees. The music cut out with a harsh click.

“Reset!” their choreographer called. “You’re dragging tempo again!”

Baby groaned quietly. Jinu grabbed a towel from the edge of the mirror and flung it over his shoulder without looking. Abby ran a hand through his damp hair and tried not to glare at his own reflection.

They reset positions. Beat one: stillness.

Then the music slammed back in.

The first eight counts hit hard. Sharp angles, feet snapping into clean lines, arms cutting through the air like muscle memory had teeth. Abby focused on the steps, counting in his head, ignoring the sting in his legs.

The choreo was a blend of contrast—soft gestures twisted into hard stops, silhouettes flickering in and out of sync like something fragile trying to hold its shape. The concept brief had said “playful but seductive. Abby hit the floor with the others, rolled into the next transition, came up breathless and a beat behind. Damn it.

“Again!” the choreographer barked.

They went again.

And again.

By the time they called a break, sweat dripped from Abby’s jaw and soaked the hem of his hoodie. His lungs ached. His heart thumped like it had bruised itself on the beat.

He dropped to the floor beside Mystery, who had immediately flattened out like roadkill.

“I think my ribs are vibrating,” Mystery muttered.

“Good,” Jinu said from somewhere behind a water bottle. “Means they’re still attached.”

Baby sat cross-legged, peeling the wrapper off a protein bar with all the energy of someone doing calligraphy. He took one bite, then paused like something important had just occurred to him.

“Oh, by the way.” He tore off the wrapper. “Abby was in love this morning.”

Abby, still catching his breath, blinked.

“Huh?”

Mystery raised an eyebrow. “What now?”

“At the store,” Baby said, chewing. “You should’ve seen him. Frozen in the dairy aisle. Mouth slightly open. Holding yogurt like it was his last anchor to reality.”

Abby groaned. “Can you not—”

Jinu raised an eyebrow. “What happened now?”

“There was a guy,” Baby said, grinning. “Abby saw him and went completely still. Like, emotionally concussed.”

“I was not—” Abby sat up straighter. “It wasn’t like that.”

“I thought he was having a stroke or saw God or something,” Baby went on, waving the protein bar like a pointer. “But no. Just some pretty boy with pastel hair.”

Mystery perked up. “Pastel?”

“Pink,” Baby confirmed. “Long. Bleached bangs. Yellow cardigan. Looked like a walking Pinterest board.”

Jinu tilted his head. “Wait, pink hair?”

“I don’t know who he was,” Abby muttered, toweling the back of his neck. “I just… noticed him.”

“You noticed him so hard you forgot we were buying food,” Baby said. “I was like, ‘Abby. Yogurt.’ And he was just standing there, like he'd seen an angel posing next to the dairy.”

Abby threw the towel at him. “Shut up.”

“Was he famous?” Mystery asked, mildly curious. “Or just hot?”

“Hot,” Baby said instantly.

“I don’t know,” Abby admitted. “He just looked… different.”

There was a beat of silence, like they were all picturing someone who fit the description.

“I didn’t even talk to him,” Abby muttered.

“Didn’t have to. You mentally composed a love letter just from the way his hoodie sleeve slipped down his arm.”

Jinu let out a low whistle. “Pink hair, huh? Bet he’s an indie model. Or a ghost.”

“I think he was just… there,” Abby said. “He didn’t look famous.”

“Well, if he turns up in your dreams tonight, at least we’ll know why,” Mystery said, lying back down and covering his face with a towel.

Abby didn’t respond. He was still thinking about the way the boy had moved through the aisle—like he had time to spare. Like the world bent around him without needing to be asked.

Practice resumed soon after, and another round of footwork drills queued up on the tablet.

But through every eight-count and every line adjustment, Abby’s mind kept drifting—not to the mirror, or the music, or the burn in his legs—but to a stranger with long pink hair and a soft yellow cardigan, disappearing around the corner of a grocery aisle.

After the break, practice dragged on until their limbs felt like overcooked noodles.

They ran the choreo again. And again. Adjusted the ending formation. Refined the transitions. Abby’s tank top clung to his back with sweat, and everyone was barely holding it together by the final cooldown stretch.

Their choreographer clapped once, sharply. “That’s it for today. Don’t die before tomorrow.”

“Not making promises,” Jinu muttered, collapsing to the floor like his bones had gone on strike.

Baby groaned as he peeled off his sweat-soaked tee. “I want to cry and also eat twelve pancakes.”

“Do it in that order,” Mystery advised, lying flat and unmoving.

Before anyone could slink away toward the lockers, the door creaked open. Manager Kim stepped inside, clipboard in hand, eyes already scanning the room.

“Good, you’re all here,” she said briskly. “We need ten minutes. Come sit.”

The boys groaned but obeyed, dragging themselves into a loose circle on the floor. Abby sat cross-legged, his body heavy but his mind still slightly adrift.

