#bnd reader

Then came the realization. It hit you like a physical blow three nights ago when he laughed at one of your tired jokes, his eyes crinkling in that specific way that made the world feel very small and very warm.

You were in love with him.

And because you were a professional, and because you knew that a scandal could derail his entire career before it even truly peaked, you did the only thing you could: you ran.

For the past week, you had become a ghost. You were still there, physically, but you were never there for Taesan.

During the morning briefing, you stayed glued to Sungho’s side, discussing the logistics of their upcoming variety show appearance. When it was time for water breaks, you handed a bottle to Riwoo and Jaehyun first, then made a beeline for the equipment closet before Taesan could even catch your eye.

"The choreography for the second verse needs a bit more power from the center," you said, staring intently at your tablet as the boys took a breather. You could feel a gaze burning into the side of your head. You knew it was him. You didn't look.

"Y/n?" Woonhak chirped, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Are you coming to dinner with us tonight? Jaehyun-hyung said he’s buying."

"I’d love to, Woonhak-ie, but I have to finish the mood boards for the next concept," you lied, your voice steady despite the guilt. "Maybe next time."

"You said that yesterday," a deep, quiet voice vibrated through the room.

Your breath hitched. Taesan was standing just a few feet away, his black training shirt clinging to his shoulders, his damp hair pushed back with a headband. He wasn't smiling.

"I’m just busy, Taesan-ssi" you said, using the formal honorific you hadn't used with him in weeks.

The flinch that crossed his face was microscopic, but you saw it. He opened his mouth to say something, but you turned away to "fix" a stack of towels that were already perfectly folded.

The tension reached a breaking point during a late-night individual practice session. The rest of the members had headed back to the dorms, but Taesan stayed behind to polish his solo transition. You stayed because it was your job to lock up and ensure he got into the van safely.

You sat in the corner of the studio, illuminated only by the dim emergency lights and the glow of your laptop. The music stopped. Silence fell over the room, punctuated only by Taesan’s heavy breathing.

"I'm finished," he said.

"Great. I’ll go grab your jacket," you replied, standing up quickly. You moved toward the bench, but he stepped into your path.

You tried to pivot left; he stepped left. You tried to go right; he blocked you. You finally looked up, trapped between the wall and the sheer intensity of his presence.

"What are you doing?" you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.

"I was about to ask you the same," Taesan countered. His voice was low, devoid of its usual playful lilt. "What are you doing? Why are you treating me like a stranger?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just focused on work."

"Don't do that," he snapped, though there was more hurt than anger in his tone. "Don't lie to me. For the last six days, you haven't looked me in the eye once. You don't laugh at my jokes. You don't even call me by my name anymore. Did I do something? Did I say something that crossed a line?"

You looked at the floor, the parquet wood grain suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. "No, Taesan. You didn't do anything wrong. Everything is fine. Truly."

"Then look at me."

"I really need to go," you said, trying to duck under his arm.

He didn't grab you—he was too respectful for that—but he leaned his forearm against the wall next to your head, effectively boxing you in. The scent of his cologne, mixed with the saltiness of sweat, filled your senses. It was intoxicating and terrifying.

"If everything is fine, why do you look like you're about to cry every time I walk into a room?" he asked, his voice softening into that dangerous, intimate register he usually reserved for his lyrics.

"I'm just tired," you choked out. "The comeback schedule is a lot for everyone."

"You really are a terrible liar," he whispered. He leaned in closer, his dark eyes searching yours, looking for the girl who used to challenge him to arcade games and talk about 90s rock until three in the morning. "If I did something to upset you, just tell me. I’ll fix it. I’ll change. Just don't... don't disappear on me."

The sincerity in his voice was the final crack in your armor. You wanted to tell him. You wanted to say that the reason you were avoiding him was because every time he smiled, you imagined a life that you weren't allowed to have. You wanted to tell him that you were protecting him from yourself.

"You didn't do anything," you said, your voice trembling. "It’s me. I’m the problem. So please, just let it go."

