The weeks following the awards show were a whirlwind of schedules,photo shoots, rehearsals, and fan events for both Yunjin and Mingyu. Their stolen moments crept like a secret melody, replaying in quiet corners of their minds. But the reality of their lives loomed larger than ever, threatening to drown out the fragile harmony they’d found.It started with a text. Late one night, after a grueling practice session, Mingyu’s name lit up Yunjin’s phone screen.

Mingyu: Can we meet? I can’t stop thinking about you.
Yunjin stared at the message, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. Her dorm was silent, her members asleep, but her heart raced with indecision. Finally, she typed back.
Yunjin: It’s risky. Where?
Mingyu: That old café near the river. 2 a.m. No one will see us.
Against every ounce of logic screaming in her head, she agreed.

The café was a forgotten relic, tucked away in a quiet alley where the city’s pulse barely reached. Yunjin arrived first, her hoodie pulled low over her face, her breath visible in the chilly March air. When Mingyu slipped through the door minutes later, his presence filled the empty space like a storm rolling in.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Yunjin said immediately, her voice tight as she stood by the counter.
Mingyu froze, his brows knitting together. “What? You’re the one who said yes.”
“I know,” she snapped, turning to face him. “But this us sneaking around like this it’s insane, Mingyu. We’re playing with fire.”
He stepped closer, his jaw tightening. “And what’s the alternative? Pretending we don’t feel this? I’m done with that.”
Yunjin crossed her arms, her eyes flashing. “You think I’m not? But I have a group to think about. My members—they’d be dragged into this mess if we get caught. You don’t get it.”
“Don’t get it?” Mingyu’s voice rose, incredulous. “Yunjin, I’ve got thirteen other people counting on me too. You think I don’t know what’s at stake? But I can’t just switch this off. I can’t switch you off.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. She turned away, pacing toward the window, her hands trembling. “You make it sound so easy,” she muttered. “Like we can just… be together and damn the consequences.”
Mingyu followed her, his frustration boiling over. “It’s not easy! It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But you standing there acting like this doesn’t matter like we don’t matter that’s what’s killing me.”

Yunjin whirled around, her voice sharp. “Don’t you dare put that on me. I’m not the one texting in the middle of the night, begging for secret meetings. You’re the one pushing this, Mingyu!”
“Pushing?” He laughed bitterly, running a hand through his hair. “You kissed me back in that storage room. You held my hand backstage. Don’t act like I’m forcing you into anything.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she stepped closer, her finger jabbing at his chest. “Because I’m weak around you, okay? Because every time you’re near me, I forget how to think straight. And I hate it. I hate that you have that power over me.”

Mingyu caught her wrist, his grip firm but not harsh. “Then stop fighting it,” he said, his voice dropping to a raw whisper. “Stop fighting us.”
For a moment, they stood there, locked in a silent battle, the air between them crackling with tension. Yunjin’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and Mingyu’s chest heaved as he searched her face for an answer.
“I can’t,” she finally said, pulling her wrist free. “I can’t risk everything I’ve worked for. Not even for you.”
The words hit him like a punch. He stepped back, his expression hardening. “So that’s it? You’re just gonna walk away?”

“I don’t know!” she shouted, her voice breaking. “I don’t know what to do, Mingyu! I’m terrified of losing my career, of hurting my members, of… of losing you. But I can’t keep doing this halfway thing either. It’s tearing me apart.”
“Then let’s stop hiding,” he shot back, his tone fierce. “Let’s tell them. Our companies, our members let’s deal with it head-on.”
Yunjin stared at him, incredulous. “Are you insane? They’d bury us. The fans, the media they’d rip us to shreds. We’d be done.”
“Maybe,” he conceded, his voice softening but still resolute. “Or maybe we’d survive it. Together.”
She shook her head, a tear slipping down her cheek. “You’re dreaming, Mingyu. This isn’t some fairy tale. This is our lives.”
He reached for her, but she stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Please. Just… don’t.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Mingyu’s hands fell to his sides, his shoulders slumping. “Fine,” he said at last, his voice hollow. “If that’s what you want, I’ll leave you alone.”
Yunjin’s breath hitched, but she didn’t stop him as he turned toward the door. He paused, glancing back one last time, his eyes pleading for her to say something anything to change his mind.
She didn’t.

The door clicked shut behind him, and Yunjin sank to the floor, her hands covering her face as the weight of her choice crashed over her.
The next few days were a blur of avoidance. Yunjin threw herself into practice, her movements sharp and mechanical, while Mingyu drowned his frustration in late-night gym sessions. Their members noticed the shift Chaewon’s worried glances, Dokyeom’s quiet questionsbbut neither said a word.
Until fate, cruel as ever, forced them together again.

It was a joint event a charity concert with multiple groups performing. Backstage, the air buzzed with energy, but for Yunjin and Mingyu, it was a minefield. They avoided each other at first, orbiting the same space without crossing paths. But during a group rehearsal, a mix-up in choreography put them face-to-face.
“Move,” Yunjin hissed under her breath as they nearly collided.
“You move,” Mingyu retorted, his tone clipped. “You’re the one who’s been dodging me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t start this here.”

“Why not?” he challenged, stepping closer as the music paused. “You’re so good at running, Yunjin. Maybe you should just keep going.”
The other idols glanced over, sensing the tension. Chaewon started toward them, but Yunjin held up a hand, her gaze locked on Mingyu.
“Stop it,” she said, her voice low and furious. “You don’t get to guilt me into this. I told you where I stand.”
“And I told you I’m not giving up,” he fired back, his frustration spilling over. “You can push me away all you want, but I know you feel the same way I do.”
“Do you?” she snapped. “Because all I feel right now is suffocated. You won’t let me breathe, Mingyu!”
“Maybe because I’m drowning without you!” he shouted, the words echoing in the stunned silence that followed.

Yunjin flinched, her anger faltering as his raw honesty pierced through her defenses. The other performers quickly dispersed, leaving them in a bubble of their own chaos.
“I don’t want to fight you,” Mingyu said, his voice quieter now, laced with exhaustion. “But I don’t know how to let you go either.”
Yunjin’s throat tightened, her resolve cracking. “Then maybe we’re both doomed,” she whispered.
Before he could respond, a staff member called them back to rehearsal, and the moment shattered. They moved through the rest of the day like ghosts, their argument hanging between them like an unresolved chord.

That night, as Yunjin lay awake in her dorm, her phone buzzed. A single message from Mingyu.
Mingyu: I’m sorry. But I meant every word. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.
She stared at the screen, her heart warring with her head. The intensity of their connection was undeniable, but so was the chaos it brought. For the first time, she wondered if love this kind of love was worth the storm.

To be continued...