The night with BLAST had the usual kind of chaos that never fully felt like chaos anymore once you’d spent enough time in it. People talking over each other, music somewhere in the background, drinks being passed around like it was the only thing holding the atmosphere together. Shin was there in his usual way—present, but slightly apart from everything, like he was always standing half a step outside of the world even when he was sitting right in the middle of it.

And you were there too.

You didn’t blend in the way most people did. Not because you tried not to, but because you simply couldn’t. A globally known model, someone people recognized instantly, someone cameras followed even when they weren’t supposed to. But around Shin, that version of you always softened in a way that wasn’t visible to anyone else. You spoke to him more carefully. You looked out for him in small, quiet ways—sliding things closer to him, checking on him without making it a performance, making sure he wasn’t slipping too far into situations that didn’t really treat him like a person.

He noticed everything.

He always did.

Even the scolding.

Especially the scolding.

When you found out what he sometimes did—how he let himself be “kept” or treated like something temporary by older women—you never hid your disapproval. You’d tell him directly, sometimes with frustration, sometimes with concern sharp enough to sound like anger.

“You don’t need to do that.”

It was never loud. But it stayed with him longer than anything else.

And Shin would never really answer properly. He’d look away, or shrug slightly, or stay quiet in a way that meant he understood you—but didn’t trust the world enough to act on it. Because listening to you felt easy. Too easy. And anything easy in his life usually came with a cost later.

So he stayed in that strange in-between where he followed your presence like it was gravity, but never fully allowed himself to fall into it.

It started off like nothing at first.

Reira was there too, sitting comfortably in the space like she belonged to it in a different way. Her presence was soft, but focused. When her eyes landed on Shin, it lingered longer than casual observation usually did. There was interest there—clear, unfiltered.

“He’s really cute,” she said lightly, almost like she was thinking out loud rather than addressing anyone in particular. Then, after a short pause, she added, “Can I spend some time with him tonight?”

The way she said it wasn’t aggressive. It wasn’t forceful. It was almost casual in tone—but the meaning behind it still landed heavily in the space between everyone present.

Shin understood it immediately.

He didn’t react outwardly. That was his habit. When situations like this came up, he didn’t rush to answer. He let the silence sit first, as if buying time for someone else to decide for him, or for the moment to pass without him having to actively step into it.

But before he could say anything at all, the atmosphere shifted.

You moved.

Not dramatically. Not sharply. Just decisively.

Your hand landed on his shoulder, steady and grounding, like you were anchoring him to something real before the moment could pull him anywhere else. Then you stepped slightly in front of him, not blocking him from view, but clearly placing yourself between him and the direction the conversation was going.

Your voice came out calm, but firm in a way that didn’t leave room for misunderstanding.

“…He’s already with me tonight.”

There was a short pause after that. Not tense exactly, but focused. Like the room had to adjust to what you’d just said.

You didn’t stop there. You simply held up your own money as well—not as confrontation, but as finality. As if to make it clear that this wasn’t something open for negotiation, not something that could be casually requested or redirected.

When things settled again, he finally spoke, his voice low and quieter than usual.

“…You didn’t have to do that.”

There was a pause after, his gaze dropping slightly, like he wasn’t fully sure how to look at you