@bangtan-baddie - Tumblr Blog

Kiss & Tell | myg

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Office Crush!Min Yoongi x Reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: The plan was simple: kiss a stranger at midnight and fuck ‘til dawn. But what happens when you wake up next to your office crush instead—with zero memory of how you got there? ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Suggestive, Mild Angst, Non-idol, Coworkers to Lovers, Idiots tbh ✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: 18+ MDNI. MC drinks too much and blacks out (drink moderately y’all!), Mind the timestamps as the story switches from present day to flashbacks ✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: ~10k ✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Happy New Year, ARMY! ✨ Year of Bangtan 2K26, who’s ready?? I hope you enjoy this little one-shot. Just when you thought I’d wrung every last drop of the office romance trope, surprise… there’s more! Lol. I got inspired by this one Tiktok that I forgot to save, but basically it's a POV of waking up beside your office crush. And now here we are. ✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes 2: Thank you to Tea and Aqua for betareading some parts of this fic. <3 If you see mistakes, it’s on me. Thank you also to the Church of Yoongism for all the love and support and for doing this dream collab with me. Love you guys! <3

Collab Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Present Day 📅 01 January 2026 📍Raemian Residences, Seongdong-gu

Your company’s year-end bash was a smash.

By which you mean you got smashed, and that made everything exponentially better last night. Right now, however, is a different story. Your head is pounding like it’s still trapped inside the speakers they rented for the party, the ones with bass so heavy it rattled your ribs.

Your mouth is drier than the Sahara, cotton clusters lodged somewhere between your throat and esophagus. You pat blindly at the nightstand for the bottle of water you usually keep there, eyes still shut because opening them feels like opening the gates of hell.

Your fingertips hit something.

A lump.

It shifts under your hand.

You snap your eyes open, instantly regretting it because there is a person in your bed.

Fuckin’ shit. You don’t remember a thing. How drunk were you? This has never happened before.

You ponder pretending to go back to bed. Maybe when you wake up the stranger will have yeeted himself out of your apartment, if you’re lucky.

You shut your eyes again, control your breathing. You’re fine. This is totally fine.

But gosh, you’re curious now.

So instead of dealing with the anxiety in the next few days, you resolve to nip it in the bud and find out who the “lucky man” is beneath your sheets. You tap your lamp open, keeping it at the lowest setting, but it’s enough to cast a dim glow around your room.

The man is facing away from you. Broad shoulders and pale skin against a white sleeveless undershirt, and a soft disarray of black hair across your silk pillows.

Something glints in the corner of your eye. Two silver hoops looped on his ear. And there’s something peeking from his shoulder... Is that..? You squint. It’s a tiny 7 tattoo.

Oh. Oh no.

There’s only one person who has ever told you that they had that number inked on their shoulder.

You are so so fucked.

Because you know who this mass of hair and limbs and skin and ink belongs to. But there’s no way he is in your bed right now.

Min Yoongi.

The co-worker you’ve spent the better part of two years not-thirsting-over-and-failing. Your favorite colleague. Some may have even referred to him as your work husband. You work extremely well together and you seem to have chemistry beyond corporate projects, but neither of you have dared cross a line.

Until now.

‘Cause he’s here. In your bed. Still sleeping.

You stare at his back for another beat, then exhale the only thing that makes sense. “Fuckkkkkkkk.”

He stirs. Shit. No no. Go to sleep!

Too late, though. He is already fidgeting in that way when you’re unceremoniously roused from slumber. A deep, gravelly voice fills the room. “Quit squirming, Y/N.”

You clamp your lips shut, containing your panic.

“Go back to sleep,” he says, twisting his body so he is now facing you.

Is he for real? How is he even getting comfortable right now? Why is he not as alarmed as you?

“You’re in my bed.”

“Astute as always.”

“Why are you in my bed?”

A beat of silence follows.

“Alright,” he sighs, propping his torso up with his elbows. And in the rustle of sheets, his scent assaults your nose. He smells like the way he always does, manly, musky, and so attractive.

“Let’s get into it.” His nose flares as he stifles a yawn.

“So…?”

“You were shitfaced and asked me to take you home.”

You can feel blood rushing to your cheeks. “Ah. Shit. Okay. Thank you… for that.”

“I gotchu.” He nods, settling back against your pillows. He looks so eepy like he’s about to doze off any minute now.

You tear your eyes away from him and direct it towards the ceiling. You sigh.

God, how do you even look right now? There’s probably a ring of smudged mascara around your eyes, dry drool on the side of your mouth, and you know you smell ratchet. You need to kick him out. This is too humiliating for you. But first, you gotta know something…

You lift the duvet cover and you clearly see what you’re wearing, and what you’re not wearing. Definitely no shorts, no shirt. Just a matching polka-dot bra and panties set to bring you luck for the New Year.

“I can hear the gears in your head turning,” his voice snaps you out of your spiral.

You don’t respond. You don’t know what to say anyway.

“Ask it,” he prods, and you can feel the heat of his gaze burning the side of your face.

Alright then. “Yoongi?” You pull the covers towards your chin.

“Yeah?” There’s amusement in his tone and as much as you want to clock him for it, you have to ask...

“Did we fuck?”

A beat passes. When he doesn’t answer, you finally chance a glance at him.

His mouth curls up into a smirk. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

Asshole!!!

Your last office was filled with middle-aged men with pot bellies and bad haircuts, but Persona Publishing is most definitely not your average workplace. It’s one of the biggest multimedia conglomerates in the country. You’re surrounded by pretty people all day, which feels both inspiring and mildly nerve-racking. Persona does everything: digital content that breaks the internet by lunch, glossy magazines that sit in salons and airplane seat pockets, editorial shoots on fashion and luxury.

The office runs like a sitcom—zany characters, overlapping conversations, chaotic meetings, inside jokes you don’t fully understand yet but laugh at anyway. Some days are brutal, deadlines stacking and egos clashing, and you go home questioning every career decision you’ve ever made. But even then, there’s a strange thrill to it, a sense that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. You like the pace, the pressure, the challenge of keeping up. And when Persona throws its legendary New Year’s Eve bash—the biggest in the country, meant to rival the ball drop in New York’s Times Square—you get why people kill to work here.

Namjoon, the CEO, head honcho, the man. Your boss is the dumbest genius and the smartest dumbass you know. One moment, he’s presenting the most brilliant 3-year omnichannel strategy, then the next he is walking into a glass door because he forgot it existed. Still, you are enamored by his enigmatic presence.

