Yoon Jeonghan had always been the angel the world adored-perfect smile, perfect life. But perfection was a mask, and behind it was a secret darker than anyone knew. Stalking had never been part of the plan. Yet here he was, eyes glued to Choi Seungc...
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The studio was alive with chatter and movement, stylists adjusting fabrics, tweaking lighting, and murmuring instructions to assistants. Mingyu sat still in his chair, staring ahead as his manager’s voice broke through the chaos.
“You’d be perfect if you had fair skin,” his manager said casually, as if commenting on the weather.
The words struck like a whip. Mingyu didn’t flinch outwardly, but the sting lingered, burrowing deep. He knew the sentiment wasn’t new; it was an unspoken rule in an industry that prized perfection. His tan skin, kissed by the sun, was always seen as an anomaly—a flaw.
Perfect if I had fair skin? The words replayed in his mind, heavy and cold. He flexed his fingers against his knees, feeling the familiar itch of inadequacy creep over him. His skin was flawed, too dark, too dry, too… him.
He left the studio without another word, pulling his hoodie over his head as he stepped into the brisk air. His chest felt heavy, his mind replaying the manager’s comment on a loop. Before he knew it, his feet had carried him to a place that had become his quiet refuge—Wonwoo’s café. ---
The bell above the door jingled softly as Mingyu entered, the warm aroma of coffee and baked goods wrapping around him. Wonwoo was behind the counter, cleaning mugs. His dark eyes flicked up, locking onto the familiar figure standing hesitantly near the door.
“Mingyu?” Wonwoo’s voice was a mix of curiosity and concern. “What’s with the hoodie? Trying to go incognito or something?”
Mingyu’s heart stuttered at the sound of his name. His hands tightened into fists in his hoodie pocket. Why does he have to sound like that? Calm and smooth, like he’s been waiting to see me.
“Just wanted coffee,” he muttered, barely above a whisper.
Wonwoo frowned, setting the mug down. He’d seen Mingyu in all his vibrant, confident glory, and this wasn’t it.
“Alright,” Wonwoo said, keeping his tone light, though his eyes never left Mingyu. “What’s it gonna be?”
Mingyu finally approached the counter, his movements slower than usual. “An iced Americano,” he mumbled, then paused, glancing at Wonwoo briefly before looking away again.
Stop looking at me like that. It’s not fair. How am I supposed to order coffee when you’re staring like you care?
“Okay, but what’s wrong?” Wonwoo asked softly, his lips unconsciously forming a small pout as he leaned on the counter, waiting for an answer.
Not the pout. Why does he look like that? Mingyu’s thoughts spiraled into chaos. Focus, Gyu. It’s just coffee. Coffee, not how his lips are so—ugh, stop it!
