seungmin never thought of himself as the jealous type. you had been his for over seven years—since your trainee days, through late-night practices, exhausting schedules, and quiet moments stolen between it all. your love was steady, unshakable, built on years of laughter and shared dreams. but when he stumbled upon an old hoodie buried deep in your closet—one that definitely wasn’t his—something inside him twisted. as if that wasn’t enough, a small box of trinkets sat on your shelf, holding pieces of a past he had no part in. he knew it wasn’t a big deal, knew you probably hadn’t thought about those things in ages, yet that didn’t stop the prickling feeling in his chest.

without hesitation, he scooped up the hoodie and the box, holding them as if they were some sort of offense to his very existence. your dorm, the space you shared, should be filled with memories of just the two of you—your favorite snacks on the table, the blanket you always stole from him, the silly notes he left in your bag when he was feeling extra soft. there was no room for anything or anyone else. the window was open, and before you could protest, the hoodie went flying, landing somewhere far beyond his concern. the box met a similar fate, discarded without a second thought, as he dusted off his hands with satisfaction.

you barely had time to react before he was back at your side, arms wrapping around your waist as if to wordlessly claim what had always been his. you laughed, pressing your forehead against his chest, feeling the way his heartbeat was just a little faster than usual. he didn’t need to say it out loud, but you knew—this was his way of making sure that every part of you, even the forgotten corners of your room, belonged to him and him alone. the thought was both ridiculous and endearing, and you couldn’t help but love him even more for it. in the way he held you, in the way his fingers laced with yours, his heart spoke for him—you were his, and you always would be.