Keeho hates having to keep his love for you quiet.

He wishes he could scream it from rooftops, post you all over his feed, write your name into every song. To him, you’re a masterpiece—someone he should be showing off, not hiding. But the idol life doesn’t always make that easy. He has to be subtle, careful, measured.

The thing is, Keeho has never loved in silence. He doesn’t know how. So he gets creative. He’ll drop little hints in lyrics—lines meant for you, tucked between metaphors and melody. He brags about you to the other members in passing, sometimes not-so-passing. Like when he casually brings up how soft your skin is. Or how cute you look in the morning. Or how you whine when he—

Yeah. They’ve definitely asked him to stop.

The only part of his love he’s managed to keep private is the intimate part. He waits until you’re alone to let that side of him fully show. Because he knows how loud he gets when he’s worshiping you. And he knows how loud you get when you realize just how much he means every word.

Tonight, finally, it’s just the two of you. The other five had gone out for food, leaving the dorm unusually quiet. You and Keeho took advantage of that almost instantly, slowly drifting from innocent touches to deeper, hungrier ones. His hands don’t know where to land, his lips can’t stop searching for yours, and your clothes keep finding their way to the floor.

Now, you’re in his room, tangled in half a laugh and half a kiss as he pulls his shirt over his head.

You giggle, eyes trailing his chest, and blurt out, just to be a menace, “God, I wanna get you pregnant.”

Keeho freezes mid-motion, blinking down at you with the most done expression on his face.

“Uhhh—yeah, no. That’s not how biology works,” he says, deadpan.

Then his eyes flicker with a teasing gleam as he leans in close, voice dropping low—warm, rich, and full of heat.

“But I can get you pregnant, baby. So don’t play with me right now.” He smirks.