“Let’s talk tracklist,” Manager Kim said, flipping a page. “We’ve finalized the order. Title track stays locked. We’re keeping three new B-sides, two re-records, and—” she glanced at them, pausing for effect, “—one collab.”

That snapped them out of their daze.

“A collab?” Baby perked up. “With who?”

“Someone rising fast,” she said. “His numbers are wild for a soloist. He’s been climbing every chart this month—digital and international.”

Jinu leaned forward. “Who is it?”

Manager Kim looked up, then smiled faintly. “His stage name’s Romance. Heard of him?”

They all blinked at her.

“No?” she frowned, surprised. “He’s been trending for weeks. Seriously?”

Mystery shrugged. “I’ve seen the name floating around, but I haven’t heard anything.”

Abby just shook his head.

Manager Kim tapped her phone and held it up. “Well, you’ve definitely heard this.”

She hit play. A soft synth chord bloomed into layered vocals—airy, wistful, almost dreamy. Soft synths and lo-fi textures build gently, with vocals that sound distant and a little sad. It’s not loud or dramatic—

“Oh, I'm drowning / It's raining all day~...”

Jinu’s eyes widened. “Oh, that’s him?”

“I thought this was one of those SoundCloud kids,” Mystery muttered.

“Nope,” Manager Kim said. “That’s Romance. He wrote, composed, and produced it himself. It’s at number three on Melon right now and climbing. International fans are obsessed.”

Abby sat frozen.

“That’s…” Abby started. “Wait. Can we see what he looks like?”

Manager Kim raised a brow, amused, and pulled up an image. “Sure.”

She turned her phone around.

And there he was.

Hair long and pale-pink in soft waves, platinum bangs almost in his eyes. A calm expression that didn’t try too hard. The same boy from the dairy aisle, only styled and lit like he belonged on the cover of a magazine. Which, apparently, he did.

“That’s him?” Jinu blurted.

“No way,” Baby said, laughing. “That’s your dairy boy.”

Mystery snorted. “Grocery store Romance.”

“I didn’t know he was Romance,” Abby muttered, ears already going red.

Manager Kim looked at them, clearly entertained. “So you’ve met?”

“No,” Abby said quickly. “I mean—sort of. We were at the same store this morning. I didn’t talk to him.”

“He did gawk at him for a solid thirty seconds, though,” Baby said helpfully.

“I did not—”

“Oh, you did.”

Manager Kim chuckled and made a note on her clipboard. “Good. Ice broken.”

Abby groaned. “He’s going to think I’m weird.”

“He’s not,” she said. “He’s already agreed to the collab. The song’s being finalized now. You’ll be recording together next week. But he’ll be here tomorrow to go over concepts, vocals, and maybe start choreography.”

Abby’s stomach did something strange. Like the bassline of a song that hadn’t dropped yet.

“So just,” Manager Kim continued, “be professional. Be friendly. Try not to make it weird.”

She gave Abby a quick glance.

“I’m begging you,” Jinu said, deadpan, “please don’t stare at him during vocal warmups.”

“I won’t!”

“Blink,” Baby advised. “Blink and breathe this time.”

“Seriously,” Mystery added, “if he sings in front of you, you might actually collapse.”

“Okay, enough,” Abby grumbled, dragging his hood over his head to hide the fact that his entire face was pinker than Romance’s hair.

But inside, a weird mix of dread and anticipation started building—because tomorrow, the beautiful stranger wouldn’t just be some anonymous boy near the milk.

Tomorrow, he’d have a name.

Tomorrow, they'd be singing together.

And tomorrow, Abby would have to keep it together.

Somehow.

 

Chapter 2: Pool floatie heartbreak

Notes:

Sorry for the long wait😅

The dorm smelled faintly of seasoned eggs and instant coffee, the kind of lazy morning scent that meant no one was in a rush yet. Jinu was at the stove, humming under his breath as he flipped eggs with the focus of someone pretending not to notice the chaos around him. Baby was sprawled across the counter stool, chin in his palm, scrolling through his phone like it was the most exhausting task in the world. Mystery, half-awake, nursed a mug of coffee so black it looked dangerous.

Abby sat at the table not having said much since stumbling out of his room, hair still mussed from sleep.

“Still thinking about your dairy boy?” Baby asked without looking up, tone syrupy with mischief.

Abby froze. “Don’t start.”

Mystery smirked into his mug. “He’s turning red again.”

“I’m not.”

Jinu slid eggs onto a plate and set it on the counter. “You should eat something real, Abby. You’ll need the energy for practice.” He glanced up just in time to catch Abby sinking lower in his chair. “Oh my god. You are still embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” Abby said, voice muffled behind his hands as they slid over his face.

“You just happened to stare at him like a deer in headlights, in the middle of the dairy aisle,” Baby said, finally glancing up from his phone. “Completely normal.”

Mystery nodded solemnly. “Romantic, even.”

“Romantic with Romance,” Baby added, grinning.

