He pushed off the wall, smiling as you walked over to him. “And here I was thinking you weren’t going to show up.”

“Well, I’m here.”

“Come on, let’s get lunch.” He says, gesturing to the line to the front of the cafeteria.

“I have lunch.” You say, holding up the two items in your hands.

“What? Glasses, that’s a bag of chips and an orange…”

“Uh-huh…” You say, like there’s nothing wrong with that.

Clearly he wasn’t going to change your mind so he shrugged. “Okay, fine, whatever you want. I’m going to grab some more food though, do you… want anything?”

“I’m fine.” You say. “Are you going to give me back my notes?”

“No, not yet. You’ll bolt. I told you, I’m not stupid.” He grins down at you.

You groan, following him over to the line for food.

“You don’t have to walk me through the line…”

“Afraid to be seen with me, Mr. Cool?” You tease.

“What? No, are you serious? I mean, if you’re standing close to me because you think it’s going to embarrass me, then you can keep on thinking that.”

You roll your eyes, but don’t move from your spot next to him.

“Oh, this is terrible. I’m so uncomfortable. I might fold any second now and give you back your notes…” He mocks between dramatic gestures, “Better stand closer, Glasses… maybe lean against me? Loop your arm through mine? Grab my—”

The second he tries to hook his arm with yours, or god forbid hold your hand, you move out of the way, smacking the back of his head.

“Ouch!” He laughs, rubbing the back of his head, “Sorry!”

The pair of you shuffle forward in the line, Minho grabbing a tray and picking a few different items. You tilted your head inspecting the tray.

“You have no room to judge, Glasses.” He says, looking pointedly at the items you still clutched to your chest. “Oh, look, they have raspberry and white chocolate muffins. I’ve seen you with these during class before. Do you want one?”

Brushing off the fact that this man, who you hardly saw until now, knew what kind of muffins you grabbed from the cafeteria when you were running late in the mornings, you considered his offer. Obviously you were considering for too long because Minho spoke again.

“Wait, do you?” Minho asks, chuckling.

“No. I don’t.” You shake your head, tearing your eyes away and looking up at him.

“No, too late, you stared too hard at that thing. Now I’m getting it for you.” He says, grabbing the pastry and placing it on his tray.

You roll your eyes but don’t protest, it was more work than it was worth. Minho pays for his food before stepping out of line, you in tow.

“Let’s find a table.” He cocks his head towards the tables against the windows.

As you follow behind him, you glance out the windows towards the quad. It seemed unusually busy.

“Is there something going on today?” You muse.

“Hm… I don’t think it’s a planned event… you didn’t hear about what happened?”

“Hear about what?”

“You know that student that went missing last month?” Minho said it like it was no big deal, but as soon as the words left his lips your stomach turned.

“What?” You looked over at him as you walked. He seemed unbothered, oddly so, but you supposed he probably learned about this a while ago and has compartmentalized.

“Yeah, they said she disappeared between classes. Like, she was there one second and then just gone the next. It didn’t even take people a week to build some urban legends around it.” 

The pair of you take seats at an empty table, sitting across from each other.

Minho continued, waving his fork through the air as he spoke, “My favorite was the one about an experiment in the science department gone wrong and turned her invisible. Least favorite was definitely alien abduction… I know the guy that started that one. I swear, every mystery with him boils down to aliens. It’s not that I think it’s more absurd than anything else, it’s just…uncreative at this point? I’d rather hear the story about a ghost in the halls than another alien abduction rant–”

You tuned him out halfway through. You liked a good college rumor as much as the next person, who didn’t like a little harmless gossip, but joking about what happened to a missing student. It felt a little tone deaf. “Minho. The missing girl?”

“Oh, right. Well, the admin seemed to think she’d bailed, like life got too stressful and she bolted, but her parents wouldn’t drop it and her friends insisted she wouldn’t have left without telling them. They stuck pictures of her all over campus and were hounding the cops about finding her.”

“Oh, I’ve seen those posters. Julia Choi, right?”

“Yeah yeah, Lia.” He glances out the window for a moment. “I guess they were right.”

He looks back at you, continuing in a hushed tone. “They found her, or like, what’s left?” He shutters. “I mean, there are a lot of rumors, but it sounds like she’s been dead for a while. They found her in the weeds on the other side of the fence behind the auditorium.”

“Do they know…? Did they say… how it happened?”

“I don’t know. Stabbed?” His puzzled expression shifted from pensive to boarding on glee, “Glasses! Look at you asking all the gruesome questions!”

You ignore him, another realization flitting to the front of your mind, “Hey, didn’t that couple disappear a week ago or so… Chaeyoon and… Sara or something?”

“Huh… yeah, I remember hearing about that.” He shrugs, “They’ll turn up. Or maybe they ran away together. That would be romantic.”

“Romantic?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Would you want to run away with me, Glasses?” Minho blinks his long eyelashes at you, “We can do a road trip, be gone for a long weekend, freak some people out…”

“Why the hell would I go on a road trip with you?”

“See! This is why I like you. Straight to the point and not afraid to hurt my feelings.”

You roll your eyes.

“Seriously though, that couple is probably pulling a prank or it’s a coincidence. They’ll turn up.”

“What do you think happened to her? Lia.”

“Probably some creepy ex-boyfriend, right? Or a stalker? Whoever it is, I hope they catch him.” He pauses, “Wait… are you using sleuthing to distract me from why we’re having lunch?”

“No…”

“Glasses, you evil genius! We’re here so that I can convince you to be my partner for the final. Here.” He pulls a rather large folder out of his bag and places it on the table in front of you. “Not only did I bring you my transcripts, I brought you a sample of a paper I wrote last semester, and a list of all my extracurriculars.”

“Don’t you think this is a little much?” You smirk up at him, flipping open the folder.

“Maybe… but I sort of thought that would resonate with you, seeing as you are the resident try hard.”

Your attention flicks from his paper on the domestication and history of cats back up to his face, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t even pretend you’re not. I’ve seen you do projects for extra points in classes you were already crushing and everyone knows about that time you made Mingyu cry because he threw an empty ice cream carton into the river.”

That was a memory you looked back on fondly. You’d been out with Felix and Seungmin on a Friday and you’d caught Mingyu throwing his empty ice cream cup over the side of the bridge into the river below. You’d yelled at him for five minutes before he actually got teary-eyed and Wonwoo pulled him away, sheepishly apologizing on his behalf. Felix thought you went a little far but Seungmin couldn’t stop laughing.

“Don’t tell me you’re taking his side.”

“Woah, no. I am not taking his side. Who would litter like that? Absolutely not me… at least, not when I’m sober…”

You scoff, you were pretty sure Mingyu had also not been sober when he’d done it but that didn’t matter. You returned your attention to the papers in front of you and you had to admit, they were better than you expected. His paper seemed half-way descent, his grades never slipped below a 3.0, maybe he was somewhat competent.

“I see you’re impressed with my grades…” He grins at you.

“How many clubs were you in?” You chuckle, shocked at the long list; rowing, caving, wood working, boxing…

“Oh, yeah, I was in a bunch of clubs the first two years.”

You continue down the line, “Glass blowing, photography, climbing… croquet? Really?”

He laughs, “Yeah. But I joined because I thought it would be the sport with horses. I stayed because it was surprisingly fun, even without getting to ride horses while swinging mallets.”

“I can’t imagine trying to juggle all of this, plus homework.”

“Well, I didn’t do all of them at the same time…”

“You aren’t in any this year?” You ask, finally looking back up at him.

“Yeah…” He sighs, “I don’t know. I just wasn’t feeling it. Like I said, I was struggling. It was all I could do just to stay on top of my classes.”

“And you’re dead-set on me being your partner for the final?”

“What can I do to make you believe that I’m serious, Glasses? I can be your study buddy for the rest of the term, even before the final is announced. You’ll see that I mean it.”

You flip through a few more pages before putting everything back in the folder and sliding it back to him, “I'll think about it.”

“Really? Yes!” He was almost subtle about the fit pump he did, “Okay, give me your phone.”

“My phone?”

“Yea, so I can give you my number and get yours.”

“Why?”

“Because…we’re friends now?”

“I think I have plenty of friends already…"

“Oh, come on. Everyone can use more friends!” He exclaims, putting his folder back in his bag and pulling out a bunch of papers, “And, as promised, here are your notes back.”

You take them, sliding them back into your backpack, “Was holding my notes hostage really necessary?”

“I wasn’t holding them hostage, I was just…using them to keep your attention. But we’re past that, right?” He holds out his hand, “Your phone?”

You sigh, pulling it out of your pocket and unlocking it before handing it over.

“Thank you!” He says, slightly smug, “Let’s see… basic screen, no personal photo…okay, that’s not weird at all…”

“What do you mean!? What’s yours?”

“Mine’s a picture I took of a turtle.”

You give him a weird look, raising an eyebrow.

“What? That is not weirder than the present background!”

“Whatever…” You roll your eyes.

“Okay, I’m putting myself in as… Dashing Motherfucker.” He says, typing on your phone.

You hear his phone buzz against the table. “And now I have your number. We’re officially best friends, Glasses.”

“I guess you’ll be leaving now?” You say, resolutely opening your bag of chips.

“What? Why would I leave, we’re eating lunch together. Did… do you want me to go? If I’m really bothering you I…”

“I… I don’t mind.”

“Okay. Then I’ll stay. I’m really excited to see if you’re actually going to eat…” He leans over to get a better look at the chip back, “What are those? Barbeque chips? With an orange.”

“What about it?”

“It’s definitely a weird combo… I’m a little worried you lied when you said that was your lunch and now you’re just too stubborn to admit it. Do you want the muffin instead? I won’t judge you for changing your mind…” He waves the muffin in front of your face.

“Aren’t those your friends over there?” You ask, nodding towards the rather loud table on the other side of the cafeteria.

“Over…” He follows your gaze, “Oh, yeah, I know them. Why?”

“Wouldn’t you rather sit with them?”

“No, I wouldn’t. And you said you didn’t mind, Glasses…”

You sigh, shaking your head, “They just seem more your speed than me…”

“So, this is an insecurity thing?” Minho starts and you pause looking up at him.

“What?”

“I’m not pulling any mean romcom starter shit on you, Y/N. There won’t be a montage where someone takes off your glasses and I gasp at how hot you are. I am already well aware. You’re hot with the glasses.”

You throw a handful of chips at him.

“Hey! No throwing chips! You need all of them. I don’t know what nutritional value that tiny bag has, but it can’t be much…”

You stick out your tongue at him before snatching the muffin off his plate.

“I knew it!” He exclaims, laughing.

“Shut up…” You roll your eyes, unwrapping the muffin and taking a bite. While it definitely wasn’t the healthiest thing to add to your already less than nutritional lunch, it did give more sustenance.

“What do you have next today?” Minho asks, having almost finished his tray.

“Bio with Dr. Spungen, the highlight of my Fridays.” You say sarcastically.

“I’ll walk you after you’re done with that mighty meal of yours.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“And risk you being turned invisible in an experiment gone wrong? Haven’t you heard the stories? It happens.”

“If only…”

“Oh no, I need you for that final. You’re precious now, Glasses. I’m not taking any risks.”

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You ignored them, pointedly keeping your attention on the notebook in front of you. Who tries to talk to someone with headphones on? Especially while they were obviously studying.

“Hey.” The voice says again.

You subtly shake your head, rolling your eyes as you jot down the next few notes from the presentation open on your laptop.

“I know you can hear me, glasses…” He says again, sounding more amused than annoyed, “Please? I just need a second–”

You hear scattered whispers to ‘hush’ from your left and chuckle as his attention is diverted away from you.

“It’s a library, I’m allowed to whisper.” He exclaims quietly before turning back to you. “Glas–”

“What?” You say facing him, headphones now around your neck.

“Oh! Hey!” He gives you a cat-like grin.

Minho had always been like that. You didn’t know him particularly well, having only one class with the man and hardly interacting with him anyway. But you’d seen him around, sporting that signature cat-like smile and personality, usually surrounded by his obnoxious friends. Though, if memory serves, you hadn’t seen him with them in a while. Not that you’d been looking.

“What do you want, Minho?” You ask.

“Do you have notes from last week’s lecture?” He asks. And as you’re about to answer he interrupts, “What am I saying? Of course you have the notes. Can I borrow them? I’ll get them right back to you and I promise not to crease the pages or doodle on them. I will guard them with my life.”

“Glasses? Really?” You say, circling back to his earlier comment. “Are you making fun of me?”

“What? No. Why would I make fun of you? You have glasses on. They’re cute. I’m a fan.” He says, grinning again.

“I think you just don’t know my name and you’re singling me out because I have glasses so I must be smart.”

“I am not assuming you’re smart because of the glasses, I know you’re smart because I’ve shared classes with you for the last two years and when you open your mouth you say smart shit and crush anyone arguing with you.”

You tried not to blush at that. No one had ever complimented you like that straight to your face. Sure, you’d get the odd comment about your intelligence from project partners or your friends, but it tended to be more in jest or annoyance.

Minho spoke up again, pulling you from your thoughts, “I won’t call you glasses if you don’t like it. What about… backpack? Sneakers? Headphones? Or… or I can be more personal if you’d rather. Cutie? Smarty pants? Keeper of the notes I so desperately need?”

You sigh, rummaging through the backpack at your side and pulling the notes from psych out of your binder. You slide them down the table and he reaches over your shoulder to grab them.

“Thank you, benevolent cutie with the glasses.” Minho whispers.

“You can drop the charming act, Minho.”

“I’m not trying to charm you. I already got your notes.” He says, waving them around.

You raise an eyebrow, doubtful.

Minho looks to the side, a guilty expression on his face, “Okay, I am trying to charm you.” He slides into the chair next to you, “I also want you to be my partner for the final.”

You go to argue, rejection on the tip of your tongue, but he cuts in again.

“Now, I know what you’re going to say, headphones. Why would you, the smartest person in the class, want to team up with me, the most beautiful man you’ve ever met… who on rare occasions doesn’t make it to class because he had… extenuating circumstances.”

“So you’re just planning to dump the final on me then and skirt by with the ‘A’ you know we’d get?” You cross your arms over your chest, giving him an appraising look over. 

Now he wasn’t wrong, per say. Minho was a very attractive person, but the most attractive man you’d ever seen? That was a stretch. 

It’s not like you’d never seen a man with a sharp jawline, high cheekbones and a piercing stare before. And maybe he had the most symmetrical face you’d ever seen but that didn’t mean anything.

Though, to give him credit, he did know how to take care of his appearance. His hair was never greasy, eyebrows were always clean and maintained, he obviously took really good care of his skin, and even if he didn’t always dress up for class, he always looked good. 

Not that you cared, why would you care? Just because he looked good didn’t mean he was a good student.

“I’m not going to ditch you with the whole project, I swear. You have my word.”

“Your word doesn’t mean much, Minho. I don’t know you.”

His voice got louder at this, insistent, “What!? You know me. You can trust m–” The shushing returned and he gave them an awkward wave before continuing in a whisper, “We’ve been on the same campus and in the same classes for two years.”

“And I’ve interacted with you what… three times in total?”

“I’m not a bad student, Glasses. I told you, extenuating circumstances.”

“I don’t believe you.” You say, flatly.

“Okay…” He stares at you for a few moments. You can see the gears turning in his head as he nibbles on his lip. You can help but visualize the light bulb turning on over his head before he straightens his back and speaks again. “Okay, I’ll bring my transcripts.”

“Seriously?” You chuckle at his insistence.

“Yeah, you can see my grades. This was sort of a bad year for me but I’m getting things back on track and I just need some help with this. I need a great grade on that final if I’m going to pass this class and, let’s be honest, the only way to guarantee that with this particular group is to be with you.”

“Minho–”

“I promise, I’m not going to make you do all the work!”

Another angry shush comes from the group on your left and you chuckle silently as Minho apologizes, albeit half-heartedly.

“Just meet me for lunch? I’ll copy these notes and get them back to you and we can talk about it, okay?”

You bite your lip, looking from the mess of homework in front of you, to the presentation open on your laptop, to the students browsing books at the shelves in front of you. Why was he so insistent on this? There were other smart students in your class. Hell, Chan could run circles around you when it came to the biological side of psych which was supposed to be a big part of the final.

“Glasses? Please?”

You groan, “Fine.”

“Yes? Okay! I’m going to run before the librarian kicks me out again.”

“Again!?” You say, slightly exasperated.

“Did I say again? Forget that. I’ll see you in the cafeteria!” He calls back to you as he all but sprints out of the library.

What were you getting yourself into…

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You don’t exactly know how it started. The cheating, the lying, the sleepless nights, the crying, the heartbreak, Choi Yeonjun. One day he was just…there. You had never met anyone like Yeonjun before yet you knew hundreds of people like him. He was everything, he was the cause of your pain, your tears, your self loathe. — But mostly importantly, Yeonjun was your first love. You would always remember him as that. You suppose it might have started on your first day at that college, back when you were only known as the junior transfer. 

He was a senior. Perhaps it was a bit cliché, you don’t know, you didn’t think so. But you remember it clearly, the first time you saw him. — The air was hot, suffocatingly so, despite it being early October. Your palms were sweaty, and you squeezed them together as your hands remained neatly clasped in front of you. The eyes of the other students weighed a ton and you felt your knees buckle under the pressure. 

Your professor clears his throat as he steps up beside you, gazing out across the classroom. “We have a new student today”, he announces what was already painfully obvious and you felt your cheeks redden further. Apart from a few sniggers here and there, silence follows. “Why don’t you introduce yourself?” His direct question made you flinch as you quickly glanced up from the floor, your gaze flitting between your professor and the large ocean of heads turned in your direction. 

Your introduction was meek, the words getting caught in your throat as you stammered out your name. You could almost hear the smirks plastered on their faces as they drank in your fidgety frame. You jump when you feel your teacher's hand on your shoulder, “your new classmate is a year younger than you guys, but due to her impressive work ethic she has finished the majority of her classes already. She will therefore be joining us for the time being.” — His words of praise felt more like a set up for humiliation and you watched as students leaned over to whisper in each other’s ears, grinning at the words being passed around. You could hear the rumors already. 

“Why don’t you take the seat over there?” Your new professor points to an empty desk by the very back and you breathe out a small sigh of relief, glad to be shielded from the peering eyes of your new classmates. But just as you’re about to step down and make your way toward the safe haven, you lock eyes with him. — Part of his face was shielded by his dark hair but you could clearly make out his brown eyes, staring right back at your own. He’s quick to catch on to your stare and you watch as his lips stretch into a menacing smirk. 

Forcing yourself to look away, you grab onto your bag as you quietly make your way past the many rows of desks. An outstretched foot makes you stumble forward and you barely manage to catch yourself. “Careful”, one of the girls turns in her seat as she eyes you with a not so friendly smile, “wouldn’t want you to fall.” You give her a small nod as you hurriedly continue toward your own desk.

Thankful to have stepped away from the spotlight, you lean back as you let out a small breath. But it wasn’t enough. As class went on you continued to catch the multiple glances thrown your way, the small chuckles, the papers being passed around. It all felt too familiar, and your heart slowly sank. — You pushed the feeling away, focusing on what you did best, studying. Class was a nice distraction, but after an hour and a half it came to an end. And as soon as your professor had shut the door behind him, chaos erupted. 

The scraping of chairs against the stone floor filled the classroom as students turned to get a glimpse of you. It didn’t take long for a small half circle to form around you, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. 

“How did you do it?” 

The first one to speak up was a lanky guy, he leans closer as he studies your uncertain face. Before you could even process the meaning of his question, a girl interrupted him, the same one who had tried to trip you over at the beginning of class. “I bet she slept with them, I mean, she must have.” — Her statement is followed by laughter as people nod in agreement. “But how did you get them in bed?” Another girl asks as she looks you up and down with distaste, “surely it wasn’t whilst looking like that?” More laughter. 

Your face might as well have been on fire as you glanced down toward your notes. “What if she drugged them?” Another guy chimes in as he points an accusing finger toward you. Hurriedly you shake your head as your lips part in a reply, a reply that immediately gets stuck in your throat as you’re interrupted. 

“You guys are being too harsh.” Another voice speaks up, everyone falls silent and soon the crowd parts as the guy you had made eye contact with earlier steps through. He’s followed by two of his friends and the small group stops by your desk. “It’s obvious you guys”, he exclaims as he leans down to come eyelevel with you. When this close, his sharp eyes somehow felt like daggers, boring into your soul as his lips curled into a smirk. 

“She’s a nerd.” He draws out each syllable like it was his last, his lips stretching wider as he sees your face fall. Small gasps and hums of agreement fill the silent room, as if everyone just instantly agreed with whatever he said. “Don’t think of her as anything else”, he drawls, straightening his back once more as he stares you down. 

You soon found out that his name was Choi Yeonjun. 

⸝⸝

Your first day had only proven to be a small trial of the school year ahead. Word had quickly spread of the transfer student who took classes with the seniors, and wherever you went, you had eyes on you. — You tried your best to keep to yourself, to focus on your studies. That was how you had made it through your previous schools. But it seemed futile here, because no matter how low of a profile you kept, they always found a reason to pick and pull at you. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing nerd?” She yells as she shoves you against the red lockers and you groan in pain. You couldn’t remember her name, but you knew that she was a senior too, she sat two rows ahead of you and to the left. — Confused, you look up only to be met with a harsh slap to your face. “Don’t play stupid, I know that’s the last thing you are.” She sneers and your lips part in objection, though no words come out. 

The girl signals for her friends to block either side of you, shutting off any escape routes as she rolls up her sleeves. “You think you can just go through my shit like that? That I wouldn’t know?” Her statement baffles you and your eyes widen, “what?” Another slap to your cheek, “right, come on now. Give it back.” 

You frown, “give what back?” Her friends on either side of you grip onto your arms and you wince as they twist your limbs. She scoffs, “my lipstick you idiot, I know it was you. Who else would take it? Besides, I’ve seen the way you eye it whenever I put it on.” — While her words were partly true, you did think that her lipstick was really pretty and often found your gaze lingering whenever she picked it up from her bag, you would never stoop to such a level as stealing. 

“I didn't steal your lipstick”, you croak out and she lets out a huff of disbelief. She goes off on yet another rant but you’re suddenly distracted as your eyes land on the small group of students walking by. 

After your first day, Yeonjun hadn’t addressed you once. He never picked on you, never engaged in gossip about you, he barely even acknowledged your existence. But you knew that he was behind most of what happened to you, because everyone listened to Choi Yeonjun. If he didn’t like what was going on, he would put an end to it, but he never did. 

You often saw him in the halls, he was always followed by his two friends. On your second day you had learned that the three of them were practically inseparable. — To his left was a tall guy, his frame could easily tower over just about anyone, yet he trailed behind his friends quietly with his head hung low. If it wasn’t for the scowl on his face whenever someone dared to glance in his direction, you would have assumed that he was just any other student. His name was Choi Soobin, that much you knew. 

To his right, was perhaps Soobin’s opposite. He was shorter than his friends, not by much, but it made him stick out. His hair fell in uneven sections across his face and he often brushed it away with his pinky whilst he spoke. Unlike Soobin, Choi Beomgyu talked almost all the time, with the occasional input from Yeonjun. Though few of his words were kindhearted. He often picked on you, his comments were snarky and mean, you only ever caught a break when Yeonjun got fed up. 

Then there was Choi Yeonjun, walking in the middle, he gazed ahead as Beomgyu blabbered nonsense into his ear, Soobin following slightly behind them. The Choi’s, that was what people called them. Something to do with their names all being Choi, you thought it was kind of corny. Yet you couldn’t deny the way your eyes lingered on Yeonjun, just a little longer than the rest. 

It wasn’t like you thought that he was handsome or anything, but he was nice to look at…you supposed. And even though you knew better than to pay him any mind, it was hard to tear your gaze away from him. Only when he passed you, did you feel your heart stutter. For the first time since your first day here, he looked at you, if only for a brief moment. His gaze flickered over your practically torn limbs and a small smirk etched its way to his lips. — You felt your knees go weak under his eyes and swallowed hard. 

Though his attention soon returned to the girl draped under his arm, the same girl that had tried to trip you over on your first day. You had found out that she was his girlfriend, her name was Mimi. She twirled a strand of her hair as she whispered something in his ear and Yeonjun chuckled. — Their small party continued past you as if nothing was wrong before disappearing down the hallway, leaving you to face the fate before you. 

⸝⸝

You convinced yourself that it wasn’t a crush, that you simply found him appealing. The topic of crushes stopped being a thing after middle school, right? You, a twenty year old, have a crush? The thought was ridiculous. But no matter what lies you forced into your brain, your heart still beat a little faster whenever he was present, your eyes drifted in his direction and there was nothing you could do to stop them. — So what if you did have a small crush on Choi Yeonjun? It wasn’t going to harm anyone, it wasn’t like you were going to act on it. He had a girlfriend. Whenever you reminded yourself of said fact, a pang of guilt shot through your chest. You know you shouldn’t feel guilty, but it was hard not to. Most of all you felt guilty toward yourself — guilty for letting yourself sink to such a level. 

As October went by, you did your best to stay out of the firing line of your classmates, you kept your head down and did your work. And when there was no work left to do, you spent your time looking at Yeonjun. He really was pretty to look at. — You noted the way he would lean back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head before yawning, his eyes momentarily fluttering closed. Usually, he wasted his classes on his phone, or chatting with Beomgyu, it was unusual for him to be doing any of his coursework. Perhaps he didn’t need to, or he simply didn’t care to. 

Occasionally, you would catch your name slipping past Beomgyu’s lips, your gaze immediately snapping down to your book as your heart practically beat out of your chest. But no matter how many times he mentioned you, pointed at you, sneered at you, Yeonjun never even as much as turned his head in your direction, simply shrugging along to whatever his friend was saying.

The only time Yeonjun looked at you was when everyone else did. That one time someone poured milk over you in the cafeteria, or when you got a basketball in your face during gym. Only when the whole school pointed and laughed, only then did he spare you a fragment of his attention. And maybe you did like it, maybe you did want him to look at you. 

It was kind of pathetic. 

What was perhaps even more pathetic was that one offer you hadn’t been able to pass up. It wasn’t like you could say no to your professor either, right? — “I think there are a few students who would benefit from studying together with you.” You blink up at him as you watch your teacher lean back in his chair. This was why he had called you? To be frank you don’t know what you had expected when he asked you to stay behind after class, but this was far from it. 

“Studying with me?” You repeat as you point a confused finger toward yourself. Sure you worked hard, but that was because you had your mind set on doing so. You doubted that your classmates would want to spend even a second wasted in your presence. 

Your professor sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “You are a clever girl”, he nods toward your latest test result on his desk and your gaze follows his movement as you swallow. “Not to mention the fact that you are a whole year ahead of your peers.” He then adds with a small smile and you silently thank him, even though you were certain that he could smell the hesitation radiating off of you. “Look, it is not something you have to decide on today”, he begins as he gathers the papers on his desk, “but students like Mr. Choi could definitely use a hand in their studies.” 

Your ears perked up at the brief mention of his name, and it was almost embarrassing how quickly your head jerked in the direction of your teacher. Though you did not dare get too ahead of yourself. Shifting on the spot, you softly clear your throat, “Choi…Choi Yeonjun?” Your professor stops to look at you, “why, yes, but you do not have to decide today take the weekend to-” 

“I’ll do it.” 

⸝⸝

You’ll do it? What a joke. 

Your whole weekend was spent pacing back and forth across your room. Teeth gnawing away at your fingernails, your mind wrecked with different scenarios of how that following Monday would play out. What were you honestly thinking, saying yes like that? — With an exasperated groan, you flop down on your bed. Staring at the ceiling, you envision Yeonjun, a furious Yeonjun, or maybe a jeering one, you didn’t know which approach he would take. But surely he wouldn’t be happy once the news reached him, unless they already had?

Briefly you considered calling in sick that Monday. You had never called in sick before, at least you couldn’t remember doing so; recalling the multiple times you had ignored the fever in your body as you marched on to class. Not to mention that time you had the flu and still sat through your three hour long exam. — Were you really considering calling in sick over a mere guy. But it wasn’t just a guy, it was Choi Yeonjun. 

Regardless of the situation, you still went to school on Monday. But as soon as you stepped inside the classroom, you could tell that something was different. It was like the air had shifted. And as you made your way to the back of the room, carefully taking your seat, not a single one of your classmates bothered to pick on you. Instead they all occupied themselves with whatever they had in front of them. It was odd to say the least. 

In regular fashion, the classroom door swings open during the very last minute as Beomgyu saunters inside. Behind him follows Soobin and Yeonjun, both in the midst of a hushed conversation. You find your gaze instinctively lingering by Yeonjun’s tall frame, fingers twirling your pen mindlessly in your hand. It isn’t until you glance up and find his eyes already boring holes into your own, that you’re suddenly ripped from your trance. 

Yeonjun was looking at you. He was actually looking at you, no, he was glaring at you. The realization was enough to send your heart into a frenzy as you swallowed a gulp. His gaze is unwavering as he approaches his desk, still conversing with his friend, but his eyes remain entirely on you.  — Sweat builds on your forehead and you grip your pencil tightly. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t find yourself to break his gaze. You knew that you were giving him exactly what he wanted by letting his eyes practically tear you apart, so why couldn’t you pull away? 

It isn’t until the classroom door opens yet again that he puts out the fire he had momentarily created between the two of you, his eyes shifting toward board as your professor clears his throat, ready to begin today’s lecture. As his monotone voice fills the room, you breathe out a sigh of relief, glad to be out of his sight. 

He had to have known by now, the nasty looks he shot you throughout the day were more than telling. For someone who never even paid you as much as a second thought, it was most unusual for Yeonjun’s full attention to be directed toward you. Even during lunch, you could feel his eyes on you as he sat by his usual table. With Mimi on his lap and Beomgyu talking in his ear, his gaze still remained on your slumped figure as you focused on your plate of food. 

⸝⸝

Your professor had helped set up today’s session, but after that you would have to schedule them on your own. You were supposed to meet by the library, at 5:15pm that Monday. — You were there by 4:55. It took you about five minutes to pick a suitable table, not too close to the door, not in a corner somewhere, but also not in the center of the room, perhaps you were overthinking it. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Desperately you tried to calm your nerves as your trembling hands brought out your notebook and pencil case. 

By 5:15 you were ready, actually you had been ready for the past ten minutes. The small library had been vacant even when you arrived, you didn’t know if you felt relieved at the fact or not. — By 5:25 you started to think that he might not show up. Out of all possible scenarios fabricated in your way too creative brain, the one of him not even bothering to come hadn’t crossed your mind at all. What would you do then? Accept defeat? Tell your professor? Talk to him in class? Neither option seemed too appealing. 

It’s 5:32 when the doors creak open. Hesitantly, you lift your gaze as you watch Yeonjun’s eyes wander across the room, finally landing on you. His face morphed into a scowl and you felt your stomach drop. You notice that he hasn’t brought any study materials along with him and you bite the inside of your cheek. The short breath he lets go of echoes out into the silent library and then he marches toward you. — You don’t have time to think before he’s by your table, the palm of his hand slamming against the wood with such force that your pencils rattle, and you flinch. 

“Do you think this is some kind of sick joke?” He sounds agitated, his hot breath searing through his gritted teeth as his nostrils flared. Your once tense jaw falls open as your brows draw together in a confused frown. — “I mean, I knew you had a thing for me. But don’t you think this is going too far?” He sounds almost hysterical as a grin spreads across his lips. 

You felt color rushing to your cheeks at his words. Did he know? Could he tell by your small glances? But you thought you were being subtle. Yeonjun seems to be reading your mind as he runs a lazy hand through his hair, “oh come on now nerd, for someone so clever you really are quite oblivious.”

“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice the way you eye-fucked me every single opportunity you got?” He sneers, tilting his head to the side as he watches you with a cruel look of distaste. Your lips part but no words come out. So you shake your head, you didn’t know who you were trying to convince, him or yourself. “It wasn’t like that…” 

He scoffs, “no?” Suddenly his face is only inches from yours, and you had to force your gaze not to stray down to his lips as he spoke. “Then what is it?” He murmurs, so close that you could almost taste his words on your tongue. You swallow, hard. What was it? You didn’t know, you didn’t want to answer, he couldn’t make you answer, could he? 

His grin widens as a low chuckle rumbles in his chest. “No way”, he shakes his head as one of his hands grip the backrest of your chair, easily twisting you to face him fully. His previously cocky expression was replaced with a look of sympathy, his voice now laced with pity. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve got a little crush, nerd.” He spits the words out and you’re quick to shake your head, denying his blunt accusations. “I don’t”, you stammer, leaning back as far as your chair would allow you to. — “You’re telling me you’re doing this out of goodwill?” He asks as he tilts his head to the side. He hardly seems moved by your denial, but when you quietly nod his smug face turns into a snarl. “Do you think I’m stupid?” 

“What? No, no, no that’s not what I-” You stop yourself before getting another word out, it felt like no matter what you said, you only worsened the already sour situation. Yeonjun exhales, his warm breath slamming against your already hot face. He leans back, taking a seat on the edge of the table as his hands dig into the pockets of his uniform. Confused, you watch him as he silently gets comfortable. 

“What do you want then?” He finally asks and you blink up at him. “My number? Is that it?” He wonders as he fishes up his phone, unlocking it as he pulls up his contacts. You shake your head and he frowns, “then what?” — Your lips part and you motion toward the books in front of you, “just…”

“Don’t tell me you want me to fuck you, because that would be pathetic, even for you nerd.” 

His statement catches you so off guard that you almost hit your leg on the chair opposite your own. “What?” You whisper, unsure of the fact that you had even heard him correct. You knew that there was no such universe in which someone like Choi Yeonjun would ever view you in that way, so it felt almost bizarre to hear those words leave his lips so casually. 

He sighs as he gets up from the table, leaning down to become eye level with you once more. “I mean, I get that you’re desperate, believe me”, he lets his gaze drop to your chest for a brief second. “Looking like that, I’m sure it’s hard to get by”, he hums, and in that moment, you wished for the ground to swallow you whole. 

It had been a foolish idea to even consider doing this, even more to say yes. If you had only turned your professor’s offer down, none of this would have happened. Because in all honesty, if this was how Yeonjun looked at you, with such menace and fabricated pity, you think you preferred it when he paid your existence no mind. 

“But you’re lucky”, he murmurs before leaning even closer, his breath mingling with your own. Lucky? What a joke, you thought. — You flinch when you feel the light caress of his fingers on your shoulder as they slowly entangle themselves in your hair. “I’m feeling particularly nice today”, he smirks and your eyes involuntarily dart down to his perfectly plump and pink lips. “Besides”, he drawls, his hand moving to cup your cheek. 

“I’ve never fucked a nerd before.” 

You barely get the chance to second guess his words when Yeonjun presses his lips against yours. Immediately you freeze as your shoulders jerk up and your back curls against the chair. The hand on your cheek moves to your chin as he grabs ahold of your face, forcing his tongue inside your mouth and you let out a small shriek. — He hums against you, his eyes fluttering closed, lips moving on top of your unresponsive ones. 

A moment later he pulls back. “You kiss like a virgin”, he states as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. As soon as the words left his lips, he grins, “but I bet you are.” — Still too stunned to even speak after his sudden course of action, you merely shake your head as you glance between him and the floor. You weren’t a complete virgin, you did have a boyfriend back in high school. Not that the two of you ever went further than kissing though, and even then, his kisses were nothing like Yeonjun’s. 

Hesitantly you meet his gaze, swallowing down the nerves bubbling in your throat. “Come on now nerd”, he murmurs as his hands grip onto the armrests of your chair, large arms entrapping you against the old wood. “You’ve done it now haven’t you?” — “You got me here all to yourself, why don’t you use it to your advantage hm?” His eyes gleamed with mischief and you knew better than to trust his persuasive ways. Still you found it hard to do anything besides gawk at him, in utter disbelief of what was currently happening. 

Biting your lip, you let your eyes flit down to his parted lips, focusing a little too long on the sheer layer of saliva that coated them. Yeonjun is quick to pick up on the subtle shift in your focus and he chuckles. You clearly see the way he moves closer, but it still doesn’t register that he’s kissing you again until his tongue molds against your own. Despite your initial shock, you try your best to kiss him back this time. You knew that you were probably horrible, but even then, he didn’t say anything.

Your breath catches in your throat when his hand envelops one of your breasts, groping it softly. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had your tits touched?” He drawls, easily noting your uncertain approach. Your silence is almost deafening and the way you squirm when he pinches one of your nipples tells him everything he needs to know. With a small frown he pulls back, just enough for you to see his face. He looks conflicted, tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek as he runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck, you really are a virgin aren’t you?” He sounds almost…serious and you find yourself slowly nodding as you grip the hem of your skirt tightly. 

Yeonjun sighs and you hear him mutter something under his breath. His gaze snaps back to you and you can see the shift in his eyes once he settles on a decision. “Alright”, he states before quickly dropping to his knees. Baffled you follow his direct movement, shrieking as his hands on your knees part your legs. “We’ll start slow”, he hums as his fingers dance across the exposed skin of your thighs, your weak arms easily giving up when he pushes your skirt up. 

“No need to be nervous”, he reassures you as his fingers hook around the hem of your panties, “I’ve done this plenty of times.” With that, he tugs your underwear down, past your knees, letting them pool around your ankles before his attention shifts to your exposed core. Your legs close in an attempt to shield yourself from his invasive stare but Yeonjun only gruffs out a short breath as he breaks your knees apart once more. — When he doesn’t say anything you grow worried, clearing your throat awkwardly as you shift on the chair. You had never done anything like this before so you had no idea if his silence was a good or a bad thing. 

You don’t have to ponder for long as his fingers suddenly graze your folds. The touch was unexpected and you jolted forward as you tried to suppress the surprised noise threatening to escape. The smirk stretching across his lips only grows as Yeonjun basks in the way you react to his simple touch, you were far easier than any of the girls he’d been with. — “Ever had anyone touch you like this?” He asks, his voice a low murmur as his attention remains on his fingers sliding against your cunt, gathering the slick that formed as he smeared it all over you. 

Meekly you shake your head, breathing out a small “no.” He seems satisfied with your answer, his ego inflating by the minute as he watches you writher under his small touches. Everything still felt so surreal, there was no way that this was actually happening, was it? You’re reminded of all the times you had watched him from afar, sneaking shy glances at him during class, before and after school, in the cafeteria, where he sat with his friends and…and his girlfriend. The reminder is enough to pull you from whatever euphoric state that transpired within your body as you jerked away from his touch. 

Yeonjun’s eyes snap to you with a hint of curiosity and you bite the inside of your cheek, drawing in a small breath before daring to speak. “M-Mimi… w-what about her?” — He groans, a frustrated groan, and you wonder if you overstepped. “Nerd, someone like you, doesn’t count as cheating, got it?” He holds your gaze, speaking clearly, as if giving instructions to a toddler. He grins, a menacing grin, “besides, shouldn’t you be happy? I’m giving you what your perverted little mind has craved since you first stepped foot here.” Sheepishly you nod, heat rushing to your cheeks at the blunt statements he made. 

Choi Yeonjun was bold, his words were harsh, and a lot of times they hurt. For some reason that made you like him even more. 

“Now stop asking obvious questions”, he grunts as his hands trail along your thighs, pulling you forward on the chair, ignoring the way you squeal when he nuzzles his face between your legs. — It felt far from what it looked like in the movies, or even in porn. Yeonjun's hot breath against your core, his tongue dragging across your folds, it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand and you gasped as he flicked your clit. 

It was almost impossible to control the way your thighs twitched, squishing either side of his head as you fought to remain composed. A small whine left your lips as he latched on to your sensitive flesh, licking and sucking on it as if it was the only thing he was capable of doing. You barely register the way one of his hands grab onto your trembling ones, guiding them to his hair as he hums against your cunt. “Don’t be so awkward”, he mutters, his tongue dwelling deep inside of you, eliciting a moan from you as your fingers immediately twist in his dark locks. 

Never in a million years had you thought that the study session that you had been far too eager to agree to would turn into something like this. And that Choi Yeonjun of all people would be the first one to see such a part of you. — You didn’t know if it was such a good thing. But it was impossible to form a single coherent thought with him between your legs, mouth falling open in surprise as his nose bumps up against your clit. He doesn’t seem to mind when you push yourself further onto his face, practically grinding your hips on his mouth as small noises of pleasure ripped from deep within your throat. You were thankful that the library had been vacant for hours. 

“Y-Yeonjun!” His name falls from your lips without registering in your brain beforehand and you almost slap a hand over your mouth as realization washes over you. Yeonjun on the other hand, only chuckles, the sound sending vibrations against your sensitive cunt and you whimper as he withdraws his tongue from within you. — A somewhat familiar sensation bubbled in the depths of your stomach. It wasn’t like you hadn’t had an orgasm before, but the occurrence was rare, you didn’t exactly spend much time with yourself like that. 

His name is pulled from your chest once more and his grip on your thighs tighten. “You got something to say, nerd?” He wonders without leaning away from you, hot mouth working against your throbbing core as he draws moans and whines from you. “C-close..” you mumble, feeling your cheeks redden at the small statement, and you were suddenly glad that he was unable to see your flustered face. 

“Cum on my face then, bet you’ve never done that before.” 

The comment was mean, possibly even degrading, but it still made you clench incoherently around nothing as you released against his waiting lips. To your surprise, he doesn’t immediately pull away, his face remaining between your legs as he laps up the aftermath of your orgasm, drinking in the taste of you with a small satisfied groan. — And when he does finally tear himself from your sore cunt, you can barely look him in the eyes, ashamed at what had just transpired between the two of you. Yeonjun doesn’t seem affected in the slightest, his thumb wiping away the sticky fluids on his chin before popping them in his mouth. The sight should not have made you throb but it did and you bit your lip. 

Without warning, he suddenly gets up as he dusts off his pants. “W-where are you going?” You’re unable to stop yourself from asking. He shoots you a glance that says ‘well isn’t it obvious?’ He sighs, frustrated by your blunt obliviousness, “our session is over, isn’t it?” 

You blink at him, still recovering from your climax as you pull your panties back on. “But the study-” — “You’ve got what you wanted, haven’t you?” He states as he stares down at you, much like he had on your first day, and your words suddenly fall short as you meet his gaze. Shaking his head, a small chuckle escaped his lips, “I’ll see you tomorrow, nerd.” 

The last thing you hear are the library doors slamming shut before the room is enveloped in a deafening silence once more.   

⸝⸝

Everything had returned to normal the following Tuesday. You could barely wrap your head around it. The snarky comments were back, the pestering stares, whatever had roamed the air yesterday seemed to have completely vanished and you were left dumbfounded. — There was only one exceptionally different thing. Choi Yeonjun.

Part of you had hoped that he wouldn’t come to class, but that was a foolish thought. You hear him before you see him, or rather, you hear Beomgyu’s obnoxiously loud voice echoing off the hallways as The Choi’s approach. The classroom falls into a hushed murmur as the door swings open and the three of them enter. — You had told yourself that you would avoid him at all costs. That meant not speaking to him, not looking at him, not even glancing in the same direction as him. 

You found it to be very hard. But the shame over what had happened not even 24 hours prior kept your gaze trained to the pages of your notebook. Not even as he pulled out his chair, making an agonizingly scraping noise that cut through the otherwise quiet room, did your eyes stray from the words in front of you, rereading them over and over as you tried to get your brain to register them. — You lasted approximately two minutes. 

One small peek his way confirmed your every fear. Leaning back in his chair, Yeonjun paid you no mind as he scrolled through his phone, one of his hands rubbing the back of his neck as he did. He acted…just like he usually did, as if nothing had happened between the two of you. For a moment you had worried that he would tell everyone, that was a shame you wouldn’t be able to bear. But perhaps he was trying to spare his own reputation, you could only hope he would keep quiet. Did he regret it? Probably. Why wouldn’t he? 

What was perhaps even worse than his indifferent mannerism toward you was when Mimi greeted him with a kiss. Flinging her arms around his neck, she pulls him close as she practically shoves her tongue down his throat. Beomgyu makes a vile comment before turning to Soobin but besides that, no one else paid them much mind. Except you. The guilt was eating you alive, and you weren’t even the one who had cheated. What would happen if she found out, would she break up with him? Surely she would find a way to put the entire blame on you. You did not dare think of how miserably you would be treated if she found out. It couldn’t happen. You would have to talk to Yeonjun about it, one way or another. 

But how? 

You tried approaching him at lunch, but you only managed one step in his direction before you chickened out. Then you tried again before English, this time you made it halfway before Soobin swooped in right in front of you, his tall frame covering Yeonjun completely from view and you sighed. Your last shot was after gym. As everyone ventured toward the locker rooms you trailed behind, Yeonjun had, too, stayed to talk with your professor but just as you were about to approach, a tap on your shoulder freezes you in place. 

“The hell are you staring at, nerd?” Beomgyu’s voice is filled with distaste as he eyes your sweaty figure, his nose turning up in disgust. Stunned, you fumble for words as your eyes dart between him and Yeonjun, just a few paces away. “N-nothing I was just…” — “Just leaving, right?” He cocks an eyebrow at you and you quickly nod. “Y-Yeah”, you squeak out before rushing off. Why did his friends never stray from his side? It made things so difficult. 

You were always the last one to leave the changing rooms. Hiding away in the bathroom, you waited for the other girls to finish before you dared to venture out and get changed yourself. It had become somewhat of a routine, not that it was particularly comfortable, but as it was your last lesson of the day, you weren't in any rush. — Whilst you get dressed, your mind concludes with a ton of ideas to approach Yeonjun. It would have to be when there was no one else around, before or after school seemed like your best bet. The only remaining problem was his friends, who seemed to be glued to his side. 

Grabbing your bag, you walk over to the exit as you think of a way to get him alone. But as the door to the locker room closes behind you, it seems your problems have solved themselves for you. 

“What took you so long?” 

Yeonjun’s sharp voice startles you and you almost drop the bag in your hands as your head snaps in his direction. Leaning against the wall, his own gym bag swung over his shoulder, Yeonjun studies you with an indifferent expression plastered across his face. Your mouth falls open as you peer down the empty hallway, completely at loss for words. “Y-you waited for me?” You splutter as your attention shifts back to him. 

He purses his lips as he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “yes, but I’m starting to regret it.” — “Do you always take this long?” His voice is laced with annoyance and you swallow as you shake your head. “I- I mean I…I didn’t know you were waiting I..” 

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter.” He waves your meek explanation off as he shifts against the wall. Still confused on why he was even here in the first place, you bite your tongue as you wait for him to speak first. But out of everything he could’ve said to you, you had not expected the next words that were to come out of his mouth. 

“When’s our next study session?”

What? He wanted to have another study session? You had been prepared to confront him about yesterday, to tell him, no beg him, to keep quiet. Yet he was asking for another session? You were sure he could read the bewilderment on your face as his lips drew into a grin. “N-next session?” You gawk out as your mouth repeatedly opens and closes. He rolls his eyes before huffing out a short breath of air, “yes our next session, we never settled on a date.” — Well you didn’t think he wanted to, you had planned on telling your professor that the whole ordeal had been unsuccessful but here he was, asking for a redo? 

Was it a good idea to say yes? Considering how last time had played out, the answer was probably not. — “I- I’m free whenever.” But you obviously were very bad at listening to your gut instincts. However the smile that spread across his face made it all worth it, you felt your heart speeding up at the endearing sight. “Perfect”, he chimes, “then we’ll do tomorrow 5:30.” You nod but before you can get another word out he adds, “third floor, room 291.” 

Would you guys not be studying in the library? Despite your slight uneasiness, you nod, “alright.” — “Make sure no one sees you on the way there, and don’t be late.” He warns before turning on his heel and walking off. You were left stunned as you leaned against the wall, still gripping your bag tightly in your hands as you tried to process what had just happened. 

⸝⸝

Wednesday rolls around, the day progresses just like any other would. But something feels different, you feel different. It’s a different kind of excitement, bubbling in the pits of your stomach. You had barely gotten any sleep last night, which was a warning sign on its own because you always made sure to get 8 hours. But you don’t feel tired, not in the slightest. And as the last bell of the day rings, you hurry to the bathroom. 

You never fussed over your appearance, far too busy with having a book stuck under your nose. But today felt different, sure the two of you were just studying, it didn’t mean that you couldn’t make an effort if you wanted to look nice, right? 

The sound of bathroom stalls slamming behind you shifts your attention to a group of girls passing by. They all stop as they watch you apply a clear gloss to your lips, their noses scrunching up in disgust. “What’s gotten into that freak?” One of them mutters as she makes a move toward you, only to be stopped by one of her friends. “Don’t, you might get contaminated”, she sneers and the small group burst out into a fit of giggles. — Holding back a small sigh, you ignore them as you wait for them to leave before daring to do the same. 

Your shoes echo off the now almost empty hallways, it was late enough to where few students lingered behind. Still unfamiliar with the building, you made your way to the third floor. You took no classes here and you had to rely on the numbered doors in order to find 291. It takes a while but soon you’re standing in front of it. 

Your hands tremble as you hurriedly glance down the hallway, making sure no one saw you. When your gaze returns to the door you realize that it was a lot smaller than the others, its red paint standing out amongst the otherwise beige ones. That was odd. Yet you push any concerns aside as you reach out to twist the handle. 

Upon stepping inside you quickly realize that this was not a classroom. The room was small, crowded shelves pushed up against all walls, displaying a large range of items, from old books to tools such as screwdrivers and wrenches. Your eyes scan across the multitude of contents as your mind tries to piece together the scene before you. 

“You’re awfully punctual”, Yeonjun drawls as he emerges from a shadowed corner. You jump as you turn to him with a confused frown, “what’s this?” — He grins, his hands digging deep into his pockets as he leans against one of the shelves, “this is where our study sessions will be taking place from now on”, he explains as he motions for you to have a look around. From now on? But there was hardly room to study here, was there? 

Quickly noting your perplexed expression, Yeonjun’s grin widens. “Well come on now, nerd. You didn’t actually think I was planning on sitting down and doing algebra with you?” Your frown deepens, lips parting as your eyes dart between him and the cramped space. “But what…then why are we here?” You ask as you readjust the rather heavy bag on your shoulder. —  He chuckles, shaking his head as he takes a step forward, that single step is enough to get him right in front of you, his chest dangerously close to yours. His hand slides up your arm, reaching your shoulder as he hooks two fingers under the strap holding your bag. “Use that clever little brain of yours for something other than your studies, and maybe you will start to see the bigger picture.” 

