Lacy Euphoria

His Favorite Girl/Part One: The Moment He Notices You

Originally published on AO3.

🔞 Adults 18+. MDNI. Fictional fanwork using names fictitiously for entertainment. Not real, endorsed, affiliated, or a claim of real events. All romantic and sexual content is between consenting adults. Please consume fiction with media literacy intact.

The elevator opens and you step out without hesitating. The hallway is quiet, controlled in the same way everything else has been so far, like nothing here happens without being planned first. Your phone buzzes once in your hand.

Left.

You don’t respond. You turn.

The door at the end of the hallway is cracked open just enough to tell you you’re expected. Almost like he timed it.

You push the door open and step inside, closing it behind you with a soft click that settles through the room.

Mingi is already there.

He’s standing off to the side with his sleeves pushed up and his watch hanging loose against his wrist, like he’s been there long enough to settle into the space comfortably. His eyes find you immediately. Not surprised. Not rushed. Just steady. Like he’s picking up a conversation the two of you never actually stopped having.

“You got in the car and didn’t ask a single question,” he says, voice low and even. “Didn’t ask where you were going. Didn’t check anything.”

You hold his gaze easily. “You sent it. I got in.”

His eyes drop once, quick, then lift again. “And you were on your phone like you had somewhere else to be. Scrolling through your feed like this wasn’t happening.”

“You told me not to act like a fan,” you answer calmly. “I listened.”

That almost pulls a smile out of him.

“Most people would’ve started performing the second that door closed,” he says, stepping a little closer now. “Talking too much. Trying to make the silence easier on themselves.”

You don’t move. “I didn’t need to fill it.”

The room quiets after that.

Mingi studies you for another second before finally closing the distance completely, direct about it this time instead of slow. Like he already made up his mind somewhere before you walked through the door.

“You know what’s weird?” he asks quietly.

“What?”

“You’re calmer now than you were at the table and conference room.”

You tilt your head slightly. “I already knew what I wanted then Mingi”

His eyes move over you again, slower this time, more deliberate. “You make reckless things sound very easy.”

“No,” you correct softly. “I say them honestly.”

That lands harder than flirting did.

You see it happen in real time. His jaw tightens slightly, not defensive, just thoughtful, like he’s trying to understand why you’re affecting him differently than he expected.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” he says after a moment.

“What question?”

“Why me.”

There it is.

Not ego. Not fishing.

A real question.

You study him quietly before answering. “You want the honest answer?”

“I wouldn’t have brought you here for a fake one.”

Your fingers shift lightly against your wrist, grounding yourself before continuing. “At the fansign, every person who sat in front of you got a different version of you.”

He stays quiet, watching you carefully.

“You changed your tone depending on what they needed. Softer with nervous people. Louder when somebody was shy. More playful when they needed help relaxing.” Your eyes stay locked on his. “You noticed people before reacting to them.”

“That’s part of my job.”

“No,” you say softly. “Your job is performing. That wasn’t performance.”

The silence after that feels different.

He doesn’t interrupt you this time.

“Most people see you and immediately want something from you,” you continue. “Attention. Fantasy. Validation. Access.”

“And you don’t?”

You think about that honestly before answering.

“I think I wanted to know if there was an actual person underneath all of that first.”

Something changes in his expression.

Small, but real.

“You say things that make this hard,” he says quietly.

“Well Mingi, invited me here.”

“Yeah,” he says after a second. “I did.”

Your eyes drop briefly to his mouth before lifting again.

This close to him and you still haven’t kissed him once. Sick.

“You know this could get messy,” he says eventually. “Not just for me.”

“I know.”

“You could get followed. Photographed. People online can get…” He pauses slightly before finishing quieter, “crazy.”

“You think I can’t handle that?”

His gaze sharpens immediately. “That’s not what I asked.”

The correction lands instantly.

You study him for a second before answering more honestly this time. “I think you’re more worried about me becoming collateral damage than you are about getting caught.”

That shuts him up completely.

Because you’re right.

His eyes hold yours longer now, quieter somehow, more exposed than he probably intended. “You notice too much,” he says softly.

“You brought me here because you noticed me too.”

That finally pulls a real smile out of him.

Small.

Crooked.

Dangerous.

“You keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Answering things the way I don’t expect.”

You step closer then, not rushed, not reactive. Intentional.

Your hand comes up slowly, fingers settling beneath his jaw like you already knew you were going to touch him the second you walked through the door. His skin is warm beneath your hand, your thumb shifting just enough to be felt along his cheek.

His breathing changes slightly.

Barely.

But you catch it.

Your hand stays there, thumb moving slowly against the warmth of his skin while his eyes stay fixed on yours. He’s still now in a way he hasn’t been once since you met him. No performance left in it. No teasing smile. No version of himself built for everybody else.

Just him.

“You know what your problem is?” he asks quietly.

“What?”

“You see too much.”

The corner of your mouth shifts slightly. “And yet, here I am.” That finally breaks through some of his restraint. The kind of change most people would never notice.

You do.

His eyes drop briefly to your mouth before lifting again, slower this time.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I did.”

You step closer then, close enough for your lips to barely brush his without fully kissing him yet. His breathing changes immediately beneath your hand, controlled but noticeably different now, and somehow that affects you more than the kiss itself would have.

You hold him there for one second longer.

And he lets you.