#wrongnumber

Pairing : Leehan idol x non idol FMC

Part 1 here!

Content : Other idols mentioned, possessive Leehan, fluff, crack, a couple dick jokes (no smut in this part)

sp: they are apart of the same team now, someone notices the difference between them but it goes unnoticed by the rest…

WARNING : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

TAGLIST 💬: @snoopymyung @jinviktor @rixarchive (comment for next part TL)

WC : 10K

ALL WORKS ARE FICTION!

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The drive home felt longer than usual.

Serena kept the radio low, barely listening, her thoughts replaying the practice room in loops.

Taesan’s eyes.

Leehan’s tone.

That ill-timed notification.

By the time she parked, her shoulders ached from holding tension she hadn’t meant to carry.

The second she unlocked her front door—

A loud, offended meow echoed down the hallway.

“Tetra,” she sighed.

The grey blur shot toward her immediately, tail high, voice dramatic.

“I know, I know. I’m late. Call the police.”

Tetra wound around her ankles like she’d been abandoned for weeks instead of hours.

Serena dropped her bag, toeing off her shoes. “You’re acting like I don’t fund your entire lifestyle.”

Another sharp meow.

“Okay, diva.”

She moved to the kitchen, scooping food into the bowl while Tetra narrated the injustice of her temporary starvation.

“There,” Serena muttered. “Luxury dining.”

Silence.

Finally.

The apartment settled into its usual quiet hum. Soft lighting. No mirrors. No eyes watching her reactions.

She showered longer than necessary.

Let the hot water loosen the day off her shoulders. Washed out the faint scent of rehearsal rooms and fabric steam. Stood there staring at nothing.

When she stepped out, she wrapped herself in a hoodie and loose shorts, hair damp, face bare.

Normal.Safe.

She curled up on the couch with Tetra immediately reclaiming her lap like a territorial monarch.

Only then did she pick up her phone.

She finally opened the thread.

Donghyun: You looked comfortable.

Donghyun: He funny?

Donghyun: Careful.

Donghyun: You blush easily.

Donghyun: Don’t let him think he’s winning.

She exhaled slowly.

Winning what?

Her thumbs hovered before she replied.

Serena: You’re dramatic.

The response came almost immediately.

Donghyun: Am I?

She rolled her eyes.

Serena: You missed a cue.

A pause.

Then

Donghyun: Because you were laughing.

Her stomach flipped.

Serena: It was about cake.

Donghyun: Sure.

She shifted slightly, Tetra adjusting with a grumpy chirp.

Serena: You seemed busy too.

Longer pause this time.

The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Donghyun: You didn’t look at me once.

Her breath caught.

That wasn’t entirely true.

But it had felt that way.

Serena: You’re the one who said we shouldn’t make this risky.

A beat.

Then

Donghyun: Watching you with him felt risky.

There it was.

Not “jealous.”

Not “don’t talk to him.”

Just… that. The one thing she had prayed wouldn’t happen between them.

Her heart thudded heavier.

Serena: He’s just nice.

Three dots.

Donghyun: I’m nicer.

She laughed under her breath, shaking her head.

Tetra blinked up at her like she disapproved.

“You’re ridiculous,” Serena murmured unsure if she meant the cat or him.

Another buzz.

Donghyun: When are you coming to see the blonde?

She chewed on her lip.

Serena: You’ll probably be bald.

Donghyun: Rude.

Donghyun: You approved it.

Serena: I approved blonde. Not hair loss.

A pause.

Longer.

Then

Donghyun: Come see if it survived.

Her pulse picked up again.

It wasn’t pushy.

It wasn’t desperate.

It was confident.

And slightly possessive.

She stared at the screen, thumb hovering, knowing that whatever she replied next would set the tone.

Tetra stretched lazily across her lap.

The apartment was quiet.

But her phone felt loud.

Serena stared at the message again

Donghyun: Come see if it survived.

Her first instinct was reckless, Her second was logistical.

He lived in a dorm with five other members, Managers, Staff rotating in and out at random hours.

She actually laughed under her breath.

Absolutely not.

She typed.

Serena: You live in a dorm.

The reply came fast.

Donghyun: And?

She rolled her eyes.

Serena: And that makes it quite literally impossible.

Donghyun: They’re not home yet.

Her heart skipped.

Still.

That wasn’t enough.

Serena: You’re forgetting managers exist.

A longer pause this time.

She imagined him somewhere under harsh salon lighting, bleach processing, scrolling with one hand.

Donghyun: Fine.

Donghyun: Neutral ground.

Her eyebrow lifted.

Serena: Neutral how?

The typing bubble appeared immediately.

Donghyun: Not the studio.

Donghyun: Not the dorm.

Donghyun: Somewhere no one cares.

Her brain started running through options automatically.

She leaned back into the couch cushions, Tetra shifting dramatically.

Late hour. Low traffic. Minimal chance of running into someone from the industry.

Public enough to look normal.

Private enough to talk.

Her thumbs moved slowly.

Serena: It’s almost ten.

Donghyun: And?

She huffed a quiet laugh.

He was impossible.

Serena: You just bleached your hair. You should be resting before it falls out.

Donghyun: If it falls out I need emotional support.

She rolled her eyes.

Serena: You’re so dramatic.

Donghyun: You still haven’t said no.

That made her pause.

Because she hadn’t.

Tetra kneaded into her hoodie like she was trying to anchor her to the couch.

Serena chewed on her bottom lip for a second before typing again.

Serena: There’s a late night café near the river.

Serena: Outdoor seating.

Serena: No one from work goes there.

A few seconds passed.

Donghyun: Send location.

Her pulse kicked.

Serena: You’ll wear a hat.

Donghyun: It’s dark.

Serena: Hat.

Donghyun: Bossy.

Serena: Stylist.

Three dots.

Donghyun: I’ll be there in twenty.

Her stomach flipped hard.

Twenty minutes.

This was stupid. Risky, Completely unnecessary.

She stared at the screen for another few seconds before locking her phone.

Tetra meowed in protest when she gently moved her off her lap.