Seokjin, CFO and Office Clown, (heavy on the clown, actually) has somehow made “Worldwide Handsome” his official email signature and no one has called him out on it. He signs the payroll after all.

Yoongi, the aloof creative director, who has the—let’s come back to him later.

Hoseok, the HR manager, is charm on crack and sunshine on steroids. He diffuses conflicts with a single smile and somehow knows piping hot tea about everyone.

Jimin, your office rival, is beautiful, petty, and hella annoying. He competes with you in everything, including getting the attention and affection of a certain CD.

Taehyung, the resident heartthrob slash fuckboy, fittingly works in Partnerships, smells like strawberry vape, and dresses like he’s on his way to an indie film premiere at all times.

Jungkook, frat boy extraordinaire from Digital, is Hulk in streetwear. Everything he pitches goes viral on TikTok. He apparently goes by user International Playboy on the platform and streams games in his spare time. Oh, and he also does dance challenges that rack up millions of views, just because he's golden like that.

And you? You’re the new girl who thought she just came here to keep her head down and work…

Until this guy.

Min Yoongi hit you with a nonchalant ‘hey’ and a slow drag of his fingers through his inky hair when you first met. You didn't stand a chance. Every visible inch on him was your type to a T. And even those inches that are not visible? Sexy as hell, you just know it. It was just a pleasant surprise that he turned out to be a good human, too.

So Min Yoongi was never supposed to become your work husband.

At first, he was this untouchable deity. The creative director who existed on the periphery of your work life, hoodie-clad, perpetually sleepy, headphones on like it’s another limb. Your interactions were brief and professional. A nod in the hallway. A clipped “sent you the deck.” The occasional sigh when your team’s revisions landed back on his plate.

But it didn’t stay that way.

It was late one Thursday when the office had thinned out, everyone else just about done after a heated internals on that Louis Vuitton project. Your deck wouldn’t export, the EOD deadline breathing down your neck, panic creeping in. You didn’t have any particular plans for the night, nothing to chase, but it’s been a long-ass day and your brain was just not braining anymore.

“UGHHHH.” You banged your forehead on the desk thrice, your cup of pens toppling over and rolling on the floor.

Before you could bend to retrieve your ballpens, black and white Dunks stopped one on its tracks.

Yoongi helped gather your writing instruments up, took one look at your screen, and without a word pulled up a chair. Twenty minutes later, your file worked, your shoulders unclenched, and you sent the email to the client with a sigh of relief. Two things you learned about him that night: 1) the spicy cologne he wore suits him; and 2) his hands… oh they deserve its own fan club.

You were still spaced out when said hands made another appearance, as he slid a bottle of strawberry milk on your desk–the same one you got from the office pantry on the daily. And with that, he’d gone, trailing of freshly brewed coffee and a hint of cigarette smoke.

There was another moment that you remembered when things started to really shift. You usually ate lunch with Sana, one of the marketing girls, but since she took a sudden two-week sabbatical, it’d just been you in the big cafeteria. You watched people as you chewed your chicken fillet, minding your own business. You spotted Yoongi entering alone, hands shoved in his pockets. He scanned the room and when his eyes landed on yours, you dared to wave. Surprisingly, he waved back, small and awkward, before he queued up to get his tray.

“This seat taken?”

You didn’t expect him to join you, but you welcomed it. In the next few days, this one lunch turned into several. And when Sana eventually resigned to focus on a safe pregnancy, you had a new unofficial lunch buddy. It’s not that you talked about it. You just met in the cafeteria, at the same time and same place, sat at the same spot like an unspoken agreement. Conversations drifted from work to music, to dumb internet videos, to shared complaints about Namjoon, who both of you would defend to death outside, but inside, there are days you just want to kill him yourself. Somewhere between sharing banchan and developing inside jokes, it stopped feeling like coworkers killing time and started feeling like friends hanging out.

Then, came the third moment. It happened during a shoot gone wrong. Tempers flared, egos bruised, voices raised. You snapped back at the photographer when he talked over you, heart pounding but spine straight. You hated confrontations, but that day, you gave no fucks. They were late for an hour, messed up the lighting, and brought the smallest monitor, it was so hard to track the shots.

Later, you found Yoongi leaning against the hallway wall outside the studio, watching you with something new in his eyes.

“Didn’t know you had that in you,” he said, flicking his lighter. Flame on. Flame off.

“Disappointed?”

“Nah,” he replied, with a smile. “Impressed.”

After that, the chemistry settled in, as well as a new nickname. He called you Ace. He said you were the best Brand Marketer they ever hired, and he needs you in every pitch assigned to him from now on. Everybody in the office started to catch on to this… partnership.

You enjoyed his brand of affection. Lingering looks across conference tables. His knee brushing yours under the table during meetings. Strawberry milk and mochi appeared on your desk once in a while. Private jokes whispered just for you.

Jimin noticed. Everyone probably did. There were days you wondered if it was turning into something more, but Yoongi was a professional. Nothing ever crossed the line. Although you spent time with each other at work, too much time even, outside of it, you lived separate lives.

Present Day 📅 05 January 2026 📍Persona Publishing, Yongsan-gu

The first day back at work is a cruel fuckin’ joke. Everyone is bright-eyed and pretending to love being back—especially that asswipe Jimin, now sporting freshly dyed blond hair. Ugh.

Meanwhile, you have overgrown roots and an unresolved problem. You’re still living in the nightmare of New Year’s. You don’t remember what happened after you got home. All you have are fragments from before that—midnight fireworks, the freckles on Yoongi’s nose, and a kiss. Maybe. Between you and someone. With a 98% chance it was Yoongi, if he would just ever so kindly confirm it.

The problem is... Yoongi is acting brand new. Like the New Year’s Eve situation was a mild inconvenience quickly forgotten.

He strolls past your desk like you were not sucking face three days ago. Boy even has the audacity to say, “morning.” He never does more than a grunt.

Criminal behavior.

You decide you need answers, and the soonest you can corner him, you will. But of course, the meetings are endless, the e-mails are toxic, and soon you’re drowning in work.

Sometime mid-afternoon, Yoongi is walking towards the printing room, twirling a USB dongle in his index. That’s when you decide to pounce. You close your laptop, brisk-walk to follow him in, and slide the door close behind you.

He turns, clearly not expecting any company in the cramped room. “Hi?”

“Don’t ‘hi’ me,” you whisper-shout. “We need to talk.”

His expression is the picture of innocent confusion. It’s infuriating. “About what?”

“You know what,” you say, folding your arms across your chest. “New Year’s.”

