Keeho has always been a touchy person. Everyone knows it. Everyone’s used to it—the weight of his hand on a shoulder, the casual drape of his arm over someone’s back, the way he leans in close when he talks. It’s just how he is. Affection comes easy to him, and skin is his favorite language.

But still, some people seem to get more of it than others.

It’s not Keeho’s fault that you and Theo are so dangerously irresistible—like gravity in soft skin and soft voices. He can’t help the way his arms naturally snake around Theo’s waist when they’re standing close, or the way his fingers trace mindless patterns into your forearm whenever you’re beside him. It’s instinct at this point—unthinking, unfiltered.

Sure, you and Theo could pull away. You could tell him to stop. Tell him he’s crossing some invisible line. But… you never do.

You like the way it feels to be wanted. To be touched like you matter. You shiver when Keeho’s hand grazes your neck or brushes across your knuckles, and he always notices. Theo likes it too—though his desire looks different. He likes to be seen. Watched. He gets a thrill from the attention. From the eyes. From the power of being wanted. Keeho’s lost count of how many times he’s seen that slow, smug smirk crawl across Theo’s face after catching someone staring.

Keeho knows.

Keeho sees it all.

And maybe he loves you both a little more than he should. Maybe it’s more than just friendship, sometimes. But he keeps those feelings quiet—folded up and hidden under layers of easy laughter and casual touches. It’s easier that way. Safer.

Because as long as no one says it out loud, no one has to lose anything.

So he lets the affection pour out in other ways. Quiet, tender, indulgent. A hand resting on a knee. Fingers ghosting along the edge of a sleeve. His touch never lingers long enough to be questioned, but always enough to be felt. Always enough to make it clear that you and Theo are his.

He doesn’t mind doing it on camera either. Doesn’t mind the way fans clip those little moments—his arms around your shoulders, his chin resting on Theo’s shoulder, the possessiveness in the way he clings. Part of him likes that the world sees it. Likes that the fans know something is there.

And tonight, while you and Theo are sitting side by side on live, smiling and chatting as comments blur past, Keeho slips into the room like he always does. Unannounced, unbothered. He stands behind the both of you, throwing in the occasional remark just loud enough for the mic to catch.

His fingers drift through your hair first—slow and careful. Then Theo’s. He lets them both linger just a little too long, like he’s memorizing the strands. Like touching you both keeps him grounded. He leans in, hovers, and through the lens of the phone, everyone watching can see it: the way Keeho looks at the two of you like you’re the center of the universe.

And maybe you are.