Your bag hits the floor with a thud as Yeonjun’s hand returns to your shoulder, fingers twiddling the collar of your blouse as he waits for the wheels in your head to finally turn. And when they do, you glance up at him, your eyes wide with realization. “Yeonjun I… I don’t know…” Your eyes flit toward the door, mind altering between your options, stay or go, stay or go, stay or– 

“Tell me now.” 

His voice is calm and his posture remains stoic as he peers down at you. “I’m not about to waste my time on a loser like you if you’re not even into it.” He sneers as his hand lets go of your collar, pushing you back, only slightly, but enough for you to hit the shelf behind you. Was he seriously asking for your opinion right now, for your consent? Choi Yeonjun was willing to spend time on you, with you. The news were hard to melt and you found yourself awkwardly gazing up at him as your mind fumbled for an answer. 

“What’s it going to be, nerd?” He tsk’s before leaning forward, one of his hands resting on the shelf next to your face as he cages you against it. Briefly you considered turning back, walking away, to return to your otherwise dull life as you watched him from afar. You remembered Mimi, his girlfriend, the guilt and shame, suddenly it came crashing down all over again. But you also remembered his words: “someone like you, doesn’t count as cheating”. Had he really meant that? If not, why else would he be here right now? 

In the end, you nod. “O-Okay”, your voice comes out as a small peep and you curse yourself for not controlling it better. The smug smirk that immediately crawled onto his face should have been a waving warning flag, yet you ignore it, too caught up in the way his eyes darted to your lips, eyeing the clear coat of gloss you’d previously applied. His thumb swipes across the sticky substance. “I was about to tell you not to disappoint me”, he murmurs before pulling your lip down, “but I can already tell that you won’t.” 

Your heart swelled at the small praise, and you leaned into his touch. You hear him scoff at your blunt advances, his lips twitching as he eyes your eager figure. “You virgins really are gullible.” — He presses his mouth against yours, making you gasp in surprise as your pupils blow wide. In what you guessed to be an attempt at loosening you up, his hands roam up and down your sides, settling on your waist as he pushes himself closer, grinding his hips against yours. 

You had no clue of what to focus on, his tongue in your mouth, his hands on your waist, or the way his thigh pushed between your legs, rubbing against your panties in a way that had you practically squealing. — You knew that he was enjoying the reactions he pulled from you, ever so sensitive to his smallest of touches. It’s not long before his hand is on your thigh, gradually moving along your skin before reaching the hem of your underwear. He pushes the fabric to the side, fingers sliding across your already pathetically wet folds before finding your clit, as if they had done this a hundred times.

The moans you emit are all swallowed by his hungry lips on yours as he lets you grind yourself onto his hand. None of the previous hesitation you had felt during your session in the library was present in your mind, all you could think about was how good he felt, how you didn't want him to stop, and how you wanted more, a lot more. 

“More.” 

You can feel him smirk against you, your desperate whine ringing out into the hot air. — “Yeah?” He muses before pulling back, his lips are coated in your clear gloss, the sight was strangely enticing and you find yourself nibbling on your own lip as you sheepishly nod. He chuckles, pressing his lips against yours whilst he hikes your leg around his waist, the small adjustment bringing you even closer to him, and as you feel the hard bulge through his pants, reality slowly sets in. 

But you can’t stop now, you don’t want to. The sound of him undoing his zipper becomes a muffled noise somewhere in the background as your arms wrap around his neck, clinging to him in every way possible. — He breaks the kiss, confused, your eyes flutter open as you try and peer at him in the dim light of the storage room. You briefly catch him tearing a small package open with his teeth and for a moment you’re left completely dumbfounded before realizing that it must’ve been a condom. 

People wore condoms for one of two reasons, either they were avoiding knocking someone up, or they were afraid of catching diseases. But what disease could you possibly be carrying? So that would mean… You don’t have time to ponder on the matter further as you feel the tip of his cock against your folds. Immediately your eyes shoot open as your hands grip onto his shoulders. Suddenly everything seemed very real, perhaps a little too real. 

“Tell me if it hurts”, he murmurs, his forehead leaning against your own and you meekly nod. Was it supposed to hurt? You draw in a sharp breath as you feel him slowly push inside, the stretch of his fingers had been nothing compared to this and you felt completely unprepared. His movements come to an abrupt halt as he leans back to gauge your reaction with a wary expression. Quickly nodding, you loosen your grip on his shoulders, breathing out a small “‘m fine.” 

“Yeah?” He wonders and you nod once more. Only when he’s fully inside, do you dare let out the breath you had been holding in; feeling your body relax against his. “You feelin’ okay?” His genuine question catches you off guard and you give a small nod of assurance. “Y-Yeah I am..” — He smirks, then he captures your lips in a small kiss, the gesture distracts you from the moment he begins to move, gently rocking his hips into you and you gasp against his mouth. 

“Fuck”, he grunts. With one hand around your waist and the other maintaining a steady grip on the shelf behind you, he slowly thrusts inside of you. “Are all virgins this tight?” He murmurs, the question was rhetorical and he doesn’t give you the chance to answer, “or is it just you nerd?” — “I bet it is.” He sounds menacing but his ragged breathing makes it hard for you to tell if he’d really meant it or not. 

The items on the shelf rattle as his pace grows quicker, harsher, drawing moans and whimpers from you with every move his hips, cock stretching you wide as you claw against his shoulders. He leans back, enough to where he can watch the way your lips part, your now smudged gloss spread across your cheeks and chin as you whine. His gaze drops to your chest, fingers quickly beginning to work on the buttons that concealed you from him. Flicking them open one by one, Yeonjun’s hand quickly tears your blouse apart, eyes darting to your plump breasts as they bounced in rhythm with his movement. 

“You’ve got some nice tits for a nerd”, he muses, his hand groping your chest as his thumb flicks along your covered nipple. Feeling your cheeks redden, you only moan as he draws deeper inside of you, the tip of his cock brushing against parts of you that made you squirm. — Yeonjun made you think of yourself, see yourself, in ways you never had before, and it was exciting. 

“Has anyone ever told you that, hm?” He sneers, his hand pushing your breasts together as he watches the flesh squish against one another, groaning at the sight. Unable to form a single coherent thought, much less a full sentence, you merely shake your head. “Well you do. You got some of the nicest tits I’ve ever seen.” He grunts, hips snapping against you. The compliment makes you throb around him, your orgasm approaching at a rapid pace and your fairly short nails dig into his shoulders. 

“P-Please”, you wail and Yeonjun rolls his eyes, letting out a gruff sigh. “Thought you would last longer than this, nerd.” — “But don’t worry”, he murmurs, leaning in close as his lips trail the shell of your ear, “it comes with practice.” He moves down your neck, prepping your skin in soft kisses before he pulls it between his teeth. 

You whimper when his thumb rubs at your clit, legs trembling around his waist as your hands move to his hair, fingers threading through his dark locks before securely latching on. It doesn’t take much for your high to hit, your cunt clenching down around his cock as it pulls him in further. — Yeonjun curses under his breath as his hips jerk forward before stuttering. In the pure ecstasy of the moment, you roughly pull his face from your neck as you crash your lips against his. You knew that it was messy, sloppy and uncalculated, but you didn’t care as long as you got to feel him this close to you. 

You hear him sigh, you can’t tell if he’s content or not. But a moment later he breaks the kiss, gazing at you with a clouded expression as a small grin tugs at his mouth. He bites his lip, eyes dropping to your chest one final time before he pulls out, making you wince at the sudden feel of emptiness. — “Not too bad for a first timer”, he comments as he rids himself off the condom. You open your mouth to say something but he beats you to it. 

“Same time Friday, got it?”   

⸝⸝

Your study sessions with Yeonjun became a regular thing, and every instance was just like the former. They would take place after school, in room 291, shielded away from prying eyes as he had his way with you. You were there, at his every beck and call, never once showing up late nor canceling. — It was both thrilling and excruciating. You knew that whatever transpired between the two of you was nothing personal and only temporary. Yet you couldn’t help but long for something more; you longed for Yeonjun to like you back. 

It was probably a selfish thought, a selfish fantasy. But the images of Mimi flashing before your eyes, which had previously filled you with both dread and guilt, were suddenly replaced with a feeling of superiority. Because even if she didn’t know it, her boyfriend fucked someone else on the side, her boyfriend was cheating on her, with you. And it felt good. Often you had to hold yourself back from letting said fact slip past your lips. The scenarios would sometimes look something like this… 

“Watch where you’re going, nerd.” Mimi spits after purposefully crashing into you in an almost empty hallway that provided more than enough room for two parties to pass. Her friends turn to you with a scowl as they fold their arms across their chests. Your eyes dart between them and their vengeful leader before flitting down the long corridor, down to where The Choi’s were hanging out. 

Making the mistake of letting your gaze linger, garners her attention as Mimi snaps her fingers in front of your face. “What the fuck are you looking at nerd?” She barks as her eyes follow yours. She scoffs, her lips curling into a smirk, “do you think my boyfriend looks good or something?” Her question rips your attention back as you feverishly shake your head. — Mimi only laughs, her friends quickly joining in as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“It’s okay, I don’t blame you, really.” She tries to appear nice, perhaps even pitiful, but the malicious intent behind her words linger. You shake your head once more, “no I wasn’t I..” She holds up a finger to silence you, “come on now, it’s obvious. Everyone knows you have a thing for him.” She practically giggles as she covers her painted lips with a hand. Your cheeks feel as if they were on fire, your gaze dropping to your shoes as you bite the inside of your cheek. 

“But don’t worry”, she leans closer, her breath, which reeked of the strawberry bubblegum she always chewed, fans across your face. “You’re not exactly his type.” 

The statement almost made you scoff. Not his type? Was that what it was? You briefly considered telling her, telling her what her boyfriend was doing behind her back, and with the school nerd at that. The one girl she thought she didn’t have to worry about. It was almost a bit comedic. But you held your tongue. No matter how bad you wanted to crush whatever illusion she had going on, you couldn’t. Besides, Yeonjun would probably just deny it, and who would believe you?

Speaking of Choi Yeonjun. — He had become almost insufferable outside of your sessions. From barely looking at you in class to bringing attention to you at almost every possible second, Yeonjun was now the sole epitome of the bullying you endured. Whether it was the nasty and mean comments he shared with Beomgyu, his words echoing out through the classroom as he brought the whole class to laughter. Or the multiple times in which he’d trip you over in the hallways, undoubtedly peeking up your skirt as he did, but of course, no one noticed that, and if they did, they didn’t fault him. 

Choi Yeonjun did nothing wrong. He never did. So when he invites you to a party, your very first one, you don't know what to say. 

“Think about it”, he huffs as he zips his pants back up. The air in the small storage unit felt hot and stuffy, your clothes sticking to your sweaty body as you pulled your panties on. “I don’t know..” you quietly murmur, glancing down toward the dark floor as you twist your hands behind your back. — Yeonjun sighs, running a hand through his hair before he tries again. “Why not? Don’t tell me you’re scared.” 

You shake your head. “I’m not. But…I don’t know anyone, I don’t… I can’t just show up there.” You argue before swallowing the lump in your throat. It had been an outright baffling proposal on his side. What would people think if you just turned up? — “Tell them I invited you, they’ll let you in.” You blink up at him, was he being for real right now? 

“Y-You?” He nods, as if it was a given. “Make sure to wear something half decent at least.” He says, giving your shoulder a pat before he pushes past you and out of the small room, leaving you in the dark once more. 

⸝⸝

Something half decent? What was something, half decent? You didn’t know, and it took you about an hour to pick out a dress you thought would be suitable. It wasn’t particularly short, stopping at your knees, the dark purple complimented your skin nice, you thought. But it felt uncomfortable to walk in, and with one hand wrapped around the fabric, you pull it down as you near the driveway of a large villa. 

Your eyes flit across the scenery, it was dark out, but the house remained lit despite the late hour. Music was playing, loud enough to where the beat echoed out across the empty street. Swallowing a gulp, you run a hand through your styled hair one final time before daring to step inside.

Immediately you’re greeted by a large number of perplexed eyes, everyone slowly turning to you as you venture further into the villa, reaching the filled kitchen space. “What’s she doing here?” “Did someone invite her?” “I can’t believe she would actually show up.” — You cringe at their remarks, trying your best to ignore them as your eyes scan for Yeonjun. What if he wasn’t here? What if this had all been a ploy to draw you out and humiliate you further. You shouldn’t have come here, you really should– 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Mimi’s harsh voice snaps you from your small trance as she immediately corners you. Freezing on the spot, your hands curl into fists as you turn to her. Desperate for a way to defend yourself, to explain the situation, or to just escape all together, your mind spirals with excuses. Your lips part but you can’t seem to get a single syllable out. “Come on nerd, I asked you a question.” She huffs, growing impatient as she takes a step forward, her chest almost touching yours. 

“I’m…I..” Could you really tell her that her boyfriend invited you? Would she believe you? No, of course not, no one would. You bite the inside of your cheek, eyes flitting across the crowded kitchen. — “Did you come here to make a scene or something? I mean come on, you’re not even a senior.” Her comment makes everyone hum in agreement as they nod, some even sharing a couple of laughs. 

She was right, and even if she wasn’t, it wouldn’t matter. You stood no chance against anyone in this room. Tears prickle in the corner of your eyes and for the first time since you came here, you actually felt like crying. Taking in a small breath, you slowly exhale again. “Well I…” 

“I invited her.” 

Your heart practically froze over as Yeonjun’s voice cut through the tense air. Quiet murmurs carry out through the room as everyone redirects their attention. Somewhere in front of you, you can hear Mimi scoff as she takes a small step back. “What?” She questions and you finally dare to lift your gaze, your eyes immediately locking with Yeonjun’s as he leans against the kitchen island, seemingly unbothered by the small uproar taking place. 

Mimi on the other hand seemed to be fuming as she glanced between her boyfriend and you. “What do you mean you invited her?” She seethes, her voice laced with hatred and spite. Yeonjun shrugs as he digs his hands into his pockets, an indifferent look on his face. “Come on now, loosen up a little. It’s our responsibility as her seniors to take good care of her, don’t you agree?” He lets his gaze wander across the multiple eyes directed at him, everyone seeming to break under his stare as they quietly nod. 

He cocks an eyebrow in the direction of his girlfriend, “then there’s no problem, hm?” Mimi’s mouth had fallen open as she watched him win everyone over within a matter of seconds. Though quickly regaining her composure as she nods, muttering out a quiet, “whatever”, before she pushes past you with such force that you almost lose your balance.

Yeonjun sighs as he moves off the countertop, placing a hand on Beomgyu’s shoulder, “get her something to drink won’t you?” His friend frowns, “why me?” But Yeonjun doesn’t pay him any further mind as he, too, takes his leave, most likely in search of his raging girlfriend. 

As soon as he leaves, the previous tension seems to lift as everyone returns to whatever conversation they had been preoccupied with earlier. You breathe out a small sigh as you wrap your arms around you, leaning against the kitchen island as you keep your gaze down. — A drink is shoved in front of you, it’s reddish hue making you frown as you gingerly take it from Beomgyu’s outstretched hand. “T-Thanks”, you mumble as you grip the plastic cup tightly. 

You’re surprised when he doesn’t leave, instead he groans as he takes place beside you, resting his hands on the countertop behind him. “Y’know I really don’t understand why he invited you of all people.” He begins and you can feel his eyes roam your body with distaste. Swallowing, you quietly nod as you sip on the drink, it wasn’t at all as bitter as you had expected it to be, rather it tasted kind of sweet. 

“I…I don’t know either”, you shyly mumble, keeping the cup to your lips as you occupy yourself with gazing down at the liquid swirling around. Beomgyu scoffs as he shakes his head, “Of course you don’t. No one knows what’s going on in that thick skull of his.” — His words came out…almost insulting, and you wondered why he chose to speak in such a way about his friend. 

“You’ve got some guts though, I’ll give you that.” He states, running a hand through his messy hair as his eyes fixate on something in front of him. Surprised at the sudden almost compliment-like statement, you glance up at him in sheer bewilderment. “Not many people in your shoes would’ve come here”, he adds as he gives you a quick one-over. “No offense y’know, but you kinda look…” His nose scrunches up in what you could only guess to be disgust and you bite the inside of your cheek as your gaze drops to your dress. 

“O-Oh yeah…I guess.” 

Beomgyu chuckles, “My, are you gullible.” You internally wince at his words, a small grimace flickering across your face as you take another sip of your drink. You can feel his eyes on you as Beomgyu studies you closely, a little too close. “Y’know, maybe I do understand why he invited you”, he sniggers, pushing himself off the kitchen island, he leaves without saying another word. 

Left confused and yet again, alone, you chew on the plastic of your cup as you wonder how long you would have to stay before it would become appropriate to leave. 

⸝⸝

You think an hour had passed, it felt like three. Back pressed against the wall of the open-spaced living room, your eyes roam the makeshift dance floor as you watch the way your classmates enjoy their evening together. Your presence had soon become old news and after your first encounter, Mimi had left you alone, and so did everyone else. You were thankful, you supposed. But you still didn’t know why Yeonjun had invited you, much less why you had even decided to show up. Because right now, he was nowhere to be seen. 

You think that you might be able to just sneak out, leave, go home and forget that this evening ever took place. This wasn’t for you, that much you could tell. You would face the embarrassment come Monday, but today, now, all you wanted to do was evaporate. 

Standing up a bit straighter, you tug your dress down once more, preparing to leave. It’s only then he makes an appearance. It’s quick, so much so that if it weren’t for the subtle tap to your forearm, you would’ve probably missed him as he passed you by. Your eyes follow Yeonjun’s retreating frame as he aims for the staircase, leading to the second floor. Before climbing the first step, he throws a quick glance over his shoulder, eyes finding yours as he flashes you a small smirk. 

You gulp as you watch him disappear again. Nervously chewing on your bottom lip, your gaze flits across the room, no one was looking at you. Still you wait another five minutes before aiming for the stairs as well. Each step forward made your legs feel like jelly and you steadied yourself against the railing. 

The second floor consists of a long hallway, with doors either side of it, reaching down to at least four of them. Your heartbeat picks up at the thought of having to push all of them open as you carefully peeked inside. But your attention is drawn to the third one on the right, slightly ajar as a yellow light seeps through its cracks. Hesitantly you venture forward, coming to a halt in front of it as you debate your next move. Did you knock? Call out for him? Was he even there? Maybe you were seeing things. There was only one way to find out was there? 

Mustering up whatever courage you have left, you gently push the door open. The room is… a bedroom. A small onesize bed, pushed up against the window alongside the empty bedside table, tells you that it’s most likely a guest room. Your eyes flit to the armchair in the corner, widening as they land on Yeonjun’s figure, sprawled out against the cushion, a hand down his pants as he lazily strokes himself. He watches you with a faint smirk, his head leaning back against the backrest, eyes half lidded as they peer over at you. 

What was going on? You glance back and out into the hallway, afraid that someone, anyone, might walk by. What if Mimi came looking for him? But you were almost certain he’d meant for you to follow him. Quickly you shut the door behind you, locking it for good measure. Yeonjun watches your hurried movements with an amused expression, the hand on his cock unwavering.

“W-What’s all this?” You quietly wonder, willing your eyes to look anywhere but him, anywhere but the hand down his trousers. He doesn’t say anything, lifting his free hand, his index finger beckons you over and you hesitantly comply. Stopping by the chair, you awkwardly clasp your hands together in front of you as you wait for him to break the stale silence. 

“You look nice tonight.” He finally says, his voice seemingly indifferent as he shamelessly lets his gaze roam your body, stopping at the slight cleavage your dress provided. In the dim light casted by only a small lamp on the drawer next to him, you were unsure if he could make out the blush coating your cheeks or not. “Thank you..” 

He hums, readjusting himself on the soft cushions as his legs spread further apart. It takes everything in you not to let your gaze drop. For a moment everything is quiet, and you wonder why he had even bothered to get you up here in the first place. But then he sighs, the small exhale easily garnering your attention as you shift on the spot. 

“Have you ever blown someone before?” 

He asks the question as if it were any other and you feel the color on your cheeks intensifying. He can’t just ask someone something like that…But then again, there was little Choi Yeonjun couldn’t do. Part of you doesn’t understand why he even bothered to ask, wasn’t it obvious? Another part of you suspects that he wants to hear you admit it, wants to see you get flustered as you shake your head, squeaking out a meek “no, never.” 

That’s exactly what you do. — He smirks, a wide smirk, exposing his sharp teeth as his free hand grabs onto one of your own. You let him pull you to your knees, the soft carpet beneath your bare skin felt nice but it was hard to focus on anything but the bulge in front of your face, the movement of his hand visible through the material of his pants. 

“I’ll teach you”, he mumbles, letting go of your hand as he pushes your hair back, gaze wandering across the light makeup you had applied, lingering by the cherry red lipstick on your lips. You slowly nod, hands gripping onto the hem of your dress with such force that you’re surprised it doesn’t tear. 

Without further warning he leans back, swiftly pulling his cock free from his jeans as he continues to stroke it, now only inches from your face. Sure you and Yeonjun had hooked up before, in the darkness of the small storage unit, in places where you never paid his dick much attention apart from when it was inside of you. This was the first time you actually saw it, you think, and this close too. 

Your jaw goes slack as your eyes trail across the large veins climbing up his shaft, coated in a sheer layer of arousal, seeping through his fingers as they wrapped around the length of it. Gulping, you eye the tip, a bright red hue as droplets of precum spilled from the slit. You would be lying if you said that the sight didn’t make your thighs clench together. — Obviously enjoying your stunned response, Yeonjun groans as he gives himself a particularly harsh tug, making your eyes widen further as they flicker from his cock to his face and back again. 

“Come here”, he directs you to scoot forward and you do, offering your hand for him to take as he guides it to wrap around his shaft. He felt hard and heavy in your palm, and you bite your lip as you try to gauge his reaction. Letting his hand drop to his sides, Yeonjun sinks back against the cushion as he peers down at you. “Start slow, don’t use too much pressure but don’t be afraid to touch me. I’ll tell you when you can speed up.” He instructs as he lets his head fall back, getting comfortable as he pays you little mind. 

Your attention returns to his cock in your hand, doing as he said, you slowly let your palm glide up and down, fingers quickly becoming coated in the shiny layer of his arousal. You can’t tell if he likes it or not, he gives little reaction as he stares up at the ceiling. You want to ask him, you want him to reassure you, but it feels stupid to ask, and you hate feeling stupid. 

His hand joins in on top of your own, guiding your fingers to his tip, which you had purposefully avoided as you didn’t know how to approach it. “Flick your wrist like this”, he murmurs, letting your palm glide over the head before returning to stroke him. He only shows you once before his hand moves back to his side. But you can tell that he’s watching you now, eyes tailing your every movement as you repeat what he had just showed you, rolling your hand over his tip, drawing a small huff of air from him. 

“Use your thumb”, he breathes, and your gaze flickers to his face in slight confusion before catching on. The next time you twist your wrist over his head, you press the surface of your thumb against the slit. He shudders under you, a small groan passing his lips and your heart speeds up at the small confirmation you just received. It managed to boost your confidence enough to where you gripped him more firmly, experimentally squeezing his cock, just like he had done moments prior, relishing in the way his breath hitched. 

“You can go -f-fuck- faster.” He grunts, his hands sliding against the armrests of the chair, fingers digging into the plush cushion. Quickly nodding, you’re happy to oblige, repeating your previous movements but with an increased pace as your eyes dart between his leaking dick and his slightly contorted face. 

When he first twitches in your hand, you’re taken back. Surprised by the sudden movement yet you felt yourself throb as you tugged at him even harsher, wanting to pull that very same reaction from him once more. — He’s stopped guiding you, biting down on the inside of his cheek as he tries to muffle whatever noises threaten to escape. You don’t mind, in fact it only spurred you on further as you flicked your wrist over his flushed tip once more. 

His hips buck up against your hand as he lets out a strangled noise. His hand quickly finds its way to your hair, brushing it back as he breathes out through his nose. “Fuck, slow down”, he mutters, tugging at your hair as he forces your face up to meet his, “I’ll cum before you’ve even blown me at this rate.” The statement made your chest swell with pride, still, your hand slows down as you settle back into a more languid pace. 

He takes a moment to open his eyes, drawing in a few ragged breaths before he does. The hand in your hair moves to your face, cupping your cheeks as he pulls you closer, the tip of his cock merely inches from your lips and you swallow. “Relax”, he says, fingers pulling your mouth open and you let him. “Breathe through your nose, and don’t use your teeth.” — You slowly nod, your hands bracing themselves on his thighs as he taps his cock against your parted lips, smearing his arousal all over your cherry lipstick. 

He pushes inside slowly, you wince at the stretch, your mouth widening as much as it allows. The first thing you note is the salty taste, it isn’t particularly strong and you’re relieved. But no matter how hard you tried to relax your jaw, when his cock hit the back of your throat you instinctively pulled back with a small gag. — Yeonjun tsk’s above you, the hand on your cheeks gripping you firmer as he pulls you back onto his dick. “Thought I told you to relax, no?” He murmurs, letting out a breathy moan as you let him slide himself back into your hot mouth.   

Your eyes screw shut as you focus on evening out your breathing, taking steady breaths in and out through your nose as you allow your tense frame to relax under him. “Think of it as the same as what you did with your hand.” His fingers relax against your cheek, thumb grazing your skin as he feels the way his cock slides in and out of your pliant lips. — It feels weird at first, uncomfortable too, but after a while you slowly get used to the feeling of him in your mouth. 

Hesitantly wrapping your lips around him, you press your tongue flat against him as you carefully bob your head up and down. He groans somewhere above you and your eyes flutter open as you peer up at him through your mascara coated lashes. Yeonjun always looked good, but there was something about him like this, from this view. A sheer layer of sweat that made his dark hair stick to his forehead, his parted lips and furrowed brows, you clenched at the sight, taking him deeper and with much more urgency. 

Something about tonight felt…special, perhaps even more intimate than all your past encounters. Maybe it had to do with the change of scenery. The dimly lit bedroom, the plush armchair, the fine carpet, you can’t place it, but something is different. And for the first time, you can only think about Yeonjun, not his girlfriend, his friends or even your classmates. It was only him. 

Remembering how you had pressed your thumb against his slit earlier, you pull back to refocus your attention to only his tip, your hand joining in to stroke the rest of him. You press your tongue flat against his head before swirling it to the best of your abilities, watching intently as Yeonjun’s brows drew further together, a breathy moan ripping from deep within his chest. 

“F-Fucking hell”, he groans, his head falling back against the cushion. “Fuck ‘m gonna-” His hips jerk forward, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat and you pull back with a small wince, unprepared for when his hot cum spurted into your mouth. Not really knowing which approach to take, you continue to suck him off, cum dribbling down your chin as you fought to swallow the rest without losing your breath once more. Yeonjun slumps back against the armchair, his hand releasing its hold on your cheeks as he lets it fall to his side. 

Carefully pulling off of him, you sit back as you begin wiping your chin with the back of your hand. You steal a glance at him, his chest heaving as he catches his breath. Yeonjun runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head as a small grin etches its way to his lips. — “Was…was it okay?” Your words are barely above a whisper, and he cocks an eyebrow at you, his grin widening. 

“Sure it was, nerd.” 

You blink up at him, “really?” — He chuckles, tucking himself back into his pants with a small grimace. “Would I have asked you to do it if I had doubts?” He retorts and you bite your lip, no perhaps not you supposed. “You’ll get even better with a bit of practice”, he reassures you, giving your head a light pat before getting up. 

He’s reached the door before he turns back to you, “wait another fifteen minutes or so before leaving, yeah?” Without waiting to hear your answer, he unlocks the door and steps out, slamming it shut behind him. 

⸝⸝

You spent another thirty minutes aimlessly wandering around the large villa, astonished by how someone could afford a place this big. You still had no clue whose house this even was, and no one seemed to care for the sake either. — Halfway down a long corridor, filled with what you could only assume to be modern art, you suddenly freeze in your tracks as the voices of someone else joins your quiet footsteps. 

After spending a rough minute trying to locate the source of the sound, you finally realize that it’s coming from behind one of the larger pillars a few paces ahead. Debating your choices for a solid ten seconds, you opt to try and eavesdrop, if only for a moment. And as you quietly creep forward, their conversation suddenly becomes a lot more clear. — Shuffling to squeeze yourself behind another pillar, you lean against the cool marble as you try and pick up on what’s being said. 

You knew the voices belonged to two of the girls from your class, but you were unable to pair them with any faces. — “Did he really?” One of them asks, her voice is slightly high-pitched, almost a bit squeaky. Her friend’s voice is fairly deeper as she replies, “Yes! And it was a week before her birthday too!” A small gasp. “You don’t mean… But with whom?” The first girl asks. 

There’s a brief pause, and you, too, find yourself holding your breath as you await the second girl's answer. “With Hera..” You frown, unable to recognize the name but the other girl seemed more than aware as she let out a small shriek, earning a sharp “hush!” from her friend. — “But that’s…” the first girl begins only to be interrupted by her friend, “her best friend.” 

Their conversation made little sense in your ears, and with a small sigh you turned to walk the other way when suddenly, a familiar name surfaced. — “But it was kind of obvious was it not”, the girl with the deeper voice begins, “Yeonjun has cheated on Mimi with practically all of her friends. She’s bound to find out some day, it’s only a matter of time.” 

You felt your face fall as your heart plummeted through your stomach. Had you heard them right? You hoped you hadn’t but the first girl quickly butts in as she confirms what you dreaded. “I told her from the start that Yeonjun was promiscuous, but she didn’t listen of course”, the girl huffs as her friend hums in agreement. “Better her than me”, she adds. 

You had heard enough. That was it, you were going home. Turning on your heel, you quietly dart down the long corridor. — You knew that you didn't have a reason to be upset, hell he had even cheated on his girlfriend with you. It still didn’t stop the tears that pricked in your eyes as you pushed past the crowd in the kitchen. A small part of you had thought, perhaps even hoped that maybe, maybe what he saw in you was different from what he saw in Mimi. God you’re so stupid. You quietly mutter, reaching the open living room just in time to see who you had hoped you wouldn’t. 

Near the front door, leaning against the wall, was Yeonjun, arms wrapped around his girlfriend’s frame as she pressed sloppy kisses to his neck. Your mind flashes with the images of what had taken place between the two of you not even an hour ago. Yet here he was, shamelessly buttering his so-called girlfriend up as if he hadn’t had you on his cock moments prior. And to think that you had allowed yourself to become part of his crowd, it was disgusting. 

You finally saw Choi Yeonjun for what he really was. A fucking asshole. And with that clarification in mind, you forcefully push past the pair as you march out of the front door, leaving the still lively party behind as you begin your journey home. 

⸝⸝

Monday came all too fast. The aftermath of the party is still fresh in your mind as you rummage through your locker. You had spent the whole weekend reanalyzing your every interaction with Yeonjun; from the day you first met to the thirty minutes spent in the guest bedroom just two days ago. You questioned his true intentions, more than twice. But no matter how many hours you tossed and turned in bed, you got no closer to solving the mystery that was Choi Yeonjun. 

Slamming the red steel door shut, you almost drop the books in your arm as you come face to face with the person you least wanted to see. — Yeonjun leans against the locker next to yours as he studies your face intently. Quickly you turn around to see if anyone was watching the two of you before shifting your attention back to him. “What are you doing?” You whisper as you watch him with a wary expression. 

He only shrugs, a small grin playing on his lips. “See me after class”, he nods in the direction of the stairs, leading to the third floor and you internally sigh. Still, you should talk to him, you really should, so you nod. “Okay.” — His grin widens as Yeonjun pushes himself off the locker, continuing down the hallway without another word. 

You find yourself counting down the hours, lesson after lesson, your eyes remain glued to the clock on the wall. In fact, you’re so focused on the afternoon ahead that the insults thrown your way merely passes over your head. — Then finally, after what feels like an eternity, you find yourself walking up the steps and past the doors as you neared room 291.

He was already there, waiting for you. And as soon as the red door closes behind you, he’s got you pressed up against it, hungry lips on yours within a matter of seconds as his hands roam your body. It was easy to get caught up in his world, his kisses and his touches, you have to remind yourself of why you came here. His name falls from your lips, but it’s not the usual desperate whine, it’s serious, you know that he can tell, humming against your lips yet his hands don’t stray away from wandering beneath your shirt. 

"Yeonjun, wait." 

He stills, if only for a moment, leaning back slightly as his lips brush against yours. Taking in a deep breath, you prepare yourself for the conversation to come. You had rehearsed it many times in your head, but as you glance up at him in the dim light of the storage unit, you find it hard to even look him in the eyes. “I…I’ve been thinking”, you slowly begin, watching the faint smirk that surfaces on his face. “Don’t you always, nerd.” He mutters, his hands resuming their journey up your chest, flicking the buttons to your shirt open as his mouth leaves hot kisses against your neck. 

You try to ignore the burning sensation sparking through your body, forcing yourself to go through with what you wanted to say. “Yes but, I’ve been thinking about…about us.” — Your words make his hands around your breasts stutter and he goes quiet against you. Biting your lip, you hold your breath as you wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t, only humming against your skin as he continues to litter you in red marks. 

“What makes you think there is an ‘us’?” 

His question makes your composure fall as you let out a shaky exhale. “There isn't?" You hesitantly ask, already anticipating the answer you were bound to receive. — He pulls away from you with a perplexed expression. Then he laughs, it’s short, cruel, he shakes his head. “Don’t be funny”, he mutters as he runs a hand through his dark hair. “You know that I have a girlfriend, nerd.” He spits the words out like the venomous bite of a snake. His gaze drops to your unbuttoned blazer, briefly passing the harsh bruises he’d previously left on your chest.

“Don’t think you’re anything else besides a quick fuck.” 

Oh. There it was. He finally said it, he finally confirmed what you had been dreading all along. You weren’t stupid, you knew that whatever the two of you had was nothing romantic. But hearing those words come out of his mouth, it hurt more than you ever thought it would’ve. Still, it was just what you needed. With your palms pressed against his chest, you push him back, as far away from you as the small room allowed. 

“I don’t think I want to be that.” 

Your voice is trembling as you speak and you have to force your gaze not to drop down to your shoes. Letting your hands fall back against your sides, you draw in a small breath, holding it as you watch Yeonjun’s face form into a confused frown. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” He huffs, sounding almost angry as his hands clenched into fists before relaxing again. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, giving a meek shrug of your shoulders. “I don’t want to be just a… a quick fuck.” You murmur, unable to maintain his intense gaze, you let your eyes drop to the floor. He scoffs, leaning back against the shelves with such force that the items behind him rattled. “Do you honestly believe that anyone else is even going to consider fucking you, nerd?” He was pissed, that much you could tell. 

Shaking your head, you blink away the tears that had managed to form in your eyes. “I don’t care, I just…”, you exhale, praying that your voice wouldn’t break as you continued, “I just don’t think this is for me.” — Yeonjun laughs, the same laugh that echoed off the classroom walls as he made fun of you. You realize then just how fucked up your situation had become. How could you have allowed yourself to stoop to such a level? 

“I gave you so much, and you… you don’t think that it’s for you?” He jeers, taking a step forward as he comes face to face with you once more. But now none of the previous lust and desire remained, only fury. All you can do is continuously shake your head, not daring to meet his gaze. “No. It’s not.” You state as you tear your eyes from the floor, it takes everything in you to not have your resolve crumbling as you peer up at him. 

“So let’s stop.” 

You motion toward the small unit you were currently standing in. “Whatever this is, was, let’s end it now.” You swallow, hard, the sound ringing in your ears. Yeonjun runs a hand through his hair once more, tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek as his eyes flit between you and the door. “You want to end things? Fine.” His voice lacks all the anger it previously held, now sounding almost monotone. 

“But don’t come crying when you realize just how much you’re about to lose.” He drawls, eyes boring into yours one final time before he pushes past you, knocking you back against the wall as he rips the door open. Darkness envelops you as soon as it's slammed shut behind him, and you finally let out the sob you had been holding in. 

⸝⸝

You didn’t go to school that following Tuesday, nor Wednesday. It was the first time you had missed a whole day since your junior year in highschool. Was it pathetic? Probably. Curled up on your bed, you spent the two days in front of your laptop, binging whatever show seemed appealing as you sniffled into a tissue. — You wanted to go back in time, back to when you only knew Yeonjun as the obnoxious leader of bullies from your class, back to when things were simple. 

You wondered what he might’ve said about you in your absence. What kind of lies he might’ve conducted, surely he wouldn’t just sit still. You dreaded returning, but you knew that it was inevitable, and as Thursday rolled around, you pulled yourself from bed. 

The classroom was empty when you arrived, there was another thirty minutes left but you had chosen to get there earlier to save yourself perhaps at least a few stares as you walked toward your desk. You had missed a lot, you were sure, two days was a long time to be away from school and you worried that you would have a lot of reading to do when you came back home. Though you supposed the distraction of studying would be nice. 

It’s about ten minutes left until class when the first few students emerged from the doors, swinging their bags down on their desks as they chatted loudly with one another. “Watch it nerd!” A girl sneers as she gives the leg of your chair a harsh kick, you grip onto the edge of your table as you hang your head low. But beside that, nothing happens, and you frown. You were sure it was going to be worse than this, but it wasn’t. For the first time ever you felt relieved that your classmates were treating you indifferent. Well, all except one. 

Yeonjun doesn’t show up to first period. And just as you think he’s about to be absent for the second one as well, the door is pushed open as he walks inside. Yeonjun seldom did what he was supposed to in class, but he always brought his bag, not today though. You tried to not let your eyes linger, inevitably failing as you watched him pull out his chair and sit down, his hands remaining in his pockets as he leaned back to gaze across the board with a lazy expression. In regular fashion, Beomgyu goes off about a random topic next to him as Soobin twirls a pen between his fingers, seemingly bored out of his mind. 

Class begins, and ends, and nothing happens. Not even as much as a glare in your direction. It was just like before, before the two of you were ever intimate, Yeonjun acted as if you didn’t exist, and you watched him. But this time, you didn’t feel a sense of longing, honestly, you didn’t know what you felt. Relief, a sense of mourning, regret? You didn’t like the way your stomach felt when you looked at him, so you stopped. 

⸝⸝

Weeks went by, the bullying never stopped, why would it? You kept quiet, your gaze downcast as you moved through the hallways. It worked, because you rarely saw him anymore. You didn’t know if he was avoiding you or not, you didn’t care. It felt nice to not care. The only thing tugging away at you now… was the loneliness. It wasn’t like Yeonjun acted friendly with you, especially not during school hours, but he had made you feel less alone. In the most fucked up way possible, he was the only one you had ever had some kind of relationship with since your first day here. And a small part of you missed it. 

But even the loneliness would one day stop. 

You blink up as a plate is placed opposite yours in the crowded cafeteria. Confused, your eyes darted between the boy before of you and the plenty of empty tables. He doesn’t seem to care as he slides down on the chair in front of yours. “You’re the junior girl who takes classes with the seniors right?” He asks as he tilts his head to the side, studying you with wide and curious eyes. — Still wary of the intentions behind his move to sit with you, you slowly nod, “I am.” 

He smiles, it was perhaps one of the first genuine smiles you had received since you started here. Shuffling a bit closer, he offers his hand for you to shake, which you hesitantly do. “I’m Hueningkai, but you can just call me Kai.” He says as you let go of his hand once more. — “I’m a junior too, but I’m stuck with everyone else our age”, he explains with a coy smile. 

You nod, taking a small sip of your water. His eyes shift to the book placed next to your tray. “Lord Of The Rings?” He asks and you hum as you turn it around for him to see. “I love those books!” He exclaims as he brings it to his face, studying the back intently. “I’m re-reading them..” You quietly mumble as your gaze flickers between him and the glass in your hand. Kai sets the book down as he turns to you, “you mean you’ve read all this more than once? Sick!” 

That was how you met Kai. You don’t know why he approached you, you didn’t care to ask. All you knew was that you had finally found a friend. And though the two of you still took separate classes, you always stayed behind to study together, ate lunch just the two of you, and walked each other to class. It felt nice to have someone to talk to, even though you didn’t tell him about you and Yeonjun, he still listened to you as you explained all of the bullying. 

You were amongst the last to return to class after lunch one lousy Tuesday. Kai and you had spent the entire break discussing quantum physics, and you had only realized the time once you went to search something up on your phone, making you rush to class. Not thinking much of the rare occurrence, you make your way over to your desk by the very back of the room, only freezing when one of your classmates addresses you. 

“What’s got you coming in so late, nerd?” He sneers as he leans back in his chair to see you better. With the intention of not replying, you take your seat as you begin rummaging through your stuffed bag. But when another girl butts in, you feel yourself go stiff. “Don’t you know?” She drawls, easily garnering the first guy’s attention as well as everyone around her. Even the Choi’s seemed to be listening as Beomgyu put down his phone. You held your breath, anticipating the worst yet it somehow ended up being so far from anything you could’ve ever imagined. 

“Nerd’s got a boyfriend.” She exclaims, watching triumphantly as everyone began whispering amongst each other, hushed murmurs carrying around the room. You felt your face burn as you glanced toward Yeonjun’s table. — He was still scrolling absentmindedly on his phone, but the way his jaw clenched, accompanied with the small frown of his brows, made your stomach sink just slightly. 

“That’s such bullshit!” Mimi exclaims as she throws you a harsh glare. But the girl who’d announced the news merely shakes her head. “I’ve seen them myself!” She retorts as she folds her arms across her chest. “That junior boy, y’know the blonde one.” — “I’ve seen them too!” Someone else chirps in and the girl is quick to nod. 

“They always eat lunch together too”, the girl turns to you with a wide smirk, “isn’t that right nerd?” — Your fingers curled around the pencil in your hand, gripping it with such force that it might break. You don’t look at her, gaze dropping to your table as you merely shook your head, earning a scoff from the girl as she turned back to the rest of the class. 

“Shit, are you serious?” Beomgyu wonders as he leans forward in his chair. But before the girl has a chance to reply, Yeonjun cuts her off. “Don’t be stupid”, he mutters as he pulls Beomgyu back by the collar of his shirt. — “What the fuck man, it’s just a question”, he whines as he rubs his now sore neck. Yeonjun huffs as his gaze remains glued to his phone screen, “of course she isn’t serious. Stop believing her bullshit.” 

Beomgyu falls silent at his words and so does everyone else. The next few minutes are awkward as everyone scrambles to occupy themselves with whatever they could find, desperately wishing for your professor to walk through the doors. 

⸝⸝

The sound of the old library doors being pushed open shifts your focus from the book in your lap as you glance up just in time to see Kai approaching your desk. He smiles, waving his hand enthusiastically and you find yourself reciprocating the small move. — “Sorry I’m late”, he apologizes as he takes the seat next to yours, pulling a few books from his bag. “It’s fine, really”, you assure him as you place your own book down. 

It had become routine for the two of you to meet up and study together, well, you often just talked the hours away, but neither of you seemed to mind the lack of work getting done. “Which chapter are you on?” He wonders, and you slide the book over for the two of you to share, “fifteen.” He nods as he scoots closer, your shoulders practically touching as you take turns reading and scribbling down notes. 

Usually you didn’t mind the close proximity, but when thinking back of what had transpired after lunch earlier that day, you felt different. Ever since your break up with Yeonjun, if break up was even what you could call it, you had little desire to enter into a new relationship. But the more you mulled over your classmate’s words, the more sense it all seemed to make. — Eating lunch together, walking each other to class, even now, you both sat so close that you could hear the pattern of his breathing. 

Kai was cute. He was the type of cute that made you look back twice when you passed him on the street, the type of cute that made you want to revisit the small café because of the waiter that had served you, the type of cute that you wanted to bring home to your parents. — Not only was he cute, he was nice too, you felt happy, comforted, in his presence. Unlike Yeonjun, Kai only made you feel giddy inside as you longed to see him. He never made you second guess his intentions or yourself. 

But there was still something missing, something that you couldn’t quite place. Something that Yeonjun had made you feel by just stepping into the same room as you. You hated yourself for comparing your new friend to someone like him, but it felt almost impossible not to. You didn’t care about Choi Yeonjun anymore, so why did he continue to haunt the subconscious parts of your mind? 

As if on cue, Kai turns around in his seat, his nose almost grazing your own due to how close you sat. “Hey are you following along?” He wonders, seemingly concerned as a small frown tugs at his brows. Blinking, you shake your head, “sorry no..” — You swallow, willing yourself to be honest with him, you need to be.

“Can I…can I tell you something?” You hesitantly ask, gnawing on your bottom lip as you twirl your pencil anxiously between your fingers. He nods, a small smile painting his lips, “of course!”  — Awkwardly clearing your throat, you think of a way to begin the whole thing. “W-Well basically…Everyone in my class they-” 

Your words get stuck in your throat, not because you were afraid of uttering them, not because Kai made you in any way feel uneasy. But because the oak doors to the library opened once more, the sound almost deafening to your ears, eyes becoming glued to Yeonjun’s frame as he enters. It doesn’t take him long to spot you, his already spiteful expression seemingly worsening as his gaze locks with yours. 

He grasps a book tightly in one hand, walking over to the front desk as he practically slams it on the table, making everyone inside the room jump as their heads turn in his direction. Yeonjun however, pays them little mind, his eyes never straying from yours as the old librarian goes to check out his book. — Even Kai’s attention had shifted toward your classmate, watching as Yeonjun leaned against the desk with a scowl on his face. 

“Isn’t he in your class?” He wonders as the frown on his face deepens. You nod, “ignore him”, you mumble as you shift uncomfortably under his intense gaze. “But he’s looking at you..” Kai states and you shake your head again, “please let’s just ignore him.” — Finally, Kai tears his gaze from him as he gives you a small nod, “of course. So what’d you want to tell me?” 

Oh right. “Well I… It’s a bit weird, promise you won’t be freaked out.” You begin as you bite your lip, feeling an evident blush rise on your cheeks. Kai nods as he takes your hand, the small action somehow making the whole thing even worse but you couldn’t find it in you to push him off. From the corner of your eye, you can make out Yeonjun’s figure as he watches the two of you, his mere presence made the hairs on the back of your neck stand. 

“My classmates they…they sort of think we’re…well they think we’re dating..” You quietly mumble, the last part becoming nothing more but a faint whisper. You can easily read his surprise as Kai’s eyes widen, his gaze flitting down to his hand on top of yours as he swallows. “Oh.” Is all he says. — “I hope it doesn’t make things weird between us”, you quickly add, your voice near pleading as you search his gaze. 

Biting the inside of his cheek, Kai slowly nods as he keeps his eyes on your hands. “No I suppose it doesn’t… I mean, it’s not like it’s true..” He says, offering you a small smile as his gaze returns to your face. You nod, “y-yeah, exactly..” — Daring to steal a glance in the direction of Yeonjun, you barely manage to catch his retreating figure as he exits the library, oak doors slamming shut behind him. 

Kai follows your gaze, his hand on top of yours moving back to rest on his lap as his eyes flicker between the spot where Yeonjun just vanished and your almost longing expression. He sighs. 

⸝⸝

It’s nearing 6pm when you finally part ways outside the library. And after waving Kai off, you turn to walk up the flight of stairs leading to your locker. The hallways are vacant, your low heel shoes clacking against its floors as you readjust your heavy bag on your shoulder. — Your footsteps come to an abrupt halt about halfway down the long corridor, your eyes spotting a tall figure, leaning against the red lockers by the end of the hall. You swallow, easily recognizing his lean frame. It’s too late to turn back, you know that he’s heard you already. 

“Have you been waiting here all along?” You wonder, stopping a few paces from him, maintaining a good distance as you shift your weight over to one leg. Yeonjun’s head, previously leaning against the red steel behind him, lazily turns in your direction as he studies you with a tired expression. “No.” — You knew it was a lie. 

“Then why are you here?” For once, it’s your gaze boring into his, and not the other way around. Yeonjun remains silent, his hands digging deep into the pockets of his pants, his eyes roaming your body just like they had so many times before. He doesn’t say anything. You wait for him to speak, you wait for two whole minutes. Nothing. 

With a small huff, you give up as you approach your locker. Now only inches from him, you type your code in as the red door clicks open. Pulling your books from your bag, he watches you as you place them neatly inside the small space. You bite your tongue, refraining from saying the many things on your mind. It would only complicate the situation further. — It’s not until you close the locker again, turning around as you get ready to leave, that he finally breaks the silence. 

“Is it true?” 

You freeze, slowly turning back to face him with a small frown. Still leaning against the lockers, he tilts his head to the side, his expression holds no amusement, not even anger, just…emptiness. You had never seen him like that before. — “What?” The surprise is evident in your voice, and you watch as he pushes himself off the lockers, moving to face you completely. “You and him, is it true?” He repeats his question and your breath gets stuck in your throat at the mention of Kai. 

You didn’t want him to become the next affection of Yeonjun’s harsh bullying. More than anything, you wanted to maintain the only friendship you had, you could not have your past mistakes getting in the way of it. — “Does it matter?” Your stance remains guarded as you fold your arms across your chest. He cocks an eyebrow in your direction, his lip twitching, “of course not.” 

Confused, you frown, you had forgotten how near impossible he was to read. “Well then there you have your answer.” You firmly state. He shakes his head, and you could’ve sworn you caught the small grin on his face before it vanished again. “So then it is true..” — “Yes.” The small word of confirmation slips from your lips without you even realizing it. But it was too late to take it back now. Yeonjun frowns, he seems almost surprised at your immediate response.   

“It’s true that we hang out everyday. It’s true that he makes me smile, and laugh. It’s true that he cares for me and I for him. All of it is true, is that what you wanted to hear?” You’re almost out of breath by the end of your small rant. — Yeonjun’s jaw clenches, hands curling into fists inside his pockets as he draws in a sharp breath through his nose. 

“So does it really matter if it’s true or not when he treats me in a way that makes me feel loved and appreciated?” You’re unable to hinder yourself from letting out all the emotions that you had kept pent up during the past weeks. And by the end, your voice sounds as if it’s about to break at any moment. — But he doesn’t say anything. His expression remained as indifferent as possible, watching the way your chest heaved as you caught your breath again. 

His silence felt heavier than a thousand words. Part of you wants to swallow your statement again, another part is relieved to finally have gotten it out. You quickly realized that you probably wouldn’t get another response from him, and thus you made your second move to leave. Except this time, he acts faster. 

Fingers wrapping around your wrist, Yeonjun prevents you from taking another step away from him. His grip is tight, but not enough to hurt, you can feel the slight tremble to his hand and your gaze dart between his hold on you to his now determined expression. 

“I could too.” 

