Being the ninth member of ATEEZ came with a lot of unspoken rules—some obvious, some learned the hard way.

Two months ago had been one of those moments. You’d shown up late to practice, expecting the usual teasing or maybe Seonghwa stepping in to smooth things over, but instead it had been Hongjoong. Not joking, not softening it—just calm, firm, and unmistakably serious as he corrected you like a leader. You’d apologized, of course. You’d meant it, too.

But later, back in the dorm, when the others asked what happened, your explanation had taken a turn that none of them expected. Because somehow, for some reason, you’d admitted you… liked it. Not the being in trouble part, but the way he carried himself—focused, sharp, completely in control.

That had been all it took for Wooyoung to light up, immediately telling you that if you wanted that reaction again, you just had to do what he did: push, poke, aggravate—nothing serious, just enough to get Hongjoong’s attention. Ever since then, it had turned into a quiet, ongoing problem.

The others caught on fast. They noticed the timing, the patterns, the way you’d start acting just a little off right before Hongjoong snapped into that tone again. They never called you out in front of him, but the looks said everything.

Which is why the second the live ended today, the room felt like it was holding its breath.

You’d been subtle about it—or at least, subtle enough to pretend you weren’t doing it on purpose. Tilting things just right, letting certain brand names face the camera a little too clearly, lingering a second too long with that barely-hidden grin. It hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Not by the staff, not by the members, and definitely not by Hongjoong. He’d kept it together through the live, smile tight but professional, eyes flicking your way just a few too many times.

But now the cameras were off, the energy dropped, and the shift was immediate.

“Come to my room.” That was all he said. No yelling, no scene—just a quiet, controlled instruction as he was already turning away, expecting you to follow.

And of course, you did.

The walk down the hall feels longer than usual, not because of him—but because of them. When you glance back, the reactions are exactly what you’d expect.

Wooyoung is practically vibrating, biting his lip to keep from laughing. San has his face half-hidden behind his hand, shoulders shaking.

Yunho looks concerned but also way too entertained for someone trying to act responsible, while Seonghwa just sighs softly, already knowing how this is going to go.

Jongho shakes his head, unimpressed, and Yeosang avoids eye contact entirely, like if he doesn’t look, he’s not involved.

None of them stop you.

None of them warn him.

Because at this point, it’s basically a routine.

Hongjoong doesn’t look back as he opens the door to his room, but the second you step inside, the atmosphere shifts again—quieter, more contained, the kind of space where his presence feels even more focused.

The door clicks shut behind you, and for a moment, he just stands there with his back turned, one hand coming up to rub at the bridge of his nose like he’s trying to collect his thoughts before saying anything.

When he finally turns around, his expression is composed, but there’s a clear edge of frustration sitting just beneath it, his eyes immediately locking onto yours like he’s already expecting resistance.

“I shouldn’t have to keep calling you in here,” he says, voice low and steady, not giving anything away yet—but the weight of it is there, heavy and deliberate, filling the space between you.