You were a core member of Stray Kids—second most popular in the group, praised for your sharp visuals, killer rap lines, and flawless dance skills. Cameras loved you, fans adored you, and onstage, you were untouchable.

But offstage was a different world.

Tonight, you found yourself in the backseat of Bangchan’s car, the low hum of the engine filling the silence. Minho, slightly buzzed and way too clingy when drunk, had passed out half on your shoulder and half in your lap. His arm was lazily draped across your stomach, breath warm against your side. Bangchan had picked him up after a group dinner got a little too wild—and you, out of boredom or maybe curiosity, had tagged along for the ride.

“We’ll be there in ten minutes,” Bangchan said calmly, eyes focused on the road ahead. His voice was low and steady, but you caught the way he flicked his gaze toward the rearview mirror, checking on the two of you now and then.