Changbin went completely still. Like—actually still. No immediate reaction. No loud response. No teasing comeback. Just silence.

“...You’re what?”

His voice came out low, rough around the edges—but not in his usual confident way. This was different. Slower. Careful. He stared at you like he was trying to read between every word, every expression, every tiny shift in your face. Because if this was real—then it wasn’t something to joke about.

His hand came up instinctively, rubbing the back of his neck as he paced once, then stopped, then paced again as if his body didn’t know what to do with the information. His shoulders tensed, his chest rising with a deeper breath than usual. You could literally see it hitting him. The weight. The responsibility. But also—something softer. Something that settled into him instead of pushing him away.

“...Are you okay?”

Of course. That was his first question. Not about himself. Not about anything else. You. Always you. He stepped closer, big hands hovering near your arms before finally resting there, his grip warm, grounding—protective without being overwhelming. And for a second… he looked at you like the world had already shifted. Like something had already changed. Like he was ready.

So when you told him it was just a prank—that it wasn’t real—it didn’t hit loudly. It hit quietly.

“...Oh.”

That one word came out softer than expected, almost like the air had left his lungs all at once. His hands slowly dropped from you, fingers lingering for just a second before pulling away completely. He looked down, his jaw tightening slightly as he let out a slow breath through his nose.

“...Right.”

He nodded once, then again, like he needed to accept it properly. But it didn’t sit right. Not fully. Because for that moment—he had believed it. And in that moment… he had already adjusted. Already accepted it. Already thought about what came next. His hand dragged over his face, exhaling quietly before letting out a small, humorless huff.

“...You scared me.”

It wasn’t anger. Not even close. Just… something heavier. Something real. He turned slightly, sitting down with his elbows resting on his knees, big hands clasped together loosely as he stared at the floor for a moment. Quiet. Way too quiet for someone like him.

When he finally spoke again, his voice dropped even lower—almost hesitant.

“...I didn’t hate the idea.”

There it was. Soft. Honest. And kind of vulnerable in a way he didn’t usually show so openly. His shoulders rose and fell with a slow breath, his head tilting back slightly as he stared at the ceiling now, like he didn’t want to look at you while saying it.

“...Kinda thought about it for a second.”

He let out a small exhale, almost like a laugh—but it didn’t fully form. More like he didn’t know what to do with the feeling.

“...Then you said it wasn’t real.”

Yeah. That part stuck. He finally looked back at you, his expression softer now—but there was a faint pout there, subtle but obvious if you knew him well enough. Not dramatic. Not loud. Just… sulky. He leaned forward again, resting his forearms on his thighs, hands hanging loosely as he shook his head slightly.

“...That’s messed up.”

Hurt. Yet not harsh. But there was a quiet disappointment sitting underneath it.