“Shut up,” Abby muttered, ears heating all over again.

Jinu set down another plate, this one in front of Abby. “Eat. Then maybe you’ll have the strength to stop blushing every time someone says his name.”

Abby picked up his fork, pretending the eggs required his full concentration. But inside, the memory of yesterday was still too fresh—the sudden recognition, the way his chest had tightened, the way his brain had completely failed him. And today wasn’t going to make it easier.

Because today, Romance was coming here.

By the time they reached the practice studio, Abby felt like his nerves had devoured every bite of the breakfast Jinu had forced on him. His stomach was a tangled mess of knots, and Baby’s teasing still echoed in his ears.

The door slid open with a soft hiss, letting out a faint wave of cool air and the subtle squeak of sneakers on polished floors. Near the mirrors stood Manager Kim, clipboard in hand. But it wasn’t her who made Abby stop short in the doorway.

It was the boy in the office chair.

Romance sat there like he belonged, one leg casually draped over the other, scrolling through his phone. His hair caught the light—dyed a soft, carefully effortless shade—and his expression had that unreadable, magnetic calm idols wore like armor. Detached. Composed. Beautiful.

Abby forgot how to breathe.

“Morning,” Manager Kim said, glancing up. “Right on time. Good. We’ll start planning right away.”

Jinu gave a polite bow. Baby muttered something resembling a greeting. Mystery offered a quiet nod. Abby, though, didn’t move—frozen just past the doorway like someone had unplugged him.

Baby nudged him forward, and he stumbled into motion, but barely. His eyes stayed fixed on the figure in the chair. On the cut of Romance’s jaw. The way he spun his phone once and caught it without looking. The sheer gravity of him.

Romance didn’t glance up. Not even once.

The Saja Boys drifted to their usual spots, dropping bags along the wall and stretching their shoulders. Manager Kim launched into the day’s agenda—concept talks, vocal assignments, choreography planning. Abby tried to focus, but it was like trying to hold water in his hands.

Because he couldn’t stop staring.

The boy from the dairy aisle.

Romance.

And now, just a few feet away, he wasn’t a passing stranger Abby could pretend didn’t matter.

He was real. He was here.

And Abby had absolutely no idea how he was supposed to survive this.

 

The lounge smelled faintly of instant noodles and overused Febreze. The long wooden table was scattered with notebooks, pens, a few empty water bottles, and a bowl of off-brand candy someone had definitely panic-bought last minute.

Manager Kim leaned into the doorway. “Don’t get stuck on structure yet. Focus on visuals, emotions. If you leave here with a solid chorus or a killer hook, I’ll consider it a win.”

Then she was gone.

The boys settled into the chairs—Jinu with his laptop at one end, Mystery next to the window, Baby sprawled sideways like it was his couch. Abby took a spot near the middle, flipping open his notebook and pretending not to feel it when Romance sat down across from him.

It was the quiet kind of session—everyone scribbling, tapping pens, chewing on lines. 

“Okay,” Jinu said, breaking the silence. “Word dump time. No filters. Just throw stuff out.”

“Pool floatie heartbreak,” Baby offered, without hesitation.

Mystery rolled his eyes. “Sticky hands. Melting lip balm. Sun-drunk.”

“Stolen hoodie,” Jinu added, typing.

Abby half-whispered, “Crushed ice. Late trains. Shoulder freckles.”

Baby shot him a look. “See, that’s the stuff. Pretty boy lyrics.”

Abby ignored him.

Mystery reached into the candy bowl, unwrapped a neon-green hard candy, and popped it into his mouth. He immediately winced.

“Sour,” he muttered, around it.

Romance, without missing a beat, looked up. “There’s something in that.”

Everyone paused.

Jinu glanced over. “In what? Sour?”

Romance nodded. “It cuts through the rest. Everything else we’re saying is warm, soft. Sour shifts it. I mean you don’t need to incorporate some kind of seductiveness into this album and what is the opposite of sweet? Sour.”

Abby’s pen was already moving.

sour on my tongue / too sweet to spitout

“I kinda like that,” Baby said, perking up. 

Mystery pointed his pen at him. “Exactly. Like biting into something you thought was candy and then—boom!”

Romance leaned forward slightly, still calm. “What if instead we did, Dive into the sour candy pool.”

Jinu paused. “Okay, it makes use of the summertime aspects with the pool line.”

“Smart.” Mystery complimented. 

“Wow, you’re really good at this, Romance,” Abby said.

Romance met his eyes, just briefly. “Thanks.”

The words hung there for a second. Abby didn’t know what to do with the way his chest tightened.

“Okay, that’s the chorus opening,” Jinu said, typing rapidly. “We build around that—sweet vs sour, innocent vs seductive.”

Baby grinned. “God, this is gonna wreck people.”

“And I love that for us,” Mystery said.

Abby looked back down at his notebook. The lines were starting to form a shape.

