Fluorescent lights hummed with a sterile, agonizing vibration. Inside the main conference room of KQ Entertainment, the atmosphere felt heavy enough to crush bone. Managers paced the perimeter like hungry wolves, their tablets glowing with social media feeds. "Look at these," the head of public relations muttered, tossing a packet of high-resolution printouts onto the center of the glass table. Paper slid across the slick surface, stopping right in front of San. His hands curled into fists on his knees, his fingernails digging so deeply into his palms that he could feel his pulse throbbing in his fingertips. In the photos, Wooyoung was laughing. His head was tilted back, that familiar, bright smile on his face, but the hand resting on his shoulder did not belong to San. It belonged to a tall, sharp-featured man in an expensive coat. They stood close outside a quiet cafe in Mapo-gu, the intimacy of the frame practically radiating off the paper. "This is already circulating on three major online forums," the PR director continued, tapping her knuckles against the glass. "If this gains traction, the domestic media will spin this into a massive dating scandal within twenty-four hours." "We need to know who this is, Wooyoung. Now." Silence stretched, thin and fragile. San kept his eyes locked on the side of Wooyoung's face. His jaw was so tight his teeth literally ached, a cold, burning poison spreading through his chest. Tearing those photos to shreds was all he could think about. Erasing the other man from Wooyoung's life became an instant, desperate obsession. But he was trapped in this chair, forced to listen. "His university friend," Wooyoung said, his voice remarkably calm. "We met up to grab coffee and catch up on some personal projects." "There is nothing romantic between us." "A university friend who touches your shoulder like that?" one of the senior managers asked, narrowing his eyes. "Fans aren't stupid, Wooyoung." "They dissect every pixel of these images." "If they think you're in a relationship, it affects the entire brand of the group." Hongjoong sat at the head of the table, his brow furrowed as he studied the printed images. "Is there any chance more photos from this day will leak?" the leader asked, his voice dripping with professional concern. "If there are photos of them parting ways or going somewhere more private, we need to know now." "No, we just had coffee," Wooyoung repeated, his tone flat. "Leaving the cafe was the last thing we did together before parting ways." "He went to his car, and I took a taxi back to the dorms." Seonghwa sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's the timing that's terrible," he murmured, looking toward the window. "We are right in the middle of preparing for the comeback." "Any distraction like this will derail our promotional schedule." Mingi leaned forward, his voice low. "We can't let this blow up," he said, looking over at Wooyoung. "If the fans start digging into your private life, it's going to get messy." "We need to squash this before it gains any more traction." Listening to them debate Wooyoung's private life made San's stomach churn. But what made it worse—what truly threatened to break him—was the absolute ease with which Wooyoung dismissed the connection. Watching the gentle curve of Wooyoung's lips as he spoke made San's stomach twist into painful knots. To Wooyoung, it was just an annoyance to be managed. For San, it was a waking nightmare. Staring at the photo, a realization hit him with the force of a physical blow. Suffocation pressed down on him because the man standing beside Wooyoung wasn't him. Every protective instinct he had built up over the years began to crumble. For so long, he had told himself that keeping his feelings hidden was the only way to protect what they had. Wrapping his love in the safe, acceptable label of 'best friends' had seemed like a smart defense. Now, looking at the grain of the printout, he realized how pathetic that defense was. Desire, raw and ugly, flared in his chest. Standing in the background as a supportive brother was no longer enough. Holding Wooyoung's hand in public, letting the world see them together, was what he truly wanted. Whispers from the media, speculation from the fans—he wanted all of it, as long as it meant he was the one Wooyoung belonged to. "Drafting a standard denial statement is our only option," the PR director concluded, gathering the papers. "But you need to be careful, Wooyoung." "No more private meetings in public spaces without a manager present." "Understood?" Wooyoung nodded, his expression unreadable. "Understood. I'm sorry for causing trouble." San's heart