⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚bamgyuuu⁷˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

✧*̥˚ comfort place •ᴗ• *̥˚✧ ୨୧ sasa 。scorpio 。25 ୨୧

[bangtanbeom]

welcome , enjoy your stay ✩°𓏲⋆🌿. ⋆⸜ 🍵✮˚

ongoing 【✎】 // completed 【✉︎】 fluff 【♡】 // angst 【☁︎】 // drabbles 【✄】 ᯓ☆ last updated: 02/07/2025 ᯓ☆ latest: static ;; choi beomgyu ᯓ☆ for taglist—let me know under the story! for permanent taglist let me know under this post! i'll tag you ଘ(੭ˊ꒳​ˋ)੭✧ ᯓ☆ these are all a work of fiction. please do not translate or reupload any of these stories.

i’ll be on vacation so i will be posting after mid august, i will write more when i’m back! promise ♡

—ੈ♡˳txt aus

— ୨ choi beomgyu ୧ —

ᯓ☆ undeniably yours 【♡】【☁︎】 — 【✉︎】

pairing: beomgyu x fem!reader strangers to lovers, college au summary: you and beomgyu are partnered for a group project, the connection starts off as simple friendship. but as you share quiet moments, unspoken glances, and moments of vulnerability, the lines between friendship and something more begin to blur. part one: 4k // part two: 3.7k // part three: 4.2k // bonus: 611

ᯓ☆ static 【☁︎】【✄】 — 【✉︎】

pairing: bf!beomgyu x fem!reader heavy angst, tragic romance. summary: laughter turns to static, then silence. a diagnosis shatters everything. beomgyu clings to stolen moments—flour-smudged smiles, chipped nail polish, whispered promises—as time slips away. love fights, but grief waits. a story of what it means to hold on, even when letting go is the only ending. one shot: 3.5k

— ୨ choi soobin ୧ —

ᯓ☆ perfect match 【♡】【☁︎】— 【✉︎】

pairing: rentalbf!soobin x fem!reader fake dating au summary: desperate to escape your friends matchmaking, a small lie spirals out of control. soobin—your charming, professional, rental boyfriend—the perfect answer. but what if the hardest part won't be fooling your friends and your ex? what if it’s reminding your own heart it's all fake? part one: 3k // part two: 3.9k // part three: 3.3k // part four: 3.3k // part five: 3k

—ੈ♡˳bts aus

— ୨ kim taehyung ୧ —

ᯓ☆ pygmalion 【☁︎】【✄】— 【✉︎】

pairing: taehyung x fem!reader artist/muse au, dark romance, psychological drama summary: two artists—a reckless painter and a perfectionist sculptor—collide in a quiet studio. chaos, fascination, and the kind of connection that threatens to consume them both. they must navigate the fine line between brilliance and self-destruction. one-shot: 2.7k

© bangtanbeom 2025

[bangtanbeom]

၊|။|။ static ။|။၊|

pairing: bf!beomgyu x fem!reader genre: heavy angst, tragic romance. summary: laughter turns to static, then silence. a diagnosis shatters everything. beomgyu clings to stolen moments—flour-smudged smiles, chipped nail polish, whispered promises—as time slips away. love fights, but grief waits. a story of what it means to hold on, even when letting go is the only ending. w/c: 3583 !!!warnings: mortality and loss, grief, emotional devastation, medical trauma, illness, profanity. (no graphic violence, but may be emotionally heavy to some.) a/n: this is one of my drabbles i wrote while being inactive. whenever i'm stuck in a negative spiral, i often write matching my mood, to satisfy that painful aching in my chest. and helloo??? txts new comeback isn't helping me feel less emo, i think its boosting my depression even more (in a good way ofc) man i love a group with good lore and a fandom with never ending theories <3

it started with the headaches.

not the dull, throbbing kind that settled behind your temples after a long day. no—this was sharp. sudden. like a hot blade twisting deep behind your left eye. you'd blink, and for a moment, the world would dissolve into static.

the first time it happened, you were in the kitchen, laughing at beomgyu's terrible attempt at flipping a pancake. beomgyu stood at the stove, tongue poked out in concentration as he attempted—and failed—to flip a pancake. it landed half on the burner, half on the counter, edges charred beyond recognition.

"wow," you laughed, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. "that might be your worst one yet."

he turned to you, grinning, flour smeared across his cheekbone. the morning light caught the honey-brown strands of his hair, turning them gold at the tips. his eyes crinkled at the corners—that look, the one that always made your stomach flip.

"excuse you," he said, waving the spatula like a conductor's baton. "this is an advanced pancake technique. you wouldn't understand."

you opened your mouth to retort—

one second, he was grinning at you, flour smudged on his cheek.

the next—the pain.

it struck like lightning. a searing, excruciating pressure behind your eye, so intense your vision whited out for a second. the world dissolved into static, edged blurring. the sound of sizzling batter, beomgyu's laughter—everything muffled, replaced by a high-pitched ringing. as if you'd been plunged underwater.

your knees buckled.

"shit—" your fingers scrabbled against the countertop, nails digging into the laminate. the room tilted.

"hey—"

beomgyu's voice, distant.

you blinked hard, forcing air into your lungs. the static receded, but the pain lingered, a dull, throbbing echo. when your vision cleared, beomgyu was right in front of you, his hands hovering near your shoulders like he was afraid to touch you, as if one touch could break you apart.

"hey," he said again, softer this time. his brows were furrowed, his lips parted slightly. "you okay?"

you swallowed, your throat felt tight.

"yeah," you lied, forcing a smile. it stretched your lips too wide, way too unnatural. "just got dizzy for a sec."

his eyes searched yours for a moment. worried and unconvinced.

then, slowly, his fingers brushed your wrist—warm, rough from guitar strings. his thumb pressed against your pulse point, as if checking for proof of life.

"you're pale," he murmured, his gaze focused on your wrist he was holding.

"i'm fine." you said, too quickly.

a beat of silence.

beomgyu's expression flickered—something uneasy, something afraid—before he smoothed it over with a smirk. but his grip on your wrist tightened, just slightly.

"if you pass out, i'm not carrying you to the couch," he teased, voice light.

you laughed, but it sounded hollow.

the hospital smelled like antiseptic and desperation.

false hope lingered in the air, clinging to the too-bright fluorescent lights and the stiff-backed chairs that had seen too many trembling hands. you sat on the edge of the examination table, the thin paper crinkling beneath you, the sound grating against your ears.

beomgyu was beside you, close enough that his knee brushed yours. his leg bounced—an erratic restless rhythm—and his fingers drummed against his thigh, the chipped black polish on his pinky catching the light.

that little fleck of missing polish was yours.

you remembered the night he'd painted your nails, laughing when you smudged the first coat, his fingers gentle as he fixed your mistake. then, when you'd taken the brush from him, he'd pretended to protest—"i don't do nail polish, what if someone sees?"—but he'd let you do it anyway, grinning when you blew on his fingertip to dry it.

like a promise. sealed with nail polish.

now, you stared at that chipped spot, focusing on it was the only thing anchoring you to this moment. because if you looked at his face—if you saw the way his jaw was clenched, the way his breaths came too fast—you would shatter.

the doctor cleared his throat.

you didn't look up.

"glioblastoma," he said, voice detached, clinical. "stage four."

beomgyu's breath hitched—a sharp, punched-out sound. his hand shot out, fingers tangling with yours, squeezing so tight your bones ached. you didn't pull away.

"how long?" you asked. your voice sounded foreign, distant, like someone else had spoken. like you were discussing the weather. like this wasn't your life collapsing in front of you.

"six months," the doctor said. "maybe a year with treatment."

silence.

then—

"no."

beomgyu's voice cracked, raw and broken. his grip on your hand tightened impossibly further, as if he could physically stop this from happening. "there's got to be—some trial, some—" his words tumbled out, frantic, desperate. "there's got to be something else—"

"beomgyu."

you turned to him.

his eyes were wide, glassy, the dark brown nearly swallowed by his blown-out pupils. a single tear slipped free, trailing down his cheek, and you reached up without thinking, swiping it away with your thumb. his skin was warm beneath your touch.

"it's okay," you whispered.

but it wasn't.

he shook his head, lips trembling. "don't—" his voice broke. "don't say that."

you didn't know what else to say.

so you leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his, and let the silence swallow you both whole.

you tried to memorize him.

not just the broad strokes—the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips—but the living parts of him. the way his lips twitched at the corners when he was trying not to laugh at something stupid, his teeth digging into his lower lip to stifle it. the way his nose scrunched when he sang in the shower, horribly off-key, voice echoing against the tiles as he belted out lyrics he definitely got wrong. the way he hummed under his breath while sketching, tongue poking out in concentration, his brows furrowed so deeply you could've traced the lines between them with your fingertip.

you burned these moments into your mind, seared them into the back of your eyelids so you could take them with you when you left.

but the tumor didn't care about memories.

first, it stole your balance.

one evening, you stood to cross the room, and your legs betrayed you. the floor tilted, your knees buckling like they'd forgotten how to hold you. you stumbled, arms flailing—

and then beomgyu was there, catching you before you could hit the ground. his arms wrapped around your waist, hauling you upright, but they trembled.