His voice is low, yet the sentence echoes off the empty hallway walls. Your heart thumps loudly in your chest, blood rushing beneath your skin as your wide eyes meet his. — “I could make you feel like that too.” His voice is clearer now, steadier, and he takes a step forward. You find yourself shaking your head, making him frown. “Why, don’t you believe me?” 

The question made you scoff. “Of course I don’t.” You exclaim as you withdraw your arm from his grip, he lets you, briefly glancing down to his now empty hand before letting it fall to his side. “You’ve said it yourself. I’m nothing besides a quick fuck, right?” — He bites the inside of his cheek, your words undoubtedly true. 

Maybe three weeks ago, his small statement would’ve been able to sway you, to make your heart beat a little faster. Now it only felt like he was rubbing salt onto your barely healed wounds. Just as you had gotten over him, just as you had finally made a real friend, he had to go and ruin it all again by saying exactly what you both dreaded and longed to hear from him. And you hated him for it. You hated Choi Yeonjun. 

Tears stung in your eyes, threatening to spill down your cheeks. You couldn’t let him see you cry. — He grabs onto you a second time as you turn to leave, pulling you flush against his chest with such haste that you barely have time to register what’s happening before his lips are on yours. “Don’t go”, he breathes into your mouth, kissing you with such urgency that you thought he might just be on the verge of dying. 

Your hands are on his chest within seconds as you pry him off. “Stop. Just stop.” Your pleading voice cuts like knives through the air and he pulls back with a stunned expression. Shaking your head, you tear yourself from him as you take a step back. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you. But it better stop.” He opens his mouth to say something but you beat him to it. “Don’t let me get my hopes up only to crush them again.” 

Refusing to hear him out any longer, you quickly turn on your heel as you hurriedly walk down the hallway, leaving him behind as he runs a hand through his dark hair. 

⸝⸝

The next day, Yeonjun doesn’t show up to school. You’re just as confused as everyone else, your eyes darting toward the door every other second, thinking that it might be him, but it never is. — “Is he sick?” Someone asks but Beomgyu only shakes his head, leaning back in his chair with a small huff, “beats me.” Ah, so he didn’t know either. Gnawing on your bottom lip, you’re suddenly filled with worry, was it because of what happened yesterday? Was he actually hurt by it? No, surely not, it was Choi Yeonjun after all. 

It’s not until the doors bursts open once more, revealing a disheveled Mimi, that realization slowly starts to set in. Her usually put together face is in ruins as makeup has been smeared across her cheeks. Heads turn in her direction as one of her friends guides her over to her desk. — “What happened?” A guy asks only to be hushed by her friend, quietly mouthing out the words: “he broke up with her.” 

Everyone seems to fall silent after that, allowing Mimi’s quiet sobs to fill the room as you wait for class to start. — He broke up with her… You blink, glancing down to the empty page in your notebook as you swallow. Did that also have anything to do with what happened yesterday? Once again you’re left feeling guilty, Yeonjun always seemed to make you feel that way. 

When your professor finally arrives, the lecture moves slowly, agonizingly so. And for once, you didn’t find any joy in your studies. Sure it might also have something to do with the persistent feeling of being watched. — Turning your head ever so slightly to the right, you find Soobin’s eyes locked on your unnerved frame. Not even when he knows that you’ve caught him does he turn away.

He continues to watch you throughout the day. Wherever you went, he seemed to be there too. Eyes boring into you at all times, an indifferent expression on his face. He knew something, that much you were sure of. 

⸝⸝

Finally, as your last lesson comes to an end, you manage to slip past Soobin’s prying gaze as you hurried down the stairs to meet Kai. The two of you had begun accompanying each other on the way home as you both took the bus from the same station. — You find him waiting by the entrance, a large smile plastered across his face and as soon as your eyes fell on him, all worries were washed away. 

“How was class?” He asks as you walk down the courtyard. You shrug, swinging your bag in front of you cheerily, “nothing out of the ordinary.” — “No mean comments, no nothing?” He wonders and you bite the inside of your cheek, “no…actually not.” After the news of Mimi’s breakup, everyone had fallen into this sort of trance where no one seemed to want to bring attention to themselves. Thus you had been left alone all day, which felt both nice and incredibly weird. 

Kai hums, the two of you were walking so close that your arms brushed together, but you didn’t mind. Once you reach the large gates leading out onto the streets however, you freeze. Stopping a pace in front of you, Kai turns to you with a small frown, “something wrong?” — You shake your head, “no…I just.. think I left a book behind, you go ahead.” 

He opens his mouth, as if to object but you quickly interrupt him, “it’s fine! I wouldn’t want you to miss your bus”, you reassure him as you offer a small smile. “Then what about you?” He wonders but you just wave it off in a disregarding manner, “I’ll take the next one, don’t worry about me.” He doesn’t seem entirely convinced but the small hug you give him makes him nod. “Alright, text me when you get home”, he says and you quickly agree as you send him off. 

You watch him disappear down the pavement with a small sigh. Not until he’s completely out of sight do you turn to cross the street. You walk with long and determined strides, not stopping until you reach the large tree by the sidewalk. — Yeonjun isn’t wearing his usual school uniform, instead he’s dressed in a dark pair of jeans, a black jacket wrapped around his torso to prevent the chilly December air from getting to him. He leans against the naked tree trunk, his gaze flickering from the concrete beneath him and over to you as you approach. 

Feet planting in front of his, you cross your arms as you peer up at him with an expectant look on your face. He doesn’t say anything, tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. Unable to bear the silence, you break it. “You didn’t come to school today.” You don’t know why you stated the obvious, perhaps you wanted him to explain himself, but he doesn’t, only nodding silently. 

Frustrated, you run a hand through your hair. He wanted to talk to you, right? That’s why he was waiting across the street from your college, openly risking being spotted by your classmates. So why wasn’t he saying anything? — Huffing out a short breath, you part your lips to say something, but he’s quicker than you. 

“I broke up with her”, he calmly states. His posture remains relaxed as he speaks but his eyes search yours with something akin to desperation. — “I know.” You mumble, biting the inside of your lip before continuing, “she was crying all day, did you know that?” He scoffs, “so?” His nonchalant approach made you frown, “so? Don’t you care?” Your question is met by the mere shake of his head as he shrugs, “no, do you?” 

“I do.” 

He hadn’t expected your answer, you could tell by the way his face dropped, if only for a moment. “Why? It’s not exactly like she’s a good person.” He jeers, shoving his hands deeper into the denim pockets of his jeans. “And you are?” Even though your voice remains steady, there’s a linger of hurt between your quiet words. — He goes silent in front of you as his gaze flits between yours and the entrance behind him. 

“Why are you even here, Yeonjun?” Your tone is near accusing and he looks almost guilty as his attention shifts back to you. He swallows, rubbing a hand along his neck, as if stalling for time. You bite your tongue, waiting patiently for him to speak. — “Why do you like him?”, he finally asks. It hardly took a genius to guess who he was referring to. 

You sigh, observing the way the naked branches of the tree moved against the mild breeze. “I told you, didn’t I?” You drawl, readjusting the bag swung over your shoulder. The corner of his mouth twitches as Yeonjun shakes his head, “that’s not what I wanted to hear.” — “And you think you’re in a position to make demands like that?” You snort, watching as he pushes himself off the tree before taking a step in your direction. 

Leaning back to glance up at him, you try your best to hold your ground as he tilts his head to the side, cocking a questioning eyebrow at you. “Then tell me what I need to do.” — Your mouth falls open as you gawk at him, what was he implying? Taking a step back only ends up with him taking yet another forward, his hands coming up from his pockets to rest on your shoulders. 

“Tell me how to be like him.” 

Slowly you realize just what he was asking of you. Immediately shaking your head, you take yet another step back. “It doesn’t work like that.” You quietly murmur, averting your gaze to avoid looking him in the eyes. He frowns, a confused frown, “sure it does”, he says, sounding almost hopeful as he grips your shoulders tighter. “Just tell me what I need to do and I’ll do it.” 

Did he honestly think that everything could be undone just like that? The pain, the tears, the bullying, that he could take it all back just because he wanted to? Just because he had a change of heart? The thought was almost as ridiculous as his proposal. — This was Choi Yeonjun, he wasn’t about to change his ways just because of you, you should know that. Whatever this was, this moment of confusion, it wouldn’t last, and you had to pull out before you got hurt, again. 

“I don’t know what you want from me…” You bite back the harsh insults waiting on your tongue, shaking your head once more. “I don’t know what it is, and I don’t care. Please just stop confusing me”, you almost beg as you try to pry his hands off of you. — Yeonjun looks perplexed as he lets you push him off. “Confusing you? I don’t–” 

“Do you think I’m stupid?” You retort, your voice growing in intensity as you failed to hold back the anger and resentment you held for him. “I let you screw me over, I let you use me, humiliate me, I put up with all of it, because…” You exhale, taking a step forward as you point an accusing finger to his chest. “Because at one point I thought that I liked you, but I don’t. I know exactly what you are and I know that you won’t change.” 

He frowns, his fingers wrapping around your wrist on his chest. “You don’t know the first thing about m-” — “I do.” You cut him off, aware of the way his jaw clenches as his grip on your wrist tightens. “I know that you cheat, you lie, you use people as you please, and worst of all, you don’t even feel guilty about it.” 

You tear yourself from his grasp, stumbling backward as you cradle your sore wrist. “I know far from everything about you”, you state, watching him bite the inside of his cheek as he fights off the remark he so desperately wished to fire. — “But I know that I hate you. And that’s enough reason for me to stay as far away from you as possible.” 

“So please, leave me the fuck alone.” 

As soon as you turn around to dart down the street, the tears spill from your eyes as you sob into your open palm. More than anything, you regret ever becoming infatuated with him. 

⸝⸝

Yeonjun didn’t come to school the following day either, nor the day after that. People stopped asking about him, only becoming disregarded by both Beomgyu and Soobin as the two kept to themselves. Yet the taller’s persistent stares remained as Soobin watched your every move, like a hawk stalking its prey. Even now, as you sat by your usual table, listening to Kai as he rambled on about a random topic, did you feel his gaze on you. 

“D-Did you hear me?” 

Kai’s hesitant voice snaps you from your trance as your eyes shift to his fidgety frame. Nervously twisting the hem of his uniform, he gives you a sheepish smile. You blink, “I…s–sorry what did you say?” You wonder, feeling a bit embarrassed by your lack of engagement as he spoke. But Kai only shakes his head, the tips of his ears turning pink as he clears his throat. “I was wondering if… if you would maybe want to study this weekend a-at my place?” 

You could tell that it had taken almost all his courage to ask the simple question. But somehow you find yourself comparing it to how easy such demands had fallen from Yeonjun’s lips as he shamelessly took whatever he wanted. Internally you curse yourself for letting your mind so comfortably shift to the subject of Yeonjun when you had tried so hard to forget about him. 

“Sure I would love to!” You smile, heart swelling at the endearing sight before you as Kai’s face practically explodes in an ocean of red. “R-Really?” He asks and you nod, “of course!” — You’re about to ask him what time would be suitable when suddenly a large shadow  is casted over your table. Squinting up your eyes lock with none other than Choi Soobin as he peers down at you with a vacant expression. 

“I need to talk to you.” He states in a monotone voice, jutting his chin toward the large entryway of the cafeteria. Your gaze flits between him and Kai as your friend shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “O-Okay”, you quietly mumble, giving Kai an apologetic look as you get up to trail after Soobin’s tall frame. 

He walks fast, and you almost have to jog in order to keep up. Pushing past the crowded hallways, Soobin doesn’t seem to mind the multiple glances shot his way. The two of you walk for a good five minutes without stopping, and just as you’re about to ask where you’re going, he comes to an abrupt halt, making you almost facepalm against his back.

With the light kick of his foot, the door to a vacant classroom swings open and he steps inside, seemingly waiting for you to do the same. — Once the door is shut behind you, he turns to lean against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. Nervously, you tug at the collar of your blazer as you glance around the dark room. 

You don’t think you had been alone with Soobin, ever. Nor did you think that you had ever heard him utter more than two words out loud. And he had never directed a single one to you. So to say that your current situation was surprising, would be a grave understatement. — You think a whole minute must have passed when he finally speaks. But the words coming out of his mouth made you wish for everything to be silent again. 

“What’s your deal with Yeonjun?” 

His voice is low, barely above a murmur, and deep too. Not at all like his snarky friends whose laughs would echo off the hallways. You swallow, hard, the sound is audible in the otherwise quiet room. Unlike Beomgyu, Soobin never once picked on you, nor did he join in when the others were laughing, at best or worst, he would give a small grin. — If it were Beomgyu you would at least expect him to be mad in a situation like this, but Soobin remains eerily calm as he watches you from a distance, just like he had these past three days. 

“I don’t think that’s any of your business”, you stand your ground, despite the fact that it felt as if the floor was literally shaking beneath you. He chuckles, it’s breathy, almost inaudible. “You don’t need to act so prideful, he’s told me everything about you.” — It feels as if all air has been knocked out of your lungs. So he did know something. 

“Everything?” You exhale, your breath near trembling. He gives a curt nod, “everything, except for why he isn’t here today”, he mutters, seemingly displeased with the fact. — A small frown etches its way to your face, lips parting in confusion. “I know you’ve got something to do with it.” He states, tilting his head back as he gazes up toward the ceiling. “But he won’t tell me what.” 

Biting the inside of your cheek, you glance down to the floor, the uneven wood planks suddenly seeming very intriguing. “I couldn’t possibly know why he–” — “Don’t bullshit me.” He snaps, his eyes flickering back to you within milliseconds. Your breath gets caught in your throat as you flinch, taking a small step back before your thighs hit the table behind you. Soobin ignores your skittish reactions as he continues. “I don’t know what he’s getting at, going for someone like you.” He says it with such distaste that it makes your skin crawl. 

Before you know it, he takes a step forward, then another one, and another one, until he’s got you caged against the desk. He doesn't say anything, one of his hands reaching into his pocket as he rummages through it. Pulling up a folded piece of paper, he shoves it into your open palm. “He asked me to give you this.” — He brushes his hand against his jeans as he takes a step back. 

“Fix whatever you caused.” Is all he says before turning on his heel to leave again. Upon yanking the door open, he’s met with Kai’s alarmed frame as he jumps to the side. Sparing him a mere side glance, Soobin shoves past him as he takes off down the hallway. — You shove the small paper in the pocket of your blazer as you walk over to your friend with a sheepish smile. “Hey how long have you been standing-”

“You and Yeonjun?” He asks, almost baffled as he eyes you, full of distrust. The smile immediately vanishes from your face and your throat suddenly goes dry. “W-What?” You ask, still not registering his question fully, hoping that maybe you had heard him wrong. Kai shakes his head, his jaw momentarily clenching. “Just how much exactly did you hear?” You quietly whisper. 

He gives you a small shrug, “enough.” — He sighs, looking almost defeated as he runs a hand through his blond hair. “I thought you…I mean the two of you, I never thought…” Frowning, he gives up with a small huff and you bite your lip, reaching out a hesitant hand to place on his shoulder, but he only jerks away from your touch. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He sounds hurt, you can tell he is. The guilt was slowly seeping back into your veins, Yeonjun always made you feel guilty, but this time…this time it was your own doing. “I’m sorry.” The apology is genuine, you hope he can tell. Because you really are sorry, sorry for not being honest with your only friend. 

Kai looks at you, his eyes hold so much pain that you wondered just how deep your lie had stung. “Do you like him?” He asks, his voice sounds strained, as if he was holding back tears. The question catches you off guard and you blink. Did you like him? No, of course not. You hated him. You hated Choi Yeonjun. 

“No, nevermind, don’t answer.” He shakes his head, “I don’t care.” — You fumble for words, wanting to say anything that would comfort him. It felt almost impossible. “I- I’m sorry I should’ve told you I–” — “Yeah you should’ve.” He bites back, his unusually harsh tone making you wince. “You should’ve told me a long time ago. Before I..” He cuts himself off, biting his cheek as his gaze drops to the floor. 

“Before what?” You quietly wonder, noting the way his shoulders slumped as he exhaled a shaky breath. “Before I liked you.” His voice is merely above a whisper, his attention strained to the floor as he refused to look you in the eyes. Your mouth falls open, it wasn’t like you were completely unaware. Kai’s lingering touches and stares didn’t go unnoticed but you had never imagined that his feelings ran this deep. 

“You like me?” 

He scoffs, dragging his feet leisurely in front of him. “I thought that was obvious.” He pauses, his gaze briefly meeting yours before fleeting down again, but it was just enough for you to catch the shiny layer of tears coating his lashes. You swallow, it felt almost as if you were about to throw up, the guilt slowly eating away at you. 

All you could do was stare at him with a stunned expression, not knowing what you could possibly say to mend the situation. Kai draws in a sharp breath before he wipes his face with the back of his hand. “It’s alright”, he mumbles, “it’s not your fault.” — Your heart might as well just have been ripped out and stepped on at this point. Why was he being so kind to you, when you so obviously didn’t deserve it. 

“We’re friends still…aren’t we?” He wonders, looking up from the floor with bloodshot eyes. “T-This doesn’t change anything, right?” — You wanted to tell him that this changed everything, that things might never be the same again. But you couldn’t, you couldn’t hurt him like that. So you shake your head, wrapping your arms around him as you hug him tight. “Of course not, Kai.” 

You wondered if things had turned out differently between the two of you, had you never gotten involved with Yeonjun. 

⸝⸝

It’s early, earlier than you’d like to admit as you leave your apartment that Sunday morning. The sun has yet to rise and the city is still asleep, but you haven't been able to shut your eyes and relax for the past three days. No, you had waited, dreaded, for this day to come. — The bus is almost empty, save for another young woman, but she looks far more comfortable than you as she rests her head against the window. 

The air is cold as you step off, and you hug your coat tighter around your body. You walk for about ten minutes before a large building comes into view. Pulling the small note from your pocket, you glance between the address scribbled down and the number on the building in front of you, they perfectly align. — The note, the one Soobin had so hastily shoved in your hand three days ago, the note you had reread at least a hundred times throughout the weekend. An address, a day, but not a time. — Perhaps you were a bit early, but as you trudged up the stairs, you no longer cared. You had waited for three whole days, you’d had enough. 

You take the stairs instead of the elevator. To get some exercise in, you tell yourself. But there was no mistaking the fact that you wanted to prolong the moment for as long as possible, despite your urgency to get here. — Finally, you reach the fifth floor, out of breath, you lean against the wall as you take a moment to gather yourself. 

The first time you read the note you had considered not showing up at all. It was a cowardly move to send his friend in his place. But at the same time, your mind longed for answers, answers that you would hopefully get today. — You bring the paper to your face, rereading it one final time. The address, the day, and the small sentence, at the very bottom. 

“Let’s talk, please.” 

Fine, if he wanted to talk, then you would talk. Your fingers curl into a fist, lightly tapping the dark wood. Had it been anyone else, you would’ve been mindful of the still early hour. But right now your mind was set on one thing alone. — Your heart beats obnoxiously loud in your chest, the wait seemingly eternal. 

Then the door creaks open. And as soon as your eyes fall on him, you can tell that he’s had trouble sleeping too. The bags under his eyes were a most unusual look, his hair too, laid messily sprawled on top of his head. He’s still dressed, almost as if he hadn’t gone to bed at all. — “Hi”, his voice is low, raspy, like he hadn’t spoken in days. You give him a small nod of acknowledgement and he steps aside as he lets you in. 

Yeonjun’s apartment is clean, minimalistically furnished. It wasn’t like you had ever tried to imagine what his home would look like, but this somehow felt just like him. Your gaze trails across the few paintings on the walls, you can tell that he hadn’t picked them himself, most likely they came with the flat. The white couch, situated by the large windows, catches your eye. 

Upon walking over and taking a seat, you find that Yeonjun does the same, maintaining a respectable distance as he glances down towards his hands. For a moment, everything is quiet. Part of you wished to stay like this forever. But that was of course impossible. — He clears his throat, shifting awkwardly on the sofa. “Do you want something to drink?” You bite your lip before nodding, “water’s fine.” 

He gets up, walking over to the joint kitchen as he turns on the faucet. You can hear him grabbing glasses, filling them to the brim before returning to place one in front of you on the marbled coffee table. Quietly thanking him, you take the glass, bringing it to your lips as you take a sip. You wait for him to speak first, he was after all, the one who had reached out. 

Yeonjun looked very different like this. In the comforts of his own home he resembled little of the person you had grown accustomed to in school. You wondered if he often brought people over, judging by how awkward he was acting, you supposed not. — He draws in a sharp breath, his gaze remaining downcast as he speaks. 

“You got my note..” He mumbles as you set your glass down. “I did”, you state, leaning back against the soft cushion as you turn your head in his direction. “Why didn’t you give it to me yourself?” You frown, feeling rather hurt by his choice of using his friend, his friend who definitely didn’t seem to like you. Yeonjun is silent, he’s silent for a good while, fingers intertwined with one another as he bites the inside of his cheek. 

“I was scared.” He quietly admits and your eyes widen at the confession. “Y-You were?” You can’t shield the surprise in your voice, Choi Yeonjun, scared? He scoffs, and for a moment, his usual self emerges as his face turns into a small scowl, but the way his eyes flicker as he speaks gives him away. “Of course I fucking was, I still am.” 

“Why?” 

He doesn’t answer straight away, as if considering his next words with great care. Running a hand through his disheveled hair, he lets out a small almost inaudible exhale. “Because I’m scared that I’ve fucked things up so bad this time… That there’s no going back.” — You uncomfortably shift on the couch as you distract yourself by taking another sip of your water. Yeonjun’s body is taut as his jaw clenches, refusing to even glance in your direction he keeps his gaze steadily fixed on the window in front of him as the darkness outside slowly shifts into a deep blue.  

“I want…” He slowly begins, his sentence falling short as he takes another couple of breaths. “I want to apologize.” You blink, your eyes shifting from the water in your glass and over to him, you don’t think you had ever heard him speak with such sincerity. — And for the first time since your arrival, he looks at you. He swallows, adam's apple bobbing as he does. 

“I’m sorry.” 

When you don’t say anything he hastily continues. “I know that it doesn’t fix shit, but I…I still need to say it. And if I could I would go back and undo all the pain I caused you, I really would. I don’t expect you to forgive me, quite frankly I don’t even expect you to ever talk to me again, I suppose that’s fair. But if I don’t tell you how sorry I am now, I’m afraid that I never will.” He takes a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before letting it go again, his shoulders slumping, almost like a deflating balloon. 

“So, I’m sorry…for everything.” 

He holds his tongue after that, gaze dropping down to his fingers once more. You don’t know how to feel, much less what to say. It was all so surreal. Hearing those words come out of his mouth felt almost like a fever dream and you wondered if you had perhaps managed to fall asleep after all and that this was just a fragment of your imagination, the universe pulling a sick prank on you. 

But then you turn to look at him. He’s nothing like the Yeonjun who had hurt you for so many weeks. Right now he looks small as he sits on the couch, biting the inside of his lip as he nervously rolls his thumbs together. In the end you realize that no matter how you feel, there’s only one thing you can say to him. 

“I forgive you.” 

He freezes, teeth letting go of his lip as he slowly lifts his head to peer over at you. An almost puzzled look paints his otherwise tired face, “you do?” He sounds almost disbelieving as he studies you with a wary expression. — You slowly nod, watching as his eyes widen with recognition, he swallows. Then everything becomes silent once more. This time it’s a different kind of silence, it’s not comfortable but the air somehow feels lighter, if only a little. 

You find yourself staring out the large windows. The sky had turned a deep orange now, shades of pink seeping through the cracks formed by the clouds. The darkness slowly makes way for the light as a new day rises before you. — You want to say something, now feels like a good moment to get things off your chest. But you can’t seem to find the words, your throat feels thick and it becomes hard to swallow.  

“Please like me instead.” 

At first you thought that you had imagined it. The faint whisper of his lips. But when he shuffles next to you on the couch, turning to face you fully, there’s no doubt about it. You tear your gaze from the warm sky as you glance over at him. In the morning light, Yeonjun looked like he was glowing. Despite the dark circles under his eyes, his dry lips, or even his unkempt hair; he looked truly beautiful. 

“What?” 

Your voice is soft, a low murmur, unsure and hesitant. He scoots closer, your knees touching as he places his hands on the cushion either side of him. “Like me instead. Instead of him.” Instead of Kai. He searches your gaze desperately as he bites his lip, leaning closer. — You don’t say anything, if you do, his statement would become real. You’re scared, you think. 

But he doesn’t give up. “I know that you hate me, but please, I can’t stand it when-”  

“I don’t hate you, Yeonjun.” 

His mouth shuts, and he blinks at you, confused, brows knitting together. “What?” — “But you said..” You shake your head, turning away as you feel tears prick in the corner of your eyes. You hated how easily he made you cry, even when he didn’t intend to. “I lied.” You confess, shame and guilt overflowing your senses. “Why?”

“Because I was scared.” 

As the words left your lips, you think that the two of you might not be so different after all. Maybe, just maybe. — Yeonjun doesn’t say anything, his attention dropping to your knees, barely grazing one another. His hand on the sofa twitches, as if he held himself back from reaching out, from touching you. 

“I was scared of liking you.” Your quiet whisper felt like a weight being lifted off your shoulders. A small murmur was all it had taken, so why had it seemed so hard? — His gaze shifts back to your face, his eyes wide as his lips part in surprise. “You were right all along”, you give him a half hearted smile, watching as his frown deepened. “I’ve always liked you”, you swallow, “even when I didn't want to.”   

A pang of guilt takes over his expression for a moment as he internally cringes at your words, more so his own actions. “I thought it would go away if I told myself that I hated you.” You shake your head, glossy eyes dropping to your hands, the first tears threatening to escape at any moment. “It never did.” Your vision slowly becomes blurred as you blink away the salty droplets that fell down your cheeks. 

You can barely see it, but you can feel it, the warm caress of his hand on your cheek. It feels nice, comforting, you don’t push him off, you don’t want to. He wipes your tears, the very same that he had caused. The faint whisper of yet another apology lingering on his lips. — Then he hesitates, you never saw Yeonjun hesitating, he always took what he wanted, did as he pleased. But you can tell that he’s uncertain of his next move. His eyes flickering between your teary eyes and parted lips. 

In the end he decides to be brave. Slowly initiating what had been on both of your minds for weeks now. But when his lips meet yours, it feels different, this kiss is nothing like your previous ones. It holds no guilt, no shame, no secrets, it doesn’t feel forced nor desperate. It feels like an apology, remorseful of the past, and like a promise, a vow to the future. You can tell that he expects you to pull back, to tell him off, just like you had days prior. 

Instead you cling to him, part of you thinks that this might be just what you need, another part says it’s stupid and reckless. But in the end, you want to be brave too. Even if that meant being stupid and reckless. — The stupid and reckless part of you lets him push you back against the soft cushion, lets him kiss you deeper, lets his hands trail across your body. 

“I’m sorry.” He chants it like a prayer, littering your body in the light caress of his lips. You know he means it, every kiss, every touch, every apology. — His hair feels soft between your fingers, you twist the strands lightly, feeling him sigh against your skin. Yeonjun was usually one to talk in moments like these, but today there are no sarcastic remarks on his tongue. He’s quiet, attentively listening to the hitch of your breath, the small moan passing your lips, he doesn’t want to miss a single thing. 

He tugs your tights off, his hands immediately soothing the goosebumps erupting on your naked skin. You think he looks pretty like this, basked in the first rays of sunshine, half lidded eyes rapidly moving as he trails them across every inch of your body. — His lips return to yours, fingers sliding between your legs just like they had so many times before, but this time it’s different, everything is. 

He touches you slowly, he pays attention, he wants to know exactly how he makes you feel. Treating you as if you were made out of glass, worshiping you as if you were made out of gold. You become hyper aware of the way his body moves against yours, the soft pattern of his fingers sending sparks through your stomach. 

You had been intimate with Yeonjun more times than you could remember. Yet as he lines himself up alongside you, it suddenly feels like the first. It feels new, nervous, perhaps even a little scary. But that was okay, you knew that he was scared too. — He goes slow, savoring the moment as his face rests in the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry.” He can’t stop saying it, it’s never enough, it never makes up for the damage he’s created, he knows it. But you forgive him, you would continue to forgive him for eternity if he apologized for as long. 

He groans against you, his voice is near trembling. Your hands are on his back, feeling the smooth surface of his skin, then they’re tangled in his hair, pulling him to look at you. For the first time it feels as if you’re seeing him clearly. Behind the lying, the cheating, the bullying, it was just him. Just Yeonjun. 

As soon as the first tear rolls down his cheek, you kiss him. Tasting the saltiness on your lips, he sobs into your mouth. His chest heaves against yours, his once slow and deliberate thrusts becoming jagged and uneven as he fights to stay composed. You want to say something, but you don’t know what. Instead you pull him closer, so close that you can’t feel anything but his body against yours. 

You stay like that, melted against one another. Hours pass, neither of you seem to mind. His breath is warm against your chest, your fingers are soft in his hair. The silence is light, comforting, reassuring. Your mind is filled with him, he’s all you can think about, all you want to think about. You know he feels the same, it’s comforting to know. It’s also scary, you’re not sure if you’re ready. But even then, you’ll at least be scared together, just the two of you. 

It’s nice to not be alone. 

⸝⸝

Monday morning also feels different. Maybe because you’re walking down the hallway side by side, you and Yeonjun. People stare, he tells you to ignore them, you try, and it works. You glance over at him, he looks happy, his step is light, his arm securely wrapped around your waist. You find yourself smiling, biting the inside of your cheek as you gaze ahead. 

It’s not until you reach the all too familiar door, leading into your classroom, that you halt. Confused, Yeonjun stops a pace in front of you. “Is something wrong?” He asks as he studies your nervous posture, your eyes flickering between the now almost empty hallway and the door in front of you. The corridors were one thing, but the classroom held so many memories. Memories that wouldn’t just vanish over a day.

He notices your hesitation, a small smile tugging at his lips as he shakes his head. He reaches out, his warm hand enveloping yours as he grips it firmly. You glance between your interlocked fingers, and the small grin splayed across his face. — “I’ve got you, nerd.” 

The small reassurance makes you smile, and you nod, letting him tug you closer as Yeonjun pushes the classroom door open.

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A cup of coffee slid into your line of vision. You blinked, slowly lifting your head to see the familiar figure dropping into the seat beside you.

“Rough night?” Taehyun asked, amusement laced in his voice.

You didn’t answer, just wrapped both hands around the coffee like it was a lifeline and nodded your thanks. You took a sip, the bitter warmth cutting through the fog in your brain, and exhaled through your nose.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he pressed.

You finally peeled off your glasses and turned to him with a deadpan expression. “Do I look like I had a peaceful night?”

Taehyun let out a soft laugh. “No. You look like someone who made a lot of bad decisions and is currently regretting all of them.”

You sighed. “That’s exactly what happened.”

Taehyun was one of the few people in this building you actually liked. As a manager for a junior HYBE group, he wasn’t directly involved in your work, but somehow, over shared coffee breaks and snarky side comments during meetings, you had become friends. He was calm, observant, and, most importantly, he never judged you when you showed up like this.

“Who dragged you out last night?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Yunjin,” you mumbled, rubbing your temple.

Taehyun whistled. “That explains it. She doesn’t just go out—she goes out.”

“Tell me about it.” You shook your head. For a few moments, you just sat there, sipping your coffee in comfortable silence. The caffeine was starting to work, clearing the fog in your brain just enough for you to remember why you had dragged yourself out of bed in the first place.

“Anyway,” Taehyun said, as if reading your mind, “you think you got it?”

You glanced at him. “Got what?”

“The ENHYPEN album. You think you landed the producer role?”

You exhaled slowly, fingers tapping against your coffee cup. “Yeah. I mean, I should. I have the best pitch. It’s mine to lose.”

Taehyun hummed, watching you carefully. “Unless…”

You groaned, already knowing where this was going. “Unless the company decides to give it to Beomgyu.”

His lips quirked up slightly, but he didn’t deny it. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. If there was one person in this entire company who got under your skin more than anyone else, it was Choi Beomgyu. Beomgyu, your so-called “rival.” Beomgyu, the golden boy of the production team. Beomgyu, the one person standing between you and total creative dominance.

Since the moment you started working at HYBE, the two of you had been locked in a never-ending competition. You were both young, both talented, and both desperate to prove you were the best. Every project turned into a silent battle. Every meeting became a chance to outshine each other. Every time you thought you had the upper hand, he came back swinging with something better.

And, worst of all, he was good. As much as you hated to admit it, Beomgyu was one of the most talented producers in the company. His compositions were sharp, his sound design was clean, and when he wasn’t being an arrogant pain in your ass, he actually had an ear for what made a song great. But that didn’t make him any less infuriating.

“He’s been talking about it a lot,” Taehyun said, watching your reaction.

“Of course, he has,” you muttered. “He loves the sound of his own voice.”

Before Taehyun could press you, your phone buzzed with a notification. Your stomach flipped when you saw the email preview on your screen.

[HYBE Entertainment] Producer Assignment for ENHYPEN’s Next Album

Taehyun caught the way your shoulders tensed. “Well?”

You swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and opened it. And then, in bold letters, you saw it:

Lead Producers: Y/N & Choi Beomgyu.

You stared at the screen, unblinking.

Taehyun leaned over. “So?”

Slowly, you turned to him. “I hate this company.”

You barely had time to process your misery before you were ushered into one of the production meeting rooms. The headache was still lingering, but the coffee had helped enough that you could at least pretend to be functioning.

Across the table sat Baekhyun, ENHYPEN’s main A&R manager, flipping through a thick binder filled with concepts, references, and scribbled notes. He was in his mid-thirties, sharp-eyed and always impossibly put-together, the kind of guy who could walk into any room and immediately command attention.

“You look like hell,” he said, not even bothering with a greeting.

“Good morning to you too,” you muttered, dropping into your chair.

Baekhyun smirked, but didn’t push further. Instead, he slid the binder toward you. “Alright, let’s get to it. This is going to be ENHYPEN’s biggest album yet. They’re growing like crazy, and we need something that reflects that—something bold, mature, but still fresh.”

You nodded, flipping through the pages. There were mood boards, keywords, visual concepts—deep reds, blacks, a contrast of sharp and soft. “So, a sexy vibe,” you noted.

“Sexy, but not just for the sake of being sexy,” Baekhyun clarified. “It’s not about being provocative, it’s about confidence, about knowing your worth and expressing it. It needs to feel natural, not forced.”

“Got it,” you said, scanning a page filled with song references—everything from dark R&B to stripped-back acoustic ballads. “And the sound?”

“We want duality,” Baekhyun said, leaning forward. “Something sleek, something intense, but balanced with softer, more emotional tracks. Like… a contrast between the chase and the catch.”

You smirked. “So basically, heartbreak wrapped in temptation.”

Baekhyun snapped his fingers. “Exactly.”

You nodded, your mind already racing with ideas. This was the kind of project you thrived on, creating an album that told a story, something cohesive but layered, something that felt alive.

“I can already hear it,” you murmured, flipping to a blank page and jotting down rough ideas. “We need instrumentals that hit deep, a mix of live elements and modern production. R&B basslines, warm analog synths, breathy vocals in the right places…”

Baekhyun grinned. “See? This is why I knew you were the right person for this.” Your ego swelled, but before you could respond, he casually added— “And why Beomgyu is the perfect person to work on this with you.”

Just like that, your mood soured. You shut the binder and looked up at him, unimpressed. “Really?”

Baekhyun laughed. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying—”

“You’re just saying that you don’t like him. Which, frankly, is why this is going to be so interesting.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “We have completely different styles.”

“Which is exactly why this works. You bring structure, he brings unpredictability. You focus on energy, he focuses on emotion. You push each other, even when you don’t realize it.” You groaned, but you knew he wasn’t wrong. Baekhyun leaned back, watching you with an amused glint in his eyes. “You know, if you two weren’t so busy trying to one-up each other all the time, you might actually make a great team.”

You scoffed. “Doubtful.” Baekhyun only shrugged, a knowing smile on his face. You sighed, standing up and gathering your notes. “Fine. If this album flops, I’m blaming you.”

He smirked. “Noted.”

You turned toward the door, bracing yourself for the inevitable headache that would come from working directly with Beomgyu for the next few months. But as soon as you pulled it open, you nearly walked straight into someone.

Someone tall, with long black hair falling messily over sharp eyes that gleamed with something infuriatingly smug. His features were all sharp angles and effortless confidence, full lips curled into a smirk, the kind that made your blood pressure spike before he even said a word.

Choi Beomgyu.

Dressed in an oversized black hoodie layered under a leather jacket, silver chains peeking out from the neckline, and ripped jeans that looked both expensive and carelessly thrown on, he looked every bit like the type of person who thrived in controlled chaos. Like someone who knew exactly how to get under your skin and enjoyed every second of it. And he always made it look easy.

Your stomach twisted, not with nerves, not with excitement, but with that same frustrating mixture of irritation and awareness that always came with him. Because no matter how much you tried to ignore it, Beomgyu had a presence. The kind that made a room feel smaller when he walked in, like he pulled all the energy toward himself without even trying.

He was leaning casually against the doorframe, like he had been waiting for you to walk straight into him. His dark eyes flickered down at you, amused. He chuckled, stepping aside just enough for you to pass. But before you could make your escape, Baekhyun called from inside the room—

“Beomgyu, perfect timing. Y/N and I were just talking about how great you two are going to be working together.”

You clenched your jaw. Beomgyu turned to you, raising an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“No,” you deadpanned. “We weren’t.”

Beomgyu grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Too bad, cause I think we’re going to have so much fun.”

You took a slow breath, reminding yourself that murder was illegal. Then, without another word, you pushed past him and walked out of the room. Behind you, you could hear him laugh under his breath.

This was going to be hell.

By the time you finally stepped out of the HYBE building, the sky had already melted into deep shades of indigo. The day had been long, hours spent inside the studio, fine-tuning beats, layering harmonies, trying to shape the skeleton of a project that didn’t even exist yet. Your brain felt like mush, the melodies still buzzing in your head like an overplayed song on repeat.

You shoved your hands into your jacket pockets, letting the cool night air wake you up a little as you made your way toward the subway. Your body ached, exhaustion settling into your bones, but your mind wouldn’t shut up.

It was annoying how easy it was to think about the project, how ideas kept forming without you even trying. Even more annoying? The realization that, in some twisted way, Beomgyu was actually a good fit for this album. You hated that it made sense.

Because as much as you wanted to believe you could do this on your own, you weren’t stupid. You knew your strengths, you were a producer first, a composer second. Melodies came naturally to you, the kind that could make someone feel something without even needing lyrics. But lyrics weren’t your strong suit. You could write, sure, but not the way Beomgyu could.

That was the problem. He was good. And he knew he was good.

His songwriting had this effortless quality, like he wasn’t just writing songs, he was telling stories. He knew how to take a concept and turn it into something that felt real. And if this album was supposed to be all about desire, longing, and the push-and-pull of emotions, then yeah, maybe he was the right person for this. But you’d rather die than admit that out loud.

With a tired sigh, you pushed the thought away as your train pulled up to the station. You just needed to go home, take a hot shower, and vent to the one person who wouldn’t hesitate to call you out on your bullshit.

By the time you unlocked the door to your apartment, you could already hear the faint sound of music playing from the living room.

Yeonjun was sprawled across the couch, laptop balanced on his stomach, probably tweaking some mix for one of his own projects. He worked at SM, but somehow, despite the constant rivalry between companies, the two of you had ended up as roommates.

Not that it was surprising. You had known each other for years, long before either of you had started working in the industry. Your friendship had survived everything: late-night study sessions in college, chaotic moving days, and now, the shared struggle of being overworked producers.

When you enter your place, the smell of something warm and familiar wrapped around you instantly. “You cooked?” Your voice came out halfway between shock and suspicion.

Yeonjun, who was also eating his ramen, looked up to give you an unimpressed look. “First of all, rude.”

You let out a breathy laugh, kicking off your shoes. “I mean, last time you ‘cooked,’ we almost set off the fire alarm, so forgive me for being a little traumatized.”

Yeonjun rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he gestured toward the table, where two bowls were already set out. “Sit. Eat. You look like you just survived a war.”

You groaned, dragging yourself to a chair. “I feel like I just survived a war.”

He lifted up, and sat across from you, resting his chin in his hand as he watched you take the first bite. The warmth of the broth was immediate, soothing the tightness in your chest that you hadn’t even realized was there. Yeonjun waited until you had eaten a little before speaking again, voice softer now. “Long day?”

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders. “Yeah. But…” You paused, picking at your noodles with your chopsticks. “I got it.”

Yeonjun blinked. “Got what?”

“The Enhypen album,” you said, finally looking at him. “Baekhyun gave me the project.”

For a second, he just stared at you. Then, his face lit up. “Oh, shit!” He practically lunged over the table to shake your shoulders. “Y/N, that’s huge! Why didn’t you say that first?”

You laughed, swatting his hands away. “I was getting there!”

“You deserve this,” he said, grinning as he leaned back again. “Seriously, they couldn’t have picked anyone better. I knew this was yours.”

His words sent a strange warmth through your chest, one that had nothing to do with the ramen. “Thanks,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I really wanted it.”

Yeonjun’s smile softened. “And now you have it.” Then, after a beat—“Wait, this means you’ll be locked in the studio for months. I’m never gonna see you.”

You snorted. “Please. You’ll be begging me to stop ranting about synth layers by the end of next week.”

“Okay, yeah, probably.” He smirked. “So, what’s the concept?”

You sat back, letting your head rest against the chair as you thought about it. “Sexy, but in a romantic way. Like… polished, expensive. Desire, but not in a loud way. It’s supposed to be smooth. Mature. A little dangerous, but still aching for something real.”

Yeonjun let out a low whistle. “Damn. Sounds like a dream album.”

You nodded, your fingers drumming absentmindedly against the table. “I spent all day trying to build a soundscape that fits that vibe. The melodies are coming together, but…” You hesitated. “It’s missing something.”

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow. “What?”

You exhaled, tapping your chopsticks against your bowl. “Lyrics.”

He didn’t say anything, just tilted his head, waiting. You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Baekhyun thinks it’s the kind of album that needs a really strong lyrical identity. It has to feel intentional. Like every word matters. And… I get it. But that’s not really my strong suit, you know?”

Yeonjun nodded, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “So… you need a songwriter.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. And that’s the problem. Because Baekhyun already assigned me one.”

Yeonjun’s lips curled at the edges. “Lemme guess.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Yep.”

His grin stretched wider. “Beomgyu.”

You pointed your chopsticks at him. “Don’t start.”

He just laughed, leaning back against his chair. “I mean, I get it. He’s good. And if the concept is all about longing, I hate to admit it, but that’s his thing.”

You exhaled sharply. “I know. That’s what’s pissing me off.”

Yeonjun chuckled. “So what, you guys are just gonna be stuck in a studio together for the next few months?”

You poked at your ramen. “Pretty much.”

“You gonna survive that?”

You scoffed. “I’ll manage.”

Yeonjun gave you a knowing look. “You say that now, but I know you. You’re gonna drive yourself insane over this.”

You groaned. “Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

He nudged your foot under the table. “Hey. For what it’s worth, I think this is gonna be good for you.”

You frowned. “How?”

“Because,” he said simply, “Beomgyu pushes you. You hate it, but you need it. And whether you want to admit it or not, the two of you working together? It’s gonna make something insane.”

You stared at him for a long moment, then sighed, dropping your head onto the table dramatically. “Why do you have to be so right all the time?”

He laughed, reaching over to ruffle your hair. “It’s a curse.”

You swatted his hand away, but the heaviness in your chest felt a little lighter. Maybe Yeonjun was right. Maybe this was exactly what you needed. But still, if Beomgyu so much as breathed wrong, you were going to kill him.

The sound of your alarm was the first thing you registered. Sharp, insistent, and entirely too aggressive for this early in the morning You groaned, rolling onto your side to slap at your phone blindly. A soft knock came from your door.

“You alive in there?” Yeonjun’s voice was muffled but amused.

“Barely,” you grumbled.

The door creaked open slightly. “You’ve got ten minutes before I leave. If you’re not ready, I’m not waiting.”

Liar. He always waited. Still, you forced yourself up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You barely had time to throw on some semi-presentable clothes before you were slipping into Yeonjun’s car.

The drive was comfortable, filled with sleepy silence and whatever playlist Yeonjun had on shuffle. Every now and then, he’d hum along to a song or tap his fingers against the steering wheel, the familiarity of it making your exhaustion a little easier to bear.

“Big day?” he asked eventually.

You sighed. “Yeah.”

Yeonjun glanced at you. “You nervous?”

You shook your head. “No. Just… mentally preparing myself.”

He smirked. “For the album or for Beomgyu?”

You shot him a glare. “Drop me off right here. I’ll walk.”

He snorted, pulling up in front of the HYBE building. “Good luck,” he said as you unbuckled your seatbelt. “Try not to freak out.”

“No promises,” you muttered, stepping out.

As you made your way inside, the familiar hum of the building’s early morning routine surrounded you, employees shuffling in, conversations murmuring in the background, the faint notes of music drifting from a nearby studio. Your first stop, as always, was the company café. You needed caffeine. But as you approached the counter, your mood soured instantly.

Because standing there—already engaged in conversation—was none other than Beomgyu.

And he wasn’t alone. Taehyun, of all people, was with him, the two of them deep in discussion. The sight made your stomach twist weirdly. You had always found it strange how someone as levelheaded as Taehyun could willingly spend so much time with him.

You weren’t sure what they were talking about, but the second Taehyun spotted you, his face lit up. “Morning, Y/N,” he greeted, completely oblivious to the way your eyes immediately locked onto Beomgyu.

“Morning,” you replied, forcing yourself to focus on Taehyun instead. “Didn’t know you two were having a little coffee date.”

Taehyun rolled his eyes, but Beomgyu, ever the opportunist, smirked. “Jealous?” he asked.

You scoffed. “Of what, exactly?”

Beomgyu shrugged, stirring his coffee lazily. “Me. Him. This moment of pure camaraderie.”

You gave him a deadpan look. Taehyun sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know why I even try.”

Before you could respond, Beomgyu leaned against the counter, regarding you with that ever-present smugness. “Baekhyun told you about the meeting, right?”

You narrowed your eyes. “What meeting?”

Beomgyu’s smirk widened. “Figures.”

You groaned. “Beomgyu.”

The songwriter just lifted his cup to his lips, clearly enjoying this. He swallowed his sip of coffee, dragging out the silence before finally saying, “Baekhyun scheduled a meeting for us. With Heeseung.”

Your brows furrowed. “Heeseung?”

“He’s co-producing some of the album,” Taehyun explained. “He’s been really hands-on with this comeback.”

You nodded slowly. You had known Heeseung was involved, but this was the first you were hearing about an actual meeting. “So when is this happening?” you asked.

Beomgyu glanced at his watch. “In about… twenty minutes.”

You inhaled sharply. “Are you serious?”

Beomgyu grinned. “What? You need more time to prepare?”

You opened your mouth, probably to say something regrettable, but Taehyun quickly stepped in. “Okay, let’s not start this before a meeting.” He shot you both a pointed look. “Try to behave, yeah?”

You exhaled sharply, turning back to the counter to grab your coffee. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.” You turned on your heel, shooting him one last glare before heading for the conference room. This was going to be a long day.

The conference room is sleek, all clean lines and soundproofed walls, but the air inside feels thick with expectation. You lean against the table, arms crossed, trying not to let the weight of the situation sink in too much. Across from you, Beomgyu sits with his usual careless ease, twirling a pen between his fingers like he’s got all the time in the world.

Baekhyun flips through the binder of notes, while Heeseung sits beside him, watching everything with that sharp, unreadable gaze of his. Heeseung is a lot of things, an incredible performer, a perfectionist, and most of all, observant. Even now, you can feel him studying you and Beomgyu, picking up on things you aren’t even saying out loud.

"Alright," Baekhyun says, snapping the binder shut. "This album is going to be big, but we need it to feel cohesive. That’s why I brought you three together." He nods toward Heeseung. "Heeseung's been working on the overall creative direction with the group, so he’s got a vision for the sound. But you two—" he looks between you and Beomgyu, "—need to bring that vision to life."

Heeseung leans forward, clasping his hands together. "I have some ideas for the emotional beats of the album. I think it should feel… layered. Not just desire for the sake of desire, but something deeper. Craving, frustration, vulnerability. The kind of push-and-pull that makes people feel something."

You nod, already picturing melodies in your head. "I get that. It can’t just be surface-level. The production has to carry that duality too, something sleek but aching underneath."

Beomgyu hums beside you, finally paying attention. "I like that. But we can’t overcomplicate it. It still has to hit immediately, you know? If the production is too… pretty, it won’t land."

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. "I wasn’t planning on making it ‘pretty.’"

His lips curve into a smirk. "You say that, but your demos always start out all delicate before you drown them in atmosphere."

You scoff, but before you can fire back, you remember something. You pull out your phone, scrolling through your files. "Actually, I have something. It’s just an idea, but…" You trail off as you connect to the speaker and press play.

The room fills with the soft hum of synths, a deep bassline kicking in a second later. The melody is restrained, almost hesitant, but there’s tension in it, a slow build that promises something bigger. Baekhyun leans back in his chair, nodding along, his fingers drumming lightly against his knee. Heeseung listens with his head tilted slightly, his brows furrowed in thought.

But it’s Beomgyu you’re watching.

His usual air of disinterest is gone. He’s listening—actually listening—his fingers absentmindedly tapping a rhythm against the table. His lips part slightly, his head tilts, and then, without saying a word, he grabs his notebook, flips to a blank page, and starts writing.

You should be annoyed. Maybe you are. But more than that, you’re intrigued. Because you recognize this version of him, the one who isn’t just all cocky smirks and sharp remarks, but the one who gets lost in the music the same way you do. The one who doesn’t just hear songs, he feels them.

And maybe it’s because you recognize it, or maybe it’s because you can already hear something forming in your own mind, but before you even realize it, you’re reaching for a pen.

The two of you don’t speak at first. You don’t need to. Beomgyu jots something down in a messy scrawl, then taps the edge of his notebook twice before turning it toward you.

Won't you give it to me? Our secret

You stare at it for a second, then shake your head. "Too direct," you murmur, crossing out a word with your pen. You rewrite it underneath—

Won't you let me in? Our secret

Beomgyu’s eyes flicker with something—approval, maybe, or just excitement—and he immediately scribbles something in return, adjusting the cadence of the next line to fit. Back and forth, line by line, the song starts to take shape. He throws out a melody, you refine it. You hum a transition, he finds a way to make it sharper.

