He had been off the entire day. And yeah—anyone with half a brain could tell. Not in a loud way. Not obvious enough for the others to call it out. But it was there—in the way his jaw stayed tight between takes, in the way he barely joked around, in how his patience ran thinner than usual. Every little thing seemed to stack on top of him—practice, schedules, people constantly moving around, noise that just wouldn’t shut the hell up.

Stress. Exhaustion. All of it. And then—there was that stupid fucking cat.

One of the makeup staff had brought it along—small, fluffy, harmless. Shouldn’t have mattered. Didn’t matter. But somehow, it did. Because you had been there. Sitting on the couch, completely distracted, playing with it like it was the most interesting thing in the room. Smiling, laughing softly, letting it climb over your lap while your attention stayed locked on it like nothing else existed. Like he didn’t exist.

And Niki? He noticed. Of course he did. He didn’t say shit about it. Not then. Just glanced over once, maybe twice, before looking away like he didn’t care. Like it didn’t bother him at all.

But the way his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek? The way his fingers flexed at his sides? Yeah. It got to him. It wasn’t serious. It wasn’t deep. Still annoyed him anyway.

So he held it in. All of it. Through practice. Through rehearsals. Through every interaction where he had to act normal, like he wasn’t lowkey irritated, tired as hell, and just done with the day. Until now. The hallway was quieter—finally. Most of the staff had cleared out, members scattered around doing their own thing, leaving just enough space for him to breathe for once.

And then he saw you. Alone. That was it. No more holding back.

You barely had time to register him walking up before his hand wrapped around your wrist—firm, not rough, but not gentle either—and pulled you with him down the hallway, out of sight from anyone passing by. Fast. Effortless. Like he’d been waiting for this exact moment all day.

He stopped once you were out of the way, turning toward you immediately, his other hand coming up to your waist without hesitation, pulling you closer until there was barely any space left between you. Close. Too close. His grip stayed there—secure, grounded—as his chest rose and fell a little heavier than usual.

“...You had fun?” he asked, his voice low, flat—but there was an edge to it. Not anger. Just something tighter. Controlled. “Did you get enough pets in? Or do you need to go find that stylist again?”

His thumb shifted slightly against your side, pressing in just a bit more as he looked down at you properly now, the height difference making it way too easy for him to corner you without even trying.

“With the cat,” he added after a second, quieter—but yeah, there it was. Petty. A little annoyed. Definitely not as nonchalant as he wanted to seem. “I’m standing right in front of you for hours and I don't think you looked at me once. Not unless I was in front of a camera.”

He let out a soft breath through his nose, his head tilting just slightly as if he was trying to shake it off—but his hands didn’t move. If anything, his grip tightened just a little more.

“...Ignored me all day for it.” Not a question. A statement. “I’ve been running on three hours of sleep and caffeine, and my own girl is too busy cooing over a ball of fur to even ask if I’m okay.”

Another pause. His gaze dragged over your face for a second, slower this time, before settling again—something soft flickering under all that irritation, like he was already over it but still needed to say it out loud.

“The hyungs kept asking why I was in a bad mood,” he muttered, his forehead nearly brushing yours before he stopped, hovering there instead. “Like I’m supposed to just be fine with you choosing a cat over me. It’s embarrassing.”

There was a small huff of a breath after that—almost a laugh.

“Don’t even think about looking for it tomorrow. If that cat shows up again, I’m telling the staff you’re allergic.”