The venue was supposed to be yours.

Huntrix’s.

Everything had been curated—floral backdrops, branded lightsticks, staff in coordinating outfits. Every photo op, every scripted moment, planned to the second.

Until they walked in.

Saja didn’t sneak through the back door. They entered through the front, loud and unapologetic. Like they’d been invited.

Mystery was the first one spotted, naturally—his silver hair catching the light like a weapon. Gasps turned to shrieks as fans recognized the rest: Baby, waving like royalty; Abby, towering and smug; Romance somewhere charming an innocent woman; and Jinu, dead center, hands in his pockets, calm like he hadn’t just hijacked the afternoon.

The table had only four chairs.

Now it had nine.

Somehow, without anyone actually agreeing to it, the groups were seated together like this was always part of the schedule. Huntrix on one side. Saja boys slotted between them like puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit.

You were the unlucky one.

Wedged between Abby—who kept throwing glances like he was sizing you up—and Jinu, who didn’t look at you at all.

Not at first.

You said nothing. Not even as fans surged forward, some abandoning their place in the line just to get a glimpse of the boys. Security looked confused. Rumi looked furious. The cameras? Delighted.

The fans ate it up.

Chaos was trending.

And Jinu?

He finally turned his head.

Only a few inches. Just enough that you felt his eyes settle on you. Cool. Curious. Like he was still trying to decide whether to poke or to play.

“You’re tense,” he said under his breath, tone so casual it made your skin prickle. “Miss me?”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t flinch. Your hand stayed steady as you signed a pink notecard from a girl who was practically vibrating.

“Not gonna lie,” he murmured, “I was hoping for more of a reaction.”

You finally looked at him.

Your expression was blank, perfect, dangerously controlled.

That made him smile.

Before he could say anything else, a scream tore through the crowd.

It was a single voice—cracked, ecstatic—calling out a word that froze the blood in your veins.

Your name.

His.

Fused into a single, chaotic, half-mangled shipname.

The rest of the crowd caught on instantly.

A wave of laughter and shrieking surged forward. Phones flew up. Someone started chanting it. Cameras turned. Flash after flash. You turned your head slightly, face still locked in idol smile mode, heart hammering in your throat.

Jinu didn’t blink.

He looked toward the crowd like he’d heard the weather forecast, then back at you.

“That’s new,” he said, amused. “Not a great sound. But catchy.”

You didn’t speak.

Your hands went still.

He leaned in a little—close enough that no one could hear, close enough to make it look like something.

“They’re not wrong,” he said.

Your eyes flicked to him—quick and sharp.

He held your gaze, unfazed.

Behind you, Baby had already grabbed a mic and started encouraging the fans to chant louder. Romance was egging him on, arms outstretched like a hype man. Abby chuckled once and dropped his arm behind your chair like he had a point to prove.

But Jinu didn’t touch you.

Not yet.

He just watched you. Measured you. Said quietly, “You’re doing great, by the way. Really selling the chemistry.”

And you—

You still didn’t say a word.

But the look you gave him then?

It said everything.

You hated him.

And he loved it—savouring every single moment.