JAEHYUN // IDOL X IDOL

The screen lights up before the fanmeeting even starts.

Jaehyun doesn’t mean to see it—he’s scrolling absently while staff rush around, stylists fixing mics, managers barking schedules—but then a familiar edit flashes across his phone.

You. Laughing. Too close to someone else.

Another member’s arm slung around your shoulders. A caption full of hearts. Comments screaming endgame, real, marry already.

His jaw tightens.

He locks his phone and exhales slowly through his nose, eyes lifting across the room until they land on you.

You’re seated on the couch near the mirrors, hair half-done, outfit immaculate—soft, angelic, exactly the image fans adore. You’re smiling at one of the staff members, nodding politely, completely unaware of the storm brewing a few feet away.

Jaehyun stands.

He crosses the dressing room without a word, stopping just behind you. One hand comes down on the back of the couch—casual to anyone watching—but his fingers curl tight into the fabric.

“You ready?” he asks, voice calm. Too calm.

Before you can answer, he leans in closer, head dipping just enough that only you hear the next words.

“...Don’t let them touch you like that.”

It’s quiet. Almost gentle.

But his reflection in the mirror gives him away—eyes dark, unreadable, fixed on you like you’re something he’s already claimed.

Staff calls for the group to line up.

Jaehyun straightens instantly, composure snapping back into place like armor. The idol smile returns as he offers you his hand to stand, fingers lingering just a second too long around your wrist.

On stage, the lights are blinding.

The cheers hit like a wave—Nyxers screaming your names, banners raised, phones everywhere. Jaehyun takes his spot beside you without question, shoulder brushing yours, close enough that you feel his warmth even through the layers of fabric.

Every time the members laugh, every time someone gestures, his hand finds you.

A thumb brushing your knuckles. Fingers hooked lightly into your sleeve. An arm draped behind you—not fully around, but close enough to promise.

Fans notice. They always do.

Someone shouts a ship name from the crowd. Another follows. Then another.

Jaehyun smiles—but it’s sharp.

When it’s his turn to speak, he steps forward slightly, mic raised. His arm slides fully around your waist this time, pulling you just a little closer than necessary.

“Ah... I’ve seen some interesting things online lately,” he says lightly, eyes scanning the crowd before dropping briefly to you.

His hand tightens at your side.

“You guys are very creative,” he continues, amused murmurs rippling through the audience. “But maybe don’t ship him with everyone, yeah?”

A pause.

His thumb presses deliberately into your hip.

“He’s not... that available.”

The crowd erupts—screams, laughter, shock.

Jaehyun just smiles wider.

After the fanmeeting, backstage is chaos. Staff rushing, members splitting off, managers distracted.

Jaehyun doesn’t say a word until the dressing room door shuts behind the two of you.

The lock clicks.

The smile drops.

He steps into your space immediately, one hand bracing against the mirror beside your head, the other settling possessively at your waist. He doesn’t kiss you—doesn’t need to. He’s close enough that you feel his breath against your cheek.

“You saw them,” he murmurs. “Didn’t you?”

His forehead rests lightly against yours now, eyes searching your face.

“They think they can touch you. Pair you with whoever they want.” A quiet scoff. “Cute.”

His grip tightens—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind.

“You didn’t correct them,” he adds softly. Not accusing. Observing.

Then, lower—dangerous.

“I did.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, thumb brushing under your chin, tilting your face up.

“Don’t play into it again,” Jaehyun says, voice controlled, steady, intimate. “I don’t like sharing what’s mine.”

The door rattles faintly as someone passes outside.

Jaehyun lets go—but doesn’t move away.

He stays close. Watching. Waiting.

Setting: Dressing room, post–fanmeeting.

The dressing room is loud before it’s quiet.

Stylists moving. Managers talking. Members laughing too loudly from adrenaline. Someone’s phone blasting clips from the fanmeet already—edits, comments, hearts flooding the screen. Shipping names flashing past in fast scrolls.

Jaehyun sees it.

He doesn’t say anything.

Not when the staff are fixing mics. Not when the members are joking around. Not when you’re sitting a few feet away, scrolling your own phone like everything is normal.

But he watches the screen longer than he should.

Jaw tight. Tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. Eyes dark.

When the coordinator calls them to line up for the fanmeeting, Jaehyun moves first.

He steps in front of you under the excuse of fixing your jacket zipper—fingers brushing your chest, adjusting the fabric with unnecessary precision. His hand lingers just a second longer than required. His knuckles graze your collarbone.

Quiet. Controlled. No one notices.

Except you.

On stage, the lights are blinding.

Fans are screaming. Signs everywhere. Phones up. Names being called. Shipping banners in the crowd that Jaehyun absolutely sees.

When the members start interacting with the audience, laughing, waving, teasing, Jaehyun shifts closer to you.

An arm slides around your shoulders like it’s natural. Normal. Fanservice.

His hand rests at your upper arm, fingers pressing in—not painful, but firm enough to be unmistakable.

Possessive.

When it’s his turn to talk, he smiles.

The idol smile. The practiced one. The charming one fans adore.

But his eyes flick to you before the crowd.

“Everyone’s been really creative lately,” he says lightly, voice playful through the mic. “With the shipping.”

The crowd screams.

He laughs like it’s a joke.

“But don’t get too carried away,” he adds, tilting his head slightly. “Some things aren’t for everyone to decide.”

More screaming. More laughter. Members teasing him.

His hand tightens on your arm.

Just a little.

He doesn’t look at the crowd when he finishes the sentence.

He looks at you.

The fanmeeting ends in noise and chaos and movement.

The second the stage doors close behind you, the idol persona drops.

Not dramatically. Not explosively.

Just... gone.

Back in the dressing room, the air feels different.

Quieter. Heavier.

Jaehyun shuts the door behind the last staff member and locks it without making a show of it.

Then he turns to you.

Slow.

Measured.

His voice is calm, but it’s low—dangerously so.

“You saw it,” he says.

Not a question.

He steps closer, stopping just inside your space. Not touching. Not yet. Just close enough that you feel his presence in your chest.

“The edits. The comments. The signs.” A pause. “You saw who they’re shipping you with now.”

His eyes search your face.

Not for denial. Not for reassurance.

For reaction.

“I didn’t say anything,” he continues quietly. “Didn’t cause a scene. Didn’t confront you. Didn’t embarrass you.”

Another step closer.

“You let them think it’s okay.”

His gaze drops briefly to your lips. Then back to your eyes.

“And then you stood on that stage,” he says, voice still controlled, “and let them scream it.”

Silence fills the room.

The kind that presses.

“I warned them,” he adds. Soft. Calm. Deadly serious.

His hand finally lifts—not grabbing, not aggressive—just resting against your side, grounding, claiming space.

“That was me being polite.”

His thumb presses lightly into your jacket.

Not rough. Not gentle. Intentional.

“Don’t let them do it again,” Jaehyun says quietly.

Not a demand.

A statement.

His forehead almost touches yours, breath warm, voice barely above a murmur.

“Because I won’t keep pretending it’s just fanservice forever.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you fully.

Eyes dark. Expression controlled. Possessive without being loud.

“You’re mine on that stage,” he says calmly. “And off it.”

Then he steps back.

Creates space.

Like nothing happened.

Like everything did.