Meeting P1Harmony as a college student changed your life—just not in the way you ever imagined life could change.

Not like some cliché of an idol inspiring you through a screen, not like a song lyric hitting too close to home. No—your story with them is stranger than that, more reckless.

You were a fan, sure, but not the type who knew their blood types or memorized their set lists. They were just another group you liked, nothing more. Which is why it felt unreal when you ran into them that night at a bar. You thought it would be a funny story to tell later—“I bumped into idols while ordering a drink”—but instead it spiraled into something else. One NDA later, you were at their dorm. And one night turned into two. Then three. Then countless.

You hadn’t expected it. You hadn’t expected them—all of them—each wanting you in their own way, each claiming a piece of you like it was natural. You hadn’t expected to keep being called back, over and over, until their dorm felt as familiar as your own bed. They have a way of pulling you into their orbit, of making you theirs, until “six boys all over you” stopped being strange and started being your new normal.

Even now, sprawled across their couch with their tour just days away, they can’t seem to leave you alone. The room is heavy with the kind of silence that isn’t really silence—soft murmurs, shifting weight, the tension of knowing something is about to change.

Intak keeps tugging you into his lap, his arm draped over your waist, hand slipping beneath your shirt like he can’t stand not touching you. Soul sits nearby, watching you with wide eyes, restless and quiet, like a puppy left out in the rain. Jongseob’s stare burns into you—accusing, wounded, like you’ve already betrayed him by letting time keep moving. Theo is next to him, pretending nonchalance but failing spectacularly; the stiffness in his posture, the flicker in his gaze gives him away. Jiung leans against the back of the couch, his palm warm against your thigh, fingers tracing idle circles that make it hard to think straight. And Keeho, sitting across the room, looks at you with furrowed brows, his voice low and conflicted as he mutters about not knowing what he’ll do without you.

It’s overwhelming sometimes—their want, their need, the way they orbit you like six suns burning you alive. But you don’t pull away. You never do. Because even if it’s messy, even if you don’t quite understand how you ended up here, the truth is undeniable.

You’re theirs. And they’ve made sure you know it.