He hums, as if searching back through his mental files. “What about it?”

“Yoongi.” Your voice pitches higher in panic. “We kissed.”

“Did we?”

You blink. “Did we? You were there.”

“Was I?” he says lightly, leaning against the printer like this is a totally normal conversation to have next to reams of A4 paper.

Your eye twitches. “C’mon, Min.”

“What? Seems you have a clear memory of the night. What are you really asking me?”

“Did we—” you lower your voice, “—sleep together?”

He looks up at the ceiling like he’s considering the flickering lightbulb right now just to keep evading you. “They should switch to daylight bulbs. The cool lighting makes this office look so depressing.”

“Stop avoiding the question.”

“Am I?” he asks, tone smooth enough that you want to guillotine his dick with the paper cutter.

“Yah! Yoongi, it’s been three days! I am still racking my brain if we crossed a fuckin’ line.”

He finally gives you his gaze, one that should be reserved for the bedroom, and it steals all the remaining oxygen from your lungs.

“You want me to explain everything?” he asks.

You swallow audibly, watching him step closer. “Yes.” You back up and your ass hits the table, bracing yourself from behind.

Yoongi tilts his head, studying you, and for a second you think (or you hope) he might actually kiss you again. His thumb brushes the side of the table behind you, just beside your hip, close enough that your skin sparks even without contact.

“You really wanna know?” You can almost feel his breath tickling your cheek.

You nod dumbly.

A slow smirk curls on his lips. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You gape. “YOONGI—”

He straightens, dusts invisible lint off his sweater. “Look, you survived your hangover. You’re alive. That means whatever happened or didn’t happen… is moot. Otherwise, you’d remember it.”

“I was fucked up.”

“It’s cool.” He shrugs. “Could’ve been worse, y’know.”

“How?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “You could’ve kissed the blonde dude.”

You scoff. “I was never going to kiss Felix.”

“Oh, I know.” His voice drops, teasing. “You made that pretty clear when you kissed someone else instead.”

Your face heats. “So you DO remember—!”

“Mhm.” He moves toward the door, shaking his head in denial.

“Yoongi, come back here!”

“Happy New Year, Ace!” He exits the doorway, deuces to the sky, without turning back.

One Year Ago 📅 22 January 2025 📍LVMH Headquarters, Gangnam-gu

You listened and observed as Yoongi and his team presented their pitch deck. Usually a picture of cool, Yoongi was a little off that day. The untrained eye would not have noticed it, but you did. It was in the way that his tone was a little higher, just a tad. His words were not as concise, in fact, he seemed a little like he was over-explaining, and it wasn’t resonating with the room.

The client watched with a measured expression, lingering on nothing. No nods. No interjections. It was a bad sign.

Yoongi stood at the head of the table, hands loose at his sides, fist tightening. “Our concept leans into restraint,” he said, even though he himself was having a hard time practicing it at the moment.. “We wanted the visuals to breathe. Show, not tell. Luxury doesn’t need to shout. We don’t want to dramatize it to the point of exhaustion. Let the viewer infer…”

One of the executives hummed. Not convinced.

“I hear that,” the marketing director nodded slowly. “But I’m not sure it moves enough. It feels a little… safe.”

You saw it, the muscle in Yoongi’s jaw tightening, once, then again. He scratched the corner of his mouth with his index.

“Safe isn’t the word I’d use,” Yoongi replied, voice strained. “Intentional is.”

“But intention doesn’t always translate,” one of the clients challenged. “Our last campaign had reach because it was bigger, flashier.”

The room went quiet. Too quiet.

You leaned forward before Yoongi could dig in.

“If I can jump in,” you said lightly. “What Yoongi’s laid out is the framework–the tone, the aesthetic. But where this really comes alive is in how we deploy it. And vis-à-vis all that flash you see from other brands, this campaign in its simplicity and depth, will slice through all that noise.”

The client’s gaze shifted to you. Interested now.

“Go on.”

You click back a slide. “We keep the core visuals minimal, but we let them travel. OOH in expected and unexpected cities around the world. Paris, Beijing, Kingston, Cebu. We’ll have some digital content plug-ins. Short-form video cuts. Editorials that tell a story instead of selling a product.”

Yoongi glanced at you, just briefly. He caught it—the spark. And instantly you knew, he was about to set the room on fire. Bultaoreune.

“Instead of shouting,” he added, smoothly picking it up, “we let people lean in. It becomes aspirational without being inaccessible.”

“But doesn’t that risk losing scale?” another exec asked.

“Not if we’re strategic,” he replied. “We lock in with a strong hero piece. The visual I showed you earlier. Then we’ll let the message echo across platforms.”

“Is this gonna go viral?”

Ah, that’s always the question isn’t it?

“We could. But it’s not about going viral for the sake of. It’s about purpose. And when people see it has depth, that’s when it scales.” Yoongi paused. “But of course, we will deploy tactics for aided virality. Influencers, retail partners, news sites. We have a network of earned media players that we can tap, if need be.”

A flicker of agreement rippled through the room, the fire from Yoongi’s match finally took hold.

More questions started flying now. Engagement. Timelines. Budget. This is good. You wanted them talking and interested, not the stoic clown faces they had on earlier.

Yoongi answered with precision. You jumped in to contextualize. He sharpened your points; you softened his conviction. When one of you paused, the other filled the gap like it was rehearsed.

“This,” the boss leaned forward. “Feels right.”

Relief flowed between you and Yoongi. With firm handshakes and a promise to get back to you by the end of the week, the client saw you off.

Outside the office building, the rain started to pour. It was just light, a drizzle. You remember your mother, who leaned into superstition, would have believed this to be an outpour of blessings. It did feel like you just closed a campaign a while ago.

You ducked under the awning as Yoongi pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with practiced ease.

You checked your phone. Uber’s four minutes away.

He exhaled, smoke curling into the night. “You saved me there.”

You scoffed. “Nah. You had it all along.”

He looked at you, eyes like crescents. “You changed the temperature of the room. Gave me time to think of a pivot.”

“Team effort.” You offered your fist. He knocked it with his.

A beat. Rain drummed lightly against the concrete.

“Yah, I think you’re my ace.” He took a slow drag of his cigarette. “Just like last week at the Jinro account, you had my back.”

“We’re just good together,” you replied.

He nodded. “Yeah. We are.”

You didn’t know it then that this was the birth of his nickname for you. Ace. For being his good luck charm. For being his tag-team buddy during client pitches. For being his most trusted teammate.

