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**Coachella, Week 2.**
Somewhere between the 98-degree California heat and Jake deciding mesh counted as a fully functional shirt, I had an epiphany:
I am down. So down. Like, Mariana Trench-deep, hopelessly in love with Yang Jungwon.
And not in the flirty, K-drama kind of way either. No. This is the tragic, fanfic-worthy kind of yearning—the kind where you’re in a crowd of 100,000 people and still feel like the only idiot pining after someone who’s determined to pretend you’re just another bandmate.
Which is wild.
Because I AM IN LOVE WITH YANG JUNGWON.
“Stop looking at him like a confused hamster who lost his sunflower seed,” Jay muttered beside me as we waited backstage.
“I do not,” I hissed.
“Heeseung. You literally sighed when he adjusted his in-ears.”
“It was a meaningful sigh.”
“It was the sound of a woodland creature experiencing heartbreak.”
I ignored him. Because there he was—Jungwon. Calm. Composed. Looking like he walked off a K-pop editorial. The kind of man who doesn’t flinch when pyro goes off two feet away or when Ni-ki nearly decapitates someone with a mic stand.
Me? I flinch. Emotionally. Every time he calls me “hyung” in front of staff like we’re not spiritually married in my mind.
Pain. Agony. A slow death by unreciprocated glances.
Also, very embarrassing.
---
**The Plan™ for Coachella Week 2:**
1. Perform well.
2. Don’t pass out.
3. Make Jungwon look at me like I’m the only man on that desert stage.
Solid. Achievable.
Except goal #3 was failing faster than Ni-ki’s last attempt at an American accent.
I tried everything. Waved at him mid-choreo. Laughed too loudly when he hyped the fan chant. Tilted my head dramatically during a dance break like I was in a music video about heartbreak and good lighting.
I even showed him how the red dye was bleeding from my scalp onto my outfit, hoping for a shred of concern. He dabbed it with a tissue like I was a malfunctioning faucet, then turned away in under three seconds—like I hadn’t just bled color for him.
It was heartbreakingly efficient.
Jungwon blinked, nodded, and turned to silently judge Ni-ki’s fake emo phase with the quiet disappointment of a mom finding eyeliner on her son’s pillowcase.
Sunghoon walked past and muttered, “You’re about two sighs away from writing a country song.”
“You’re glowing like a rejected firefly,” Jake added without looking up from his phone.
“He’s immune to your emotional bait,” Sunoo whispered.
“This isn’t bait, it’s unspoken devotion,” I groaned.
“You’re blinking at him like a baby deer in a minefield,” Sunghoon said.
“With purpose,” I insisted.
---
By the time the sun dipped and it was showtime, I was in full emotional crisis.
That’s the thing about love. It turns your mental health into a group project—and Jungwon’s the guy getting an A without lifting a finger.
I tried to focus. I really did. But every time he squinted into the lights or flipped his hair, I fell deeper.
“You looked like you were about to propose during ‘Moonstruck,’” Jake said afterward.
“I might’ve if he’d made eye contact,” I muttered. At this rate, I was about to become a Disney Channel side character named Cringeeseung.
We hit the stage. The crowd was thunder. Energy off the charts. I should’ve been having the time of my life.
Instead, I was fixated on the back of Jungwon’s head as he led us like a majestic, unbothered lion cub.
He did glance at me once. My heart leapt. Then he said, “Hyung, you’re a step ahead of the choreo.”
Crushed. Shattered. Emotionally banished.
“You’re like a Victorian ghost haunting a living man,” Jake said during our break.
“I love him so much,” I whispered into my mic towel.
---
The show went well.
No falls. No surprise encores. Tight choreo. Intense eye contact—with everyone except me.
I was still hung up on the way Jungwon’s cat eyes crinkled when he smiled at the crowd.
His dimples? Literal portals to salvation.
Did I get even one dimpled glance? No.
Instead, I got a pat on the back and a casual, “Let’s get changed before the crowd swarms. Good job, hyung.”
HYUNG.
I was three seconds away from recording a breakup ballad on my phone and uploading it to SoundCloud. Username: @cringeeseung\_01liner.
---
In the van after, I slumped dramatically against the window like a Wattpad main character. I hoped Jungwon noticed.
He didn’t.
He was too busy coordinating tomorrow’s schedule like a responsible, beautiful logistics demon.
“Want me to push you out of the moving car so you can feel something?” Ni-ki offered.
“I already feel everything,” I muttered.
---
Back at the hotel, I was mid-doomscroll (someone posted a fancam of my longing gaze into the void) when the door creaked open.
Jungwon stepped in.
Still in his stage outfit. Calm as ever.
“Everyone’s in Sunghoon and Jay’s room,” he said.
I sighed. “Guess I’ll just wallow alone then.”
He stared. Then locked the door.
“You’re so dramatic.”
“I’m in love with a man who treats me like a colleague.”
“You’re in love with a man who told you ‘I love you’ last night while you were brushing your teeth. You said ‘cool.’”
“I had toothpaste in my mouth.”
He walked over and pulled me up by the collar.
“Heeseung-hyung, you literally wake me up by kissing my nose. We’ve been dating for eight months. Are you seriously this insecure?”
I blinked. “I just wanted you to look at me on stage like I’m the only man alive.”
“You blinked at me seventeen times and smiled like you were in a drama finale. What did you want me to do—drop the choreo and propose?”
“Maybe.”
He groaned and kissed me. Hard. Like he was trying to suffocate my doubt with affection.
It worked.
When we pulled back, I whispered, “So you do like me.”
“God help me, yes.”
---
Later, as we lay tangled on the bed, the door slammed open.
“Guys, we’re ordering—OH MY GOD—”
Jay shrieked.
Ni-ki clapped.
Sunoo screamed and tried to close the door with his foot.
Sunghoon yelled from the hallway, “Y’all couldn’t wait five minutes?!”
“I TOLD YOU!” Jake crowed. “PAY UP, JAY.”
Jungwon groaned into my neck. I sighed.
“Secret relationship, my ass,” Jay muttered, handing Jake a crumpled twenty.
---
So yeah.
Maybe I’m dramatic. Maybe I collect Jungwon’s heart crumbs like limited edition photocards. Maybe I reread his texts like scripture and overanalyze every “hyung” like it holds a hidden message.
But he loves me.
And I still get butterflies when he calls me hyung in public—even if it’s the romantic equivalent of being handed a participation trophy by your soulmate.
So who’s really winning here?
(It’s definitely me. And Jake. Jake’s twenty bucks richer.)
---
Later, when everyone had passed out from post-show chaos and the hotel finally quieted, I stared at the ceiling. Jungwon scrolled next to me.
“Did you see that tweet calling us ‘Coachellaboyfriends’?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he replied. “They’re not wrong.”
I turned to face him. “You never act like we’re dating in public.”
“That’s literally the point of a secret relationship.”
“I’m just saying—a wink wouldn’t kill you. Or like, one dimple.”
“You want me to flash my dimples on command?”
“I want affection,” I deadpanned.
“You got tackled by my love in this hotel room three hours ago.”
“That was private.”
He rolled his eyes and leaned over to kiss my temple. “You’re the most dramatic man I’ve ever loved.”
I grinned. “You love me.”
“Tragically.”
And somehow, even with sand in our shoes and Coachella chaos in our bones, I felt less like a lovesick side character.
I was the endgame.
With bonus dimple access.
--- END ---