At some point, you pull your chair closer without thinking, angling yourself toward him as you lean over his notebook. He shifts too, elbows resting on the table, so close now that you can feel the warmth of his arm next to yours. His knee bumps against yours, but neither of you moves away.

Your phone is still connected to the speaker, and every now and then, you pause to tweak the demo, adjusting a chord, adding a reverb effect, testing how the lyrics sit against the melody. The more you work, the more the energy builds.

It’s like a high. The thrill of chasing an idea, of catching it just before it slips away. Baekhyun exhales a quiet laugh, finally breaking the silence. "Well, damn," he mutters, amused.

You glance up, only now remembering that he and Heeseung are still in the room.Heeseung is watching the two of you with his arms crossed, one brow raised like he’s witnessing something he wasn’t expecting. "Is this how you two always work?"

Beomgyu leans back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head like he didn’t just spend the last twenty minutes hyper-focused beside you. "We've never worked together"

Baekhyun smirks. "That's a shame."

You open your mouth to argue, but then you stop. Because the truth is, you don’t actually know how to explain it. You and Beomgyu have spent so much time trying to one-up each other that you’ve never really thought about what it feels like when you work together.

And maybe you don’t want to think about it too much now, either.

Beomgyu is watching you, his expression unreadable, like he’s waiting to see what you’ll say. You hesitate for half a second, then roll your eyes, reaching over to shut your notebook.

And maybe it’s just the adrenaline from the session, or maybe it’s something else entirely, but as you gather your things, you can’t shake the feeling that this—whatever just happened between you and Beomgyu—is something you’re going to be chasing again.

The moment you step into the hallway, you exhale, feeling the lingering buzz of the brainstorming session still thrumming under your skin. Your mind is moving too fast, melodies and lyrics weaving together even as you try to shake them off.

Before you get too far, Heeseung catches up to you, matching your pace effortlessly. "That was impressive," he says, hands tucked into his pockets.

You glance at him, eyebrows raised. "What was?"

He smiles knowingly. "Don’t play dumb. The way you and Beomgyu just… locked in like that. You guys have a really strong creative dynamic."

You scoff. "Please. It was a one-time thing."

Heeseung just hums in amusement. "Sure," he says, voice dripping with skepticism. "But seriously, I really liked what you did with the demo. That shift in the pre-chorus? That was smart."

The unexpected praise makes your steps falter slightly. You work with a lot of talented people, but compliments from someone like Heeseung, who has an ear for every small detail, actually mean something. "Thanks," you mutter. "Still needs work, though."

Heeseung nods. "Yeah, but that’s what makes it exciting. You and Beomgyu had some really solid ideas in there. I can already tell this album is gonna be something special."

There’s something in his voice, genuine, excited. It’s the same kind of excitement you feel when a song starts coming together, when you can hear the final product before it even exists.

And maybe—just maybe—that feeling is stronger now because of how easily you and Beomgyu fell into rhythm together. Not that you’re going to admit that.

Before you can respond, you hear footsteps approaching. Beomgyu slows as he reaches the two of you, glancing between you and Heeseung with mild curiosity. "What’s this? A secret meeting?"

You roll your eyes. Heeseung chuckles, shaking his head. "Relax, man. I was just telling Y/N how good that session was. You guys really work well together."

Beomgyu gives you a look, something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he tilts his head toward Heeseung. "You heading out?"

"Yeah," Heeseung nods. "But I’ll catch up with you guys later."

With that, he gives you one last easy smile before walking off, leaving you alone with Beomgyu. Big mistake. The second Heeseung disappears down the hall, Beomgyu turns to you with a lazy grin. "So," he drawls, "what did he say about me?"

You narrow your eyes. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he says, shifting his weight against the wall. "Did he say I was a genius? A lyrical mastermind? The only reason this album is gonna be good?"

You glare. "Wow, and here I was thinking you couldn’t possibly get more unbearable."

Beomgyu just laughs, completely unfazed. "I’m serious, though. You should really start getting used to working with me. I mean, if this first session was any proof, we make a great team."

You cross your arms. "Yeah, alright"

Beomgyu tilts his head. "Anyway, I’m gonna be in my studio for a bit—working on some ideas. You know, since I’m so dedicated."

You raise an eyebrow. "And this concerns me how?"

His smirk is instant, sharp. "Because, genius, that demo we worked on still isn’t finished. And if I remember correctly, you’re kind of obsessed with making things perfect."

You exhale through your nose, already feeling the trap he’s setting. "I’ll work on it on my own."

"Sure, sure," he muses, rocking back on his heels. "Except… we both know it’s better when we do it together."

You roll your eyes. "I don’t ‘do things together’ with you, Beomgyu."

He grins, leaning in slightly. "You did today." Your fingers twitch at your sides. You hate that he’s right. You hate that, for a moment, working with him didn’t feel like a battle, it felt electric.

Beomgyu seems to know exactly what you’re thinking, because he shrugs, all casual confidence. "I mean, if you wanna waste time trying to fix it alone, be my guest. But you saw how fast we worked together. We could probably finish a whole verse in an hour—less, if you don’t get distracted staring at me."

You scoff. "Oh my god. You're unbelievable."

"You keep saying that, but you still haven’t said no."

You open your mouth to argue, but then, against all logic, you hesitate. Because he’s right. Again. For as much as you can’t stand him, the truth is undeniable: when you and Beomgyu get into that creative zone, things happen. He watches you carefully, amusement flickering in his dark eyes as you consider it. Finally, with a heavy sigh, you relent. "Fine. Maybe I’ll stop by later."

Beomgyu beams, clearly way too pleased with himself. "Knew you would."

"Don’t get cocky."

"Too late," he says, already turning to leave. But just as he starts walking away, he throws one last remark over his shoulder— "Can’t wait to see how long you last before you come running to my studio."

You swear under your breath, clenching your fists. That smug little—No. You’re not letting him get to you. You pull out your phone, ignoring the way your heartbeat is still uneven, and type out a quick text.

[you]: are you at the company?

Taehyun responds almost instantly.

[taehyun]: Just finished up. Why? [you]: meet me outside [taehyun]: …Are you about to fight someone? [you]: just fucking get there jesus

Shoving your phone back into your pocket, you reach for the crumpled pack of cigarettes in your jacket. It’s a bad habit—one you don’t let yourself fall into often—but it’s always been your go-to when you feel like you might actually explode.

You light up, inhaling deeply, letting the nicotine settle in your lungs as you lean against the wall. The city hums around you, cars passing, distant chatter from people walking by, but your head is still full of Beomgyu. His smirk, his voice, the way he gets under your skin so damn easily.

You take another slow drag. A few minutes later, footsteps approach, and then—

"You really need to quit that," Taehyun says, stepping up beside you.

You exhale, watching the smoke dissipate into the night air. "Yeah, yeah."

He looks at you for a moment, then sighs. "Beomgyu?"

You shoot him a glare. "I hate how predictable that was."

Taehyun just laughs, shaking his head as he leans against the wall next to you. "Alright. Tell me what happened."

And you do. Between slow drags of your cigarette and exasperated hand gestures, you let it all out. Beomgyu’s arrogance, his teasing, the way he makes you want to strangle him and throw yourself into another session with him at the same time. Taehyun listens, nodding along, his expression somewhere between amused and exasperated.

When you finally finish, he exhales, running a hand through his hair. "You know," he says, "for someone who ‘hates’ working with him, you sure as hell can’t stop talking about him."

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. "I swear to god, if you say one more thing—"

"Relax," he grins, bumping his shoulder against yours. "I’m just saying. If this keeps up, this album’s gonna be fun to watch."

"Fun," you mutter, taking one last drag of your cigarette before flicking it away. "Yeah, sure. If Beomgyu doesn’t kill me first."

Taehyun snorts. "I dunno. You’re the one smoking like you’ve just seen your life flash before your eyes." You shoot him a glare, but he just grins. Taehyun shifts beside you. "So, you’re going this weekend, right?"

You frown. "Going where?"

"The HYBE party," he says, like it should be obvious. "Producers, execs, big names—basically a ‘who’s who’ of the industry."

You make a face. "Oh. That thing."

"Yes, that thing," he deadpans. "Don’t tell me you weren’t invited."

"I was."

"And?"

"And I ignored it."

Taehyun groans. "Of course you did."

You roll your eyes. "Why would I waste my time going to that? It's just a bunch of industry people getting drunk and kissing each other’s asses."

"Yeah," he says, "and that’s exactly why you should be there."

You huff, leaning back against the wall. "Taehyun, I barely have time to eat, let alone go make small talk with people I don’t care about."

He gives you a pointed look. "If you want more people to care about you, you need to start showing up to these things."

You open your mouth to argue—but then his words hit you in a way you weren’t expecting. Because you’ve heard them before. Not from him. You’re good, but no one’s ever gonna notice if you never leave this cave.

Beomgyu’s voice, unshakable, rings through your head.

It was late—too late, really, for either of you to still be in the studio—but you had been working, tweaking a demo, lost in your own world. And then he had walked in, leaning against the doorframe with that lazy smirk, watching you like he had you all figured out.

At the time, you had rolled your eyes and told him to fuck off. Now, standing here, you hate that his words come back so easily.

Taehyun must notice the shift in your expression because he nudges your shoulder. "Hey. You okay?"

You blink, shaking the thought off. "Yeah. Fine."

"Uh-huh," he says, unconvinced. "So, you’re going?"

You sigh, kicking at the pavement. "I’ll think about it."

He smirks. "That means yes."

You groan, "I hate you."

"You hate a lot of people," Taehyun teases, already stepping away. "But I’ll see you at the party, yeah?"

You don’t answer. But the thought lingers, anyway.

The walk back inside feels heavier than before. Maybe it’s the cold finally settling into your skin, or maybe it’s the fact that Taehyun’s words—and Beomgyu’s, fucking Beomgyu’s—are still bouncing around in your head.

You push the thoughts away as you step into your studio, shutting the door behind you. This is what you need. Work. Something to focus on. Something that doesn’t smirk at you like it knows you better than you know yourself.

Sitting down in front of your computer, you slip your headphones on and pull up a track you’ve been building. The beat kicks in, a deep, pulsing rhythm, crisp percussion layered underneath. You tweak a synth, adjusting the filters until it hums just right. The bass needs more weight. You push it up, listening as the sound thickens, your fingers moving without thinking.

The door swings open. You pull your headphones off, already prepared to tell whoever just barged in to knock first, but the words die on your tongue when you see who it is. Soobin.

He pauses in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, blinking at you like he wasn’t expecting to see you here either. His eyes, soft, dark, perpetually kind, widen slightly before he lets out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh—shit. Sorry," he says. "I thought this room was empty."

You shake your head, waving a dismissive hand. "It’s fine. You’re not bothering me."

He hesitates for a second, shifting on his feet like he’s not sure if he should stay or leave. You take him in properly, his hoodie slightly oversized, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal his wrists, his hair slightly tousled like he’s been running his hands through it all day. Soobin has always had this way about him, gentle, easygoing, warm in a way that makes people feel safe without even trying.

Soobin steps further into the room, leaning against the doorframe with that easy, almost shy smile of his. "So," he starts, his voice warm and easy, "how’s the project going?"

You lean back in your chair, giving a small shrug, trying to look casual despite the knot in your stomach. "Yeah, it’s going… well. I’m happy with how the beat is shaping up. Just need to refine a few things."

Soobin smiles, his gaze drifting to the computer screen, clearly not just focused on the music. There’s a softness in his expression, like he knows when you’re holding back, but he doesn’t push. "Beomgyu said you two were going to be working together on the new album," he says casually, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, still lingering by the door.

The mention of Beomgyu makes you stiffen for a split second, but you force yourself to remain composed. You try to play it cool, even though the words "working together" feel like they’ve got a much sharper edge to them.

"Yeah," you say, keeping your voice neutral. "Baekhyun put us both on the project. Not really my first choice, but… it is what it is."

Soobin tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing just a touch. "Hmm."

You raise an eyebrow, sensing that there’s something more to his reaction than he’s letting on. "What? What’s up?"

Soobin shrugs, his smile returning, but it’s a little softer now, like there’s something he wants to say but he’s not sure if he should. "I’m just surprised. Beomgyu never really talks much about the people he works with, you know?"

Your heart skips a beat. "What do you mean?"

He looks at you thoughtfully for a moment, his eyes flicking to the screen again before meeting yours. "I mean… he mentioned you, actually. Said your work was 'solid.' Which, for him, is practically a compliment."

You blink. Beomgyu? Complimenting you? It takes a moment for the words to fully sink in. "Wait, seriously?"

Soobin chuckles, shrugging. "Yeah. Maybe he’s not as much of a jerk as you think." He pauses, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Or maybe he’s just trying to get under your skin."

You roll your eyes, though there’s a small smile playing at the corner of your lips despite yourself. "I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the second option."

Soobin seems to think about that for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "But hey, maybe working together will surprise you."

You shoot him a skeptical look, but there’s something in Soobin’s voice, something sincere, that makes you pause. "Maybe," you say, your tone softer. "I just don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of surprise."

Soobin chuckles, stepping back toward the door. "Well, if anyone can handle Beomgyu’s ego, it’s you."

You watch him leave, his figure disappearing behind the door with that usual, casual air he carries, but his words stay with you. If anyone can handle Beomgyu’s ego, it’s you.

You take a deep breath, leaning back in your chair, eyes fixed on the blinking cursor on your screen. The beat you’ve been working on earlier suddenly feels distant, like it’s just background noise to the thoughts swirling in your mind.

You didn’t expect Soobin to say that. In fact, you didn’t expect him to even mention Beomgyu.

Beomgyu's ego. The words replay in your head, and you can't help but feel that familiar bitterness rise in your chest. He was arrogant, always so sure of himself, as if he thought he could charm his way into every room he walked into—every meeting, every collaboration, every conversation. But that wasn't the worst part. No, the worst part was how effective it was. He was good at what he did. So good, it made you sick to admit it.

Your fingers hover over your keyboard, but you don't type anything. Instead, you let your mind wander back to the countless times you’d crossed paths with Beomgyu. From the first time you’d met him, there had always been this unspoken tension between you two. You could never quite pinpoint why, but it was always there, like a challenge, an unspoken game.

Beomgyu was never afraid to speak his mind. Never afraid to push you, challenge you, throw something in your face to see how you'd react. He wasn’t the type to back down, especially not in a field like this, where every day felt like a battle for the top spot.

And yet, in all the years you’d worked alongside him, you’d never been able to figure him out. You hated how unpredictable he was. How he’d come in with that cocky grin, take control of a room with nothing more than his presence, and leave you second-guessing everything about the project you’d just finished.

It wasn’t just his confidence that grated on you. It was the way it worked. How easy it was for him to charm clients, co-workers, everyone. You’d always been the opposite, quiet, focused, just a little too serious for the industry’s taste. But Beomgyu? He could weave his way through conversations, make jokes, make everyone like him.

You weren’t so good at that. You weren’t good at pretending things were okay when they weren’t, and you definitely weren’t good at ignoring the way Beomgyu’s presence made your heart race just a little too fast.

You pull your headphones back on, the sound of the track filling your ears, but it doesn’t help. You can’t stop thinking about him. About his stupid smile, the way he’d always act like he knew more than you, the way you’d find yourself questioning every decision you’d made just because he disagreed with it.

You stare at the screen, tapping your fingers absentmindedly on the desk. The ping of a new message from the company chat pulls you out of your thoughts. You glance at the screen, already knowing who it is before you even look. Beomgyu.

You almost groan, but instead, you open the chat without thinking too much about it. His message is short—typical Beomgyu. And, of course, he has to type in all lowercase letters, just like you do.

[beomgyu]: you coming to work with me today or nah?

You lean back in your chair, staring at the message for a second. He always had to throw in that annoying casual tone, like you were just some kind of colleague he could poke fun at. Not that you were going to let him get to you.

[you]: maybe

The typing bubble shows up immediately, and you can already tell he’s typing a response. Of course, he wouldn’t leave you hanging.

[beomgyu]: alright, i’m coming over. don’t run away this time.

You lean back in your chair, exhaling deeply. As much as you’d like to ignore him, you know that when Beomgyu’s around, the work somehow gets done. Annoying as he is, he’s good.

A few minutes later, you hear the soft sound of the door to your studio creaking open. You don’t even look up from your computer at first, but you can feel his presence in the room. It’s hard to miss, he’s got this way of filling up space with his confidence, as if he belongs in every room he enters. "That was fast," you say, still clicking through your files.

"I was already on my way," Beomgyu replies smoothly. His voice is light, teasing, but you can hear the subtle scratch of his hoodie against his skin as he moves, stepping closer.

Only then do you finally glance up. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, head tilted slightly as he watches you like he’s already won something. "Thought you’d be hiding from me again," he muses.

You huff a quiet laugh, rolling your eyes. "I wasn’t hiding. Just… working. Something you should try sometime."

Beomgyu pushes off the frame, walking toward you with that effortless, too-cool confidence that somehow never looks forced. He doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he nods toward your screen. "What have you been working on, then?"

You hesitate for a beat. It’s not like you don’t want to show him, it’s just that you know how this goes. He’ll have something to say, and you’re not sure if you’re in the mood to let him have an opinion today. Still, your fingers move on their own, pulling up the track. "A beat," you say, pressing play. "Something I was messing with earlier."

The studio fills with the low pulse of a kick drum, steady and clean. A deep bassline follows, smooth but weighty, the kind that makes your chest vibrate. You keep your eyes on the screen, tweaking the volume slightly, but you can feel Beomgyu’s gaze shift. He’s listening. Really listening.

When the beat fades out, you finally glance at him. His usual smirk is gone, replaced by something unreadable. He stays quiet for a moment, and just when you think he might actually be serious for once, he speaks.

"It’s… not bad," he says, dragging out the words just to be annoying.

You scoff. "Not bad?"

He shrugs, fighting a grin. "I mean, I expected worse. But yeah. It’s solid." You stare at him for a second before shaking your head. Beomgyu finally laughs, a soft, genuine sound, before nudging your chair lightly with his knee. "Come on. Let’s make it better."

You side-eye him. "Since when are you this eager to work?"

He gives you a slow smirk. "Since I found out I have to prove I’m better than you."

You scoff but don’t argue. Instead, you press play again, letting the track fill the studio once more. The beat hums through the speakers, crisp and layered, but something still feels… incomplete. It’s a skeleton, a strong foundation, but it needs something to make it breathe.

Beomgyu’s fingers drum lightly against the desk, following the rhythm. "The bass is solid, but it needs more texture," he muses, his voice slipping into something more thoughtful. "Maybe a reverb on the snare? Just enough to make it feel bigger."

You hum, considering. "That could work." Your hands move quickly, adjusting a few settings, adding the effect he suggested. When you play it back, the subtle change makes a difference. The beat hits deeper, lingers in the air.

Beomgyu tilts his head, listening. "Yeah… that’s better," he mutters, almost to himself. Then he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Alright, now lyrics. What’s the vibe?"

You purse your lips, thinking. "Baekhyun wanted something sexy but with emotional weight. Not just a throwaway club song—something that actually sticks with people."

Beomgyu hums, tilting his head. "So, like… temptation?" You glance at him, curious. He gestures vaguely with his hands. "Something that feels like you shouldn’t be doing it, but you want to anyway. You know, that whole ‘I’m trying to stay away, but I keep coming back’ thing."

You hesitate, but that actually makes sense. Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you type a few rough phrases, trying to capture that idea. "Something like…" you murmur to yourself, voice trailing off as you think.

Beomgyu shifts closer, his shoulder almost brushing yours as he watches your screen. "Try flipping it," he suggests. "Instead of ‘I can’t stay away,’ what if it’s more like ‘I know you don’t want me to stay away’?"

Your fingers pause. You glance at him. His eyes flicker with something unreadable, like he knows exactly what he just did. You scoff lightly, shaking your head. "You would think of it that way."

Beomgyu grins. "What can I say? I like a little push and pull."

Rolling your eyes, you type out the line anyway. And to your annoyance, it works.

From there, the writing flows easier. He throws out ideas, some ridiculous, some brilliant. You counter them, sharpen them, adjust the phrasing. He tests melodies under his breath while you tweak the instrumental to match. The push-and-pull dynamic you usually hate about him actually fuels the process, and before you know it, the bones of the song are coming together.

At some point, Beomgyu gets up and paces the room as he mumbles lyrics under his breath, testing cadences. You watch as he stops, rewinds, repeats lines to himself like he’s working out a puzzle. It’s the most serious you’ve seen him look all day.

And, annoyingly, you find yourself thinking, not for the first time, that Beomgyu is actually really good at this. You shake the thought away. No need to inflate his already massive ego.

Eventually, you both get so lost in the work that time stops mattering.

As Beomgyu stretches, his arms extending above his head, the hem of his hoodie lifts just slightly, revealing a sliver of skin. He lets out a low groan as his back pops, shaking off the hours spent hunched over the desk. You barely register it, too lost in the sound of the track looping softly in the background, but then you catch the way he suddenly stills.

His gaze flickers to the clock on the wall, and his expression shifts. "Holy shit," he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. "It’s past midnight."

The words barely register at first. Your brain is still swimming in melodies, unfinished lyrics, and the lingering energy of collaboration. But then the weight of time settles in, and you finally blink, pulling yourself back into reality.

You sit up straighter, stretching out your fingers before glancing at the studio door. The hallway beyond is silent. The once-busy building has gone eerily still, the distant hum of conversations and footsteps long gone.

"Shit," you murmur, running a hand through your hair. "Didn’t even notice."

It’s not surprising. This happens sometimes, getting so lost in the process that hours slip by unnoticed. But something about tonight feels different. Maybe it’s the fact that you didn’t just work alone. That, for once, Beomgyu wasn’t just a distraction or an annoyance, but someone who helped.

Beomgyu, meanwhile, is watching you with something unreadable in his eyes. Then, as if snapping back into his usual self, he lets out a small breath and leans against the edge of the desk. His smirk creeps in, lazy and familiar.

"Wanna grab a beer?"

The words are so casual, so effortless, that it takes you a second to process them. You snort, already shaking your head before he can even try to convince you. "Not even if you paid me."

Beomgyu clicks his tongue, feigning deep disappointment, like you just shattered his fragile dreams. "Tsk. Alright, alright. I get it. You’re all work, no fun."

You roll your eyes, but before you can fire back, he leans in slightly. Not close enough to invade your space, but just enough that his voice drops a fraction, almost like he’s sharing a secret.

"I’ve got until the album drops to change your mind."

There’s something about the way he says it. Not teasing, not pushy, just confident, like it’s already a done deal. Like he knows you’ll give in eventually.

You scoff, but the corner of your mouth betrays you, just the tiniest flicker of a smile before you school your expression back into indifference. "Good luck with that," you mutter, standing up and stretching your arms.

Beomgyu watches you for a beat longer before pushing off the desk, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. He doesn’t say anything else, just hums in amusement as he heads for the door, his posture loose and easy.

And somehow, you already know. He won’t drop it.

The dream was still vivid when you woke up. The melody, the lyrics, everything had felt so real, like the song had already existed somewhere in your mind, just waiting to be found.

You barely remembered throwing on your clothes and rushing out the door, but now you were here, practically jogging through the HYBE hallways, desperate to get the words down before they slipped away.

Your mind was a mess of half-formed ideas and lingering dream logic, but the one thing you knew for certain was that this had to be written today. The only problem? Beomgyu was nowhere to be found.

You’d expected to see him the second you walked into the studio, already lounging in his usual spot, feet up on the desk like he owned the place. But the room was empty. No bags, no coffee cups, no signs of life.

You frowned, pulling out your phone on instinct, but there were no messages. No snarky texts from him, no last-minute updates about being late. Nothing. You tried not to dwell on the fact that it unsettled you. That you were even looking for him in the first place.

Instead, you headed back into the hallway, hoping to run into someone who knew something. That someone turned out to be Taehyun, who was standing near the vending machines, scrolling on his phone. "Hey," you called, walking up to him. "Have you seen Beomgyu?"

Taehyun barely looked up, but the slight smirk on his face told you he’d heard you just fine. "You’re looking for him?"

You folded your arms. "I just need to talk to him about the album."

He hummed, finally glancing up from his phone. "Sure. About the album."

You sighed. "Taehyun—"

"I haven't seen him," he cut in, clearly enjoying this way too much. "And even if I had, I don’t think I’d tell you. This is way too entertaining."

You rolled your eyes. "Unbelievable."

"You could just text him, you know," Taehyun pointed out.

"I could," you admitted, "but I shouldn’t have to."

Taehyun just shrugged, biting back a grin. "Well, if you’re that desperate, good luck."

You groaned, turning on your heel and heading down the hall. Desperate. Right. Beomgyu wasn’t the only person you could talk to about music.

So, instead of wasting time looking for him, you made your way to a different part of the building, where you knew you’d find people who actually showed up to work. Enhypen's break room was surprisingly lively when you walked in.

Heeseung was sitting at the center table, scrolling through his laptop, while Jake and Jungwon were arguing about something (probably a game) on the couch nearby. Sunghoon and Sunoo were by the fridge, debating which energy drink was less likely to kill them, while Jay and Niki were huddled over Jay’s phone, watching a video of some kind.

The moment you stepped inside, seven pairs of eyes turned toward you. "Whoa," Jake said, blinking. "You actually left your studio?"

"She exists outside of work?" Sunoo added, looking genuinely fascinated.

"Crazy, right?" Jay smirked. "I thought she was just a myth."

You sighed, dropping into the chair across from Heeseung. "Hilarious. All of you."

Heeseung closed his laptop, leaning forward with an amused grin. "So, what brings you here?"

The others perked up, too, the room’s energy shifting as they all turned their attention to you. You hesitated for only a second before reaching for your phone, pulling up the rough voice memo you’d recorded half-asleep that morning.

"I had this dream last night," you explained. "It was kind of abstract, but there was this melody, and I woke up with the start of a lyric in my head. It’s not much yet, but—"

"Play it," Jungwon interrupted.

You did. The room fell silent as the low, dreamy hum of your voice filled the space. It was raw, just a melody over soft chords, the words barely formed, but you could already hear the potential in it.

When it ended, there was a beat of silence. "That’s sick," Niki said immediately.

"It sounds kind of nostalgic," Jake added. "Like something that pulls you back to a specific memory, even if you don’t know what memory it is."

Heeseung nodded, thoughtful. "The vocal layering could be really cool if you lean into that hazy, dreamlike feel."

You took mental notes as they spoke, their excitement feeding into your own. Collaborating like this, bouncing ideas off of people who genuinely loved music as much as you did, was one of your favorite things. For the first time that morning, you forgot about Beomgyu entirely. Almost.

Because as the conversation started winding down, you found yourself asking, "By the way… has anyone seen Beomgyu today?"

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. "He’s never here on Thursdays."

That made you pause. "What do you mean?"

"I don’t know the details," he admitted, "but every Thursday, he just… doesn’t show up. It’s like his unofficial off day or something."

You frowned. "And no one questions that?"

Jay shrugged. "He’s Beomgyu. He gets away with a lot."

That was true, but it still felt odd. Beomgyu was everywhere, all the time. It was part of his personality, the way he always had to make himself known, make his presence felt. So, why did he suddenly disappear once a week? And more importantly… Why did you care?

The glow of the computer screen was the only thing illuminating the studio now. You leaned back in your chair, rubbing at your eyes as the melody you’d been playing on loop for the past twenty minutes continued to hum faintly through the speakers.

The demo was coming together, slowly but surely. You had the skeleton of the track—the instrumental was rich, the atmosphere was there, but the lyrics still felt incomplete. No matter how much you tried, you couldn’t quite find the missing piece.

You sighed, stretching your arms above your head before rolling your chair back slightly. The worst part? You knew exactly what was missing.

Beomgyu. You hated that realization.

As much as you wanted to deny it, things just worked when he was around. Ideas flowed easier, the process felt smoother—hell, even when you were annoyed at him, it still fueled the energy in the room. The back-and-forth, the push and pull, it all somehow led to better music.

And today, without him, it felt like dragging a boulder up a hill. You shook your head, refusing to dwell on it. It wasn’t like you needed him. You’d been making music for years before he ever stepped into your life.

Still, as you saved the latest version of the demo and shut your laptop, you couldn't shake the irritation bubbling in your chest. What the hell does he even do on Thursdays?

Pushing the thought away, you grabbed your jacket and slung your bag over your shoulder. You’d been here too long already, and at this point, you weren’t getting anything else done tonight. Just as you stepped out into the hallway, your phone buzzed in your pocket.

[yunjin]: we’re at hyehwa. bring your tired workaholic ass over here [yunjin]: before you ask, yes, yeonjun is here. yes, taehyun is here. and yes, hueningkai is here. no excuses

You exhaled through your nose, the corners of your lips twitching upward despite your exhaustion. Of course they were at Hyehwa, the bar that had somehow become your unofficial meeting spot over the years.

For a moment, you debated going straight home. But then you thought about how much time you’d already spent alone in the studio tonight, trapped in your own head. Maybe you needed a break after all.

The second you stepped inside, the familiar warmth of the bar wrapped around you like a worn-out leather jacket. The dim lighting, the low hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, it was the kind of place that always felt easy, no matter how long the day had been.

And, as expected, your friends were easy to find. Yeonjun was the first one you spotted, lounging in the booth like he had no bones in his body, one arm draped over the back of the seat. Taehyun was sitting next to him, scrolling through his phone, while Hueningkai was across from them, laughing at something Yunjin was saying. There were already a few empty beer bottles on the table, condensation still dripping from them.

You rolled your eyes as you walked over. "You guys started without me."

Hueningkai beamed. "Of course we did. You’re late."

You slid into the seat next to Yunjin, ignoring the way they were all looking at you like you were some rare specimen that had just wandered into the wild. "Yeah, yeah," you muttered, flagging down the bartender for a drink. "I was working."

"We know," Taehyun said, side-eyeing you. "You’ve been working non-stop."

Yunjin leaned in, resting her chin on her hand. "So? How’s the album going?"

You hesitated, drumming your fingers lightly against the table. "It’s… coming together."

Yeonjun squinted at you. "That doesn’t sound convincing."

You sighed. "It’s fine. Just a long day."

Taehyun raised an eyebrow. "A long day or a long day without Beomgyu?"

You froze mid-sip, the beer bottle barely touching your lips before you slowly lowered it back down to the table. "I’m not talking about him right now," you said flatly, setting the bottle down with a quiet clink against the wood. "I’m here to have a drink with my friends, not to analyze my work situation."

Taehyun smirked like he knew exactly what you were doing. Yeonjun raised his hands in surrender, but the knowing look in his eyes was still irritating. Hueningkai, ever the agent of chaos, just grinned.

"Alright, alright," Yunjin said, leaning back. "No Beomgyu talk. But, speaking of things you do need to talk about—" She fixed you with a pointed look. "You’re coming to the HYBE party, right?"

"I'm thinking about it," you corrected, crossing your arms. "I have work to do. I don’t have time to stand around making awkward small talk with industry people who don’t even know my name."

Yunjin groaned, dramatically letting her head fall against the table before snapping back up with renewed determination. "Listen. You spend every waking moment working on this album. You need to breathe. Plus, I’m going."

"And?"

"And that means you have no excuse not to."

You snorted. "That logic is flawed."

"It’s actually foolproof," she argued. "And you know who else is going? Taehyun."

You hesitated, glancing at Taehyun, who only gave you a small shrug like it wasn’t that big of a deal. Maybe it wasn’t. And maybe… just maybe… you were a little tired of feeling like a ghost in this industry.

"…Fine," you muttered.

Yunjin’s face lit up. "Yes!"

"I’m going with you and Taehyun," you clarified. "And if it sucks, I’m leaving early."

"Deal," she grinned, clinking her beer against yours.

As the conversation moved on, you took another sip of your drink, pushing away the nagging thought that had been lingering at the back of your mind. Because you knew exactly who was going to be at that party. And whether you admitted it or not, part of you was already wondering if you'd run into him.

When you woke up, sunlight was already spilling through the curtains, the golden hue casting soft shadows across your room. For a few blissful moments, you lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting yourself exist in the quiet. But the minute your mind fully registered what day it was, that peace shattered. The HYBE party.

You groaned, rubbing a hand over your face. Part of you still wanted to back out. It wasn’t like anyone would really care if you didn’t show up. You weren’t the kind of person people noticed at these events. And yet… you’d already agreed to go.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you padded into the kitchen, still in your oversized sleep shirt, your hair a mess from sleep. To your surprise, Yeonjun was already up, standing by the coffee machine, scrolling through his phone. "You’re awake early," you mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.

He glanced up, smiling lazily. "And you look like you got hit by a truck."

You scowled, reaching for a mug. "Thanks."

Yeonjun chuckled and, before you could react, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a warm embrace. "You looked like you needed it," he murmured against your hair.

For a second, you stiffened, but then you exhaled, letting yourself melt into him, pressing your face against his chest. He was warm, solid, and familiar. The kind of comfort that didn’t need words. "…I don’t know why I feel weird about tonight," you admitted quietly.

Yeonjun didn’t let go, just rubbed small, soothing circles against your back. "You don’t have to go if you don’t want to."

You sighed. "I know. But… maybe I should go. Maybe I need to stop avoiding these things."

He hummed in agreement, waiting a beat before asking, "Beomgyu’s gonna be there, huh?"

You groaned into his shirt. "Why are you like this?"

He laughed, finally pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "Because I know you. And I know that’s part of what’s making you overthink this."

You didn’t deny it. Because as much as you hated to admit it, a small part of you was wondering—if you went, would you run into him? And if you did… then what?

The day dragged on slower than usual, each hour stretching endlessly as you fought to keep your mind occupied. You had promised Yunjin you’d go to her apartment to get ready together. As much as you had hoped the day would pass without the need to confront your nerves, the time had come. The tension in your chest flared up again, and for a split second, you wished you could back out. But you couldn’t.

When you arrived at her apartment, Yunjin was perched at her vanity, still in a robe, mascara wand frozen mid-air as she turned to look at you. "Took you long enough," she teased, a grin pulling at her lips.

On the bed, Taehyun was sprawled out, scrolling through his phone with that signature, mildly unimpressed expression he always wore. "I’ve been trapped here for thirty minutes," he deadpanned. "Save me."

You snorted, already feeling more at ease. This was exactly what you needed, the mindless chatter, the shared chaos of getting ready, and the reminder that not everything in your life had to revolve around late-night studio sessions and a certain annoying producer who lived rent-free in your head.

By the time you were all dressed and out the door, the city lights stretched out in front of you, buzzing with life. The party was already in full swing when you arrived, the familiar pulse of bass-heavy music vibrating through the ground, bodies moving under dim lights, and the haze of cigarette smoke lingering in the air.

Yunjin led the way, slipping effortlessly into the crowd. Taehyun trailed behind with his usual nonchalant vibe, and you… well, you were busy doing exactly what you promised yourself you wouldn’t do: scanning the room for him.

And then, you saw him.

Beomgyu stood near the corner of the room, deep in conversation with Soobin. It was the kind of effortless, laid-back energy that somehow made him stand out in a room full of people trying too hard.

He wasn’t drowning in one of those oversized hoodies he always wore in the studio. No, tonight was different. He had on a simple black button-up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing just enough of his wrists to make you irrationally annoyed. The fabric clung to him in all the right places, and paired with black jeans and silver rings on his fingers, he looked…

You blinked, irritated at yourself. No. Absolutely not.

But your eyes betrayed you, tracing the way he casually ran a hand through his hair as he laughed at something Soobin said. He looked relaxed, like he belonged in this kind of environment, like he wasn’t the same Beomgyu who spent hours annoying the life out of you in the studio. And worse, he looked… good. But you would literally rather die than admit that out loud.

What you didn’t know was that, from across the room, Beomgyu was watching you just as intently.

He leaned against the wall, drink in hand, nodding absentmindedly as Soobin spoke, but his attention kept slipping, drawn back to the way you moved through the crowd. The way your eyes flickered around the room, pretending not to be looking for him. The way you laughed at something Yunjin said, even though you were clearly trying to hide how uncomfortable you felt being here.

It was unfair, really. How easily you occupied space in his head without even trying.

"Are you even listening to me?" Soobin’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Beomgyu blinked, tearing his gaze away from you. "Huh?"

Soobin sighed, already used to this. "I said, how’s the album coming along? Baekhyun’s been hyping your demos, but you’ve been suspiciously quiet about working with Y/N."

Beomgyu scoffed, taking a sip of his drink. "It’s… fine."

Soobin raised an eyebrow. "Fine?"

Beomgyu hesitated, rolling the glass between his fingers. "She’s annoying," he muttered. "Thinks she knows everything. Always overcomplicates the production and acts like she’s too good to work with me."

Soobin let out a quiet laugh. "Right. And that’s why you’ve been writing the best shit of your career since you two started working together."

Beomgyu shot him a look. "Shut up."

"You like working with her," Soobin said, deadpan.

"I do not," Beomgyu snapped, a little too quickly.

Soobin’s grin only widened. "No? Then why do you keep staring at her like that?"

Beomgyu’s jaw clenched, eyes flickering back to where you stood with Yunjin and Taehyun. You looked good tonight. Too good. And it was pissing him off. Because ever since that stupid studio session where you accidentally made magic together, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you.

The way your mind worked. The way your fingers moved across the keyboard, tweaking melodies until they hit just right. The way you bit your lip when you were focused, completely lost in the sound.

You made him crazy. And maybe that’s exactly why the album was turning out the way it was, raw, sharp, full of tension. It wasn’t just music. It was you. Beomgyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. "She drives me insane."

Soobin smirked. "And here you are saying that you don't like working with her."

Beomgyu glared at him. "I swear to god, Soobin—"

"Come on," Soobin grinned. "You’re just not ready to admit that this whole ‘hating each other’ thing is actually… kind of your thing."

Beomgyu didn’t respond. Because deep down, he knew Soobin was right. And that terrified him.

You weren’t exactly expecting Baekhyun to pull you aside at this party, but here you were, following him through the crowded room as he weaved between people with practiced ease. "Y/N," he started, glancing back at you with a smirk, "I’ve been meaning to introduce you to someone."

You barely had time to ask who before you found yourself face to face with Choi Seungcheol, one of HYBE’s creative directors. He was taller than you expected, dressed in a sleek black suit that somehow made him look more approachable than intimidating.

"Y/N’s producing the new Enhypen album," Baekhyun introduced casually.

Seungcheol’s eyes lit up with recognition as he extended his hand toward you. "Ah, I’ve heard about you. Your demos are impressive."

You shook his hand, hiding the way your stomach flipped at the compliment. "Thank you. I’m… still figuring things out."

"You and everyone else in this company," Seungcheol chuckled. His tone was light, polite, the kind of effortless charm that only someone who’s been in the industry for years could pull off.

The conversation flowed easily from there. Seungcheol asked about your creative process, subtly throwing in references to producers you admired, showing he actually understood what you did. It felt… good. Like for once, someone saw you as more than just “the girl working with Beomgyu.”

Which was exactly when Beomgyu appeared. You didn’t notice him at first, too caught up in whatever Seungcheol was saying, but you felt it. That weird shift in the air when someone’s eyes are on you.

Beomgyu stood just a few feet away. You forced yourself to ignore him, focusing back on Seungcheol, who was mid-sentence about the new creative direction HYBE was taking. But from the corner of your eye, you saw Beomgyu lingering, not quite joining the conversation, but not leaving either.

It was annoying. Typical, actually. You knew exactly what he was doing, standing there, listening, watching. Almost as if he was waiting for the right moment to insert himself. And, of course, he did.

"Y/N," Beomgyu’s voice cut in smoothly, "Baekhyun’s been looking for you."

Your eyes narrowed as you turned to face him. "Funny. I’ve been with Baekhyun for the past ten minutes."

Beomgyu’s lips twitched, but his gaze flickered, just for a second, toward Seungcheol. "Guess he forgot to mention it." There it was. That subtle edge in his voice. Not enough for anyone else to catch, but you knew him too well by now.

Seungcheol seemed unfazed, stepping back slightly as if sensing whatever weird energy was happening between you two. "I’ll let you handle that," he said, offering you a polite smile. "It was great meeting you, Y/N. I’ll keep an eye out for your work."

"Likewise," you replied, hoping your voice didn’t sound as awkward as you felt. Seungcheol disappeared into the crowd, leaving you and Beomgyu standing there in uncomfortable silence. You turned to him, arms crossed. "Really? What was that?"

"What was what?" Beomgyu replied, all fake innocence.

"You’re ridiculous," you muttered, already moving past him.

But before you could disappear into the crowd, you heard him mumble under his breath, just loud enough for you to catch:

"I bet he doesn’t even know what a compressor does."

You stopped dead in your tracks, spinning around to face him. "Oh my god, you’re actually jealous."

Beomgyu blinked. "What? No."

"You totally are."

"I just think," he said, with that infuriating smirk, "that some people like to talk more than they actually create."

You stared at him, half in disbelief, half wanting to strangle him. "Unbelievable," you muttered, turning away again.

"Where are you going?"

"Away from you," you shot back over your shoulder.

But as you pushed through the crowd, your heart was pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the music. And somewhere behind you, Beomgyu stood there, running a hand through his hair, wondering what the hell you’d done to him.

The night pressed on, and you let yourself slip into the chaos of the party.

Yunjin dragged you to the dance floor, her hand wrapped around yours as the bass vibrated through your chest. Taehyun hovered nearby, doing his signature head-bop move with a drink in hand, pretending he was too cool to enjoy himself when, in reality, he was having the time of his life.

You allowed yourself to let go for a bit, letting the music drown out the noise in your head, the pressure of the album, and, most importantly, the fact that Beomgyu was somewhere in this room, probably still brooding after whatever weird stunt he pulled earlier.

But even as you danced, laughed with Yunjin, and stole sips from Taehyun’s drink, you felt it. That annoying awareness of him.

You caught glimpses of him through the crowd, leaning against a wall, talking to Soobin, occasionally scanning the room. And somehow, every time your eyes accidentally met, he’d hold your gaze for just a second too long before looking away, leaving something heavy and unspoken lingering in the air. It was messing with your head.

You slipped out to the smoking area, grateful for the cool night air against your skin. There were a few other people scattered around, some making out against the wall, others huddled in quiet conversations, but you found a spot in the corner, leaning against the railing as you lit a cigarette.

It was a bad habit, one you only fell back into when you were stressed. But tonight, it felt… necessary.

The first inhale burned your lungs in that oddly comforting way, and you let your head fall back, eyes closing for a moment as you exhaled. You barely heard the door creak open behind you, but the familiar voice made you tense instantly.

"Wow. Didn’t peg you as a smoker."

You opened your eyes, already irritated. "Of course, it’s you."

Beomgyu stood a few feet away, hands shoved in his pockets, watching you with that same infuriating expression he always wore, somewhere between amused and way too pleased with himself. He huffed a quiet laugh, stepping closer until he was leaning against the railing beside you.

"I’m not stalking you," he muttered, eyes flickering to your cigarette. "I just needed air."

"Right," you replied, taking another drag. The silence between you stretched for a moment, surprisingly comfortable. The muffled music from inside bled through the walls, mixed with the distant sounds of traffic from the streets below.

"I didn’t know you smoked," Beomgyu said quietly.

"I don’t," you replied. "Only when I’m overthinking."

He glanced at you. "What are you overthinking about?"

You hesitated, unsure why you were even entertaining this conversation. "The album," you finally said. "And… other things."

Beomgyu hummed, eyes fixed ahead. "Same."

That surprised you. For some reason, you always assumed Beomgyu was immune to self-doubt, that everything came easy to him. But now, standing here under the dim light, he looked tired. Almost like he was carrying the same weight you were.

He grinned, and for a moment, the tension between you softened into something else. Something unfamiliar. You took another drag of your cigarette before handing it to him without a word.

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You’re sharing with the enemy now?"

"Take it or leave it," you muttered.

He hesitated for half a second before accepting it, bringing it to his lips and inhaling slowly. You hated how attractive that looked. And of course, Beomgyu caught you staring.

"Careful," he said, handing it back to you with a smirk. "If you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna start thinking you actually like me."

"God, I regret this already," you groaned, turning away.

But Beomgyu just chuckled, leaning closer until his shoulder brushed against yours. "Too late," he murmured. "You let me in."

You took the cigarette back from Beomgyu, bringing it to your lips again as the cold air pressed against your skin. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The music from inside thumped faintly in the background, but out here, it felt like you were in a completely different world, one that was quieter, slower.

"So," Beomgyu started, breaking the silence, "have you thought more about track five?"

You nearly choked on the smoke. "Are you seriously talking about the album right now?" You turned to him, disbelief written all over your face. "We're at a party."

Beomgyu shrugged. "What, you think I know how to do small talk?" You huffed, half amused, half annoyed. "You were literally talking about work with Seungcheol earlier," he quipped, stealing it from your hand again.

You let him, watching as he took another slow drag before handing it back. You groaned, already regretting letting him stay out here. "Oh my God. Don’t."

"I’m just saying," Beomgyu muttered, gaze fixed on the ground. "He was totally flirting with you."

You rolled your eyes. "He was being polite."

"He called you talented and touched your arm twice," Beomgyu deadpanned. "That's textbook flirting."

You let out a sharp laugh. "Why do you even care?"

Beomgyu hesitated. "I don’t care," he said, a beat too late.

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Sure." Your breath hitched slightly, but you masked it by taking another drag of the cigarette. Beomgyu shifted beside you, leaning his weight against the railing. "You know," you started, voice low, "for someone who allegedly doesn't care, you spend an awful lot of time ruining my conversations."

Beomgyu let out a soft scoff, eyes fixed somewhere ahead. "You looked bored."

"I wasn’t bored."

"You were faking interest," he replied without hesitation. "You do that thing where you tilt your head slightly and nod, but your eyes are already somewhere else."

You blinked, caught off guard. "Didn’t know you analyzed me that much," you muttered.

"I don’t," Beomgyu replied too quickly.

You just hummed in response, taking another slow drag. The distant hum of the party buzzed faintly behind you, but out here, it felt like you’d slipped into some strange, quieter version of reality.

Your eyes flickered to him again, noticing the subtle tension in his posture, the way his fingers tapped against his rings, the same nervous habit you’d seen in the studio when he thought no one was looking.

You hesitated before speaking again. "Why don’t you work on Thursdays?"

Beomgyu stilled. You almost regretted asking, but he didn’t look at you, didn’t deflect like you expected him to. Instead, he let out a slow breath through his nose.

"I visit my mom," he said quietly.

Your breath caught in your throat. "What do you mean?"

"She’s been sick for a while," he added, almost like he was saying it more to himself than to you. "Autoimmune thing. Thursdays are… her day."

Your grip on the cigarette faltered slightly. You hadn’t expected honesty. You turned to him, but his gaze remained fixed ahead, like saying it out loud would make it heavier. "I didn’t know," you said softly.

"Yeah," he replied, almost like he was amused by your reaction. "Why would you?"

You wanted to say something, but words felt too fragile for whatever this was. So you didn’t. You just stood there, feeling that strange shift in the air, the one where he felt less like your annoying rival and more like… You weren’t sure what.

Beomgyu glanced at you then, catching the way you were looking at him. "What?" he asked, almost defensive.

"Nothing," you replied, turning away.

But it wasn’t nothing. It was everything you’d never noticed about him until now. You pressed the cigarette against the railing, watching the ember die out. The air outside felt heavier than usual, but maybe that was just the way Beomgyu’s presence filled every empty space.

"I should head back," you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Beomgyu didn’t look at you. He stayed leaning against the railing, gaze fixed on some distant point in the city, jaw tight like he was holding something back.

"Do yourself a favor," he said suddenly, voice low. "Be careful with who you let think they know you."

You frowned, turning to him. "What?"

Beomgyu exhaled slowly, like he already regretted speaking. "These people," he gestured vaguely toward the noise inside. "They’ll act like they want you around. Like they see potential in you. But they don’t actually care. They just want something to say they discovered first."

You blinked, caught off guard. "You think that’s what Seungcheol was doing?"

Beomgyu scoffed, eyes flickering to yours. "I think you’re too naive to notice when people are looking at you for the wrong reasons."

You stared at him, searching for whatever this was, this strange tension that always seemed to surface when the two of you were left alone. But before you could step inside, Beomgyu spoke again.

"I’m serious, Y/N." His voice softened slightly. "You're new to this. You think people in this industry want you to win, but they don't. They want you to be grateful. They want you to be quiet. And the second you stop being useful to them, they’ll move on."

You hesitated, hand hovering over the door handle. "And you?" you asked quietly. "What do you want from me, Beomgyu?"

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, barely above a whisper:

"Nothing."

You turned back, but he was already looking away, like he hadn’t just said something that would stay stuck in your head for weeks. You lingered for half a second before slipping back inside, the noise of the party swallowing you whole.

But somehow, you could still feel him. And that scared you more than anything.

The party felt louder when you stepped back inside, but maybe that was just the ringing in your ears from whatever the hell that conversation with Beomgyu was. You pushed through the crowd, head spinning, eyes searching for familiar faces. Yunjin and Taehyun were by the bar, Yunjin holding a half-finished drink and Taehyun looking like he was ready to disappear from this place an hour ago.

"I’m heading out," you told them.

Yunjin pouted. "Already?"

"I’m… tired." You offered her a weak smile, not really in the mood to explain why your chest felt weird or why Beomgyu’s words kept looping in your head.

Taehyun raised a brow but didn’t question it. "Get home safe."

You nodded, squeezing Yunjin’s arm lightly before slipping away. As you stepped outside, the night air hit you harder than you expected. You pulled out your phone and hesitated for a moment before typing:

[you]: where r u?

It didn’t take Yeonjun long to reply.

[yeonjun]: me and kai just found a sketchy fried chicken place that’s probably violating health codes. u want in?

You smiled.

[you]: can u come pick me up? [yeonjun]: omw.

You waited by the curb, the distant hum of the city filling the silence Beomgyu had left in your head.

When Yeonjun’s car pulled up a few minutes later, you moved toward it, already feeling the tension ease at the thought of greasy food and whatever chaos he and Kai were on tonight. But as you reached for the door handle, your eyes flickered to the side.

There, a few feet away, Beomgyu stood near the entrance, Soobin beside him, waiting for their own ride. You weren’t sure if he saw you first or if he was already looking, but when your eyes met, something heavy passed between you.

His gaze shifted to Yeonjun in the driver’s seat. Then back to you. You stepped into the car, shutting the door behind you.

"Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?" Yeonjun asked as you buckled your seatbelt.

"Nothing," you muttered.

Through the glass, you caught one last glimpse of Beomgyu, standing there with Soobin, hands shoved into his pockets, his gaze still following you as the car pulled away. Something about the way he looked at you sat uncomfortably in your stomach, like he was trying to figure something out but refused to admit he cared enough to.

You turned away, resting your head against the seat.

Beomgyu watched the car disappear down the street, jaw tightening.

Soobin, who’d been standing quietly next to him this whole time, finally spoke, breaking whatever strange daze Beomgyu had fallen into. "So… that guy in the car," he nodded toward the street where Yeonjun’s car had disappeared, "is that her boyfriend?"

Beomgyu’s jaw tensed almost instantly. He felt the muscle in his cheek twitch as he forced himself to keep his expression neutral. "How the hell would I know?" he muttered, too quickly. "It’s not like I’m friends with her."

Soobin let out a short laugh, "Yeah," he said, nodding slowly. "That’s definitely something someone who doesn’t care would say."

Beomgyu didn’t respond. Mostly because he couldn’t. Because Soobin was right. And that fact made something burn in his chest in a way he didn’t know how to handle.

It wasn’t like he cared who you left with. So instead of acknowledging whatever the hell this feeling was, Beomgyu just scoffed, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his jeans. "Whatever," he muttered. "She’s not that interesting anyway."

Soobin snorted. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that."

Beomgyu shot him a glare, but Soobin just grinned, already knowing exactly what was happening. Because it was obvious to everyone but Beomgyu. He wasn’t just annoyed with you. He was already losing. And worse, he didn’t even realize he was playing.

The weekend passed in a blur of chaotic laughter and burnt virtual pizzas. You'd spent most of it holed up in your apartment, playing Overcooked with Yeonjun and Kai. Between screaming at each other in the kitchen and ordering way too much takeout, you actually felt… okay.

It was easy to forget about Beomgyu when you were surrounded by Yeonjun’s easy energy and Kai’s ridiculous commentary. Easy to forget how weird you’d felt after that conversation outside the party. How something about the way Beomgyu looked at you that night had stuck to your skin, refusing to leave.

But now, Monday morning had arrived, dragging you back to reality.

Yeonjun’s car rolled through the streets of Seoul, the city still half-asleep as the sun painted soft light across the buildings. You stared out the window, anxiety already bubbling in your chest at the thought of stepping into that studio again.

"You’re spiraling," Yeonjun said, breaking the silence.

You turned to him with a frown. "I’m not spiraling."

"You are," he replied easily, eyes still on the road. "You always do this before big projects. You convince yourself you're not good enough, overwork yourself to the point of insanity, and then act surprised when you have a breakdown in the bathroom."

"That happened one time," you muttered. Yeonjun shot you a look "Okay, twice," you admitted.

He sighed, softening. "You’re too hard on yourself, Y/N. You’re one of the most talented people I know. You just… need to stop letting other people’s opinions get in your head." You chewed on the inside of your cheek, not fully convinced but too tired to argue. When Yeonjun pulled up in front of the HYBE building, he shifted in his seat to face you. "Don’t let him get to you," he said, like he could read your mind.

Your stomach twisted. "Who said this is about him?"

Yeonjun raised a brow. "You forget I’ve known you since forever. I know how your brain works. You groaned, pushing the door open "Y/N." You paused, turning back to him. Yeonjun leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Go make history."

You smiled despite yourself. "You’re so cringe."

"And you love it."

You rolled your eyes and stepped out of the car, shutting the door behind you.

As Yeonjun drove off, you turned toward the entrance, and immediately froze. Beomgyu stood a few feet away, leaning against the building’s brick wall, cigarette balanced between his fingers. He was watching you, eyes slightly narrowed, hair messy like he’d been here for a while.

You blinked, caught off guard. "Since when do you smoke?" you asked, voice laced with confusion.

Beomgyu brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaling slowly before replying, "Felt like it."

His voice was flat, uninterested, but his eyes lingered on you a second too long. You didn’t know what you were expecting, maybe some cocky remark, some teasing jab about how you were already looking for him first thing in the morning, but this wasn’t that.

Your eyes flickered over him. Messy hair, dark hoodie slightly wrinkled, the usual sharpness in his gaze dulled by something you couldn’t quite place. You weren’t sure if it was exhaustion or irritation or something else entirely, but the longer you looked at him, the more uneasy you felt.

You glanced at the cigarette between his fingers, then back at him. "You know," you started carefully, "when I offered you one at the party, it wasn’t supposed to be, like, an invitation to pick up a habit."

Beomgyu finally looked back at you then, eyes dark, unreadable. "And yet," he said, taking another drag, "here we are."

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. "Beomgyu."

"What?" he muttered, flicking ash onto the pavement.

You hesitated. You didn’t know what you wanted to say, really. That he looked like shit? That something about him felt off, wrong, like a version of him you weren’t used to seeing? That, for some reason, it actually bothered you?

Instead, what came out was: "You shouldn’t."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "You shouldn’t either." You opened your mouth, then shut it. He wasn’t wrong.

A heavy silence settled between you. You weren’t sure how long you stood there, watching the embers at the tip of his cigarette burn down, before he finally crushed it under his shoe.

"You’re gonna be late," he muttered, nodding toward the entrance.

You studied him for a beat longer, but whatever was going on with him, he clearly wasn’t going to tell you. And you weren’t about to push. So, you simply nodded and stepped past him, heading toward the doors.

Beomgyu watched as you stepped inside without another word, your expression unreadable. Something about it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He clicked his lighter open and closed absentmindedly, the metallic snick breaking the early morning quiet. His fingers itched to pull out another cigarette, but he hesitated, staring at the crushed remains of the last one under his shoe.

This wasn’t supposed to bother him. None of this was supposed to bother him.

His eyes drifted toward the spot where Yeonjun’s car had been parked just minutes ago.

He knew who Yeonjun was—everyone did. One of the youngest producers at SM, annoyingly talented, the kind of guy whose name always came up in conversations about industry golden boys. Beomgyu had seen his work before, even respected it in a distant, objective way. But what he hadn’t known was that you and Yeonjun were close.

Beomgyu had never cared to pay attention to your life outside of work. As far as he was concerned, you existed within the walls of HYBE, always one step ahead of him, always in his way. That was just how things were. But now, his brain kept circling back to the sight of you stepping out of Yeonjun’s car, back to the way Yeonjun had leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead like it was second nature.

His grip on the lighter tightened. He didn’t understand it.

It wasn’t like you didn’t have a life outside of the studio. It wasn’t like he expected you to just… exist in the same orbit as him, only crossing paths when necessary. It wasn’t like it bothered him.

Beomgyu scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. What does it matter? It doesn’t. It’s none of my business.

He reached for another cigarette, but before he could light it, his fingers hesitated over the lighter. Instead, with a sharp exhale, he shoved both back into his pocket and pushed himself off the wall. There was work to do.

The pre-chorus had been frustrating you for days, and as much as you hated to admit it, Beomgyu had an ear for this kind of thing, he always knew how to make a build-up feel effortless, how to land the right emotional weight in just a few bars. You could spend another three hours trying to figure it out yourself, or you could go straight to the person who could fix it in ten minutes.

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. The last thing you wanted to do was go to his studio. But you weren’t about to let your own stubbornness slow this project down. So, before you could second-guess yourself, you grabbed your notebook and pushed yourself up from your chair.

When you knocked on the door, there was no immediate response. You hesitated before pushing it open anyway, Beomgyu never cared about formalities, and you weren’t in the mood to wait around.

The room was dimly lit, monitors casting a faint glow against the walls, soundproofing panels muting the outside world. Beomgyu was at his desk, hoodie draped loosely over his frame, fingers tapping absentmindedly against the surface as he stared at his screen.

He didn’t look up when you walked in. "You busy?" you asked.

There was a pause before he finally sighed, dragging his gaze away from the monitor. "What do you want?"

You frowned at his tone, disinterested, distant. "I need a second opinion on the pre-chorus," you said simply. "Something’s off, but I can’t figure out what."

He nodded once, pushing his chair back and gesturing lazily at the extra seat beside him. "Fine. Play it."

You sat down, plugging in your USB and pulling up the track. The moment the instrumental filled the room, you forgot about everything else. Your frustration, his mood, it all faded into the background as you focused on the music.

Beomgyu listened in silence, his expression blank as the pre-chorus built up, then crashed into the chorus. When it ended, he rolled his chair slightly forward, resting his elbow on the desk.

"The chord progression in the build-up is too predictable," he muttered. "You need more tension before the drop, otherwise it just falls flat."

You nodded, adjusting some of the notes. "Like this?"

Beomgyu leaned in slightly, watching the screen. "Move that second chord up a half step. And stretch the last measure—make it drag just a little longer before the hit."

You followed his instructions, layering in the adjustments before playing it back. This time, the build-up carried more weight, pulling in a tension that hadn’t been there before.

You turned to him, and for the first time since you walked in, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes, satisfaction, maybe. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. "Better," he said simply.

You studied him for a beat, something about his demeanor still nagging at you. Normally, Beomgyu would’ve had more to say—some kind of sarcastic comment about how he had to fix your mess again, or at least a self-satisfied smirk. But instead, he just leaned back in his chair, looking tired.

You debated saying something, asking something, but before you could, he spoke again. "That all?"

It wasn’t sharp, but it wasn’t warm either. Just neutral. And for some reason, that made your stomach twist. "…Yeah," you muttered. "That’s all."

You unplugged your USB, pushing your chair back. Beomgyu didn’t say anything else, just turned toward his screen like you had never been there in the first place.

Then, without another word, you turned and walked out. The door shut behind you with a quiet click, leaving Beomgyu alone in the dim glow of his studio, the silence stretching longer than it should have.

You had been in the studio for hours.

The kind of hours that made your back ache from sitting too long, that made the glow of the screen start to blur, that made every melody sound wrong no matter how many times you tweaked it. It just wasn’t clicking today.

You had gone through four different versions of the same verse, rearranged the chord progression twice, even scrapped an entire section just to start over, only to end up in the same place, frustrated and stuck.

You hated this feeling. It wasn’t the kind of creative block where nothing came to you. It was worse. The kind where everything came to you, but nothing sounded right. Nothing felt like it was enough.

By the time you checked the clock, it was already late. Later than you realized. With a heavy sigh, you shut your laptop and rubbed at your temples, willing the tension headache forming behind your eyes to go away. You weren’t going to get anything done like this.

So, you grabbed your bag, checked your phone, and sent Yeonjun a quick text.

[you]: can you pick me up? i’m done for today. [yeonjun]: omw. 10 min.

You exhaled, pocketing your phone before stepping out of the building.

The night air hit you immediately, crisp and cool against your skin. The city was quieter at this hour, the usual rush of people and traffic subdued into a low hum. You stood near the curb, crossing your arms as you waited, letting yourself breathe for what felt like the first time today.

And then, of course, you spotted Beomgyu. You hesitated before walking over, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your jacket. The familiar scent of cigarette smoke hung in the air, curling around the dim glow of the streetlights.

You stared at him, momentarily taken aback. "You shouldn't keep smoking," you said, your tone quieter now.

His fingers twitched slightly around the cigarette, but he didn’t respond right away. Instead, he brought it back to his lips, inhaling like he was trying to make a point, though you weren’t sure if it was to you or to himself. "Look who's talking" he muttered.

You watched him carefully, the way his jaw tensed, the way his shoulders sat just a little heavier than usual. This wasn’t the same Beomgyu who spent half his time annoying you, smirking like he had the whole world figured out.

You hesitated before speaking again. "It wasn’t a good day."

Beomgyu let out a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You exhaled. "I couldn’t get anything to sound right. I swear, the harder I tried, the worse it got."

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, the faint glow of the cigarette flickering between his fingers. "You’re too hard on yourself."

You blinked, turning to him. "What?"

Beomgyu flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette, his expression unreadable. "You think too much. You want everything to be perfect on the first try."

Your brows furrowed slightly. "That’s how it works, though. If it’s not good enough, then I have to keep going until it is."

His lips curled slightly, not a smirk, not a frown. Something in between. "And what if you’re the only one who thinks it’s not good enough?"

You didn’t have an answer to that. Beomgyu didn’t wait for one. He took another slow drag, then exhaled, watching the smoke disappear into the air. You glanced down at your phone, checking the time. Yeonjun would be here soon. Beomgyu, ever observant, noticed.

His voice was colder when he spoke next. "Waiting for your boyfriend to pick you up?"

You blinked, caught completely off guard. "What?"

Beomgyu gestured lazily with his cigarette, his expression unreadable. "That guy. The one who dropped you off this morning."

You stared at him for a second, processing. And then, a laugh bubbled out of you, unexpected and breathy. "Yeonjun?" Beomgyu didn’t react. Just stared at you, like he was waiting for an answer. You shook your head, still half-amused. "He’s not my boyfriend."

Something flickered in his expression, too quick for you to catch. But before you could think too hard about it, a familiar car pulled up to the curb.

Yeonjun honked the horn once, rolling down the window. "Let’s go, loser."

You pushed off the railing, turning back to Beomgyu. "See you tomorrow."

He only nodded, taking another slow drag of his cigarette. And as you walked toward the car, you didn’t notice the way his gaze lingered on you a second too long.

Beomgyu's drive home felt longer than usual. Maybe it was because the city was too quiet at this hour, the usual rush of people and traffic reduced to distant hums. Maybe it was because his thoughts had been too loud all day, refusing to settle even now.

Or maybe it was because of you.

Beomgyu clenched his jaw, fingers tightening slightly around the steering wheel. He didn’t like that. Didn’t like the way you lingered in his mind long after you had already left. The way your voice still echoed in his ears, the way your laugh, short, breathy, surprised, had caught him off guard when you realized he thought Yeonjun was your boyfriend.

Why the hell did I even ask that? He scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

In the week that followed, something had shifted.

It wasn’t obvious at first, just small things. A missed comment here, a glance avoided there. But as the days passed, it became impossible to ignore. Beomgyu was different.

You had spent so much time fighting him for space, rolling your eyes at his smug remarks, bracing yourself for whatever new way he’d find to get under your skin. And now, suddenly, there was nothing.

No teasing. No playful jabs. No sarcastic smirks across the studio. It wasn’t that he was rude. If anything, he was polite, too polite. The kind of detached professionalism that you had never associated with Beomgyu before. It was driving you insane.

You barely saw him on Tuesday. Which wasn’t uncommon, sometimes, you worked separately, each focused on different aspects of the album. But usually, even on those days, you’d cross paths in the break room, or he’d pop into your studio just to complain about how much better his demos were than yours.

Beomgyu was already in the studio when you arrived on Wednesday morning, sitting at the mixing console with his headphones on, completely absorbed in whatever track he was working on.

You hesitated in the doorway for a second, waiting for him to acknowledge you. He didn’t. Not until you cleared your throat and said, "Morning."

Only then did he glance up, giving you a small nod. "Morning."

That was it. No comment about how tired you looked, no sarcastic Wow, you actually showed up on time?—just morning. You forced yourself to ignore the weird weight in your chest as you sat down and pulled up your own files.

On Thursday, when you arrived at the HYBE building that morning, something about the usual rhythm of your day felt… off.

And then it hit you. Beomgyu wasn’t here. Beomgyu never worked on Thursdays.

The hours passed, your progress slower than usual. By lunchtime, you gave up and went to the break room, hoping food would help clear your head.

Enhypen was already there, sprawled across the couches and chairs like they lived in this building. You slid into a seat next to Jake, barely registering the conversation around you as you scrolled through your phone.

"You good?" Jungwon asked, eyeing you over his drink.

You blinked. "What?"

"You just seem distracted," he said. "More than usual."

You shrugged. "Just a slow day."

Jake nudged your arm. "Maybe you just need to get out of the studio for a bit. Reset your brain."

"Maybe," you muttered.

A pause. Then, before you could stop yourself— "Did Beomgyu eat before he left yesterday?"

The words left your mouth before you even thought about them, and immediately, you regretted it. Heeseung raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"No reason," you said quickly, looking down at your phone. "I just… I know he forgets to eat when he’s working."

Heeseung hummed. "Honestly? I have no idea."

Sunghoon glanced up from his drink. "You could just text him and ask, you know."

You scoffed. "Like I care that much."

Jungwon smirked. "Uh-huh." You ignored them, tapping your fingers against your cup. It wasn’t a big deal. Beomgyu could take care of himself. That’s why, on Friday, you gave up.

If Beomgyu wanted to be distant, then fine. Let him be distant. You weren’t going to sit here and try to figure out why he had suddenly decided to act like you were nothing more than a coworker.

At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. But when you walked into the studio that morning, the first thing you noticed was that his bag was already there. You weren’t sure why that made your shoulders relax slightly.

You ignored the thought as you set your things down, pulling up the demo you had been struggling with all week. Your goal was simple: work, focus, and not let whatever this was with Beomgyu get in your head.

But apparently, he had other plans. Because suddenly, after an entire week of acting like you barely existed, he was everywhere.

The first time he appeared in your studio, you barely reacted. "Hey," he said casually, leaning against the doorframe, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. "Can you listen to something real quick?"

You gave a short nod, sliding your headphones down to your neck as he walked in. He played a section of the track he had been working on, something stripped down, mostly just melody and chords. "It feels empty," he muttered, frowning slightly. "I don’t know if it needs more layering or if I should just change the chord progression entirely."

You listened, trying to focus on the music instead of the fact that this was the most he had spoken to you all week. "It’s fine," you said, keeping your tone neutral. "Just needs a little more texture."

Beomgyu nodded, thoughtful. "You wanna add something?"

You hesitated, fingers hovering over your keyboard. "You don’t need my help."

He shrugged, tilting his head slightly. "Yeah, but you’re good at this part."

You blinked, caught off guard by the compliment. But instead of responding, you just reached for your mouse and started tweaking the mix, ignoring the way he stood behind you, watching.

By lunchtime, you had stopped keeping track of how many times he had walked into your studio.

"Hey, quick question—" "Hey, do you have the latest version of—" "Hey, can I borrow—"

It was endless. At first, you had answered him normally, keeping things short, professional. But the more he did it, the more irritated you became. Not because he was being annoying. But because why now? Why spend an entire week pretending you didn’t exist only to suddenly act like everything was normal? You weren’t going to play along.

So, by the fourth time he showed up at your door, you barely even looked up. "I’m busy," you muttered, clicking through your project files.

Beomgyu blinked. "I didn’t even say anything yet."

"You were going to."

He hesitated, then let out a small chuckle. "Damn. Am I that predictable?"

You didn’t answer, just continued working. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shift slightly, like he was about to say something.

But instead, he just exhaled and muttered, "Never mind," before walking away. You ignored the strange twist in your stomach and forced yourself to focus on the screen.

You had just finished saving your project when you decided to take a break, stretching your sore muscles before stepping out into the hallway. You weren’t planning on running into anyone, but as soon as you turned the corner, you nearly walked straight into Seungcheol.

"Oh," you said, stepping back slightly. "Sorry."

He smiled, easy and confident. "No need to apologize."

You already knew him, Baekhyun had introduced you two at the HYBE party last week. And while your first meeting had been brief (and rudely interrupted by Beomgyu), you remembered how intently he had listened when you talked about your work.

"You’ve been keeping busy," he mused, crossing his arms. "Baekhyun showed me some of the demos from your sessions. I was impressed."

Something warm settled in your chest. "Really?"

Seungcheol nodded. "You have a good ear. I meant to follow up after the party, but you disappeared before I could."

You huffed a small laugh. "Yeah, sorry about that."

Seungcheol’s gaze stayed steady. "If you ever want to share more of your work, my office is always open. I’d like to hear what else you’re capable of."

It wasn’t an empty offer, you could tell. This was an opportunity. And you weren’t about to waste it. "I’d love that," you said sincerely.

Seungcheol smiled, lingering for just a second longer than necessary before nodding. "I’ll be waiting, then."

And with that, he walked past you, disappearing down the hall.

You barely had a second to process before you felt it, that shift in the air. A presence behind you. You turned slightly, and there he was. Beomgyu was standing just a few feet away, hands shoved deep in his pockets, expression unreadable. Your breath hitched slightly, but you forced yourself to act normal.

Beomgyu's gaze flickered briefly down the hallway where Seungcheol had disappeared. Then, finally, he looked back at you. "You should be careful with him," he said, voice flat.

You frowned. "What?"

Beomgyu tilted his head slightly. "Seungcheol. He doesn’t offer that kind of thing just to anyone."

There was something in his tone, something that wasn’t quite neutral. You crossed your arms. "I know that. He’s creative director. It’s literally his job to look for talent."

Beomgyu scoffed, gaze dark. "Right. Sure."

Your frown deepened. "What’s your problem?"

"Nothing," he muttered, already turning away. "Forget it."

And just like that, he walked past you, heading back to his studio without another word. You stood there, confusion and irritation swirling in your chest. What the hell was that?

So, after that, you had spent the entire day locked in your studio.

It wasn’t intentional at first, you had just wanted to get some uninterrupted work done, to make up for how frustrating this week had been. But one track turned into another, one minor adjustment turned into an hour of tweaking, and before you knew it, the sun had set and most of the building had emptied out.

You barely noticed. At some point, Taehyun had texted asking if you wanted to grab dinner, and you had ignored it, too caught up in your work to even think about food.

It was only when your screen blurred in front of you, exhaustion pressing against your temples, that you finally admitted defeat. You packed up slowly, rubbing at your tired eyes as you stood. The quiet hum of the studio, once comforting, now felt suffocating after being inside for so long. You needed air.

When you opened the door, ready to leave, you nearly tripped over something. A cup. An iced americano, sitting neatly in front of your studio, condensation beading against the plastic.

You stared at it, confused, before noticing the small note taped to the lid. Your brows furrowed as you peeled it off, unfolding the paper between your fingers. The handwriting was messy, slanted, but familiar.

don’t pass out in there

Your lips parted slightly. There was no signature, no indication of who it was from. But you knew. Of course you knew, it was Beomgyu's handwriting.

Your fingers tightened around the note as your heart did something stupid in your chest, something warm, something soft, something you did not want to acknowledge.

Because what the hell was he doing? He had spent the entire week keeping his distance, barely speaking to you, only to suddenly spend the whole day in your space asking for your help. And now this?

You exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the strange feeling settling in your stomach. Maybe this was just some weird attempt at making up for how weird he had been all week. Or maybe he was just screwing with you again, playing some long game you didn’t understand. Or maybe… maybe he just noticed.

Noticed how hard you were working. Noticed that you hadn’t taken a break all day. Noticed you.

You clenched the note tightly before shoving it into your pocket. Your confusion hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had gotten worse. But as you picked up the coffee, taking a slow sip, you realized something else. For the first time all week, Beomgyu had made you smile.

When Saturday morning arrived, you forced yourself to push work aside. No checking mixes, no tweaking arrangements, no thinking about deadlines. Instead, you spent most of the day in the apartment, lounging on the couch while Yeonjun flopped down beside you, mindlessly flipping through TV channels.

"Are you actually not working today?" he asked, stretching his arms above his head.

"I told you I’d take a break," you muttered, though even as you said it, your fingers twitched with the urge to check your email.

Yeonjun narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, but you suck at taking breaks."

You rolled your eyes. "I’m trying."

"You better be," he said, nudging your leg with his foot. "We have a big night ahead."

Ah. Right. The party. You had promised Yunjin and the others that you’d actually go out tonight, no bailing at the last minute, no pretending you were too busy with work.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like going out. It was just that sometimes, after spending all week drained from work, the last thing you wanted was to force yourself to be social.

But tonight, you needed it. So when evening rolled around, you found yourself in front of your closet, sifting through outfits while Yeonjun lounged on your bed, watching with an amused expression.

When you were finally ready, Yeonjun whistled. "Damn. If I didn’t know you, I’d think you actually wanted to impress someone tonight."

You scoffed. "I just want to have fun."

Yeonjun smirked, but thankfully, he didn’t push it. Instead, he just slung an arm around your shoulders as you both headed out.

The place was already packed when you arrived, the bass from the music thrumming through the floors as bodies filled the space. You spotted Yunjin first, standing near the bar with Hueningkai, Taehyun, and a few other familiar faces. She waved excitedly when she saw you, immediately pulling you into a hug.

Yeonjun handed you a drink, and you gladly took it, letting the warmth of alcohol relax your shoulders as you settled into the atmosphere. For the first hour, it was easy. You danced with Yunjin, laughed at Taehyun’s terrible attempts at flirting with someone near the bar, took ridiculous selfies with Hueningkai.

It felt normal. And then, as you were making your way back from the bar with a fresh drink in hand, you saw him.

Beomgyu.

Your steps faltered for half a second before you recovered, eyes flickering over the scene in front of you. He wasn’t alone, he was with Soobin, Heeseung, and Jungwon, all of them gathered near a booth in the corner.

But what caught your attention wasn’t the fact that he was here. It was the fact that he was already drunk. You could tell immediately, the way his smile was looser than usual, the way he leaned slightly against Soobin as he talked, the way his gaze was just a little too unfocused.

And then, as if he could feel you looking, his eyes found yours. For a second, neither of you moved. Then—

A slow, lazy grin spread across his lips. You barely had time to process before he was pushing off the booth, making his way toward you. You braced yourself.

"Look who it is," he drawled, stopping in front of you. His voice was warm, teasing, the opposite of how he had been all week. "Didn’t think I’d see you here."

You raised an eyebrow. "Didn’t think I’d see you here either."

Beomgyu let out a breathy laugh, tilting his head slightly. "Why? You think I just sit in the studio all day?"

You crossed your arms. "You literally do."

"Fair point." He took a sip of whatever drink he was holding before glancing over your shoulder, his gaze flickering toward the group of people you had been with. "You come with Yeonjun?"

You blinked at the question, caught off guard. "Yeah?"

He hummed, expression unreadable. Before you could say anything else, Soobin and Heeseung appeared beside him, greeting you easily. "Hey," Heeseung said, flashing his usual friendly smile. "Didn’t expect to run into you tonight."

You shrugged. "Trying to be social for once."

Soobin chuckled. "That’s new."

Jungwon, who had been hanging back slightly, smirked. "Are you guys gonna fight here, too, or do you save that for work?"

You rolled your eyes. "We don’t fight."

Beomgyu snorted. "Oh, we definitely fight."

The group laughed, and despite yourself, you felt your shoulders relax slightly. This was weird. You weren’t used to seeing Beomgyu like this, loose, relaxed, actually enjoying himself instead of glaring at a screen for hours. For a second, you let yourself take him in.

Beomgyu looked… different. Not in a drastic way, but enough for you to notice. He wasn’t in his usual oversized hoodie or the comfortable, slightly-wrinkled clothes he practically lived in at the studio. Instead, he was wearing a black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the fabric slightly unbuttoned at the top, showing just enough skin to be annoying. His silver jewelry caught the dim lighting of the room, glinting slightly as he shifted his drink from one hand to the other.

It suited him way too well. You hated that you noticed that. And then, just as you were about to shake the thought away, his gaze flickered over you.

You weren’t sure what you expected, maybe another cocky remark, another teasing jab, but instead, his eyes moved over your outfit in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness. "You always wear black," he murmured, almost to himself, but his voice was just loud enough for you to catch.

You raised an eyebrow. "What?"

He took another sip of his drink, tilting his head slightly. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear color."

It wasn’t true, not entirely, but the fact that he had even noticed made something twist in your stomach. "You don’t exactly pay attention to what I wear, Beomgyu," you shot back, crossing your arms.

Beomgyu hummed, his eyes still on you, dark and unreadable. "You think I don’t?"

There was something about the way he said it, something that made your throat go dry. You refused to acknowledge it. Instead, you forced a scoff, shaking your head. "You’re drunk."

"So?" He took another sip, then smirked. "Still got eyes, don’t I?"

And then, just as quickly as it appeared, Beomgyu leaned back, shifting the energy entirely. "Anyway," he drawled, glancing over at the people you had been with earlier, "are you gonna introduce me to your little friend group, or are you scared they’ll like me more than you?"

You blinked, thrown off by the sudden change. "What?"

He gestured vaguely with his drink. "I don’t know half the people you hang out with. Thought I’d be polite and say hi."

You narrowed your eyes. "Since when are you polite?"

Beomgyu tilted his head, studying you like he was trying to figure something out. His smirk wasn’t as sharp now, still there, still insufferable, but softer around the edges, like he was letting himself enjoy this. "Come on," he murmured, leaning in slightly. "Introduce me."

You scoffed. "Why do you even care?"

"Maybe I just wanna see how you talk about me when I’m not around." He grinned, slow and teasing. "Bet you make me sound like a villain."

"You are a villain," you shot back.

"And yet," he mused, taking another sip of his drink, "here you are, still standing here with me instead of running back to your actual friends."

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, a voice cut in.

"So," Yeonjun mused, stepping up beside you, eyes flickering toward Beomgyu. "You’re the Beomgyu, huh?"

Beomgyu didn’t miss a beat. "And you’re the Yeonjun."

Your stomach dropped. This was not happening.

They stared at each other for a moment, taking the other in. Yeonjun looked relaxed, but his sharp gaze held a flicker of curiosity, like he was trying to decide if Beomgyu was worth his time. Beomgyu, for his part, seemed perfectly at ease, his usual smirk still playing at his lips, shoulders loose, like he found this whole thing amusing.

And then, to your horror, they both grinned. "I’ve heard a lot about you," Yeonjun said, crossing his arms.

"Same," Beomgyu replied. "Didn’t think we’d actually meet like this."

You narrowed your eyes. "You two know each other?"

"Not personally," Yeonjun said, shrugging. "But come on. We work in the same industry. I know his work. He’s good."

Beomgyu smiled, tilting his head. "I know your work too, by the way. Not bad."

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow. "Not bad?"

Beomgyu grinned. "I’d say pretty good, but I don’t wanna inflate your ego this early in the conversation."

Yeonjun laughed. "Fair enough."

You looked between them, deeply suspicious. "Why does it feel like you two are getting along?"

Beomgyu glanced at you. "Why? You want us to fight?"

Yeonjun rolled his eyes. "Relax, Y/N. Not everything has to be a battle."

You huffed, taking another sip of your drink. "So," Beomgyu mused, eyes flickering between you and Yeonjun, "how do you two know each other anyway?"

Yeonjun barely hesitated before answering. "College," he said with a small grin. "We met during our first year and just… clicked. Ended up being inseparable after that. And now, we live together."

Beomgyu’s brows lifted slightly, his expression shifting, not in surprise, not in jealousy, but something closer to genuine interest. "Oh, that’s cool," he said, nodding. "Didn’t expect that, but it makes sense."

You glanced at him, skeptical. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Beomgyu shrugged, looking at you. "I don’t know, I just didn’t really picture you as the roommate type. I figured you’d be one of those people who hates sharing a space with someone."

Yeonjun snorted. "Oh, she definitely does."

You shot him a glare. "I do not."

"Sure," Yeonjun said, amused. "That’s why you leave your headphones on all the time and act like I don’t exist when you’re in work mode."

Beomgyu laughed. "Yeah, that checks out."

You rolled your eyes. "Are you two bonding over making fun of me?"

"Absolutely," Beomgyu said easily.

Yeonjun grinned. "It’s kind of fun."

You groaned, rubbing your temples. Beomgyu ignored you, still focused on Yeonjun. "So what’s it like living with her?"

Yeonjun hummed, considering. "Honestly? Not bad. We’ve got our system. We both get busy with work, so we give each other space, but it’s nice having someone around who actually gets it, you know? Plus, she’s a decent cook."

You scoffed. "Now that is a lie."

"It’s not!" Yeonjun defended. "She has, like, three solid recipes."

Beomgyu laughed. "Okay, now I really need to know what these are."

Yeonjun counted on his fingers. "Kimchi fried rice, pasta, and… something that she refuses to name, but it’s actually good."

Beomgyu turned to you, intrigued. "What’s the mystery dish?"

You crossed your arms. "I’m not telling you."

Yeonjun smirked. "She’s embarrassed because it started as a ‘let’s throw random shit together and see what happens’ meal, but it accidentally turned out good."

Beomgyu grinned. "That’s kind of impressive."

You sighed, shaking your head. "Why are we even talking about this?"

"Because I’m curious," Beomgyu said simply.

You didn’t really have a response to that.

Something about the way he said it, not teasing, not smug, just genuinely interested, made you feel a little off balance. You were used to bickering with him, used to sharp words and playful jabs. But this? Him actually wanting to know about your life? That was new.

And for some reason, it made your stomach flip.

Yeonjun glanced over his shoulder toward the bar, then let out an exaggerated sigh. "Well, as fun as this has been, I gotta go. Yunjin’s waiting on her drink, and if I take too long, she’s gonna start a manhunt."

With a final chuckle, Yeonjun clapped a hand on Beomgyu’s shoulder, shot you a look that was somewhere between good luck and I’m enjoying this way too much, and disappeared into the crowd.

You exhaled, already bracing yourself for whatever Beomgyu was about to say now that you were alone. But instead, "So," he said, turning to you, eyes practically shining. "Did you like the coffee?"

You stilled. You had known it was him the second you saw it, left outside your studio door Friday night, your exact order scribbled on the side of the cup in handwriting you recognized immediately. He hadn’t signed his name, hadn’t said anything, just left it there like some anonymous act of kindness.

You sighed. "It was fine."

"Fine?" he repeated, looking personally offended. "That was good coffee."

You narrowed your eyes. "Why did you even do that?"

He blinked. "Huh?"

"The coffee," you said, crossing your arms. "Why’d you leave it?"

He scoffed, like the answer was obvious. "You were working too much."

You frowned. "And?"

"And," he said, dragging the word out, "I saw you in there, looking half-dead, and figured you needed it." Your lips parted slightly. It was such a simple explanation. No teasing, no ulterior motive, just that. Beomgyu, meanwhile, seemed completely unbothered by your confusion. "I mean, I could’ve let you pass out on your keyboard, but I’m a good person," he said, grinning.

You scoffed. "Sure. That’s why you did it."

"Obviously," he said. Then, with zero hesitation—"Hey, you smoke, right?"

You blinked at the sudden shift. "What?"

"If you wanna go outside for a bit, I’ll come with."

Your brows furrowed. "Why?"

He shrugged, still smiling. "Why not?"

You stared at him, trying to figure out what the hell his angle was here. This was strange. All of this was strange. Beomgyu wasn’t being mean. He wasn’t teasing you just to get under your skin. He wasn’t smirking like he had some grand plan to annoy you. He was just… talking. Open. Chatty. And worst of all, nice. You didn’t trust it one bit. But still, for some reason, you found yourself nodding.

"Fine," you said, already turning toward the exit.

And as the two of you stepped outside, you couldn’t help but feel like you had just agreed to something far more complicated than a smoke break.

The night air was crisp as you stepped outside, the cool breeze biting at your skin. The distant hum of the city filled the silence, car headlights flashing by, conversations drifting from people walking past. Beomgyu fell into step beside you, hands shoved into his pockets, his presence oddly easy despite how complicated he made everything feel.

The two of you had been in sync somehow. You weren’t used to that. With Beomgyu, everything was usually sharp edges and competition, but tonight had been… easy. And now, out here, with no studio walls between you, no music to drown out the noise in your head, you felt like you should say something.

You were still trying to figure out what the hell was up with him tonight when a voice called your name.

“Y/N?”

You turned toward the sound, and your stomach immediately flipped.

Yunho.

The last person you expected to run into tonight.

He was leaning against the railing near the edge of the building, dressed in a fitted black turtleneck and an open wool coat, the kind of outfit that made it impossible to forget just how unfairly good-looking he was.

You two used to hook up a while ago, and you hadn’t seen him in months. Hadn’t spoken since things had fizzled out, no big falling out, no dramatic ending, just… a slow, mutual silence.

You barely had time to react before he was stepping closer, wrapping his arms around you in an easy, confident embrace.

“Been a while,” he murmured, voice warm against your ear.

The hug lingered. A little longer than it should have. Beomgyu hadn’t said a word, but you could feel him there. Standing just a few feet away, watching.

When Yunho finally pulled back, his hands slid down your arms before he let go completely. His gaze flicked past you, landing on Beomgyu, curiosity sparking behind his eyes. He waited, expectant.

You hesitated. Just for a second. “This is Beomgyu,” you said, forcing your voice to stay even. “He's my… coworker.”

The second the word left your mouth, you knew it was the wrong one. You didn’t have to look at Beomgyu to know he heard it loud and clear.

Yunho’s expression didn’t change, if anything, his amusement deepened as he extended a hand toward Beomgyu. “Nice to meet you, man.”

Beomgyu took it, but the shake was brief, impersonal. “Yeah,” he said flatly.

The energy shifted, thickening with something unreadable. You could feel it brewing, creeping into the air like a storm about to break, but Yunho didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care. Instead, he turned back to you, eyes glinting with something playful. “I was actually heading out, but if I’d known you were here, I would’ve stuck around longer,” he mused, tilting his head. “Maybe next time.”

The words were casual, but the way he said them? Not so much. And Beomgyu caught it. You saw it in the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers curled slightly in his pocket, the way his shoulders squared just a fraction.

Yunho shot you one last lingering glance before stepping away. “See you around, Y/N.” He turned around, and silence settled between you and Beomgyu, thick and suffocating.

You let out a slow breath, bracing yourself for—what? A sarcastic comment? A joke? Some passive-aggressive remark about your taste in men? Something. Anything.

But Beomgyu just pulled out a cigarette, placed it between his lips, and lit it, his expression unreadable. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t say a thing. You frowned, watching as he took a slow drag, exhaling a stream of smoke into the cold air.

“Hey,” you said finally, tilting your head at him. “You okay?”

Beomgyu exhaled another lazy puff of smoke, gaze still fixed somewhere off in the distance. “What do you mean?”

Your frown deepened. “You’re suddenly being quiet.”

He let out a humorless chuckle. “And?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Seriously, what’s your problem?”

“No problem,” he murmured. “Just enjoying my smoke break.”

Something inside you twisted. You took a deep breath, trying to keep your patience. “Beomgyu—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, you know.” He finally glanced at you then, dark eyes half-lidded, his expression unreadable. “That guy,” he said simply. “You don’t have to explain anything about him.”

The words shouldn’t have bothered you. But they did. “Jesus Christ,” you muttered, shaking your head. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good,” he said. And just like that, he looked away again, as if that was the end of the conversation. As if he didn’t care.

And that—finally, finally—pushed you over the edge.

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “You’re fucking unbelievable.” Beomgyu didn’t react. Just took another slow drag of his cigarette. That only pissed you off more. “You keep doing this shit,” you snapped, voice rising. “One second you’re nice to me, then you’re cold again. Then you’re pushing my buttons just to get a reaction—what the fuck do you want from me?”

Silence. Beomgyu’s expression didn’t change, but his grip on the cigarette tightened just slightly.

You shook your head, letting out a sharp breath. “I swear, I don’t get you. You act like you hate me, but then you do shit like leave me coffee. You act like you don’t care, and then you get all weird and broody all of the sudden. You make no fucking sense.”

Beomgyu took one last drag before flicking the cigarette onto the ground, grinding it out with his shoe. “I never said I hated you.”

Your breath hitched. It was quiet. Just five words. But something about the way he said them, low and deliberate, made your pulse stutter. His gaze was steady, fixed on you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. And suddenly, you realized, this was the first time either of you had ever really talked about it. About whatever this was.

Beomgyu shifted, hands slipping back into his pockets. His voice dropped just slightly, almost like he didn’t want you to hear it. “But you’re right about one thing.”

You swallowed hard. “What?”

He took a step closer. Not much, but enough that you could smell the faint trace of smoke on his clothes, feel the warmth of him even in the cold. “I do like pushing your buttons.” His lips twitched—just barely, just enough to let you know he wasn’t done. He tilted his head slightly, dark eyes flickering with something unreadable. “It’s fun watching you try so hard to pretend you don’t like it.”

And just when you thought that was it, that he was done messing with your head for the night, he added: “But don’t worry.” His voice was light, almost casual. “I don’t care either way. After all, like you said… I’m just your coworker.”

He smirked. Just a flash of teeth, just enough to make your stomach twist. Then he turned on his heel and walked off, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, head spinning, caught between wanting to kill him and—

No.

You weren’t even gonna finish that thought.

my masterlist | previous fic

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that you weren’t with Yeonjun. It didn’t matter that you had laughed, like the thought had never even crossed your mind.

And yet, by the time he pulled into the parking lot of his apartment that night, exhaustion was settling deep into his body, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He rarely did these days, not properly, anyway.

The hallway to his apartment was quiet, dimly lit, the familiar flickering of the overhead lights casting long shadows against the walls. It wasn’t a bad place. Spacious, modern enough. But it felt empty.

As soon as he stepped inside, he tossed his bag onto the couch and went straight to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. His shoulders ached from hunching over his desk all day, his head heavy from staring at screens for too long.

Still, instead of going to bed, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his call log. His thumb hovered over the contact labeled Mom, but for some reason, hesitation rooted him in place.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to her. It was just that… sometimes, it was easier to pretend things were fine when he didn’t hear how tired she sounded. Still, after a few moments, he forced himself to dial.

When she picked up, her voice was soft, laced with the kind of exhaustion that came from being sick for too long. "Gyu-yah."

His chest tightened. "Hey, Mom."

"You’re calling late," she murmured, a small smile in her tone.

"You’re awake late," he echoed his earlier words to his brother.

She chuckled lightly. "Guess it runs in the family." Another beat of silence. "You’ve been working a lot, haven’t you?"

Beomgyu leaned against the counter, closing his eyes briefly. She always saw right through him. "Yeah. Big project."

"Hm. And how’s that going?"

He exhaled, rubbing his fingers over his temple. "It’s—" He hesitated, searching for the right words. "Harder than I thought."

"Isn’t it always?"

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah."

His mother’s voice softened. "What’s making it difficult?"

Beomgyu rolled his shoulders, shifting against the counter. He could lie, say it was just the usual stress of production, deadlines piling up, expectations weighing on him. That was part of it, sure. But there was something else. "She’s… challenging," he admitted before he could think better of it.

A pause. Then, amusement slipped into his mother’s voice. "She?"

Beomgyu regretted his wording immediately. "I meant the project is challenging." His mother hummed knowingly, and somehow that was worse than if she had outright called him out. He sighed, tipping his head back. "It’s just—I don’t know. I’m used to working on my own. Or at least, if I do work with other people, I don’t have to think about them all the time."

"All the time?"

He gritted his teeth. "Not like that."

His mother just laughed softly, as if she had already heard this story before. "That means they’re good, doesn’t it?"

Beomgyu scoffed. "More like they piss me off."

"That’s the same thing sometimes." He rolled his eyes, but a small, unwilling smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Does she make your job harder?" his mom asked after a moment, more thoughtful now.

Beomgyu exhaled slowly. "She makes my job better."

It was the truth. And he hated that. Because you did. Even when you were annoying, even when you were frustrating, even when you made him want to slam his head against the mixing console, you still made the music better.

And that should be the only thing that mattered. Should be.

His mother hummed softly, as if she could hear everything he wasn’t saying. "Some people just have a way of getting under your skin," she murmured. "And sometimes, that’s not a bad thing."

Beomgyu didn’t respond to that. Because he wasn’t sure he liked where his thoughts were heading. After a while, he let her rest, hanging up the call and tossing his phone onto the couch. He should go to bed. But instead, he found himself standing in his kitchen, staring at the dark city skyline through the window, mind circling back to the same damn thing. To you.

To the way you had looked at him earlier, confused by his mood. To the way your voice had softened when you told him you weren’t having a good day. To the way you had laughed at the idea of being with Yeonjun, so casually, like it wasn’t even a possibility.

He didn’t know why that last part stuck with him the most. And he really didn’t like that he cared enough to wonder.

And now, standing in the middle of a crowded party, staring at you across the room, he realized: You had never really left. You were looking at him. Even with the haze of alcohol buzzing in his system, even through the blur of shifting bodies and flashing lights, Beomgyu felt it—sharp and unmistakable. The way your eyes found him, held him, even for just a moment. The way your expression flickered, unreadable, like you were trying to piece together something that neither of you had the words for.

And for the first time that night, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to smirk or swear. Because he liked it. He liked that you were looking. He liked knowing that, no matter how much you fought him, no matter how much you denied it—there was something there. But then, you looked away. Like it hadn’t meant anything. Like he didn’t mean anything. And something twisted deep in his chest, hot and sour. So, naturally, he did what he always did. He let his mouth run before his brain could catch up. "But don’t worry," he said, voice light, almost lazy, but aimed with precision. "I don’t care either way. After all, like you said… I’m just your coworker." The words landed exactly how he intended. He saw it—the way your shoulders tensed, the way your lips pressed together. The way something flickered in your eyes, so fast that if he blinked, he might’ve missed it. Then he smirked. Just a flash of teeth, just enough to make your stomach twist. And before he could second-guess himself, before he could let the alcohol-fueled honesty catch up to him, he turned on his heel and walked off, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, head spinning, caught between wanting to kill him and— No. You weren’t even gonna finish that thought.

You let out a slow, frustrated breath, running a hand through your hair. You needed to get out of your own head. You needed a drink. And after that, you needed Yunjin.

The party was still buzzing when you stepped back inside, the room warm and crowded, laughter spilling over the music. You spotted her near the bar, leaning against the counter, drink in hand, mid-conversation with some guy you didn’t recognize. You marched straight up to her, grabbing her wrist.

“I need to talk to you.” Yunjin barely had time to react before you were pulling her away from the noise, past groups of people, through the doorway leading to one of the quieter lounge areas.

Once inside, she gave you a look, raising an eyebrow as she took a slow sip of her drink. “Damn. No ‘hey, how are you?’ Not even a ‘you look great tonight, Yunjin’?”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Not now.”

She studied you, then smirked knowingly. “This is about Beomgyu, isn’t it?”

You stiffened. “No.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, completely unconvinced. “Go on…”

You exhaled sharply, slumping onto the couch, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me.”

Yunjin sat beside you, kicking off her heels, posture casual. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

You hesitated, staring at the floor, feeling strangely vulnerable all of a sudden. It took a few seconds before you found your voice. “I—” You stopped, frowning. “I don’t even know what I feel right now. I’m just… frustrated.”

She hummed. “At him?”

“At everything,” you admitted. “At this whole fucking project. At the way he gets under my skin so easily. At the fact that—” You cut yourself off, clenching your jaw.

Yunjin, sharp as ever, caught it immediately. “At the fact that what?”

You hesitated, gripping the edge of your seat. “I want his approval.” The words came out quiet. Frustrated. “I don’t know why. I just—I hate how much I care about what he thinks. Every time we work on something, I catch myself waiting to see how he reacts. Like, I tell myself it doesn’t matter, that I don’t need him to validate me, but then—” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “But then he does. And it fucks with me.”

Yunjin listened, her expression unreadable. “Do you want his approval?” she asked. “Or do you want him?”

Your head snapped toward her. “What?”

She shrugged, completely unfazed. “I mean, you’re so worked up over him, and yeah, some of it is because of work, but…” She tilted her head, giving you a look. “Is that all it is?”

Your stomach twisted. “Yes,” you said immediately. Yunjin just stared at you, unimpressed. You crossed your arms. “It is.”

Silence. Then she smirked, slow and knowing. “Liar.”

You groaned, shoving your face into your hands. “Oh my god, shut up.”

She laughed, nudging your foot with hers. “I mean, come on. This whole thing screams unresolved tension. You two have been circling each other for months, pretending you’re just rivals when clearly there’s more to it.”

You lifted your head, glaring. “There isn’t.”

“Okay,” she said, amused. “So if he kissed you tomorrow, you wouldn’t think about it for the rest of your life?”

Your brain short-circuited so violently that you actually choked on air. “What—”

Yunjin grinned. “Exactly.”

You scowled, but the damage was done. The thought was already planted in your head, unshakable. Beomgyu, close. Beomgyu, leaning in. Beomgyu, looking at you with that stupid, unreadable expression of his before—

Nope. You refused to entertain this. You grabbed her drink, downing the rest of it in one go, ignoring the way she laughed at you. “I hate you,” you muttered.

“No, you don’t,” she teased. “But you do have a thing for Beomgyu.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“Shut up.”

“Denial isn’t a good look on you, babe.”

You groaned, sinking further into the couch, your mind an absolute mess. Because no matter how much you wanted to deny it, Yunjin wasn’t completely wrong.

The music pulsed through the party, deep bass reverberating in your chest as you let yourself sink into the moment. The weight of the conversation with Yunjin still lingered in the back of your mind, but you shoved it aside, focusing on your friends instead—on the warmth of Yeonjun’s arm slung over your shoulder as he dramatically belted the lyrics to whatever song was playing, on the way Taehyun shook his head at him, on Hueningkai laughing so hard at something that he nearly dropped his drink. You let yourself get lost in it.

And then, eventually, the night began to wind down. People started leaving in waves, slipping out the doors in pairs or groups, laughter and goodbyes trailing after them. Your own friends were still lingering, but you were exhausted, drained from the long week, from the constant push and pull inside your head.

You needed sleep. You told them as much, earning dramatic protests from Yeonjun that didn't want to leave with you, a teasing “boring” from Yunjin, and an understanding nod from Taehyun. Hueningkai just patted your shoulder. "Get home safe," he said, voice warm.

Near the entrance, just a few feet away, Beomgyu stood against the wall, shoulders tense, arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t talking to anyone, wasn’t laughing, wasn’t even pretending to enjoy himself. He was just there, like he had been standing in that same spot for too long, stewing in whatever storm was brewing behind his unreadable expression.

And he was looking at you. Even in the dim lighting, even from across the room, you could feel the weight of it—heavy, unwavering, pressing against your skin like static before a thunderstorm. There was something sharp in his gaze, something unsettled. Irritated. His jaw was tight, his fingers flexing slightly against his bicep, like he was holding something back. But from what? From you?

The noise of the party faded into the background, drowned out by the heavy thrum of your own heartbeat. You didn’t know why you were still standing there. You didn’t know why the sight of him like this made something twist sharply in your stomach, something restless, something uneasy.

You exhaled sharply, breaking the moment before it could turn into something you weren’t ready to name. Without another glance, you turned on your heel and walked out of the party.

You didn’t know what you felt.

But whatever it was, you hated it.

Just like you thought you hated Beomgyu.

You woke up feeling like absolute shit.

The kind of headache that pounded behind your eyes, the kind of dryness in your throat that made you regret every decision from the night before. You groaned, burying your face in the pillow, willing the pain to go away.

