#admin ari

Taeyong: Well come on over babe

Would !! Be !! So !! Keen !! To !! Try !! Taeyong would be so into it and would not be afraid to let you know it. He’d pull you onto him straight away and ease you into the situation with no waiting. 

Jaehyun: Really?

Jaehyun bby would be surprised you wanna do something kinky with him but he’d be game for sure to try it out. He wouldn’t expect to love it so much either, your facials when you rode his thigh never failed to get to him. 

Johnny: Sit on daddy then.

ooooh boy, Johnny like Taeyong would be so down to try it with you and would not be scared to let you know. He’d be so determined to make sure you enjoy every bit of it without any worry. 

Taeil: That’s a bit kinky for you

Taeil being a sarcastic little shit would joke about it for a moment before taking it seriously, keen to try it with you as long as you were comfortable with everything. He wouldn’t enjoy it as much as the others but he’d still love to make sure you were being pleasured. 

Yuta: *stays silent but pulls you onto him*

Yuta wouLD HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU TO ASK. He’d always imagine himself being in a situation with you on top of his thigh, getting off right on top of him. 

Doyoung: Are you sure?

To be honest, I can’t see Doyoung being a fan of doing it often but he’d do it if you really wanted to try it and you enjoy it. 

Winwin: o-oh

okAY BUT YOU BEST BELIEVE THIS BOY WANTS TO TRY THIGH RIDING WITH YOU, he’ll definitely be shy and you’ll have to take charge until he gets the hang of it

Mark: You want to do what?

Mark like Doyoung probably wouldn’t be into it as much as the others but would do it if you wanted to. He’d be more taken aback with the question though, not being the most adventurous one. 

Ten: Of course

This was likely the reason you appeared so floored when Mimi, your company's head of collaborative marketing (and your personal manager) shared her latest idea with you, something about a duet dance with another idol; she said that bringing such a foreign concept into a collaboration stage would give your group the increase of attention that you so desperately needed.

You couldn't disagree with her logic. It was much harder than it seemed for a group to stay afloat in the idol industry.

"Y/N," Mimi was explaining to you, "I know I speak on behalf of the entire company when I tell you that you are the most talented dancer to walk through these doors. If anyone can pull off this stage, it's you."

You felt your cheeks flush from the professional compliment, but you were still trying to wrap your mind around the brief choreography video you'd just been shown.

You absolutely loved to dance; you always have, ever since you were old enough to walk.

From ballet classes when you were four years old to jazz and tap in your tweens, then modern hip hop and interpretive in your adolescent years, and then from a dance major onwards to learning choreography with your group after debuting a year ago- you were always dancing. It was a piece of your life that held so much meaning, so much joy, that you don't think you'd ever be able to live without it.

So maybe this is why you decide to ditch your initial disbelief at the proposal, your mind opening up a little to the idea. After all, the worst thing that could happen would be a failed stage, and you're sure that the company wouldn't have too much trouble sweeping things under the rug if that happened. How bad could it be, right?

You eventually give in to Mimi's attempts at persuading you, your face breaking out into a grin. You're sure that if you say yes, you'll wonder for the next two weeks who your partner will be from the group you're collaborating with; but you also know that it'll kill you inside to say no.

You nod firmly once Mimi asks you again if you're okay with this. You've made up your mind that you definitely are; you push off any lingering doubts about the sensual stage, and the feelings left behind are ones of excitement and anticipation.

Mimi is visibly pleased, and her happiness is infectious as she claps her hands together joyfully. "It's settled then! I'll let the team from KQ know that both parties are in agreement." She announces with a broad smile.

When you leave the conference room, you feel butterflies in your stomach instead of dread, and a sudden eagerness arises at the prospect of learning a brand-new type of dance.

You can't wait to see what will happen in two weeks.

Day One- 8:53 A.M

You step into your new joint studio building two weeks later, a bright smile on your face and your first-day jitters pushed to the back of your mind.

You're beyond curious to see which member of Ateez you'll be paired with for the collaboration; you secretly hoped it would be Song Mingi, as he was alluring to you both through dance and through his abnormally deep voice. (Okay, so maybe you had a bias already. There was surely no harm in that though, right?)

Mimi was now urging you to make your way up the three flights of stairs as fast as possible, having ditched the building's elevator in favor of a quicker route. There had been a mixup at your company that morning with transportation, which made you more than twenty minutes late- you were supposed to arrive at 8:30.

You could only pray that the hired choreographer wouldn't hold it against you, and that they'd still give you time to properly warm up.

Your nerves are starting to resurface when you push open the doors to your practice room. Both of the occupants have their backs to you, bending over a stereo system along the wall without a mirror. Your manager bids you a hasty goodbye and exits the same way you just came, and you're struggling to catch your breath, standing in the middle of the room gripping the strap of your dance bag for dear life.

The choreographer leaves the stereo to greet you, giving you a warm smile as he introduces himself.

You've looked forward to meeting your instructor for a while now, and you bow to the man respectfully while doing your best to repress the childish glee bubbling up within you, not wanting to seem unprofessional.

Your thoughts are so consumed with greeting the choreographer that you fail to notice the other figure in the room turning to face you.

"Hello, Y/N, it's a pleasure to finally meet you!" The choreographer says. "My name is Jung Deojun, and I look forward to working with you for this stage." You set your bag down and grab an elastic for your hair, still focused on Deojun. "The pleasure is all mine," you respond, "I truly admire your work."

Jung Deojun is happy to hear the compliment, and you're opening your mouth to ask him about his most popular moves when you finally, finally come face-to-face with your new partner.

To say he was handsome would be the understatement of the year.

While you obviously hadn't been paired with who you'd hoped for, (Mingi, the tall rapper) you weren't upset in the slightest. The dancer was standing to the side with his arms crossed over his chest, and the sight was enough to make you want to wipe your hand along your chin just to check if you were drooling.

Any words you'd been preparing to say died on the tip of your tongue as you surveyed your partner. Tall, lean, and stupidly gorgeous, he radiated an aura of confidence and striking intensity that both scared you and intrigued you. His shirt dipped low enough to make your heart skip a beat, and it looked too good on him for him to be standing there in the studio.

His eyes were dark and seemed to pierce straight into your soul- though you had to wonder just how well he was able to see you from behind his long black hair.

He was, without question, the most beautiful man you'd ever seen. But why the hell did he look so pissed?

You gulp down your wave of apprehension and stick out your hand towards him, waiting for him to take it (seeing as that would be the polite thing to do).

"Hello, I'm Y/N of Star Entertainment." You manage to stumble through your self-introduction despite his less than encouraging reaction. He makes no move to shake your outstretched hand, so you awkwardly pull it back and continue talking, "I look forward to dancing with y-"

"You're late."

You hope you don't look as much like a fish as you feel; his monotonous interruption has your mouth opening and closing repeatedly as you try to remember what you'd been about to say.

"I'm sorry," you eventually gather your thoughts long enough to respond. "There was a mixup with transportation from my company, and my manager ended up having to take me herself-"

"I don't care what happened, just don't be late again. It's rude." The guy cuts you off again, visibly impatient. You hold back a scoff at his words; he's definitely one to be talking about rude.

"The name's Choi San." He adds, but he sounds almost bored, as if he'd rather be anywhere else but with you at this very moment.

You don't deem any answer necessary. You hardly trust yourself not to make a jab back at him, but can you be blamed?

You're more than a little peeved that your partner, the man you've been wanting to meet for two very long weeks, seems to have a giant stick up his ass; but you reason out that it's got something to do with the first-day nerves you're sure must be racing through him, too.

At least, that's what you tell yourself as you begin warming up, walking away from the entrance and hoping to escape the rising tension.

Meanwhile San is cursing every dance god out there for sticking him with you. Not because he despises dancing with other people or because he doesn't want to dance with you- but because he's the exact opposite.

He loves dancing with his entire being, and he expected his new partner to love it just as much as he did.

So it was fairly annoying for him to arrive thirty minutes early that morning, excited and eager to get to dancing, and then have to wait nearly another half an hour after the first day was scheduled to begin just for you to get there.

That being said, San almost regrets snapping at you- it wasn't your fault you weren't on time.

But when he catches a glimpse of your pinched, offended expression through the mirror while you take your sweet time warming up, the idea of apologizing immediately flees his head.

He couldn't believe how many prissy dancers there were in the kpop industry- and he was certain that you would just be one more he'd have to work with.

So far, things were not off to a very promising start.

Day Four- 10:15 A.M

"Guys, I think you need to take a quick break." Jung Deojun says as he presses pause on the stereo.

You're more than happy to do so, jumping out of San's grasp so quickly you're concerned you may have pulled a muscle. San has no complaints about the break either; he springs away from you as if you have a contagious disease, and he's intent on not catching whatever disease that may be.

The first day hadn't gone nearly as well as you'd hoped it would. After the initial shock and irritation upon meeting him, you gave San as little attention as you could, and he did the same to you.

Or he tried to do the same.

You both seemed to have forgotten the key concept of the entire dance: sensuality.

And although it was only the first day, the cold and tense atmosphere between the two of you did nothing but increase throughout your time together in the studio- a factor that didn't settle well with your choreographer when you were meant to be dancing as if you were madly in love.

By the end of the second day, you were positive you and San were only ever meant to be enemies. It was like every move he made was done specifically to annoy you, and you had to admit that if that was the case, then it was working like a charm.

The way he spoke to you- when he bothered to speak at all- was so insensitive and cocky that you wanted to clock him in the face. He never cheered you on when you got another step down; all he'd said to you during the past forty-eight hours was backhanded comments on the technique you should have, or how you should move to accommodate him better.

This wasn't how dance was supposed to be.

Two people were supposed to move in sync, in the same fluid motion when they danced together; but with him, it was all give and no take.

Of course, it didn't help that you went rigid as a board every time he so much as shifted towards you.

He wanted to get along with you at first, he really did. But you were making it so difficult to be friendly when you made zero effort to put any feeling into the dance moves that required him to touch you, that any hope he had of being your friend went flying out of the window.