You turned to leave, your sneakers squeaking against the polished floor, but you didn't get more than two steps before a firm grip coiled around your wrist. The contact was warm, anchoring you to the spot.

"How?" Taesan asked, his voice low and laced with genuine confusion. "How could you be the problem?"

The sheer persistence in his eyes snapped the last thread of your patience. You felt a surge of adrenaline, fueled by weeks of repressed anxiety and heartache. With a sharp movement, you yanked your hand back, the force of the motion making him stumble forward half a step.

"You have no idea, do you?" you snapped, your voice echoing in the empty studio. "You have no idea about the risk of my job. You get to stand in the center of the stage, but I have to walk on eggshells every single day. Staff members have to be invisible, Taesan. We have to be perfect. We can't look at you in a 'certain way' or stand too close or laugh too loud because the second we do, we’re accused of being 'unprofessional' or 'sasaengs' or trying to clout-chase. I could lose my entire career over a single look!"

Taesan stood there, stunned into silence by your outburst. He looked at you in utter disbelief, his face twisting into an expression of pure irritation as he shook his head.

"I’m getting whiplash from you," he muttered, his voice tight. "One week we’re talking about our favorite records until 2:00 AM, and the next you’re lecturing me on corporate HR policies. What are you actually saying?"

You let out a frustrated groan, your hands flying to your face to hide the heat rising in your cheeks. "Don't make me say it," you begged into your palms. "Please, just let me go back to being a coordinator."

He didn't listen. Instead, he cocked an eyebrow, his gaze darkening with a newfound intensity. He began to walk toward you, slow and deliberate, each step narrowing the gap until you were forced back. Your heels hit the cold mirrors of the practice room wall, and the breath hitched in your throat.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous, velvet whisper.

"I won't say it," you whispered back, shaking your head frantically. "I won't."

He nodded slowly, a ghost of a challenge dancing in his eyes. "I want to hear it. I need to hear you say it."

He moved in closer, trapping you between the wall and his body. The scent of his familiar woodsy cologne enveloped you, making your head spin. Your breath became uneven, coming in short, jagged gasps as he reached up. He didn't grab you this time; he gently cupped your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a tenderness that made your knees weak.

He looked deep into your eyes, searching for the truth you had been burying. "I really need to hear it from you," he whispered, his face inches from yours.

"Taesan," you gasped, your eyes darting toward the heavy studio doors. "Stop. Someone might walk in. If a manager sees this—"

"They won't," he countered, his voice steady and unwavering. He shook his head slightly, his gaze never leaving your lips. "I checked. Everyone is out. It’s just us."

The silence stretched between you, thick and agonizing, until the tension finally snapped. Taesan didn't wait for your permission anymore. He leaned in, closing the final inch of space, and pressed his lips against yours.

It wasn't the hesitant, sweet kiss you might have imagined in a daydream; it was hungry and demanding, a release of all the frustration he’d been carrying for the past week. You gasped in surprise, a soft moan escaping you and disappearing into his mouth. For a heartbeat, your resolve vanished. You melted against him, your body remembering exactly why you had fallen for him as you felt the heat radiating from his chest.

Then, the cold reality of the practice room mirrors flashed in your mind.

What are you doing?

You pulled back abruptly, your breath coming in ragged stabs. You shoved your hands against his chest, creating a few inches of desperate space. Your eyes slid shut, your head shaking frantically as you tried to catch your breath.

"We can't," you whispered, though your voice lacked any real conviction. "Taesan, we can't."

His response was to tighten his grip around you. His hands shifted from your face to your waist, anchoring you to the wall so firmly that you could feel the rhythmic thud of his heart against your palms. He leaned down, his voice dropping to a low, rough growl that vibrated through your entire frame.

"Tell me you want this as much as I do," he commanded, his dark eyes burning into yours, "or I’m walking out that door right now and we go back to being strangers. Your choice."