“I know,” Serena murmured. “Terrible decisions.”

She stood, heart already racing.

Because now it wasn’t hypothetical, it was happening.

The café sat right along the river, soft golden lights strung between poles and reflected in the water below. It was late enough that the dinner rush had faded. Only a few scattered tables were occupied. Couples. A pair of students hunched over laptops. No one paying attention.

Perfect.

Serena arrived first.

She chose a table outside, close enough to the railing that she could hear the water shifting softly against the embankment. Cool air brushed against her bare legs. She pulled her jacket tighter and checked the time.

Four minutes early.

Her phone buzzed.

Woonhak.

She opened the message.

Woonhak: Emergency.

Woonhak: Look at this.

A reel link followed.

She clicked it.

Triple-layer chocolate cake. Glossy ganache. Someone slicing into it in slow motion.

She snorted.

Serena: You’re not serious.

Woonhak: I am always serious about cake.

Serena: You said that about tiramisu too.

Woonhak: Both can exist. Don’t limit yourself.

She smiled, shaking her head, typing back something about sugar addiction.

Another reel came through immediately.

Of course.

She was mid-reply when a deep voice spoke quietly behind her.

“Found ya.”

Her heart jumped into her throat.

She spun in her chair, ready to scold a stranger

And then she saw him.

Beanie pulled low. Hoodie layered under a dark jacket. The lighting from the café barely caught the edge of his cheekbone. Most of his features were softened by shadow.

But she knew.

Even without seeing clearly.

Her smile came automatically.

“You scared me.”

“Good,” he said, stepping around to sit opposite her. “Means you weren’t paying attention.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Or you move like a criminal.”

He pulled the beanie down slightly as he settled into the chair. “Criminal is dramatic.”

“Breaking out of your dorm at night is dramatic.”

He leaned back casually. “Five other members. Not prison and i came from the office”

She huffed a quiet laugh.

For a second they just looked at each other.

Trying to adjust to seeing one another outside fluorescent practice room lighting.

“Let me see,” she said, gesturing to his head.

He hesitated deliberately.

“Hat,” she reminded him.

He smirked but lifted the beanie just enough.

The café light caught it.

Blonde.

Cool-toned. Clean. Slightly brighter than before. It sharpened his features instantly.

Her stylist brain reacted first.

The contrast against dark brows. The way it would hit under flash photography. How it would stand out against charcoal tailoring.

Her stomach reacted second.

“Okay,” she admitted. “It survived.”

“Told you.”

“You’re still one session away from damage.”

“I like how that’s your main concern.”

“It is.”

He studied her face like he was checking for something else there.

Her phone buzzed again on the table between them.

The screen lit up.

Woonhak: We decided. If you don’t bring cake tomorrow we’re judging you.

Leehan’s gaze dropped to it.

His jaw shifted slightly.

She picked it up without thinking.

Serena: You’re dramatic.

Woonhak: Says the woman who almost ordered alone.

She laughed softly at that and typed another reply.

Across from her, Leehan leaned back in his chair.

Silent.

Watching.

“Popular tonight,” he said lightly.

“It’s a group chat.”

“Mhm.”

She glanced up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing.

His eyes flicked down again when another notification came in.

Woonhak: Also Donghyun-hyung owes us dessert if he flakes.

Leehan’s expression changed for half a second.

Small. Sharp

She locked her phone and set it face down this time.

He noticed that too.

“You talk to him a lot,” he said.

Casual tone.

Not casual eyes.

“He sends food reels,” she replied. “It’s literally only been a day, not that deep.”

“He’s funny?”

She paused.

Because she’d already answered that question earlier today.

“He’s nice,” she said evenly.

Leehan looked out toward the river for a moment, jaw tightening slightly.

“I’m nicer,” he said quietly.

She almost smiled.

“You said that already.”

“Still true.”

The air between them shifted.

Not playful now.

Thicker.

Her phone buzzed again.

She didn’t reach for it.

And that was when his gaze lifted back to hers.

The river moved steadily behind him, black water catching streaks of gold from the café lights. For a moment neither of them spoke. The air felt heavier, but not uncomfortable. Just charged.

He leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out slightly. “You come here a lot?”

“Not really,” she admitted. “Only when I need to think.”

“About what?”

“Work. Life. Whether I’m making questionable decisions.”

His mouth curved. “And tonight?”

She glanced at him. “Undecided.”

He laughed softly, the sound low and warm in the quiet.

They fell into an easier rhythm after that. Talking about music that wasn’t on their company playlist. About the worst food they had ever eaten on tour. About how he used to hate blonde hair on himself before debut. About how she almost became a graphic designer instead of a stylist.

It felt normal.

Too normal.

“Do you go out much?” he asked after a while.

“With friends?” She shrugged. “Not really. Everyone’s schedules are crazy. We try, but it’s hard to line up.”

He watched the water for a second before speaking.

“People make time for the ones they want to see.”

It wasn’t accusatory but it landed.

Her eyes flicked to him.

The words sat there between them, heavier than the rest of the conversation.

She forced a small smile. “That’s a very motivational quote of you.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

And that was the problem.

She felt the deeper meaning in it. Felt it tug at something in her chest.

But she ignored it.

Because acknowledging it would make this something bigger than it was supposed to be.

His phone suddenly buzzed on the table.

He glanced at the screen and frowned slightly.

“Taesan,” he muttered, answering it.

He stood, pacing a step away but still within earshot.

“Yeah?”

Pause

“I’m by the river. Just walking. Why?”

Another pause.

He glanced back at her briefly.

Then, “No reason? Okay.”

The call ended quickly.

He stared at his phone for half a second before slipping it back into his pocket and sitting down again.

She didn’t comment.

Instead, she picked up her own phone to check the time.

11:17 pm.

As the screen lit up, a notification banner dropped down.

Taesan: Random question.

Taesan: Can I get your advice on something?

Her stomach dipped.

Of course.

Of course it would be now.

She barely had time to process it before she felt Leehan’s eyes on her again.

Sharp.

Focused.

“What?” she asked lightly.

“Who’s texting?”