Your phone buzzed.

The Uber pulled up, headlights cutting through the rain.

You stepped off the curb. He pulled the door open for you and lingered with a soft smile. You don’t know what that expression meant, or why it felt like his eyes were trained on your lips. Before your throat launched an invite that you might regret, he thankfully pushed the door shut.

The car pulled away, rain blurring the city into streaks of light. You glanced back through the window, and even as his figure faded into the distance, you had the unmistakable feeling that his eyes were still on you.

You didn’t quite understand the emotions swirling in your stomach. Perhaps it was still the surplus adrenaline from a successful client pitch. But it could also be something else. If you would truly be honest with yourself, it felt like you were both standing on the edge of something you weren’t quite brave enough to cross.

Present Day 📅 27 January 2026 📍Persona Publishing, Yongsan-gu

It’s late. Most people have gone home. The lights above the common area are dimmed, the cityscape of Seoul casting a glow on some of the unoccupied cubicles.

You’re at the pantry, sipping water from your just-refilled Owala, when Yoongi walks in with a storm cloud over his head.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey,” he replies curtly like he’s in one of his moods.

You walk closer, about to ask him if you can help with anything when he scoffs.

“If you’re about to grill me again about New Year’s, don’t.”

That makes your chest tighten. What is up his butt? You watch him grab a mug, rinse it out, and dry it with a paper towel. He doesn’t look at you again.

“I was just gonna ask how you were.” You mutter defensively.

He exhales through his nose, jaw tightening. There’s that tick again. “I don’t buy it. It’s all you seem to care about these days,” he says. “Just save it, okay. Now’s not a good time.”

You roll your eyes. “Funny. It’s never a good time.”

He sets the mug down with a soft clink. “I don’t owe you a breakdown.”

You flinch. “I’m not asking for one.”

“Liar,” he smirks. And it irks your nerves.

“See, I dunno why you’re so cagey about it. It’s just a stupid fuckin’ night. It’s not like I’m asking you to marry me.” You don’t realize your voice has increased in volume until you notice his shoulders stiffen.

He reaches out. “Ace–”

“No,” you swat his hand away, “I’m done with this. I’m over it.”

He stares at you for a few seconds and when you don’t look back, he shrugs. “Ditto.”

Great. Something in you deflates, but you’re still seething and the fact that he just moved on and started making coffee infuriates you further. “That’s it?”

“Yes?” Spoon clinks inside the mug as he stirs.

You nod slowly, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “‘Kay.” You grab your tumbler and your phone, turn toward the door.

“Shit, Ace… Yah!” He calls, and his voice is tight. Like your chest is right now..

You pause but don’t turn around.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” he says, as if that will undo all the damage that has been done in the last five minutes.

It takes all of your professionalism not to flip him off, so you settle for, “Good job anyway.”

You leave before he can respond.

Present Day 📅 28 January 2026 📍Head of HR’s Office

It’s probably a bad idea to involve the head of HR in your interoffice affairs, but he did insert himself in the situation. Hoseok has always been nosy, but you trust him enough to be candid if need be.

“So, what's with the shouting match last night?” Hoseok crosses his arms as he leans back on his leather computer chair.

“Who snitched? Or do you watch the CCTV like a hawk 24/7?”

“I can’t answer that.” He says with a tight-lipped grin. “But, I did ask you a question.”

“Yoongi and I…” you begin.

Hoseok can’t even mask the clown face he has on.

Honestly, there’s no way around this. Hoseok, as you know, is one of Yoongi’s oldest and closest pals. You’ve hung out at work with both of them and found out that they go wayyyy back. Like way before Persona. Yoongi once told you they b-boyed together or some shit. You still haven’t seen their dance moves to confirm it, but you have a feeling that he isn’t lying.

You sigh resignedly. “Yoongi and I kissed on New Year’s. I think.”

“You think?” Hoseok echoes.

“I got drunk on Moët,” you explain. “And I don’t trust a single memory left in my brain. Almost feels like I hallucinated the entire night. But the one person who can clear the air keeps blowing me off.”

You pause when you realize he’s staring at you like a particularly fascinating exhibit in an aquarium. It suddenly dawns on you that you’re talking to the one person in the office who’s clocked everyone’s tea.

“You’d know though, wouldn’t you?” you say carefully.

He shrugs, twirling his pen between his fingers.

“So did we?” You lean forward and snatch the pen mid-spin. “Hobi?”

“Y/N,” he says flatly, “did you really just ask me that?”

“I’m losing my mind,” you groan, slouching back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling.

He laughs. “Alright. I’ll throw you a bone.” Then he leans in. “The answer is yes. My sources can confirm that you were sucking face by the balcony.”

He really said sources? Your expression sours immediately, which only makes him laugh harder.

You should feel relieved that your memory isn’t completely unreliable and you didn’t imagine the whole thing after all. But instead, a new, deeply mortifying thought creeps in.

You wonder if he knows who initiated it.

But you decide asking for that level of detail would be a new low.

He snatches the pen from you and places it atop his keyboard. “It was actually kind of sweet, if not for you groping his ass.”

Your eyes bulge from their sockets, more mortification zooming inside your blood veins. Did you really do that? Oh my god. :( Drunk you probably would. You have always been um, fascinated by Yoongi’s shapely posterior.

“But that’s as far as I can tell ya.”

You sigh. Of course.

“Listen. Everyone can see that you two have something going on. Yoongi is my friend, so I’m not about to air him out, but I will tell you that I’ve never seen him give a peer assessment as wordy as he did yours.”

You lick your teeth, suppressing the grin threatening to spread.

“Plus,” Hoseok continues, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms, “I don’t think he really smiles at anyone in this office.” He tilts his head, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “You know… the real one. The gummy smile.”

You grimace. You know exactly which one he means.

“And I’ve only ever seen that since you joined the team,” he adds pointedly. “Which says a lot.”

You rub your temple. “Great. Love that for me.”

Hoseok pushes on. “Anyway, I called you in because some people heard your little lovers’ quarrel.” He gives you a look over the rim of his glasses. “So maybe play nice. Or pipe down.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “I hope you’re slapping Yoongi’s wrist too. Not just mine.”

Hoseok snorts, “Relax. I spoke to him this morning.”

“And?”

“And,” he says with a wicked smile, “I locked the staff sleep rooms. So he’s not getting his precious catnaps as punishment.”

“That’s nasty on your part.”

“I know,” Hoseok says, pleased. “That’s why it works.”