"i've got you," he murmured into your hair, voice thick.

you could feel his heartbeat against your back—too fast, too frantic.

"i know," you lied.

then, your vision.

the world blurred at the edges, colors bleeding together like wet paint. faces became smudges. words on pages dissolved into ink-stained nonsense.

beomgyu noticed before you said anything.

you were reading a book—or trying to—when his fingers gently plucked it from your hands.

"hey," he said softly.

you blinked up at him. his face was hazy, but you could still see the way his throat worked as he swallowed.

"you've been staring at the same page for twenty minutes," he whispered, his brows furrowed, eyes filled with worry.

you didn't answer.

he set the book aside and pulled you into his lap, his fingers threading through your hair while his other arm was wrapped tightly around your waist, scared that if he let go, he had to accept he had to let you go. eventually.

"tell me what you see," he said, his voice soft, gentle. the sound of his voice vibrated through your ears. the same calming voice that used to calm you down whenever you couldn't sleep.

"you," you answered, you looked at him, or what was supposed to be him. luckily you remembered his features from the back of your head, making it easier to distinguish what your eyes couldn't recognize.

and it wasn't entirely a lie. you could still feel him, even if you couldn't see him clearly anymore.

then, your words.

you woke up one morning, opened your mouth to greet him—

and nothing came out.

just a choked gasp, a strangled noise.

beomgyu was at your side in an instant, his hands cradling your face, gently, cupping your face. his eyes were wide, wild, his thumbs brushing your cheeks.

yet, you couldn't see how anxious he looked at you.

"hey," he said, voice cracking. "hey, it's okay. it's okay."

you shook your head.

no, you wanted to say. it's not.

but the words were gone.

he pressed his forehead to yours, his tears mixing with yours, his breath shuddering against your lips.

"i'm here," he whispered. "i'm right here."

you closed your eyes.

hoping, when the time came, that these would be the last words you'd hear.

the hospice room was too quiet.

not peaceful—no. peace would have been kinder. this was the heavy, suffocating quiet of a world holding its breath. the kind of quiet that pressed against your eardrums until they ached.

machines beeped softly in the background, their rhythmic pulses marking time like a countdown. the scent of sterile sheets and wilted flowers clung to the air—the flowers were from taehyun, you remembered. pink carnations that had arrived three days ago and were now curling inward at the edges, petals browning like paper left too close to a flame.

beomgyu hadn't slept in days.

you could see it in the way his shoulders hunched forward, as if carrying an invisible weight. his hair, usually so carefully styled, was greasy and limp, strands sticking to his forehead. the dark circles under his eyes were nearly purple, stark against his pale skin. his hoodie—the one he'd stolen from you months ago—was wrinkled, the fabric stretched thin from how often he'd twisted it between his fingers.

but his hands.

his hands were gentle.

he held yours like it was the only thing tethering him to earth, his thumb tracing slow circles over your knuckles. his skin was warm against yours, his grip just tight enough that you could feel the faint tremor in his fingers.

"remember," you whispered, voice raw from disuse, each word scraping against your throat like broken glass, "that night we got lost in busan?"

his breath hitched.

for a moment, he didn't respond. then, a wet, broken laugh escaped him, his lips twitching into something that wasn't quite a smile. "you swore we were gonna die," he murmured, his voice thick.

you remembered it vividly—the way the streetlights had flickered, the way the rain had soaked through your jackets until you were both shivering. how he'd grinned at you, reckless and bright and said—

"and you said—" a cough wracked your body, violent and jagged, tearing through your chest. you gasped, the taste of copper blooming on your tongue. beomgyu's grip tightened instantly, his other hand flying to your back, rubbing slow circles as you struggled to catch your breath.

when the fit passed, you continued, weaker now: "—you said, 'if we die, at least we die together.'"

his grip on your hand turned vice-like.

"don't." he choked out, his voice cracking. his eyes—god, his eyes—were wide and glassy, tears clinging to his lashes. one slipped free, trailing down his cheek, and you wished you had the strength to wipe it away.

you smiled. it was a small, fragile thing. "liar."

the dam broke.

a sob tore from his throat, raw and gut-wrenching, his shoulders shaking as he crumpled forward, his forehead pressing against your joined hands. his tears were hot against your skin. "please," he begged, his voice muffled, "please, don't—"

you didn't know what he was asking.

don't leave?

don't say goodbye?

don't make him face a world without you in it?

you squeezed his hand as hard as you could—which wasn't much, not anymore—and he shuddered, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

the machine kept beeping.

the flowers kept wilting.

and the two of you clung to each other, as if you could outrun the inevitable.

at 3:16 am, beomgyu's entire existence narrowed to the space between your heartbeats.

his thumb had been tracing circles over your wrist for hours, memorizing the rhythm of your pulse like a song he never wanted to forget. your skin was paper-thin now, blue veins mapping out the fragile terrain of your existence, every breath you took was a battle—he could see it in the way your ribs strained against the hospital cotton, each inhale more shallow than the last.

"look at me," he whispered, his free hand cradling your cheek. his fingertips trembled where they touched the hollow beneath your cheekbone. "just keep looking at me."

your eyelids fluttered in response, the effort visible. that small movement sent a fractured smile across his face—the kind that breaks before it fully forms. his bottom lip quivered as he pressed his forehead against yours, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts that fogged up the oxygen mask you no longer had the strength to wear.

then—

3:17 am.

the exact moment your heart stopped.

beomgyu's body knew before his mind could process. it wasn't the machines—their high-pitched screaming sound came after—it was the absence. the way your wrist became limp in his grasp. the way your chest didn't rise again. the way the warmth under his palm slowly began to fade, like sand slipping through his fingers.

for a second, he didn't move.

he stared at your face—your face, still yours, even now—waiting for your lashes to flutter, for your lips to part, for something.

but nothing happened.

it started in his chest—a sharp, splintering crack—before it clawed its way up to his throat.

"no—!"

the sound that tore from his throat was something less than a human, something more than grief—it was raw, guttural, the kind of scream that comes from somewhere deeper than lungs—from the marrow of bones, from the shattered pieces of a soul being ripped apart. his hands flew to your face, your shoulders, shaking you with desperate, trembling violence.

"wake up. wake up, wake up, please—"

your head lolled limply to the side.

something in beomgyu's chest cracked open.

he gathered you into his arms, crushing your lifeless body against his heaving chest. your skin was still warm—barely—

how could you be gone if you're still warm?

—and he pressed his face into the curve of your neck, inhaling the fading scent of your shampoo like it could anchor you here.

nurses burst in, their shoes squeaking against linoleum. hands grabbed at his shoulders, pulling him forcefully.

"sir, you need to let go—"

beomgyu snarled, lashing out blindly. he didn't recognize his own voice. "get off! get the fuck off!" his arms swayed around aggressively, blinded by the pain, in distress.

they backed away.

he curled around you, his entire body convulsing with sobs, his breathing became uneven, hyperventilating in between the sobs. his trembling fingers dug into your back, your hair, as if he could physically stitch your soul back into your body through sheer will alone.

"you promised," he choked out, lips moving against your collarbone, "you fucking promised we would grow old together!"

silence.

you were still warm. you were still here. i could fix this. i could—

please.

please just open your eyes.

i'll do anything.

i'll be better.

i'll never complain about your cold feet in bed again.

i'll eat all the vegetables you nag me about.

i'll learn to cook so you don't have to.

just.

open.

your.

eyes.

he pressed his ear to your chest, listening for a heartbeat that would never come again.

the funeral was a blur.

beomgyu stood numb, like a statue at the edge of your grave, his hands limp at his sides, fingers twitching occasionally—

reach for her, she's right there, why won't you move.

—but he couldn't. the sky was a dull oppressive gray, the kind of overcast that made everything feel muted, like the world had been drained of color. like it knew.

people came.

they pressed his hands between theirs, their palm warm and damp with sympathy. their mouths moved, forming words like "i'm so sorry" and "she was so young", but their voices sounded distant, warped, as if he was hearing them from underwater.

why are they sorry? she's not gone. she can't be gone.

he nodded mechanically, his lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line.

your favorite song played over the speakers—a soft, melancholy melody that used to make you hum under your breath while cooking. you'd sway your hips to the rhythm, grinning when he groaned and called it "old people music." beomgyu's throat tightened.

now, it just sounded like a goodbye.

no. no, no—

someone—maybe taehyun, maybe soobin, he couldn't tell—pressed a white lily into his hand. the petals were cold and fragile against his skin. he stared at it, uncomprehending, before his fingers spasmed, crushing it in his fist. the stem snapped, the petals crumpling like paper.

why did they give me this? she hated lilies. she said they smelled like funerals.

he didn't even realize he'd done it until the pieces fell to the ground.

that night, the silence in your shared apartment was suffocating.

beomgyu stood in the doorway, his chest rising and falling too fast, his lungs burning like he'd been running for miles. her shampoo, her laundry detergent. the vanilla-sweet lotion she used before bed. the air smelled like you, and it was unbearable.

he moved on autopilot, his body carrying him to the closet before his mind could catch up. the door cracked as he yanked it open, and then—

there.

your sweaters. your hoodies. the stupid oversized one you'd stolen from him and refused to give back.

