Matchmaker Mayhem
Chapter 134: Idol of My Heart

Chapter 134: Idol of My Heart

"In which K-pop meets matchmaking, and jealousy wears a suit."

The Seoul skyline at night was a whole different animal.

The Grand Mirae Center’s main hall had been transformed into a neon-lit dreamscape: glowing cherry blossoms spiraled up the pillars, holographic koi fish swam lazily through the projected ceilings, and the music thrummed low and heavy through the marble floor.

Tonight’s event was officially titled "Hearts Alight: Idol Matchmaking Showcase."

Unofficially?

It was The Hunger Games: K-Pop Edition.

Ava adjusted the sleek navy hanbok-style dress she’d changed into—modern cuts, minimalist embroidery, still traditional enough for the summit board but trendy enough to not look like she was someone’s lost royal cousin—and tried not to look overwhelmed.

"Is it just me," Ryan murmured beside her, smoothing his sleeves, "or does it feel like we’re about to get scouted for a reality show?"

Ava surveyed the crowd:

Glittering pop stars.

Breathless influencers filming everything.

Hyper-groomed executives swirling soju in crystal glasses.

A summit MC explaining that tonight’s goal was to "demonstrate cross-industry matchmaking potential between traditional love consultants and modern celebrity culture."

Translation:

Match idols. Get headlines. Don’t die.

Ava turned to Ryan. "We should’ve faked food poisoning."

He grinned. "You’d be trending within an hour anyway. #MatchmakerDown."

Before she could retort, Mei appeared out of nowhere, clutching two glossy dossiers like she was smuggling nuclear codes.

"Here!" she chirped, thrusting one into Ava’s hands. "Your matchmaking target!"

Ava blinked down at the file.

Client Name: J-Min

Age: 24

Occupation: Lead dancer of boy group Silver Arrow

Interests: Ramen, sunsets, romantic manga.

Request: A match who understands the pressure of fame but values real connection.

Ava looked up sharply. "You’re giving me a literal pop idol?"

Mei beamed. "He’s adorable! And you’re young and chaotic! It’s perfect."

"Mei, I am not chaotic—"

"Your skirt caught fire at the Tokyo farewell party," Ryan reminded her helpfully.

"It was a controlled fire," Ava snapped.

Ryan snorted, then immediately winced when Ava elbowed him.

---

The "matching" began in designated lounge areas set up to look like cozy cafes—if cozy cafes had neon hearts, live stream drones, and six camera angles.

J-Min arrived exactly as advertised:

Blonde hair styled into soft waves.

Oversized varsity jacket over designer clothes.

Smile so bright it could punch through a typhoon.

He bowed respectfully, then dropped into the chair across from Ava like an exhausted puppy.

"Hi!" he said in accented English. "I’m a big fan of your... uh..." He squinted. "Fight with foam swords?"

Ava nearly choked on her tea. "You saw that?"

"The whole summit saw it!" J-Min said brightly. "You’re very scary. I respect it."

Ryan, lurking a few tables away pretending to read a summit brochure, watched like a hawk.

J-Min leaned closer, stage-whispering, "Are you actually engaged to your battle husband?"

Ava coughed. "Something like that."

J-Min clutched his chest dramatically. "Nooo, broken-hearted already."

From across the room, Ryan narrowed his eyes.

Mei caught Ryan’s glower and nudged Harold. "Our future son-in-law is experiencing minor possessiveness. Adorable."

Harold whispered, "Do you think Ryan will storm the lounge?"

Mei sipped her tea serenely. "If he doesn’t, I’ll be disappointed."

---

The conversation between Ava and J-Min drifted into real matchmaking territory surprisingly quickly. J-Min spoke about the loneliness of idol life, about contracts dictating even his dating habits, about wanting someone who could separate J-Min the brand from J-Min the boy who still loved watching sunsets and eating cheap ramen on rooftop stairs.

It was... achingly sincere.

And Ava, as she always did, listened.

She asked careful questions. She made him laugh. She matched his vulnerability with respect.

She forgot about the cameras. Forgot about the summit points.

Until she looked up—and locked eyes with Ryan across the room.

The heat there could’ve melted Seoul’s electricity grid.

He was smiling politely.

But his grip on the armrest of his chair said mine.

Ava’s heart did an unprofessional little flip.

J-Min noticed the shift, grinning like a devil. "You know," he said in Korean, sly and sweet, "you really should be the one on a dating show."

Ava laughed it off.

But later, when she excused herself for a glass of water and Ryan caught her hand halfway across the marble floor, tugging her into a shadowed alcove—

The look he gave her?

Made her forget her own name for a second.

"You know he was flirting, right?" Ryan said low against her ear.

"It was harmless," she whispered, breathless.

"You still owe me a rematch," he murmured, brushing his fingers down the inside of her wrist.

Ava shivered. "Foam swords or real swords?"

Ryan’s mouth curved into a dangerous smile. "Your choice, jagiya."

And suddenly, Seoul’s most glamorous night wasn’t about matchmaking anymore.

It was about a war they were already both losing.

Willingly.

---

Later That Night – Back at the Suite

The door to their suite at the Grand Mirae Center clicked shut behind them.

For a moment, neither moved.

The city glittered outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, throwing fractured light across the luxurious space—the low velvet couch, the massive bed framed in navy and silver, the half-finished glasses of champagne they abandoned on the entry table.