“Taesan.”

The shift was instant.

His posture changed. Subtle, but noticeable. Shoulders squaring slightly. Jaw tightening.

“When did you get his number?”

The question came out calm.

Too calm.

She blinked at him. “Woonhak gave it to me. Group chat.”

His eyes searched her face like he was looking for something hidden there.

“He asked for advice?” Leehan pressed.

“That’s what it says.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know yet,” she said, a small edge slipping into her voice. “I haven’t opened it.”

He leaned back slowly, but his gaze didn’t soften.

“Funny timing.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You were just on the phone with him.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

He hesitated.

Because he didn’t actually have a clean answer.

The river kept moving behind them, steady and indifferent.

She unlocked her phone deliberately and opened the message in front of him.

The typing bubble appeared almost immediately on Taesan’s end.

Leehan’s eyes flicked between her face and the screen.

Territorial.

Trying not to be obvious.

Failing slightly.

“You don’t trust me?” she asked quietly.

His gaze snapped back to hers.

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

He held her stare for a second too long.

Then looked away first.

“I just don’t like surprises.”

The air shifted again.

This wasn’t playful jealousy anymore.

It was something closer to possessive instinct.

And she felt it.

The dangerous part was that she didn’t entirely hate it but this was the scenario she didn’t want to happen, work gets messy when relationships grow.

Her phone buzzed again in her hand.

Taesan: where are some good cafes ?

Leehan’s eyes dropped to it before he could stop himself and Serena suddenly understood something very clearly.

This was no longer just about a wrong number.

It was about territory.

And neither of them had agreed to draw boundaries yet

Leehan scoffed lightly. “He’s so obvious.”

“You’re all obvious,” she replied.

He tilted his head. “All?”

She locked her phone and set it back down on the table.

“All of you think you’re subtle.”

He studied her face carefully.

“And you?”

“I’m very subtle.”

He smiled at that.

The earlier edge had faded, replaced with something warmer. Still intense. Still watchful. But no longer defensive.

“Okay,” he said softly. “I believe you.”

The night drifted on with them learning more about each other and their habits. Both of them oblivious to eyes watching, observing.

A couple days later the garment bags arrived just before noon.

Six draft suits. Structured shoulders. Clean lines. Carefully basted seams waiting to be adjusted to perfection.

Serena stood in her temporary office, sleeves pushed up, checking each piece against her tablet where her finalized designs were pulled up. She ran her fingers over lapels, tested the weight of the fabric, checked stitching near the vents.

Good, Very good.

Her phone sat beside her, screen lighting up every few minutes as the group chat buzzed about practice schedules.

She opened her calendar and began slotting in fitting times.

Woonhak first. He moved a lot on stage, she wanted to check shoulder flexibility early.

Jaehyun after that.

Taesan mid afternoon.

Sungho and Riwoo back to back.

She hovered over the last open slot.

6:30 pm.

Leehan

Last.

She told herself it was because his suit required the most precise tailoring. The blonde against burgundy needed exact proportions.

That was partially true.

Her phone buzzed again.

Donghyun: Did you eat?

She stared at the message.

Of all the things he could text her about.

Serena: I’m working.

Three dots appeared immediately.

Donghyun: That wasn’t the question.

She rolled her eyes.

Serena: I’ll eat later.

No response.

She assumed he’d given up.

She was halfway through labeling alteration notes when there was a soft knock at her office door.

She didn’t look up. “Come in.”

The door opened.

Footsteps.

Then the smell hit her first.

Buttery. Sweet.

She looked up.

Leehan stood there in a hoodie and cap, holding a small paper bag in one hand and two takeaway cups in the other.

She blinked.

“What are you doing here?”

He stepped inside casually, nudging the door closed with his foot. “Delivering something.”

He set the coffee and bag on her desk like it was completely normal.

Her brows lifted. “Aren’t you suppose to be doing idol-esk things? Like practice.”

“Break.”

She looked at the bag. “You didn’t.”

He shrugged. “You said you’d eat later, now is later”

She tried not to smile.

Failed slightly.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know.”

He slid one of the cups toward her. “I got the one you ordered the other night at the river cafe”

Her fingers brushed his briefly as she took it

Warm.

She glanced inside the bag.

Two pastries. One almond croissant. One strawberry Danish.

Her stomach betrayed her immediately.

“You’re annoying,” she muttered.

“You’re welcome.”

She laughed softly and took a sip of the coffee.

Perfect.

He watched her the entire time.

Not in a dramatic way.

Just… attentive.

“You should eat,” he said, leaning against the edge of her desk. “We don’t need you passing out on us with a needle in your hand.”

She snorted. “That has never happened.”

“Yet.”

She tore off a piece of the croissant and pointed it at him. “You’re very dramatic.”

“You like that about me.”

She paused for half a second.

He noticed.

Of course he did.

She took a bite instead of answering.

He glanced around the room, eyes landing on the garment bags lined neatly along the wall.

“They’re here?”

She nodded, chewing. “Drafts. Fittings start this afternoon.”

His eyes flicked to her calendar on the desk, half visible.

He stepped closer before she could casually close it.

“Woonhak at one,” he read. “Taesan at three.”

He kept scanning.

“And I’m…” His gaze dropped lower. “Six thirty?”

She didn’t look up. “You’re last.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Why?”

“Because your suit needs the most precision.”

“That sounds fake.”

She finally looked at him.

“It’s not.”

He studied her for a moment, trying to read what she wasn’t saying.

Then a slow smile spread across his face.

“You wanted to save me for last.”

“I wanted to finish the day without distractions.”

His brows lifted. “I’m a distraction?”

She took another sip of coffee. “Eat your pastry.”

He laughed quietly.

But he didn’t move away from her desk.

And she could feel it again.

Territorial. Interested. Testing.

The door handle rattled faintly from the outside as someone walked past.

They both froze for half a second.

Reality.

Workplace.

Five other members.

Staff everywhere.

He straightened first.

“I’ll see you at six thirty,” he said lightly.

She nodded. “Be on time.”

He moved toward the door, then paused.

Turned back slightly.