"it smells like you," you said, laughing when he tried to take it back, "i'm keeping it."

his hands shook as he grabbed the first one he saw, pressing it to his face, inhaling deeply. the scent was fading, but it was still you—warm and familiar. a choked noise escaped him, something between a sob and a gasp, and he clutched the fabric tighter, his knees buckling until he was crouched on the floor, your sweater pressed against his mouth to muffle the sound of his breaking.

please, please, just one more day.

one more hour.

one more minute.

but it wasn't enough.

nothing was enough.

he stumbled to the kitchen, his vision blurring. the mug you'd bought him—the one with the cartoon dog, the one he'd rolled his eyes at but used every morning—sat innocently in the cupboard.

"this is so ugly," he said when you gave it to him. "that's why you'll love it," you laughed.

his fingers tightened around the handle.

his arm drew back.

the shattering of ceramic against the wall was deafening.

pieces skittered across the floor, sharp and jagged, and beomgyu stared at them, his chest heaving.

why did i do that? she loved that mug. she—

then, without warning, the dam broke.

he screamed.

not a word, not your name—just raw, unfiltered agony, torn from somewhere deep inside him, a sound so broken it didn't even sound like him. he screamed until his voice cracked, until his throat burned, until his legs gave out and he slid to the floor, his back against the cabinets.

why won't it stop hurting? why won't it stop?

silence.

then, a whisper.

"take me with you."

the universe didn't answer.

it never does.

the cemetery was too quiet.

beomgyu stood before your grave, the wind tugging at his unwashed hair, carrying with the scent of impending rain—petrichor and damp earth.

it smells like that day you dragged me dancing in the storm, he thought numbly, when you laughed so hard you choked on rainwater.

his fingers, usually so sure on guitar strings, trembled as they traced the carved letters of your name. the stone was cold beneath his touch, rough where the engraver's tool had bitten too deep.

i should have brought flowers, he thought, then immediately hated himself for the thought. you hated flowers at graves. called them "dead things for dead people." a wet, broken sound escaped him—not quite a laugh, not quite a sob.

"i had a dream about you last night," he murmured, voice raw from disuse. his thumb caught on the curve of the first letter in your name, lingering. "you were laughing. that stupid, snorting laugh you did when you were trying not to spill your drink." his lips twitched, phantom warmth flickering in his chest. "you looked... happy."

the silence that followed was suffocating. somewhere in the distance, a crows cawed—a sharp lonely sound. beomgyu's breath hitched, his shoulders curling inward as if bearing physical weight.

"i miss you," he whispered, "—so much it feels like dying." his fingers clenched into a fist against the headstone, knuckles whitening.

every morning i wake up, and forget for half a second. then i remember. and it kills me all over again.

from his pocket, he withdrew a single, well-worn guitar pick—the one you'd stolen during your third date, the one he'd pretended to be mad about.

"it's my lucky pick!" beomgyu whined. "then i guess i'm your luck now," you smirked and stuck out your tongue, tucking the pick into your pocket.

he placed it carefully at the base of the stone, his hand lingering.

"take it. wherever you are. take this piece of me with you."

when he stood, his knees protested—he hadn't realized how long he'd been kneeling. the wind picked up, carrying the first cold drops of rain. beomgyu turned up his collar, his shoulders curling inward as if the weight of the sky had settled between his shoulder blades.

he walked away.

he didn't look back.

if he had, he might have seen the way the raindrops streaked down your name like tears.

© bangtanbeom 2025

[bangtanbeom]

⋆˚࿔ perfect match 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 5

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

pairing: rentalbf!soobin x fem!reader genre: fluff, comedy? (debatable), fake dating au summary: desperate to escape your friends matchmaking, a small lie spirals out of control. soobin—your charming, professional, rental boyfriend—the perfect answer. but what if the hardest part won't be fooling your friends? what if it’s reminding your own heart it's all fake? w/c: ~3k warning: not entirely proofread, fluff (might be cringe), an attempt at humor. a/n: last chap guys! i'm sososo happy. i literally have every single comment and every reblog tag screenshotted on my phone. i literally can't thank you enough for all the kind responses (ง ื▿ ื)ว see you next time!<3 taglist: @saccharinezennie | @soobinz-wife | @mental-hollows | @bunniwords | @lonendly | @soobinieswife | @slipawaylrh | @taysfairies

the neon lights of the restaurant blurred as you stumbled back to the table, the taste of soobin still lingered on your lips—mint and something faintly sweet, like the caramel syrup he'd stolen from your dessert earlier. your fingers twitched at your sides, still aching from where they'd fisted in his shirt, still trembling from the way his hands had cradled your face.

soobin walked beside you, his usual effortless grace replaced by something tenser, his shoulders rigid under his stupidly perfect white button-down. his hand settled at the lower part of your back, fingers pressed just a little too hard into your spine—steadying you, or maybe steadying himself. the warmth of his touch burned through the fabric of your shirt, branding you with the memory of his lips onto yours.

that wasn't part of the act—it couldn't be.

the thought clawed at you, sharp and insistent. his fingers hadn't been clinical when they tangled in your hair. his breath hadn't been measured when it hitched against your lips. and the way he looked at you afterward—like he'd just woken up from a dream he never wanted to end—

no.

you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly too tight.

were you being delusional?

across the table, your ex's jaw was clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitch under the golden glow of the overhead lights. his girlfriend—poor, oblivious thing—was still chattering away, but his eyes were locked onto soobin with a venom that made your stomach twist.

and soobin—

soobin was perfect.

he laughed at the right moments, low and easy, his thumb tracing circles over your knuckles where your hands were laced together on the table. he refilled your water before you could ask.

was he that good at his job?

mina, meanwhile, looked like she was about to combust from excitement.

"okay, what was that?" she hissed softly the moment you sat down, her nails digging into your forearm, physically restraining herself from screaming.

you forced a laugh, reaching for your glass with a hand that almost didn't shake. "what was what?"

"don't play dumb!" she whisper-yelled, smacking your shoulder. "you two were making out in the hallway like—"

"we got carried away," soobin interjected smoothly, his fingers lacing through yours on the table. his thumb traced slow circles over your knuckles.

play along.

but when you dared to glance at him, his eyes weren't on your friends, or your ex, or the table.

they were on you.

and for the first time all night, he looked just as wrecked as you felt.

the bill came.

mina lunged before anyone could react, snatching the bill with a victorious grin. "our treat!" she declared, waving her card like a victory flag. "consider it a celebration of love." she wiggled her eyebrows at you and soobin, completely unaware of the storm raging inside your chest.

you forced a smile. "thanks."

soobin's hand squeezed yours once before letting go—slowly, reluctantly—as he reached for his wallet out of habit. but mina was already handing her card to the waiter, and the moment passed.

across the table, your ex stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "we're heading out." his girlfriend blinked up at him, her spoon hovering midair over her half-finished sundae. "already?"

"yeah." his smile was tight, his eyes locked onto soobin. "wouldn't want to overstay our welcome."

soobin didn't react. not outwardly. his posture remained relaxed, one arm draped over the back of your chair, but you saw the way his fingers curled into a loose fist on the table, the way his shoulders tensed just slightly.

the second the door swung shut behind them, the air in the room shifted. mina sighed dramatically, slumping back in her chair. "finally. i thought he'd never leave."

jia snorted into her drink, rolling her eyes. "god, he was insufferable tonight." the ice cubes clinked as she set her glass down, her smirk sharp. "watching him getting mad over you two was the best part."

you swallowed hard, your fingers gripping the edge of the table.

what now?

the dinner was over. job was done.

soobin had played his part perfectly—better than perfectly, smirking at the right moments, his touches calculated but tender, his words weaving a story so convincing even you had almost believed it. he'd made your ex seethe, made your friends believe, made you—

no.

you swallowed hard, the taste of caramel and something bitter clinging to your tongue. you couldn't think about that.

because the contract ended tonight.

the walk to the car was silent.

soobin's hand found the lower part of your back again, guiding you through the crowded sidewalk, his touch warm and steady. it was the same touch he'd used all night—protective, possessive, perfectly boyfriend-coded. but now, with no audience left to convice, it didn't feel like part of the act.

it felt like a habit.

your mind raced.

what happens now?

the contract ended tonight. the performance was over. would he just—

—disappear? would he text you tomorrow like nothing happened? would he send an invoice and a polite thank you for your business and never speak to you again?

the thought made your chest ache.

you stole a glance at him.

his profile was sharp under the flickering streetlights, his lips pressed into a thin line, his brows slightly furrowed. he looked... troubled.

not like the soobin who had smirked his way through every rehearsal.

just... soobin.

so this is what the reviews meant—felt like a real relationship, yet bittersweet.

the moment you stepped away from the noise, from the prying eyes of your friends, the act faltered. the silence between the two of you was thick, suffocating.

soobin's fingers flexed at his sides, his usual confidence replaced by something tense, uncertain. he could still hear beomgyu's voice echoing in his head, that infuriatingly knowing tone.