He'd been ready to quit right then and there during your third day in the studio, when you outright refused to let him do the first truly sensual move of the choreography about forty seconds in. San would barely even be able to graze your sides with his fingertips before you jumped away, giving him a steely look that made him all the more eager to push your buttons.

He reasoned that if you were going to be such a priss about things, then there was no danger in him getting you all riled up while you practiced.

And as if you weren't already stressed out by his antics, you were also highly aware of the pressure that was on you guys to learn the dance by the end of the month- you had only five weeks to completely master the choreography for the collaboration stage and for the performance video.

You wished the song wasn't so long- there were six and a half total minutes of choreography, and you'd only gone through about two minutes of it all.

To make things worse, the steps you'd learned so far didn't look good by any means. Jung Deojun knew it would most likely take another week or two just to get to the halfway point, at the rate things were going now.

You knew that the clock was ticking; this morning marked your fourth day at the studio.

Deojun's goal was for you and San to get a feel for each move you learned as you learned it, which was why it had taken so long to memorize such a small chunk of the song.

His philosophy was that people can learn two ways: they can learn it all and perfect it later, or they can learn it all perfectly the first time with a little more effort. (It was very clear which way of learning you and your partner were going through based on how many times you'd pressed 'restart' on the stereo.)

You made sure you arrived on time each morning after that first day, not wanting another reason for San to pick on you. Currently, the two of you were tackling the first moderately sized snippet of the song, the buildup to the chorus. You'd been at it for around two hours today, and you didn't seem to be making any real progress.

There's a move where you and San need to glide across the floor and into each other's personal space, and he's supposed to trail his hands slowly up along your sides to cradle your head. Your step is to push San away from you and then grab him by the collar to bring him right back until you were practically breathing the same air; and while the pushing away part was the easiest thing you'd learned so far, tugging him towards you again was proving to be difficult to do without scowling.

That same scowl threatens to appear after another hour of practice when San tosses you a Snickers bar from his bag, and you look down at it accusingly without picking it up from the floor.

"This isn't exactly part of my company's diet regulations, San." You huff, knowing you'd like nothing more than to eat the candy bar right this very second but remembering you can't eat anything if it isn't on your meal plan.

San just raises an eyebrow and motions for you to pick it up anyways. "I thought you'd want it. I mean, you're not you when you're hungry, so maybe if you had a Snickers bar then you'd be more fun to work with."

You don't bother hiding your lethal expression from him.

"Choi San," you hiss, "I swear once we finish doing this dance I'm actually going to strangle you."

Your choreographer chooses to break up the conversation at this moment, not hearing the whispered reply of 'kinky' that makes your blood boil.

"Alright you two, that's enough," Jung Deojun cuts in. "You don't seem to be comfortable with each other yet, so why don't we all sit down and take some time to eat lunch? You've worked hard anyways, so you deserve to rest." He offers.

While the idea of actually sitting down to eat your salad, instead of inhaling it between sessions, sounds incredibly tempting, you know you'll be too busy fuming to really enjoy a lunch break.

You kick the Snickers bar back towards San and put on a bright smile for Deojun.

"No, thank you, I'd rather get back to practicing. We've got a long way to go." You give your partner another nasty look with your last statement, implying that he's most of the problem.

This implication doesn't go unnoticed by him, and he actually has the nerve to wink at you. To wink- as if he isn't the legitimate most infuriating human being on the planet. You ball your hands into fists to refrain from pulling at your hair in frustration.

San watches on in dry amusement; he never saw it coming, but he's quickly discovered that he loves to get a rise out of you. He chalks it up to the simple fact that you interact the most with him when you're angry.

Sensing the tension in the room, Deojun shakes his head and insists on taking a real break for lunch. He doesn't miss the exchange of killer glares between you and San, and it brings a frown to his face as you begin to argue with your partner over the offending Snickers bar.

Jung Deojun has taught many choreographies in his time as a dancer. He's quite honestly lost track of the number of pairs he's worked with who had no chemistry together, or the countless dancer duos who simply didn't warm up to the other person.

He has also seen his fair share of enemies on the dance floor- the exes, the competitors, and even one couple who broke up in the middle of a rehearsal.

And yet, despite all of this, he has never seen anyone who fights quite as passionately as you and San.

But rather than getting annoyed at your nearly constant bickering, he finds himself feeling curious about it; he wants to know why your animosity towards each other seems to run so deep when you'd only met three days ago.

And frankly, he wants to see just how thin the line is between love and hate.

Your instructor sighs loudly once your voice raises in volume, wanting to roll his eyes at the childish feud taking place over a piece of candy- though it seems the argument has gotten to the point of being ridiculously useless, and Deojun is sure that one of you is bound to give it up in the next few seconds.

Your accusations of San being a total jerk continue to fall on deaf ears as he quickly proves the choreographer correct, checking out of the argument altogether by pulling his phone out and playing on it.

San's rude behavior makes you want to stomp your foot angrily like a petulant toddler, but you don't.

You instead go silent, biting your lip and getting yourself together because you are a mature and professional dancer- unlike someone- and you're already very embarrassed that Deojun has seen how worked up you get over your partner.

So in an attempt to save face, you take a deep breath, count to ten, and walk to the mini refrigerator in the corner of the studio to grab your lunch.

Deojun seems relieved that the Snickers spat is over, and immediately invites you into a less irritating conversation as you take a seat on the floor beside him.

"So, Y/N, what do you do for fun besides dance?" He asks you. You have to think for a moment about that.

What do you do when you're not rehearsing or promoting?

"Well, I spend most of my time dancing, but I guess I like to hang out with my group between promotions." You eventually come up with an answer.

"What do you do with your friends when you're hanging out?" Your instructor prompts. You shrug and finish eating the forkful of salad before you reply, "We normally go out to the city together to walk around, listening to live music and visiting cute cafés or restaurants."

San nearly snorts at how typical your response is until you add as an afterthought, "But we never have time for those things anymore."

Jung Deojun asks you "why not?" and you tell him, "We practice nearly sixteen hours a day together, and when we aren't in our studio, we're in our dorms perfecting every dance movement or every song for our company. We can't afford to slip up with so much at stake, so we just kind of... I don't know, stopped going out."

San acts like he isn't listening; but in reality he's paying close attention to your words, and he tells himself it's only because he needs more ammunition to use in order to tease you later.

You continue to elaborate on your struggles as an idol to Deojun, and it feels good to be able to talk about the pressure being put on your shoulders with someone other than your managers.

"When I first started training to become an idol, I was always content to just dance for the sake of dancing. I wasn't used to the expectation that I had to be better than someone else; I honestly never thought the competition would happen off of the stage. It caught me off guard when I realized I'd have to fight for every chance to do what I love, and even after making it into an agency and debuting in a group, we're still always fighting to be on top, to be the best."

"And to me dance was never about being the best. It's about expressing something you feel, something so deep words can't explain it well enough." You shrug, and you miss the fond smile of your instructor as he remembers the days where he was in your shoes.

San lost interest in his phone a while ago; instead he now holds his lunchbag in his hands.

And when you turn your head to steal a glance at him, you find that he's giving you the first non-irritating look you've seen on his face since the day you met.

Well then.

You certainly hadn't expected to see that reaction- nor had San intended for you to catch it.

If he's being honest with himself, he never really thought he'd connect with you, especially after the disastrous first day together. But your words resonate deeply within him, to a point where he thinks that maybe, you might not be quite as uptight as you appear.

He finds himself hoping that that's the case; hoping that there's more to you than just a prissy lead dancer who refuses to loosen up.

It makes your stomach twist to see him look at you with anything other than annoyance or spite. If you didn't know any better, you would say that it almost seems like he's... impressed? Like he might not hate your guts after all?

But you'd be stupid to forget how intently you despised each other just a few minutes ago, how you bickered over that candy bar; and the sudden change in his demeanor has left your head spinning.

Whatever it is, you're not sure why it affects you as much as it does, so you ignore it and keep talking to Deojun so that you don't have to engage with San until you're done eating.

To make things even more confusing, once your lunch break is over and you begin to go through the choreo again, he isn't throwing his usual insults and criticisms your way like he had done every afternoon for the past week.

You're not sure what to make of the unspoken truce- and you're not sure why it unnerves you as much as it does. But San is acting totally opposite of how he's been acting so far, and it lasts through the remainder of your fourth day.

He doesn't even bother to give you a half-assed "you're too stiff" the way he normally would.

You have to force yourself not to think about how easily the routine flows when you aren't arguing; and you can't help but wonder whether this random, unofficial friendship will last- and if it does, then what changed?

But when the fourth day ends and you walk into the studio the following morning, he's back to wearing his cocky little smirk and teases you for the Starbucks frappuccino in your hand, telling you that it's fake coffee and reminding you of how against your meal plan the drink is.

You nearly cringe at yourself for thinking things would ever change between the two of you in such a short amount of time. But, if you're really being upfront, you can't pretend as though you don't look forward to pushing his buttons each day, getting immense satisfaction from knowing you get on his nerves just as much as he gets on yours.

Jung Deojun, on the other hand, is simply looking forward to the day you guys get through learning the steps so that he can sit back and watch the sparks flying through his studio.

Day Twelve- 4:55 P.M

Deojun is out using the restroom down the hallway at the end of your twelfth day, and it's just you and your partner standing together in the mirror while he's gone. You're intentionally avoiding San's piercing gaze as you stretch out your sore limbs, choosing to move towards the stereo so you can play the music one more time before the end of today's session.

He had been driving you crazy throughout this entire past week. It was the usual stuff at first: pointless arguing, name-calling, bickering, and insults flung at each other for no good reason.

And then, something shifted.

On the sixth day of choreo, you waltzed through the studio doors with a bright smile and your hair down out of your ponytail, looking a bit windblown. You'd woken up late that day but you were still determined not to be late to practice, so you didn't have time to put your hair up or grab your coffee.

