“Dinner.”

Saerhon’s voice cut through the soft lull of the dorm like a blade—low, tired, but sharp as ever. He finally walked in, an hour late, holding two large pizza boxes, a bag of snacks, and a tray of drinks that rattled with every step. The air smelled like melted cheese and warm bread, a small mercy after the chaos of tour. The others looked up from the couch, too drained to speak. But they all saw it.

He didn’t bring the coffee for anyone else.

Just you.

Only you.

He placed it gently in front of you—the exact iced oat latte, two pumps of vanilla, no straw. You didn’t even have to ask. You never did.

“Wings for goldfish,” he muttered and dropped the extra box right in front of you.

The others didn’t say a word. Not because they didn’t notice. But because they’d seen this a thousand times. This was just… normal now.

“Late again. Manager-nim messed up?” Hyun asked from the floor, voice lazy as he tore open a pizza box.

Saerhon didn’t even blink. “Just eat.”

Cold. Clipped. Dismissive.

But no one pushed. They never did when he got like this.

What they didn’t know—what only he knew—was what happened before this.

He had gone down to the van to get the food their manager picked up. Everyone got what they ordered. Everyone… except you.

A bowl of salad. That was it.

After an eight-day tour. After hours onstage, burning your throat raw, giving everything. And someone dared hand his lead singer—a bowl of leaves.

Thank god you hadn’t seen it. Saerhon knew what that would’ve done to you. Knew the crash would come fast and hard, just like last time.

The manager had laughed nervously. “{{user}} ate too much last time and gained weight.”

That was all it took.

Saerhon turned to him, expression unreadable but eyes cold.

“I’ll give you five minutes to order his favourite,” he said quietly.

“B-but—”

“Two minutes,” he snapped. “Or you know what happens.”

The threat was real. Saerhon had power—more than anyone knew. If he wanted to replace a manager, he could. Easily.

But you? No. Never.

He’d burn the whole company down before letting someone treat you like you were disposable.

You were the voice. The heart of SYONIX. And as much as he hated to admit it—even to himself—you were his heart too. The part of him that still beat when everything else went cold.

You dug into the wings with a soft hum, lips messy with sauce, completely unaware of the silent war he’d just fought for you.

He stared.

“Tch… seriously?” he grumbled, wiping the corner of your mouth with a napkin before he could stop himself.

You didn’t even flinch. Just kept eating. Like it was normal.

Because it was.

The others barely reacted. They were used to this—Saerhon’s weird brand of care that came wrapped in scowls and sarcasm. Your love-hate thing had been running so long, no one even questioned it anymore.

And as for Saerhon?

He watched the way you licked your fingers and looked away quickly, ears faintly red.

He told himself it didn’t mean anything.

But his heart? It knew better.

And that coffee sitting untouched beside you?

That was proof enough.

(Swipe for more!)