Idol-ized Lovers || Choi Soobin [Rewritten]

02

6:30 p.m.

"Thank you so much," you greet Ho Yeon's daycare attendant with your usual courtesy. "Of course," the woman replies with a kind smile, then adds, "But... she didn't eat again today." Her tone is casual, but there's a trace of concern—this isn't a constant issue, but it's not uncommon either.

"Not at all?" you ask, eyebrows knitting together. "Just a few bites. Might as well be nothing," she says with a shrug. You glance down at Ho Yeon, who avoids your gaze with an innocent blink. "Why?" you ask, trying to keep your tone neutral. "I was full," she replies flatly. You feel your annoyance prickling beneath your skin.

"I'll make sure she eats," you assure the attendant. She nods, and with a polite goodbye, you both head home.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Back at your apartment, you freshen up quickly before heading to the kitchen to start dinner. Just as you begin stirring the pot, Ho Yeon's voice rings out from the living room. "Imoya!" The high pitched voice can sometimes be a little too annoying.  "What is it now?" you call, half-watching the onions caramelize.

"Do you know the fan-date results are coming out tomorrow?" she announces, brimming with excitement. "You've already told me," you reply, not even looking up. "But it's so exciting!" she gushes. You nod vaguely, giving her just enough acknowledgment to keep her going while you focus on not burning dinner.

The truth is, you know absolutely nothing about TxT. Your K-pop obsession ended with your Blackpink phase years ago. Life's been... full. Of work, laundry, meetings, bills, daycare pickups, bedtime tantrums—K-pop didn't stand a chance. Time for yourself? Luxury. Fantasy. Myth.

But at least tomorrow is Sunday. The mere thought of sleeping in fills you with a strange kind of euphoria. Like a kid waiting for summer break. Or candy. Or—okay, maybe not an orgasm, but the joy's in that general ballpark. "Alright, Yeon-ah. Brush your teeth," you say after dinner. She obeys. You do the dishes. The day winds down. 

Later that night, you collapse into bed, your limbs sinking deep into the mattress. You close your eyes, basking in the silence. Tomorrow's Sunday. Sweet, precious Sunday.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"Imoya! Imoya! Imoya! Imoya!" Your peace is shattered by Ho Yeon's high-pitched battle cry as she jumps on your bed, her tiny frame bouncing like an overexcited kangaroo. "What?" you groan, face buried in the pillow, mourning your brief taste of sleep. "Imoya!!!"

"What is it, Yeon-ah?" you grumble, irritation rising. "The results are out!" she squeals, practically vibrating with excitement. It takes a beat before your brain catches up. Results...? Ah. Right. TxT. Fan-date thing.

"You're shouting like you actually won the date," you mumble, rolling away in an attempt to reclaim unconsciousness. "No, you won!" she says—softly this time, but with unmistakable triumph. That gets your attention. "What did you just say?" You bolt upright.

"The age limit was 19+, so I couldn't apply," she explains matter-of-factly. "So I used your name instead. And you won!" She beams as if she's just handed you the moon. You stare at her in horror. A lottery win might've been preferable. There's no going back to sleep now. Sunday is officially over.

"Why would you do that, Ho Yeon? I don't even know these guys!" you snap, trying to sound calm but failing miserably. "I'll introduce you," she says brightly, as though that solves everything. "That's not the point, Yeon-ah! You can't just do things like that without telling me!"

"But I'd be so happy if you go," she says, her voice shrinking into a pout, her bottom lip quivering in perfect six-year-old manipulation. Your patience—already on its last leg—snaps. "And what about me, Lim Ho Yeon?" you blurt, your voice sharper than intended.

The moment her full name leaves your mouth, her face crumples. Tears fill her eyes, and she collapses to the floor in heart-wrenching sobs. Shit. You always swore you wouldn't use her full name in anger. Not after realizing how much it scared her.

"Yeon-ah, I'm sorry," you whisper, sliding off the bed and pulling her into your arms. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it like that." You hold her close, gently rocking her, repeating your apology again and again like a lullaby. But you know her. She won't let this go without a peace offering. And it's obvious what she wants.

You sigh, utterly defeated. "Fine," you say at last, resting your forehead against hers. "I'll go to the fan date." Her face lights up instantly, and your fate is sealed.