It was the day when San noticed just how hard it had become for him to take his eyes off of you; but how could he not stare when you come twirling into the room like you've been dancing with the wind and looking as if you've just been kissed by the sun?

You'd caught him staring more times than you could count on that sixth day, and while it unnerved you a little, you couldn't deny the pleasurable rush you got from knowing he was looking.

But it did make things a little more tense when you had your pointless arguments; you weren't sure how to curse him out when he looked at you with that strange glint in his eye- the glint that made you question if you even really hated him in the first place.

The tension only skyrocketed after that. By the tenth day, the pressure between you and San was so strong that it was bound to explode any time now. A new side of your (already strained) relationship had developed- in addition to his irritating habits and your stinging insults, you now shared burning glances, soft touches, and the feeling of wanting just a little bit more.

The change wasn't entirely unwelcome, much to your dismay. You hadn't expected him to affect you the way that he did; but when you find that your skin sears instead of crawls when his hand brushes against you, you know that you can no longer ignore the magnetic pull between your bodies, the one you're secretly begging yourself to cave into each time he holds you close during the dance.

But just because you aren't able to ignore the pull towards San doesn't mean that you won't try.

You keep your back to him as you approach the equipment; but you can hear his footsteps right behind you when you walk to the other side of the studio, and you have a hunch that he won't go away without bothering you.

San follows you until you reach the sound system and you huff in annoyance before you turn around to face him.

"Shouldn't you be stretching right now, Fireboy?" You ask tiredly, hoping he'll get the point and stop closing in on your personal space.

You didn't intend to call him that- you've referred to him as Fireboy in your mind for a while now, the title fitting his disposition perfectly; one minute he was smoky as embers, and the next he was blazing with heat. Like an unpredictable wildfire.

He shakes his head and answers ironically, "Nope, I'm already all cooled down for the day, Miss Priss."

You go back to the stereo, thinking that the discussion is through, and you practically jump three feet in the air when he spins you around again, the hand gripping your waist not making you nearly as mad as you'd wanted it to.

You can't move backwards at all with the stereo poking into your spine, but you've got nowhere to run once San places his free hand on the wall next to you, successfully trapping you. You wish the action pissed you off enough to push him away- but your hands fall weakly against his chest, and the sudden contact makes your pulse race.

"San, what the hell are you doing?" You ask him, exasperation evident in your voice.

San flashes his stupid smirk and leans closer to your body, making your cheeks flush at the proximity. "I thought maybe we should try to get rid of some of the tension Deojun keeps talking about, since it's interfering with the dance. Don't you agree, Y/N?"

You sneer at him and shove his chest harder.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You reply sharply, "The dance is perfectly fine San, you're being ridiculous. We aren't even done learning the choreo yet, so have some patience." San's smirk only grows, along with your annoyance.

You eye him distastefully and give him a once-over before looking to the doorway, continuing to insult him despite the way his sleeveless shirt makes your heart flutter. "But something tells me that patience isn't really in your vocabulary, is it?"

And just like that, you find yourself holding back a noise of surprise when his hand grips your chin like a silken vice, forcing you to keep your gaze trained on him. You're helpless to his strong hold and the feeling of his body heat radiating against your skin is messing with your head, further supporting your idea that this man is a scorching ball of fire; even his touch is hot enough to burn.

You fight off a shudder when he refuses to break eye contact. The cocky grin is gone, replaced with some foreign expression that you don't think you want to put a label on just yet.

He dips his head down next to your ear. His next words, mixed with the way his hair tickles your face, manage to send sparks through your veins as he murmurs, "You know, princess, I wasn't expecting you to be so damn bratty."

You have to remind yourself that the sentence is, in fact, offensive- and that you should be getting mad at him for it right about now.

Thankfully that part always comes easy to you.

"Oh, so I'm the brat?" You retort sarcastically. You poke a finger into his chest and question him further, "I'm the bratty one for showing up late one time and getting shit about it from you before you even told me your name?"

San's grip tightens as you speak, but you're so focused on chewing him out that you hardly even register it.

"Please enlighten me as to how I'm the brat when it's always you who has a problem with something." At this point you've forgotten that you're only venting about him to distract yourself from his touch, and now you're just plain pissed off.

"Honestly, I thought you were at least a little bit brighter than this, Fireboy. Anyone with a brain would be able to tell that the only brat here is you, but you're so set on being 'holier-than-thou' every second of the day that you don't even bother to see it. You're such a child." Your words are positively scathing.

San has had enough of your sassy remarks and cuts your rant short, "Oh come on Y/N, you don't seriously believe I'm the only one to blame. You're not as innocent as you try to appear, Miss Priss; don't think I've forgotten the names you call me when you think Deojun isn't listening. You're as much at fault here as I am. As a matter of fact, I'd go as far as to say that the 'childish' one is you."

"And this is coming from the one who called me 'more useless than an appendix' not even twenty minutes ago, right?" You scoff.

He rolls his eyes at your quotation of his most recent insult and says, "Cut the crap and just admit it already."

But between the compromising position, the bite in his voice, and the sheer irritation coursing through your body, you're getting sick and tired of your partner's little mind games.

"What do you mean?" You ask, "Admit what? What're you playing at?"

"Admit that you're no different than any other self-absorbed, uptight lead dancer I've worked with, and you only hate me because you wanted to be paired with another idol." He answers, every syllable causing you to see red. "You're just a classic prissy princess who won't cooperate when you don't get your way, and you're refusing to do the dance right because I'm not the one you wanted to dance with. It's stereotypical lead dancer behavior, and you know it."

Oh.

Oh hell no.

Did he really just call you self-absorbed and prissy?

If you weren't already mad enough, then now you're practically seething. San knows purely by the look on your face that he's fucked up, that he's taken things a little too far- but both of you are too wound up right now for him to try and make amends.

It's all he can do to stay impassive when you shove his hand away from your chin and grab fistfuls of his shirt, roughly bringing him down to your level.

"Choi fucking San," You curse, "you take that back this minute, you piece of shit."

His eyes drop to your mouth- a mistake that has enough meaning to turn the tables in your favor in an instant.

It's a mistake, one simple mistake. Just one small moment of indulgence as he memorizes the curve of your lips; yet all sanity immediately vanishes from his mind at the sudden urge he has to kiss you senseless, to shut you up in the most romantic way possible.

He's fighting the urge so hard that he doesn't even think about the next four words out of his mouth- Mistake Number 2.

"And if I don't?"

Your knuckles are turning white from the grip on his collar; you come to the realization that maybe your heart is beating a bit too fast for someone who's arguing with a mere dance partner.

You end up making Mistake Number Three- you don't release your hold on his shirt, and you don't push him away when his head drifts closer down to yours.

Three strikes and you're out.

"Then I'm walking out of this room and never dancing with you again." You pray your voice sounds at least half as spiteful as it did at the beginning of all this, but you aren't sure.

San finally tears his gaze away from your lips and is back to giving you a blazing glare. Part of him hopes you can see the passion and desire burning behind his expression so that you'll understand he doesn't really mean it when he snaps, "Fine with me, princess."

It's the same part of him that secretly thrives off of the electric tension and the lingering hands; the side of him that wants to hold you just a little longer when the music stops.

He really hopes he isn't going crazy when he thinks he sees that side in you, too.

"Fine," You snap back halfheartedly as the fight goes out of you all at once, "have it your way."

You both know your words are empty.

Unlike San, you have been intentionally unaware of how your body reacts to your partner, constantly choosing to ignore the tugging in your gut when you go through the choreo with him.

You always did your best to diffuse the tension that crackles between you two every time you dance; but the more choreography you learn, the harder it is to keep acting as though you aren't drawn to San like a moth to a flame.

You can whine and argue and call him names all day (you already do). But under the loathsome looks and sharp words, you can't deny the underlying attraction you feel to him.

You try with all your might to remind yourself of how insufferable he can be, but it's no use; the anger drains out of you the second you notice how close San still is to you. Your hands are still attached to his shirt, his face is an inch from yours, and his arms are on either side of you, with the stereo still poking into your spine.

Even the thick atmosphere around the room seems to be holding its breath as you both stay put in this position, wondering who would make the first move.

You think you should probably get going; after all, you've just given him the dance ultimatum. Shouldn't you be hightailing it out of the studio and never looking back...

...but you never get to finish that thought.

Because the second that the thought crosses your mind, San is reaching up to take your face in his hand, his heated touch softer than you would've ever guessed it to be.

His fingers skim your cheek delicately, with all the grace of a musician playing his instrument; your eyes begin to flutter closed in expectation for what is about to happen, and you unknowingly lean into the palm of his hand, not putting up a fight.

But you wouldn't dare fight against what's surely happening now- not after having the image of it plague your nights for weeks on end.

He's closer than he's ever been. He doesn't stop; he comes closer, and closer, and closer...

And then, your rotten luck seems to remember it's purpose in your life.

Jumping back in to ruin the moment, it causes your elbow to bump against the stereo and the music comes on at top volume, shattering your eardrums. It's all that the moment needed to come to a screeching halt before disappearing completely.

You wince at the sudden noise and release your grasp on San's shirt, pushing him away from you to tend to the sound system. You quickly turn the music off and put a hand over your racing heart.

San feels like he's rooted in his place, and he can't erase the image in his head of what was about to happen.

He can't shake the way you so easily leaned into his touch; the way he knew he was definitely going to kiss you, and how you were definitely going to let him. He nearly shouts when you break contact to shut the stereo up, leaving him high and dry, waiting for a fire that is no longer burning.

The clock on the wall snaps both of you back into reality, chiming to signal the end of your twelfth day- and for the first time since all of this began, you're reluctant to leave the studio.

What now?

You give San an uneasy look, an awkward smile tugging at your lips. "I, um, I guess I'll be going now." You tell him.

You're expecting him to shoo you off, to comment about how you insisted you weren't coming back once you left today; but he can't bring himself to tease you when he's still feeling so vulnerable.

