stars × cnblue kangminhyuk

11 : Lights Off, Hearts On

A month passed in the blink of an eye. Being housemates with an idol wasn't easy, but somehow Minhyuk made it feel like home. Both of us had changed—no, grown. We understood each other better now. It was as if we had finally stepped into adulthood again, leaving behind the endless bickering and petty quarrels.

Shockingly, we hadn't fought once in weeks.

And in that peace, things between us had shifted.

Two weeks after I moved in, Minhyuk had taken the effort to renovate his small library into a fully furnished bedroom for me. He painted the walls pink—insisting the color suited my "rosy cheeks." Personally, I didn't care if the walls had stayed their old shade of green, but Minhyuk was stubborn about it. When he set his mind on something, he followed through. Maybe that was the idol in him—the ability to demand perfection, whether it was for himself, his career, or the people around him.

Now, this room was mine. A space I hadn't asked for but had been given freely. Lying on the soft bed, far from my parents and, of course, far from Hoseok, I couldn't deny it—this apartment had started to feel like home.

Hoseok hadn't contacted me since the day we fought. Sometimes I called my parents, hoping they'd mention him stopping by. Every time, their answer was the same: he was busy, swallowed by Bangtan's endless preparations for another comeback. Each call ended with the same hollow ache in my chest.

This morning was supposed to be a day off. Minhyuk had no schedule, yet when I woke at seven, the apartment was empty. He'd already gone out. Of course, he'd left breakfast neatly prepared for me, as always. He claimed cooking was his duty since I helped him so much at work. I tried not to think too much about where he'd gone. Out with friends, probably. Why should I care?

Why did I care?

"Mr. Kang, you're messing with my head," I muttered under my breath.

Trying to shake the thought, I reached into my closet drawer and pulled out my sky-blue diary. Clipped on the first page was a picture I could never throw away. A girl with wavy brown hair tied in a ponytail, wearing a rosy dress. A girl with a cheeky smile and the kind of spirit that burned too brightly.

Kang Sora.

I'd only known her as Yong back then—a random playmate who introduced herself as "dragon." Within days, she had become my best friend. My savior from bullies. My light.

And at ten years old, she had died protecting me.

My throat tightened as the memories clawed at me. I never testified, never found the courage to stand in that courtroom and speak the truth. I let her killers walk free because I was too afraid. A year later, my family moved away, as if a new town could erase the shadow Sora left behind. But no matter how far we went, her memory followed me, sharp and unrelenting.

The photo blurred as tears stung my eyes. I was her killer, wasn't I? That was my punishment. Someone like me didn't deserve happiness.

A knock on the door startled me.

"Jinnie, come out now." Minhyuk's voice.

I scrambled to shove the photo back into the diary and slide it into the drawer. If Minhyuk ever found it—if he realized my connection to Sora—he'd hate me. He had promised he'd never forgive the person responsible for her death.

Wiping my face quickly, I stepped out of my room.

Minhyuk was sitting on the couch, eyes fixed on the TV. Pizzas and soda bottles waited on the table. My heart softened at the detail—he'd bought soda instead of beer, remembering I couldn't handle alcohol. When he noticed me, he patted the empty space beside him, wordlessly inviting me to join.

So, he'd left early this morning... just to buy food and set up a movie for us?

Strange. I almost missed his grumpy self. Lately, he'd been too kind.

I dropped onto the couch, hugging a small pillow to my chest. It felt cold suddenly, though the room wasn't. A moment later, Minhyuk leaned his heavy head onto my shoulder, his dark hair falling into place, the faint scent of shampoo clinging to him.

"Now we watch movies together too? Wow, this is awkward," I teased, tugging lightly at his hair.

He chuckled against my shoulder. "Mm-hmm. Why? You don't like watching movies with me?"

"Oppa, this is so awkward," I repeated, still hugging the pillow.

The word slipped out more naturally now—oppa. At first, it had felt impossible to call a male colleague that. But Minhyuk had insisted, and somehow, it stuck.

He pouted, lifting his head. "What's awkward? I like spending time with you."

I smirked, biting into a slice of pizza. "Oppa, don't tell me you forgot we aren't real."

His pout deepened. In glasses, he looked less like the confident drummer and more like a sulky college kid. I stifled my laughter.

But then, without warning, he grabbed the remote and switched the TV off.

I blinked. "What—"

He stood, walked to the glass wall, and pulled the long white curtains shut. The room dimmed, the only light a soft sliver slipping through the fabric. My heart skipped. He'd never acted like this before.

Then he pulled out his phone.

Music swelled through the speakers. Familiar. Dangerous.

Leessang's Turned Off the TV.

I froze, heat rushing to my cheeks. He came back to the couch, sitting directly in front of me this time, his gaze locked onto mine. His lips curved into a lopsided smile.

And then he started to sing.

His voice was warm, steady, every lyric dripping with something unspoken.

He leaned closer as he sang about red lips, closed curtains, and wanting more than just holding hands. Each line tightened the knot in my chest.

I wanted to laugh it off, but my breath caught. The room was too quiet, his voice too close, his eyes too intense.

To save myself, I smirked and joined in, singing the girl's reply. My voice was teasing, defiant, but my heart was hammering.

When I sang "Not tonight, my man, let's just sleep"—his smirk widened.

The song ended.

He stopped the music but not the way his eyes devoured me.

"Did you just call me 'my man'?" he whispered, leaning closer, so close I could feel the warmth of his breath. "And you said to turn off the lights. But Jinnie..." He giggled softly, wiggling his eyebrows. "...the lights are already off."

My laugh burst out too quickly, too loud, a desperate cover for the pounding in my chest. "Stop joking, oppa. You just confessed using a song. You said you love me so much you turned off the TV."

For a moment, silence hung between us.

Then he murmured, low and steady, "But I really do."

The laughter died in my throat. My heart tripped over itself, and I actually choked on my own saliva, coughing as if his words had physically lodged in me.

Because this time, he wasn't joking. His eyes told me that. His voice told me that.

And I... had no idea what to do.

The air around us thickened, the curtains swaying slightly, the room suddenly too small. Minhyuk didn't look away. His gaze pinned me in place, stripping every excuse, every wall I'd built.

I swallowed, forcing myself to move, to breathe, to say something—but my lips refused to open.

Because a terrifying truth had settled inside me.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to push him away anymore.