Bada Is My Wife 🤭

You’ve been at the studio for hours—music playing, stopping, replaying. Concepts scribbled down, crossed out, rewritten… only to feel wrong again. Nothing sticks. Nothing feels right. The walls feel closer than usual, like they’re watching you struggle.

You lean back against the mirror, phone resting loosely in your hand.

Across town, you know she’s in her own studio. Teaching. Moving. Creating like it’s second nature.

Bada.

She’s probably sweating under the bright lights, hair pulled back, voice firm but warm as she guides her dancers. You picture it so clearly it almost feels like you’re there.

You haven’t talked all day. Not a single message.

And maybe that’s what makes the silence feel louder. Your thumb hovers over your screen before you finally type:

“hey baby, how’s your day going?” You stare at it for a second… then hit send. The three little dots don’t come right away.

And for some reason, that makes your chest tighten just a little.

You sigh, locking your phone and tossing it beside you as you slide down to sit on the floor. Your head falls back against the mirror, eyes closing for just a second—

The sound of the studio door opening pulls you out of it. You don’t move at first.

You assume it’s someone else. Until— “Rough day?” Your eyes snap open. And there she is.

Bada stands in the doorway, slightly out of breath, hoodie thrown over her shoulders, hair messy in that way you know means she rushed. Like she didn’t even think twice.

“Bada…?” your voice comes out softer than you expect.

She steps inside, letting the door close behind her with a quiet click. “You texted,” she says simply, like that explains everything.

And somehow… it does.

You let out a small, tired laugh. “That was like—two minutes ago.”

“Mhm,” she hums, walking closer. “I saw it.”

There’s something in the way she looks at you.

Focused. Gentle. A little worried. It makes your chest ache in a completely different way.

“You okay?” she asks, stopping right in front of you. You want to say yes. You always say yes.

But today… it sticks in your throat. So instead, you shake your head. Just a little. That’s all it takes.

Her expression softens instantly, and without another word, she crouches down in front of you, hands coming up to gently hold your face.

“Hey…” she murmurs, thumbs brushing softly under your eyes even though you’re not crying. “Talk to me.”

“It’s just—” you exhale shakily, looking down. “Nothing I’m doing is working today. Everything feels off and I’ve been here for hours and I just—” your voice cracks slightly, frustration bleeding through, “I don’t feel good enough right now.” The silence that follows isn’t empty. It’s warm. Steady.

Her grip on you doesn’t tighten—it grounds. “You are,” she says quietly. You glance up at her. She’s already looking at you. Completely.

“You are good enough,” Bada repeats, softer this time, like she’s placing the words carefully into your hands. “You’re just tired.”

Her thumb brushes over your cheek again.

“And you’re allowed to have days like this.” Your shoulders drop a little. Just hearing it… eases something.

“I hate it,” you whisper. “I know,” she nods, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Me too.” There’s a beat.

Then she shifts, sitting down fully in front of you and gently pulling you forward until you fall into her.

You don’t resist. Not even a little. Your face presses into her shoulder, her arms wrapping around you instantly, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head.

And just like that—

Everything feels quieter.

“I had a long day too,” she murmurs into your hair. “Class wouldn’t listen… music kept glitching… I almost lost my mind.”

A small laugh escapes you, muffled against her hoodie.

“See?” she smiles against you. “We’re both struggling.” Her hand starts moving slowly up and down your back.

Soft. Repetitive. Comforting. “But…” she continues gently, “I kept thinking about you.” Your grip on her tightens just a little.

“Wanted to text you all day,” she admits. “Just didn’t stop moving long enough.” You pull back slightly, just enough to look at her. “You could’ve,” you mumble.

“I know,” she says, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “But I’d rather be here.” Your heart— It does that thing. That quiet, overwhelming squeeze.

Before you can say anything, she leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. Lingering. Grounding. “I’m here now,” she whispers. And it’s not just words. It’s a promise.

You melt into her again, this time easier, your body finally giving in to the comfort you didn’t realize you needed so badly.

“Stay with me?” you ask softly. She doesn’t even hesitate. “Always.” The studio doesn’t feel suffocating anymore.