It didn’t. Of course it didn’t.

Memories from last night filtered into your mind slowly, fragmented, like puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit together at first. You remembered the warmth of the alcohol in your veins, the steady bass of the music vibrating through your chest, the feeling of actually having fun for once—until you saw him.

Beomgyu.

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that could make the memory disappear.

Beomgyu, drunk and loose-limbed, flashing you that easy, lazy grin that made your stomach flip before you could even process why. Beomgyu being nice, too nice, his words softer than usual, his teasing edged with something warmer.

And then, just as quickly as it came, it was gone. The shift. The way his smile dimmed when he saw you talking to Yunho. The way his fingers curled slightly around his drink, his jaw tightening just enough for you to notice. The way his gaze darkened, cold and distant again.

And right before he walked away, he had turned to you with that unreadable look in his eyes, that frustrating mix of amusement and distance, and had said— "After all, like you said… I’m just your coworker."

Your stomach twisted. You threw the blanket off you, forcing yourself to sit up, because if you laid here any longer, you were going to start throwing things.

The apartment was dead silent, except for the faint sound of someone snoring in the living room. You got up carefully, wincing at the headache that pulsed through your skull, and padded out of your room. Yeonjun was passed out on the couch, one leg hanging off the side, his face smushed into a pillow. You sighed, grabbing the nearest blanket and draping it over him.

Then, as you turned toward the kitchen, you nearly tripped over two bodies sprawled out on the floor. Hueningkai and Taehyun. Both dead asleep, Kai using a hoodie as a pillow, Taehyun curled up in the most uncomfortable-looking position you had ever seen.

You stared at them for a long moment, then sighed again, rubbing at your temples. You needed coffee. You needed out of this apartment. That's why you decided to grab coffee somewhere else.

It was still too early for the world to feel real. The streets were quiet, the sky dull with that soft, overcast light that only came on hungover Sundays. You wrapped your jacket tighter around yourself as you pushed through the doors of the coffeeshop, craving caffeine more than you had ever craved anything in your life.

You were so focused on getting to the counter that you didn’t even notice him at first.

"So we really had the same idea, huh?" You blinked, turning toward the voice. Soobin was sitting at a corner table, hoodie pulled up over his messy hair, looking just as wrecked as you felt. His iced coffee sat half-finished in front of him, condensation dripping down the sides.

You stared. "Holy shit. You look like hell."

He scoffed. "Thanks. You’re glowing this morning."

You snorted, finally ordering your drink before sliding into the seat across from him. "Didn’t expect to see you here."

Soobin hummed. "Didn’t expect to be here. But I woke up with a headache from hell and figured coffee might bring me back to life."

"Same." You took a slow sip of your drink, wincing as the cold hit your stomach. "Last night was… a lot."

Soobin huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah. Some more than others."

You narrowed your eyes. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

He just smirked, shaking his head. "Nothing. Just… Beomgyu was in rare form last night."

You stiffened slightly. If Soobin noticed, he didn’t mention it. "That drunk?" you asked, voice carefully neutral.

"Drunk enough to be nice," Soobin mused. "Which, you know, is when you should be really concerned." You huffed a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Soobin watched you for a moment, something thoughtful in his expression. "You know," he said eventually, stirring his drink with the straw, "he’s not as much of an asshole as he tries to be."

You raised an eyebrow. "Could’ve fooled me."

Soobin chuckled. "Yeah, he’s good at that. But—" He tilted his head slightly, studying you. "—he respects you."

You hesitated. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe that. You knew Beomgyu took you seriously, he wouldn’t compete so hard with you if he didn’t. But respect wasn’t the word that had been echoing in your head since last night.

Soobin leaned back in his chair. "And maybe he likes your work a little too much."

Your heart skipped, just once, just enough for you to feel stupid. You forced out a scoff, shaking your head. "Right. Sure. That’s why he spent half of the night treating me like shit."

Soobin’s smirk barely twitched. "I never said he handles it well."

You stared at him, trying to figure out if he was messing with you. But there was nothing teasing in his gaze, just knowing amusement, like he had already seen how this story played out before you even knew what page you were on.

You hated that. You hated that something about it made your stomach twist.

So, you stood up, grabbing your order. "I need to go before you start giving me life advice."

Soobin grinned, unfazed. "See you Monday, then?"

"Yeah, yeah," you muttered, already heading for the door.

But even as you stepped out into the cold air, the caffeine still not fully kicking in, Soobin’s words stuck with you. Maybe he likes your work a little too much. Whatever that meant, you weren’t sure if you wanted to know.

The walk back to your apartment was slow, the cool morning air doing little to clear the fog still lingering in your head. The coffeeshop bag swung gently at your side, filled with coffee and a few pastries, not because you were feeling particularly generous, but because you knew the three idiots waiting for you would need it just as much as you did.

When you finally pushed the door open, the apartment was still a disaster.

Yeonjun was awake now, sprawled across the couch in the same position you had left him in, scrolling through his phone with half-lidded eyes. Taehyun and Hueningkai were still on the floor, looking like they had barely moved.

You let the door shut behind you with a soft thud, and all three of them flinched.

"Jesus," Yeonjun muttered, rubbing his face. "Not so loud."

You rolled your eyes, tossing the bag onto the coffee table. "Brought coffee. If any of you die, it’s not my fault."

Hueningkai groaned, blindly reaching for the bag without sitting up. "You’re an angel. A mean one, but an angel."

Taehyun sat up with effort, running a hand through his already-messy hair. "Where’d you go?"

"Coffeeshop," you said simply, grabbing your own cup before sitting on the arm of the couch. "Needed air."

Yeonjun stretched his arms above his head, then let them drop dramatically. "Did we ever figure out what happened to Yunjin?"

"Yeah," Taehyun answered, taking a sip of his drink. "We got her home safe. She passed out halfway there."

"Typical," Yeonjun muttered, shaking his head.

Hueningkai yawned. "We were too drunk to go back to our own places, so we crashed here. Hope you don’t mind."

You shrugged. "I figured. You were taking up half my floor." You shook your head before speaking again. "Ran into Soobin there, in the coffeeshop."

That got their attention. Hueningkai snorted. "Damn, everyone had the same idea."

"Yeah," you mused, stirring your straw through your drink. "He looked just as bad as me. Maybe worse."

Yeonjun hummed. "He drank a lot last night."

"Yeah," you agreed, then took a slow sip of coffee before adding casually, "But he said Beomgyu was worse." You expected some reaction. A laugh, a sarcastic remark, maybe even an exaggerated groan. What you didn’t expect was the subtle way Yeonjun and Taehyun exchanged glances. You frowned. "What?"

Yeonjun exhaled, setting his drink down. "Nothing—just…" He hesitated before continuing, "after you left, Beomgyu and Yunho got into it."

You blinked. "What?"

Hueningkai nodded, chewing slowly. "Yeah. Not, like, a full fight or anything. But they were arguing. And it wasn’t friendly."

You sat up slightly. "Over what?"

Yeonjun shrugged. "No clue. Heeseung and I stepped in before it got worse, but they were both pissed."

Your mind raced, replaying the night. Yunho had been fine when you left, normal, flirty, acting like he always did. And Beomgyu? Beomgyu had been weird. The shift had been so sudden, one second he was being nice, playful, softer than usual. The next, cold, distant. And now, apparently, he had also picked a fight with Yunho. None of it made sense.

You drummed your fingers against your cup. "What did Yunho even say?"

Taehyun shook his head. "Dunno. But whatever it was, Beomgyu hated it."

You scoffed lightly. "So what? He was already pissed at me."

"Was he?" Yeonjun asked, raising an eyebrow.

You frowned, opening your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Because, honestly? You didn’t know. He had been acting off all week, distant and unreadable. And then last night, he was the opposite, warm, teasing, close. And then, again, the shift, cold. Your head hurt just thinking about it.

"I don’t care," you muttered, standing up and stretching. "I’m taking a shower. If you guys are still here when I’m done, I’m kicking you out."

Taehyun smirked. "Love you too."

You rolled your eyes, but as you walked toward your room, the weight of Yeonjun’s words lingered. Whatever it was, it clearly got under Beomgyu’s skin. But why did that matter? And why the hell did you care?

The car ride to work on Monday was quiet, but not in a peaceful way.

Yeonjun was dropping you off like usual, his music playing softly in the background, but you weren’t really listening. Your thoughts were elsewhere, circling, looping, pulling you into an endless spiral of what the hell is going on with you and Beomgyu.

You had spent the entire Sunday trying not to think about him.

Trying not to think about the way he had been so warm, so teasing, so himself, until he wasn’t. Trying not to think about Yunho, about their argument, about the way Beomgyu looked at you when you left.

And yet, here you were, staring out the car window, still thinking about it. Because now you had to see him again. And you had no idea which version of Beomgyu you were going to get. The smug, infuriating one who lived to push your buttons? The cold, distant one who had barely acknowledged you all week? Or the version from the party, the one who looked at you like he knew exactly what he was doing to your head?

Which was exactly why you didn’t want to talk about this. Because if you said it out loud, then it would feel real. Instead, you just turned back toward the window, watching as the HYBE building came into view.

You made it to your studio without seeing Beomgyu. Thank god.

You hadn’t even realized you had been holding your breath until you shut the door behind you, exhaling slowly. The last thing you wanted was to run into Beomgyu in some awkward hallway moment, trying to pretend like everything was fine when clearly nothing was.

So you did what you did best. You threw yourself into work.

The hours slipped by, your fingers moving almost mechanically over your keyboard, your mind hyper-focused on mixing, arranging, tweaking. It was easier this way, easier to pretend that nothing had changed, that your work was all that mattered.

You didn’t see Beomgyu once. Not in the hallway, not in the break room, not even in the usual spaces where he always seemed to be. Maybe he was avoiding you too. You tried not to care. Tried not to think about it.

But then, just as the day was winding down, just as you were finally about to pack up and go home, there was a knock at your door.

You frowned, pushing your chair back. "Come in."

The door swung open, and standing there, looking as serious as ever, was Baekhyun. "Hey," he said, stepping inside. "Got a minute?"

You straightened slightly, your pulse kicking up for no reason at all. "Uh… yeah, of course."

Baekhyun shut the door behind him before turning to face you. His expression was unreadable, calm, neutral, but with a weight behind his eyes that made your stomach churn. You had a bad feeling about this.

"Listen," he started, crossing his arms. "I wanted to tell you this before you heard it from someone else."

You swallowed. "O…kay?"

Baekhyun exhaled, then said, "Beomgyu dropped out of the project."

The words didn’t register at first. You just blinked at him, waiting for him to say something else. But he didn’t. Because that was it.

You sat up straighter, confusion flashing across your face. "What?"

"He asked to be reassigned," Baekhyun clarified. "You’re the sole producer now."

Your stomach dropped. "He what?"

Baekhyun sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don’t know what happened, but it wasn’t about work. His excuse was weak as hell. He just said he ‘wasn’t the right fit for the project’ and left it at that."

You stared at him, your brain struggling to process. Beomgyu, who never backed down from anything, had quit? Beomgyu, who had spent the last few weeks going head-to-head with you, challenging you, pushing you, had walked away?

Just like that? Your pulse roared in your ears. "Why?" you demanded.

Baekhyun shook his head. "I have no idea. And honestly, I don’t have time to figure it out. The album still needs to get done, and now it’s all on you."

You barely heard him. Because all you could think about was him.

The way he had been acting all week. The way he had been acting at the party. The argument with Yunho. The distance. The sudden shift. And now this.

Beomgyu didn’t just quit. Not unless there was a reason. But what the hell was it?

Baekhyun sighed, checking his watch. "Look, I have to run, but if you need anything, let me know."

You nodded stiffly, barely registering as he left the room, shutting the door behind him. And then you were alone. Alone with the news. Alone with the confusion. Alone with the sharp, twisting feeling in your chest that you refused to call anything other than frustration.

Your brain spiraled. Your hands clenched into fists against your desk, your pulse hammering in your ears. Beomgyu quit? Just like that? Without saying a word to you? Without even giving a proper reason?

It made no sense. None of it made sense. You sat there, staring blankly at your screen, but you weren’t processing anything. All you could think about was him.

You exhaled sharply, pushing back from your desk. You weren’t going to sit here and let your thoughts drive you insane. If he wasn’t going to come to you, then fine. You’d go to him.

The building was nearly empty. Most people had already gone home, leaving only a few scattered producers and trainees still working. The silence felt heavier somehow, like even the air itself knew something was wrong.

You walked straight to his studio first. Locked. No lights inside. Empty.

Your jaw tightened as you turned away, moving faster now. Fine. Maybe he was in the break room.

You checked there next, stepping inside and scanning the area. Nothing. Not even a half-finished cup of coffee or an abandoned snack, things that always seemed to be left behind whenever Beomgyu was around.

Your fingers twitched at your sides. You were already walking before you had fully decided to, heading down the hallway toward the smoking area outside. You shoved the door open, stepping onto the dimly lit balcony. The cold air bit at your skin, but you barely noticed. Because the space was completely empty. He wasn’t here.

You let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through your hair. Where the hell was he?

After a few more seconds of standing there uselessly, you turned back around, forcing yourself to accept that you weren’t going to find him tonight. Maybe he had already gone home. Maybe he had been home this whole time, avoiding everything and everyone. Maybe you were wasting your energy trying to chase after someone who clearly didn’t want to be found.

Defeat sat heavy in your chest as you trudged back toward your studio, exhaustion sinking into your bones now that the adrenaline had faded. You should just let it go. Just let him go.

But when you stepped inside your studio—

You froze. Because there he was.

Sitting in your chair, arms resting on the desk, staring at you like he had been waiting. Like he had known you’d come looking. He had that look on his face. That stupid, pathetic, guilty expression—like a kicked dog, like he knew exactly what he had done, like he was bracing himself for the storm he knew was coming.

You shut the door behind you harder than necessary, your heartbeat roaring in your ears. Beomgyu swallowed, his hands tightening slightly where they rested on the desk.

"Listen—"

"Listen what?" Your voice snapped through the air, sharper than you even intended, but you didn’t care. Because after everything, this was what you got? A half-hearted listen? No. Not happening. You crossed your arms, glaring at him. "Go on, Beomgyu. I’d love to hear it."

The words hit the air like a match against gasoline. Beomgyu exhaled sharply, rubbing his palms against his jeans before leaning forward, elbows on his knees. His gaze flickered up to meet yours, hesitant, cautious. "I just—" He ran a hand through his hair, frustration leaking into his voice. "It wasn’t working."

"What wasn’t working?" you demanded. "Because from where I’m standing, the only thing that wasn’t working was you deciding to disappear without saying a damn word to me—"

"Would you just let me talk?" Beomgyu snapped, his voice cutting through yours.

You froze. He never raised his voice at you. Not like this. Not with something heavy sitting behind it, something too close to something real. You set your jaw, arms tightening over your chest. "Fine. Talk."

He let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. "You think I wanted to leave the project?"

You blinked. "You literally did."

"Yeah," he snapped. "And maybe if you weren’t so stuck in your own head all the time, you’d realize why."

Your stomach twisted. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Beomgyu scoffed, pushing himself up from your chair. "It means," he said, voice low, controlled, "that I warned you about people you let in in your life, and you didn’t listen."

And there it was. The shift. The argument that had started as one thing—the project, his sudden absence, your frustration, suddenly becoming something else. Your hands clenched at your sides. "This is about Seungcheol?!"

He let out a sharp laugh, running his tongue over his teeth. "Wow. Look at that. You do listen sometimes."

You took a step closer. "And what exactly is your problem with him?"

Beomgyu’s jaw ticked. "My problem," he muttered, "is that you’re so damn naive sometimes—"

"Excuse me?"

"You think everyone is exactly what they show you," he continued, voice rising slightly. "You think people don’t have their own reasons for the things they do, for why they pay attention to you—"

You felt something sharp crawl up your throat, something dangerously close to real anger. "And why the fuck does that matter to you?"

Beomgyu’s breath hitched, just for a second, just enough for you to see it. And then, just as quickly, his face hardened again. "It doesn’t," he said flatly.

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Right. Got it. So, you threw away an entire project, left me with all the fucking work, because you suddenly don’t care?"

Beomgyu’s hands curled into fists. "I left because I knew this was going to get messy."

"It’s already messy, Beomgyu!" you exploded. "You made it messy! I thought we were a team—I thought, for once, that maybe you weren’t just trying to be better than me, that maybe we actually worked well together, but no—of course not, because you had to fucking run the second it got complicated—"

"Are you even hearing yourself?" His voice was sharp, eyes blazing. "Do you really think I left because of the fucking project?"

You opened your mouth—then shut it. Because, no. You didn’t believe that. Not for a second. Because if this was just about work, then Beomgyu would’ve fought harder. He always fought harder.

Your breath was shallow now, your heart racing against your ribs. There was only a foot of space between you.

You could hear his breathing, sharp, uneven. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched at his sides like he was fighting the urge to do something. And you could feel it, how the air between you had shifted, thickened into something neither of you knew how to name.

This wasn’t just about work. This wasn’t just about Yunho, or Seungcheol. This wasn’t just about Saturday night. It was about everything. But neither of you were ready to say it. Neither of you knew how.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral. "Then why did you?"

His jaw clenched. "I told you—"

"No," you cut him off, stepping even closer, your anger outweighing your restraint now. "You didn’t. You keep talking in circles, Beomgyu, but you haven’t told me shit. You just keep—acting like I’m supposed to read your fucking mind."

Beomgyu exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "Because you don’t get it!"

"Then make me get it!" you snapped.

His eyes flashed, dark and burning. Then, suddenly—

"You drive me insane."

The words hit the air before he could stop them, before you could process them, and for a second, the room froze. Your breath caught.

Beomgyu’s lips parted slightly, like he couldn’t believe he had actually said it out loud. His chest rose and fell unevenly, like he had been holding onto those words for too long, like they had just ripped their way out of him.

You felt your stomach twist, your skin heat, your pulse roar in your ears. Because he wasn’t looking at you with anger anymore. He was looking at you like you were something dangerous. Like you had the power to ruin him. Like you already had.

"Ever since we started this fucking project," he continued, voice rough, "I haven’t been able to think straight. I go home, and I still hear your voice in my head. I wake up, and I’m already wondering what kind of mood you’ll be in, if we’re gonna fight, if we’re gonna work, if—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "It’s you. It’s always fucking you."

Your pulse slammed against your ribs. This, whatever this was, it had been bubbling under the surface for so long, hidden under sharp words and competition and a rivalry neither of you had ever actually needed.

"You fucking ran." Your voice was quieter now, but not softer.

Beomgyu’s brows pulled together. "I had to."

"No," you countered, stepping closer. "You wanted to. Because it was easier than—than whatever this is. Because you can’t handle anything you can’t control."

Beomgyu let out a sharp breath, tongue running over his teeth. "You think I’m the only one running?" You hesitated. That second of hesitation was all it took.

Because then, suddenly, Beomgyu’s fingers curled around your wrist, not pulling, not forcing, just grounding, and you felt the warmth of his skin burn into yours. "You tell me to stop running," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper now. "Then tell me to stay."

Your heart nearly stopped. The challenge in his tone, the weight behind it, felt like stepping off a ledge. You stared at him, your throat tight, your head light, your pulse a fucking mess. Because this wasn’t how things were supposed to go. This wasn’t the plan.

And yet, your fingers tightened slightly around his. Barely, just enough for him to feel it. Just enough for something inside him to snap.

You barely had time to process it before Beomgyu moved.

His hands found your face first, warm, calloused fingers cradling your jaw like he needed to hold you in place, like he was afraid you’d pull away before he could do what he had been holding back for too long.

The space between you disappeared, and then his lips were on yours.

The first press was firm, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if you’d kiss him back, if this was something he was allowed to take. But then you gave in. A sharp inhale, a slight tilt of your head, the way your fingers fisted into his hoodie, yanking him closer. That was all he needed. Because once Beomgyu realized you weren’t stopping him, that you weren’t pushing him away, he lost it.

The kiss got harder, deeper, his lips parting against yours as his hands slid from your jaw to your waist, fingers gripping your sides like he was pissed off—at you, at himself, at the entire world for making him wait this long.

You made a sound against his mouth, but it wasn’t protest. It was frustration, relief, disbelief that this was even happening. Because fuck, he kissed like this? Hot and desperate and messy, like he had been waiting for this for longer than even he was willing to admit. Like he had no idea where to put his hands because he wanted to touch you everywhere.

You felt his teeth graze your lower lip, just barely, just enough to make you gasp, and he took full advantage of it, deepening the kiss, pressing himself into you until your back hit the door behind you.

All you could process was him, his lips, his warmth, the way one of his hands slid up, fingers curling around the back of your neck, angling your head so he could kiss you even deeper, even dirtier. Your fingers dug into his hoodie, tugging him forward, not willing to let him have all the control. He groaned at that.

A soft, frustrated sound that sent a thrill through your body, because you had never heard him sound like that before, had never imagined that you could pull that sound from him. And then, just when the heat between you had grown unbearable, just when his hands started to wander, gripping at your waist like he wanted to pin you there forever—

You both realized what was happening. Realized that this was you and him. That this was real. That this wasn’t something either of you could take back. So you pulled away first. Barely, just a few inches. Just enough to catch your breath. Beomgyu didn’t move.

His forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips, his hands still gripping your waist like he couldn’t let go. Your chest heaved, heart hammering so loudly you swore he could hear it. Neither of you spoke. Neither of you could. Because whatever line had been there before? You had just obliterated it.

His breath was uneven, and the silence between you both stretched longer than either of you had anticipated. The air in the studio felt thick now, charged with something neither of you quite knew how to handle.

Finally, you broke the silence. Your voice came out rough but firm as you looked at him. "You… you can’t just walk away."

Beomgyu’s hand twitched at your waist, his grip still there, like he was trying to hold onto something real in the middle of all the chaos between you two. His lips parted, but he hesitated, like he wasn’t sure what to say next.

"You want me to stay?" he asked, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable than you expected. "You really want me to stay?"

You swallowed hard, a knot forming in your throat. It wasn’t that simple. But then again, it was. "I do," you said, your words coming out with an honesty you couldn’t take back.

The air seemed to crackle around you both, and Beomgyu finally let go of his tight grip around your waist, but not completely. He just let his hands fall to your sides, his touch lingering as though he was afraid of pushing too far.

And there it was. The line had been crossed. The weight of your words hung between you, settling like something inevitable. Neither of you moved, but there was something different now, something undeniable that shifted in the space you shared.

Beomgyu’s eyes softened for the first time, he leaned in again, his hand gently cupping your cheek this time, as though he was finally allowing himself to believe that this wasn’t just another fleeting moment, another mistake. His touch lingered for a moment longer, his hand soft on your cheek as though he were afraid that if he moved too quickly, everything would fall apart. His eyes searched yours, the intensity of the moment hanging between you, thick with unspoken words. His lips parted slightly, as though he was going to say something, but the words seemed to get stuck in his throat.

For a long moment, all that was heard was the sound of your breaths, his shaky, yours quick. But then, just as quickly as he had leaned in, Beomgyu pulled back.

The change was immediate. His hand dropped from your cheek, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something almost… regretful. You could feel the tension in his body shift, a quiet storm brewing in him that you couldn’t quite understand.

"Beomgyu…" you started, but before you could get another word out, he turned away from you.

Without a word, he walked toward the door. Your chest tightened, confusion and frustration flooding your senses as you watched him move. You didn’t know whether to call out, to beg him to stay, or to just let him go and pretend that this whole mess hadn’t happened. But no matter what, you felt a pit in your stomach, a weight you couldn’t shake off.

Beomgyu reached for the handle, his back still to you, and for a brief second, you thought maybe he would say something—anything. Maybe he would explain himself, finally tell you what was going through his head. But instead, he opened the door. The sound of the hinges creaking was like a cruel reminder of what was happening.

He stepped outside, and for a heartbeat, the door remained open, leaving you to watch him through the gap. His expression was unreadable, his body stiff. Then, without looking back, he closed the door behind him, the sound echoing through the room like the finality of everything.

And just like that, you were left alone.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you sat down, staring at the door, still hearing the faint click of it locking in your mind. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. It felt as though the world had tilted on its axis, leaving you floating in the aftermath, unsure of what had just happened. What had changed? Why did it feel like you were left with nothing?

Everything was so… messy. You had never felt so raw, so exposed, and yet, Beomgyu had walked away without a single word. The silence that filled the room now was deafening. You wanted to scream, to shout, to demand answers, but all you could do was sit there, trying to make sense of it all.

Had you been wrong to ask him to stay? Did you push him too far, too soon? Or was this all just another part of that complicated dance you two had been doing from the very start?

You didn’t know. All you knew was that the studio felt emptier now, quieter. And Beomgyu… Beomgyu had walked away. The silence in the studio was suffocating.

You sat there, unmoving, eyes still locked on the door even though Beomgyu was long gone. Your hands were trembling in your lap. The lump in your throat tightened, and before you could stop it, a sharp, broken breath escaped you. Until the tears spilled over, hot and relentless, blurring your vision and burning your cheeks.

You sucked in a shaky breath, gripping the edge of your desk like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. You never cried over shit like this. Not over work. Not over him. You hated this. You hated feeling like this.

You blinked rapidly, wiping at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, but the tears wouldn’t stop. Your breath came out in uneven gasps, the weight in your chest growing heavier by the second.

You needed to leave. Your fingers scrambled for your phone, your vision still blurred with tears as you unlocked it and pulled up your messages. You barely even thought before typing.

[you]: can you pick me up The response came within seconds.

[yeonjun]: on my way. stay there.

You let out a shaky breath, gripping your phone like it was the only thing keeping you from completely unraveling.

The second you slid into Yeonjun’s car, the dam broke.

The moment the door shut behind you, the sobs you had barely been holding in ripped out of you, raw and unfiltered, shaking your entire body.

Yeonjun didn’t hesitate. Didn’t ask any questions. Didn’t push. He just reached across the console, one hand on your back, grounding you. "Hey, hey, hey," he murmured, his voice low and calm as he rubbed small circles. "I got you, okay? Just breathe."

You shook your head violently, pressing your palms into your eyes, trying, and failing, to stop crying. "I—I don’t—" A sharp inhale, a choked-out sob. "I don’t even know why I’m crying."

Yeonjun let out a soft breath, like he already knew that was a lie. You sucked in another shaky breath, leaning your head back against the seat, staring up at the roof of the car. For a few minutes, neither of you spoke. Yeonjun just drove.

The car was quiet, save for the steady hum of the engine and the occasional sound of your sniffles as you tried to get your breathing under control. Yeonjun didn’t say anything right away. He didn’t press, didn’t demand answers. He just waited and held your hand while he drove. Slow, steady, like he had done this a hundred times before. Like he knew you needed the silence before you could find the words.

And when you finally did, your voice came out small. Tired. "He quit the project." Yeonjun’s grip on the wheel tightened slightly, but he stayed quiet, letting you continue. "I don’t—I don’t get it," you said, shaking your head as you wiped at your eyes with your sleeve. "I was working all day, and then Baekhyun came in and just dropped it on me like it was nothing. Like it was some casual decision Beomgyu made, and now I’m just supposed to deal with it—"

Yeonjun exhaled sharply. "Wait. He just left? No warning? No explanation?"

You let out a shaky breath. "Nothing. I—I went looking for him, but he wasn’t anywhere. Then when I finally gave up and went back to my studio, he was just there, like he had been waiting for me or something." Yeonjun frowned, but he didn’t interrupt. "And I was so fucking mad," you admitted, voice thick with frustration. "I just—I don’t understand him. He always has to push my buttons, always has to act like he doesn’t care about anything, but then he turns around and does this. Like it means something, but then he—he just—"

Your breath hitched. You squeezed your eyes shut, your chest aching. "And then he kissed me," you whispered.

Silence. Yeonjun inhaled slowly. "What?"

Your hands clenched in your lap. "I don’t even know how it happened. We were yelling at each other, and it just—it happened."

Yeonjun didn’t respond right away. His fingers flexed around the steering wheel, his brows furrowing as he processed what you just said. "And then what?" he asked, quieter now.

Your throat tightened. "And then… he left."

Yeonjun let out a slow, controlled breath. "What a dick." You let out a weak, wet laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, well, I mean it." He tightened his grip on the wheel before exhaling, forcing himself to soften.

Then, carefully, he reached over, his fingers curling around your knee, grounding you. "Hey." You sniffled, not looking at him. Yeonjun’s voice was softer this time. "Did it mean something to you?"

Your breath caught. Because, fuck. It did. It did, and you hated that. You let out a shaky exhale, running a hand over your face. "I don’t know," you lied.

Yeonjun hummed like he didn’t believe you for a second. He didn’t push, though. Instead, his thumb rubbed slow, calming circles into your knee. "Look, Y/N… I don’t think Beomgyu ran because he didn’t care. I think he ran because he does."

Your chest ached. "Then why not just fucking say that?"

Yeonjun sighed, turning onto your street. "Because people are dumb. Men are dumb. And Beomgyu’s spent years convincing himself that he doesn’t care about anything. You think he’s just gonna wake up one day and admit that he cares about you?" Your breath stilled. Yeonjun just shook his head. "He’s an idiot. That’s all it is."

You let out a weak laugh, leaning your head against the window. "Yeah," you murmured. "That makes two of us."

Yeonjun pulled into your apartment complex, shifting into park before turning to you. He didn’t say anything for a second, just watched you carefully, his eyes warm and steady. Then, gently, he reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "You’re not an idiot," he murmured. "You just care too much, and you’re scared."

You scoffed. "No shit."

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. He let that sit for a second before shaking his head. "You know what I think?" Yeonjun hummed, thoughtful. "I think he’s scared, too."

You stiffened slightly. "He didn’t seem scared when he left me standing there."

"Yeah?" Yeonjun mused. "Then why did he leave at all?"

You frowned, glancing at him. "What do you mean?"

Yeonjun sighed. "Think about it. If Beomgyu was just messing around, if this was just another game to him—he wouldn’t have left. He would’ve stayed. Would’ve laughed it off, made some cocky comment, pretended like it meant nothing." Your stomach twisted. Yeonjun turned toward you, his expression softer now. "But he didn’t, Y/N. He ran."

You let that sink in. Because maybe Yeonjun had a point. Maybe Beomgyu leaving wasn’t just some asshole move. Maybe he had been just as freaked out as you. The thought made your chest tighten all over again.

Yeonjun reached over, squeezing your hand once before letting go. "You don’t have to figure it all out right now," he murmured. He gave you a small smile before reaching over, pulling you into a hug. "You’re gonna be okay," he murmured against your hair. "I promise."

You let out a shaky breath, gripping onto him a little tighter. You weren’t sure if you believed him. But for now, you needed to. You sighed, leaning back against the seat, exhausted. But even as Yeonjun turned off the car, even as you sat there, trying to steady yourself, one thought wouldn’t leave your mind.

Beomgyu had run. But what the hell was he running from?

The question rattled in your mind, looping over and over as you stepped into your apartment, your limbs heavy with exhaustion.

You barely remembered saying goodnight to Yeonjun. You barely even registered the moment you locked yourself in the bathroom, turning on the shower and stepping under the scalding water.

Steam filled the space around you, thick and hazy, but it did nothing to quiet the storm in your chest. You tilted your head back, letting the water soak through your hair, tracing down the curve of your spine. Your breathing was still uneven, your mind still too loud.

You were supposed to be fine. It wasn’t a big deal. So what if he had kissed you? So what if he had left? You and Beomgyu had been dancing around each other for years—this was just another part of the cycle.

Right?

You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling deeply through your nose. Then why does it feel different this time? Your fingers curled into fists.

You could still feel his hands on your waist, his breath against your lips. Could still see the flicker of hesitation in his eyes right before he pulled away. Could still hear the sound of the door clicking shut as he left.

You sucked in a sharp breath, forcing yourself to push the memory away. You weren’t going to do this. You weren’t going to sit here, overthinking every second, every glance, every fucking thing about Beomgyu.

So instead, you stayed under the water until your skin was raw, until the ache in your chest dulled into something you could ignore.

And despite everything—despite the storm in your chest, despite the weight in your head—you managed to fall asleep. But you woke up feeling like your body was still stuck in yesterday.

Your limbs were sluggish, your mind groggy, and the second you remembered why, your stomach twisted unpleasantly. You groaned, dragging a pillow over your face, trying to will yourself back to sleep.

But outside your door, you could already hear Yeonjun moving around the kitchen. You forced yourself out of bed, padding into the living room to find him standing by the stove, frying eggs like he actually knew how to cook. You frowned. "What are you doing?"

Yeonjun glanced over his shoulder. "Making breakfast."

"You don’t cook," you pointed out.

"Yeah, well, desperate times." He nodded toward the table. "Sit."

You sighed but obeyed, rubbing at your temples as you slumped into a chair. A minute later, Yeonjun set a plate in front of you, eggs, toast, and a coffee. You blinked. "You’re really committing to this whole overbearing best friend thing, huh?"

Yeonjun smirked, plopping down across from you with his own plate. "You love it."

You rolled your eyes but took a bite of the eggs anyway. They were… passable. Yeonjun watched you carefully between bites, waiting. You sighed. "I will be fine, you know."

He hummed. "Yeah, I know." He took a sip of his coffee, then added, "But are you fine right now?" Your fingers tightened slightly around your fork. You didn’t answer. Yeonjun just sighed, reaching across the table to squeeze your wrist. "You don’t have to be fine yet, Y/N."

Your throat tightened. So instead of answering, you just nodded, pushing your food around your plate. Yeonjun didn’t push. Just let you sit there, existing, until you finally managed to eat something.

When it was time to leave, he drove you to work again, filling the silence with easy conversation, talking about his projects, making fun of bad drivers, anything to keep your mind off of what was waiting for you at HYBE.

But the second you stepped out of the car, the weight returned. The anxiety crept back into your bones. Because today, you had to see Beomgyu. And you had no idea what was going to happen.

You made it to your studio without running into him. You didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

But instead of sitting there, drowning in your own thoughts, you pulled out your phone. Your fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before you typed.

[you]: taehyun, i need to talk to you [taehyun]: About what? [you]: just… when you have a second. come by my studio [taehyun]: Be there soon.

You exhaled, setting your phone down. You didn’t know why you needed to talk to him. But right now, Taehyun felt like the only person who could give you some kind of clarity. And clarity was exactly what you needed.

It didn’t take long for Taehyun to show up. You barely had time to fully gather your thoughts before there was a soft knock at your door, and then he was stepping inside, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, head tilting slightly as he studied you.

"Alright," he said, shutting the door behind him. "What’s up?"

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Because now that he was actually here, you weren’t sure where to start. Did you tell him about Beomgyu quitting? The fight? The kiss? Did you tell him about the way your heart had completely fallen apart when Beomgyu walked out of that room?

You exhaled, rubbing your temples. "This is stupid."

Taehyun raised an eyebrow. "Well, now I definitely wanna hear it."

You shot him a dry look, but he just crossed his arms, waiting. So you told him. Everything.

How you found out that Beomgyu had quit. How you had gone looking for him. How he was already waiting for you when you got back to your studio. The argument and then… And then the kiss.

Taehyun listened carefully, barely reacting at first. Just nodding, humming occasionally, letting you spill everything you had been holding in since last night. And when you finally finished, slumping back into your chair with a deep breath, he exhaled slowly, shaking his head.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "You guys are exhausting."

You let out a short, humorless laugh. "Tell me about it."

Taehyun was quiet for a moment, thoughtful. "He’s an idiot," he said. You blinked. "He is," Taehyun repeated, sitting on the edge of your desk. "Beomgyu is… complicated. He’s impulsive, and reckless, and sometimes he doesn’t think before he acts. But he’s not bad, Y/N."

You frowned, shifting in your seat. "I never said he was bad—"

"You didn’t have to," Taehyun interrupted. "You’re pissed, and you should be. He left you with an entire project and just disappeared. That’s a dick move."

You scoffed. "Glad we agree on that."

"But," Taehyun continued, leveling you with a look, "you also know that if this was just about work, he wouldn’t have left."

You stiffened. Because, yeah. You did know that.

Taehyun sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look… I’ve known Beomgyu for a long time. And I can tell you one thing for sure—he’s confused as hell about you." Your stomach twisted. "Beomgyu’s not used to… feeling things like this. You know him—he jokes, he messes around, he acts like nothing ever really matters to him. But this? You? This is probably the first time something has actually gotten to him in a way he doesn’t know how to handle."

You looked away, fingers tightening slightly around the edge of your desk. "He looked at me like…" You hesitated, searching for the right words. "Like he regretted it."

Taehyun hummed. "Maybe he did." Your heart sank. Taehyun must have noticed your expression, because he shook his head quickly. "No—not like that. Not in the I wish I never kissed her way. More like… Fuck, what did I just do?"

Your breath hitched. Taehyun leaned forward slightly, watching you carefully. "Y/N… if Beomgyu didn’t care, he wouldn’t have left. He wouldn’t have pulled away. He wouldn’t be acting like this at all."

You swallowed hard. "Then why didn’t he just say something?"

Taehyun sighed. "Because he’s a coward."

You blinked. "Wow. That’s blunt."

"Yeah, well." He shrugged. "Someone has to say it."

A short silence stretched between you, the weight of everything still settling in your chest. And then, Taehyun’s voice softened slightly. "I know you want to see him." You inhaled sharply, but before you could argue, he continued. "But you won’t," he said simply. "Not for a while, at least."

"What do you mean?"

Taehyun rubbed the back of his neck. "I overheard Baekhyun talking to some of the staff this morning. Beomgyu asked for a week off before getting reassigned to another project." Your stomach dropped. You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Taehyun hesitated. "He’s not ot gone. Just… off the grid for a bit."

You swallowed hard. A week. You had a week without him. A week to focus on work. A week to stop feeling like this. A week to—

To what? Forget about him? Pretend none of this ever happened? Pretend that the past twenty-four hours hadn’t completely flipped your world upside down?

You clenched your fists in your lap, nodding stiffly. "Okay."

Taehyun studied you for a moment. Then, finally, he sighed and reached out, squeezing your arm. "You’ll be okay," he murmured.

You let out a shaky breath, forcing a nod. "Yeah."

But as he walked out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts, one thing was clear. You weren’t sure if that was true.

The first day without Beomgyu was easier than you expected.

Maybe because you were still fueled by frustration. By anger. By the exhaustion of the past few days. It was easier to channel all of that into work, to drown out the silence with layers of sound, synths, drums, melodies, anything to keep your mind occupied.

You convinced yourself that you didn’t need him here. Didn’t need his input, his annoying commentary, his stupid smirk when he knew he was right about something. And for a little while, you almost believed it.

But then the second day came. And the third.

And by Wednesday, you realized just how much space Beomgyu used to take up, physically, mentally, emotionally. The studio felt different without him. Too quiet.

You had spent so long being annoyed by his presence, by the way he was always around, always making some offhand comment, always pushing your buttons just because he could. And now it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Like the silence was mocking you. You tried to ignore it.

Tried to focus on the album, on the endless meetings with Baekhyun about tracklists, on your studio sessions with the Enhypen members.

Jake had mentioned that they were excited about the project. Jungwon had suggested a few ideas for the second track. Heeseung had even sat with you for over an hour, working through some of the melody transitions.

It was good. The work was getting done. Everything was moving forward. So why did it still feel like something was missing?

By Thursday, Yeonjun had stopped asking if you wanted to talk about it. At first, he had tried, little things, subtle attempts to get you to open up.

"You seem really focused on work this week," he had mused over dinner on Tuesday. "Trying to distract yourself?" You had rolled your eyes, shoving a bite of food into your mouth just to avoid answering.

By Wednesday, he had simply given you a long, knowing look before sighing. "Okay. I get it. You don’t want to talk about it."

And you didn’t. Because what was there to say? That you missed him? That you had caught yourself glancing at his empty chair during meetings? That every time you pulled up a demo, you could still hear his suggestions in the back of your mind? That you had started a dozen text messages, only to delete them before even finishing the first word? No. You weren’t going to do that.

You weren’t going to let Beomgyu live rent-free in your head while he was off doing whatever the hell he was doing.

So by Friday, you had convinced yourself that you were fine. That you were moving on. That you had finally, finally stopped thinking about him. At least, until you walked into your studio that morning.

And saw the letter sitting on your desk.

At first, you thought it was just another memo from Baekhyun. Or maybe some notes from one of the Enhypen members. But then you got closer. And you saw his handwriting.

For a moment, you just stood there, frozen in the doorway, staring at the folded piece of paper like it might disappear if you blinked. Then, cautiously, you stepped forward. Your fingers hesitated before reaching for it. The paper was slightly creased, as if he had folded and unfolded it multiple times before finally deciding to leave it here. No greeting. No explanation.

Just one simple sentence, scrawled in messy, familiar ink.

i think this fits for track 1

Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes flicked down to the lyrics below. And the second you started reading, your breath caught.

Just the two of us, getting deeply moonstruck Oh, you make me go crazy over you, you, baby Let me hold you close, I want to feel you until the end of the night Fly this night above the rising moon Crazy over you, you, baby We can take it slow Moonstruck in ecstasy

Your fingers clenched around the edges of the paper. This wasn’t just a song suggestion. This wasn’t just another track for the album. This was Beomgyu, talking to you the only way he knew how. Your pulse roared in your ears.

Because, fuck. You weren’t stupid. You knew exactly what this meant. And now, you had no idea what the hell you were supposed to do about it.

You sat at your desk, gripping the paper so tightly it was a wonder it hadn’t torn yet. Your eyes kept flicking over the words, tracing the messy, slightly smudged ink of his handwriting. Moonstruck.

You read the lyrics again. And again. Each time, they felt heavier.

I'm so intoxicated, getting more and more into you, baby

What the fuck was he trying to say? You tried to rationalize it. Maybe he had written it before everything that happened. But that didn’t make sense, did it?

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your hoodie as your mind looped back to that night. The way he had kissed you. The way he had run. And now, instead of an explanation, instead of a conversation, he left this? A song?

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to push it aside. If Beomgyu wanted to talk in lyrics, fine. You would make sure they were heard.

The Enhypen members were already lounging around their practice room when you arrived. Sunghoon was sprawled on the couch, lazily scrolling through his phone. Jungwon and Jay were flipping through notes on the album’s concept. Jake was throwing a crumpled-up piece of paper at Sunoo, who swatted it away with an exaggerated groan.

The second you stepped in, Heeseung perked up. "Oh, hey, you’re here. What’s up?"

You inhaled deeply, clutching the paper in your hands. "We have a song."

That got their attention. Sunghoon sat up properly. Jay leaned forward, brows raising. Ni-ki, who had been half-asleep in the corner, immediately straightened, eyes flicking toward you.

You placed the lyrics down on the table. "It’s called Moonstruck," you said, keeping your voice steady. "Beomgyu wrote it."

A beat of silence. Jungwon blinked. "Wait. Beomgyu?"

You nodded stiffly. "Yeah."

Jake leaned in, scanning the paper. "When the hell did he even—?"

"I don’t know," you admitted, arms crossing over your chest. "But it’s good. And I think we should use it."

They didn’t argue. Instead, they took the next few minutes carefully analyzing the lyrics, murmuring about which parts fit their vocal tones best.

"Pre-chorus has to be Ni-ki and Sunghoon," Jay noted, nodding to himself. "Their voices will carry this section perfectly."

Ni-ki grinned. "I do sound good under moonlight."

Sunoo groaned. "God, shut up."

Jake chuckled, shaking his head. "The first verse has a nice flow. Maybe Heeeseung and Jay can split it?"

You nodded. "Yeah, that works."

As they discussed vocal distribution, you quietly worked on the arrangement, playing with some of the melodies on your laptop. And as much as you hated to admit it, the song was beautiful.

The harmonies, the depth, the longing in the lyrics—it all weaved together into something intoxicating. Something that felt like Beomgyu. And, more terrifyingly, something that felt like you and Beomgyu.

You poured yourself into it. Every ounce of frustration, every unanswered question, every lingering moment of that damn kiss, you put it all into the music. If Beomgyu wanted to communicate this way, then fine. You would answer him in the production.

By the time the first rough demo was put together, the entire room had shifted. The members listened intently, nodding along to the beat, already humming harmonies under their breath.

And when the final note played, Heeseung let out a low whistle. "Okay," he muttered. "That was… insane."

Jake leaned back against the couch, arms crossed. "This might be one of the strongest songs on the album."

Ni-ki grinned. "It’s sexy."

Jungwon rolled his eyes. "It’s romantic, you idiot."

Sunghoon smirked. "Both."

You stared at the screen, fingers still hovering over the controls, heart pounding in your chest. You had lost track of time, lost yourself in the production, in the process of turning Beomgyu’s words into something real.

Heeseung stretched his arms over his head, glancing over at you. "How the hell did this come together so fast?"

You hesitated. Then, before you could think too much about it, the words tumbled out. "Because Beomgyu wrote it."

The room fell quiet for a beat. You swallowed, suddenly feeling exposed under their stares. You ignored the pointed looks, turning back toward the screen.

You had done what you needed to do. You had taken Beomgyu’s song and made it something real. And yet, as you sat there, staring at the lyrics again, one thought lingered.

This was his way of talking to you. But when—if—you finally saw him again… Would he have anything else to say?

The weekend arrived quietly, slipping in like a breeze through an open window. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to exist outside of work, outside of the chaos, outside of the constant hum of him in the back of your mind.

You spent Saturday sprawled across the living room floor, limbs tangled with Yunjin’s as she attempted (and failed) to beat Hueningkai in a Mario Kart tournament.

"HOW is this fair?!" she screeched, gripping the controller like it personally offended her. "This little shit has been in first place for the entire race—"

"Skill issue," Hueningkai mused, barely sparing her a glance as he executed yet another flawless turn.

Taehyun cackled from his spot on the couch. "Face it, Yunjin, you’re bad at this game."

"You’re supposed to be on my side!"

"I would be," Taehyun said easily, taking a sip of his soda. "If you were winning."

Yunjin let out an exaggerated wail, flopping back onto the floor in defeat as Hueningkai crossed the finish line with ease. You laughed, stretching your legs out, your shoulders relaxing in a way they hadn’t all week.

This was nice. No tension, no overthinking, no lyrics folded neatly onto your desk like an unanswered question. Just this. Just them.

Yeonjun, who had spent the afternoon attempting to make cocktails, only to get tipsy himself after "taste testing" every single one. Hueningkai, who had somehow convinced everyone to build a fort in the living room, resulting in a half-collapsed mess of blankets and fairy lights that no one had the energy to fix.

Taehyun, who had made it his personal mission to bother you at all time, poking your cheek, stealing your hair tie, purposefully messing up your playlists just to get a reaction out of you. And Yunjin, who was now lying dramatically across your lap, still mourning her loss. "I hate this game," she mumbled into your hoodie.

"You say that every time you lose," Yeonjun reminded her, nudging her foot with his own.

She groaned. "Because I do."

You chuckled, resting your head against the couch cushions. For the first time in days, your mind felt quiet.

Maybe Beomgyu was just a phase. A storm that had come and gone, leaving only a few stray raindrops behind. Maybe by Monday, you would go back to work and it wouldn’t hurt anymore. Maybe.

It wasn’t until Sunday night, when the apartment had finally settled into silence, that something shifted. Everyone had gone home. Yeonjun had retreated to his room, muttering something about a deadline he had been procrastinating. And you were alone.

The weight of it settled over you slowly, like an old sweater you hadn’t worn in years but still fit perfectly. You weren’t sure when you reached for your guitar. Hadn’t even realized you were doing it until you were sitting cross-legged on your bed, fingers ghosting over the strings. It had been a while.

Too long since you had written something for yourself. Too long since you had let yourself sit in the mess of your own emotions, instead of tucking them neatly into productions meant for other people’s voices.

You plucked a few chords aimlessly, letting the melody come to you naturally. Something soft. Something slow. And then—without meaning to—you started to hum. A tune that wasn’t meant for the album. A tune that wasn’t meant for anyone.

The words slipped out like a confession, too quiet for anyone else to hear. You didn’t even think about them. You just sang.

Your fingers stilled. The room felt too small. You closed your eyes, exhaling through your nose. And then, with trembling hands, you picked up a pen and started to write. Not because you wanted to. But because some things were too heavy to carry in silence.

The first chord rang out soft and hesitant, barely louder than the steady hum of the city outside your window. You pressed your lips together, fingertips finding the familiar weight of the strings, the slightly worn frets beneath them.

And then, you started to sing.

This is the first day of my life Swear I was born right in the doorway I went out in the rain, suddenly everything changed They're spreading blankets on the beach

The words came slowly, carefully, like they had been waiting for you to let them out. Your voice was quiet, almost unsure at first. But as the melody settled into you, as the lyrics unfolded with each passing chord, something in your chest loosened.

Yours was the first face that I saw I think I was blind before I met you And I don't know where I am, I don't know where I've been But I know where I want to go

Your breathing evened. Your fingers moved more fluidly. And suddenly, it wasn’t just a song anymore. It was him.

The memories bled into the music, uninvited but unavoidable. The late nights in the studio, the sharp bickering that always gave way to something deeper. The way he looked at you sometimes, like he knew you, like he saw through every wall you had ever built and wasn’t afraid to push past them.

So if you wanna be with me With these things there's no telling We just have to wait and see But I'd rather be working for a paycheck Than waiting to win the lottery Besides, maybe this time is different I mean, I really think you like me

The realization settled slowly, creeping in like the soft glow of headlights through your window. You missed him. Not just as a producer, not just as a coworker, not just as the person who had spent years getting under your skin.

You missed him. His presence, his voice, the way his eyes flickered with something unreadable when he looked at you. The way you had always convinced yourself that the tension between you two was nothing but competition.

But now? Now, as you sat here with a guitar in your lap and a song that tasted like confession on your tongue, you weren’t so sure anymore.

The words hung in the air, delicate and fragile. And for the first time in weeks, you stopped running from the truth. It wasn’t just a rivalry. It wasn’t just frustration. It wasn’t even just a stupid, fleeting crush.

You liked him. And that was terrifying.

The car ride to work felt different today.

You weren’t as anxious as last week, your chest wasn’t as tight, your hands weren’t as clammy, but there was still something unsettled in you, something quietly nagging at the back of your mind.

Because today, Beomgyu was coming back.

And you had no idea what that meant. No idea which version of him you’d be facing. No idea if he’d pretend like nothing had happened, if he’d be cold again, or if he’d acknowledge it, that stupid, reckless, earth-shattering kiss. Or, if you'd even seen him today.