A story.

Something like:

Dive in to sour candy pool (You got me like got me like got me like) (ooh oh ooh) / 더 깊이 잠수 달콤하게 다가와 줘

He didn’t say it out loud.

Not yet.

Romance was still watching him. Not in a pushy way. Not even curious.

Just aware.

Abby’s pulse fluttered.

 

The conversation swirled around him—lyrics, metaphors, laughter. Abby nodded when it made sense to, underlined lines he liked, but most of his focus was still across the table.

Romance had gone back to his phone. Or pretended to.

He wasn’t typing, though. Just scrolling.

Not quite distracted. Not fully present, either.

Was he always like this?

Or was this… something else?

They broke for lunch an hour later.

Jinu offered to run to the convenience store. Mystery volunteered to help pick out drinks. Baby, predictably, bailed, muttering something about cramps and needing to “stretch horizontally" on the couch.

Abby stood too, trying to avoid eye contact with everyone.

Then Romance stood up too.

They reached the hallway at the same time.

Abby sat on the floor with his back to the wall, notebook open again. He was trying to revise one of the earlier lines, but the words were fuzzed over at the edges of his vision.

Romance was sitting across from him, this time alone, absently twisting a ring on his middle finger.

It had been bothering Abby all day, the thing left unsaid. He kept catching himself watching Romance, looking for signs—a flicker of recognition, a comment, anything.

But it never came.

Not even a glance.

Abby didn’t know what he was expecting. A joke? A “hey, didn’t we meet in front of the yogurt cups”? Something low-stakes and kind of funny?

Instead, when he finally worked up the nerve and said, “We’ve met before,” Romance didn’t even blink.

“Have we?”

Abby laughed, but it came out wrong. “At the store. Yesterday. Well, technically, we didn’t meet; it was kinda just me staring at you.” Was he fucking serious? He basically just admitted to stalking this poor boy straight to his face.

Romance blinked once, slowly. “Oh.”

Silence.

“Oh,” Abby repeated, quieter. 

Romance shrugged. “Sorry. I don’t really... notice people when I’m off schedule.”

The words weren’t cruel. Just neutral.

But they still stung.

Abby looked down at his notebook again. “Yeah. Makes sense. Also, sorry about that comment. I‘m not a stalker,” he chuckled nervously

“Uh huh..” Romance smiled apprehensively

It was quiet after that. Abby didn’t dare look directly at him, but he could feel the shift—like something was winding tighter in the air.

He scribbled in the corner of the page. Something small. Personal. Stupid.

Romance’s voice cut in, low: “What’re you writing?”

Abby hesitated. “Just… lyric stuff.”

Romance leaned forward slightly. “Let me see.”

Abby bit his lip, debating. Then, slowly, he turned the notebook so Romance could read the scrawl in the margin:

if something falls apart / it must’ve been my hands holding it wrong.

It wasn’t a lyric, not really.

Romance read it twice.

Then his gaze lifted. This time, something had changed. The mask cracked—just a little.

“You wrote that just now?”

Abby gave a tiny nod. “It’s dumb. I just—sometimes I get that feeling. Like, even if everything’s okay, I’m waiting to mess it up.”

Romance didn’t answer right away.

Then, quietly: “It’s not dumb.”

Abby risked a glance. Romance had shifted closer, elbows on his knees now, eyes locked on Abby’s face.

“You feel that a lot?” he asked.

Abby laughed, but it wobbled. “Too much.”

Romance reached out—slow, deliberate—and tugged gently at the notebook, dragging it a little closer to him.

“I get that,” he said, barely above a whisper. “You don’t strike me as the kind of person who’d ruin anything, though.”

Abby’s breath caught.

“You don’t even know me,” he said.

Romance looked at him for a long, still second.

“Not yet.”

And then, Romance's fingers delicately wrapped around the soft curve of Abby's wrist, his gentle grip sending a shiver through his body. The warmth of the touch made it almost difficult for him to breathe, each pulse of his connection tightening the air around him.

Abby sat there, blinking at him, pulse spiking, notebook forgotten, wondering what the hell just happened. His mouth had gone completely dry. His brain was just noise. Static. Too many things happening at once, all of them inside his chest.

Then Romance spoke again—soft, but clearer this time.

“You free after this?”

Abby blinked. “Huh?”

“Just for a bit.” Romance’s gaze didn’t waver. “There’s a restaurant down the street. Quiet. They make this spicy bulgogi I keep thinking about.”

Abby’s pulse stuttered. He was almost afraid to ask. “Are you… inviting me?”

Romance’s mouth twitched, just a little. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have mentioned it.”

…

Silence

“I don’t ask twice.”

“Oh.” Abby flushed. “Yeah. I mean—sure. I could.”

Cool. Chill. Casual.

He was definitely not dying.

Romance leaned back, like that settled it. “After practice, then.”

And just like that, the world shifted a little on its axis.