"you use this job to avoid getting hurt, but what if the real thing is worth the risk?"

his jaw clenched.

"what's the point of protecting your heart if you never let anyone in?"

a muscle feathered in his temple.

"just don't regret letting her go because you were too scared to try."

damn beomgyu and his stupid, inconvenient wisdom.

he exhaled sharply, his breath curling in the cold air between them. the streetlight above flickered, casting shadows across your face—your lips slightly swollen from the kiss, your fingers twisting the hem of your sleeve.

"hey." his voice was quiet, rough around the edges.

you looked up at him—eyes wide.

he hesitated, then exhaled, his breath curling in the cool air between you. "you okay?"

no.

"yeah," you lied. "just... tired."

he nodded, but his eyes searched yours, like he was trying to find something—anything—to hold onto.

then he opened the car door for you, his fingers brushing yours as you slid into the seat.

a spark.

a question.

a goodbye?

the drive home was suffocating.

the silence between you was thick, heavy with everything unsaid. the only sound was the low hum of the engine, the occasional blare of a horn from the streets outside. the city passed by in a blur of light and shadow, the reflections dancing across soobin's face in fleeting patterns.

your phone buzzed in your pocket—once, twice. mina, probably. or jia, gushing about how perfect soobin was, how happy they were for you, how they couldn't wait to see the two of you again.

you didn't check it.

because what were you supposed to say? oh, actually, we broke up. right after that hallway kiss that looked like something out of a drama. right after he held me like that. right after i—

your stomach churned.

soobin's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles whitening for just a second before he forced them to relax.

"you're quiet," he murmured. his voice above the hum of the car.

you laughed, but it came out hollow. "just thinking."

"about?"

you. the kiss. the way your hands felt in my hair. everything.

"about how to explain this to my friends when you're gone," you admitted softly, staring out the window so you wouldn't have to see his face.

the words hung in the air between you, sharp and final.

soobin's jaw clenched. the car rolled to a stop, the engine idling outside your apartment. his fingers drummed once—a nervous, restless gesture—against the steering wheel before stilling.

then quietly, "we'll figure it out.

we.

the word hit you like a punch to the chest.

what did that even mean?

your breath hitched. you swallowed, your throat tight. the contract was clear. the job was over. there was no we after tonight.

your fingers curled into the fabric of your jeans, nails biting into your palms. the silence stretched, suffocating.

"so," you forced out, voice too light, "invoice me whenever. i'll settle the rest of the payment."

soobin's grip on the wheel tightened. a muscle in his jaw feathered.

"right," he said, clipped. "the payment."

the words hung between you like an accusation.

you hated this. hated the way your chest ached like someone had reached in and carved out a piece of you. hated that you couldn't tell if the kiss had been part of the act—if he'd done it to sell the lie to twist the knife in your ex's ribs, to win.

or if, for one reckless moment, he'd forgotten it was pretend too.

"i should go," you muttered, reaching for the door handle.

soobin moved faster.

his hand caught your wrist, warm and firm. "wait."

your pulse stuttered beaneath his touch.

he didn't let go. his thumb brushed over your racing pulse point, slow deliberate. his gaze dropped to your mouth—just for a second—before flicking back up.

"the contract," he started, voice rough.

your stomach dropped. here it comes. the professional distance. the polite thank you for your business.

but then—

"it says no falling in love with the client."

your breath caught.

soobin exhaled, his grip tightening. "i think i broke that rule."

the world tilted.

the hum of the car's engine faded into white noise, the dim glow of the dashboard lights casting shadows across soobin's face—sharp angles softened by the quiet confession hanging between you. your pulse roared in your ears, a frantic drumbeat against your ribs.

what?

you stared at him, lips parted, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. his eyes were dark, earnest—no smirk, no practiced charm. just raw, unfiltered soobin, the one who'd kissed you like he was starving for it.

his fingers, still loosely wrapped around your wrist, tightened just slightly—an anchor, a plea.

"you—what?" your voice cracked.

this time he didn't hesitate. leaning in, his free hand cupping your cheek, fingers trembling—just faintly. his palm was warm against your skin, his thumb brushing the curve of your cheekbone in a slow, deliberate stroke.

"i'm saying i don't want this to end."

your mind froze. this wasn't part of the script. this wasn't supposed to happen. the contract had rules—no blurred lines, no real feelings, no messy complications.

"but the contract—"

"i don't care." his voice was rough, edged with something desperate. his thumb traced your cheekbone again, lingering this time, as if memorizing the shape of you.

you searched his face for any hint of a lie, any trace of the polished professional facade he wore so well. but all you found was the same person who held your hand under the table when your ex tried to cut you down.

the one who'd kissed you like he meant it.

"soobin," you whispered.

he swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing. his grip on your wrist tightened.

"tell me i'm not the only one."

you didn't answer with words.

you kissed him.

not like before—not for an audience. this was slow, aching, real. his breath hitched, a quiet, broken sound, before his hands slid fully into your hair, pulling you closer like he couldn't bear an inch between you. his lips moved against yours, warm and insistent.

when you finally pulled back—just enough to breathe— his forehead rested against yours, his breathing ragged.

then, a soft chuckle escaped him, breathless and dazed

"okay," he murmured, lips brushing yours with the ghost of a smile. "that's a good answer."

and just like that—the contract was broken.

the cafeteria buzzed around you—clattering trays, the sharp scent of burnt coffee. sunlight streamed through the windows, but you barely noticed.

yeonjun sat across from you, his usual air of effortless chaos. his dyed red hair was mussed from where he'd run his hands through it one too many times, his leather jacket slung over the back of his chair.

yeonjun's coffee cup hovered halfway to his lips, frozen mid-sip. the condensation dripping onto his fingers, but he didn't seem to notice. his eyes wide, disbelieving—locked onto yours like he'd just witnessed a crime.

"wait. wait."

he slammed the cup down, liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. a few heads turned at the noise, but yeonjun didn't even glance their way.

"you're telling me," he said slowly, voice dripping with disbelief and enthusiasm. "you actually fell for your fake boyfriend?"

you groaned, slumping into the cafeteria's chair. the plastic squeked under your weight, and you dragged your hands down your face, your cheeks burning.

"it's not that simple—"

"it's exactly that simple!"

yeonjun jabbed a finger at you, his grin stretching ear to ear. "i set you up with a rental, and you somehow turned it into a rom-com." he leaned in, lowering his voice to a theatrical whisper. "did you at least get a discount."

you kicked him under the table.

he yelped, jerking back but his laughter burst out anyway, loud and uncontained. he threw his head back, his shoulders shaking. "oh this is gold. i'm framing this story on my desk."

"you're insufferable."

The living room of soobin's apartment was bathed in the golden glow of the afternoon sun. the faint scent of vanilla from a half-burned candle mixed with the lingering aroma of takeout containers still scattered across the coffee table. you sat curled into soobin's side, his arm draped lazily over your shoulders.

and then—

chaos.

beomgyu, who had been sprawled across the armchair, suddenly launched himself upright, his socked feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. his eyes—wide and gleaming with unholy delight—darted between you and soobin, his mouth already curling into a grin.

"i knew it!"

the declaration was loud enough to startle you, your shoulders jerking slightly as soobin's fingers tightened instinctively around yours. beomgyu slammed his hands onto the coffee table, rattling the empty soda cans, before pointing an accusatory finger at soobin.

"i told you! i called it!" his voice cracked halfway through, but he didn't care, already bouncing on the ball of his feet like a kid who'd just been handed free candy. "you owe me so much food—"

soobin groaned, his head tipping back against the couch. "you didn't call anything," he muttered, but his cheeks were already turning pink.

beomgyu gasped, clutching his chest like he'd been personally wounded. "i literally said, 'you like her', and you said—" he dropped his voice into a terrible imitation of soobin's voice, "'i like getting paid.'"

he gestured wildly at the two of you—at the way you were tucked so comfortably against his side. "and now look at you!"

soobin rolled his eyes, but his thumb brushed your knuckles. "shut up."