Four Months Ago 📅 21 August 2025 📍Persona Publishing, Yongsan-gu

It was getting close to midnight. The office was quiet in that eerie, after-hours way. Your shoulders ached and you rolled them back twice for relief. But it was your brain that hurt the most, feeling like it had been wrung dry.

“You’re done,” Yoongi said.

You blinked up at him. “What?”

“You’re done for tonight,” he repeated, already reaching over to close your laptop before you could argue. “You’ve been staring at that screen for an hour. And you’ve been straining your neck, too.”

You huffed. “Says the guy who’s still here.”

He paused, studying you for a moment. “Why do you always work so late?”

You tilted your head. “I should ask you the same thing.”

A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. “I asked first.”

You had a joke ready. Something flippant, but it got stuck on the way out.

“Home’s quiet,” you said instead, shrugging like it didn’t matter. “There’s nobody really waiting for me there.”

Yoongi’s expression shifted—subtle, but you caught it. “Oh?” he said lightly. “That you tryna tell me you’re single?”

You scoffed. “Fuck you.”

He grinned and the words that escaped his mouth were NSFW. “You really want to?”

Heat crept up your neck. You looked sideways, in case people were still lurking. Thankfully, you don’t see any of the usual night owls. You slap his shoulder. “God, you’re so...”

“Mm,” he hummed, rubbing the spot you attacked. “Sexy? Handsome?”

You didn’t know what female urge possessed you to say, “Go home to your girl, Yoongi.”

He laughed, almost soundless. Just shoulders and Adam’s apple bobbing at the same time. “I don’t got one, Ace. So I’mma stay right here.”

You knew he’d been single for well over a year, having broken things off with Sylvia, his on-again, off-again model girlfriend. You’d say you didn’t know anything about her, but one undignified night fueled by soju and beer involved a very thorough Google search/stalking session. She was gorgeous. Long hair, long legs, toned thighs, perfect skin. Everything you believed you weren’t.

It’s why at first you couldn’t fathom how Yoongi could possibly mayhaps probably be into you. But having known him for a while now, the man had no air of superficiality. He was as real as real could get.

“Suit yourself,” you said, training your voice to be even-keeled before you could think too hard about what you’d both just admitted.

Yoongi reached into his pocket and slid his phone across your desk.

“Pick something,” he urged, tipping his chin.

The screen showed a playlist labeled Cats > People.

You laughed. “Why though?”

“Helps me decompress,” he replied. “I like cute things.” Then he pat pat pats your head. You swat his hand away.

Taking his phone, you tapped a video because of the thumbnail. It showed an orange cat spectacularly failing to jump onto a counter with a comic bubble that said CRASH.

The video did not disappoint. You laughed out loud, the sound bouncing off the empty office. Yoongi watched you instead of the screen, lips twitching like he was pleased with himself.

You watched another. Then another. Somewhere in between, you pulled a half-finished bag of chips from your cubby and offered it to him. He took a few. You shared the bag, shoulders brushing when you leaned in to watch the screen.

While you were distracted, he grabbed a Post-It from your desk and started doodling. You didn’t notice until he pressed it gently to the edge of your monitor.

It was a cat. Simple lines. Grumpy little face. Under it, his messy handwriting stating: stay calm.

You stared at it, then cooed at him. “Aww… you drew me a cat?”

He shrugged. “So he can keep you company when I’m not around.”

See, if you were somewhere else entirely, your mouth would already be on his. ‘Cause that moment—the gesture, his smile, his words, the ambiance—would have been the perfect point to have your first kiss.

On that night, the moon was your witness. But still, it wasn’t written in the stars.

When you finally stood to leave, he stood too, like it was a given. “Let’s go?”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he offered, and before you could even refuse, he was taking your laptop bag from your hand.

The elevator ride down was quiet, but not awkward. Companionable. You stood close enough that your sleeves brushed, the whirr of the lift filling the silence.

When the doors opened, he waited while you dug for your keys.

“Text me when you get home,” handing you your bag, he said it like it was something normal, even though it was the first time he ever muttered those words to you.

“Yeah, I will.”

You watched him re-enter the lift and for one reckless second you wondered what it would feel like to not part ways. What it would feel like to head home with Yoongi.

Even just for one night.

You shook the thought away as you entered your car and turned on the ignition.

Present Day 📅 06 March 2026 📍Raemian Residences, Seongdong-gu

You don’t really mean to ignore Yoongi for a month.

It just… sort of happens.

After being called out by Hoseok and having at least the kiss confirmed, you settle on an explanation that finally makes sense. You know Yoongi remembers. You kissed–that much is undeniable. But he keeps denying it, denying you the truth. And in your head, there’s only one logical reason why.

You, girl, are in the friend zone.

Obviously, he doesn’t feel the same way, cause If he did, he wouldn’t be this evasive. He wouldn’t joke, deflect, or act like it was nothing. Instead, he’s sweeping everything under the rug because he wants it to disappear. Wants you to forget it ever happened. And because he’s Yoongi, because he’s decent to a fault, he’s choosing avoidance over an awkward conversation or a painful rejection. He doesn’t want to embarrass you or ruin the friendship or the working relationship.

Yet somehow, that hurts more than honesty ever could.

So you pull back. And slowly, quietly, the pangs of self-pity sink in like fangs under your skin.

At first, it’s just self-preservation. You stop sitting beside him in meetings. You keep conversations clipped but still civil. You answer emails, not Slack messages. You tell yourself it’s professionalism, maturity, growth… and most especially, boundaries.

You really don’t mean to do it. But the walls you built started to stack higher.

You stop laughing at his jokes. Stop having lunch in the cafeteria. Stop glancing up when he walks into a room. You become polite. Still efficient. But distant..

And Yoongi notices.

At first, he tries small things. Little gestures to test the waters. Like a “You heading out?” that you pretend not to hear, letting the elevator doors close before he can join you. Strawberry milk left on your desk that you return to the pantry fridge. A direct invitation for lunch sent on Kakao (not Slack) that you leave on read.

So far nothing works. Of course Yoongi notices that, too.

Which leads him to tonight.

Your doorbell rings.

You’re already in pajamas, hair damp from the shower, brain blissfully empty since it’s finally a Friday. You frown at the clock, then open the door without thinking.

Yoongi stands there in glasses that soften his sharp edges, long hair falling into his eyes like he hasn’t bothered to comb it. He is wearing black on black casual streetwear that probably costs thousands of dollars.

He looks tired and wired and unfairly attractive.