Footsteps came down the hall before Abby could reign everything he was feeling back in.

Jinu appeared first, carrying a bag of snacks and a pack of kimbap. “Oh? Hey,” he smiled. “Hope you're hungry. We got so many chip flavors it should be illegal.”

“'No, like actually you should've seen the way the cashier looked at us while we were checking out,” Mystery said, opening the door and making his way to the table to set everything down.

Baby shot up from the couch upon his entrance. “Oooh, did you get slushies?”

“Obviously,” Mystery said, opening one of the bags he was carrying and pulling out a cup full of frozen neon green liquid.

“HELL YEAH!” Baby immediately jumped up and snatched the cup off the table, taking a huge gulp of the slushy. 

“Oohh yeah, that's the stuff, Abby, Romance come in here, you have to try this”

Abby and Romance gave each other one last look before heading into the room close behind Jinu.

Sitting down, Abby sipped the drink Mystery had passed him, and pretended his fingers weren’t still tingling where Romance had touched him. And in that moment, Abby swore—just for a second—he saw the corner of Romance’s mouth twitch into a smirk.

 

 

The session was winding down.

Lyrics were scattered across notebooks and the room was a messy patchwork of balled up paper containing barely legible lines no one could remember writing. The sun filtered through the windows, low and drowsy, casting warm strips of gold over the floor.

Jinu leaned back in his chair with a soft sigh. “Okay. Let’s pause here.”

“Agreed,” Mystery said, rubbing his eyes. “We’re all starting to repeat ourselves.”

Baby flopped onto the floor like dramatically. “I peaked at ‘pool floatie heartbreak’ and I’m not afraid to admit it.”

Jinu chuckled. “We’ve got good bones. Strong hook, solid themes. We’ll sleep on it and clean everything up tomorrow.”

“Dream about metaphors,” Mystery added.

“Dream about me,” Baby said, wiggling his fingers. “Because I am the metaphor.”

Abby laughed under his breath, but he was only half listening—eyes flicking toward the quiet figure still seated across the room.

Romance hadn’t contributed much in the last stretch. Just watched. Listened. Occasionally scrolled through his phone with that same casual elegance that made everything he did look vaguely cinematic.

Now, as the boys started packing up, he stood—smooth, unhurried—and headed toward the door.

As he passed Abby, his sleeve brushed his shoulder. Barely there. But Abby felt it like a spark.

Romance didn’t look back.

Just walked out, silent as ever.

“Uh,” Jinu said, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “You good?”

“Thought you were heading out with us,” Mystery added, glancing at Abby.

Baby narrowed his eyes. “Wait. Wait.”

Abby hesitated, then—because there was no real way to play this cool—muttered, “Romance invited me for dinner.”

The room collectively froze.

“OH MY GOD,” Baby exploded, spinning around dramatically. “You’re going on a date.”

“It’s not a—!” Abby started, voice jumping half an octave.

“No one ‘just invites’ someone for dinner after practice,” Mystery said flatly, raising an eyebrow.

“Especially Romance,” Jinu added. “That guy looks like he schedules feelings. If he invited you, he meant it.”

Baby gasped like it was the drama he’d been born to witness. “He’s going to read your aura over tteokbokki and accidentally touch your hand.”

Abby, flushing, grabbed his bag and stood. “You’re all completely unhinged.”

“True,” Baby said, nodding. “But we’re not wrong.”

“Good luck,” Mystery said, deadpan. “Don’t let him brood you into a love confession.”

“And if he writes a song about you,” Jinu added, “we get royalties.”

Abby rolled his eyes, heart racing, and slipped out before the heat in his cheeks could give him away.

Abby stepped out into the cooling evening air, breath catching the second he saw him.

Romance wasn’t just waiting—he was posing, intentionally or not.

Leaning against the hood of a sleek black car, arms crossed behind him, ankles casually crossed too, head tilted toward the sky like he had all the time in the world. The last light of the day caught the edges of his hair, casting a halo of soft gold across the blond.

He looked like a magazine cover come to life.

Abby hesitated, clutching his bag strap like it might anchor him.

Then Romance looked over—and smiled. Not wide. Just this slow, almost lazy curve of his mouth that hit Abby square in the lungs.

“You coming?” he asked, voice low and even.

Abby walked over like his body had stopped taking instructions from his brain.

Romance pushed off the car as he approached. “Didn’t get lost in your fanclub on the way out?”

Abby blinked. “What?”

Romance raised an eyebrow. “Your members. Sounded like they were about to throw rice at our feet.”

Abby made a strangled sort of noise. “They’re just—they’re dramatic.”

“Mmh.” Romance stepped closer. Not intimidating, exactly. Just… close enough to notice things. “So are you the shy one?”

“What?”

Romance’s lips twitched. “That’s twice you’ve said what instead of answering.”

Abby groaned under his breath and looked away. “I’m not—shy.”