The idea of insulting you is suddenly unappealing when he realizes that he would much rather be kissing you.

"Yeah, me too." He replies simply; and that's all there is to it. There's no more bickering, no more teasing or conversation once he bids you goodbye.

You stumble over your words like a runner over a hurdle. "See you tomorrow, Fireboy."

You're the first to leave the room, grabbing your bag and making a beeline for the exit. You have no idea what just went down, but you have a sneaking suspicion that things will be much, much different by this time tomorrow.

Meanwhile San is still glued to where he stood next to the stereo, cursing himself for letting you leave without doing what he's wanted to do since the day you argued over the Snickers.

Day Sixteen- 8:35 AM

On the morning of your thirteenth day of practice, Jung Deojun thinks the world must've flipped on its axis in the middle of the night.

It's the only scenario he can come up with to explain why you and San no longer act like you want to slit each other's throats when you walk into the building together, the tension pulsing between you and him having shifted without any notice or warning.

He doesn't expect the truce to last long; but you prove him wrong when three days pass in relative peace, and when you and your partner enter the studio on the sixteenth day, Deojun knows something must have happened.

However, the choreographer thinks it would be too unprofessional to pry, so he decides to pretend that his pupils have been friends all along.

"Good morning you two, did you sleep well?" Deojun greets you both with a wary grin. You nod wordlessly, and he says, "I hope so, because we're finishing up the last few moves of the choreo today. I grabbed some extra waters and snacks to carry us through, but I've informed your managers that we might stay late at the studio tonight. Are you guys opposed to that at all?"

He intentionally leaves out the fact that your manager, Mimi, had chewed him out about working you too hard for almost an hour over the phone when he asked.

You and San share an apprehensive look, but you shake your heads anyways, knowing you'd both rather stay late and finish the choreography as soon as possible.

"Great. Let's get started."

*

By the time you walk through the very last step of the dance, the clock on the wall reads 7:15 in the evening.

It was the longest day you'd had; though it seemed to you as if the hours passed at lightning speed- and you were pretty confident you knew why.

It was because you'd finally stopped holding yourself back when you danced, and neither you nor San could get enough of the new passion that was rapidly igniting at each little motion. It was like a dam had been broken; all you'd needed to open those gates was a push, just one hard shove in the right direction, for everything to fall into place.

You simply hadn't expected the shove to push yourself into San's waiting arms.

If your choreographer noticed the ease with which you and he now practiced the sensual movements, he didn't say anything about it; but you were both aware that sparks were blazing to life with every dip and sway- but neither of you wanted to be the first to put out the fire.

Rather, you found yourselves doing all you could to keep fanning the flames; it especially helped that you no longer needed to yell at each other in order to communicate. You'd been finding much more civil ways to talk since your twelfth day of dancing.

You and San reluctantly move away from each other once the dance is done and the music stops, spinning to face your instructor as he packs up. You refrain from coughing to cover up the way your insides feel like they're turning to mush.

"Awesome job guys!" Deojun claps and walks over to the stereo, a proud smile on his face. "That's it for the choreography, so if you two are ready to leave for the night then you're fine to do so. I'm finished for today, but if either of you stay longer, make sure you lock up after you're done."

You nod and gesture towards the door. "I'm starving, so I'm gonna leave, too." You look at San with a smile that is no longer lethal, and your gaze shines with something other than anger and irritation- a sweet combination that's almost too much for him to handle. "You coming?"

San licks his lips and shrugs, eyes trained on you. "Sure, but I can stay back and lock up while I grab my things, so I'll meet you out front."

You sling your bag over your shoulder and follow Deojun out of the studio, willing your brain to quit focusing on how flustered San's stare makes you.

You stop by the restroom to change out of your dance gear into a pair of light jeans and a loose shirt, trading out your dance shoes for comfy slip-ons, and you hope that the dazzled look on your face disappears soon when you head out.

You never imagined that the same guy who's been driving you insane for two weeks would ever cause you to blush; but here you were, hands pressed to your cheeks in an attempt to chase away the pink flush before you step outside, the image of your almost-kiss playing on repeat in the back of your mind like it usually did these days.

You weren't sure how it happened, but somewhere along the line, you realized that you never really hated San.

You reacted to his insults and his accusations, sure, but a part of you knew that the words were always empty; and even with as many times as you'd said it since meeting him, you honestly didn't hate San.

You just hated that you hadn't kissed him yet.

Jung Deojun has already left the building when you hear the entry door open and close, San approaching where you're standing alone outside of the studio and preoccupied with taking down your ponytail. The hand you were running through your hair halts when you feel his palm hover over your lower back, and his mere presence is enough to give you chills.

You gulp and drop your arm, spinning around.

The breath is practically knocked out of San when you turn to face him. He registers that the hand he's placed on your back now serves to pull you closer, but that's the last thing on his mind when he notices how your head cranes up to look him in the eyes, your almost hopeful expression being the cutest thing he's ever seen as your mouth forms a slight smile.

He's decided that he definitely prefers this look on you over the pissed-off ones he used to earn himself.

"Hey," He says simply, "you ready to go eat?"

You raise an eyebrow. "We're eating together? What about our managers, don't we both have places to be?"

San subconsciously guides your body closer to his, and you force yourself to ignore how droolworthy he looks in his skinny jeans and the black long-sleeved shirt he's tucked into them, keeping your eyes trained on anything that isn't the thick belt around his waist.

The outfit only does more to affirm how San is practically the e-boy of your dreams, posing a stark contrast to your light clothes and soft cardigan; your pulse quickens just from seeing the chain he's looped through his jeans. He looks dark and dangerous, and you love it.

The thought of grabbing that chain to close the gap between you is too tempting to entertain- so you banish it immediately.

"I contacted my company and they said we're free to do whatever we want until ten, as long as we stay out of trouble." San eventually responds to your question.

Your smile widens at the information, and you don't even feel yourself leaning into his arms, peering up at him happily. "In that case, I'm good to go wherever, because Mimi is always trying to get us out to eat more. As long as I get some food I don't really care what we eat." You say.

San so desperately wants to tighten his arms around you when you melt into his hold; but he isn't sure how well you'll respond if you aren't aware of what you're doing now, so he settles for keeping both of his hands placed on your hips, pushing away his desire to trace his fingers over the sliver of skin exposed by your shirt.

"Mimi is your personal manager, right?" San asks to keep up conversation.

"Yeah, but she's more like a friend than a manager," You tell him with a fond look in your eye, "she's always had my back, ever since day one. We're really close."

San has to supress a sigh at how irresistably cute you are; he doesn't know what to do with himself, aside from trying not to melt into putty at your touch. This is a far cry from the rigid stance you normally have around him, and he can't believe how much things have changed in the last four days.

If this had been happening a week ago, you would've laughed in San's face at the offer to go eat together, and he would go back to his dorm at KQ and tell his seven friends about how insufferable you'd been that day.

But now?

Now you're voluntarily spending time with him outside of the studio, and he's wondering why you guys didn't do this sooner.

"I'm feeling partial to pizza, how about you?" He suggests.

You nod quickly at the idea, "That sounds great, but I haven't had pizza in so long; we'll have to Google directions."

"I know a good place down the street, about two blocks away. It's close enough that we can walk from here." San offers. He points to your left, towards the downtown area, and you hoist your bag higher up on your shoulder.

"Then by all means, lead the way." You tease.

You don't exactly hold hands as the two of you walk towards the closest pizza place side-by-side; but you're not at all the sworn enemies you'd been at this time four days ago.

And by the end of the night, you go to bed with a full stomach and a voice in your head that says, maybe Choi San isn't as bad as you thought he was.

Day 19 - 7:50 PM

"Oh my god, you're kidding!" You hide your laughs behind your hand, elbows resting on the table.

Deojun shakes his head rapidly, affirming the truth to the wild story he's been sharing with you and San over your meal at the diner three doors down from the studio (which your other managers barely even agreed to let you go to after taking one look at the menu; thankfully, Mimi was able to convince them that you deserved a treat).

"No, I'm serious! They walked into the studio in full clown suits and told me they were ready to dance!"

You snort so hard you're afraid your milkshake might go up your nose. You couldn't believe all of the crazy stuff he'd seen as a mentor, and some of the things his students had done while dancing were amusing enough to bring tears to your eyes. But the day had been long enough- and exhausting enough- that maybe you were just feeling giddy out of tiredness.

San is currently clutching his sides and shaking with laughter across from you in the booth, and he doesn't seem to be too far from tears himself. "Then it's no wonder we seem so normal to you after you taught a group like that. That one couple makes mine and Y/N's silly fights look mature, don't you think?"

Deojun waggles his eyebrows suggestively, making you laugh even harder. "I wouldn't exactly say normal. You two were about as difficult as any other students I've ever had when you first started. I'm actually kind of surprised we're all sitting pleasantly here right now, given the circumstances up until recently..." He trails off, the playful expression slipping from his face when the three of you realize what's being implied.

It was so strange to think that you'd gone from hating your partner's guts a couple of days ago to where you were now, eating dinner together with Deojun after a long day of rehearsal.

You and San had definitely become friends at this point, much to your relief; but the passion with which you danced together always left you wondering if there was something more.

After all, friends don't dance like that- even if your managers instructed you to act like lovers.

"I know you'll need to get back to your managers soon or else Mimi might bite my head off, so I'll go on up and get our bill." Deojun announces, pulling you from your train of thought as the choreographer nudges you urgently, gesturing for you to move so he can get out of the booth.

You let him out and slide back in when he leaves for the front counter, an uncalled-for nervous rush zipping down your body when you catch San's eye.

The dancer stares you down from across the table and twirls his tongue around the straw in his milkshake, immediately taking note of the way your eyes follow his movement. He chooses not to tease you about it but smirks nonetheless, fully aware of the effect he has on you.

You stay silent; and despite the newfound friendship that has made talking much less difficult for the both of you, you can't form a coherent sentence to save your life when he looks at you like you're a ten-thousand-piece puzzle that he can't wait to solve. You know you won't last long under his intense gaze before you start blushing.

