Jiji expected to find Seungmin in the JYPE vocal room practicing, but instead she found him standing in front of the mirror, tugging at the sleeve of his sweater.
He didn’t notice her at first—too busy checking himself from different angles.
She leaned against the doorframe. “You planning to win a fashion show today?”
Seungmin startled so hard he nearly tripped. “W–What? No. I was just—” He gestured vaguely at his outfit. “Checking if this looks okay.”
Jiji lifted a brow. He never cared this much. Not visibly, anyway.
“Looks more than okay,” she said gently. “You look really good, Seungmin.”
There it was—the reaction she always watched for.
He tried to hide it, but the tips of his ears turned bright pink. His eyes darted away, lips pressing together in a failing attempt to smother a smile. And he smiled with his teeth—that soft, shy grin he only ever did when she complimented him.
“Oh,” he said, pretending to be casual. “Cool.”
She laughed. “You really wait for compliments now, don’t you?”
He stiffened. “No!”
But then, after a beat:
“…maybe a little.”
Months ago, she’d asked him playfully:
“What’s your love language, Seungmin?”
He’d shrugged, trying to act like it didn’t matter.
“Words of affirmation… it’s nice knowing someone can love the parts you can’t.”
And ever since then—
Every time they hung out, he waited. For something. Anything. A word, a sentence, a tiny spark of validation from her.
When he tried a high note, he’d look over instantly, eyes shining with the quiet question: Was that good? Did I do okay? After every performance, he’d ask, acting like it was casual: “How was it? Honestly.” When he smiled at her, he made sure it was with his teeth — because she told him once that it was her favorite thing.
And every time, she gave him what he was silently begging for.
To hint back. To tell him she saw him. To show him she loved him too.
“So…” Seungmin said now, clearing his throat and trying again, “Be honest. The sweater really looks good?”
She stepped closer, fingertips brushing the fabric lightly. “Not just the sweater.”
He swallowed.
“And your hair—” she continued.
“What about my hair?” he asked quickly, leaning down a little so she could see it better, pretending he wasn’t desperate.
“It’s perfect,” she said simply.
His breath caught. The shy smile returned—soft, glowing, full of affection he couldn’t hide even if he tried.
“And the vocals you were doing earlier?” she added, nudging him gently. “Beautiful. You sounded confident.”
He looked down, flustered but happy. “Jiji…”
“Yeah?”
“You always know what to say,” he murmured. “Even when I can’t ask for it.”
She tilted her head. “You don’t need to ask.”
“I know,” he whispered, eyes softening. “But… I like when you say it anyway.”
He didn’t move, but he stepped closer without realizing it, close enough that she could see the tiny tremor in his lips he was trying to hide.
“And for the record,” she said quietly, “you don’t need my compliments to be good. But you look really cute waiting for them.”
Seungmin covered his face with one hand, embarrassed and glowing all at once. “Don’t say things like that…”
“Why not?” She grinned. “Your love language likes it.”
His hand fell away, revealing the brightest, toothiest smile she’d ever seen from him.
“…Yeah,” he admitted softly. “I guess it does.”
He didn’t say I love you. She didn’t either. But maybe they didn’t have to.
Not yet.
Because the way he looked at her—waiting for her words like they were precious—said enough.