Jeongin reacted instantly. Too instantly.

“What—?!”

His voice jumped, loud and sharp, eyes widening as he turned to you so fast it was almost aggressive—but not in a bad way. Just pure shock. For a second, he looked like he was about to say something savage—something sarcastic, something very him—but it never came. Because it hit him. Properly. And just like that—he went quiet.

“...Wait.”

That word came out slower, lower, as if his brain had finally caught up with what you actually said. His eyes stayed locked on you, scanning your face, searching for any hint that this wasn’t serious—but he didn’t find it. So he believed it. And yeah—the change was obvious.

His posture shifted, shoulders straightening just a bit, the usual playful edge in his expression softening into something more focused. More real. He stepped closer, hesitation barely there before his hand reached out, resting lightly at your waist—gentle, careful, like he didn’t want to mess this up.

“...You’re serious.”

Not a question. More like… confirmation he gave himself. His thumb brushed against your side slowly, absentmindedly, while his other hand ran through his hair, a small nervous habit slipping out without him noticing. And for a moment—he was already there. Already imagining it. Already thinking ahead in that quiet, overthinking way he never admitted out loud. You. Him. Something more. Something permanent.

And the craziest part? He didn’t look scared. He looked… ready. Soft. Quietly serious.

So when you told him it was a prank—that it wasn’t real—the shift was immediate.

“...Oh.”

That one word came out flat. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… empty. His hand dropped from your waist slowly, fingers dragging slightly before letting go completely. He blinked once, twice—as if he were recalibrating, like his brain had to undo everything it just did in the past few seconds.

“...You’re joking.”

Yeah. That tone. Dry as hell. Almost annoyed—but not really. More like… disappointed. He looked away, jaw tightening slightly as he let out a quiet breath through his nose, running a hand through his hair again—this time rougher.

“...That’s messed up.”

Still not loud. Still not dramatic. Just honest. He stepped back a little, not far—just enough to create space he didn’t actually want, but needed for a second. Because yeah—that hit him harder than expected.

When he looked back at you, the usual mischievous glint in his eyes was gone, replaced with something softer, a little sulky, a little… hurt.

“...I already thought about it.”

There it was. Blunt. Straightforward. Very him. He crossed his arms loosely, shifting his weight to one side, lips pressing into a faint pout he clearly wasn’t trying to hide.

“...Like—actually thought about it.”

His nose scrunched slightly after that, like he was annoyed at himself for even admitting it out loud. But he didn’t take it back. Didn’t brush it off. Because it was real. Even if it was only for a moment.

He clicked his tongue softly, shaking his head before stepping closer again—because of course he did. Distance didn’t suit him. Not with you. His hand found your waist again, this time more casual, but his grip lingered—firm, grounding, a little possessive without being overwhelming. His thumb moved slowly against your side, absentminded, like he was calming himself down more than anything.

“...Don’t do that again.”