“Don’t skip lunch.”

Her stomach fluttered again.

“I won’t.”

He gave her one last look before slipping out of the office.

The door clicked shut.

Serena exhaled slowly.

Then looked down at the pastry in her hand.

Still warm. Still sweet and dangerously thoughtful.

The racks were organized precisely.

Left rack: performance looks from the first photo. Bold color, sharper silhouettes, designed to hit under stage lighting.

Right rack: red carpet looks from the second photo. Sleek tailoring, monochrome layers, structured for flash photography.

Minjae stood beside Serena, tablet open.

“First is Woonhak.”

She nodded. “Send him in.”

Woonhak entered already peeking toward the racks.

Performance first.

He stepped out in the grey check suit. Subtle plaid pattern, tailored close through the waist, slightly cropped jacket to keep it youthful. Under stage lights the check would give dimension instead of reading flat.

“Stand straight,” Serena instructed.

He exaggerated posture.

She adjusted the shoulder seam while Minjae crouched to check the trouser length.

“Half inch off the hem,” Serena said.

Pinned.

The waist needed slight tapering to sharpen the silhouette.

Minjae logged it all.

“Red carpet,” she said.

Woonhak changed into his second look. Black tailoring with a clean silhouette, softer layering than the others. Minimal but polished.

She adjusted the sleeve to expose just enough wrist.

“Good proportions,” she murmured.

Logged. Done.

Next was jaehyun

Performance.

Deep blue suit. Strong structure, slightly longer line through the jacket.

He stood composed.

Serena refined the lapel roll and narrowed the waist subtly.

“Relax your shoulders,” she reminded.

Minjae pinned the sleeve adjustment.

Red carpet.

Classic black and white tailoring. Crisp shirt. Clean break at the hem.

She shortened the trousers slightly for sharper flash photography.

Notes finalized.

Taesan swaggered into the fitting room

Performance.

Deep teal suit. Structured but fluid. It sharpened his frame.

Serena adjusted the side seam.

“Quarter inch taper,” she said.

Minjae marked it.

Red carpet.

Black trousers with layered grey knit and structured jacket Slight edge.

She corrected the sleeve stacking and checked the drape across his chest.

Professional. Efficient.

Sungho entered with riwoo to begin the fitting while riwoo sat in a open chaor awaiting his turn

Performance.

Warm camel tan suit. Soft tone, youthful, slightly relaxed shoulder.

She let out a small section at the upper back to allow freer movement for choreography.

Minjae logged the alteration.

Red carpet.

Grey knit layered with black tailoring. Understated but refined.

She adjusted the hem to sit perfectly above the shoe.

Sungho moved to change back into his clothes as riwoo stepped out of the change room

Performance.

Burnt orange suit . Rich and vibrant. It brought warmth to his complexion.

Serena shortened the sleeve slightly and tapered the waist for cleaner lines.

Red carpet.

Grey tailored look, Sleek, slightly softer structure.

“Shorten hem slightly,” she instructed.

Pinned. Logged.

By the time Riwoo left, the room felt quieter.

Only one garment bag remained.

Burgundy.

Minjae glanced at the schedule. “Leehan at six thirty.”

“You can head out,” Serena said evenly. “I’ll finish this one.”

Minjae nodded, gathering the tablet and clipboard.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Silence settled in the fitting room.

6:30 pm.

A knock.

Her pulse shifted.

“Come in.”

And this would be the only fitting without an assistant present.

The door closed softly behind him.

Donghyun stepped inside carrying himself a little too casually for someone who knew he was the last appointment of the day.

“You cleared the room for me?” he asked, glancing around. “I’m honored.”

“You were scheduled last,” Serena replied evenly. “Don’t make it dramatic.”

He smiled like that was exactly what he planned to do.

“Performance first,” she said, gesturing toward the burgundy garment bag.

He changed behind the screen after much debate with the whole “serena i’ve literally been in you” “you have seen me naked before” spiel which almost earned him a look book to the head out of fear of someone overhearing. the quiet rustle of fabric louder now without Minjae’s pen scratching or other members talking.

When he stepped out, the room shifted.

The burgundy fit close through the waist, strong through the shoulders. Against his blonde hair, the color looked deliberate. Bold. Almost dangerous under the fitting room lights.

Serena kept her expression neutral.

“Stand straight.”

“I am standing straight.”

“Straighter.”

He obeyed, but his mouth twitched.

She stepped closer, fingers adjusting the lapel so it rolled cleanly over his chest. The fabric was smooth beneath her hands. Structured but soft.

“You’re staring,” he said quietly.

“I’m assesing.”

“That’s what you said tetra does” he teased, leaning slightly toward her. “Feels personal.”

She ignored that and circled him, crouching slightly to check the trouser break.

“Too long,” she murmured.

“Not the first time you’ve said that one to me .”

She looked up at him flatly.

“Did you just make a dick joke.”

He laughed softly.

When she stood again, they were closer than necessary. Her fingers slid to his waist to mark a subtle taper. The contact was professional, He didn’t move.

“You know,” he said, voice lower now, “most stylists don’t take this long.”

“Most members don’t talk this much.”

“That’s because I’m interesting.”

She snorted. “That’s debatable.”

He leaned slightly closer, enough that she could feel the warmth from him.

“You saved me for last.”

“I already told you why.”

“You didn’t want an audience.”

Her fingers paused for half a second before continuing to pin the seam.

“Red carpet,” she said, stepping back.

He changed again.

When he stepped out in the grey tailored red carpet look, the vibe shifted from bold to sleek. Clean lines. Mature. The blonde looked sharper against the cool tones.

She adjusted the vest front, smoothing it flat against his chest.

“Turn.”

He turned slowly.

“If you wanna wear it next year be my guest continue turning like we have all the time in the world” she mused

“I’m giving you time to admire your work.”

She fought the smile and failed.

“Your ego is exhausting.”

“You like it.”

She stepped in to fix the collar, fingers brushing the side of his neck.

He didn’t look away from her.

“You ate?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

The sincerity in his tone caught her off guard.

She stepped back to regain space.