The HYBE lobby was already buzzing with early-morning energy. You kept your head down as you made your way toward the café, deciding that you desperately needed caffeine before facing the rest of the day. When you stepped inside, the familiar scent of espresso and vanilla filled the air, the quiet hum of conversation washing over you like white noise.

You spotted Taehyun near the counter, casually scrolling through his phone as he waited for his order. "Morning," you greeted, sliding into line beside him.

Taehyun glanced up from his phone as you slid into line beside him. "You’re here early," he remarked, taking a sip of his coffee.

You shrugged, adjusting the strap of your bag. "Figured I’d try something new. Maybe if I start my day with caffeine instead of stress, I’ll live longer."

Taehyun smirked. "Doubt it. But I respect the effort."

You hummed, stepping forward as the line moved. "What about you? Thought you weren’t a morning person."

"I’m not," he admitted, stuffing his free hand into the pocket of his hoodie. "But some of us have obligations."

You snorted. "Right." You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you reached for your phone. And just as you unlocked it, a notification popped up at the top of your screen.

[baekhyun (HYBE)]: meeting on the 18th floor. 10 minutes.

Your stomach twisted slightly. Taehyun must’ve noticed the shift in your expression because he raised an eyebrow. "Everything good?"

You exhaled, locking your phone and slipping it back into your pocket. "Yeah. Just got called into a meeting."

He hummed, sipping his coffee. "Just you?" You nodded, grabbing your drink from the counter. Taehyun studied you for a beat before smirking. "Well. That’s suspicious."

You shot him a flat look. "Everything is suspicious to you."

"And yet, I’m usually right." Taehyun smirked. "Good luck, warrior."

You shot him a dry look before turning to leave. But as you made your way toward the elevators, your chest tightened slightly. You weren’t nervous. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

But the moment the elevator doors slid open, your breath caught in your throat. Beomgyu was already inside.

He stood toward the back, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the veins in his forearms. His dark hair was slightly tousled, messy, like he had run his hands through it too many times this morning.

Your heart did something stupid in your chest.

You hesitated for half a second, debating whether you should just wait for the next elevator, but then Beomgyu’s eyes met yours. And you couldn’t run. Not again. So, stiffly, you stepped inside.

The doors slid shut behind you, and the silence pressed in like a heavy weight. You swallowed. Beomgyu said nothing. You could feel him there, standing just a few feet away, but he didn’t look at you. His jaw was set, his gaze fixed on the doors in front of him, his entire body wound tight.

The tension was unbearable. So, stupidly, you spoke first. "You’re back."

His lips pressed together slightly. "Yeah."

You exhaled slowly, nodding. The elevator climbed higher, the numbers blinking above the doors, but the silence remained.

"I saw the tracklist update," Beomgyu said, voice even. "You kept Moonstruck."

Your breath hitched. For the first time since you stepped inside, he looked at you. And suddenly, you were back there. Back in the studio. Back in the moment he kissed you like it meant something. Back in the moment he ran.

You swallowed hard, gripping your coffee cup like it could anchor you. "Yeah," you said, keeping your voice steady. "It’s a good song."

Beomgyu’s gaze flickered, just briefly, just enough for you to see something shift. But he didn’t respond.

The elevator slowed. And before either of you could say anything else, the doors slid open. 18th floor. You stepped out first, pulse hammering against your ribs. But just before the doors shut behind him, you heard Beomgyu exhale a quiet—

"See you around."

And fuck. You were not ready for this.

Your legs carried you toward the meeting room, but your mind was still in that elevator. Moonstruck. He had noticed. You didn’t know why that made your stomach turn. Why it sent a hot, prickling feeling down your spine.

You had convinced yourself that the song was just work, just another track, just another piece of the album puzzle. But hearing him say it? Knowing that he knew?

It made it real. And the way he had looked at you when he said it, like he was waiting for something. Like he wanted an answer. But you didn’t have an answer. Because what were you supposed to say?

You inhaled sharply, pushing open the door to the conference room. And the second you stepped inside, you regretted it. Because sitting at the table, next to Baekhyun, was Seungcheol.

His eyes flicked up to yours immediately, and his lips curled into that same knowing smile he had given you at the HYBE party. "Ah," he mused. "Finally, our star producer has arrived."

Your stomach twisted. You forced a polite smile, slipping into the seat across from them. You had no idea what this meeting was about. But suddenly, you had a feeling it was going to be a lot.

You sat down, adjusting your posture, trying to ignore the sudden unease creeping into your chest. It wasn’t like you had anything against Seungcheol, he had always been perfectly pleasant whenever your paths crossed.

At the HYBE party, when Baekhyun introduced you, he was polite, curious, asked questions about your work that felt genuine. A few days later, in the hallway, he reinforced that same interest, saying he wanted to learn more about your creative process, that he admired what you were doing. It made sense, he was HYBE’s creative director, after all. It was his job to connect with the producers.

But then he happened. Beomgyu. With his endless stubbornness, his unwarranted judgment, his obvious disdain for Seungcheol.

He didn’t trust the guy. And he made that very clear, not just at the party when he interrupted your conversation, but later, in the hallway, with the way he threw out casual, cutting remarks, as if it was obvious that Seungcheol had ulterior motives.

You had ignored him. Because Beomgyu was always like that, poking, provoking, saying things just to get under your skin. But now, sitting across from Seungcheol, watching the way he smiled at you, the way his gaze lingered just a little too long, something inside you hesitated. And that was when you realized, that voice in my head isn’t mine. It’s Beomgyu’s. The thought irritated you. You didn’t need him planting ideas in your mind. Seungcheol had done nothing wrong.

He had never been inappropriate, never crossed any lines. If you were uncomfortable now, it was only because Beomgyu had convinced you that you should be.

Seungcheol leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on the table. "I was really pleased when I heard you’d be leading the production on your own," he said, his voice smooth, effortless. "I think you deserve it—this is a great step forward in your career."

You blinked, keeping your expression neutral. Something about the way he said it bothered you. Because the truth was, you hadn’t minded producing the album with Beomgyu. He was a good producer. One of the best, actually. And despite all your frustrations with him, you couldn’t deny that the work had been better when he was there.

You licked your lips, choosing your words carefully. "I never had a problem sharing the workload," you replied smoothly. "Beomgyu is incredibly talented. The album was going really well with the two of us working together."

Seungcheol didn’t react immediately. Instead, he just smiled a little, as if he had been expecting you to say that.

Next to him, Baekhyun, who had been flipping through some papers, glanced up. "Beomgyu’s decision to leave was personal," he noted, sensing the tension. "He requested to be removed. It had nothing to do with the quality of your work together."

You nodded, but Seungcheol simply let out a quiet, almost amused chuckle. "That sounds like something he’d do," he murmured, almost to himself.

You frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

Seungcheol met your gaze, tilting his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "He’s impulsive," he said simply. "Always has been. He doesn’t handle things well when they don’t go his way."

Your jaw clenched. Something about the way he said it bothered you. It wasn’t what he said—it was how he said it. His tone was too calculated, his words too deliberate, like he was trying to implant something in your mind without directly stating it. And maybe you were being paranoid, but it almost felt like he was waiting for a reaction from you.

You kept your face carefully blank, but you couldn’t stop the words from slipping out. "Or maybe he just had a valid reason for leaving," you said, keeping your voice light but firm. "Whatever it was, he’s one of the best producers here. He always delivers, and he knows exactly how to handle pressure when it matters."

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, like he was mildly surprised by your defense. But instead of pushing, he just smiled again. "If you say so."

Baekhyun cleared his throat, flipping to another page. "Anyway, now that you’re leading the project, we need to finalize some decisions about the album direction. We have to lock in arrangements before we move forward with recording."

You nodded, relieved that the conversation was shifting back to work. The meeting had gone on longer than expected. You had been so focused on the album’s direction, discussing arrangements and potential changes to the tracklist with Baekhyun, that for a moment, you managed to forget about Seungcheol entirely.

Until you didn’t. Because at some point during the discussion, as you were leaning over the table, flipping through some production notes, Seungcheol’s hand landed on your arm.

Not aggressive. Not too much. Just enough. Enough to make your shoulders stiffen, enough to make your fingers freeze mid-page, enough for that cold, uncomfortable feeling to creep down your spine.

It was subtle, an easy touch, light pressure on your forearm as he leaned in slightly. "I really admire how dedicated you are," he murmured, his voice smooth, casual. "It’s rare to find someone so talented and hardworking."

Because now, you saw what Beomgyu saw. Maybe he had been dramatic. Maybe he had been exaggerating. But Seungcheol was flirting with you. And for the first time, you couldn’t ignore it.

You swallowed, keeping your eyes on the papers in front of you, pretending not to notice the way his fingertips lingered a little longer than necessary before he finally pulled away.

This was work. This was a meeting. You weren’t going to make a scene. You shifted slightly in your chair, tucking your arm out of reach, nodding stiffly. "Thanks," you said, your voice carefully neutral.

If Baekhyun noticed anything, he didn’t react. He simply continued walking you through the album structure, his focus locked on the material in front of him. But your focus was gone. Because now, every single word out of Seungcheol’s mouth sounded different.

When he agreed with your ideas, it wasn’t just professional, it was deliberate. When he smiled at you, it wasn’t just friendly, it was calculated. And Beomgyu’s voice, the one you had sworn you wouldn’t listen to, was ringing in the back of your head, loud and unshakable.

You should be careful with him.

By the time the meeting wrapped up, you were exhausted, not from the work, but from everything else. You had barely finished stacking your papers when Seungcheol stood up, stretching his arms with an easy smile. "Well," he said, buttoning his blazer, "this was productive."

You hummed noncommittally, hoping that was the end of it. But as he reached the door, he paused, glancing over his shoulder at you. "Oh, and by the way—" You looked up. "The invitation still stands," he said, that same smile playing on his lips. "You should drop by my office sometime. I’d love to go over more of your work."

Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. Before you could respond, he was already walking out, leaving you alone with Baekhyun. The second the door shut, you let out a slow breath, pressing your fingers to your temple.

Baekhyun sighed, setting his notes down. "Alright," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I know that look. What’s on your mind?"

You hesitated for half a second before deciding—fuck it. If you didn’t say something now, you were going to explode. "Look," you exhaled, straightening. "You’re my boss. I respect you. I like working with you. But I need to be honest—"

Baekhyun raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

You licked your lips, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "That whole meeting just made me really uncomfortable."

His expression shifted slightly, his features smoothing into something unreadable. "Because of Seungcheol?"

"Yes." You didn’t hesitate. "It’s not just today. It’s been happening for a while. I didn’t want to make assumptions, but now I—" You shook your head, exhaling sharply. "I don’t know. The way he talks to me, the way he acts… It doesn’t feel like it’s just about work."

Baekhyun didn’t answer immediately. He watched you carefully, considering your words before finally sighing. "Yeah," he muttered. "I figured as much."

You blinked. "Wait, what?"

Baekhyun rubbed his temple. "I had a feeling this might happen eventually. Seungcheol has a reputation—he doesn’t always separate work from… other things."

Your stomach sank. "So it’s not just me," you muttered.

Baekhyun hesitated before shaking his head. "No. It’s not just you."

You exhaled, leaning back in your chair, processing. Baekhyun watched you for a moment before continuing, his voice lower now. "Listen, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. If he makes you uncomfortable, I’ll back you up. But I also know how these things can be tricky, so… what do you want to do?"

You stared at him. You hadn’t expected that. You hadn’t expected someone to actually ask. You swallowed, gripping the edge of the table. "I just… I just want to do my job."

Baekhyun nodded. "Then that’s what you’ll do."

And for the first time that day, you felt like someone was actually listening. You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. "Honestly… I didn’t want Beomgyu to leave the project."

Baekhyun leaned back in his chair, watching you closely. "Yeah, I figured."

You hesitated for a moment before continuing, choosing your words carefully. "It wasn’t perfect, working with him. We fought a lot. We had different approaches. But the album was better when we were both on it. And now, I don’t know… it just doesn’t feel the same."

Baekhyun hummed thoughtfully, tapping his fingers against the table. "You know," he started, "when he asked to leave, I thought it was weird too."

Your brows furrowed. "Weird how?"

Baekhyun exhaled, tilting his head slightly as if trying to recall the exact conversation. "For starters, the excuse he gave me was bullshit. He said he just had ‘other priorities,’ but it didn’t add up. He didn’t have anything urgent lined up. He wasn’t being reassigned yet. If anything, he was in the perfect position to stay on the project."

Your stomach twisted. "Then why did he do it?"

Baekhyun studied you for a moment before answering. "Because of you."

Your breath hitched slightly. "What?"

"He told me you were the perfect person for this album," Baekhyun said simply. "He said that if anyone deserved to take full control of it, it was you. That you understood the vision, that you had the best instincts for the sound, that this was your project."

You blinked. Baekhyun smirked slightly. "He also said he’d still be available if you needed anything—which was interesting, considering he was insisting on stepping away."

You swallowed, shifting in your seat. "So… he didn’t leave because I was in the way."

Baekhyun raised a brow. "No. He left because he thought he was."

Your chest tightened, your fingers clenching slightly over your notebook. Beomgyu thought he was in the way? That didn’t make sense. That wasn’t how this worked.

You had spent years competing with him, matching his energy, pushing yourself to outdo him the way he pushed himself to outdo you. You thought he saw you as a rival, as someone to challenge, someone to beat.

This didn’t sound like someone trying to win. This sounded like someone stepping aside. And suddenly, for the first time since that damn kiss, you wondered— Had you misunderstood everything?

The meeting wrapped up soon after, but your mind was far from settled. Baekhyun left first, offering you a knowing look as he walked out. Seungcheol was already gone, thankfully, leaving the room feeling a little lighter.

You stayed behind for a moment, fingers tapping restlessly against the table, thoughts still tangled in everything Baekhyun had just told you. Beomgyu thought he was in the way. He stepped back because of me?

The idea felt foreign, almost ridiculous. But the more you sat with it, the more you replayed every interaction, every lingering glance, every almost-argument that dissolved into something softer. Maybe it wasn’t ridiculous at all.

You exhaled sharply, pushing the thoughts aside as you gathered your things and made your way back to your studio. By the time you stepped inside, something had already shifted in you. Because for the first time in days, you wanted to write. Not because of deadlines. Not because of expectations.

But because something inside you was begging to be let out.

You locked the door behind you, took a deep breath, and crossed the room, fingers reaching for the guitar propped against the wall. It had been there for a while, untouched, gathering dust in the chaos of everything else. But the second your fingers curled around the neck, something inside you settled.

You didn’t know why, but you wanted to record this song you wrote on Sunday night. First Day of My Life. You knew it wouldn’t fit the album. It was too raw, too stripped-down, too honest. It wasn’t meant for Enhypen’s project—it wasn’t meant for any project.

But still. You adjusted the mic, positioned the guitar properly, and pressed record. And then, you played.

Your fingers moved over the strings carefully at first, but then muscle memory took over, and suddenly, it was effortless. The chords flowed easily, filling the quiet studio, wrapping around you like something safe, something familiar.

And then your voice followed. The words came soft, steady.

“Yours was the first face that I saw…”

You thought about the way he looked at you when he didn’t think you’d notice. The way his lips parted like he wanted to say something but never did.

“I think I was blind before I met you.”

Your breath hitched slightly, but you kept going, pouring yourself into every note, every word. The melody washed over you, unfiltered and vulnerable, and for the first time in a long time, you weren’t thinking about what came next.

You were just feeling. And when the last chord faded into silence, you opened your eyes slowly, exhaling shakily. You sat there for a moment, staring at the blinking red light on the recorder. Then, without hesitating, you saved the file.

You stared at the tape sitting on your desk. And it stared back.

You had written a post-it, your handwriting slightly messier than usual, because your hands had been shaking when you wrote it.

wanted the opinion of the best songwriter i know.

Your stomach twisted. This was stupid. It was so stupid. And yet, you grabbed the tape before you could overthink it.

The hallways of HYBE were quieter now, most people already heading out for the evening. You didn’t know where Beomgyu was, but you hoped, prayed, that he wasn’t in his studio right now. Because you weren’t ready to see him. Not yet.

Your footsteps were light as you reached his studio door. It was closed, the small light inside turned off. Empty. Good. You slipped inside quickly, ignoring the way your heart was pounding against your ribs. You set the tape down gently on his desk, smoothing the post-it out with your fingers. And then you stepped back. You stared at it for a moment longer, your pulse hammering in your ears.

He might not even listen to it. He might throw it away. He might ignore it completely. But still, you left it there. And as you walked away, your chest felt lighter. Because for once, you weren’t running. You were giving him a chance.

You were late.

Not catastrophically late, but late enough that you were definitely pushing it. Yeonjun had texted you when he woke up, asking why the apartment was unusually quiet, only for you to send back a half-panicked “I overslept, don’t judge me” before practically rolling out of bed.

You hadn’t meant to stay up so late the night before. But lying there, staring at the ceiling, replaying every single second of the last few days in your mind?

That was apparently more important than sleep.

By the time you rushed into HYBE, coffee was your only priority. You barely had time to breathe as you dodged people in the hallway, some of them calling your name, others trying to get your attention.

"Y/N, do you have a second?" "Hey, I sent you that file, did you get a chance to look at it?" "Oh, Y/N—can you check in with the Enhypen team later?"

The words blurred together, the weight of everything pressing against you as you nodded, mumbled vague acknowledgments, and kept walking. Because, in the end, none of it mattered. Not right now.

Not when the only thing on your mind was getting to your studio and catching your breath before the day swallowed you whole. You reached your door, exhaled sharply, and pushed it open.

And froze. Because there, sitting casually in your chair like he belonged there was Beomgyu. Holding the tape.

Your stomach dropped. The scene was so eerily familiar that for a split second, you thought you had hallucinated it. The way he was slouched slightly in the chair, the way his fingers turned the tape over slowly, like he was still processing it.

The way his dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, and how, in that exact moment, you saw it. You saw the feeling written across his face. Soft. Open. Maybe even a little wrecked. You sucked in a sharp breath and, without thinking, shut the door behind you. A beat of silence passed.

"You wrote this," Beomgyu murmured, his voice quieter than you expected.

It wasn’t a question. You swallowed hard. "Yeah."

His fingers tightened around the tape slightly. "Was it for the album?"

You shook your head. "No. It doesn’t fit the concept. I just… wanted to record it."

Beomgyu exhaled, slow and measured. "It’s beautiful."

The words hit you in a way you weren’t prepared for. You blinked. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t throwing in a sarcastic remark, or a smug smile, or anything that would make this easier to brush off. He just meant it.

And it made your chest ache. You shifted slightly, gripping your coffee cup a little tighter. "You listened to it?"

Beomgyu nodded, still looking down at the tape. "Twice."

Your breath hitched. "Twice?"

His lips twitched, just barely. "Maybe more." You let out a short, breathy laugh, shaking your head. A pause. "What made you write it?"

Your fingers curled slightly over your cup, heat pressing into your skin. You could lie. You should lie. But you didn’t. You licked your lips, shifting your gaze to the floor for a second before looking back at him. "I don’t know. I guess I just… needed to."

Beomgyu studied you for a long moment, the weight of his gaze settling over you like something heavy. And then, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it, he says: "It felt like something you needed to say."

Your heart stumbled. Because maybe it was just your imagination. Maybe you were hearing things that weren’t there. But the way he said it, like he understood, like he knew.

Beomgyu’s fingers drummed lightly against the tape, his gaze flickering between you and the guitar leaning against the wall. The silence between you felt fragile, like if either of you moved too fast, it would shatter. Then, without a word, he reached for the guitar. You raised an eyebrow as he adjusted it on his lap, fingers testing the strings before looking up at you again. "Pass me the chords?"

You hesitated, but eventually nodded, grabbing a piece of scrap paper and jotting them down quickly. When you slid it across the desk toward him, his fingers brushed yours as he took it, sending something electric up your spine.

Beomgyu studied the chords for a moment, then started playing. Slow, tentative, like he was feeling out the song in his own way. And before you even realized what you were doing, your lips parted—

"This is the first day of my life…"

The words came out softer this time, more intimate. You weren’t just singing anymore, you were sharing something. Beomgyu kept playing, his eyes locked onto you now, his expression unreadable.

"Swear I was born right in the doorway…"

You swallowed hard, voice faltering slightly when you saw the way he was looking at you. Like there was something he wanted to say. But he didn’t. He just kept playing. And so you kept singing.

"Yours was the first face that I saw… I think I was blind before I met you."

Something shifted in the air. You weren’t sure if it was you, or him, or just the weight of everything that had been left unsaid between you two for so long.

But for the first time, it felt like neither of you were trying to fight it.

When the song finally came to an end, the last note fading into silence, Beomgyu exhaled slowly, letting his fingers rest against the strings. And then, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it—

"I’m sorry."

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden softness in his voice. "For what?"

He looked down at the guitar, running his thumb absently over the wood. "For dropping the album."

Your chest tightened. "You didn’t have to," you murmured. "I never wanted you to."

He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "I thought… I thought you’d work better without me."

You frowned. "That’s not true."

Beomgyu hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly. "I didn’t want to leave you alone." He inhaled sharply, like he was steadying himself. "But I didn’t want my feelings to get in the way."

Your breath hitched. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. Slowly, carefully, you asked— "What feelings?"

Beomgyu tensed. For a second, he looked like he wanted to say it. Like he might say it. But then something closed inside him. His shoulders stiffened, his fingers gripping the guitar a little tighter. And when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. More distant. "It’s hard for me."

You furrowed your brows, confused. "What is?"

Beomgyu swallowed, looking down. "This. Talking. Saying things out loud." His lips pressed together for a moment before he let out a soft, humorless laugh. "It’s easy to write about it. To turn it into lyrics. To make it rhyme and feel poetic and beautiful."

He shook his head, exhaling through his nose. "But when it’s real? When it’s not just a song?" He shaked his head. "In real life, it’s harder."

You stared at him, heart twisting. Because this was him. This was Beomgyu without the smirks, without the teasing, without the carefully crafted walls. And for the first time, you realized, maybe this wasn’t just difficult for you.

Maybe he didn’t run because he didn’t care. Maybe he ran because he did.

Your heart pounded, your throat felt tight, but you forced yourself to breathe, to steady your voice. "What did you mean by that?"

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "You know what I mean."

"Do I?"

Beomgyu let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Come on, Y/N."

There was something in his voice, frustration, exhaustion, something too tangled up in itself to pull apart. You frowned. "I don’t want to assume."

"Right," he muttered. "Because assuming things with me has always worked out so well."

Your chest tightened. "Beomgyu—"

"I—" He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, then finally, finally, looked up at you. And god, you hated the way it made your breath catch. The way his eyes, dark and searching, made you feel like you were standing at the edge of something.

Like if you took one more step, there’d be no turning back. But before you could say anything—before he could say anything—the door creaked open.

Both of you turned at the same time.

"Hey," a familiar voice broke through the tension. "Think I left my pen with you earlier."

Seungcheol. His voice cut through the tension like a blade, sharp and unexpected. He stepped inside, eyes flickering between the two of you, taking in the scene—the guitar in Beomgyu’s lap, the tape on the desk, the way neither of you seemed to be breathing.

You turned toward the doorway, blinking as he leaned against the frame, his usual easy confidence settling into the room like he belonged there. Beomgyu’s entire posture shifted. It wasn’t obvious, no clenched fists, no outright glare, but you saw it anyway. The slight stiffening of his shoulders, the way his fingers curled subtly against the guitar.

You exhaled, stepping toward your desk. "Yeah, I think you did."

Seungcheol grinned. "Knew it."

You grabbed the pen and handed it to him, your fingers barely grazing before he pulled away. "Thanks, sweetheart," he said, easy, casual. "See you later."

And just like that, he was gone. The door clicked shut.

The silence that followed was worse than before. You turned back to Beomgyu, and immediately knew something was off. He put away the guitar, his arms crossed, expression unreadable, but his jaw was tight. "You going along with him?" His voice was sharp, cutting.

You frowned. "What?"

"Seungcheol," Beomgyu said, eyes locking onto yours. "You going along with his shit?"

Your frown deepened. "No. What the hell are you talking about?"

He scoffed, shaking his head. "I told you not to trust that guy."

"And I didn’t," you snapped, "I just gave him back his damn pen."

Beomgyu’s jaw clenched, his frustration spilling out in waves. "Yeah? Well, maybe you should know what your old friends are saying about you before you act like I’m being dramatic."

You stared at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, like he was trying to decide if he should even tell you. But then, his eyes darkened, and whatever hesitation he had burned away. "You remember Yunho?"

Your stomach twisted. Of course you remembered Yunho. Beomgyu didn’t wait for your answer. "After you left the party, he came up to me," he said, voice tight. "Started making conversation—asking if I worked at HYBE, shit like that. And then, out of nowhere, he says he knows Seungcheol."

Beomgyu watched your reaction closely, but he didn’t stop. "And then, Yunho tells me he used to fuck around with you," he continued, voice growing harsher, "but dropped you because, in his words, you were ‘too desirable.’"

You flinched. Your fingers curled into your palms, nails pressing against your skin. "What?"

Beomgyu let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah. And apparently, Seungcheol’s been waiting for his turn. ‘Dying to get a piece,’ is what he said."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Your heart pounded. "You’re lying."

Beomgyu’s gaze snapped to yours, sharp, furious. "I fucking wish."

You felt sick. But Beomgyu wasn’t done. "And then," he continued, voice low, "this motherfucker—this piece of shit—starts talking about how he doesn’t go for ‘girls who get around’ because he has standards." Your breath hitched. "That’s what he called you," Beomgyu said, voice flat. "A girl who gets around."

A sharp, ugly silence settled between you. Your pulse was roaring in your ears, rage and humiliation coiling together in your stomach like poison. "You fought him."

Beomgyu scoffed, shaking his head. "No. We talked."

You frowned. "Talked?"

"Yeah," he said, jaw tight. "He was acting like he had some kind of moral high ground," Beomgyu went on, voice sharpening. "Like he wouldn’t go for a girl who’s ‘too easy’—but oh, Seungcheol? Seungcheol was dying for a chance with you. And the way he talked—" Beomgyu exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "It pissed me off."

You swallowed hard, something ugly and bitter crawling up your throat. "So what, you argued with him?"

Beomgyu’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. His expression darkened. "Don’t do that."

"Do what?"

"Act like it doesn’t bother you," he snapped. "Act like it’s nothing when people say shit like that about you. I know you, Y/N."

Your breath caught. Because he wasn’t wrong. But you weren’t about to admit that. The air between you crackled with tension. His expression flickered. You should’ve let it go. Should’ve walked away. But something about the way he was looking at you made something snap inside you.

You shook your head, frustration burning beneath your skin. "You’re exhausting," you muttered, voice sharp. "One second you’re quiet, then you’re nice, then you’re picking fights, then you act like I’m just some coworker—"

Beomgyu’s expression flickered, something dark flashing in his eyes. "You think I treat you like that?"

"You tell me, Beomgyu," you snapped. "Because I have no fucking clue what you want from me."

The words hung in the air like a threat. His jaw tightened, his fingers flexing at his sides. "Don’t act like you don’t know," he said, voice rough. "Act like this is just me playing games—like I’m trying to play with you just for fun."

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Aren’t you?"

Beomgyu’s entire body tensed. "Are you serious right now?"

"Yes, I’m fucking serious!" You took a step closer, rage bubbling up from every place you had been shoving it down. "You kissed me, Beomgyu. And then you disappeared for a fucking week. No texts, no calls, nothing. And then you show up at work like it never happened—like I should just be fine with that."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. "It wasn’t like that."

"Then what the fuck was it like?"

He ran a hand through his hair, fingers tugging slightly at the strands, like he was trying to pull himself together. "I needed time."

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. "Bullshit."

Beomgyu scoffed. "Oh, so now I’m the bad guy?"

"You’re not the fucking victim," you shot back. "You don't get to kiss me like that, make me think—"

You cut yourself off, biting down hard on the words before they could spill out. But it was too late. Beomgyu was already looking at you like you had just punched the air out of his lungs. Like he knew exactly what you were about to say.

The air between you was too thick, too charged, suffocating and electric all at once. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his chest rising and falling unevenly. "You think I don’t fucking feel it too?" His voice cracked slightly, rough and raw. "You think this is easy for me?"

Your breath caught. "Then why do you keep running from it?"

Beomgyu exhaled sharply, something desperate in his gaze. "Because I don’t know what to do with it!"

Silence. His confession settled between you like an exposed wire, dangerous and crackling with heat. His jaw clenched, like he hated admitting it, like he hated feeling this much. But then, his expression shifted, morphing into something sharper, something wrecked.

"Fuck, Y/N," he muttered, voice strained. "You don’t get it. You don’t fucking get it."

"Then make me get it!" you yelled, frustration boiling over. "For once in your goddamn life, just say it!"

Beomgyu’s breath hitched. For a second, he didn’t say anything.

"Because I can’t fucking want you this much and still pretend it doesn’t matter!"

Your entire body locked up.

Beomgyu exhaled sharply, chest heaving, his eyes dark and so fucking serious it made your stomach flip. "I can’t—" He dragged a hand over his face, voice lower now, wrecked. "I can’t pretend that this thing between us doesn’t fucking kill me every time I try to ignore it." Your heart was a wildfire in your chest. Beomgyu let out a sharp laugh, one that sounded more like frustration than amusement. "I don’t know how to fucking want you without ruining everything else."

The words hit harder than they should have. The words hit harder than they should have. Because that was it, wasn’t it? That was why he ran. Why he pushed, pulled, disappeared, came back. Why he kissed you and then left.

Because he wanted you. But he didn’t trust himself with you. The realization sat heavy in your chest. And for the first time, you saw it, the fear beneath the anger, the hesitation beneath the frustration.

Beomgyu didn’t just want you. He was terrified of wanting you. And you didn’t know what scared you more. The fact that he was afraid. Or the fact that you weren’t.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was stretched too thin, humming with something neither of you knew how to control. Then, Beomgyu exhaled, deep, uneven. His gaze flickered downward, his fingers flexing at his sides like he wanted to reach for something but couldn’t bring himself to do it.

"I’m sorry," he said.

The words were quiet, but they landed with the weight of something long overdue. You swallowed. His lips parted, then closed. He let out a slow breath, shaking his head slightly, like he didn’t even know where to start. "For kissing you," he murmured. "For leaving. For not talking to you for a week like a fucking coward." His jaw clenched. "For making you think that it didn’t mean anything."

You stared at him, heart pounding. "And did it?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Beomgyu lifted his gaze then, something wrecked behind his dark eyes. "You already know the answer to that."

Your breath caught. He was looking at you differently now. Not with frustration, not with hesitation, but with a kind of certainty that sent heat curling in your stomach.

Then, before you could even process it, he took a step back. "Come with me," he said.

You blinked. "What?"

Beomgyu turned, already heading toward the door. "Come on," he repeated, glancing back at you. "I wanna show you something to prove it."

Something in his voice made your pulse jump. Still, you hesitated. "Show me?"

He didn’t answer. Just held the door open, waiting. And for some stupid, unexplainable reason, your feet started moving.

The walk to his studio was silent. Not tense, not uncomfortable, just charged. You could feel it, the way he was holding something back, something big. His pace was quick, purposeful, like if he didn’t move fast enough, he’d lose his nerve.

When you reached his studio, he pulled out a keycard and swiped it, unlocking the door before stepping inside. You followed hesitantly, eyes flickering over the dimly lit space.

Beomgyu didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he walked over to the soundboard, pressing a few buttons, adjusting the controls. A small red light flickered on in the recording booth.

Your stomach flipped. "What are we doing?" you asked, voice quieter now.

Beomgyu turned to face you, his expression unreadable. "I want you to hear something."

And then, he pressed play. A soft, melancholic guitar filled the room. Your breath caught immediately. You recognized it before he even started singing. Moonstruck.

But it wasn’t the version you had heard before. It was him. Beomgyu’s voice. Low, warm, just slightly raspy—vulnerable.

Your mind had barely caught up to the fact that he had recorded this himself when he spoke again. "I think you know why I wrote this," he said, voice quiet, steady. Your head snapped toward him, but he wasn’t looking at you.

He was looking at the recording booth. And then, he moved. Slowly, purposefully, he reached for the door handle and pushed it open, nodding his head for you to follow. "Come here."

Your pulse stuttered. You should’ve stopped. Should’ve said something, anything to break whatever the hell was happening right now. But you didn’t. Instead, you stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind you.

Beomgyu pressed a button near the panel, locked. He finally turned to face you then, and, fuck, he was close. "I don’t want anyone interrupting this time," he murmured.

Your breath caught. The air inside the booth was thick, the music still playing softly through the speakers. Beomgyu took another step forward, and this time, you didn’t move away. "You know what this song is about," he said, voice lower now.

You swallowed hard. "Beomgyu—"

"You know," he repeated, softer.

You couldn’t breathe. Because he was right. You knew. You had known since the first time you read the demo, since the first lyric. This was about you. And now, standing here, locked inside a booth with him, his voice bleeding through the speakers, warm and raw and real, you had never been more aware of it.

Beomgyu reached up then, fingers barely grazing your wrist. Not pulling, not pushing. Just there. A question. A hesitation. You didn’t know who moved first.

Maybe it was him. Maybe it was you. But suddenly, there wasn’t space between you anymore. His hand slid up, over your wrist, your forearm, until his fingers curled gently around your jaw. Your lips parted slightly, breath uneven, your pulse roaring in your ears.

Beomgyu’s gaze flickered down to your mouth. And then, he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t messy, just slow, lingering, like he wanted to memorize the way you felt against him. His fingers curled tighter against your jaw, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss, to let himself drown in it.

And you let him. Because right now, nothing else mattered. Not the past, not the fear, not the things left unsaid. Right now, there was only this. Only the music, still playing softly in the background. Only him.

The kiss deepened before you even realized it was happening. Beomgyu wasn’t hesitant anymore. He wasn’t uncertain, wasn’t holding back, he was in it, pressing into you with a kind of desperation that made your head spin. His fingers dug into your jaw, tilting your face just the way he wanted, his lips parting against yours, taking.

Your back hit the wall of the recording booth, and he was on you in an instant, one hand braced against the panel behind you, the other sliding down, grazing the side of your neck, the bare skin of your arm, like he needed to feel you.

You barely had a second to breathe before he kissed you again, harder this time, almost rough, a low sound slipping from his throat as you pressed up onto your toes, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

"Fuck," he muttered against your mouth, voice already wrecked. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this."

Your breath hitched. "Then why did you run?"

His teeth grazed your bottom lip, his fingers tightening around your waist. "Because I’m a fucking idiot," he murmured, pressing another kiss against your jaw, then lower, dragging his lips along your neck. "Because I didn’t know if you—"

You cut him off, pulling him back to you, kissing him harder, more insistent. Beomgyu groaned against your lips, his body pressing flush against yours now, his hand slipping down to grip your thigh, hiking it up against his hip. His touch burned, warm and firm, like he needed you closer, needed to close the space that still existed between you.

"Tell me to stop," he muttered, his mouth trailing down, lips brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear. "Tell me to stop, and I swear I will."

You swallowed hard, fingers digging into his back. "I'm not telling you to stop."

That was all it took. Beomgyu made a low, almost guttural noise, like something inside him had just snapped. The next kiss was different. Messier. Hungrier. His hands were everywhere, sliding up under the hem of your shirt, skimming over bare skin, gripping your waist tight enough to leave bruises. Your body arched into his touch, your breathing uneven, heat pooling deep in your stomach as his fingers dug into your hips.

"Say it," he muttered against your lips, voice rough with something you couldn’t quite place. "Say you want me, too."

You let out a shaky breath, barely able to think. "I want you, Beomgyu."

He groaned, pressing his forehead against yours for a split second before kissing you again, slower this time, but deeper, like he wanted to drown in it. Then, suddenly, his grip tightened. He lifted you effortlessly, guiding you up onto the small ledge of the booth, your legs wrapping around his waist, his body slotting between your thighs like it was meant to be there.

Your pulse roared. He was so close now, every inch of him pressed against you, his breath uneven, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles against the skin just above the waistband of your jeans. "You drive me fucking insane," he muttered, his lips brushing over yours between each word. "I can’t think straight when I’m around you."

You barely had time to process that before his mouth was on your throat again, biting, sucking, dragging his lips down and down and down. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan, his hips pressing forward on instinct. The friction made you gasp, your legs tightening around him. "Shit," Beomgyu swore, his forehead dropping against your shoulder.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Your breathing was uneven, your body burning, your skin thrumming with heat where he touched you. Then, slowly, Beomgyu lifted his head. His gaze met yours, dark, unreadable. His hands flexed against your waist, like he was trying to ground himself. "I don’t want to fuck this up," he murmured, voice strained. "Not with you."

Your chest ached. Because he wasn’t saying I don’t want this. He was saying I don’t want to ruin it. Your fingers traced lightly along the back of his neck, your breathing still shaky. "Then don’t," you whispered.

Beomgyu swallowed hard. "I’m trying." He was still close. His forehead was still resting against yours, his hands gripping your waist, his body pressed between your legs like he wasn’t ready to pull away yet.

Your breathing was uneven. So was his. And then, like some invisible force snapped between you, his lips were on yours again. This time, there was no hesitation. He kissed you like he had been starving for this, like he was finally letting himself have what he had wanted for so long. His fingers dug into your waist, pulling you against him, his body heat swallowing you whole as his mouth moved against yours, deep and urgent.

You gasped slightly when he tilted your chin up, angling the kiss deeper, his tongue teasing against yours just enough to make your stomach tighten.

You felt like you were burning. Everywhere he touched, everywhere he pressed, lit up. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers threading through his hair, tugging just enough to make him let out a low, almost desperate sound against your lips. His hips pressed forward, instinctive. "Beomgyu—" you breathed against his mouth, barely able to think.

"Mm?" He didn’t stop. Just kissed along your jaw, down your neck, biting down lightly at the sensitive skin there before soothing it with his tongue.

A shiver ran down your spine. "We should—"

He kissed you again, cutting off your words, his hands gripping your thighs, holding you steady against him. "Say it later," he muttered, voice rough, lips brushing against yours. "Say it after I kiss you again."

And then he did. Harder this time. Deeper. Your body arched into his without thinking, heat curling in your stomach, your hands gripping onto his shirt to keep yourself steady. You could feel everything. His heartbeat, heavy and uneven against your chest. The way his fingers flexed against your skin like he was trying to memorize the way you felt. The low, unsteady sounds he made every time you moved against him, every time you kissed him back just as desperately.

It was too much. You broke away first, chest rising and falling, trying to catch your breath. Beomgyu didn’t move. He stayed close, lips still brushing against yours, eyes dark and heavy-lidded. Your fingers were still curled in his hair. His hands were still gripping your waist.

"We should stop," you murmured, forcing the words out before you lost your grip on reality completely. "Beomgyu, we’re— We’re at work. It’s not even noon."

Beomgyu let out a slow, shuddering breath. "Fuck." He still didn’t move. You could see it, the way his jaw clenched, his eyes flickering over your lips like he was debating whether to listen to you or keep going anyway. Then, finally, he exhaled sharply, resting his forehead against your shoulder for half a second before stepping back. "Yeah." His voice was strained, rough. "You’re right."

The air felt thin without him against you. You took a slow breath, trying to calm the racing of your pulse, trying to ignore the way your body still buzzed from his touch. His fingers brushed over your thigh before he pulled away completely, straightening his shirt, raking a hand through his hair.

You slid off the ledge, steadying yourself as you smoothed out your clothes. "I should get back to work," you muttered, voice still slightly breathless. "The album—"

Beomgyu gave a humorless chuckle, rubbing a hand over his face. "Yeah. Right. The album."

Neither of you moved. Neither of you looked at each other. Because you both knew, work was the last thing on your minds right now. But still, you turned toward the door, reaching for the handle. "I’ll see you later," you mumbled.

Beomgyu hummed in response, something unreadable in his expression. "Yeah."

You pulled the door open, and then, just as you were about to step out, his hand caught your wrist. Before you could even process it, he tugged lightly, just enough to make you turn back, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against your lips. It was barely a second. Barely anything. But it hit you like a fucking meteor. He pulled away just as quickly, his eyes flickering over your face, watching your reaction. You didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

Because what the fuck was that? Not the heat, not the urgency, not the kind of kiss that made your head spin and your knees weak, but something softer. Warmer. Something that made your stomach tighten in an entirely different way.

Beomgyu’s lips quirked upward slightly, like he could see the way your brain had short-circuited. "Go work," he murmured.

You blinked. "Right." And then, without another word, you turned and walked out, your heart still pounding.

You spent the rest of the afternoon in your studio. Hours passed. You barely noticed.

The only thing grounding you was the music, the way it pulsed through your headphones, the way it filled every inch of your studio. The way it made everything else, the tension, the heat, the weight of Beomgyu’s touch, fade just enough for you to breathe.

Your fingers moved instinctively, layering melodies, adjusting levels, smoothing over instrumentals. Every track you touched felt electric, the ideas spilling out of you faster than you could process them. Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe it was something else. But whatever it was, you let it take over.

The hours blurred together, stretching into one long, unbroken moment of creation. A new beat took shape, fast, sharp, pulsing with urgency. You molded it into something heavier, something alive. You adjusted the bass, the synths, the vocal layers, adding a deeper texture, something that ached in all the right ways.

Then another track, smoother, melancholic, intimate in a way that made your chest tighten. You let the guitar linger in places it normally wouldn’t, let the reverb stretch out just enough to make it feel like the song was breathing.

Another, this one bold, unrelenting, filled with heat and confidence. It demanded attention, crackled with something fierce. You didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. Your eyes flickered to the screen as the tracklist took shape in front of you:

XO (Only If You Say Yes) Your Eyes Only Hundred Broken Hearts Brought The Heat Back Paranormal Royalty

A solid foundation. A damn good foundation. By the time you finally leaned back in your chair, exhaustion was creeping in, settling into your limbs, but there was a different kind of satisfaction sitting beside it. Because you had done it. Most of your work was done. And maybe, just maybe, you had needed this. The music. The escape. The chance to turn everything swimming in your head into something real.

With a deep breath, you saved the files, powered down your setup, and began gathering your things. Your jacket, your bag, your phone, shoving everything into place as you checked the time. Late.

The sun had already set by the time you stepped outside. The air was crisp, the streets quieter now, the city humming with the distant sounds of life. You exhaled, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder as you turned toward the metro station.

And then—

"You took your time."

Your steps faltered. Beomgyu was waiting. Leaning against the side of the building, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his head tilted slightly as he watched you.

Your brows furrowed. "What are you doing here?"

Beomgyu smirked. "Told you I had until the album dropped for you to change your mind."

You blinked. "Change my mind about what?"

His smirk widened. "About getting a drink with me."

You stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious," he said, pushing off the wall, stepping closer. "You spent the whole day in that studio. You need a break."

Your lips parted slightly, caught between irritation and something closer to amusement. "And you decided you’d be the one to provide it?"

Beomgyu shrugged. "Obviously."

You shook your head, exhaling. "I was planning to go home."

"Okay," he said easily. "You can still go home."

You frowned. "What?"

"After one drink," he clarified. "Then you can go home."

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head again. "You’re impossible."

"And yet," he mused, rocking back on his heels, "you’re still standing here, considering it."

Your jaw clenched. Because he wasn’t wrong. The exhaustion was still there, but so was something else, something that made you hesitate, something that made you want to say yes. Beomgyu noticed.

And so he tilted his head, lowering his voice just slightly. "Come on, Y/N. Just one."

You stared at him for another long moment. Then, before you could stop yourself, "Fine."

Beomgyu smirked, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets as he led the way. "You know," he mused, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, "you’re a lot more fun when you don’t overthink things."

You scoffed. "I’m not overthinking anything."

He grinned. "Then why do you look like you’re already regretting this?"

You huffed, shoving your hands into your jacket. "I’m not."

Beomgyu just hummed, like he didn’t believe you, but didn’t feel like arguing. Instead, he turned down a quieter street, leading you toward a bar tucked between two buildings, a cozy-looking place, warm light spilling from the windows, the scent of grilled meat drifting through the air.

You hesitated. "This is where we’re going?"

Beomgyu glanced at you, amused. "Why? You don’t like barbecue?"

Your stomach growled at the thought. You sighed. "I do, a lot."

He just smirked, pushing open the door. Inside, the atmosphere was just as inviting as the smell. Low, warm lighting. Laughter. The quiet clinking of glasses. The faint crackle of meat sizzling on the built-in grills at the tables. It was comfortable. And you hated that it made you relax a little.

Beomgyu led you toward an open table near the back, sliding into the seat beside you instead of across from you, leaning back like he had done this a thousand times before. Which, knowing him, he probably had. "You come here a lot," you muttered, glancing around.

He grinned. "I have good taste."

You rolled your eyes. A server appeared, and Beomgyu barely had to glance at the menu before ordering beef short ribs, pork belly, a few side dishes, and two cold beers.

You raised an eyebrow. "Ordering for me now?"

Beomgyu shrugged, tapping his fingers against the table. "You like barbecue. You like beer. I connected the dots."

You leaned back, crossing your arms. "What if I suddenly decided I hate all those things?"

Beomgyu smirked, resting his chin in his hand as he looked at you. "Then you’d be lying." You narrowed your eyes at him.

The beers arrived first. Beomgyu picked up his glass, tilting it slightly toward you. "To finishing most of the album in one day."

You huffed, clinking your glass against his. "To having nothing better to do than drag me to a bar."

Beomgyu just grinned before taking a sip. The beer was cold, smooth, the kind that went down easily after a long day. And as much as you hated to admit it, this, the warmth of the place, the comfort of the food, the quiet hum of conversation around you, felt nice.

You set your glass down, glancing at him. "Alright," you muttered. "You win. This isn’t terrible."

Beomgyu smirked, leaning in slightly. "High praise coming from you."

You scoffed, taking another sip. "Don’t get used to it."

And then, the food arrived. Plates of sizzling meat, steaming side dishes, the aroma so good that your stomach twisted with hunger. Beomgyu grabbed a pair of tongs, flipping the short ribs on the grill, moving with too much ease.

You eyed him. "You really come here a lot."

He smirked. "Told you."

You sighed, watching as he expertly cooked the meat, barely thinking before reaching for the lettuce wraps, stacking up the perfect bite, then placing it in front of you. Your eyebrows lifted. "Are you seriously making me food right now?"

Beomgyu shrugged, sipping his beer. "What, you want me to feed it to you, too?"

You scoffed. "I can make my own wrap, Beomgyu."

"Yeah, but I already did it." He nodded toward the plate. "So eat."

You rolled your eyes but took it anyway, biting into the warm, flavorful wrap. You weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion, the hunger, or the fact that Beomgyu was sitting so close, watching you eat with an amused expression, but something about this moment made your chest feel too full. You pushed the thought away.

"So?" he asked, watching you chew.

You swallowed, setting your chopsticks down. "It’s fine."

He snorted. "You are so bad at compliments."

"No," you corrected, taking another sip of beer. "I just don’t like boosting your ego."

Beomgyu grinned. "Too late for that."

The conversation flowed easier after that. The second beer turned into a third. The food disappeared, leaving just the sound of clinking glasses, the occasional glance that lingered too long, the way your shoulders brushed when you leaned forward to reach for something.

Somewhere between another drink and another teasing remark, you realized something: You were having fun. And Beomgyu knew it. His smirk never wavered, his eyes never left yours for too long, his voice never dropped that teasing lilt that made your pulse stutter more than it should. And maybe it was the alcohol. Or maybe it was just him.

But as you sat there, half-listening to him ramble about some ridiculous story, you realized, you didn’t really want the night to end. And by the time the last plate had been cleared and the third beer had been emptied, you were warm all over. Not drunk. Just loose.

The world felt a little softer around the edges, your limbs lighter, your thoughts slower but comfortable. Beomgyu, across from you—no, beside you, because he had sat next to you like it was the most natural thing in the world—was in the same state, his body relaxed, his usual sharp-edged energy dulled by alcohol and good food.

You tapped your fingers idly against the table, staring at the condensation on your glass. "So," you muttered, "you never told me—what do you think of the album name?"

Beomgyu blinked, then frowned slightly, turning his head to look at you properly. "What album name?"

You exhaled, stretching your arms over your head. "The one Baekhyun’s thinking about. ‘Files of Romance.’"

His reaction was instant. Beomgyu made a face like you had just told him the worst news imaginable. "Nah, not my personal taste."

You raised an eyebrow. "You hate it that much?"

"Hate is a strong word—" he paused, reconsidering. "—but yeah, I fucking hate it."

You laughed. "Why?"

Beomgyu turned in his seat, facing you fully now, one arm resting on the back of your chair. "Because it sounds like some 2010 Wattpad fanfiction. ‘Files of Romance’—what is this, a collection of love letters? A secret diary? An unfinished manuscript?*"

You smirked, tilting your head. "It’s poetic."

"It’s cheesy," he corrected.

You rolled your eyes, taking another sip of beer. "Okay, then what would you call it?"

Beomgyu hummed, thinking for a moment. Then, he looked at you. And something in his gaze shifted. His smirk faded, not completely, but enough for you to notice the way his expression softened slightly. "Romance: Untold."

The words settled between you like something heavy. Your fingers stilled against your glass. "Untold?"

He nodded. "Because that’s what this album is, isn’t it? All these songs, all these stories—" he tapped his fingers against the table, voice dropping slightly. "It’s about things people don’t say out loud. Feelings left unsaid. The in-between moments, the things you can’t admit, the things you only let yourself feel when no one’s looking."

Suddenly, this wasn’t about the album anymore. Beomgyu wasn’t looking at you like a producer talking about work. He wasn’t critiquing an idea, wasn’t just throwing out another title. He was talking about you and him.

Your lips parted slightly, heart picking up speed. "That’s…" you hesitated. "That’s actually not bad."

Beomgyu grinned. "Not bad? Come on, admit it—you like it."

You exhaled, shaking your head. "You’re impossible."

"And you’re predictable," he countered easily, taking another sip of his beer. "You act like you hate everything I say, but deep down, you know I’m right most of the time."

You scoffed. "Most of the time?"

"Mm-hmm." He leaned in slightly, his smirk turning just a bit more smug. "Like right now."

Your eyes narrowed. "Beomgyu—"

"Say it," he murmured, voice lower now, the playful edge still there but thicker, like something else was creeping beneath it. "Say you like the name."

You exhaled sharply, pressing your lips together. He was so annoying. But also, he was right. You sighed. "Fine. It’s… a good name."