The air in the booth is practically humming with tension- it seems to do that quite often when he's in the same room as you.

"You know, I'm kind of with Deojun on what he said. I never thought we'd end up here." He admits suddenly.

You look up, wondering if he's talking about eating here at the diner or if he's talking about something else entirely. You think it's the former, but your heart flutters at the subtle double meaning.

"Me neither." You respond softly, wrapping your hands around your cold glass. Your milkshake is now nothing but a puddle of leftover whipped cream at the bottom of the cup, but your lack of words makes you wish you hadn't finished it quite so fast.

He leans forward to put his weight on his elbows, coming closer across the table, and the inexplicable gleam in his eye is back; with the intimacy of it all, you feel as though he's about to let you in on a big secret.

You gulp nervously.

"After the first week with you, I expected to just go through the motions and then move on," San says in a voice so low it's nearly a murmur, "but you proved me wrong. As a matter of fact, you proved me wrong about a lot of things when it comes to you, and this is probably the first time I've ever been glad I wasn't right."

You're taken aback by his words, and it's a little too vague for you to understand.

You hope your voice doesn't sound as wobbly to him as it does to you when you ask him, "What things were you wrong about?"

He shrugs, taking another long sip of his shake, before he regards you with a stare so intense it seems to almost pin you to your seat.

"You're not the selfish prissy princess I thought you were." He eventually says.

Your eyes narrow at this, your suspicions about his confession rising even though he's not insulted you at all since the twelfth day in the studio.

San sees the way your guard goes up and laughs, shaking his hair out of his face. "Relax Y/N, there's no need to go on the defensive." He reassures you, "I'm just saying that I assumed too much about you when we met, and I should've said sorry sooner for not giving you a chance to show me that you were different."

You feel the tips of your ears burn at the unexpected apology.

You want to tear your gaze away from him so you can stare intently at your shoes; but some invisible force is keeping it glued on him, where there's a softness you've not yet seen glimmering in his eyes.

You know that you should say something in return, that you need to accept his apology and keep the conversation going- but your thoughts are spinning and racing and wild; and they're so full of him that you're afraid of what you'd say if you opened your mouth.

You never really let yourself cave into the way he makes you feel before. After all, you were way too annoyed by him in the beginning for you to register the other feelings he stirred up inside you.

But now that you've given up on trying to hate San, the ache to know him, to really know him- his touch, his kiss, his smile and his story- is almost overwhelming.

"Alrighty, everything's paid for." Your choreographer chooses that exact moment to arrive back at the booth, effectively slicing through the thick tension. "You're both free to go, and I'll see you tomorrow bright and early!"

You and San follow him out of the booth without any more discussion, but neither of you need to speak to know that another shift has occurred between you.

He can tell you sense the rising pressure when you leave that night, walking you to where your company's car is waiting.

San is quick to open the door for you like a gentleman; but when he raises the back of your hand to his lips in a move that would normally be just as gentlemanly, the depth of his expression when he makes eye contact is more than enough to put fire in your veins.

The encounter makes you wish you were bold enough to do more than just curl your fingers loosely around his hand.

You give yourself away with the breathy tone of your voice as you tell him good night, for once letting the tingling sensation on your hand have some meaning, and his lips pull into a soft grin at the sight of your pink cheeks.

As you close your door and the car pulls away from where San stands, your heart starts pounding in anticipation of seeing him tomorrow.

You wonder if you'll finally have the courage to show him the effect he's had on you.

Day 22 - 8:15 PM

The days continue to fly by in a whirlwind of teasing touches and sensual stares, until only three more remain before the night of the collaboration stage.

You read the time on your phone as you pull off your dance shoes, the screen showing that it was currently 8:15 in the evening.

Earlier today, you and San had shot the official performance video for the song, a three-minute-long clip that you hope had captured all of your hard work and effort. It had been done in a newer section of the studio building, on a floor you'd not been to before; but you were sufficiently elated at the gorgeous floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the walls of the dance room, and the lighting they provided was perfect for the video.

But despite the pretty setup, you felt like the dressing rooms in the back were somewhat... lacking. It was too small, poorly separated, and alarmingly unsupervised- the perfect recipe for disaster.

You see San's shadow moving around behind the flimsy screen that divides the empty room, and you rush to change out of the costume into normal clothes. You shimmy your jeans up quickly and tug your favorite sweater on over your head, hurrying because you know that if you can see him, then he can probably see you, too.

You try not to yank on your hair as you pull it out of its elaborate bun. Running a hand through it, you suppress a snort when you're met with a crunchy, knotty mess; between the uppity stylist and the mega-hold hairspray, your hair is practically standing up on its own, the strands feeling more like hay than hair.

You grab your brush and get to work, carefully detangling the knots and working from the bottom upwards. Mimi wouldn't be too pleased if you gave yourself split ends.

"Is it safe for me to come in?" San's voice startles you, and you jump with the hairbrush still in your hand, catching violently on a clump of stubborn hairspray. You yelp at the pain in your scalp and shoot him a burning look, but your anger is more directed towards your brush than at your partner.

San raises his eyebrows and clicks his tongue, his footsteps sure as he approaches you. "Here, let me help you." He offers. You don't think twice before handing him the hairbrush and sitting on the cosmetics table, your cheeks flaming as you whisper a thank you.

You don't expect him to be very gentle, but you're surprised at the feather-light touch when he begins to work out the remaining knots, and it sends pleasant sensations to your scalp that make your eyelids slide shut.

He moves your hair to the side and combs through the crown of your head. You almost shudder when you realize you can feel every time he exhales, warm breath fanning over the back of your neck. You don't even notice the way you crane your head slightly back, your spine pressed against his chest, the proximity keeping your cheeks stained pink.

But oh, does San notice.

He also notices another reaction that you've failed to see- your reflection in the mirror across the room.

His grip tightens on the handle of the brush at your blissful expression, eyes closed and lips subconsciously pouted. San nearly wishes you'd stayed in your bland dance clothes, because with the way your jeans hug your hips and the tantalizing dip of your sweater's neckline, he's struggling to keep his cool.

As a matter of fact, nothing in the room was cool anymore- his hands, your face, and the atmosphere surrounding you both had all become maddeningly hot.

Your eyes flutter open when San stops moving.

"San, I can take care of the rest, you don't have to do this for me-" You begin to say, but your words abandon you when San puts the brush down and trails a finger in lazy circles on your neck. You do shudder this time, unable to conceal the way your body responds to him; and it brings a smirk to San's lips as he watches your defenses start to chip away.

He's determined to finish what you'd both started- and he doesn't plan on leaving this room until he's felt your mouth on his and his hands on your skin.

"But I want to, princess." He says smoothly, the hidden meaning of the word want driving you nuts, while the pet name makes your heart leap like it always does.

You brace your palms on the surface of the table, hoping for some sort of stability because God knows your mind is far from it.

You summon up all the courage you have and finally, finally ask the question that's been tossed around in your head for the last two or three weeks.

"Is that... is that all you want?"

You're surprised at the strength of your own voice- though now that you've said it, you want to curl into a ball and hide away forever.

San knows exactly what you mean. He knows you're not talking about hair or dancing, and he knows the answer he would give you if he were man enough not to twirl around the truth.

He knows he wants to be yours; what he doesn't know, however, is how much you'd be willing to risk to be his.

But he'll be damned if he lets anything stop him from finding out.

"I think you know by now what I want." He tests the waters hesitantly, afraid you may take it the wrong way. Because although he can't deny his attraction to you physically, San is drawn to you more by your fire and your passion than he is by your body.

You can sense it, the uncharacteristic doubt and uncertainty in his words, and it puts a lump in your throat when you realize how vulnerable you both are at this point.

You swallow hard. "I do." It's simple, short, and barely above a whisper, but it's out there now; you've placed the ball back in his court, so it's up to him to make the shot.

You never were much good at basketball, anyways.

San rounds the table to stand in front of you, eyes searing with that familiar intensity that always leaves your knees weak, and his arms reach out on either side of where you sit to balance his weight on the table. He hovers over you- but he's just far away enough to keep himself from touching you.

His voice is gruff when he speaks next. "You've known for a while now that we aren't just partners." It's self explanatory, and you don't interrupt when he tilts his head to give you a sweltering gaze. "And you're not too good at hiding how you feel, so I know it's probably a safe bet to say you feel exactly the same as I do."

His black hair falls into his face, and your hand itches to brush it away; so you let it. You're slow to comb through it and you raise yourself up a little to get closer to him as you rake through the dark strands, letting them twist and twirl around your fingers. "And what is it that you think I'm feeling right now?" You ask, meeting his stare straight on.

San flashes his killer smirk. "Attraction." He says confidently. He wedges his way into your personal space, his hands now resting on either of your thighs with his body between your legs. "Desire, maybe." He continues with a squeeze.

You know where this is heading- and you don't plan on stopping it anytime soon. Hell, you want it to go full steam ahead, because you've been waiting for this for four weeks too long.

San laces his fingers through yours and leans in to place a teasing kiss on your cheek, close to your ear. "Y/N, tell me something." He murmurs lowly, "Do you want this, too? Because if you still hate me as much as you did four weeks ago, I'll stop right now and walk out of the room."

You spring to life at his offer, throwing one arm around his neck and successfully trapping him into his position. Your faces are only a few inches apart now, the air between you radiating with electricity; you wrap your other arm around his shoulders and eliminate almost all of the space.

You have no idea where this bravery is coming from, but hey, you're not complaining.

"Don't you dare walk out on this." You say darkly, the words stealing away the last of San's sanity. "We're in too deep now, so if you're gonna kiss me, you better kiss me like you mean it." You threaten.

It's all the encouragement he needs to bring your lips to his- and the result is more incredible than anything either of you had imagined.

You don't melt together the way that you've heard others describe themselves doing. No, you and San are too passionate, too full of sparks- this kiss isn't melting.

It's blazing.