“Hey,” you say, though it sounds more like a question than a greeting.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

You hesitate just long enough for his eyes to flicker something anxious and wounded, before you step aside. He takes his slides off and enters your space, not looking around, not allowing himself the curiosity of seeing how someone they know lives. He just stands there in the middle of your living room, hands shoved inside his hoodie.

Politeness doesn’t evade you even though you’re in a state. “Have a seat, Yoongi. Can I offer you something to eat or drink?”

“Don’t,” he snaps immediately, tipping his head back like he's already tired of the conversation that has not commenced. “Don’t do that.”

Your stomach drops. “Don’t what?”

“I’ve been trying to give you space,” he says, voice rising in volume. “I can’t do it anymore.”

“Unbelievable.” You fold your arms, triggered. “You showed up at my house to yell at me?”

“I showed up because I don’t know how to fix this,” he fires back. “God, you won’t even look at me.”

You don’t turn to him. You keep your gaze fixed somewhere over his shoulder, steady, detached.

“Have I been unprofessional with you in any way, Yoongi?” you ask evenly. “Have I missed a deadline? Compromised a project? Failed to do my job as your colleague?”

“Unprofessional?” he scoffs. “Jesus. Can you stop this nonsense? Is that really what this is to you?”

“I’m asking a straightforward question,” you reply. “Because as far as I know I’ve been efficient. Productive. Respectful.”

He lets out a sharp laugh, pacing a step away like standing physically hurts. “Yeah, great. Fuckin’ employee of the month. You’ve turned yourself into the perfect coworker. Happy?”

“That was the goal.”

“No,” he snaps, spinning back toward you. “Be for real, Ace. You sound like a robot.”

Silence stretches and it's deafening.

“You really think I came all the way here to talk about your KPIs?” he adds, voice breaking around the edges.

You finally look at him. “If you want something else from me,” you say calmly, “you should’ve said so.”

Between you: sharp inhales, slow exhales.

You consider your options. You could kick him out and let this rot, which would eventually mean finding another job. Or you could get this over with now, which would also probably mean finding another job.

Lose-lose. Fantastic!

“What do you want?” Yoongi asks, motioning a palm up to you. You look up.

Your armor cracks just by the sight of him. “I just wanted the truth and you treated it like it was funny. Like it—like I was a joke.”

“What?”

“New Year’s.”

His laugh is short. Bitter. “Wooow. That’s funny.”

“Really?” You snap. “I wanted to talk about what happened, but you’ve been such a dick about it. You kept teasing me and I felt like shit.”

“You think it didn’t fuck with me?” he spits, voice rising. “That I remembered everything and you remembered nothing?”

You shake your head. “Why did you downplay it then?”

“Because it was easier,” he admits, dragging a hand across his mouth. “I wanted New Year’s to be good. Instead I wake up next to you and you’re confused, embarrassed, and I felt like a fucking loser.”

“So you punished me for it?”

“I didn’t mean to,” he retorts. “I was just protecting myself.”

“By making me feel stupid?”

His jaw tightens. “You know what’s stupid? Knowing the first time we crossed that line, you can’t even remember how you looked at me.”

It’s like air is sucked right out of the room. Your chest constricts. “Yoongi, I—“

“You kissed me first,” he cuts in. “We were having a good time. You said you’d wanted to do it for a while.” His voice drops, laced with melancholy. “God, you were so sweet. We made out beside stinky cheese.” He laughs then, but it's devoid of mirth.

You go still.

“You had no idea how badly I wanted you that night,” he continues. “When you asked me to take you home, you were already drunk. Nothing happened. I would never take advantage of you like that. Just made sure you got home safe.”

You swallow. “Look, I’m sorry for icing you out. I started feeling like I just imagined everything. Either that or you regretted it.”

His anger drains into something devastated.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “That’s not what it was.”

“Then what was it?” you ask.

There’s a sadness in the way Yoongi lilts his lips. “If I never admitted it then I didn’t have to deal with the fact that the night I’ve wanted for two goddamn years just… wasn’t worth remembering.”

New Year's Eve 📅 31 December 2025 📍Four Seasons Hotel, Jongno-gu

Persona never did subtle. And when it came to the party meant to be the Asian equivalent of the ball drop in New York City, of course they pulled out all the stops.

Commissioned by the city government for the event, your company invited the crème de la crème: idols, celebrities, models, politicians. Anyone with influence. Anyone who mattered. Beautiful people. Rich people. Trending people. If you could name them, they were here.

One of the biggest five-star hotels had been completely taken over to make it happen, and if anyone could pull this off, it was Kim Namjoon. Your boss is truly an icon. Could probably win if he runs as President.

The room pulsed with music and champagne and people who suddenly liked each other very much. You schmoozed on autopilot, smiling until your cheeks hurt, your glass never quite empty. You had clients to babysit, but this was also your night to let loose and have fun. It was New Year’s Eve, after all.

“Is that Mayor Lee with—” Jimin gasped, his bird lips meeting the rim of his wine glass before he could finish.

You tried not to look. You failed. The tea was too hot.

The town mayor had arrived not with his wife, but with his chief of staff—who also happened to be rumored as his favorite bedmate.

And the wife?

Arm in muscled arm with Song Baekhyun, CrossFitter and YouTuber recently dubbed The Nation’s Biceps.

So messy and soooo good! You and Jimin gossiped to your hearts’ content, while Jungkook kept handing you colorful drinks. See, tonight even Jimin was… tolerable. Maybe New Year was really about turning a new leaf.

You were tipsy. Not falling-over drunk. Just loose and buoyant and happy. This night was about being wild and free.

Going in, you thought you’d kiss a stranger underneath the fireworks and take them home for more explosions, if you know what I mean.

But then you spotted Yoongi once and now you were painfully aware of him with every second that passed. And suddenly, plans changed.

Truth be told, you had been aware of Yoongi for a while now. Months of heightened tension and unresolved something, building steadily since you realized, two years ago, that you were dangerously compatible. As colleagues.

Lately, though, you had started to suspect that outside the four walls of the office, that compatibility might still hold. The thought lingered in the space between glances and touches and half-finished conversations. Tonight, it felt more charged than ever.

Blue looked criminally good on him.

He was slouched into his seat, legs spread, hands laced loosely between his thighs. His hair was longer, dark strands slick and styled away from his face to show… forehead. It’s silly, but you found that wildly attractive. The blue satin jacket hung open, glossy under the lights, drawing your gaze back every time you tried to look away.

Your eyes met.

Sometimes by accident. Sometimes not.

