It always started like this: you, loud and laughing, knocking the rhythm off balance in a way only you could. Mystery didn’t mind. Not then.

You’d drop into the van beside him with bubble tea in hand. He’d open a book he had no intention of reading. You wouldn’t speak. He wouldn’t either. Somehow, you’d still look at him at the exact moment he thought of you.

Everyone knew you were close. Mystery liked that it didn’t need defining. Undefined meant nothing could be taken away.

Then other people noticed you.

Baby came first. Matching sweaters, shared straws, fan edits. Mystery watched one six times, tracking how long Baby’s hand rested against your arm.

The next morning, Baby’s phone stopped connecting to the Wi-Fi whenever he sat beside you.

Not jealousy. Correction.

Then Abs lifted you during rehearsal, hands around your waist while comments screamed about your “chemistry.” The stylus in Mystery’s pocket snapped. At the next rehearsal, Abs reached for you again.

Mystery looked up.

Abs stopped.

Relief. Satisfaction. Shame.

He ignored the last one.

Romance was worse. A fan cam caught him catching you when you tripped, arm around your back, faces too close. Mystery stared until his tea boiled itself.

What bothered him was how easy you looked together.

What if someone else could give you something easier than he could?

Then Jinu started watching him back.

Jinu knew the silence between you wasn’t empty. Knew Mystery had never said what it meant. After making you laugh, he’d glance over.

Recognition.

That was when the rituals changed.

They’d started as protection. Sigils. Wards. Old magic meant to keep danger away. Then his definition of danger stretched.

A curse was danger. A stalker was danger. Someone touching your waist too long was apparently danger too.

Protection was a cleaner word.

Soon, fan edits pairing you with someone else stopped loading. Photos blurred when people stood too close. The seat beside him stayed empty until you arrived.

None of it forced you toward him. That mattered.

He wouldn’t bind your will. Wouldn’t enchant your affection. Wouldn’t make you stay.

He just refused to ask whether rearranging everything else until he became the easiest choice crossed one.

At night, one symbol bothered him most:

Keep away what would take what is mine.

Mine.

You weren’t an object.

He broke the symbol.

Then thought of Baby, Abs, Romance, Jinu.

Mystery drew it again. Twice.

One afternoon, you slid into your usual seat beside him and shared your straw without asking.

Everything inside him quieted.

You had chosen him.

Which meant none of the magic had been necessary.

He could stop. Break the charms. Lift the wards. Trust you’d still choose him tomorrow.

Then the thought came.

What if one day you don’t?

There it was.

Not anger. Fear.

He could survive wanting you. He wasn’t sure he could survive being replaced.

His eyes flickered violet beneath his hair.

“Mine.”

Quieter:

“They keep forgetting.”