“You’re done,” she said, collecting her pins.

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t move toward the screen immediately.

Instead he tilted his head slightly.

“Are we still neutral ground only?” he asked.

She held his gaze.

“This is work.”

“And later?”

She didn’t answer right away.

He smiled like he already knew he’d get one eventually.

Then he stepped back behind the screen to change, leaving her alone with the lingering warmth in the room and the very real realization that fitting him was far more distracting than she had planned.

When he emerged in his regular clothes, he paused at the door.

“Text me when you get home,” he said casually.

Like it was normal.

Like it wasn’t loaded.

Then he left.

And Serena stood in the quiet room, staring at the burgundy suit on the rack, trying very hard to convince herself that this was still just for the plot.

Two days before the award show the energy inside the practice hall felt different. The space was massive, booked out specifically for award practices. Black stage tiles lined the floor, taped carefully to mirror the real stage dimensions. Bright colored tape marked camera lanes. X’s dotted the floor for formation changes. Staff moved constantly. Dancers stretching. Managers talking into headsets. The performance director pacing with a mic in hand.

It felt real now.

Serena sat halfway up the temporary bleachers with her tablet resting on her knees, watching the boys walk through spacing for the dry rehearsal.

Even in sweats, even without lighting or costumes, they filled the room.

Her eyes drifted without meaning to.

Leehan was seated on the floor off to the side during a reset, leaning back on his hands. A few of the female backup dancers were around him, laughing at something he’d said.

He looked relaxed. Easy. Blonde catching the overhead lights.

She narrowed her eyes slightly.

Oh, she was absolutely teasing him about that later.

Mr. “When did you get his number?” sitting in a circle of girls.

The irony was too good.

“Serena,” the performance director called.

She stood and made her way down the bleachers to the taped stage area.

They ran through transitions while she watched spacing carefully. She had to see how the performance suits would move under actual choreography. Where jackets might pull. Where fabric might twist during lifts.

Even in rehearsal clothes she could picture it.

She could already imagine the social media edits. The freeze frames. The fancams.

She felt it in her chest.

Pride.

This was hers.

When they finally shifted into the costume rehearsal, the energy lifted another level. Garment bags lined the walls. Stylist assistants moving quickly. Final steam passes.

As they ran the first section in full performance outfits, the room shifted.

The burgundy on leehan under stage lights was exactly what she’d envisioned. The grey check on Woonhak read sharp and dimensional. The colors separated beautifully in formation.

She caught the performance director nodding.

Good.

By the time they broke for lunch, everyone was sweating and slightly overstimulated.

“Serena!” Woonhak jogged over first. “We’re getting sandwiches. You coming?”

Taesan followed right behind him. “There’s a place around the corner. Quick.”

She glanced back toward the floor where Leehan was grabbing a towel.

He looked up at the exact moment Woonhak touched her arm.

His expression shifted almost imperceptibly.

“I’ll come,” she said.

Before the sentence had even fully landed, Leehan was already walking over.

“I’m coming too.”

Taesan blinked. “We didn’t ask you.”

“You didn’t not ask me,” He replied smoothly.

Woonhak laughed. “Okay, okay. The more the merrier.”

They stepped out into the cool air, crossing to the sandwich shop down the block. It was small and busy, filled with the smell of toasted bread and coffee.

They ordered at the counter, teasing each other about who would pay. Donghyun insisted he had it. Taesan argued. Woonhak tried to add extra cookies to the order.

Serena just watched, amused.

They grabbed their takeaway bags and crossed to the park opposite the practice hall, settling at a picnic table beneath a tree.

For a few minutes it was just chewing and silence.

Then the questions started.

“So,” Woonhak said, unwrapping his sandwich. “Have you styled other male idols before us?”

Taesan leaned forward slightly. “Yeah. How many famous people are in your phone?”

Serena swallowed her bite slowly.

She thought briefly about Nico.

No.

Not here.

“I did a short promotion stint with &TEAM in Japan,” she said instead. “Just for a couple of stages.”

Taesan’s eyebrows lifted. “In Japan?”

“Briefly,” she said. “It was more of a trial project.”

Woonhak looked impressed. “That’s cool.”

Leehan had gone quiet.

She felt it.

He wasn’t eating as much now. Just listening.

“You still talk to them?” Taesan asked casually.

“Sometimes,” she replied lightly. “Work connections.”

Leehan finally spoke. “You travel a lot?”

“Used to.”

“And now?”

She met his gaze.

“Now I’m here.”

The answer hung there longer than it should have.

Woonhak, oblivious to the shift, kept going. “Did they listen to you? Because Donghyun barely listens.”

“I listen,” Donghyun protested.

She raised a brow. “Debatable.”

Taesan laughed but there was something under Donghyun’s smile now.

Not jealousy exactly, Assessment, Measuring.

Like he was realizing she had a world outside this building. Outside him.

And for the first time, it wasn’t playful.

Woonhak was still mid-story about almost tripping during the last formation change when Taesan nudged Serena lightly with his elbow.

“So in Japan,” he said, chewing thoughtfully, “were the schedules worse than here?”

“Different,” she replied. “More press. Less sleep.”

Leehans gaze stayed on her.

“You liked it?” he asked.

She shrugged. “It was good experience.”

“Would you go back?”

The question sounded casual.

It wasn’t.

She wiped her hands on a napkin. “If the project was good.”

Taesan nodded. “You seem like someone who’d get a lot of offers.”

Woonhak chimed in immediately. “Yeah. You’re scary talented.”

She laughed. “Scary?”

“In a cool way,” he clarified quickly.

Leehan leaned back slightly on the bench, watching her from the side instead of straight on.

“You’d be hard to replace,” he said.

It slipped out almost lazily.

But it wasn’t lazy.

Taesan glanced at him.

“Replace?” Woonhak repeated.

Leehan took another bite of his sandwich like he hadn’t just said something loaded.

“For the show,” he added. “The styling’s good. Would be annoying to adjust to someone new.”

It was technically harmless.

Professional even.

But his eyes were still on her when he said it.

Not the group.