Once, he watched you laugh at something Taehyung said, mouth twitching like he was fighting a smile himself. Another time, he lifted his glass at you from across the room and the gesture sent a small thrill straight down your spine. When you mouthed what? at him, making sure to purse your glossy lips, he only shrugged, chewing on the inside of his cheek before turning back to a yapping Namjoon.

At some point, Taehyung leaned in and whispered, “Y’all need to fuck once and get it out of your system.”

You smirked. “That what you and Kira did? And now she moved to another company.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “But we’re still on each other’s rosters, so no harm, no foul.”

You rolled your eyes. Taehyung’s playboy ways were just not your style.

Yoongi found you near the bar not long after as you were chatting up with some people from Digital.

You’d like to think your sequined dress caught the light every time you moved, and like a moth to a flame, he just couldn’t stay away.

He leaned in and you caught the familiar mix of patchouli and tobacco. His scent was scrumptious.

“You look pretty,” he said simply and it caught you off guard with how direct it was. Just stated like a fact.

Warmth flooded your chest. “You clean up okay yourself.”

“Yeah?” His gaze dipped, slow and unapologetic, before coming back up to your face. “Glad you noticed. But it’s Hoseok’s doing. Said I need to up my fashion game.”

“Checks out that he’d say that. Look at him in head-to-toe Louis Vuitton.” You both glance over at Hoseok who was sauntering over to a table, Speedy 30 hanging stylishly on the crook of his arm. "He looks fresh as fuck."

“So I take it you don’t like my hoodies?” He laughs, a bit self-deprecating, referring to his preferred work and life outfit

“I do like your hoodies, except that you won’t let me steal them.”

“Maybe I will, if you ask nicely.”

You turned back toward the group you’d been chatting with, pretending to rejoin the conversation, but with Yoongi so close that you could almost feel his body heat, well it wasn't easy. Your thoughts tangled, refusing to settle. A little loose tonight, he chimed in easily, laughing when one of the guys mimicked a trending meme. And then his palm settled briefly at the small of your back.

Hello? Your heartbeat lost its rhythm.

Brave from the champagne, you glanced over your shoulder. Yoongi was already watching you, onyx eyes steady, like he’d been waiting for you to look. One eyebrow lifted, just slightly, a smug little smirk challenging you.

You’d hoped to spend more one-on-one time with him after that, but the leadership team promptly kidnapped him for a series of “important things.” The last time you saw him, he was raising a highball while Jin delivered a speech about brotherhood, complete with several fishing metaphors that somehow made things less clear.

During that time, you had new company.

Felix was the marketing manager of one of your retail clients. He’s nice, sort of. A little slimy, if you’d really be honest. He slid into the space beside you, smiling too polished as he adjusted his cuff links. He asked about your night so far and if he could get you another drink or something to eat.

You’re nothing if not polite, so you replied and decided to stay with him for a respectable time before planning on making your French exit. Only, it wasn’t so easy.

“So,” he said, grinning, “midnight’s coming up. You know in Australia there’s a tradition to kiss someone when the clock strikes 12.”

“Ah, really?” Your stomach tightened. You nodded politely, already planning your immediate exodus, because you were 90% sure you were being gently maneuvered into becoming someone’s New Year’s kiss. That someone, however, is not that man you wanted.

“It’s just harmless fun, nothing too—“

“Ace.”

Yoongi entered the chat. Whew.

“Hey,” he said easily, catching his breath a little but sliding into the conversation like he’d always belonged. He nodded at Felix, respectful, professional. “Sorry to interrupt, but can I steal her for a sec? Need her opinion on something.”

Felix hesitated, eyes darting between you and Yoongi, but eventually nodded.

“See you later,” you said quickly, waving a small hand to Felix.

Yoongi’s hand settled at the small of your back as he guided you away. Relief washed through you, chased immediately by something hotter and far more electric.

Once you were clear, you exhaled. “Thank you.”

He glanced down at you, amused. “Looked like you needed an out.”

“I did. You have excellent timing.”

“I know,” he said, then softer, “You okay?”

You nodded, suddenly very aware of how close he was. How easy it felt to stand there with him. How much you didn’t want to move.

Fireworks started popping outside. The 10-minute timer began on the screens, cheering and chatting grew louder.

Yoongi leaned in so you could hear him. “Better view outside.” He nodded toward the balcony, and you followed without thinking.

The rooftop was super packed. People were almost shoulder to shoulder, drinks clinking, music blasting from every corner. The crowd whistled and shouted as Aespa took the stage. It was exhilarating and intense all at once. With the champagne haze and the anticipation between you and Yoongi building, you felt overstimulated.

Ever observant, Yoongi placed a hand on your shoulder. He noticed the discomfort in your expression immediately.

“I might have another option,” he said.

You let him guide you away, one hand slipping into yours while the other snagged two champagne flutes from a passing tray in one smooth motion.

Moments later, you were back inside the hotel, stepping into a sprawling penthouse suite reserved for a select few—a quieter VIP pocket amid the madness. Screens played the countdown and the concert upstairs. Music carried through the space, but softer here. There was food, drinks, and a balcony that wrapped around the room. You spotted Hoseok on one side, already deep in conversation with a famous TikToker. A few others lingered nearby, but it was blessedly sparse. You could move without bumping into anyone. People minded their own business. The carpeted floors were visible.

Alcohol in your veins kept you light, floaty, entranced by the glittering balloons and the generous spread laid out across the counters.

Yoongi handed you one of the champagne glasses, then tilted his head toward the balcony.

The cold hit you immediately. The city stretched below, fireworks blooming across the skyline. You hugged your arms around yourself before you feel the weight of fabric draped over your shoulder.

Yoongi had slipped off his jacket and now it’s on you.

“Looks amazing up here,” he quipped, colorful lights swirling in his irises.

“Yeah,” you said softly, looking up. “Just… wow.”

You turned toward him again. He was already looking at you.

Up close, you noticed the freckles on his nose and that little mole, not quite on the tip but a little to the left. He had a scar on his forehead that bent out of shape when he furrowed his brows. But your favorite are the smile lines, from when his eyes softened.

You take a sip of your drink, a thought crystallizing. And at that moment, it made total sense. “I think you’re shaped like a cat.”

“That’s not an insult, is it?”

“No,” you decide immediately. “Cats are… cute and trustworthy.”

You studied him again, a little more openly this time. Yes, he’s attractive–painfully so, actually. It’s obvious to anyone with a working pair of eyes. But standing here, it felt almost secondary. What hit harder was the ease of being near him. The quiet pull. The way your body relaxes when he is around. The way your brain either hyperfocuses or turns into mush.

