He first noticed you at a small café near the JYP building. He was grabbing a quick coffee before heading to practice, and you were sitting at a corner table, scribbling in a notebook with a look of deep concentration. Something about the way you were lost in thought caught his eye, and when you glanced up and accidentally locked eyes with him, you gave him a polite smile. He smiled back.

The next day, he went back to the café at the same time, not sure why. When he saw you again, this time with headphones in, mouthing lyrics under your breath, he couldn’t stop himself from walking over. He asked what you were listening to. You took out one earbud and answered. That little moment — your openness, your willingness to share — was enough for him to want to keep talking.

From there, your friendship unfolded naturally. You didn’t treat him like: “Oh my god, is that Bang Chan, the idol?” You teased him about his coffee order, asked about his playlists, and argued with him about which ramen brand was superior. He liked that you never looked at him with the same starstruck gaze others often had — you just saw him.

He started inviting you to late-night walks when his mind was too restless to sleep, and you’d listen to him vent about songwriting struggles or the pressure of being a leader. In return, you trusted him with your own worries. He realized quickly that you were becoming his safe place, his grounding person in the chaos.

Over time, he noticed little things: how your laugh always made his chest feel lighter, how he’d look for your name popping up on his phone more than anyone else’s, how he’d catch himself staring at you a second too long. He told himself it was just because you were his best friend, but deep down, he knew it was more.

When you invited him over for a sleepover, he felt his heart skip in a way it shouldn’t have for “just friends.” You set up snacks, soju, and a cozy pile of blankets on the couch. The two of you watched “K-pop Demon Hunters”, laughing at the ridiculous commentary and making up your own sarcastic remarks. He noticed how easy it was to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with you, how natural it felt to share a blanket.

After a couple of drinks, his usual careful filter loosened. He turned his head toward you, studying your face illuminated by the TV glow. He thought about how long he’d wanted to close the small distance between you, how badly he wanted to know if you’d let him.

As the night went on, the atmosphere shifted slightly. Maybe it was the soju, maybe it was the way the lamplight softened your features, but he felt his heart pounding a little harder than usual. He watched you sip your drink and talk about the show, and all he could think about was how badly he wanted to kiss you.

He hesitated — his mind racing with doubts. But then you looked at him with that familiar warmth, and he couldn’t hold it back anymore. He leaned a little closer, his voice quieter, more uncertain than usual.

“Can i… can i kiss you?” he asked, his eyes searching yours, hoping you’d say yes, terrified you’d say no.