hammered against his ribs. Seeing Wooyoung act so compliant made him feel entirely isolated in his agonizing jealousy. --- Chairs scraped against the linoleum floor as the meeting finally adjourned. Members filed out of the room in tense silence, their shoulders slumped under the weight of the warning. Wooyoung was the last to stand, his gaze lingering on the empty table. San didn't wait for the others. Marching out of the conference room, his boots clicked sharply against the polished floor. Adrenaline surged through his veins, hot and erratic, drowning out the rational voice in his head. Footsteps echoed behind him, light and familiar. "San, wait," Wooyoung called out, his voice hushed but urgent. Ignoring him, San kept walking down the labyrinth of hallways, heading toward the empty practice rooms at the back of the building. Space was what he needed, a place to breathe where the air didn't feel like liquid lead. A hand caught his wrist, fingers wrapping tightly around his skin. "San, stop running," Wooyoung pleaded, pulling him into a dark, vacant vocal studio. Heavy acoustic door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in a suffocating silence. "Why are you acting like this?" Wooyoung asked, his eyes wide and searching in the dim light of the small room. "You didn't say a single word during the entire meeting." "Looking at me seemed like a chore for you." Turning around, San yanked his wrist free, his chest heaving. "What did you want me to say, Wooyoung?" he whispered, his voice trembling with a dangerous mixture of anger and grief. "Should I have congratulated you on your university friend?" "Helping them draft the statement would have been the perfect 'best friend' move, wouldn't it?" "My friend is all he is!" Wooyoung insisted, stepping closer, his hands raised in frustration. "Why are you so angry about a stupid rumor?" "We deal with rumors all the time." "Because it shouldn't have been him!" San burst out, the words tearing from his throat before he could stop them. Raw and painful, the confession hung in the air, sharp and undeniable. Wooyoung froze, his hands dropping slowly to his sides, his breath hitching. "What?" Wooyoung whispered, his brow furrowing in confusion. "I'm tired of pretending," San said, taking a step forward, closing the distance between them until he could feel the warmth radiating from Wooyoung's body. "Playing the role of the supportive best friend while you slip away is killing me." "Looking at those photos... it didn't hurt because of the scandal, Woo." "It hurt because it wasn't me standing next to you." Silence descended upon the small room, thick and heavy. Wooyoung stared at him, his lips parted slightly, his eyes searching San's face for any sign of a joke. But there was no playfulness in San's eyes—only the bleeding, agonizing truth of years of hidden longing. "San..." Wooyoung breathed, his voice barely a whisper. "I want to be the one," San confessed, his voice dropping to a low, intense register that vibrated in the small space. "Let them take photos of us instead." "Whispering from the media, speculation from the fans—I want all of it because it would actually be the truth." "Loving you has been my reality for years." Admission of his feelings felt like tearing a bandage off a raw wound, exposing everything to the cold air. San held his breath, his heart hammering against his ribs so loudly he was certain Wooyoung could hear it. Bracing himself for the rejection, for the abandonment he had feared for so long, he squeezed his eyes shut for a brief second. Instead, Wooyoung didn't pull away. Standing perfectly still, Wooyoung stared at him with eyes glossy from unshed tears. "You idiot," Wooyoung whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. "Why did you wait so long to tell me?" Before San could process the words, Wooyoung reached out, his fingers tangling in the collar of San's jacket. Pulling San down, he closed the remaining distance between them. Their lips met in a collision of pure, unadulterated relief. Unlike the panicked, desperate kiss from the night before, this was slow. It was mutual, deep, and heavy with the weight of years of unspoken longing. San's hands found Wooyoung's waist, pulling him flush against his chest, feeling the frantic beat of Wooyoung's heart matching his own. Sighing into the kiss, Wooyoung parted his lips slightly, welcoming the touch, anchoring them both in the reality they had both been too terrified to face. Neither of them ran away. Holding onto each other in the quiet room, they let the rest of the world and its impending scandals fade into absolute insignificance.

Chapter 8: Friction Under the Spotlight