Her

She felt it settle in her chest.

“You’ll survive,” she replied lightly.

He shook his head once. “I don’t want to.”

There it was.

Woonhak missed it entirely, already asking Taesan about sauce ratios.

Taesan did not miss it.

He looked between them briefly but said nothing.

Serena focused on unwrapping the rest of her sandwich.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Leehan added, tone easy again. “Two days before the show. We still need you.”

It sounded like a joke.

But the way he said we need you felt different from earlier.

Not about the team.

About him.

She finally looked at him fully.

“Finish your food,” she said. “You need energy.”

He smiled slightly.

“See,” he murmured. “You’re already taking care of me.”

Woonhak groaned. “Why does that sound flirty?”

Serena shot him a look. “Eat your sandwich.”

Taesan laughed quietly, but his eyes flicked to Leehan again.

Because the possessiveness wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t obvious.

It was threaded into tone. Into timing. Into the way he didn’t look away first.

And Serena felt it days before the award show and the lines between professional and personal were getting thinner by the hour.

The night before the award show felt strangely quiet.

For the first time in days, there was no rehearsal schedule in front of you. No garment rack to triple check. No last minute tailoring updates lighting up your phone.

You were on your bedroom floor, surrounded by backup styling kits and emergency sewing supplies, mentally running through tomorrow’s timeline for the hundredth time.

Tetra was stretched across your open suitcase like she had personally decided nothing else needed to be packed.

Your phone buzzed.

Donghyun: What are you doing?

You smiled automatically.

Serena: Packing. Overthinking. Normal pre show activities.

Three dots.

Donghyun: Crazy.

Donghyun: I’m coincidentally in your area.

You stared at that message.

Coincidentally.

You huffed a quiet laugh.

Serena: That so?

Donghyun: Mhm.

Donghyun: Would be rude not to say hi.

You glanced at the clock.

9:02 pm.

You knew exactly what he was doing.

And you let him.

Serena: Fine. But if your manager kicks my door down I’m blaming you.

Donghyun: and you call me dramatic.

Ten minutes later there was a soft knock at your door.

When you opened it, he was standing there in a hoodie and cap, hands tucked casually into his pockets like this was normal.

Like he didn’t live in a dorm with five other members and a schedule stricter than yours.

“You really were in the area,” you said.

“I told you.”

“You’re terrible at lying.”

He smiled slightly and stepped inside.

Tetra noticed him immediately.

Her entire demeanor changed.

She trotted across the floor and began circling his legs like she’d been waiting all day.

“You’re joking,” you muttered. “You don’t even greet me like that.”

Donghyun crouched down, scratching behind her ears. “She has taste.”

Tetra immediately flopped onto her side in full dramatic surrender.

“Unbelievable,” you said.

He looked up at you. “She’s cute.”

“You say that about everyone.”

“Not true.”

You both settled on your bed, backs against the headboard, Tetra sprawled shamelessly across his lap like she’d chosen her favorite parent.

You watched him absentmindedly scratch under her chin.

“You know,” you said casually, “I saw you the other day.”

He didn’t look up. “Doing what?”

“Sitting with the dancers.”

He smiled faintly. “Oh?”

“Laughing. Surrounded.”

He finally glanced at you. “You jealous?”

You scoffed. “Please. I was going to tease you.”

“Go ahead.”

“You’re very popular.”

“Am I?”

“With female backup dancers specifically.”

He leaned back slightly, Tetra adjusting with him.

“But I don’t touch any of them.” His eyes fluttered to you, trailing down your body with that smug smirk he so frequently sports.

You tilted your head. “Oh is that true?”

“Mhm,” he said easily. “It is.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully.

“A gentleman.”

He smirked. “Obviously.”

You gestured toward the cat currently melting into him. “Tell that to her. She’s obsessed.”

“She knows quality,” he replied, continuing to pet her like he had all the time in the world.

It struck you then how comfortable this felt.

No rehearsal chaos. No hallway tension. No sneaking glances.

Just the two of you in your room, your cat loudly purring between you.

“You’ve gotten really comfortable with us,” he said quietly after a moment.

“With you guys?” you asked.

“Yeah.”

You thought about it.

A couple of weeks had passed since joining the team. You went from not knowing their names to knowing their quirks and habits.

“I guess I have,” you admitted.

He nodded slightly.

“I’m glad.”

That landed softer than you expected.

You glanced at the time again.

9:46 pm.

“You should go,” you said reluctantly. “I don’t fancy a manager kicking my door down to retrieve their talent.”

He laughed under his breath. “You make it sound apocalyptic .”

“It would be.”

He gently shifted Tetra off his lap and stood.

At the door he paused.

You stepped closer to walk him out.

He leaned in and pressed a quick, warm kiss to your lips. Not rushed. Not heated.

Just enough to linger.

When he pulled back, his hand brushed lightly against your waist.

“See you tomorrow, pretty.”

Your stomach flipped.

“Don’t mess up my styling,” you replied.

He smiled and stepped into the hallway. The door clicked shut. You leaned against it for a second, exhaling slowly. Tomorrow the lights would be brighter. Louder. Cameras everywhere. But right now, it was just you, your cat, and the faint echo of his voice in your head and for once, the nerves about the show felt quieter.

Award show mornings always feel like they start mid-breath.

Serena is up before her alarm, already running through worst-case scenarios in her head instead of outfits. The stage looks are coming separately in a staff van. Today she is on emergency control. Sewing kit. Stain remover. Backup accessories. Fashion tape. Heel grips. Extra mic tape. The bag that fixes everything before anyone panics.

She dresses in a black tee and pleated skirt. practical, allowing movement. Hair tied back. Focus locked in.

By 10am she pulls up outside Minjae’s place. He slides into the passenger seat, adjusting his lanyard. “You look like you’re about to perform.”

“I am. Just not on stage.” He glances at the backseat. “Where are the racks?”, “Coming with Jisung in the van.”

He visibly relaxes. “Bless. I cannot emotionally handle couture in traffic.”

“I haven’t seen you emotionally handle anything.”

“Untrue. I handled that ramen spill last week.”