"nope. never." beomgyu plopped back down, grinning. "this is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

you raised an eyebrow, fighting back your own smile. "you're not the one dating him."

"no," beomgyu agreed. "but i am the one who gets to tease him about it forever." beomgyu's grin turned wicked. "so. who made the first move? was it the kiss in the hallway? because damn—"

soobin lunged.

one second, he was beside you, warm and solid. the next, he was launching himself at beomgyu, sending the coffee table screeching across the floor as they collapsed.

you burst out laughing, watching them wrestle like kids fighting for candy, and realized—this was the real soobin. the one who bickered with his best friend, who got shy whenever you complimented him, soobin who got excited after convincing you to play video games together.

the cafe smelled like roasted beans and burnt sugar, the hum of chatter and clinking cups filling the air. you'd been here a dozen times before, but today was different.

because today, soobin quit his job—he wasn't your fake boyfriend, or anyone's fake boyfriend.

he was just... soobin.

—and just soobin, as it turned out, was a mess.

you spotted him behind the counter—soobin, his dark hair slightly tousled under the cafe's ridiculous little paper hat, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the lean muscles of his forearms as he wrestled with the espresso machine. his brows were furrowed in concentration, tongue poking out slightly between his teeth—the same expression he'd made when trying to remember the fake backstory you'd rehearsed for your disastrous dinner.

except this time, there was no script. no act.

just him.

and he was losing.

"hey," he hissed, leaning over the counter toward his coworker—a bored looking guy with a nose ring. "how do i—wait, no, that's steam—oh god, that's steam—"

a sharp hiss erupted from the machine, and soobin yanked his hand back like he'd been burned. his coworker didn't even blink, he just reached over to flip a switch with the ease of someone who'd given up on a life years ago.

"you're hopeless," he muttered.

soobin pouted. "i'm learning."

you bit back a laugh, sliding into a seat at the counter.

soobin's head snapped up, his eyes widening when he saw you. a slow, charming grin spread across his face—the kind that made his dimples pop. the kind he never used during rental dates.

"hey," he said, voice warm, wiping his hands on his apron. "you're early."

you propped your chin in your hand, grinning. "wanted to see the professional at work"

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "i've been here three days and i've already set a towel on fire."

"what?"

"it's fine," he insisted, waving a hand dismissively, though the flush on his cheeks said otherwise. "it was a small fire. very contained."

you burst out laughing., the sound bright and unfiltered, and soobin's expression softened.

this wasn't soobin from perfect match rentals—the polished, effortless boyfriend who knew exactly how to charm parents, impress friends, and make exes jealous.

this soobin—spilled oat milk on his shoes and cursed under his breath in a way that was definitely not cutomer-service appropriate.

this soobin forgot which syrup was vanilla and which was chocolate, squinting at the bottles like they'd personally offended him.

this soobin knocked over a stack of cups and then tried to play it off by saying, "i meant to do that."

and yet—

when he finally slid your latte across the counter, he drew a lopsided heart in the foam.

your chest did something stupid.

then—

he sneezed halfway through the heart

the heart smeared.

"no—" he stared at the cup in horror. his entire face draining of color. "this is a disaster."

you took a sip—it was too sweet, the foam was uneven, and the caramel had sunk to the bottom in the sad little clumps.

you grinned.

"it's perfect."

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

© bangtanbeom 2025

[bangtanbeom]

⋆˚࿔ perfect match 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 4

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

pairing: rentalbf!soobin x fem!reader genre: fluff, comedy? (debatable), fake dating au summary: desperate to escape your friends matchmaking, a small lie spirals out of control. soobin—your charming, professional, rental boyfriend—the perfect answer. but what if the hardest part won't be fooling your friends? what if it’s reminding your own heart it's all fake? w/c: ~3.3k warning: not entirely proofread, fluff (might be cringe), an attempt at humor. a/n: LMAO I JUST NOW REALIZED I PUBLISHED THE WRONG DRAFT. i accidentally published a story draft about yeonjun i was working on but i wanted to post this one HAHAH OOPS. i blame the allnighter. taglist: always open! @saccharinezennie | @soobinz-wife | @mental-hollows | @bunniwords | @lonendly | @soobinieswife | @slipawaylrh | @taysfairies

the moment you shuffled into the office, coffee clutched like a lifeline, yeonjun's chair screeched across the floor as he launched himself toward you.

"well?" he planted both hands on your desk, eyes gleaming. "details. now."

you took an obnoxiously long sip of coffee, stalling. "good morning to you too."

yeonjun's grin turned wider—dangerous even. "you didn't text me back last night. which means one of two things." he held up a finger. "one. you were so overwhelmed by fake boyfriend's charm that you collapsed into a puddle of regret and unprofessional yearning." a second finger. "two. you actually had fun and didn't want to admit it.

you choked on your coffee. "or three. i was tired and forgot."

"liar." he swiped your muffin from the desk, taking a big bite. "spill. how was the double date."

you slumped into your chair, rubbing your temples. "it was... fine. beomgyu is a menace. his girlfriend is terrifying. soobin—"

yeonjun's eyebrows shot up, his lips stretching into a teasing grin. "what'd he do? hold your hand? feed you food?"

"oh my god." you buried your face in your hands. "it was practice. we acted like a couple. that's literally the whole point."

yeonjun's smirk softened, just a fraction. "and?"

you hesitated. the truth was, last night hadn't been awful. once you stopped flinching every time soobin touched you, it had almost felt... natural. the way his hand settled on your waist, the stupid little pet names—it was all part of the act.

and then there was tomorrow.

the get-together. your ex. the thought of sitting across from him again, watching his sharp eyes dissect every interaction between you and soobin, made your stomach twist.

you hadn't told anyone the worst of it—how your ex would smile sweetly in public, then snap behind closed doors. how his voice would turn to ice if you dared to disagree with him, or how he'd punch and throw anything he could find whenever something didn't go as he'd wanted to.

and when he cheated—he'd made it sound like your fault.

"you're so distant, what did you expect?"

"hey." yeonjun flicked your forehead. "you're overthinking."

you batted his hand away. "i'm preparing. the dinner is tomorrow, and if i mess up, my ex gets the satisfaction of watching me fail. again."

yeonjun's teasing demeanor faded. "you're not failing. you're rebounding—just you know, with a paid professional."

"ugh," you groaned. "that's not better."

"it's strategic."

he stole another bite of your muffin. "look. you hired soobin because he's good at this. trust him. and for the love of god, stop imagining worst-case scenarios."

you picked at the edge of your desk. "what if my ex sees right through it?"

"then soobin will lie harder. that's his job."

"what if i freeze up?"

"then soobin will thaw you out. probably with something more—a kiss, maybe."

you shot him a glare.

yeonjun sighed, uncharacteristically serious. "listen. you're not the same person you were when your ex left. and tomorrow? you're going to walk in there with a guy who looks at you like you hung the damn moon—fake or not—and your ex is gonna choke on his jealousy." he leaned in, lowering his voice. "and when he tries that manipulative bullshit, soobin won't let it slide. that's the difference."

soobin's car idled at the curb, its sleek black exterior gleaming under the amber glow of the streetlights. the low hum of the engine blended with the murmur of pedestrians. he leaned against the hood one foot propped on the bumper, scrolling through his phone with his free hand tucked into the pocket of his—

oh.

light-wash jeans, just like yours. he'd paired them with a crisp white button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows. casual, but put-together.

you tugged at your own jeans, suddenly hyper-aware of the matching denim, the bracelet on your wrist, the necklace you'd fiddled with all day.

his head snapped up the second your shoes hit the pavement, his gaze tracking you as you approached. you watched his eyes flicker—over the bracelet, the matching jeans, the way your fingers kept straying to the necklace around your neck—and something unreadable passed over his face.

"wow," he said, pushing himself off the car with a grin. "we do look disgustingly coordinated."

you crossed your arms. "i didn't realize you'd be dressed like this."

"like what?" he gestured down at himself, feigning innocence. "devastatingly handsome?"

"like we planned it." you narrowed your eyes. "did you hack my closet?"

he laughed, shaking his head. "nah. just good instincts." his gaze flicked to your nervous fingers fiddling with your necklace. "you okay?"

"great." you exhaled sharply. "just mentally preparing to face my ex with his new girlfriend while pretending the love of my life—" you gestured at him. "—isn't a paid professional."

soobin's expression softened. he stepped closer, his voice dropping. "hey. look at me."

you did. his eyes were steady, warm.