You wondered when that happened. When wanting him stopped being just physical and turned into something more.

You shifted a little closer. It was chilly, sure. But that wasn’t the point.

He didn’t move away.

Instead, he turned toward you fully, eyes searching your face like he’s trying to decipher something you were afraid to say out loud.

Fireworks cracked overhead. And the countdown began.

10…

You looked up at him, smile crooked as you mumble his name, heart loud in your ears. “You’re very easy to like.”

He let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “I’m really not.”

“Fine,” you agreed. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

“Mmh. And?” His gaze dropped to your mouth.

Yours lifted to his.

“And I want to kiss you so bad.”

He licked his lips at that, a slow, lopsided smile tugging at his mouth. He didn’t interrupt. Just waited, because there were more words dancing at the tip of your tongue.

“I’ve wanted to for a while.”

Your noses brushed, breath mingling.

“So,” he murmured, voice low and steady, “do it.”

1…

You leaned in and crashed your mouth against his.

At that moment you decide it was and forever will be your favorite kiss.

Everything about the moment felt impossibly right. Fireworks bloomed overhead in dazzling bursts, painting the sky in color and light, their echoes vibrating through your chest. The city below felt distant, unreal, as if you’d stepped into a pocket of time meant only for the two of you. You’d wanted this in quiet ways for so long, but it felt forbidden. It still did, but now it was here, gentle and unfolding, like a dream you didn’t want to wake from.

His hand settled at your waist, steadying you. Yours met behind his neck, caressing the strands curling on his nape.

You smiled into the kiss and then, because you were drunk and emboldened and apparently unhinged, your hand dropped, smoothing down his back until it reached its destination and you gave his butt a playful tweak.

"Aish!" He yelped, pulling back, small eyes scandalized.

You burst out laughing. “I’m sorry! It’s just… there… perky and shit.”

“You know that saying an eye for an eye, a cheek for a cheek?”

“That is NOT how it goes!”

He shook his head, laughing despite himself. “Says who?”

Well now your cheeks were aflame, both sets.

“I’m not touching your ass, Ace.” Then his voice dropped, teasing. “Not today.”

Well damn.

You hadn’t felt this elated in so long. It's really happening, isn't it? Yoongi and you. you and Yoongi. Fuck.

You went back inside, got settled in the kitchen of all places. Propped on the island, the kissing resumed beside trays of quiche and blue cheese, and caviar. Your mouths are more playful now, a bit messier. More champagne, and even more kissing ensued.

At some point, another flute emptied and your energy dipped.

You yawned, “I’m sleepy.” You leaned into him, your head finding his shoulder like it belonged there. His thumb brushed absently along your back.

He hummed. “Poor baby.”

You would have melted if the pet name registered. You tilted your head up, eyes half-lidded. “Can you take me home?”

He didn’t answer right away. You barely noticed, because the rest blurred and softened around the edges.

"Anything for you, Ace."

Present Day 📅 06 March 2026 📍Raemian Residences, Seongdong-gu

His words hang between you, fragile and raw.

“The night I wanted for two goddamn years… wasn’t worth remembering.”

You shake your head quickly, stepping closer before you even realize you’re moving. “That’s not true.”

“You woke up panicking.”

“I woke up scared,” you correct gently. “There’s a difference.”

You exhale, steadying yourself. “I didn’t forget because it didn’t matter. I forgot because I drank too much and my stupid fuckin' brain failed me.”

Yoongi’s eyes flick up to yours. You know him enough to understand the vulnerability in his expression. His shoulders were stiff, but there was a slight quiver in his lip that he quelled by worrying it in between his teeth.

He was there. He saw you sloshed. You know he understands that you blanked from the alcohol, but perhaps it still doesn't mean that it didn't hurt.

"Maybe I’ll get us some coffee,” you excuse yourself, needing the distance to steady your pounding heart.

After a few minutes, you set the cups of coffee down. Yoongi has migrated to the couch. When you walk back, his gaze was transfixed on a photo in your shelf. It was of you and him and some guys from work in a teambuilding activity. He had his arm loosely around your shoulders, and the top of your head was angled toward his cheek.

Wow, you two were really obvious, huh?

He lifts his eyes towards you, mumbles a thanks before sipping on his black coffee once.

“It’s decaf,” you say. “I remember you get tummy aches.”

He nods with a hint of a smile.

You sit beside him, smoothing down your pajama bottoms. “So what happens now?”

“You tell me, Ace. I think I’ve been clear where I stand.”

Fair enough.

“Yoongi, I’ve wanted you for a long time too,” you admit, thinking back to that day he carded his fingers in his hair and said hey. It was downhill from there. “Just didn’t think I was allowed to, since we work together.”

“Namjoon knows.”

You choke on your coffee.

“…If that’s what you’re worried about.” He adds, before you can even process that. “He doesn’t give a shit to be real frank with you. He knows you’re my ace. We kill every pitch… together. We’re good for business.”

Suddenly your clock makes a beeping sound as it does every 12 o' clock.

It’s funny, actually. The timing of it.

“So,” you say, tilting your head. “Do we… want a do-over?”

His eyes flick up to the clock, then back to you realizing the same thing. It's midnight.

He doesn’t answer with words.

Instead, his hand cups your jaw, careful, steady, unmistakably sure, and then, he kisses you.

This one is different.

In fact, it was nothing like the first.

There’s no champagne haze to soften it, no noise to distract you. Just the two of you, side by side in the quiet of your apartment, fully awake to what this means. His mouth slides against yours perfectly, and when his tongue licks into your mouth, goosebumps trail across your arms.

You taste coffee instead of champagne. Feel certainty instead of fear. And somewhere between gentle tugs and tender strokes, you understand it isn’t the memory that mattered. It’s what happens next.

He rests his forehead against yours, eyes fond, and it takes your breath away.

You feel his soft hair in between your fingers and dynamite lighting up your chest.

And for the first time since New Year’s Eve, the night doesn’t feel like a question anymore.

Finally, you’ve kissed...

and there’s no telling what could happen next.

:)

A/N: I wish you all a fantastic start of the year. May 2026 be kind to all of us.

Make sure to check out the other stories from #DONTDROPTHEBALL!

If you enjoyed this, please leave me a note or reblog with your review. It’s the best way you can show your support.

Thank you for reading you lovely, beautiful human xo

Permanent Taglist:

@tea4sykes @glossdebut @angellekookie @rottingbedpost @kiki-zb