Because Key wears his heart on his sleeves.

He had opened the door to the studio and looks in, the first lights of the day just starting to stream into the room. He sees that one disheveled looking boy, music sheets scattered all over the floor, and his face slumped over his pen. He tries not to giggle – a purplish smear marred his friend’s sleeping face. He shifts close, till his face was mere inches away from the other, gently rubbing his fingers over soft, warm skin to erase the smudge. The smudge is removed, but the other boy still sleeps on. His lips curve into a small smile, a beautiful smile; as if thanking him for removing the mark. Key’s breath catches.
 

They are at the back of the stage, after a wildly successful performance and sweeping a bout of major awards for the year. He smiles and laughs because their fans turn up to support them. He also smiles and laughs (and nearly cries) when they are granted their first Daesang. But, his heart races, sprints, soars, when that one face breaks out in such an expression of unparalleled elation and delight. He reaches out now, with the curtains drawn down for the night, and pulls the other into his arms.

“ – Mine.” His first verbal expression (he places his right hand over the other boy’s heart).

The other boy doesn’t say anything, but rests his head on his shoulders instead.

He wants a tangible response and nudges the latter. A pair of bright brown eyes only laughs at him, before they disappear out of the door.

The magnae sits in the middle of all of them on the couch, facing the camera lenses. “Key has a special nickname for hyung - ” The hyung stares at the magnae, he knows the youngest had been cleverly convinced into revealing this detail for certain reasons. Another voice (too innocently) pipes up from behind him, “Jjom. I call him jjom.” He holds his tongue and only politely laughs for the sake of the camera, to the disappointment of the mastermind. He silently grins when he catches sight of that slightly crestfallen, frustrated expression.

Key now sits alone in front of the camera and flashes a toothy smile. “Oh, I don’t just sing any one particular song when I am in the bathroom. I don’t. I go like this, (makes humming noises). I really don’t sing any particular song in the bathroom -”

He pauses. “– Don’t i?”

“Yeah, he doesn’t - ” a voice confirms, from the sides. Key almost breaks into a victory dance – he holds in his smirk and the inappropriate smile that was threatening to break loose all over his face. His prey had fallen, hook line and sinker.

The voice then whispers again, muffled, almost inaudible, in realization. “Oh, .”

That night, in bed, he whispers to the body next to him.

“You’re mine.”

                                                                                                       // End.