"i've got you," he said, simple and sure. "no matter what happens in there, i'm not letting him get to you."

something in your chest tightened.

it's just a part of the act, you reminded yourself. but the way he said it—like it was more than that—made you second-guess everything.

you swallowed hard, breaking the eye-contact. "you better be worth the money."

he smirked. "oh i am." he said as he opened the car door for you.

the car smelled different.

the faint scent of coffee that used to linger in the air—from the last time—was now replaced by a faint scent of mint and something sweet, vanilla, his cologne, maybe. the half-empty pack of gum replaced by a new full pack, neatly placed in his car.

somehow, it felt different, not as personal as the last time, like he'd scrubbed away every trace of himself—facade.

everything was a facade.

the realization slithered down your spine. of course he'd erased the traces of practice soobin. tonight wasn't practice. tonight was performance soobin—polished, professional, paid.

the dashboard lights cast a soft blue glow over the console, illuminating the sleek lines of the gearshift and the subtle curve of soobin's knuckles as he tapped the steering wheel. outside, the city blurred past—neon signs, flickering traffic lights, the occasional flash of headlights cutting through the setting evening.

the silence in the car stretched, thick with unspoken tension. you fiddled with the edge of your sleeve, the fabric rough under your fingertips, grounding you in the moment.

soobin's voice cut through the quiet, softer than you expected. "nervous?"

you exhaled sharply, fingers stilling. "is it that obvious?"

soobin's gaze lingered on your fingers, still fidgeting with your bracelet. without a word, he reached over and gently pried your hand away, turning it palm-up in his. his thumb tracing slow circles over the palm of your hand. "you've adjusted your bracelet seven times since we got in the car."

your breath hitched. the warmth of his touch was too real, too steady—but you didn't pull away.

was this also part of the act?

heat creeping up your neck. "obsessive much?"

"professional habit." he smirked, but there was something gentler beneath it. "look, we've practiced. you're good at this."

"at lying?"

"at surviving." his fingers tightened slightly on the wheel. "and for the record? you're not the one who should be nervous tonight?"

you frowned. "what's that supposed to mean?"

soobin's grin widened. "it means your ex is about to watch you move on. and i don't care how 'over it' he claims to be—that always stings."

the certainty in his voice made your breath catch. you studied his profile—the way his lashes cast faint shadows under his eyes, the stubborn set of his mouth. he sounded like he spoke from experience.

the restaurant approached, its glowing sign casting long shadows across the pavement. your stomach lurched.

soobin parked, then turned to you, "last chance to bail. we could fake a car crash. food poisoning. sudden amnesia."

you chuckled softly. "tempting."

"but?"

you shot him a glare. "letting you keep the deposit? never." you said and straightened your posture. "let's go."

soobin's grin was sharp. approving. he stepped out of the car, rounding to your side to open the door for you. as you stood, his hand settled at your lower back—a silent promise.

i'm here.

the warm, garlic air of the restaurant wrapped around you like a familiar blanket as you stepped through the entryway, the laminated menu boards clattering slightly against the wall from the kitchen's bustle. the scent of caramelizing bulgogi and spiced stews mingled with the sharp tang of soju being poured at nearby tables.

your fingers twitched at your side until soobin's palm settled against your lower back—his touch firm through the thin fabric of your blouse, the heat of it seeping into your skin.

then you saw him.

seated at the far table like he belonged there, his arm slung casually over the back of his new girlfriend's chair. the same way he used to sit with you, before his words turned sharp with frustration, his smiles became weapons. he hadn't noticed you yet, too busy tipping his head back to laugh at something jia said, the curve of his throat exposed in the golden light.

an ache bloomed behind your ribs. not longing—just the old, familiar sting of betrayal, the ghost of his voice slithered through your memory.

"it was a mistake, but you pushed me away first."

your nails bit into your palms. why was he still here? why did no one else see how he carved you open and called it love?

soobin leaned down, his breath grazing your ear. "breathe," he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear. his fingers softly touching your chin, lifting your face toward his. "eyes on me, not him."

he lowered his hand and rested his hand on your lower back, but the tingling sensation still lingered on your chin where his fingers touched.

you sucked in a breath—just as mina spotted you.

her iced americano sloshed dangerously as she slammed both hands on the wooden tabletop, the metal legs screeching against the floor. "oh my god!" the entire restaurant seemed to pause at her outburst before resuming their meals with amused smiles. "you're finally here."

jia merely smiled, but the way her fingers tightened around her water glass gave away her excitement.

and your ex—his gaze snapped to you, that infuriating smirk already plastered on his face, but when his eyes flicked to soobin, something flickered in his expression. a twitch in his jaw.

soobin's hand slid from your back to your waist, pulling you closer. his voice was warm velvet. "hi, i'm soobin. her boyfriend."

"well," your ex drawled, leaning back in his chair. "aren't you full of surprises?"

the table fell silent. mina's eyes darted between you and soobin like she was watching a tennis match. jia sipped her water, but you didn't miss the way her foot tapped impatiently under the table.

the word boyfriend landed like a grenade.

jia's eyebrows shot up. your ex's girlfriend offered a sweet smile.

mina squealed. "you—he—you!" she pointed wildly between you and soobin. "you didn't tell us he was this hot!"

you groaned, cheeks burning. "mina, please—"

"no, no, she's right," jia said, lips twitching. "you undersold him."

soobin smirked, leaning in just slightly—close enough that his breath brushed your ear. "should i be offended?" he murmured.

"don't let it get to your head." the elbow you aimed at his ribs only made him laugh, the sound rich and warm like honey.

your ex's smirked, but his knuckles whitened around his chopsticks. "interesting. how long has this been going on?"

"two months," you said smoothly, reaching for soobin's free hand. his fingers laced through yours, warm and safe. liar, his grip seemed to say. but i've got you.

your ex's gaze dropped to your joined hands. "funny. you never mentioned him before."

soobin pulled out your chair for you—smooth, practiced—before sliding into the seat beside you. his knee brushed yours under the table, warm and grounding.

"funny," you countered, "how you never mentioned her until after i caught you."

the tension at the table stretched. mina's eyes widened while jia choked on her water.

then your ex laughed, sharp and shallow. "still holding onto that? move on, babe."

the old pet name slithered under your skin. babe. the same word he'd hissed through his teeth the night he threw a glass against the wall because you'd dared to question him.

but before you could flinch. soobin's hand covered yours, his thumb pressing into your pulse point—a silent counter to the rhythm of your racing heart. "she has," he said, smiling like he knew a secret. "she has me now."

"so..." mina leaned forward, trying to break the tension. "details. now. how did you two meet?" she asked, her eyes gleaming.

you opened your mouth, but soobin beat you to it.

"we fought over a book," he said grinning.

"a book?" mina shrieked. "that's so cute."

"she elbowed me out of the way," soobin added, nudging your shoulder.

"i did not!" you protested, but he just smirked.

"you absolutely did."

mina clutched her cheeks. "this is the best love story i've ever heard."

jia tilted her head. "what's your job, are you a model?"

soobin laughed, the sound warm and gentle. "i'm a graphic designer," soobin answered easily, his fingers lacing with yours on the table. a show of affection, a calculated move. but his thumb brushed your knuckles—soft, reassuring.

"and you've been keeping him a secret?" mina gasped. "unforgivable."

you laughed, nerves easing steadily. "we wanted to take it slow."

"slow?" mina scoffed. "look at him. i would've married him on sight."

soobin laughed—warm, rich, the kind of laugh that made people turn their heads. "i like your friends," he murmured to you, his shoulders bumping yours, it felt alarmingly easy—maybe a little too easy.

you rolled your eyes yet the chuckle that escaped from your lips betrayed you.

"soobin," your ex said, putting down his beer after taking a sip. "how'd you win her over? she's... particular."

soobin didn't miss a beat. he turned to you, his expression softening in a way that made your stomach flip. "she elbowed me for a book. how could i resist?"

mina sighed dreamily. your ex's smile tightened.

and you—you almost forgot it was all an act.

until your ex's girlfriend leaned forward. "you're so cute together! can i see a couple photo?"

shit.

you stiffened. you and soobin had rehearsed touches, backstories, pet names—but not this.

but soobin just chuckled, pulling out his phone. "of course." he tilted the screen toward you and there it was—a selfie from your 'date' at the bookstore, his cheek pressed to yours while your eyes were closed, your noses scrunched in laughter.

when had he taken that?

"adorable," the girls cooed.

soobin grinned, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "i got lucky."

the table buzzed with laughter, the clatter of chopsticks against the plates, the warm hum of conversation. you were halfway through your bulgogi when your ex leaned forward, his smirk sharp enough to cut glass.

"so, soobin," he said, swirling his soju glass lazily. "you must have the patience of a saint. she's not exactly the easiest to date."

the words slithered under your skin, familiar and venomous. your fingers tightened around your chopsticks, knuckles whitening—

then, warmth.

soobin's hand settled on your knee under the table, his palm broad and steady, his thumb tracing a slow, soothing circle against the inside of your thigh. not possessive, not performative—just there. a silent i see you, lean on me.

you exhaled, your shoulders loosening by degrees.

when you dared to glance at him, soobin wasn't even looking at you. he was smiling at your ex, easy and unbothered, as if his hand wasn't burning a brand into your skin.

