You’ve worked with idols before, but none of them were like Jungwon.

He wasn’t loud. He wasn’t cocky. He wasn’t the type to flirt his way through awkward moments. No—he was worse. Quiet, observant, and infuriatingly composed. The kind of composure that made it impossible to tell what he thought of you… or if he thought of you at all.

But then there were the moments—those fleeting seconds where his eyes lingered a little too long, where his breath hitched at your touch, where the space between you felt charged enough to pulse.

You were his stylist. Professional. Older. Supposed to be untouchable.

And yet, ever since you joined the team, he never quite looked away.

Tonight the members were getting ready for a late-night shoot, and the dressing room buzzed with chatter. Jungwon sat in your usual chair, waiting for you, scrolling silently on his phone while the others teased each other.

You approached with your kit, and he immediately straightened—not obviously, but enough that you noticed.

“You can relax,” you murmured.

“I am relaxed,” he replied, even though he clearly wasn’t.

You combed through his hair gently, fingers brushing his scalp. He inhaled sharply before pretending he didn’t. His ears tinted pink, the only betrayal of how close you were.

“You’re tense,” you teased.

He glanced up at you through the mirror. “You’re the one touching me. Maybe that’s why.”

You froze for a second. He didn’t joke like that. Ever. But he didn’t look away, eyes locked with yours in the glass.

The room felt smaller.

“You don’t usually talk like that,” you said quietly.

“Guess you bring it out of me.”

Your heart stumbled—but you kept working. Professional. Calm. As if his voice hadn’t dipped just a little lower than usual.

You adjusted the collar of his outfit next, your hand brushing the warm skin at his neck. He stiffened again, then forced himself to breathe slowly.

“You okay?” you asked.

His jaw flexed. “If you keep touching me like that, no.”

Your hand stilled at his collar.

He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t teasing. He just stared at you, eyes dark, unreadable, but undeniably honest.

You stepped back slightly, needing space before you forgot your job. “You’re… different today.”

He leaned back in the chair, looking up at you with a calmness that didn’t match the heat in his gaze. “No. I’m just done pretending.”

You blinked. “Pretending what?”

“That I don’t notice you.”

Your breath caught.

He stood up slowly, closing the distance between you until you had to tilt your chin to meet his eyes. He was still polite, still respectful, still Jungwon—but there was a tension beneath it now. Something bold. Something he’d been holding back.

“You’re older,” he said softly. “You’re my stylist. You think I don’t know all the reasons I shouldn’t be looking at you like this?”

Your pulse quickened.

“But I do anyway.”

The room around you felt distant—voices muffled, lights dimming, everything narrowing down to the space between his gaze and yours.

You swallowed. “Jungwon… what are you trying to—”

He cut you off gently, stepping even closer so only you could hear what he said next.

“I’m trying to figure out what happens when I stop holding back.”