The mirrors don’t feel like they’re judging. The unfinished ideas scattered around suddenly don’t seem like failures—just pauses. Because right now— You’re wrapped up in her arms.

Her warmth. Her quiet strength. And somehow… that’s enough. More than enough. Because at the end of days like this—

From across the room, Bada’s eyes flicked toward you—sharp, unreadable at first… then narrowing slightly when she caught the way someone stood a little too close to you, talking a little too comfortably.

Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your hoodie.

You didn’t even realize you were staring back at her until—

She started walking.

Slow. Confident. Intentional.

The room didn’t quiet, but it felt like it did. And suddenly, she was right in front of you. Close. Too close. Her hand came up, gripping your chin gently but firmly, tilting your face toward her.

“Why are you looking over there?” her voice was low, steady—but there was something underneath it. Something tight.

Your breath caught. “I wasn’t—” “Mm.” she hummed, not convinced.

Her thumb brushed under your lip, soft this time, a complete contrast to the intensity in her eyes.

“Don’t do that.” “…Do what?” “Let people think they can have your attention like that.” The words should’ve sounded cocky.

But they didn’t. They sounded… protective. Possessive in a way that made your heart stutter instead of race.

Behind her, you could feel the curious glances, the whispers—but Bada didn’t even spare them a second look. She just stepped closer.

One hand dropped from your face to your waist, pulling you in like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Stay here,” she murmured.

And just like that, you were tucked against her side as she grabbed her water bottle with the other hand, completely unbothered, like she hadn’t just shifted your entire emotional stability.

You let out a small breath. “…You’re kinda intense, you know that?” That got a reaction.

A quiet scoff, almost amused. “Oh?” she leaned down slightly, her lips brushing near your ear. “You don’t like it?” Your silence answered for you. She smirked. Of course.

A few minutes passed like that—her hand absentmindedly tracing small patterns against your side, your fingers lightly hooked into her shirt without even realizing it. The noise in the studio faded. It always did when it was just her. Then softer— “…Did something happen?”

You blinked. Her tone changed. Still low—but gentler now. Careful. You hesitated, and that was enough for her to notice.

Bada pulled back just enough to look at you properly, her brows pulling together.

“Hey.”

Her hand came up again, this time brushing your hair back instead of holding you in place.

“Talk to me.”

And that was your breaking point.

“It’s nothing,” you said quickly, but your voice betrayed you.

She didn’t push right away. Didn’t rush. Just… stayed. Her thumb traced slow circles on your wrist now, grounding, patient

“…Someone said something earlier,” you admitted quietly. “About me… about being here.” Her expression shifted instantly.

Not loud. Not explosive. But cold. “Who.” One word. Sharp. You shook your head. “It’s fine, really—” “It’s not fine if it got to you.”

Her jaw tightened slightly, but when she looked back at you, her touch softened again—like she was holding two completely different versions of herself at once.

“You don’t get to shrink because someone else is insecure,” she said quietly.

Your eyes dropped. She didn’t let them stay there. Two fingers under your chin again—gentler this time.

“Hey. Look at me.” You did. And she held your gaze like it mattered. Like you mattered.

“You belong here,” she said, slower now. Certain. “With me. Don’t forget that.”

Your chest tightened in the best and worst way. “…You’re really good at this,” you whispered. “At what?”

“Making me feel like everything’s okay.” For a second— Just a second— Bada’s expression softened completely.

All the sharp edges gone. “…It is okay,” she murmured. Her forehead rested lightly against yours.

And then, quieter— “Especially when you’re with me.” Your fingers tightened in her shirt. “Confident much?”

That familiar smirk returned. “There it is,” she teased softly. “I was wondering when you’d come back.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling now. She noticed. She always noticed.

Her hand slid from your wrist to intertwine your fingers, squeezing once before pulling you gently toward the door.

“Come on.” “Where?” “Food,” she said simply. “You didn’t eat.” “…How do you even know that?”

She glanced at you sideways, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. “I know everything about you.” Your heart did that thing again.

“…That’s a little scary.” “Mm,” she hummed, lacing your fingers tighter with hers. “You like it.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.