"i disagree," soobin said, his voice light. "i've only ever found her... effortless."

his fingers squeezed once—gentle, grounding—before retreating, but the heat of his touch lingered long after, a phantom weight that left your pulse fluttering like a trapped bird.

you were halfway through your meal when soobin leaned over, his chopsticks hovering near your plate.

"can i try that?" he asked, nodding toward your food.

you nodded, but before you could push the plate toward him, he plucked a strand of noodles directly from your bowl.

"hey—" you started, but he was already lifting it toward your lips instead of his own.

"open up," he teased, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

rolling your eyes, you obliged—but the moment your lips closed around the bite, his fingers lingered. the pad of his thumb brushed your lower lip, just a second too long, too long it seemed almost intentional.

your breath hitched.

soobin's gaze flickered down to your mouth, then back up—slow, deliberate. a silent question hung between you, one you weren't sure how to answer.

neither of you pulled away.

mina gasped. "oh my god,"

the spell broke.

soobin leaned back, smirking, but his fingers flexed slightly—like he was resisting the urge to reach for you again.

the restaurant hummed with laughter and clinking glasses. the interrogation from mina and jia, catching up with some other friends, the occasional back-handed comments from your ex while his girlfriend was staring at soobin.

you needed air.

excusing yourself, you slipped away to the bathroom, the chatter fading behind you. the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as you splashed cold water onto your face, staring at your reflection.

a sigh escaping from your lips, your eyes tracing every detail in your reflection.

just a little longer.

then you stepped into the hallway—

the hallway air turned to syrup as your ex cornered you, his familiar cologne suddenly suffocating.

"two months?" his laugh was like a knife dragged along your ribs. "you expect me to believe you just happened to move on that fast?" he jerked his chin toward the dining room where the others sat.

your fingers found the cold tile wall behind you. "some of us don't need years to recognize something real."

his smile died. that's when the door swung open.

soobin filled the doorway like a storm rolling in, his dress shirt sleeves shoved up to his elbows, revealing the tense cord of his forearms. he didn't speak. didn't need to. the way he looked at your ex—like he was measuring the distance to break his nose—made your breath catch.

"problem?" soobin's voice was dangerously quiet.

your ex stepped back, hands raised in mock surrender. "just catching up with an old friend." the word dripped venom.

one moment soobin was in the doorway. the next, his palm cradled your cheek, his other arm bracing against the wall behind you, caging you in—not trapping, but sheltering. his body radiated heat, his breath brushed your lips.

his eyes searched yours—was it concern? possession? pity?

your heart slammed against your ribs. your world narrowed to the space between you, to the smooth pads of his fingers at your jaw, the warmth of his breath on your skin, the fragile tremble in his hand.

his gaze flicked to your lips. you didn't think. you couldn't.

you reached up and answered by fisting your hands in his shirt.

the kiss ruined you.

it wasn't careful. it wasn't clean—not like his usual professional behavior. his lips met yours in a crush—urgent, clumsy, real.

his hand slid into your hair, tilting your head just enough to deepen it, and then his other arm wrapped around your waist, hauling you closer like he couldn't stand even an inch between you. his chest pressed against yours, and you felt it—felt him—his heart hammering just as wildly.

your mind spun, trying to make sense of it. this wasn't in the script. this wasn't a scene you'd rehearsed.

was the kiss even necessary?—why did you give in?

and god, the way his teeth caught your bottom lip like he'd been thinking about it, dreaming about it—

you were drowning in it.

a part of you kept screaming stop, this is too much, this isn't pretend anymore, but your body refused to listen. his hands on your back trembled. his mouth gentled for a fraction of a second, like he was pulling back—

then the hallway door creaked open.

"oh my god."

mina's shriek stabbed through the haze. you tore away like you'd both been caught stealing something sacred.

soobin didn't step back—he just rested his forehead against yours his chest heaving. you stared at each other, too close, too exposed, his thumb brushed your cheek, a whisper of a touch.

behind him, your ex stood frozen, the blood drained from his face, dragging his feet across the floor, walking behind mina, both of them exiting the hallway.

your fingers trembled where they still clutched soobin's waistband. the daze in his eyes—like he'd just realized something—sent your heart into a freefall.

the silence was deafening.

"sorry," soobin murmured. "that, wasn't part of the plan."

you swallowed hard. "no. it wasn't"

his thumb brushed your cheekbone again, slow questioning. "did i—" he hesitated. "was that okay?"

your pulse stuttered.

was it okay?

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

© bangtanbeom 2025

[bangtanbeom]

⋆˚࿔ perfect match 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 3

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

pairing: rentalbf!soobin x fem!reader genre: fluff, comedy? (debatable), fake dating au summary: desperate to escape your friends matchmaking, a small lie spirals out of control. soobin—your charming, professional, rental boyfriend—the perfect answer. but what if the hardest part won't be fooling your friends? what if it’s reminding your own heart it's all fake? w/c: ~3.3k warning: not entirely proofread, fluff (might be cringe), an attempt at humor. a/n: sorry for the long wait guys! please bear with me ;-;. i wasn't feeling well lately and couldn't find the energy to continue writing. i'm still having trouble with writing a little, my head is a mess. BUT im happy with the positive responses, i'll work hard to finish this and make it enjoyable :) <3 taglist: always open! @saccharinezennie | @soobinz-wife | @mental-hollows

the fluorescent lights of the office hummed overhead as you pushed yourself through the glass doors, the usual morning chatter of keyboards clacking and hushed phone conversations filled the space. but the moment you stepped into the office—

yeonjun's head snapped up from his desk like a predator catching a scent.

oh no.

you barely had time to drop your bag onto your chair before he was already swiveling his chair toward you, his sharp eyes gleaming with mischief as they locked onto you like a target.

"well, well, well," he drawled, popping his chin in his hand, elbow digging into his desk. "look who survived her practice date."

you shot him a warning glare. "don't"

"don't what?" he blinked innocently—but the grin tugging at his lips ruined the act. "don't ask how it went? don't ask if you two held hands? don't ask if he—"

"yeonjun."

"—kissed you goodnight?"

you nearly choked on your coffee. "we didn't kiss—"

"oh?" he leaned forward, his grin widening. "so there was a goodnight?"

you groaned, slumping into your chair. "i hate you."

"no, you don't." he rolled closer, unfazed. "come on, details. was he as annoyingly perfect as his profile?"

you hesitated. the truth was, the night had been... surprisingly okay. less awkward than you'd expected. maybe even—dare you say it—fun. but admitting that to yeonjun would mean giving in.

"it was fine," you muttered, turning your attention on your computer screen with exaggerated focus. "we practiced. we ate. we left."

yeonjun gasped, slapping a hand over his heart like you'd just confessed a crime. dramatic. "you ate together? how romantic."

"it was a dinner practice for a fake date—"

"did he pay?"

"that's your question?"

"it's an important one!" he wagged a finger, grinning. "a gentleman always pays."

you scoffed. "it's a business transaction. of course he paid."

yeonjun's grin widened. "so he is a gentleman."

you buried your face in your hands, your voice muffled. "why do i even talk to you?"

"because you love me." he poked your shoulder. "and because you secretly enjoyed yourself."

you lifted your head just enough to glare at him. "i did not."

"liar." he smirked. "you're cheeks are red."

yeonjun, miraculously, dropped the subject—for approximately three hours. then, during lunch, he struck again.

the two of you sat at a small corner table in the company cafeteria, the noise of clattering trays and overlapping conversations muffled in the background.

"so," he said casually, picking up a piece of sushi with his chopsticks, "when's the next session?"

you narrowed your eyes. "why?"

"just curious." he shrugged. a grin played at the corner of his lips as he added, "you know. as your friend and favorite coworker."

"you're not curious," you countered. "you're nosy."

"same thing." he popped the sushi into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. after swallowing, he leaned forward. resting his elbows on the table. "i'm invested now. this is better than a drama."

you groaned, tilting your head back toward the ceiling as if begging for patience. "it's not a drama." you insisted, dropping your voice lower as a group of interns passed by your table. "it's a fake relationship. with a contract. and boundaries."

"uh huh." he leaned in. "and how many of those boundaries have you almost crossed?"

your chopsticks froze mid-bite, the rice grains crumbling slightly under the sudden pressure.

yeonjun's eyes lit up. "oh my god. there is something."

"there's nothing—"

"you hesitated!" he pointed accusingly, his chopsticks nearly grazing your nose. "spill. now."

you exhaled sharply through your nose. "nothing happened, but maybe i'm... slightly less awkward around him now." you relented, crossing your arms.

yeonjun gasped. "progress!"

