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the white walls of the holding room pulsed under the dim, ambient lighting, cool-toned, almost sterile, like the inside of a dream. shadows clung to corners with cinematic elegance, softening the sharp angles of light stands and extension cords. the crew bustled beyond the half-closed door, adjusting rigs and conferring in low voices about camera placements for the next mv scene. but in here, time had slipped into something slower, quieter. like the universe had paused mid-breath.
at the center of it all sat a black table, glossy and minimal, reflecting just enough of the overhead lights to cast halos around the objects it held. a chessboard sat atop its surface, strikingly modern with red and white alternating squares and sleek, glossy pieces that gleamed like candy under the lights. the analog chess clock ticked softly behind it, the only sound interrupting the hush between the two boys seated across from each other.
jake tapped a white pawn with his index finger, the sound a quiet click. his sleeves were rolled up, the pale gray of his sweater brushing delicately against the blue collar of the button-up beneath. he looked every bit the picture of understated elegance. his hair slightly tousled from hours of filming, lips parted in focus, lashes casting delicate shadows on his cheeks as he scanned the board.
sunghoon sat opposite, slouched back in his chair with his legs stretched out in front of him, one ankle hooked over the other. he was a study in contradictions, refined and casual all at once. his pinstriped suit jacket sat open over a simple white tee, the hem of his jeans frayed slightly at the edges. one arm rested across the back of the chair while the other tapped a red rook in rhythmic contemplation. his dark eyes never left jake.
they weren’t supposed to be playing this long. the set chessboard had been a stylist’s suggestion, something to dress the room for b-roll footage, some candid shots of the members “bonding off-set.” the director had laughed, told them to “pretend to be intense” for the camera.
but then jake had asked sunghoon if he wanted to play.
and sunghoon, never one to back down from a challenge when it involved jake, had agreed.
that had been nearly forty-five minutes ago.
now, the world outside the frame no longer existed.
“you’re gonna regret that move,” jake murmured, voice low as he slid a white knight into position. he didn’t look up, but he smirked, biting at the inside of his cheek like he was trying to hold something back.
sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “says the guy who’s walked into two traps already.”
jake scoffed. “one of them was a distraction.”
“and the other?”
jake finally met his eyes. “a calculated sacrifice.”
sunghoon laughed, head tilting back just slightly. the sound was smooth and quiet, but it settled over the space between them like a storm on the horizon, unexpected and promising. “you’re more dramatic than i remember.”
jake shrugged, eyes glittering. “maybe you bring it out of me.”
the silence that followed felt alive. charged. even the staff members who hovered near the doorway, pretending to adjust equipment, seemed to sense it. a stylist, crouched by a rack of jackets, exchanged a look with a makeup artist across the room, silent, wide-eyed, mouthing are they flirting right now?
sunghoon leaned forward then, forearms resting on the table. his fingers brushed the edge of the board, slow and deliberate. “you know,” he said, voice lower now, “i could cheat right now and you wouldn’t notice.”
jake blinked. “you wouldn’t.”
a pause. then, smoothly, sunghoon reached for a red bishop and slid it two spaces across the board, an illegal move.
jake gasped, mock-offended. “you. that’s not—”
sunghoon sat back, satisfied. “too late. i’ve already done it.”
jake stared at the board, then back at him, half-laughing, half-scandalized. “you actually cheated.”
“i prefer the term ‘rearranged fate’”
“you’re insufferable.”
“you’re still losing.”
jake narrowed his eyes. “am i?”
the next move was swift, precise, and completely unexpected. a white rook cornered sunghoon’s king with ease. checkmate in one move.
the room fell silent, except for the quiet tick of the chess clock.
jake leaned back slowly, a triumphant smile curling across his face. “now that was calculated.”
sunghoon blinked at the board, expression unreadable for a long beat. then he let out a slow exhale, laughing under his breath. “you’re kidding me.”
“don’t let the sweater fool you,” jake said, smug. “i’ve been playing you since your bishop jumped two squares.”
a few staff clapped softly. one of the cameramen gave a low whistle. someone else whispered, “oh my god, he got him.”
but sunghoon didn’t seem humiliated. he looked at jake in a way that made the air turn heavy again, like he was seeing him differently. or maybe the same way he always had, only now there was nothing stopping him from showing it.
he stood.
jake blinked. “what—”
sunghoon stepped around the table slowly, the sound of his shoes muffled against the matte floor. he came to a stop beside jake, who turned in his chair instinctively, still smiling, still unsure what sunghoon was—
and then sunghoon leaned in.
he cupped jake’s cheek gently with one hand, thumb brushing across the curve of his jaw. the contact was warm and startling. jake’s lips parted slightly, breath hitching, not from fear, not from surprise, but something deeper. anticipation.
the kiss was soft.
barely a whisper.
but it carried weight. months of tension, of quiet glances and unsaid things. it tasted like confession, like surrender.
jake didn’t pull away.
when sunghoon stepped back, there was a faint pink blush dusting jake’s cheeks. his lashes fluttered as he tried to process what had just happened, lips still parted, eyes wide.
“i owed you something,” sunghoon said simply, quietly. “that win had to mean something.”
jake’s voice was barely audible. “hoon…”
“you can gloat later,” sunghoon added with a grin, brushing jake’s knee with his fingers as he turned to head back to his seat. “we’re still being filmed.”
only then did jake remember the cameras.
they turned their heads. a sea of staff stared back at them, no longer pretending to be uninterested. half of them were frozen in place, holding boom mics and camera monitors. the other half were already grinning, whispering excitedly behind clipboards and light diffusers.
someone whispered, “they look so good together,” and another voice followed it with, “i knew it. i knew there was something.”
the director peeked in from the hallway just as the moment fizzled back into reality and called out, “alright! reset in fifteen! we’re doing the hallway scene next.”
but no one really moved. not right away.
because jake was still staring at the chessboard, at the red and white pieces caught in eternal standoff. and sunghoon was staring at jake.
and somewhere between a stolen kiss and a stolen game, something important had shifted.
something that no one, especially not jake, was going to be able to ignore anymore.