“You cried.”

“That was steam in my eyes.”

She snorts despite herself.

Five minutes into the drive he groans. “Coffee. I need performance coffee.”

“You are not performing.”

“I am spiritually performing.”

She pulls into a café near the venue. It’s crowded with other staff dressed in black, moving fast, checking phones, already in work mode.

They order iced americanos and breakfast sandwiches and wait near the counter.

Her phone buzzes.

Incoming call - Donghyun

Minjae is too busy reading the pastry display to notice.

She answers casually. “Hi.”

“We just got here,” Leehan says. His voice is steady, professional. “They’re running through the schedule with us.”

“Already?”

“Yeah. Rehearsal order changed slightly.”

She leans against the wall. “It changed?”

“Yeah. We got moved forward in rehearsal order ”

In the background she can faintly hear one of the managers talking and a chair scraping across the floor.

“You close?” he asks.

“Coffee stop. Eight minutes out.”

“Okay.”

There’s a brief pause. Not awkward. Just aware.

“Drive safe,” he adds.

“Mhmm don’t break anything before i get there.”

A small huff of amusement on his end. “You’re not even here and you’re bossing me.”

“Someone has to.”

“See you soon”

The call ends.

Minjae turns around with two drinks. “Ready?”

“Yep let’s go.”

They grab their order and head back to the car.

The arena rises ahead of them like something sealed off from the rest of the city.

Serena follows the signs for staff entry, rolling her window down as security steps forward.

“Credentials.”

She hands over her pass. Minjae does the same, already halfway through his iced americano like he’s not about to spend twelve hours on his feet. The guard scans their badges, checks the backseat, then gestures toward the trunk.

She pops it open. The oversized emergency kit sits there neatly packed. No garment racks today. Those are arriving separately in the staff van. After a quick inspection, they’re waved through.

They park in the concrete underbelly of the arena, where the lighting is dim and the air smells faintly of dust and cables. Staff hurry past in every direction. Headsets. Clipboards. Rolling cases.

Minjae grabs his backpack and one small case. Serena slings the emergency bag over her shoulder and hooks the coffee carrier in her hand.

“You drop mine and I’m switching teams,” Minjae says.

“You don’t have the skill set to switch teams.”

They move through the maze of corridors, following taped signs with the group’s name scribbled in thick marker. The low hum of sound checks echoes through the walls.

When they reach the green room, Serena pushes the door open with her elbow. All six members are inside, scattered across couches and chairs while their manager runs through the updated rehearsal schedule.

They’re dressed in casual everyday clothes. Each of them holding a large white bib with their names printed in bold black letters for camera tracking.

Woonhak looks up first, His entire face lights up

“SEREEEENAAAAAAA!”

He practically jumps off the couch.

She laughs despite herself. “Good morning, drama king.”

“You’re late.” The youngest teases

“It’s barely past ten.”

“Still late.”

She steps fully into the room, greeting the others with easy good mornings and nods, placing the coffee tray on the central table.

Then her gaze finds him… Leehan is leaning back in his chair, rehearsal bib folded loosely in his hands. His hair is slightly messy, pushed off his forehead. Calm. Watching.

He smiles when their eyes meet.

His gaze flicks down to the coffee cups then back up at her one brow lifts just slightly.

She knows exactly what that look means she doesn’t break composure. Just shifts her weight and looks away first, addressing the group instead.

“Rehearsal first, right?”

“Yeah,” Leehan answers. “Run-through in twenty.”

“No hair or makeup until after,” she confirms.

The manager nods.

Minjae drops his bag onto the couch. “Outfits are coming in fifteen. Nobody touch anything when they arrive.”

Woonhak gasps dramatically. “You don’t trust us?”

“No,” Serena and Leehan say at the same time.

Laughter fills the room.

Across from her, Leehan unfolds his bib, still quiet. Still observant, still looking at the coffee.

The arena feels even bigger when the stage sits dead centre, A circular platform surrounded by empty seats rising in every direction. No front. No back. Just exposure, Camera rigs hang like mechanical spiders above it, waiting. Floor managers pace the perimeter where barricades will be. The echo is sharper here. Every instruction bounces.

Serena stands at the outer ring of the rehearsal boundary, walking slowly around the circle as Nice Guy starts. On a 360 stage, there’s no forgiving side. Every seam, every cable, every loose thread can be caught by at least one camera.

She types quickly into her phone.

• Reinforce Sungho’s right sleeve seam, visible during catwalk

• Check woonhak’s back panel stitching, fully exposed during turn sequence

• Secure mic wire flatter along spine

Leehan moves through formation, blonde hair almost glowing under the test beams. Because it’s 360, the blocking is tighter. They rotate constantly. Faces never stay in one direction for long.

She tracks his positioning.

They have to be hyper-aware of right and left now because there is no “front.” Just rotating focal points.

Behind her, a wave of familiar voices approaches.

&TEAM.

They circle the outer barricade area as they wait for their slot, stretching, joking, loosening up. When they spot her, the energy shifts instantly.

“You abandoned us,” Fuma teases.

She scoffs. “You survived.”

Nico drifts closer during the banter, naturally syncing to her pace as she continues walking the perimeter of the stage, He leans in, subtle, like it’s just part of the conversation.

“Why haven’t you texted me?”

She doesn’t stop walking. Her eyes are still following Leehan as he rotates through the outer arc of the circle.

“I lost your numbers.”

A tiny beat.

“Oh.”

No drama. Just soft disappointment.

He peels away briefly, says something to his manager. The manager hands him a scrap of paper with mild suspicion. Nico scribbles quickly, folds it once, twice, then steps back into her orbit.

He presses the folded note into her palm as they walk.

She finally looks at him. “Miss me?” She asked

“Always.” Followed by a quick smile

It lands quietly between them.

And then “Leehan, drift two steps right on the rotation! You’re opening the circle too wide!”

The director’s voice blasts across the arena, amplified and sharp, She turns immediately.

Leehan adjusts, jaw tight. He recalibrates the spacing, shoulders squared. The blonde catches the light as he snaps back into formation, Controlled.

