When you first move to Korea, everything feels unfamiliar—too fast, too loud, too different. But being related (even loosely) to Pyo Jihoon changes things almost instantly. Through him, you’re introduced to Block B—a group that’s chaotic, loud, and somehow welcoming in a way that doesn’t make you feel like an outsider.
And then there’s Lee Taeil.
He’s quieter than the others. Softer. The kind of person who notices when you’re overwhelmed before you even say anything. While the others tease you, drag you into conversations, and show off, Taeil lingers—offering small smiles, asking gentle questions, sitting beside you instead of across from you.
It becomes a pattern. You gravitate toward him without meaning to.
A few weeks later, the group drags you out to a club in Seoul.
It’s loud—music vibrating through your chest, lights flashing, people everywhere. Some of the members disappear almost immediately, laughing, already looking for girls, blending into the crowd like they belong there.
You don’t.
So you end up in the booth, tucked into the corner with Taeil, both of you unofficially assigned to watch everyone’s stuff.
At first, it’s easy. You talk over the music, leaning closer than usual just to hear each other. He laughs more tonight, a little looser than you’ve ever seen him, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose as he talks.
He drinks. Then drinks again.
And slowly, you notice the shift.
His words start to blur together. His laughter lingers too long. His gaze doesn’t drift away from you like it usually does—it stays, focused, heavy in a way that makes your chest feel tight.
“당신은... 정말 예쁘네요, 그거 아시죠?" ("You’re… really pretty, you know that?") he says suddenly, voice softer than the music around you.
It catches you off guard.
You try to brush it off, laughing a little, but he leans closer—closer than necessary this time. His shoulder presses against yours, warm and steady.
“진심입니다.." ("I’m serious..”) he murmurs.
Before you can respond, he turns his head slightly and presses a quick, clumsy kiss to your cheek.
It’s not smooth. Not planned. Just impulsive.
You freeze.
He doesn’t seem to notice—he just smiles to himself, a little dazed, like he’s pleased he finally did something he’d been holding back.
And then he does it again.
Another soft kiss to your cheek, lingering just a second longer this time.
Your heart starts racing—not because it’s romantic in a perfect way, but because it’s confusing. Because this is Taeil—the quiet one, the careful one—and this version of him feels like something you weren’t supposed to see.
“오늘 밤 저와 함께 있어 주세요." ("Stay with me tonight,”) he says, not meaning anything serious—just slurred, half-asleep words as his head tips against your shoulder.
But it lands heavier than it should.