“No?” Romance said, amused. “You’re just red in the face because it’s hot?”

“It’s... not that hot,” Abby mumbled.

Romance hummed low in his throat, clearly enjoying himself. “Didn’t say it was.”

Abby stared down at the pavement, feeling about three seconds away from catching fire.

Then he felt it again—that light brush of contact.

Romance’s hand, warm and brief, on his elbow.

“Relax,” he said softly. “It’s just bulgogi.”

Just bulgogi.

Right.

Abby nodded, pretending that his heartbeat wasn’t in his ears.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Romance smirked like he could read thoughts.

“Good,” he said, moving to the driver’s side. “Let’s go.”

The inside of Romance’s car smelled faintly like cologne and something citrusy—sharp and clean, like mint tea or maybe a fancy air freshener Abby couldn’t name. The dash lights glowed soft pink as the car eased out of the parking lot, quiet music thrumming low beneath the silence.

Romance drove one-handed, effortlessly, like he wasn’t even thinking about it.

Abby, meanwhile, sat very still in the passenger seat, hands in his lap, eyes flicking from the window to the side mirror to literally anywhere that wasn’t the boy beside him.

He could feel the smile before he saw it.

“You always sit that straight when someone else is driving?”

Abby startled. “What?”

Romance glanced over, lips curled. “You’re so polite. It’s like watching someone try not to wrinkle their school uniform.”

Abby flushed. “I’m not—polite. I’m just—”

“—a passenger princess,” Romance finished, entirely too pleased with himself.

Abby gawked. “I am not—!”

“You are,” Romance said simply. “Look at you. Seatbelt all neat. Hands folded. Letting me drive. Probably didn’t even think to ask to switch.”

“Because you invited me!”

Romance laughed, the sound low and smooth. “Exactly. Which means I’m treating you. And you’re letting me. That’s what makes it cute.”

Abby buried his face in his hands. “I hate this.”

“You don’t,” Romance said, eyes flicking toward him briefly. “You’re just not used to someone saying it out loud.”

Abby peeked through his fingers. “Is this what you’re like with everyone?”

Romance didn’t answer right away.

Then, softly: “No.”

The word hung between them, unspoken meaning tucked beneath the surface.

Abby didn’t know what to say to that. So he didn’t.

He just let the silence stretch.

It wasn’t uncomfortable—not anymore. Just thick. Charged. Familiar in a way that made no sense at all.

The restaurant was tucked into a quiet side street, the kind of spot you’d miss unless you were looking for it. Small hanging lights lined the windows, casting a warm amber glow that softened the dark outside. Inside, it was all sleek black chairs, deep wooden tones, and quiet music—jazz, maybe, or something close.

Romance pulled into a spot just across the street and turned off the engine.

He didn’t move right away. Neither did Abby.

Then Romance looked over. “You gonna wait for me to open your door too?”

Abby narrowed his eyes. “I hate you.”

Romance grinned. “You really don’t.”

And then he got out.

Abby took a second to breathe—to force the heat out of his cheeks, to stop smiling like an idiot—and then followed.

They crossed the street side by side, their steps in sync without trying. Abby tugged at the sleeves of his hoodie, trying to act casual even though he was hyper-aware of how close their arms were.

Romance didn’t say anything at first—just walked with that effortless cool, hands in his pockets, as if this was the kind of thing he did all the time. Take boys to cafés. Tease them until they couldn’t think straight.

Right as they reached the door, he paused and looked over.

“Hey.”

Abby glanced up. “What?”

Romance’s eyes flicked down, then back up again. “You always dress like you’re hiding from paparazzi, or is that just for me?”

Abby blinked. “What?”

Romance smirked. “The hood. The sleeves. The hunched posture. It’s giving…” He mimed pulling up a hoodie drawstring. “‘Please don’t perceive me.’”

“I wasn’t—! I didn’t—!” Abby flailed for a comeback. “This is just what I wear!”

Romance hummed. “Mm. You sure?”

“Yes!”

He took a slow step closer, just enough to invade Abby’s space without touching him.

“Shame,” he said. “I was hoping you’d dress up for me.”

Abby’s brain promptly short-circuited.

“I—I didn’t even know I was—! I didn’t think this was a—!”

Romance tilted his head, pretending to think. “A date?”

Abby made a noise that might’ve been a squeak.

“This was such short notice anyways..”

Romance smiled, easy and slow. “Relax. I like the hoodie.”

Abby exhaled shakily. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re fun to bother,” Romance said, already reaching for the  door. “Come on, princess. You’re about to be treated to the best overpriced dinner of your life.”

Abby followed, muttering something deeply unconvincing about not being a princess, heart hammering like it was trying to outpace his dignity.

The restaurant was nearly empty—just a waitress behind the counter and a couple tucked into a corner sharing a single ramyeon like it was a treasure. Soft jazz filtered through the air, underscored by the clink of porcelain and the occasional quiet sizzle of the grills in the back of house.