You bit your lip so hard you could taste the faint metallic tang of blood. You looked up at him, seeing the raw vulnerability hidden behind his intensity. This wasn't an idol standing in front of you; it was just a boy who was tired of being kept at a distance. Your fingers moved instinctively, fisting into the soft fabric of his black training shirt, bunching the material until your knuckles turned white.

"We really shouldn't be doing this," you sighed, your forehead dropping against his collarbone. "It’s a disaster waiting to happen."

Taesan let out a breathy, dry chuckle, his head nodding in slow agreement. "I know. We absolutely shouldn't."

He didn't pull away. Instead, he raised his hand, his thumb swiping slowly across your bottom lip, tracing the spot you had just bitten. The look in his eyes was heavy, dark with a mix of longing and stubbornness that made your heart do a frantic somersault. He was waiting for you to make the call, giving you the power to end it or ruin everything.

You looked at the door, then back at the boy who had become your favorite part of every day. The logic you had relied on for weeks crumbled into dust.

With a deep, shaky sigh that signaled your total surrender, you reached up and grabbed the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his damp hair. You pulled him back down toward you with a force that surprised even him.

When your lips met this time, there was no hesitation. You kissed him hungrily, pouring every ounce of the suppressed longing and the fear of the last few weeks into him, finally letting the professional boundary burn to the ground.

The world outside the four walls of the studio ceased to exist. Taesan’s hands were everywhere—tangled in your hair, pressing into the small of your back, and eventually flattening against the wall on either side of your head as he crowded you. He kissed you with a desperation that bordered on frantic, as if he were trying to make up for every second of the cold shoulder you’d given him over the past week.

You were just as lost, your hands clutching at his shoulders, pulling him as close as the physical world allowed. The friction of his denim against your legs and the heat of his skin through his thin shirt made your head swim. In that moment, the risk didn't matter. The career, the rumors, the managers—they were all ghosts compared to the solid, breathing reality of him.

Then, the sharp, upbeat melody of his ringtone sliced through the heavy silence of the room.

Taesan ignored it at first, his mouth moving to the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a fresh jolt of electricity through your nerves. But the sound didn't stop. It cut off for a fraction of a second only to start up again immediately, the vibration rattling against the wooden floor where his phone lay.

"Ignore it," he breathed against your skin.

"Taesan, it might be important," you managed to say, your voice sounding foreign and airy even to your own ears.

The phone rang a third time, insistent and loud. With a muffled curse that sounded uncharacteristically gritty, Taesan pulled back just enough to reach down and snatch the device. He checked the screen, his jaw tightening.

"It's Jaehyun-hyung," he muttered. He took a shaky breath, trying to steady his vocal cords before sliding the bar to answer. "Yeah?"

You watched him, leaning back against the wall for support, your chest heaving. You watched the way he shifted back into 'member mode,' though his eyes stayed fixed on you, dark and dilated.

"I’m still at the studio," Taesan said into the phone, his voice regaining some of its usual composure. "I just wanted to run the bridge one more time. Yeah... no, I’m wrapping up now. I'll be back at the dorm in ten minutes. Tell the manager I’m on my way."

He ended the call and let his hand drop to his side, the phone still clutched in his grip. For a long moment, he just looked at you. Your hair was a mess, your lips were swollen, and your eyes were bright with a realization you couldn't take back.

He let out a long, heavy sigh, reaching out to brush his knuckles against your heated cheek. "This isn't over," he promised, his voice low and dead serious. "We aren't going back to how it was this morning. I won't let you."

You let out a breathless, shaky laugh, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting you. You were a staff member who had just spent the last twenty minutes making out with the group's center in a room lined with cameras that were hopefully—blessedly—turned off.

"Go," you whispered. "Before they come looking for you."

Taesan didn't move immediately. Instead, he leaned in one last time, capturing your lips in a lingering, soft kiss that felt like a seal on a contract. It wasn't hungry like the ones before; it was a promise.

He pulled away, grabbed his bag from the floor without taking his eyes off you, and backed toward the door. With a final, lingering look and a small, knowing smirk that told you exactly how much trouble you were in, he turned and vanished into the hallway.