There's no uncertainty or gentle hesitancy in it; not even a little bit. From the moment his mouth is on yours, you kiss with an unmatched fervor and passion, feeling more like an explosion than like fireworks.

You're fighting fire with fire, and nothing has ever felt so good before.

You push and pull and meet right back in the middle in an exchange of powerful sparks, the kiss seeming to last for hours as you both fight to outdo the other in true 'fake enemies' fashion. San's fingers are digging into your hips and your hands are tugging on his shirt for some semblance of balance; everything is on fire, and yet everything is positively and passionately perfect.

You sigh against his lips in sheer bliss, your legs hooking themselves around his torso and bringing him impossibly closer. His fingertips skim across the hem of your sweater before slipping under it, and you nearly moan when he runs them up and down the curve of your back.

You've never felt this connected to a person before; almost as if from the moment you met, an invisible thread was strung between you and San, winding tighter and tighter over time until you were much too entangled to stop this.

You didn't ever want to stop this, anyways.

This kiss, this moment, and the last few whirlwind weeks with this man who's made of sweetness and pure sin- it all seems to be stitched together to create an emotion so strong that it rolls off of both of you in waves; an earth shattering romance that must be written in the stars themselves.

San mentally sends a thousand thanks to those lucky stars as he ends the kiss, regretfully pulling back to see what a mess he's made out of you.

He isn't disappointed either; your puffy pink lips and pretty glazed eyes make his already-tight pants feel three sizes too small, and he has to refrain from diving right back in for another soul-searing kiss.

He does his best to contain himself and leans his forehead against yours in a move he's cringed at every time it happens in the movies, though he finds it to be a lot less cliché with you.

In the aftermath of your passionate makeout, your eyes are gazing headlong into his own, and San swears he's never seen a more beautiful sight than this. He feels close, so close; his hands are pressed securely on the small of your back, though you sure as hell aren't thinking about that.

You're too busy thinking about how you finally have a name for that special look he's been giving you.

Adoration.

Sure, it's obviously mixed with a dash of unbridled lust and a bucketload of his signature sizzling attraction, but the adoring expression on his face says it all. Whether or not anyone knew things would happen this way, San has always adored you; you and your fiery temper, sweet smile, and ridiculous, incredible passion.

You feel yourself going shy again as he continues to stare at you, your blush already as deep as it can get, and you have half a mind to bury your face in his chest to escape the knowledge that your moment is beginning to fade away.

You don't want anything about the moment to fade, ever.

"Y/N," San's voice is soothing as he softly traces shapes into the skin beneath your sweater, "I hope you haven't changed your mind about wanting me to walk out."

You smile sheepishly, shaking your head. "No, nothing's changed." You manage to murmur around the tightness in your chest. It's not a bad tightness though; it's just the coil of raw emotion that's settling into your heart at the pure vulnerability of the last ten minutes.

"So does that mean we're still going to just keep doing what we've been doing this whole time?" He asks, tilting his head, "Or can I finally call you mine?"

Your lungs stutter briefly at his question, the word "mine" sounding so perfect to you when it falls from his mouth.

You don't answer immediately despite your inner self screaming at you to say yes. You have plenty of realistic things to consider, and anyone with a brain would say no in your position; but all of it is overshadowed by what you feel for San.

Both of your contracts, your fames and fanbases, and even your careers as idols are on the line, but you know with every beat of your heart that you'd risk all of that for this boy.

You'd risk anything to be his, you're sure of it.

"Yes." You agree quietly. "But only if it means that you're mine, too."

The smirk is back, and it turns the butterflies in your stomach into fucking pterodactyls at how effortlessly he can do that. It should be illegal for someone to switch the way San does, going from being a swoonworthy sweetheart to looking like a sexual fantasy on legs in the blink of an eye.

"I thought that was a given, babe." His tone has returned to its usual cockiness, but instead of getting on your nerves, now it just sounds plain hot. He gives you a mischievous wink as he says, "After all, it takes two to tango."

You don't bother hiding your laugh while you slide off of the cosmetics table; and you're still laughing at him when you walk out of the unsupervised dressing rooms hand in hand, feeling like it was meant to be this way all along.

In the back of your mind, you wonder if a mere twenty-three days is too soon to call it love.

You don't think so.

Day of Collaboration Stage - 4:30 PM

You hadn't seen San all day.

Today was the end of your promotions, and in three short hours, you'd be dancing together on a stage in front of the whole world, doing the moves you'd spent more time rehearsing than you'd spent sleeping throughout the last month.

You were on edge, to say the very least.

Currently, you were sitting in your designated room at the site of the event, staying as still as possible while being attacked with makeup brushes from all angles.

You would normally have a conversation with the group of people pampering you; but the desire to see San was making it hard to focus on talking about the weather or finding out the latest gossip.

You and San had shared three more kisses since the other night. Two of them were in the studio during rehearsal when Deojun left the room, and the third had been in the doorway of the building last night, when you and he had said goodbye after your final practice.

Your body was aching to see him. It wasn't that you just wanted to kiss him again (though you won't object to a kiss either); but you longed for some reassurance, for the steadiness you felt from a hug or even just the simple look he gave you that made all of the doubts and worries disappear in its wake.

"Mimi," You call to your most trusted manager, "has anyone heard from KQ since lunch?"

Your team giggles at your request, and Mimi gives you a fond smile as she shakes her head. "No dear, I'm sorry. We'll be sure to tell you as soon as they contact us though."

You nod quickly and try to relax a little bit, willing your hands to loosen their grip on the arms of your chair. If your stylists can sense how jittery you are, they don't let on; they continue to chatter mindlessly as they get you ready for tonight's much-anticipated performance.

*

On the other end of the building, San is only one brain cell away from calling your company and asking them if he can finish getting ready with you- because the seven lively boys crowded around in his room are becoming very, very distracting.

"Mingi, for the last time, please don't mess with my costume." The dancer chides his tall friend, who ducks his head and mumbles an apology.

The redheaded leader, Hongjoong, is trying to help San keep peace in the chaos that began when Yunho decided to twerk in the hallway- but reigning in the band of childish idols proves to be a challenge when his best friend Wooyoung steals his phone and tries to guess his password so he can text you, the mystery girl.

"Sannie!" Wooyoung pouts, "Won't you at least give me a little hint? I promise I won't text her anything too embarrassing."

Before he can answer, the oldest boy, Seonghwa, snatches the phone from Wooyoung and hands it back to its owner. "Woo, don't be a burden. Let San finish getting ready." He scolds. Wooyoung sighs dramatically and skips over to the lone couch in the dressing room to bother its occupants, Yeosang and Jongho; San's arguably more level-headed friends.

San's manager pays no mind to the loud group wreaking havoc and continues with prep, swiping on the finishing touches to the stage makeup and doing a final fluff of his hair.

The manager steps back to survey her work and smiles, already gathering up her things and packing away the tools. "You're all set San, try to keep your hands away from your face and hair. Good luck tonight." She says, promptly retreating from the noisy group and closing the door behind her.

The moment the manager leaves, Kim Hongjoong is standing behind San's chair and crossing his arms, staring him down in the mirror. The question leaves his mouth before anyone can stop him.

"San," His tone is demanding, "no more vague answers. I wanna know straight up if you're into this girl or not, and don't you dare try to beat around the bush."

San gulps heavily, not expecting to get drilled about you so soon today. He should've known better though- after all, he's always been horrible at keeping secrets from his team.

He takes a deep breath before finally confessing to his leader, "Yes, I'm into her. More than I've ever been into anyone." He admits, still trying not to make it obvious how deep his feeling for you run.

But he can't help the foolish grin that crosses his face as he continues to say, "She dances with more passion than any girl I've ever worked with, and you should see the way she looks at me when she doesn't think I'll notice. You'd never pick on me again if you danced with her like I do."

He shuts his mouth before any more mushy words can make it past his lips; but the damage is already done. Choi San has completely blown his cover, letting everyone know exactly how often you've been on his mind- or rather, his heart.

Wooyoung and Mingi both stop what they're doing at the outburst and stare at San, jaws dropping. Park Seonghwa seems frozen in his seat, Yunho and Jongho's heads both snap up at the same time, and even cool, unbothered Yeosang turns off his phone and raises one eyebrow.

"Somebody's majorly fuckin' whipped." Yunho mutters under his breath. Seonghwa only halfheartedly nudges him for the comment, and San feels his ears burn from the intense scrutiny of his seven best friends, all eyes turned to him.

It's too late to backtrack now.

"Shut up, Yunho." San whines, shoulders slumping with defeat. Wooyoung's triumphant smirk goes unnoticed in the mirror as San exposes his humongous crush on you, not even trying to deny it anymore, and Mingi sighs loudly knowing he'll have to cough up $15 to Wooyoung once the night is over.

"So it's true then?" Seonghwa voices what everyone must be thinking, "You and the mystery girl? Are you... are you dating her?" His voice lowers on the word dating, and Hongjoong holds his breath, suddenly not quite as playful as he was before.

He knows Choi San is a wonderful person, and that the last thing he'd ever do would be something that intentionally hurts the group. But he also knows that the boy tends to let his heart run away with his passion; and if he's in a secret relationship behind their backs, then there's more at stake than just the dating ban contract.

Thankfully, San's eyes widen and he shakes his head side-to-side. "No, I'm not! It's not like that! I swear, we really aren't together. I'd never hide something like that from you guys." He states honestly.

It's not a lie, either. Despite the kisses and touches that he's shared with you lately, and the heated confrontation after the dress rehearsals, he truly isn't in any official relationship at the moment.

But that doesn't mean he has no desire to be in one with you.

He knows what's at risk, of course he does; but even so, he knows that once the dust settles and the cameras are no longer pointed at him, he wants to be by your side long after the collaboration is finished.

He wants to be yours just as badly as you want to be his. And tonight, he's determined to prove it.

Yeosang sees the confidence flickering in San's expression and nods his head, hiding a small smile of pride. "Go get her, San. We'll all be rooting for you."