Romance chose a booth near the back, where the light was low and warm. The table was scuffed, probably older than both of them, and there was a tiny cactus in the middle, wearing a miniature Santa hat left over from last season.

Abby sat across from him, still buzzing from the walk over. From the look on Romance’s face. From the fact that this was happening.

They ordered. Abby ordered japchae without really thinking. Romance went for the spicy bulgogi he mentioned earlier.

For a minute, they just… sat.

Then Romance leaned forward, forearms on the table, fingers absently spinning his spoon.

“So,” he said.

Abby blinked. “So?”

Romance’s eyes flicked up, sharp and unreadable. “That line you wrote. If something goes wrong it must’ve been your fault.” 

Abby froze. “Oh.” He tried to play it off. “It wasn’t really a lyric. Just something dumb that popped into my head.”

“It wasn’t dumb.”

Romance said it without blinking. No teasing, no softness. Just certainty.

“You didn’t even hesitate when you wrote it. It looked like it came straight out.”

Abby looked down at his food.

“I guess… I don’t know,” he murmured. “It’s just how I think sometimes. If something goes wrong, I must’ve done something to cause it. Or missed something. Or held it the wrong way.”

Romance tilted his head, studying him.

“Why?”

The question landed heavier than it should have.

Abby glanced up, caught off guard. “What?”

Romance’s gaze didn’t waver. “Why do you think like that?”

Abby let out a weak laugh, hollow and small. “You’re really not afraid of going deep, huh?”

“I don’t like shallow conversations,” Romance said simply.

“That’s not what I meant,” Abby replied quickly. “It’s just… most people don’t ask.”

“I’m not most people.”

Abby felt his stomach turn at that. Not in a bad way. In a dangerous way.

His fingers tightened around the cup.

“I used to think it was my fault,” he said quietly. “When my parents split. I was fifteen. They didn’t fight or throw things or scream. They just... stopped trying. Slipped away from each other while I was still setting the table like we were a real family.”

He swallowed hard, didn’t look up.

“I thought maybe if I cleaned the house more, or talked less, or got better grades—whatever—I could hold them together. Be the reason they stayed.”

A pause. Too long.

“They didn’t.”

The silence that followed was thick.

“I know it wasn’t really about me,” Abby said quickly, filling it. “I know that now. But...”

“But knowing and believing aren’t the same thing,” Romance finished, his voice quieter now.

Abby’s eyes flicked to him — surprised he’d gotten it so fast. So clearly.

Romance leaned in a little, arms resting on the edge of the table.

“And now you think if something breaks—your group, your relationships, anything—it’s on you.”

“I feel it,” Abby admitted. “Every shift in mood. Every tension. I keep trying to make everything feel okay, because if something does fall apart…”

He exhaled.

“Then I guess it means I didn’t hold it right.”

Romance didn’t interrupt. He just looked at Abby — like he was reading more than just his words.

Then, with a voice gentler than Abby thought he was capable of, Romance said:

“That’s a lot of weight for one person to carry.”

Abby blinked fast.

“It’s not like I want to,” he said. “I just… I’ve done the falling apart part before. I don’t want to do it again.”

Romance was quiet for a second.

Then he reached across the table — not dramatic, not showy — just a soft, brief brush of fingers against Abby’s hand.

“You’re not here to hold everyone else up,” he said. “You’re here to be held, too.”

Abby looked down, throat tight.

He didn’t say thank you. Or cry. Or crack open.

But he didn’t pull his hand away either.

And Romance didn’t stop touching him.

“You ever write about it before?”

Abby shook his head, just once.

“You should,” Romance said. “People like hearing the truth. Especially when it hurts a little.”

Abby glanced up, lips parted, but didn’t know what to say.

Romance smiled again—this time softer. Less smug. Almost warm.

“You’ve got more to say than you think.”

Abby felt his cheeks grow hot.

Romance let his fingers linger just a second longer before pulling back — smooth, unhurried — like he hadn’t just touched a raw nerve and then cradled it like something precious.

Then, with a shift in his tone so subtle it was almost imperceptible, he glanced toward Abby’s untouched drink and said, “Not to ruin the moment, but... if you keep staring at that bowl japchae instead of eating it, I might start thinking you brought it as a prop.”

Abby blinked, thrown.

“What? No—I just—"

Romance gave him a look. "Come on. You're telling me you’ve been sitting across from me for twenty minutes, saying emotionally devastating things, and not once did you take a bite?"

Abby flailed slightly. "I was talking—"

Romance grinned. “And brooding. Very attractively, by the way.”

Abby nearly choked on air. “I was not brooding.”

“Oh, you absolutely were,” Romance said, now leaning back in the booth like he was settling into a favorite song. “You’ve got that tragic-poet energy. The kind that writes devastating lyrics, orders honey lattes, and stares out of car windows like you’re in a sad movie.”

Abby made a noise that could only be described as a sound of betrayal.

