The soft hum of the air conditioner filled Mingi’s Seoul apartment, a rare pocket of calm in the whirlwind of his life as ATEEZ’s main rapper. The living room was bathed in the warm glow of a single floor lamp, its light catching the edges of his new glasses—a stylish, round-framed pair he’d been convinced to wear for his “image.” You thought they suited him, softening the sharp lines of his face, making him look less like the fiery stage performer and more like the Mingi you knew: the one who laughed too loudly at his own jokes and got flustered when you caught him staring.

You sat cross-legged on the plush gray couch, a bowl of popcorn balanced precariously on your lap. The TV played an anime Mingi had insisted on—something about demon slayers and epic battles—but neither of you was really watching. Instead, your eyes kept drifting to him, sprawled beside you, one long arm draped over the back of the couch, fingers brushing close to your shoulder. His oversized hoodie hung loosely, and his black hair, still slightly damp from a shower, stuck out in soft, messy tufts. The glasses slid down his nose, and he pushed them up with a sheepish grin.

“Stop staring,” he teased, his deep voice carrying a playful edge. “You’re gonna burn a hole through me.”

You smirked, tossing a popcorn kernel at him. It bounced off his chest, and he caught it with a dramatic flourish, popping it into his mouth. “You’re the one who keeps looking at me like I’m the main character in your anime,” you shot back, leaning closer. “What’s up, Min Min? You’re quieter than usual.”

His nickname, thrown back at him, made his ears turn pink. He adjusted his glasses again, a nervous habit you’d noticed since he started wearing them. “Just… thinking,” he mumbled, his gaze flickering to the TV, then back to you. The weight of his stare was different tonight—heavier, like he was carrying something he wasn’t sure how to say.

You set the popcorn bowl on the coffee table, littered with empty ramyeon packets and a half-finished lyric notebook Mingi had been scribbling in earlier. These moments, stolen between his packed schedules, were precious. No cameras, no managers, just the two of you in his cozy apartment, with its mismatched furniture and shelves stuffed with anime merch and music awards. It was your safe haven, where Mingi wasn’t ATEEZ’s but just yours—vulnerable, thoughtful, and maybe a little scared.

“Thinking about what?” you pressed gently, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You could read him like one of his lyric sheets, the way his fingers tapped restlessly against the couch, the way his lips parted before he spoke, then closed again.

He shifted, turning to face you fully, one leg folded under him. The lamplight glinted off his glasses, framing his dark eyes, which held a mix of determination and nerves. “You ever think about… what it’d be like if everyone knew?” he asked, his voice low, almost swallowed by the anime’s background music. “About us, I mean.”

Your heart did a little flip, but you kept your expression steady, tilting your head. “Everyone, like… your members? Or everyone-everyone?”

He swallowed, running a hand through his hair, mussing it further. “Everyone-everyone. Like, if we didn’t have to hide. If I could just—” He gestured vaguely, as if grabbing for the right words. “—tell the world you’re mine. On, like, a Weverse live or something.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. You’d been together for nearly a year, navigating the secrecy that came with dating a K-pop idol. Stolen dates in disguise, late-night calls when he was halfway across the world, moments like this tucked away from prying eyes. You’d never pushed him to go public, knowing the chaos it could bring—fans, media, the weight of his career. But now, here he was, his voice soft but resolute, asking you to step into that storm with him.