And with those words of encouragement, San is dashing out of the room like a man on a mission- a mission to see you.

*

It takes an hour of discreet texting while you're being pampered to death for San to come up with a valid excuse to see you.

You eventually agree that he'll interrupt your prep to do one more walkthrough of your ending scene; but you both know that it's just an excuse to have a little more time together before the stage, and that knowledge makes you giggle like a schoolgirl when San messages you.

Fireboy: wish me luck getting past ur managers !!

Your grip relaxes on your chair when you finally hear a knock at your door. Mimi shoots right up to answer it, and her polite smile grows mischievous when she sees who's on the other side.

"Hello there, Mr. Choi," Mimi greets, "how can I help you?"

San blinks and clears his throat. "I, uh, I'm here to go over a few steps with Y/N." He doesn't sound overly convincing, and you hide a chuckle with the palm of your hand. "Just to make sure we've got everything right before the performance, you know?"

Your lead manager shares a look with the other girls on your prep team, opens the door wider, and beckons for everyone else to leave.

"We'll give you some space to rehearse. Come find me if you need anything, Mr. Choi." Mimi tells him with that same smirk painted on her face as she practically tugs San the rest of the way into the room. They all go at once, leaving you sitting alone in your snazzy chair when they close the door behind them.

You glance at him with a shy smile, peering beneath your newly mascara-coated lashes at the handsome sight in front of you.

San is styled in a costume very similar to the one he wore for the performance video- black pants, a red harness belt, and a billowy long-sleeved white shirt with three buttons undone at the top. It takes everything in you to keep your jaw from dropping; though you don't really need to worry about it since San is having no problem openly staring at your legs.

But you can't blame him for looking, because you think your legs are a hundred percent worth staring at in the pretty red swing dress that you'll be wearing tonight.

"My eyes are up here, buddy." You snap your fingers playfully, and he meets your gaze with a boyish grin.

"Sorry, Y/N." He's not sorry in the slightest.

You push yourself up from your chair and cross the floor to where he stands, his back resting against your dressing room door. "What do you really need?" You ask him, stopping when he's an arm's length away.

He doesn't hesitate to pull you the rest of the way into his embrace and loops his arms around your middle, all but sweeping you off of your feet.

"This." He says, tone leaving no room for debate.

He kisses you swiftly, not even giving you a moment to breathe before his lips are on yours and he's softly tracing patterns on the fabric of your shirt. It's a sweet kiss; slow and languid, as if you have all the time in the world, but still heavy with meaning and want.

"San," You mumble, "I don't really think-"

"I'm not gonna ruin your hair, Miss Priss." He instantly answers your halfhearted concern and is back to kissing you, tongue sliding hastily along your bottom lip. It's enough to give you just a taste of what you want; but you remember that your entire prep team is probably listening outside of your room, and you have more to worry about than a messed up hairdo.

You move away to save your makeup- an action that ends up taking every ounce of your willpower to do- and press a lingering peck to his cheek. "You're cute, San. Was that all you came here to do though?"

He stops an embarrassing blush from rising onto his cheeks and clears his throat again, face turning serious.

"I actually did come to talk to you about something," He admits, taking your hands in his. "I wanted to check in with you to see how you're feeling about tonight's stage. Are there any fears of crowds or cameras that I should know about?"

Your smile droops slightly and his grip tightens, his hands warm on yours and giving you the courage to voice your concerns.

"I, um..." You manage to get out, "I've never performed a dance like this before and... well, I'm really nervous and worried. I don't know if I'll be able to pull it off well enough."

You purse your lips as you add, "And as ironic as it is to say this, even though I'm a dancer, I've never been too fond of big audiences."

"Y/N," San whispers softly, "Don't think about the crowds tonight. If we're gonna do this, then I'll need to you keep your eyes on mine, baby. Don't look away from me while we're dancing, okay?"

Your hands cling onto his the way your heart clings onto his words, hoping that they might chase away your nerves.

"I'll try." You tell him plainly. It's the truth- you don't know if you'll be able to ignore the countless eyes watching you or the cameras that will capture every move; but you're going to try. If not for yourself, then at least for him.

His face breaks into a gorgeous smile, making your heart flutter with something other than nervous panic. "Good." He says with finality, giving you one more intoxicating kiss while he makes sure he hasn't messed up your hair. "We're gonna do great, Y/N. I can feel it."

You hear your team gossiping and giggling out in the hallway, making you shake your head. He winks playfully at you and blows you a kiss before backing away.

"See you out there, Miss Priss." He teases when he opens the door. The nickname makes the edges of your lips turn upwards, and you smile against your will.

You roll your eyes but catch the kiss nonetheless. "Famous last words, Fireboy." You say as you shoo him off, and Mimi swoops back into the room, steering you back to your chair to sit you down. You're not able to summon enough words to describe your encounter when your prep crew asks; though you think the dreamy look on your face says it all.

You still aren't totally sure if you can pull the performance off tonight.

But you know that if your handsome partner is half as talented on stage as he is in rehearsals, then there's no reason for you to worry.

"Y/N, are you ready to go?" Mimi asks, "We need to meet up with KQ in the next twenty seconds if you want to be backstage on time."

You nod against your better judgment, allowing her to take your arm and gently guide you out of your dressing room and down the corridor. Your heartbeat is drumming a quick rhythm in your ears, your mind buzzing with last-minute what if's and oh no's.

Your heeled shoes alert the group of stagehands that's already begun to gather behind the sound booth to your presence, all heads turned towards you; and almost as if he could hear your internal doubts, Choi San sends you a thumbs up and winks, causing you to laugh.

"Are you ready to knock about three hundred socks off?" He asks as soon as you're in range, walking up to you. He unashamedly loops an arm around you, not seeming to care if the pose is a little too close for coworkers.

"It depends; are you ready to become the country's ultimate bias for the next month?" You tease back. He laughs playfully pokes your side before letting you go.

"Absolutely." He says without hesitating. You roll your eyes, mouth opening to crack another joke, but the stagehands start calling out directions before you can think of a good one.

It's almost showtime.

The realization is jolting, and scares the ever-living shit out of you more than any spider could.

Your heart immediately plummets to your stomach and your nerves return with full force. You all of a sudden don't feel quite as confident in your heels as you did, your ankles threatening to wobble and give away your weakness.

But as always, San swoops in to rescue your thoughts before you get too lost in them; strong fingers lace together with your trembling ones when he raises an eyebrow as if to say, get it together, y/n.

"Oh no you don't, princess. You don't get to chicken out on me now. We can't have you collapsing on stage, can we?" He taunts. You give him a familiar glare in return.

The simple question is enough to get your blood rushing as you recall all the times he's said things like that to you and meant it, all of the heated- yet pointless- fights you'd had during your first few weeks together. You remember how annoying he used to be with you; though looking back on it now, you suppose he was just doing it on purpose.

There was certainly blame to share for the childish spats you had during those twelve maddening days where you couldn't decide if you were enemies or lovers. But you think that, if given the chance, you wouldn't actually want to go back and redo it- you don't want it any other way.

You always secretly kind of liked the tension you had together.

A smile is pulling at your lips when the stage lights dim and the velvet curtain begins to rustle, San's hand still fully engulfing yours. He notices your change in demeanor and squeezes lightly, your attention turning to him and his stupidly handsome face.

"What's that look for?" He presses.

You shrug and squeeze his hand back, "Just thinking about how much I used to hate you, that's all."

You expect San's mouth to fall open in shock, for him to whine and say something like "you're not very nice!", but instead you get a dark chuckle and a meaningful stare.

"Come on, baby. You never really hated me, did you?"

You pretend to think about it, ignoring the burning blush on your cheeks. "I guess not," You sigh wistfully, "but I definitely couldn't stand you when we were starting out. You used to get on my nerves like no tomorrow, Fireboy."

The sounds from the crowd in the arena are floating backstage, but you don't even register the noise as you relive your memories with San.

He nods his head, "It's been an interesting few weeks with you too, Y/N. I don't know how I missed what was really there for so long; I must've been such an ass to you. At least now we're making up for lost time..." He trails off with a suggestive smile, detaching his hand from yours when a manager pops up out of the blue.

You nearly curse- because now you really want to make up for lost time and kiss him until you're breathless- but the manager grabs both you and your partner by the arm and drags you to stand over two red x's in the middle of the stage, and you sense the panic rising up in spite of your handsome distraction.

"Two minutes until your cue, you two. Are you both fully prepared?" The manager interrupts to check on you, and your mind boggles as soon as you hear how much time is left.

Two minutes?

How could there only be two minutes left? And weren't you kissing San in your dressing room just a moment ago? It feels like the seconds are flying by, the hours and minutes blending together in your nervous haze.

San's eyes dart to you and his tongue comes out to sweep over his lower lip; something you'd find desperately attractive if not for your frantic inner dialogue. "Yes, thank you." He bows slightly and the manager scurries off, allowing San one more moment to have you all to himself.

He can detect every ounce of anxiety in your eyes when they meet his, and he cups your face in his palms, the sweet gesture not allowing you to duck away from him.

"Y/N, what did we talk about earlier?" He prompts you with a tone that's uncharacteristically soft. Your lips form an adorable pout when you try to find an answer, testing San's ability to resist you.

"Umm... we talked about not getting nervous?" You attempt. He shakes his head, placing a single chaste kiss on your lips while no one can see you.

"No, not quite. I told you that when you get nervous, you'll need to focus on me. Right?" He tilts your chin up with one finger, "Didn't I say to keep your eyes on me when we dance?"

You're taken aback by the authoritative edge to his voice, but whatever the cause for it is... it works.

You blink and respond, "Yes. I will, San, I'll try."

He breaks into a grin that sends butterflies to your tummy for an entirely different reason. "That's all there is to it, then. Any time you aren't confident, just look straight at me and I'll take the lead."

You aren't sure why the phrase is so comforting, but you're nodding your head anyways, reassured just enough to keep your anxious doubts at bay.

