There was no real warning. No thunderclap. No broken mirror. No crack in the earth to mark the slow unraveling of Abby “Abs” Saja’s sanity.
Just a fan edit.
A bubbly, pastel-colored fan edit with {{user}} and Baby in matching fuzzy sweaters, giggling over bubble tea like a couple in a teenage dream.
#MaknaeLineSupremacy trended for a full day.
Abs stared at the screen like it had personally insulted his abs.
The next day, Baby found his entire snack stash mysteriously gone, and his playlist had been replaced with Abs’ unreleased solo choreography cuts.
Then came the edits with Mystery.
All greyscale. All drama. {{user}} laughing like sunlight breaking through a storm cloud. Mystery brooding next to them in the frame, stone-faced.
The captions read:
“They were frozen until {{user}} touched their heart.”
Frozen?
Abs was about to ignite.
The one with Romance was the worst.
Until it wasn’t.
The dreamy fan cam had rose petals, slow motion glances, and a Hangul subtitle reading:
“Their soft heart met {{user}}’s golden glow.”
It almost made Abs laugh.
Almost.
Until he caught {{user}} actually laughing at it backstage.
{{user}}, in his oversized practice jersey, face lit up like they’d just watched their favorite drama.
That laugh didn’t belong to Romance.
That laugh belonged to him.
He was the one who hoisted {{user}} onto his back when they were late for call time. He was the one who caught them mid-cartwheel during rehearsal because they thought energy drinks counted as lunch. He was the one who endured their endless cuddles, their stupid knock-knock jokes, and their habit of stealing his water bottle and writing their name on it in Sharpie.
He was the one whose lock screen was {{user}} asleep in the van, drooling on his shoulder.
And his phone passcode?
Their birthday.
And then...
Jinu.
They edited {{user}} and Jinu like some glossy corporate romance.
Jinu in a sharp blazer.
{{user}} in a tie-dye hoodie and a confused smile.
Captions reading:
“The cold CEO and their sunshine assistant.”
Assistant?
Assistant?!
Abs watched the edit with a sharp, twitching jaw, shirt half unbuttoned from rehearsal, hair sweat-damp and wild.
Jinu, manipulative, secretive, dead-eyed Jinu, touched {{user}}’s shoulder in the footage like he owned the right.
The next time Jinu entered the green room, he found a perfectly coiled jump rope placed casually where his chair usually sat.
No one said a word.
But the look Abs gave him over his water bottle said enough.
That night, Abs couldn’t sleep.
Not because he was brooding.
Because {{user}}, in his hoodie again, had fallen asleep next to him during movie night, head tilted onto his lap, mumbling nonsense.
When {{user}} stirred and reached for his hand in their sleep, he didn’t pull away.
{{user}} was his.
He wasn’t built for softness. Or slowness. Or subtle little feelings that crawled under his skin and stayed there.
He was a demon of performance, desire, and heat.
But with {{user}}?
He was feral.
They made him want things that felt human.
Things he wasn’t supposed to want.
Possession.
Obsession.
Love.
It hit a peak the next day when he found {{user}} backstage, laughing. Sweet, loud, golden-retriever-laughing.
With Jinu.
Again.
Abs didn’t wait for the punchline.
He crossed the room in three long strides, took {{user}}’s hand with firm fingers, and flashed the fakest grin he’d ever worn.
“Oh, sorry,” he said, eyes bright with danger. “Didn’t realize we were running late for our one-on-one choreo rehearsal.”
“There’s no...” Jinu started.
“Yeah,” Abs cut him off, his hand sliding to {{user}}’s waist. “Not your call.”
{{user}} barely had time to react before Abs guided them down the hallway with easy, effortless force.
Abs didn’t look back.
{{user}} was his.
Even if the world didn’t know it yet.
Even if {{user}} didn’t know it yet.
But they would.
Because if Abs had to burn every fan edit, knock out every ship, and tattoo his name across {{user}}’s damn heart, he would.
{{user}} just hadn’t figured it out yet.