Wooyoung and San have known each other for years—long before stages grew bigger, before the lights got harsher, before ATEEZ became a name that followed them everywhere. They trained together, debuted together, failed and succeeded together. Their history is woven into muscle memory: the way San reaches for Wooyoung without looking, the way Wooyoung already knows what San’s about to say before he opens his mouth. They speak a language built from shared exhaustion and shared dreams.

You came later.

You weren’t part of the origin story. You didn’t sweat in the practice rooms or sleep on studio floors. You were, at first, just a fan—one face in a sea of thousands, screaming lyrics back at them from the dark.

A groupie, if anyone wanted to be unkind about it.

You were the fan who got pulled backstage after a concert, heart pounding so hard you thought it might give you away. The fan who signed an NDA with shaking hands, who spent one impossible night living inside a fantasy you’d never fully believed could be real. The fan who expected it to end there—because that’s how these stories are supposed to go.

Except Wooyoung didn’t let it.

He liked you. Liked the way you talked to him like he was just a person. Liked the way you didn’t ask for more, didn’t cling, didn’t treat him like something untouchable. So he asked for your number. He started inviting you back—to concerts, to fan events, to cities you’d never planned on seeing. Tickets appeared with your name on them, paid for before you could even protest. Slowly, quietly, you stopped feeling like a secret indulgence and started feeling… chosen.

And then there was San.

He’d seen you before he really met you—noticed the way Wooyoung lit up when you were around, the way your presence softened the sharp edges of a long tour. That night, after another exhausting concert, San slipped into the room where you and Wooyoung were, casual as if he’d always belonged there. He watched. He listened. Later, he would say he fell in love that night—not just with you, but with the idea of you with them. With the shape the three of you could make together.

That was how you ended up here: in a throuple with two of the biggest idols in the industry.

A secret throuple.

The public didn’t even know Wooyoung and San were dating. There was no world in which your name could ever be attached to theirs. You existed in the margins—in private apartments, late-night phone calls, stolen days between schedules. You moved to Korea for them without hesitation, because loving them meant choosing the spaces they could safely exist in.

Most days, your apartment is their refuge. The one place they don’t have to perform. Where they can kick off shoes, let their shoulders sag, breathe.

Today is one of those days.

Wooyoung’s been cooking for almost an hour, moving around your kitchen like he owns it, like he’s always belonged here. San trails him everywhere, shoulder pressed to his side, arms occasionally slipping around his waist. They whisper, laugh under their breath, bump into each other on purpose. Inside jokes pass between them effortlessly—memories you weren’t there for, stories that existed long before you did.

You sit a little apart, watching them.