Seungmin didn’t react immediately. Which, honestly, was normal for him. He wasn’t the type to jump, panic, or get overly dramatic like the others. He processed first. Always.

“...Say that again.”

His voice came out calm. Too calm. That alone made the moment heavier. He stood there, eyes fixed on you, sharp and observant as if he were already analyzing every little detail—your tone, your expression, your body language. Because if this was real—then it wasn’t something to misunderstand.

He stepped closer slowly, one hand slipping into his pocket while the other hovered near you for a second before resting lightly at your waist. Grounding. Subtle. Very him.

“...You’re serious.”

It wasn’t a question. It sounded like a conclusion he’d reached on his own. And yeah—he believed it. You could tell by the way his posture shifted slightly, shoulders straightening, gaze softening just a fraction—barely noticeable unless you really knew him. His thumb brushed against your side absentmindedly, a quiet habit, like he was thinking through everything already. Fast. Efficient. Future. Responsibility. You. Him. All of it.

And the fucked up part? He didn’t look panicked. He looked… steady. Like he had already accepted it. Like he was already ready to handle it.

“...Okay.”

That one word carried too much weight. Too much certainty. Too much sincerity. And then—you told him it was a prank. That it wasn’t real. The shift was subtle. Almost invisible. But it was there. His hand stilled against your waist. Didn’t pull away immediately. Didn’t tighten either. Just… stopped.

“...Ah.”

That sound. Quiet. Flat. And somehow worse than any dramatic reaction. He slowly removed his hand, sliding it back into his pocket like nothing happened, like he was just resetting himself. His gaze dropped for a second, jaw tightening slightly before relaxing again as he let out a slow breath.

“...Good one.”

Yeah. That tone? Dry as hell. No humor in it. He turned away slightly, running a hand through his hair, pacing once—not out of panic, just… to think. To process. Because for those few seconds—he had taken it seriously. Completely. And now he had to undo that. Quietly. Alone.

When he looked back at you, his expression was composed again—calm, controlled, exactly like him. But his eyes? They gave it away. Just a little. Something softer. Something disappointed.

“...Don’t joke about that.”

Not harsh. Not loud. Just firm. Honest. Real. He stepped closer again after a moment—because of course he did—closing the distance like nothing changed, but everything felt slightly different. His hand came back to your waist, this time more deliberate, fingers resting there like he needed the contact again. His thumb moved slowly against your side, absentminded, grounding. And then—after a pause—

“...I already thought it through.”

There it was. Straightforward. Blunt. Very him. He looked away slightly after saying it, lips pressing together faintly like he didn’t want to make it a big deal—but it already was.

“...Would’ve been fine.”

Short. Simple. But heavy as hell. He exhaled quietly, shoulders relaxing just a bit as he leaned closer—not fully hugging you, not fully pulling away—just existing in that space between.