"Okay." You whisper.

And before you have time to fully process what's happening, the directors and operators are flying to their booths around the two of you and the curtains rustle one last time, the din of the workers backstage going completely quiet when the lights go out and San takes you into his arms.

"Cue!" You hear Mimi say from the wings, along with what sounds like "Knock 'em dead, Y/N!"

You feel like your nerves are going to get the best of you when the curtain starts to lift, positive that they'll overtake your body and freeze your limbs solid.

But they never do, and you know exactly why.

It's because when the spotlight lands on you and San, you're already in position, and his eyes are staring confidently back into your own.

Almost like he's daring you to break away.

"Game on, Fireboy." You say under your breath.

The beginning notes float through the speakers, and the spotlight flares to life, trained on you and your partner as the music fills your bodies.

One, two, three... concentrate. You hear Jung Deojun's voice in your head when you spring upwards, officially beginning your dance. Feel the heartbeat of the music like it's your own.

Your hands grasp at San's shirt, your legs carrying out each move with perfect poise, and you're absolutely, 100% sure that every member of this audience can blatantly see the desire that burns in his eyes as he spins you into your mark.

A spark of pure confidence makes its way into your system, giving your arms the strength to wrap around your partner and let go of his collar, and the complete trust you have in him is the only thing that makes the next move remotely possible.

Your mind flashes back briefly to day thirteen, when you'd first successfully done the lift. You'd jumped into San's waiting arms with more trust than anyone would've guessed you had for him, surprising even yourself.

You remember how hot his hands had been on your sides when he picked you up gracefully, how flustered his touch had made you back then- but you also remember how proud you'd been of finally letting go and giving him the reins.

You feel just as proud now as you were then when he lifts you; you're weightless, flying like a fiery phoenix in the air with San twirling you around, and you can almost hear the collective gasp when he lays you down, sinking effortlessly into the one move that's always turned your mind into putty.

It's the move that took you two entire days of rehearsal to conquer, and holy fuck was it worth it.

San's got a shit-eating smirk on his face as he controls his hips while balancing above you, doing that roll with his lower body while keeping his legs in the air, and you get so lost in his burning stare that you almost forget to do the floor work you've practiced so often.

"You're doing so well for me, Y/N." He whispers for just you to hear, the words hot against the skin of your neck, and your eyes fall shut momentarily at the sensation.

Then he rolls up in one fluid motion while tugging you with him, and you surge straight into the next step: something Deojun had described as taking a classic foxtrot and adding a pinch of 'spice' to it. It'd be scandalous if it wasn't choreographed.

You sway to the pulsing rhythm as you glide across the stage hand-in-hand, and the dazzling lights are no match for the fire that's crackling to life between you and him. You never expected the flames to make it to the stage- but you're glad it did, because right now, it's helping you to dance with more passion than you were even sure you possessed.

His arms circle your torso sensually and you rock together like starstruck lovers, one hand trailing a path down the side of your face; and the longer you dance, the less aware you are of the eyes watching your performance.

"How's it going, princess?" He murmurs hotly, doing a flawless tango with your body pressed firmly against his.

You rake one nail across the exposed skin from his shirt, making a mark just below his collarbone, and a feeling of satisfaction bubbles in your chest when he tightens his arms around you.

"Pretty damn good, if I do say so myself." You don't know where this courage is coming from, but you shoot him a teasing smile anyways, "What about you, Fireboy?"

He runs the palm of his hand all the way from the base of your spine to the back of your neck and bends you beneath his touch, your red lips parting when he moves into a perfect dip.

Your arm is slung around his shoulder, and it takes a lot of self-restraint for you not to kiss him senseless when he raises an eyebrow and responds, "It couldn't get any fucking better than this, baby."

San has always known exactly what words to say to set you ablaze.

There's a simmering fire in his touch as he pulls you out of the dip and the tempo quickens, leading you into what you can't believe is already the last chorus of the song.

Have you really been dancing for almost six minutes now?

"Are you ready for the finale?" You ask lowly, unable to hear if he says anything once you're sent spiraling across the floor.

But when you meet back up like lovers who can't bear to be apart, he leans in to tell you cockily, "I was born ready, Y/N." You suppress an eye roll at the statement, your heart fluttering nonetheless as he puts his hands on your hips and swings in step with you.

San's hands grip you tightly as he pulls you against him, your mouths hovering tantalizingly close together when he guides your arm up to skim the curve of his neck. The sensual music drifts through the arena in time with your movements, each step flowing smoothly and each touch driving you wild as you perform your finale with your hearts on your sleeves.

You've never felt this before Choi San; you've never experienced such an intense desire for someone the way you're desperate for every brush of his skin against yours.

You slide slowly out of his arms and make your way down, down his body and to the floor, taking your sweet time walking your fingers down his chest as you sink to your knees on stage; the sight of you in such a compromising stance earns you an earful of traumatized murmurs from the crowd, but you pay them no mind.

Nothing else matters when San's knees hit the stage floor three beats later, hands tangling in your hair and pulling you close enough to give the cameraman a run for his money.

All that matters in that instant is San- his touch, his gaze, and the dance that feels like it was made just for you and him.

"That... was amazing." You comment breathlessly, careful not to give any wandering eyes a chance to read your lips. He nods and says nothing, letting his fiery eyes do all the talking for the both of you.

The moment feels incredibly intimate as the music fades out, and you're breathing the same air as your partner, only separated by an inch at the most; you want nothing more than to grab him by his too-damn-sexy shirt and make out until your lips are swollen.

But you can't do that, because you're still somehow on stage with him, crouching in a sensual pose in front of hundreds of people.

The last notes float away and you're immediately met with deafening cheers, roses and carnations already beginning to litter the platform. You're shocked by how much your performance seemed to affect the audience; but it makes you smile wide, your cheeks aching when a group of girls start chanting your name, and you feel like you're on cloud nine.

The MC's voice booms over the speakers as the crowd whistles and yells, "What an incredible performance from Choi San of Ateez and Y/N of Indigo! Let's have another round of applause for the stars of tonight's show, everyone!"

The clapping continues, following you and San off of the stage and back behind the wings as you're rushed into a hug from Mimi. She shakes your shoulders wildly, eyes shining with what looks like happy tears; she congratulates you over and over, all but crushing your lungs with her excited hug.

"You did it Y/N!" She squeals, "We're all so proud of you, honey!"

When you turn to face San, a group of boys approaching the wings from behind him catches your eye, looking more like a blur than a band. One blonde boy in particular zips ahead of the others and catapults himself into San, arms latching onto him like a leech.

"Woo, what the hell?" Your unsuspecting partner exclaims, hugging him back nonetheless.

"You fuckin' killed it, man!" The blonde screams. The rest of the group engulfs San into a huddle and say the same thing, not paying any attention to the manager trying to remind them that idols shouldn't curse.

You recognize the seven rowdy men to be San's group, Ateez; you watch on with a fond smile as they praise his performance, slapping him on the back and ruffling his hair.

He fights his way out of their embrace and rolls his eyes, brushing himself off as if he didn't enjoy their congratulations.

The blonde boy notices you standing to the side and a sly grin crosses his face, head tilting to the side.

"And who might this beautiful lady be, Sannie?" He questions mischievously. You feel yourself blush beneath his curious stare, fiddling with the material of your dress, but San walks over to you in a few short strides and wastes no time in using two fingers to lift your chin upwards.

"This is Y/N," He says with a voice that reminds you of spiced cider, "the one I've been telling you guys about."

Your eyes widen. "You never said you talked about me..." You trail off at the flicker of want in his expression, mind blanking out.

He smirks back at you like he knows something you don't. "You never asked, princess."

You don't feel the seven pairs of clueless eyes on you when San brings your face closer to his; you don't even bother to remember that Mimi is still right behind you, nor do you care that the collaboration team is probably just around the corner.

All you can feel is San- his presence overpowering your senses and blocking out anything that isn't him.

"Choi San," You murmur dangerously, "if you don't kiss me right now, I think I might go insane."

He ignores the chorus of annoying ooh's from his friends and rests his other hand on the small of your back, tethering you to him. Your eyelids start to lower in expectation, hands finding their way into his hair; and you can feel his smirk long before your lips even touch.

"That won't be necessary, darling." He mutters as you finally, finally collide, every nerve ending on fire as he kisses you like a man starved. Wooyoung's wolf whistle falls on deaf ears as you kiss with more meaning than any romance movie couple you've seen on screen; your lips clash and melt and push and pull with a spark that only true dancers possess, the world around you disappearing instantly.

Even Mimi, your dedicated manager, has nothing to say to you when you eventually break apart, San's heated gaze keeping you trapped in his arms, and he can tell you've got tunnel vision too when your eyes never leave his.

Your heart thumps rapidly in your chest- but the pace is steady and sure, as if you've been kissing this man in front of your superiors all of your life. You're utterly entranced by the look of love and adoration that dances- pun intended- in his dark eyes; and in the split second it takes to realize the weight behind this kiss, you decide that you want this to last forever.

You're ready to be his.

"Y/N," San says softly, "I know we've got a lot to talk about if we want to make this work... but I can't walk away from you tonight without asking you one thing."

You raise an eyebrow, "What would that be?"

He traces your jawline with the tip of his finger, leaving sparks in its wake.

"Miss Priss," He says teasingly, the nickname stirring up your insides, "will you officially be mine?"

You reach up to press a swift, firm kiss to his lips, sealing your decision better than words ever could. You pull away with a grin that matches his own, and he thinks he's died and gone to heaven when you answer him, "I thought you'd never ask."

The seven boys watching the ordeal clap obnoxiously, cheering just as loud as the audience had been a few minutes ago, and San pulls you in to rest his forehead on your own.

"After all, you said it best yourself, Fireboy," You meet his stare confidently, "it takes two to tango."

And after twenty-five days of wanting and waiting, playing this game of cat and mouse- you finally get what you've truly desired since the moment you met Choi San.

You get to call him yours.