Beomgyu smirked, triumphant. "See? I always win."

You rolled your eyes, taking another sip. "You don’t always win."

"Pretty close to always," he teased, nudging your leg under the table. "And anyway—" his gaze flickered over you briefly before settling on your lips. "I get the feeling you like it when I win."

You swallowed, shifting in your seat, trying to ignore the way your skin felt hot under his gaze. "You’re drunk."

Beomgyu smirked. "Tipsy."

"Same thing."

"Not even close." His fingers tapped against his glass, his smirk lingering. "You just don’t wanna admit I’m fun outside of work."

You snorted. "Fun is a strong word."

"And yet," he murmured, leaning in slightly, "you’re still here."

He wasn’t wrong. You could’ve left at any time. You could’ve said no to this drink. You could’ve cut this conversation short the second it started feeling like more than just talking. But you didn’t. And now, sitting here, so close to him, so aware of every movement he made, every glance, every shift in his voice, you couldn’t pretend that it was just because of the album anymore.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to look away. "We should probably head out soon."

Beomgyu hummed, like he knew exactly what you were doing but didn’t feel like calling you out on it. "Yeah, yeah."

Neither of you moved. Instead, he let his arm stretch across the back of your chair, fingers tapping against the wood in a slow, easy rhythm. "Romance: Untold," he repeated, more to himself now. "Yeah. I like it."

You exhaled. "Me too."

And somehow, you knew, this wasn’t just about the album. This was about you and him. The story neither of you had told yet. But one that, deep down, you both knew was already being written.

The night air was cooler now, a crisp contrast to the warmth still buzzing under your skin from the drinks. The street outside the bar was quiet, only the occasional car passing by, headlights flickering against the pavement.

Beomgyu stretched his arms over his head, then shoved his hands into his pockets. "Alright, let’s get you home."

You raised an eyebrow. "You’re not driving."

"Obviously not," he said, rolling his eyes. "I’m not a fucking idiot."

You let out a breathy laugh. "So what’s your plan?"

Beomgyu tilted his head, smirking. "Gonna take the subway with you."

You blinked. "You don’t have to do that."

"I know." He started walking. "Come on."

You hesitated, but ultimately followed, falling into step beside him. The subway station wasn’t far. The streets were quieter here, the hum of neon signs flickering against the damp pavement. It felt… nice. Comfortable. Like the two of you had slipped into something easier than usual.

The train arrived just as you stepped onto the platform. You both boarded, sliding into a seat near the back of the car. "So," you mused, resting your head against the window. "Tell me something I don’t know about you."

Beomgyu hummed, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Something good or something stupid?"

"Good," you said. "And don’t say something obvious."

Beomgyu smirked, tapping his fingers against his knee. "I’ve wanted to do music since I was ten."

You blinked. "Really?"

"Yeah." He leaned back, gaze flickering up toward the train ceiling like he was remembering something. "I used to listen to my older brother’s CDs all the time—Nirvana, Radiohead, The Strokes, My Bloody Valentine. I’d sit in my room with those shitty little wired headphones and just obsess over the sounds, the production, the way the lyrics hit different when you were alone in the dark."

You tilted your head, watching him. "I never took you for a rock band guy."

Beomgyu scoffed. "What, you think I only listen to industry shit?"

"I mean… kinda."

He clutched his chest dramatically. "Wow. The disrespect."

You laughed. "Okay, okay. What’s your favorite album of all time?"

Beomgyu exhaled, tapping his fingers against the seat. "Damn. That’s hard."

"Come on," you nudged his knee with yours. "You’re a music guy. You have to have a number one."

He thought for a second. "‘Loveless’ by My Bloody Valentine."

Your brows lifted. "Shoegaze?"

"Shoegaze," he confirmed. "That album changed me."

You smirked. "Oh, so it’s that serious?"

"It’s life-changing serious," he said. "I mean, listen to ‘When You Sleep’ and tell me that shit doesn’t make you wanna dissolve into the floor."

You chuckled. "Okay, fine. I’ll listen."

"You better."

The conversation flowed easily after that. Beomgyu rambled about different albums, breaking down the exact moment he fell in love with certain sounds, which producers he admired, which live performances made him feel something real.

And you listened. Really listened. Because even though he talked a lot—too much, sometimes—this was different. This was Beomgyu talking about the thing he loved. And it made you want to know more.

By the time you reached your stop, the train car was nearly empty. The streets were quieter now, the air even cooler. Beomgyu walked beside you, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his usual smirk still tugging at his lips. And then, without warning, his arm slung over your shoulders.

You stiffened. "What the hell are you doing?"

Beomgyu grinned. "Relax. You looked cold."

You scoffed, but didn’t pull away. "You just wanted an excuse to be annoying."

"And?" he teased. "Is it working?"

"Always."

Beomgyu chuckled, squeezing your shoulder lightly before letting his arm stay there, draped over you like it belonged there. And, for some reason, you let it. By the time you reached your apartment building, the air between you had shifted again, lighter, charged, something humming just beneath the surface.

Beomgyu turned to face you, his smirk softer now. "Well, that was fun."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You admit I’m fun now?"

"I didn’t say that." He grinned. "I said that was fun."

You rolled your eyes, stepping toward your door. "Whatever."

But before you could reach for the handle, Beomgyu caught your wrist. You turned. And suddenly, he was right there. Closer than he had been all night. The teasing was gone from his face. His eyes flickered between yours, his fingers still wrapped loosely around your wrist. And then, he leaned in. Slowly. Deliberately. Like he was giving you time to stop him.

But just as his lips were inches from yours, the door swung open.

"Well," Yeonjun’s voice rang out, amusement laced through every word. "What do we have here?"

Your stomach dropped. Beomgyu’s entire body went rigid. Yeonjun grinned, stepping onto the porch, holding a tied-up trash bag in one hand. "I was just taking out the garbage, but this is much more interesting."

You groaned, pulling away from Beomgyu instantly. "Yeonjun."

"What?" Yeonjun feigned innocence, looking between the two of you. "I didn’t know we were having late-night meetings outside the apartment."

Beomgyu exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers against his temple. "Great timing, dude."

"I try my best." Yeonjun smirked. "So… are you gonna kiss, or should I give you some privacy?"

"Yeonjun, I swear to God—"

"Alright, alright, I’m going!" He held up his hands, stepping off the porch with a laugh. "But we will be talking about this later, Y/N."

You shot him a glare as he disappeared down the walkway, humming to himself. The second he was out of earshot, you huffed. "Unbelievable."

A beat of silence passed. "So…" Beomgyu shifted, glancing at you. "Where were we?"

A slow smirk tugged at Beomgyu’s lips. His head tilted slightly, his eyes flickering down to your mouth, just for a second, just enough for your breath to catch. He was waiting. Waiting to see if you’d push him away, if you’d roll your eyes and disappear inside, if you’d cut this tension off before it turned into something real.

But you didn’t. And that was all he needed. Beomgyu took a slow step forward, closing the space between you with the kind of confidence that sent your heart slamming against your ribs. His fingers brushed against yours, hesitant for only a moment before he tilted his chin down, leaning in. And then, finally, he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t urgent or rough or anything close to what you had before. It was gentle. Soft in a way that made your stomach flip, slow in a way that made your knees feel weak, like he had all the time in the world to memorize the way you felt beneath his lips. Beomgyu wasn’t pushing. He wasn’t taking. He was giving. And you let yourself take it.

Your fingers curled against the front of his jacket, tugging slightly as you kissed him back, sinking into the warmth of it, the quiet rightness of it. Beomgyu let out a soft sound against your lips, half a sigh, half a laugh, before tilting his head slightly, deepening the kiss just enough to make your stomach tighten.

His hand came up, brushing against your cheek, fingers tracing the line of your jaw, slow and deliberate, like he was trying to remember this. Like he had wanted this for too long. You could feel his smile against your mouth, feel the way his fingers flexed slightly, like he wanted to pull you closer but was holding back.

And then, someone cleared their throat. Loud. Pointed. Beomgyu stilled for half a second, then pulled back, blinking like he had just been shaken out of something. Slowly, almost painfully, you turned toward the sound.

Yeonjun. Standing in the hallway. Arms crossed. Smirking. "Really?" he mused. "Right outside the door?"

Your stomach dropped. "Yeonjun—"

"You guys didn’t even wait five minutes after I left?" he continued, shaking his head. "Damn, Beomgyu. You work fast."

Beomgyu groaned, dragging a hand over his face. "For the love of God—"

Yeonjun just grinned as he stepped inside. "Don’t let me stop you. I was just coming back."

You wanted to die. You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. Beomgyu exhaled sharply, muttering something under his breath before taking a small step back, running a hand through his hair.

You cleared your throat, trying to ignore the way your skin burned. "I should go inside."

Beomgyu looked at you, his expression unreadable for half a second before he smirked. "Yeah. Probably."

You hesitated. "Goodnight, Beomgyu."

He tilted his head. "Goodnight, Y/N."

And then, because he couldn’t help himself, he leaned in one last time. A quick, teasing peck against your lips. Barely a second. Barely anything. But it sent your stomach spiraling.

Then, before you could even react, he turned toward the stairs, shoving his hands into his pockets. "See you at work," he called over his shoulder. And with that, he disappeared.

The second the door shut behind you, your back met the wood, and you let out a sharp breath. What the fuck just happened? Your fingers hovered over your lips, the ghost of Beomgyu’s kiss still lingering, the warmth of his touch still burning on your skin. Your heart was still racing, your mind still spinning, and—

"Oh, this is so good," Yeonjun’s voice cut through your spiral, full of glee.

You groaned. "Please. Shut up."

author's note: i hate to do this… but we’re getting a part 3. there was just too much to fit into this chapter, and things are about to get tense next time. if you want to be on the taglist for the next part, let me know in the comments!

ALSO i wrote this fic way before beomgyu even announced PANIC 😭😭 so pls go give him all the love bc he looks AMAZING the song is perfect and i swear the beomgyu i wrote is the same beomgyu who wrote panic did i just win????? 😭💘

taglist: @czennieszn @iyoonjh @shycreationdreamland @beomsdoll @whatblop @cbgtopia @enhaloveeee @hyunj00 @jnysaln @woncheecks @soobinslvr13 @kejingken @v1shwa-xo @yeovnjin @c1eod1n3 @etherealid7 @naeyerys

You have your arm lying flat on your desk, your head resting on top of it. You find yourself wishing that the fire alarm could go off so you could leave the class before you see just how badly you failed this test. Maybe an earthquake could strike right under your seat and you would be put out of your misery.

Too caught up by the pity party you were having for yourself, you almost didn’t notice the door opening and a boy walking in. He was tall—like tall enough that you would have to crane your neck to look him in the eye. His hair was dark and long, brushing the back of his neck and it looked good, you’ll admit. If only he’d style it instead of letting it lay flat on his head.

The boy walks right up to your teacher’s desk just when she finishes up with a student, grinning cheerfully. He wasn’t in your class, you observe. You don’t know most of your classmates very well but you think you would at least remember him.

He stays by Ms Kwon’s side making casual conversation about whatever and that gets you curious. Who is this guy? When he is not talking with your teacher, he is staring off somewhere in the class and you can’t find it in you to find out what he’s looking at.

“Y/N.” Your head snaps up at the sound of your teacher calling you, eyes wide. It was your turn already?

Taking a breath, you slowly stand up from your seat. You try your hardest to calm your racing heart. Even though you know the mark you are going to see (a big fat fail), you still hated the look you knew would be on Ms Kwon’s face.

Once at her desk, she looks up at you with a slight frown on her face and disappointment pools in your chest. She shows you your paper and you have to swallow a lump in your throat. This was probably the worst you had ever done.

“Thanks, Miss,” you mumble. You lift your head up to find the boy regarding you with a calculating look. Great. Now someone you don’t even know knew how badly you were doing in this dumb class.

You shoot him a glare before turning back to go sit down. The rest of the lesson is spent contemplating whether you should just drop the class and save yourself the suffering. The boy never leaves your teacher’s side.

When the bell rings you waste no time in rushing out of the class, ending up being one of the first ones to leave despite sitting near the back. You had plans to continue wallowing in your dorm and hopefully your roommate Rina would still be in class so you can have the space to yourself.

Your plans are unfortunately interrupted by someone yelling from behind you.

“Hey! Wait up!”

It takes a moment for you to realise that they were talking to you and that was only because they appeared right next to you. And it’s the boy from the class. Absolutely not.

You pick up your pace.

The boy keeps walking alongside you. “Y/N, right?” he asks even though you both know he knows that’s your name.

“No,” you say anyway.

He is undeterred. “I’m Choi Beomgyu.”

“So what?”

“I have an offer for you.” It’s then that you accept the fact that no matter how much faster you try to walk, you will never lose him. Stupid boys with stupid long legs.

Slowing down to walk at your normal pace, you let out an exasperated sigh. “We don’t even know each other.”

“That’s true,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck in a manner that makes him look so boyish. “But I was thinking we could help each other out?”

You quirk an eyebrow. “And how exactly could you help me?”

“I could tutor you. In Music Comp.”

You don’t even bother holding back a scoff. So what, he sees your one bad mark and thinks you need help? “What do you even know about Music Composition?”

He shrugs easily and you feel his shoulder brush against yours. He was really close. You step to side slightly and he doesn’t notice. “It’s my major.”

That makes you stop in your tracks and rethink whatever smart comeback you had. You aren’t sure you believe him but it would explain why he was so comfortable walking into an in session class and just talking to Ms Kwon. If he is telling the truth, maybe he could help you. Despite being terrible at it, you know that you weren’t just going to drop the class. (It was too late to anyways.)

“Say I agree,” you start crossing your arms. “What do I have to help you with?”

For the first time since you started talking, Beomgyu looks shy. He takes a moment before answering. “Um, help me get Chaeryeong to date me?”

Oh, he cannot be serious.

“You cannot be serious.”

You immediately start walking again and start trying to lose Beomgyu in the crowd, not caring if he’s following you. Which he was, but whatever. Because you don’t care.

It’s not even like you’re surprised that he has a crush on Chaeryeong—literally everybody does. You’d be more surprised if he didn’t. And many people have tried valiantly to get the attention of the most popular girl in school, but to no avail. What was really making you speedwalk your way away from the boy is the fact that he thought that you would be any help in being the one successful guy who manages to steal Chaeryeong’s heart.

It was an impossible ask and what’s worse, it wasn’t even a fair trade. I will help you not fail and in exchange you help snag the most unattainable girl in existence? Yeah, there was no way you were doing that.

But Beomgyu was persistent and remained chasing after you and weaving through students to reach you.

“Y/N—Wait!” when he catches up, he moves to stand in front of you, blocking you from moving. You sigh and roll your eyes “Just hear me out for a second.”

You don’t respond and he takes it as a go ahead. “Look, okay, I know it’s sudden but I really like her okay.”

“Yeah, and so does half of Seoul,” you scoff.

“That’s where you come in! You help me by, I don’t know, making me stand out from the other people trying to get her attention.”

He sounds so earnest it annoys you. His plan had so many holes in it and once again came the issue of why is he bothering with you. “But why do I come in? I don’t even know her!”

Beomgyu shuffles his feet. “Well, you’re in the same Comp class.”

Oh my god, you think. That’s who he was staring at.

Chaeryeong sits in the middle of the class with her one friend Keeho, you think his name is. You have never spoken to her or interacted, save for the times when she hands out worksheets.

In your opinion, in no way does this qualify you to be some kind of wingman for a boy you just met.

“Sorry man, thanks for the offer, but I can’t help you.” You sidestep around him and walk away, and this time, he lets you.

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The next day you are feeling a little better about yourself. You managed to burrow yourself under blankets on your couch, and even though Rina was home, she made a whole bunch of popcorn for the two of you and put on old historical dramas.

Ms Kwon is standing at the front of the desk, arms crossed, when the lesson starts. “So, after showing you all your marks yesterday, I have decided that it would be best for you to have a rewrite next week.”

Your eyes widen in surprise as gasps and cheers erupt in cheers. Even Chaeryeong seems pleased by this news. Rewrites were hardly ever granted in this class, the first and last one being in your first year. The class had to have done really bad on the last test for your teacher to even consider it.

The older woman waves her arms around to get you all to quiet down. You, however, are too stunned to speak.

“Don’t just take this as me being nice, okay? You actually have to use this opportunity to do better. Got it?” A chorus of “yes” went out as you all answered. Even though Ms Kwon was addressing the whole class, it felt like that last part was specifically for you.

In that moment you make up your mind to study harder than you ever have for this makeup test. Even if you didn’t get an A, you at least wanted to raise your mark.

Except.

You had tried all that. That was literally what you had done for the last test. There was just something about this subject that did not make sense to you no matter how much you tried to understand it.

If you wanted to do well on this test, you’d need help. So like, fuck you.

At the end of the lesson you make your way to Ms Kwon’s desk. “Miss?” you ask, and she looks up from her work to regard you with a curious look.

You watch as Chaeryeong laughs leaving the class with Keeho in tow and and let out a long suffering sigh. I can’t believe I’m doing this. “That boy that was here yesterday? Choi Beomgyu? Where can I find him?”

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The answer was in the Music room. There were two main music classrooms at your school—one for where the lessons take place and the other for students’ personal study. You had never been in either class before because despite taking the Composition class, it was the only music related subject you did.

Ms Kwon’s class was the only one you ever went to in the Music block.

The Students Music room is one of the classrooms at the far end of the block. It was the last room on the right and you had to pass a bunch of other small rooms where students were either recording music or just sitting around.

The door to class was open and you caught sight of Beomgyu before you even entered the room. His back was to you, but you would know that long head of hair anywhere.

You don’t bother with knocking. “Choi Beomgyu,” you say as you walk into the class and march right up to him. He turns around, eyes wide, and a guitar hanging around his body. Huh. You didn’t know he played.

He is not alone, you notice belatedly. There is a boy sitting at a drumkit and another standing by the wall. Whatever. You were not going to be deterred.

“Uh, hi?” That boyish look is back as he scratches his neck. Standing right in front of him, you can see just how tall he is. You do, in fact, have to lift your head up slightly to be able to look at him properly and that in and of itself is…an experience, to say the least.

The overhead lighting casts a harsh yellow glow on Beomgyu’s face, and it should make anyone look unappealing but somehow he looks good. It takes everything in you not to stare.

“You have one week.”

He tilts head to the side and furrows his eyebrows. It is such a simple yet endearing action and you have to monetarily cast your gaze somewhere else. “One week for what?”

“To help me get an okay mark on my make-up test that’s next week.”

“Wait. Does that mean youʼll help me?” The way he perks up is reminiscent of a puppy and you have to roll your eyes at his incessant want to get with Chaeryeong.

The other two boys were watching the both of you intently and trying very badly to be discreet about it. You wonder if these are his friends, if they know about his insane plan. If they tried to talk him out of it. Doesn’t matter, really. Because even if they did, it clearly didn’t work.

“Only if I get a good mark on that paper. Or, at least better than what I would have gotten if I was alone.” You made sure to stress the ‘if’ because the way you saw it, this way you could potentially raise your grade but if that didn’t happen, you wouldn’t have to do anything for this boy.

A fool proof plan.

(Unless, of course, Beomgyu actually does end up being a big help and you have no choice but to fulfill your end of the deal. But, you’ll cross that bridge when you get there.)

Beomgyu grins at you and nods. “Okay, deal. Prepare to get an A.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. We start tomorrow at your place. Send me your address.” With that, you turn on your heel with every intention of going back to your room before your next class.

“I donʼt have your number!” Beomgyu yells after you as you continue on your way.

“I’ll find your Instagram!” you shout back in a dismissive way. Besides, you don’t see a point in giving him your number when there is a chance that after this week is done the two of you will never speak again.

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You do, in fact, find his Instagram. It’s something simple—really just his name and a couple couple numbers at the end. All you had to do was sift through the countless Choi Beomgyus on the Internet and narrow it down to all the twenty-somethings with HYBE University in their location.

You felt like a spy by the end of it.

@ ynln: address

@ choibeomgyu01: woah by me dinner first ;)

@ ynln: chaeryeong will never love you

@ choibeomgyu01: WOAAAHH CALM DOWN ILL SEND IT

@ ynln: see you :)

At 8am, you are standing outside Beomgyu’s door with your bag slung across your back and a muffin and coffee in your hands. Before you knock on the door, you roll your shoulders back and try to rid yourself of any doubt.

This has to be some kind of violation of the Girl Code, or something. It is for the greater good, you tell yourself. The greater good of your grades. Chaeryeong was nice, she’d forgive you, right? In fact, if you do successfully help get them together, she would have to thank you, really.

With that, you raise your free hand and rap your knuckles against the door. A moment passes and you think that Beomgyu isn’t even awake. You roll your eyes before you hear the lock click.

There in front of you is Beomgyu, looking like he just rolled out of bed. His long hair sits ruffled on his head, sleep shirt slipping off his shoulder revealing the soft looking, cream skin that otherwise would have been covered. You force yourself to tear your eyes back to his face. You barely suppress a groan when you see he is still wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“You’re early,” he says around a yawn.

“No, we didn’t agree on a time, so technically, I’m right on time.”

He doesn’t fight you, just yawns again and moves away from the door into his dorm. You follow him wordlessly and he leads you to a table in the living room. He drops his body onto his couch with a loud groan that is muffled by the cushions.

You barely pay him any mind as you give yourself the okay to look around his place. It’s smaller than yours, you notice immediately and you wonder if that’s because he lives here alone. It was clean enough, you supposed. For a house solely lived in by a twenty-something year old college boy, there was a surprising lack of dirty laundry and empty food containers.

There is, however, an abundance of music sheets and guitar picks and photo frames and Polaroids. Pictures of him and who you think are his friends are sitting on the TV stand, on display for anyone to see.

Except you don’t, because your tutor is currently asleep and you want to finish as soon as possible. Putting your breakfast on the table in front of the couch, you kick Beomgyu’s leg to get him to get up. He groans indignantly, but complies anyway. When he catches sight of your food, he sends a pout in your direction.

“Where’s mine?”

Your eyebrow raises on its own accord. “Your what?”

“My food. I think if I’m going to be waking up everyday at 8 in the morning helping you, I deserve breakfast.”

Rolling your eyes you shrug. “I didn’t know what you wanted.”

“Literally anything. I can eat anything.”

“I will keep that in mind.” You suppose it’s the least you can do. An extra muffin from the dining hall wouldn’t kill you. He makes no move to get started and you have never been tutored before so you don’t know what the procedure is. “Are we going to start, or…?”

That seems to spur him into action. “Oh, right. You can put your books on the table, I’ll grab my notes.”

You nod and watch as he disappears into his room. Your eyes stray back to the photos and before you know it, you have a frame in your hand.

It’s a picture of Beomgyu with those two other boys you saw in the Music room. They were at a beach, the ocean behind them as they smiled at the camera. They look like they were having fun, and glancing at the other photos, it seems like their together often. You wonder belatedly why he doesn’t ask them for help, and instead come to a stranger for this.

There’s a longing in your chest as you continue looking. Your only friend here is your roommate, and you and Rina aren’t close enough to take photos whenever you are together.

You wouldn’t say you were lonely, no, in fact, you loved the time you got to spend by yourself. But this just served as a reminder of what you were missing.

“Oh-kay, let’s go!” You don’t notice Beomgyu coming back into the room until he is yelling from behind you.

You turn away from the pictures with a grimace. “Are you always this loud in the morning?”

He shrugs, putting his books down. “Trying to wake myself up. Where do you want to start?”

You wonder briefly if saying The beginning would be too much for a first session before settling on, “The test we’re writing is on music theory and all that, so there, I guess.”

Beomgyu nods and holds out a cushion for you to take, flipping through pages in his notes. You accept it and place it on the floor before sitting on it and getting out your notes. You notice immediately the difference between you and Beomgyu.

For one, he actually had notes.

Like, they weren’t organised by any means and most of them made no sense to you, but, well. He has stuff written. You, however, have Theory written at the top of the page and probably only ten lines of notes.

A bit embarrassing.

When Beomgyu notices this, you see his whole body physically deflate. “Oh.”

You feel yourself getting sheepish. “Sorry. If it’s too much, or whatever, you don’t have to—”

“No!” He is quick to interrupt and you are starting to think that maybe he really is this loud in the morning. “It’s cool, really, don’t worry.”

Wow, he must really be serious about this Chaeryeong thing if he’s still willing to help you when you know virtually nothing. You nod your head slowly with a tight smile. “Okay. Yeah, okay.”

Pulling his notebook towards you, he goes over definitions and symbols with you from across the table. You think that reading upside down must be hard for him but he expresses no discomfort. He hardly looks down at the book at all, seeming to have all the information in his head anyway.

And you get it. Kind of. It’s a lot to expect to understand everything after only an hour or so, but it’s working. You don’t know what Beomgyu is doing differently to Ms Kwon, but you are not complaining.

“Does that make sense?” Beomgyu looks up at you and you’re struck with how earnest he seems. Like he really wants you to get this. Like he wants to be of help to you.

And maybe it’s just so he can get help with Chaeryeong, but you’re fine with that. At least he cares a lot.

You nod sincerely. “Yeah, it does.” He lets out a sigh of relief that’s oddly endearing and grins. Your phone alarm that you swt reminding you to leave for your first class goes off then and you begin packing your things up.

“Well, I’ve got a class soon so I’ve got to go, but. Thanks.” You stand up from your spot on the floor, and Beomgyu joins you, nodding, as you walk to the front door.

Beomgyu smiles that boyish grin as he opens the door for you. “You’re welcome. Tomorrow?”

Despite your hesitancy, you nod curtly. “Tomorrow.” And you turn around and leave to head to your class.

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The rest of the week goes a little like this:

You wake up, go to the dining hall and get a muffin and coffee for yourself, and a coffee and cookie or a muffin or sandwich for Beomgyu. He meant it when he said he could eat everything. Well, almost everything. You had bought him a sandwich that he looked really excited to eat but once he took a bite, his face twisted in disgust. Apparently the only food that he can’t eat is tomato and after rolling your eyes at his dramatics, you swap your muffin for the bacon, cheese and tomato sandwich. He may be a baby, but you're not a monster.

Beomgyu teaches you with his notes and you try to pay attention enough to take down your own. You get caught a couple times doodling faces instead of music notes and he tries to pull a disappointed teacher look, but you can’t really take him seriously when he’s sitting on a Lightning McQueen pillow.

One time, you actually doodled what was supposed to be him and he couldn’t even try to be upset because he thought it looked just like him, he couldn’t stop gushing.

The session ends and you take your new notes back home with you to go over again. It works well.

(Not included, but worth noting, you getting distracted every time Beomgyu answers the door with his shirt slipping off his shoulder. You might not like him, but you’re not stupid.)

You still haven’t exchanged numbers though, because as well as tutoring has been going, you haven’t written the test. And that is, like, the test of time, basically, for if you will be spending more time together.

On the day of the test, Beomgyu walks with you to your class. Next to you, he seems more nervous than you. He’s constantly wringing his hands out and muttering little nothings under his breath.

It’s annoying. Endearing, but annoying.

“You know I’m the one writing the test, not you?” you say after you’ve just about had enough.

He gets the hint and lets out a sigh. “I know, it’s just—I have a lot riding on this, too, you know?”

You wave your hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, I will try and do my best so we can see if you will end up with my help. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna, like, flunk on purpose.” Which, honestly, you had thought of doing. Multiple times.

It seems to put him at ease, though. He takes a breath and when the two of you stop in front of your class, he pulls you into a hug. You can’t help the grunt you let out at the sudden contact.

“What are you doing?” you ask, arms hanging limply at your sides. As confused as you are, you can’t help the heat that rushes to your face.

“Wishing you good luck. This is a good luck hug,” he informs you speaking into your hair.

“Right…” you drawl. You can’t help but think about how weird this is. “You can let me go now.”

He finally does and pats your shoulder once for good measure as well. Beomgyu shoots you what is supposed to be an encouraging smile before walking away with two thumbs up shooted at you. You opt for just nodding, before walking into the class in a half confused daze.

Whatever that was, you think, when you get to your desk. Beomgyu, you decide, is a very strange boy.

Ms Kwon enters the class not shortly after. She greets everyone then gets right down to business by giving out the tests.

When she tells you can start, you push all thoughts of stupid boys and stupid hugs out of your mind and focus only on the test in front of you and what you covered the past week. And, well. It goes well. You have the answers to most of the questions and while you know you don’t get everything right, you at least know why and what you forgot.

The next hour and a half passes by in a flash, and the next thing you know you are handing in your test. Leaving the music block, you feel like skipping. You have never felt this confident after a Music Comp test before, you could sing. Like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

Chaeryeong comes out, too, just a moment later and shoots you a smile. You politely return it then make your way back to your dorm as fast as you can. If you really did as good as you think you did, then you would be seeing lot of the other girl—seeing a lot of Beomgyu—which is something you are going to have to get used to.

Maybe failing wouldn’t be so bad?

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Well. You passed.

Like, you got a D. The highest mark you have ever gotten in the class. Ms Kwon even smiled at you when she showed you your paper (“I don’t know what you did, but keep doing it”). And, well, not like you have a choice.

Beomgyu is waiting for you outside the class, rocking on the heels of his feet, when your class lets out. You are surprised to see him there. And you let that be known. “What are you doing here?” you ask, stopping in front of him with a deadpan expression.

The boy just shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant even though you can tell he is waiting for you to tell him how it went. “I wanted to know how you did.” There it is.

You hum noncommittally, turning to make your way out of the Music block and Beomgyu follows. “And what if I did terribly; you would have come all this way for nothing.”

He blanches. “Did you?”

You shrug. “I got a D.” You turn to see Beomgyu’s reaction only to find that he’s stopped in his tracks. “What?” you ask, turning to face him fully.

“Oh.” He looks crestfallen, and that doesn’t make sense to you. “So I guess I didn’t help much, then, huh?” Beomgyu scratches the back of his neck

You fix him with a deadpan stare. “What are you talking about? I did good. You should be, like, jumping for joy right now.”

“A D is…good?” You figure that since he is so good at the subject, he probably can’t wrap his head around you being happy about your grade.

“For me, at least. So stop looking like I kicked your dog, or something.” Turning on your heel, you continue your way across the quad. You don’t look to see, but you can tell Beomgyu is chasing after you.

“Parrot, actually. I have a pet parrot,” he says, falling into step with you. It takes you a moment to realise what he’s talking about.

“The phrase doesn’t go like that.”

“Just letting you know,” he says with a cheeky grin. You roll your eyes. “So,” Beomgyu starts, with a mischievous glint in his eye, “what I’m hearing is you are officially a part of Operation: Woo Chaeryeong.” He holds his arms out at his sides and proceeds to do obnoxious jazz hands.

You barely suppress a groan at his dramatics. God, you hope you don’t regret this. “We need a new name. And a plan.”

Which is how you found yourself here:

“Okay, first things first, new plan name,” you say, putting a piece of paper on the table between the two of you. The two of you are at the on campus café that you have never actually visited before. It was Beomgyu’s idea, apparently they have the best coffee at HYBE.

Beomgyu ordered for you—your standard coffee and muffin, and a slice of cake you didn’t ask for but just trust me on this—because the reason you don’t visit new café’s all that often is because you don’t like ordering for yourself. You find it awkward and anxiety inducing, and oh god what if you don’t like it? Of course you don’t tell Beomgyu this. Instead you tell him it would make sense because he’s been here before so he’d know what’s good.

He cracks his knuckles and nods. “Right, right. So I’ve been thinking and how about ‘Make Chaeryeong Fall in Love With Me’?” Beomgyu actually looks pleased with himself, like that isn’t the worst name for, well, anything. You stare. “Think about it! It’s simple and straight to the point!”

“Yeah, and sucks,” you deadpan. You bring the page closer to you with a sigh, realising that you are going to have to do everything yourself. Grabbing one of the pens Beomgyu brought, you write something at the top of the page. You take a moment to admire your work before you show the boy.

How to Get the Girl: A 5 Step, Foolproof Plan by Y/N

Beomgyu pouts. “Why is your name the only one written?”

“Because, if it was a plan by you, it wouldn’t be foolproof,” you say easily and he scowls.

“It’s boring but I suppose it’ll do.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, step one should be—”

“Here you guys go.” You are interrupted by your waiter bringing you your food.

You mumble out a “thanks” through pursed lips, awkward as ever, while the boy across from you smiles brightly as he accepts the food.

You waiter grins back at Beomgyu but shoots you a glare when she turns to you, that you have no problem returning.

When she walks away, you turn back to your page. “You’re a grouch,” Beomgyu says matter-of-factly.

“Am not.”

“Are to,” he shoots back childishly. “Would it have killed you to be nice?”

“That was me being nice,” you say, a little indignant. It’s not your fault that girl thought you were rude. You were saying thank you!

He levels you with a stare, before raising his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, fine Little Miss Sunshine—” you feel like throwing your spoon at him— “what’s your master plan.”

“The first step—Get her to notice you.”

Beomgyu hums, sipping his own coffee. “I can manage that.”

“Uh-huh, because I’m here for fun?” He opens his mouth to retort, before seemingly remembering why he asked for your help in the first place and he deflates in his seat. “Thought so,” you say with a smirk. He sticks his tongue out at you.

“We need to come up with a list of things about you that can get her attention. What you got?”

He ponders this for a moment. “Well, for starters, I’m tall.”

“Uh-huh,” you drawl, writing it down. It’s not like he’s wrong.

“I’m good looking.”

“Right.”

“And I’m charming,” he adds with a wink. Your pen stills and he notices. “Why aren’t you writing that down?”

“Ooh, I just donʼt know how true it is.”

“Oh, you don’t know how true that is,” he repeats, twisting his face and putting on a high pitched voice, supposed to be resembling you.

“I don’t sound like that.” Beomgyu just responds with an angry bite of your muffin. Ignoring him, you continue. “Second, enter her space. Eat where she eats, find mutual friends, stuff like that.”

“Sounds stalkerish.”

“You’re stalkerish.”

“What are you even saying?”

You sigh. “Okay, so it needs a little rewording, whatever. You just have to show her that you’re, you know, available. That you have stuff in common. Get her to want to hang out with you personally. Which brings us to step three. Hang out with her.”

“Like dates?” he asks with a tilt of the head.

“Yeah, but don’t call them that. You’re just two new friends getting to know each other.”

“Like us,” he teases, with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

You don’t even crack a smile. “As if,” you scoff. Beomgyu just grins. “The fourth step is asking her on a real date. And then, step five, ask her to be your girlfriend. That is, if you get that far.”

“Hey!” he yells indignantly. “Have some faith in me!”

You snatch your muffin back from him and take your first bite. “We’ll see how well you do on the first two steps and I might change my mind.”

“I can live with that.” He brings the plate of cake closer to him. “We should, like, ask each other questions,” Beomgyu says around his piece of cake.

You barely hold back a long suffering sigh. “Why?”

He just shrugs, a trait you have grown to find increasingly annoying. Does he not have any other way to express himself? “To get to know each other.”

“I already know plenty about you; you are tall, good-looking and not as charming as you think you are.”

“How sweet,” he deadpans and you give him a tight smile. “Come on, it’ll be fun! Look—I’ll go first.” You raise a single eyebrow at that. You can tell he pretends to think about his question for a moment because not even five seconds later, “Okay, why are you doing Music Comp anyways?”

At first, you pretend not to hear him, taking your first sip of your coffee. And it’s really good. Like, you probably can’t drink from the dining hall anymore. But Beomgyu just stares at you, waiting for you to answer. You sigh, realising that there’s no getting out of this. “Do you know Mr Seo? From last year?”

“The creepy, predator design teacher that got caught trying to get with a freshman?” Huh. His reputation precedes you. You nod your confirmation and Beomgyu hums. “It was hot gossip for, like, a good two weeks.”

“Yeah, well, he was my design teacher.”

Beomgyu’s eyes widen. “No way. He didn’t, like, you know?”

“Oh no, not me,” you’re quick to clarify. Beomgyu looks relieved to hear that. “I just didn’t want to be there anymore and Music Composition sounded easy enough. I was sorely mistaken, though.”

“Huh. Well, it’s your turn.”

You sip your coffee. “To do what?”

“Ask me a question.”

You bite back the snarky What makes you think I want to know anything else about you? that’s threatening to fall from your lips, because you do have something you want to know. “Why did you hug me? When I was writing my test?”

You weren’t used to people hugging you, and certainly not people you had known for only a week. It was unnerving how quick it took for Beomgyu to initiate that contact. You didn’t even think you were that agreeable of a person—that barista certainly didn’t even though that’s just your face.

Beomgyu doesn’t seem to understand your turmoil or confusion. He just shrugs and replies easily, “For good luck.”

“Yeah, but why.”

“I donʼt know, I hug a lot of people. I’m a tactile person, Y/N.”

“And that’s why you’re trying to play footsie with me right now?” He had been knocking his foot against your leg since the moment you sat down.

Beomgyu has the decency to blush, even though he doesn’t stop. The tips of his ears turn red but he tries to play it off with a shrug. He’s so annoying. “It’s an instinct.” You hum. You suppose it is, the same way frowning and grumbling about everything is yours. (Maybe you are a grouch.) “I can stop if you want. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

“It’s whatever,” you say, waving him off. “Your turn.” Beomgyu seems to be able to tell that your nonchalance is a front, that it’s not that you don’t care what he does, you don’t mind. And that you are giving him permission for if he ever wants to do it again.

He doesn’t mention it though. Just smiles knowingly and nods. “Eat the cake.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s not a question,” you note.

He just shrugs. “I’m saving it. For later. Right now, I want you to taste the cake I spent my hard earned money on buying for you.” He throws in a pout for good measure and you roll your eyes.

Whatever, you think, one bite of cake won’t kill you. And so far the coffee and the muffin had both been good, so who’s to say this won’t be too? Except, you don’t have one bite. You finish the whole thing without even stopping to look up from the plate. It shouldn’t be possible but every single thing you’ve tried from this place has been incredible. You hate to admit it—really, really hate to admit it—but Beomgyu was right.

Beomgyu is smirking at you, as though he can read your mind. “Was it good?” he teases.

“Shut up,” you say with no real bite to it.

He just laughs good-naturedly. “So, how do we start step one?”

You think for a moment. Interlocking your fingers and resting your chin on them, you study Beomgyu closely. He shifts under your gaze, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck nervously. Then it hits you.

“We need to fix your hair.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” He furrows his eyebrows, clearly confused.

“It’s plain, it’s boring and while it is a cool cut, it doesn’t look good because you don’t style it. So. We have to fix it.”

Beomgyu sighs, giving in. “Fix it how?” It surprises you how easily he’s going along with what you’re suggesting. You expected more fights, more disagreements, but so far, Beomgyu has just been oddly compliant.

“How do you feel about hair dye?”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

STEP 1: GET HER TO NOTICE YOU

STEP 1B: CHANGE YOUR HAIR

BG’S NOTE: BLONDE PREFERABLY!!

Y/N’S NOTE: SHUT UP, YOU WILL DO WHATEVER COLOUR I GET

The hair dye is not blonde. You aren’t a monster, of course you tried to look for some, but apparently everyone on campus had the same idea as you and it was sold out at the store. So you settled for the next best thing—white.

Beomgyu was not amused.

“No.”

Standing in the middle of his living room, you are showing off the hair dye you just bought with pride. “Oh come on, think of it as, like, platinum blonde. It’s the same thing!”

He looks affronted. “No, it’s not! My one clause was that it had to be blonde!”

“And mine was that you would suck it up! I tried getting blonde but there wasn’t any. So, you know, this is the best we’ve got.” You cross your arms across your chest with finality.

You kind of feel bad, because if someone had walked into your house and demanded to dye your hair white, you would have kicked them out immediately. You can understand his apprehension, and honestly, you’re a bit nervous, too. You can’t show it though, obviously. If you look confident, it might ease Beomgyu.

You expect him to put up more of a fight, to tell you that there is no way he is letting you dye his hair white. But…he just sighs, walks into his bathroom and sits on the chair he placed in there, levelling you with a stare.

“Do not ruin my hair.”

Beomgyu had everything you would need for the hair dying process ready for you in the bathroom. A pair of gloves on the counter, a chair in front of the bath and a towel draped over the back of it. You enter the bathroom after him, placing the hair dye next to the gloves and get out your phone. You take your place behind him, him finally being shorter than you making you more excited than it should.

“Okay,” you say, rubbing your hands together, “let’s do this.”

Beomgyu’s hair, you learn, is really soft. You haven’t started doing anything, the gloves still on the counter behind you, but you were curious. Wanted to know what it felt like. Carding your fingers through the strands, you enjoy the feeling of the silky locks slipping through your fingers, a bit ticklish. Beomgyu sits still in his chair. He doesn’t say anything, barely even moves. The only indication you have that he hasn’t somehow passed out is the steady rise and fall of his chest. When you tug a little too hard, the boy lets out a sound from below you.

“Sorry,” you say, face flushing, even though he can’t see you.

“It’s fine.” His voice sounds strangely hoarse. “Didn’t hurt.”

You nod. “Okay.” It takes a lot to remove your hands from his hair, but you do and grab the gloves from behind you and put them on.

He clears his throat. “You have done this before, right?”

Well.

The short answer is no. You have never dyed anyone’s hair before, not even your own. You have no idea how this is going to turn out.

The long answer is well, technically. Your conditioner was nearing empty and needed to be replaced. Now, you hadn’t known that what you thought was a refill packet of the conditioner was actually blue hair dye until Rina came out of the bathroom looking murderous, but. That had to count for something, right?

The answer you settle on is, “Yeah. Sort of.”

Beomgyu whirls his head around to face you. “What do you mean ‘sort of’?” he questions, eyes blown wide.

You wave off his concern with a dismissive hand. “Relax, would you? I have a tutorial so if it goes wrong you can blame jaydoesstuff on YouTube. He calls this look ‘Rock Chic’.”

“Oh my god.”

“What happened to having faith, huh?” you ask, barely paying attention to him anymore as you press play on the tutorial. Jay welcomes you to his channel and you fast forward through the sponsorship bit (which takes almost two minutes, god) until he actually starts with the tutorial.

“You are probably the most cynical person I know.”

You let out a snort involuntarily. “That’s fair.” You shake the dye bottle over his head, watching as it drips over his hair. Google says you should mix the dye in a bowl but jaydoesstuff only has the bottle, a brush and hope.

The rest of the process passes by without incident. You let it set for ten minutes and in that time you and Beomgyu watch other YouTube videos from the Jay guy and find out that he goes to your school. What a small world. When the timer goes off, you rinse out the dye in the sink while Beomgyu whines from under the tap that water is getting into his eyes.

You let him dry his hair with the towel on his own, and take to throwing your dirty gloves away and cleaning up any mess on the counter.

“How does it look?” Beomgyu asks when his hair is mostly dry. He’s staring at you with wide eyes, wringing the towel nervously.

You can’t help teasing. “Well. I want to give a zero, but that is not possible. So I give you a one.”

He just stares at you. For a moment you think he didn’t get your reference, then, “Okay, Tyra,” he says with a scoff.

Your mouth quirks upwards. “You watch America’s Next Top Model?”

He shrugs. “I’ve seen clips.”

“It’s fun. Trashy reality TV is a good stress reliever.”

“Maybe. But seriously….Does it look okay?”

This time, you take your time looking at him. Again, you’re astounded by how he can continue to look so good under the crappy light of the bathroom. The harsh yellow casts an almost golden glow across his face. You trail your eyes up to his hair, to take in his whole face with his new look and, well. You did a good job. It’s not professional by any means, but it’s not awful and the white highlights actually suit him.

Your eyes find his only to realise that he’s been looking at you this entire time. That he could have looked in a mirror and come to his own conclusion, but he hasn’t.

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “It looks good.”

To test if the first phase of step one works, Beomgyu is going to pick you up from your Music Comp class. Hopefully, Chaeryeong sees him and is so wowed by his beauty, she falls instantly in love with him and kisses him in the middle of the hallway. Which, of course, is not your expectation, but Beomgyu has been talking about it for days and it has kind of bled into your subconscious.

You take your time packing up when Ms Kwon dismisses the class, trying to time your leaving with Chaeryeong who's messing around with Keeho.

When you see that she’s about to leave, you head out before her. Beomgyu is there waiting like you knew he would be, and when he sees you, he walks towards you.

“Is she coming?” he stage-whispers and you resist the urge to roll your eyes, which is something you find yourself doing a lot around him.

“Give her a second,” you say, adjusting the straps on your bag.

And as though you summoned her, Keeho and Chaeryeong come walking out of the class right then. You catch her eye and return the small smile she gives you as she passes. You watch as she notices Beomgyu, her eyes travelling up to his face and an unreadable expression flashes through her face.

She nods at him in acknowledgement. “Cool hair,” is all she says before walking away completely.

Next to you, Beomgyu lets out a squeak. A blush has spread all the way from the tips of his ears and disappears down into his shirt.

You turn to face him. “Well?” He is standing frozen in place, mouth hanging slightly open. You are sure that a tornado could hit and he wouldn’t move a muscle. His face is still bright red.

“Oh my god,” he breathes out when he finally regains the power of speech. “She’s never spoken to me before.” His eyes trail after her as she disappears out onto the quad.

“Yeah, well, you’re wel—”

You don’t get to finish chastising him, because the next thing you know his arms are wrapped around your shoulders and his head is resting on your head. “Thank you,” he says with such sincerity, it makes you rethink teasing him in the first place.

You pat his back gingerly, still awkward about the contact, but you suppose you should come to expect it now. “Um…. You’re welcome.”

He pulls away from you, grinning widely and you can only offer a more strained one in return, but Beomgyu doesn’t seem to mind. “We should celebrate.”

You scoff lightly, no weight behind it. “Celebrate what?” You turn to walk out onto the quad, expecting Beomgyu to follow you. Which he does. He falls into step with you almost immediately.

“The plan working, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“Come on,” he whines dramatically. “I’ll buy you cake.” He has managed to pass you and is standing in front of you, lifting his shoulders in what is supposed to be a tempting manner.

In all honesty, you were kind of planning to go do something with Beomgyu today, anyway. You didn’t know whether or not changing his hair would actually get Chaeryeong’s attention but you figured Beomgyu would drag you away somewhere regardless. And clearly you were right.

He is looking at you with a smirk as if he’s cornered you and there’s just no way you can say no to him now. He doesn’t need to know that you would have agreed without the bribery, because free cake is free cake and who can say no to that?

Humouring him, you sigh in defeat. “Fine, I guess this is worth celebrating.”

Grinning proudly, Beomgyu easily loops his arm with yours and leads you across the quad to the café. He orders for the two of you again, sitting across from you at the table and starts talking about how he was so nervous about today that he could hardly answer questions in his classes all day.

You kill two hours like that, just talking in the café. By the time you make it back to your dorm, Rina is home and asks if you were out with a friend. You pause for a moment before answering.

“Yeah,” you say before entering your room. You suppose you were.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Beomgyu shows up to pick you up from class more often than not. He is always there before Ms Kwon let’s you out and it makes you seriously wonder if he ever attends class himself.

It’s a smart move, you acknowledge, because Chaeryeong gives him a nod in greeting whenever she passes by him on her way out of class. You tell him as much and he grins cheekily gushing about how smart you find him, so you make it a point to never praise him again.

You spend a lot of time with Beomgyu. Not necessarily by choice, he just always happens to be around you and you can’t find it in you to tell him to go away. (You find that you don’t want to.) Between him tutoring you and walking you from class, it’s like you see him everywhere now. Even now, the two of you were walking into the café for no reason other than you were both hungry and, according to Beomgyu, what better way to eat than together?

The café was packed today, students and teachers alike rushing in and out of the restaurant, the bell above the door constantly ringing. You don’t know what the occasion could be for there to be so many people here now, but you find you don’t really want to stick around to find out.

You turn to Beomgyu to tell him as much, that you guys can just go somewhere else but he looks almost offended. “We can’t just go somewhere else! This is our place now. We can’t betray it by eating at a basic Mcdonalds.”

You cross your arms and fix him with a deadpan stare. “What’s wrong with Mcdonalds?”

“There’s no charm. No memories attached. We have to eat here.” Staring up at him, you realise that he’s not going to let up. You sigh in defeat and Beomgyu smirks in satisfaction. “Okay, you order, I’ll go find us a table.”

You grab his arm, stopping him before he can walk away. “Uh, you order.”

“Why?” Beomgyu questions.

“Because you know what’s good,” you explain shrugging.

He narrows his eyes at you. “You’ve been here at least twenty times now, I think you know what you like.”

“Can’t hear you, I’m already getting a table!”

You effectively bypass him, weaving your way through the throng of students and teachers alike. If you were to look back, you would probably find Beomgyu staring at you with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

On another day, you might have been able to push past the anxiety and place an order for the two of you. But today there are just too many people, too many orders the workers have to fill. And maybe it’s the crowd or the waning patience of the workers, but you really can’t bring yourself to talk to anyone here, especially when Beomgyu can do it for you.

“Do you have, like, a fear of ordering in public?” Beomgyu asks when he joins you at the booth you managed to secure. He opts to sit next to you instead of across the table, making you slide closer to the wall.

You scowl. “No.”

He continues like he doesn’t hear you. “Because it’s totally okay if you do. I know I’m more—out-going? Sociable? Charismatic?—out of the two of us, so I don’t mind being used like that.”

“Oh, you’re so annoying.” You punch his arm and he laughs goodnaturedly. “It’s just—It’s weird. And makes me feel awkward, so I don’t do it.”

Beomgyu hums in consideration, like he can tell you are holding back, but doesn’t push. “Well I meant it, you know. I don’t mind.” He nudges your shoulder for good measure and you roll your eyes.

“Like I was giving you a choice?”

He contemplates this for a moment. “Suppose you’re right. Choice or not, though, I don’t mind doing stuff for you.” He says it so easily. So earnestly. Almost too earnestly. There’s a weight behind his eyes when he looks at you and you can’t figure out what it means. He seems to notice his staring and averts his gaze. Clearing his throat, he jokes, “Like paying for your lunch.”

You hit his arm again. “I never asked you to do that.”

“Stop punching me, this is a very small booth!”

“Then move to the other side.”

“Don’t wanna.” And just like that, whatever happened before was gone, replaced with the natural light atmosphere you always have around Beomgyu.

A waiter comes by, then. He leaves your food on the table, and the both of you thank him simultaneously. He nods in response, goes to walk away but does a double take looking at Beomgyu. He regards him for a moment before nodding. “Nice,” he says pointing to Beomgyu’s hair then goes on his way.