“I am literally just existing,” he said, but his voice cracked halfway through.

Romance looked downright delighted. “Exactly.”

“I hate you,” Abby muttered, cheeks pink.

“I know,” Romance said, taking a bite of his bulgogi with maddening calm. “It’s adorable.”

Abby took a giant bite of his food just to have something to do, burning his tongue in the process and then trying not to show it.

Romance watched with a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth — not gloating now, just... amused. Maybe even a little fond.

And just like that, the weight of the earlier conversation eased — not erased, but held gently between them. Still present. Still real.

But now there was laughter layered over it. And steam curling from dishes. And the quiet, mutual decision not to run away.

Romance slid the little basket of pastries toward the center of the table. “Now…are you just gonna eat that? Or are you gonna order some dessert to go?”

Abby rolled his eyes — but this time, he was smiling. For real.

“Fine, maybe I will,” he said, flagging a waiter down and ordering four Bungeoppangs to-go. “But you’re paying.”

Romance arched a brow. “Obviously. I did say this was a date.”

Abby groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“God, you’re impossible.”

Romance’s grin turned slow and lazy. “Yeah. But you’re still here.”

Abby didn’t argue.

He just took another bite.

 

The ride back was quieter than the way there.

Not awkward. Just... soft.

The kind of quiet that followed real things being said. The kind of quiet that didn't need filling.

Romance had one hand on the wheel, the other draped over the gearshift, thumb tapping lightly to a beat only he could hear.

Abby sat in the passenger seat, half turned toward the window, watching the city slide past in blurs of gold and neon.

Every so often, he caught himself smiling.

When they pulled up in front of the apartment, Romance didn’t turn off the engine. Just glanced over at him, the dashboard light catching the sharp curve of his jaw.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, voice low.

Abby nodded. “Thanks for... asking.”

Romance watched him a second longer. “Get inside safe.”

Abby reached for the handle.

Then paused. “Are you gonna—uh—text me or anything?”

Romance smirked. “You want me to?”

Abby flushed. “I mean... if you want.”

“I always get what I want,” Romance said, but there was a warmth behind the words now. Less teasing. More promise.

Romance grabbed a napkin from the bag of takeout Abby had gotten and quickly scribbled his number on it. "Here, princess, be careful not to lose it now," he said with a wink as he handed the napkin and the bag over to Abby.

Abby nearly short-circuited. “Okaybyebye!”

He scrambled out of the car before Romance could make him blush worse, half-jogging to the door with his hood pulled up.

The moment he stepped inside, he was hit by the smell of microwaved ramen and a wall of noise.

“HEY!” Baby was the first to notice him, sprawled out on the couch with a bowl of snacks balanced on his chest. “Look who finally decided to come home.”

Jinu poked his head out from the kitchen, holding a mug. “Well? You alive?”

Mystery didn’t even look up from his phone. “He’s glowing. It was definitely a date.”

“I am not glowing,” Abby said, trying—and failing—to sound calm as he kicked off his shoes.

“Oh my god, you so are,” Baby said, launching a chip at him.

Jinu grinned. “So? What happened?”

“Nothing!” Abby yelped, dodging the chip. “We got dinner, we talked, he dropped me off. That’s it.”

“That’s never it,” Baby said knowingly. “Did he touch your hand?”

Mystery finally glanced up. “Let me guess. He said something annoyingly hot and Abby had a five-minute internal breakdown.”

“I hate you all,” Abby muttered, face on fire as he tossed the bag of desserts onto the kitchen counter and made a beeline up the stairs for his room.

Baby called after him, sing-song: “Dooooon’t forget to charge your phone, pretty boy! Your boyfriend might text!”

The door clicked shut behind him, muffling the laughter.

Abby leaned back against it, cheeks still burning, heartbeat still not quite back to normal.

He looked down at his hand — the one Romance had touched.

Abby’s phone buzzed a second later.

Unknown: Heyyy, princess, it's Romance.

Unknown: I hope you enjoyed tonight because I really did. Also, you were glowing.

Unknown: don’t deny it😘

Heyyy, princess.
you were glowing.

Abby didn’t say anything.

Just smiled.

And then—
He did a stupid little dance in the dark.

Something between a wiggle and a jump, complete with clenched fists and silent squealing. He spun once, pointed at nothing, nearly tripped over his own feet, then clutched his phone to his chest like it was oxygen.

He was glowing now. No denying it.

Finally, with no more dignity left to salvage, he launched himself face-first onto his bed.

Buried his face into the pillow.
And screamed.

It wasn’t a sad scream.

It was the romantic crisis of a boy who had just flirted with someone way out of his league and somehow didn’t die.

The pillow absorbed it all.

He flipped onto his back a moment later, hair a mess, heart still doing cartwheels, staring up at the ceiling like it owed him answers.

His phone buzzed again.

He didn’t even look.

Just grinned like an idiot.