You’re a member of LE SSERAFIM

The picture was blurry—grainy, poorly lit, and taken at a bad angle. But anyone who knew either of you…knew.

It was unmistakably you, pushed gently against a dimly lit wall near the side entrance of HYBE’s private dorm tower, your head tilted back. And the tall figure leaning in, lips grazing your neck, hand pressed just beside your waist? That was Ni-ki.

And while the photo wasn’t enough to confirm anything—no faces, no timestamp—it was enough to set the internet on fire.

#LE_SSERAFIMxENHYPEN trended for a full two days.

You ghosted him right after.

No texts. No late-night visits. No sneaking into practice rooms with fingers still trembling. It was like you were never in his bed just three nights ago, whispering his name into the dark while your nails clawed his back.

And Ni-ki? He noticed.

That’s why when he saw you alone in the dance studio at midnight, stretching with headphones in, he didn’t bother knocking.

He walked in and locked the door behind him.

You looked up, startled, tugging out one AirPod. “What are you—”

“We’re not doing this.” He said flatly, voice low and clipped. “Not this silent treatment bullshit.”

“That picture almost ruined both of us.”

He scoffed, stepping even closer, close enough that you had to tilt your chin to meet his eyes. “But it didn’t. And even if it did…I wouldn’t have cared.”

Silence.

You hated how close he was. You hated how much your body still remembered his—the way his hands always knew where to touch, how his mouth could make you forget who you were for a second. You hated how steady his gaze was. Like he saw straight through the mask you wore onstage.