Ava slipped off her heels, sighing in relief.

Ryan watched her silently, hands loose at his sides, but there was a tension in him now—coiled, waiting.

The kind of tension that had been simmering for days.

No, weeks.

Ever since Tokyo. Ever since every stolen glance, every almost-kiss, every stupid foam sword fight that left them breathless and burning.

Ava turned toward him.

And something in the air snapped.

Ryan crossed the room in three long strides, caught her face in his hands, and kissed her.

Hard.

No teasing. No pretending. No audience.

Just them.

Ava gasped against his mouth, her hands fisting in the soft cotton of his summit jacket, pulling him closer like she could fuse them together if she just tried hard enough.

He backed her up blindly, guiding her until her back hit the edge of the low velvet couch.

The kiss broke, barely, his forehead pressed to hers.

"You’re driving me insane," he whispered, voice wrecked.

"You’re one to talk," she breathed, tugging his jacket off his shoulders.

He helped her, peeling it away, letting it fall forgotten to the floor.

Ava tugged him down with her as she dropped onto the couch, laughing breathlessly as Ryan followed, half-kneeling, half-climbing over her, hands greedy now—skimming up her thighs, up her waist, shoving aside the sleek navy skirt of her modern hanbok-dress without ceremony.

"You still want that rematch?" she teased, breathless.

Ryan nipped at her jaw, making her shiver.

He pulled back just enough to look at her—eyes dark, voice low and rough and almost reverent.

"No more foam swords, jagiya," he rasped.

"This time... the real sword."

Ava’s breath hitched. Her entire body lit up.

"You’re ridiculous," she whispered, laughing even as her hands tugged him closer.

"And you love it," Ryan said against her collarbone, kissing, biting, worshipping his way downward.

And when he finally pushed inside her—

There was no teasing left.

No games.

Just them, tangled and breathless and desperate, losing themselves in the rush, the heat, the terrifying sweetness of wanting someone so much it physically hurt.

Ryan moved slowly at first—agonizingly so—dragging gasps from her throat, building her up until Ava was writhing under him, nails scoring desperate patterns down his back.

"Ryan," she moaned, half a plea, half a curse.

He grinned against her neck, cocky even now. "Say it properly."

"Oppa," she gasped without thinking.

He groaned—deep and broken—and slammed into her harder, setting a rhythm that drove everything else out of her mind.

The only thing that existed was this:

The hot, slick slide of him inside her.

The frantic meeting of mouths and bodies and hearts.

The way he whispered her name like a prayer when he came.

And the way she shattered around him moments later, crying out against his mouth, clinging to him like he was the only thing tethering her to the earth.

When it was over, they collapsed into the couch in a boneless heap, bodies still tangled, breathing hard.

Ryan pressed a lazy kiss to her forehead, then her cheek, then her mouth, softer now.

"You’re trouble," he murmured.

"You started it," she whispered back, smiling against his lips.

"You finished it," he said, grinning.

Ava laughed, the sound cracked and perfect.

Outside, Seoul glittered like a thousand small promises.

Inside, wrapped in each other’s arms, they had already claimed the one promise that mattered most.

---

The lights from Seoul bled soft gold and pink across the suite, tinting everything in a hazy dream of half-sleep and leftover kisses.

Ava curled deeper into Ryan’s chest, the heavy warmth of him wrapped around her like a blanket she never wanted to leave. His heart beat steady against her ear, the slow, sure rhythm of a man utterly, recklessly at peace.

His fingers traced idle circles along the bare skin of her hip, slow and thoughtless, like he couldn’t stop touching her even if he tried.

"You’re smiling," Ryan murmured into her hair.

Ava hummed. "So are you."

He laughed quietly, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Can you blame me?"

"No," she whispered, closing her eyes, breathing him in.

A comfortable silence wrapped around them, golden and full.

Then Ryan spoke, voice low and thoughtful.

"Crazy, isn’t it?"

"What is?"

"That we ended up here," he said, brushing his thumb along the curve of her back. "Madly in love. Wrecked. Obsessed. Barely surviving dessert dates in Tokyo without tearing each other’s clothes off."

Ava snorted against his skin. "You’re ridiculous."

"You loved every second," he teased.

The memory filled her chest, soft and aching.

No grand declarations.

No perfect speeches.

Just... moments.

Hand-holding through tiny garden paths strung with paper lanterns.

Laughing until they cried over bad tourist maps.

Sitting on temple steps sharing one cup of peach tea because neither of them wanted to let go long enough to get a second.

"We were idiots," Ava whispered, smiling against his chest.

"Speak for yourself," Ryan said loftily. "I was a fox spirit and a claw machine champion."

"You’re so embarrassing."

"You kept the bear."

She rolled her eyes, lifting her head to glare at him—only to find him already watching her with that look.

That devastating, bone-deep, you’re mine and you always were look.

"No tally," Ryan murmured. "No scoreboard. No winners."

"No losers," Ava whispered.

"Just us," he said, threading their fingers together tightly.

Just two idiots who thought they were enemies once.

Just two stubborn hearts who fought and fought and still somehow — always — found their way back to each other.

She leaned down and kissed him — lazy, grateful, infinite.

Outside, Seoul glittered like a thousand unanswered prayers.

Inside, wrapped in each other’s arms, Ava realized:

They hadn’t just fallen in love.

They had built it.

One stolen moment at a time.