He rotates again and this time, as he passes the quadrant where she’s standing, his eyes flick toward her, It’s quick but in a 360 stage, you notice when someone looks for you he doesn’t break formation. Doesn’t miss timing just refocuses immediately.

Maybe he’s just concentrating, she tells herself.

But she’s suddenly very aware of the folded paper sitting in her pocket while rehearsal continues on.

The green room hums with low chaos.

Steam from a portable steamer curls in the corner. Garment bags hang unzipped along the rack like waiting soldiers. One member at a time rotates through the makeshift changing partition while the rest lounge around in half-done hair and rehearsal sweats.

You stand near the rack, clipboard tucked under your arm, checking cuffs, lint-rolling lapels, adjusting collars as each of them steps out

“Serena , does this make me look broader?” Taesan asks, already knowing the answer, already fishing.

You step closer to smooth the line of his shoulder. “It makes you look expensive.”

He grins. “You always say the right things.”

“Occupational hazard.”

He doesn’t move when you step back. Instead he leans just slightly closer. “You sure you’re not mistaking me for someone else when you compliment me like that?”

You giggle before you can stop it. “Should I be?”

From behind the partition comes the sound of a hanger clattering silence follows as you round the corner to find leehan casually resting against the desk shirt open, blonde hair falling into his eyes, expression carefully neutral.

he leans in close just above a whisper

“You must mix up numbers a lot.”

Dry. Calm. Just loud enough.

You tilt your head toward the partition. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs, adjusting his cufflinks with unnecessary precision, “based on observations i’ve made”

You laugh. It’s bright and pointed. “Is that what this is?”

He doesn’t answer. He buttons his shirt slowly, jaw tight for someone pretending not to care.

You take a step toward Leehan to fix the collar he’s intentionally misaligned. “You sound very calm right now.”

“I am calm.”

You don’t look calm.”

He dips his head so you have to adjust his lapel. Low enough that only you hear

“You should text Nico next time.”

Ah. There it is. But there is no way he figured it out already, deciding the feint unawareness.

“What do you mean?

You smile faintly hoping it’s enough to solidify your confusion. The blonde asses as you smooth the fabric down his chest like nothing’s wrong. Then, as if he could care less Leehan’s voice booms across the green room “Careful. She gets flustered easily.”

Your eyes narrow. “I do not.”

“Oh?” He looks directly at you now, blonde hair catching the overhead light. Quietly he sayd “Should I repeat what you said the other night when I-”

You choke.

Actually choke.

You smack his arm hard. “Don’t you dare.”

He is laughing. Fully. Proud. Triumphant.

“See?” he says, pointing at you. “One sentence.”

You turn away to hide your face, fanning yourself with the clipboard. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he replies smoothly, finally fastening his jacket, “you still haven’t corrected me.”

He looks immaculate now. Blonde, sharp suit, smug expression, You meet his eyes briefly he knows exactly what he did and he’s enjoying every second of it.

The door shuts behind the last of them and the green room suddenly feels hollow the noise goes with them. The teasing. The chaos. The weight of Leehan’s eyes you stand there for a second, listening to the distant swell of crowd noise bleeding faintly through the walls. Red carpet energy. Cameras. Flashing lights. Applause. You exhale.

“I need caffeine,” you mutter to yourself.

The hallway outside is almost bone dry. Staff cleared toward the carpet entrance. Security positioned further down. The kind of empty that feels intentional. Protective. You’re halfway toward the vending area when

“Rena.”

You freeze.

Nico steps out from the corner near the service corridor. No cameras here. No stylists. No managers hovering. Just him. He looks good. He always does. Casual jacket, hands in his pockets, that easy smile he’s practiced for years. “You keep disappearing on me,” he says lightly. You fold your arms, trying to keep it neutral. “I’m working.”

“Mm. You always say that.” He steps closer, less restrained than earlier. “You haven’t texted either.”

“I’m busy and you literally only gave me your numbers again like a couple hours ago.” You half laugh at his lack of patience.

“Too busy to have fun?”

There it is.

His tone drops, familiar. The same one that used to make your stomach flip. The same one that used to mean late nights and bad decisions and hands pulling you into dark corners between schedules.

He leans against the wall beside you, lowering his voice. “You could text me. We could pick up where we left off.”

You should feel it. That spark. That pull. Instead your mind betrays you not Nico’s hands, Leehan’s.

The way he grips your waist like he’s anchoring himself. The slow drag of his lips across your skin. The way he moves like he’s got something to prove and nothing to lose, Your stomach tightens but not because of Nico, Because of blonde hair falling into sharp eyes because of the smirk he wears when he knows he’s ruined you. Because of how he whispered your name like it meant something.

“Serena?” You blink, Oh.

You were staring at Nico while thinking about someone else, That’s new, He studies you now, clearly noticing the delay. “You good?”, “Yeah,” you say quickly, straightening. “Yeah. Just tired.” He pushes a little. “You don’t have to pretend. It was good between us.”

It was

Fun. Easy. Physical, But suddenly it feels… small. You shrug lightly. “It was.” His brow lifts at the past tense. “You sure you don’t want to relive it?” he asks, voice dipping again. “I remember you didn’t complain.” and that would’ve worked before. You smile, but it’s softer. Distant. “I don’t doubt that,” you say. “I just… don’t think I’m in the same place anymore.” He studies you like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.

“You seeing someone?” You don’t answer that, you step back instead, polite but final. “I should get back before they start asking where I am.”

“Serena.” You pause. “If you change your mind,” he says quietly, “you know how to find me.” You nod once But as you walk away, heels echoing softly against the empty hallway, there’s no temptation pulling you back just the memory of a blonde head dipping toward your neck and the faint, dangerous realization that whatever this thing with Leehan is… It’s already shifted the scale

———————-To be continued———————

Part 3 here

AN: hiiii i know this post seems so short but i am literally posting part 3 right after this because for some reason i wasn’t able to put the whole part in without restrictions, it’s weird because i literally posted bottle girl with 13k wc… anywho enjoy ❤️- T

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