"but!" you held up a finger. "it's strictly professional. he's good at his job. that's all."

"sure." yeonjun nodded wisely. "and i'm sure him being tall, handsome, and charming has nothing to do with it."

soobin: practice date #2. tomorrow. 7pm. we're doing a double date to stimulate group pressure. dress casually but nice. no flinching when i touch you.

you: who said i flinch?

soobin: you literally elbowed me in the ribs when i put my arm around you at the bookstore.

you: reflexes. also you deserved it.

soobin: noted. try to resist assaulting me in front of your ex, though. bad for the act.

you: no promises.

soobin: i'm adding "combat training" to your invoice.

you snorted, locking your phone before yeonjun could peer over your shoulders—again.

"oooh, is that mr. perfect boyfriend?" yeonjun sing-songed, swiveling his chair toward you with a grin.

you shoved your phone in your pocket. "it's none of your business."

"that's a yes." he clasped his hands under his chin. "so? what's the plan? romantic stroll by the han river? cozy movie date? kissing practice—"

you snatched the nearest pen off the table and hurled it at him. he dodged with a yelp, the pen clattering against the wall behind him. "we're doing a double date simulation. to practice group dynamics."

yeonjun wiggled his eyebrows. "uh huh. and how many of these practice sessions do you need before you admit you're enjoying this?"

"it's fake." you hissed, rolling your eyes. "he's literally being paid to do this."

"and yet." yeonjun's grin widened as he pointed at your face. "you're blushing."

"i'm annoyed."

"sure." he flopped back in his chair, spinning lazily. "keep telling yourself that."

you stood in front of your closet, staring at the outfit you'd laid out on your bed for the fifth time in ten minutes.

casual but nice.

that's what soobin said.

you held up a silky blouse, then an off-the-shoulder top, then a dress you hadn't worn in months.

too formal. too plain. too... desperate?

with a frustrated groan, you grabbed the first thing that didn't make you second-guess yourself—a light-colored knitted sweater. simple.

you checked your reflection one last time, adjusting the neckline, smoothing your hair, and grabbed your keys.

your phone buzzed.

soobin: don't panic when you see beomgyu. he can be intimidating, but he's just a playful puppy in human form.

deep breath. you got this.

the drive to the restaurant was too short. your fingers drummed against the steering wheel, the lights blurring past as you rehearsed everything in your head.

bookstore. together for two months. no flinching.

you pulled into the restaurant's parking lot, your stomach twisting as you spotted soobin leaning against the entrance, scrolling through his phone.

you stepped out of the car, and his head lifted instantly, his eyes locking onto yours. a slow, knowing grin curled at the corner of his lips.

"took you long enough," he called out, pushing himself off the wall.

"i'm five minutes early," you shot back, crossing your arms.

"and yet, i've been waiting." he closed the distance between you, his voice dropping as he leaned in. "you look nice, by the way."

"thanks," you muttered. "you look good too, i guess."

he chuckled, the sound low and warm. "you ready?" he said, then held out his hand.

you hesitated.

his fingers twitched, waiting.

this is what you're paying him for.

you slipped your hand into his. his grip was warm, firm—reassuring, even.

"remember," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "no flinching."

you exhaled and nodded. "i'll try my best."

the moment you slid into the booth across from beomgyu and his girlfriend, you understood two things.

beomgyu was in fact like a playful puppy—energetic, unrestrained, and radiating chaotic charm. his grin was instant, wide enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes, and just a little unhinged.

his girlfriend was terrifyingly observant. her sharp eyes flicked between you and soobin like she was already analyzing the act, her gaze lingering just a second too long on the way soobin's arm brushed yours as you settled in. her lips curled faintly—not quite a smile, more like a quiet satisfaction of someone already piecing together a puzzle.

"finally!" beomgyu clapped his hands together, the sound sharp in the hum of the diner. "we've been dying to meet you. soobin never shuts up about—"

soobin kicked him under the table. a swift, unmistakable thud under the table cut him off. beomgyu yelped, shooting him a wounded look before seamlessly recovering.

"—how great his job is," beomgyu finished smoothly, grinning.

you shot soobin a look. really?

soobin's expression didn't change, but the toe of his shoe nudged yours under the table—play along.

"so," beomgyu's girlfriend said, resting her chin on her hand. "how did you two meet?"

ah. the first test.

you opened your mouth, but soobin's hand settled over yours on the table, his tumb brushing your knuckles. "we fought over a book," he said, his voice warm with amusement.

beomgyu gasped. "romantic."

"he reached for it first," you added, relaxing into the lie. "but i may have elbowed him out of the way."

soobin scoffed. "she definitely elbowed me."

beomgyu's girlfriend smirked, and soobin squeezed your hand—good job.

by the time dessert arrived, soobin had already passed three levels of the unspoken couple habits—and you were almost keeping up.

first, the hair tuck.

it happened so casually you almost missed it, when the waiter had just cleared the plates and the air was thick with the scent of caramelized meat and lingering spice—the brush of his fingers against your temple, the fleeting warmth of his knuckles grazing your cheek as he tucked a loose strand behind your ear.

you slightly stiffened, shoulders tensing for half a second, but soobin didn't react. he just leaned back in his seat, one arm slung over the backrest.

"you had something," he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear.

"liar," you muttered back.

his lips twitched. "prove it."

then second, the kimchi pancake.

soobin speared a perfectly crispy bite with his chopsticks and held it out to you, eyebrows raised in challenge. "babe. try it."

the pet name still sent a jolt through you, but you refused to let him see it. you leaned forward, maintaining eye contact as you took the bite from his chopsticks—only to immediately regret it when his smirk deepened.

"good?"

"overrated," you lied, even though the flavors burst on your tongue, savory and tangy.

revenge came as you shoved a spoonful of ice cream toward his face. "your turn."

soobin didn't hesitate. he caught your wrist, fingers circling lightly but firmly, guiding the spoon the rest of the way himself. his lips wrapping around it in a way that was absolutely unnecessary—slow, deliberate.

and unfair.

"sweet," he said, tongue darting out to catch a stray drop.

across the table, beomgyu fake-gagged.

the third, where you stood up to go to the bathroom, sliding out the booth with a murmured excuse.

soobin's hand settled on your waist, his touch light but undeniable, his fingers just enough to press into the fabric of your shirt—it was possesive yet casual. boyfriend-coded.

and—

you didn't flinch.

progress.

the dinner ended with beomgyu dramatically clutching his chest, letting out an exaggerated gasp. "i take it back," he announced, pointing between you and soobin. "you two are disgusting. i've lost my appetite."

you blinked, lowering your fork. "what?"

beomgyu groaned, slumping back against the leather booth. "the looks," he insisted, miming a swoon. "the little hand squeezes under the table—don't think i didn't see that. and the way he feeds you—"

soobin kicked him again. harder this time.

this time, beomgyu yelped loud enough that a few heads turned at nearby tables. his girlfriend just smirked, swirling her drink with a knowing look.

"you two are good," she mused, her sharp eyes flicking between you and soobin. "almost too good."

you stiffened, but soobin just laughed, his fingers lacing through yours on the table. "jealous?" he teased, squeezing your hand tightly.

beomgyu groaned again. "i can't take it. can we leave before i lose my will to live?"

soobin rolled his eyes. "drama queen," he muttered under his breath.

as you all stood to leave, beomgyu slung an arm around soobin's shoulder, whispering something that made soobin shove him off with an exasperated sigh.

outside the restaurant, beomgyu's girlfriend pulled you aside while the boys bickered over the bill. "for the record," she murmured, "he's never brought a client to meet us before."

your breath hitched. "this is just practice."

"sure." she smirked. "but if you were real? i'd definitely approve."

beomgyu and his girlfriend lingered for a moment, exchanging final teasing remarks before waving goodbye.

"see you at the next one," beomgyu called, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at soobin.

soobin rolled his eyes, shoving him lightly. "go home, gyu."

beomgyu laughed, throwing an arm around his girlfriend's shoulder as they walked away. "good luck with your client," he sing-songed, just loud enough for you to hear.

soobin sighed, rubbing his temples like he was already exhausted by the mere thought of beomgyu's antics.

soobin lingered beside you, his hands tucked into his pockets, the glow of the streetlights casting long shadows across his face.

"you survived," he mused, glancing at you sideways.

"barely," you muttered, rubbing your temples. "beomgyu is... a lot."

soobin chuckled. "understatement."

a comfortable silence settled between you, the kind that didn't feel forced—just two people decompressing after an eventful evening.

this was a performance. you'd seen the way he slipped into his role so easily—the way his voice softened at all the right moments, the way his gaze lingered just a second too long to make you feel special. it was flawless.

"do you ever turn it off?" you asked before you could stop yourself, breaking the silence between the two of you.

soobin blinked, his expression flickered for half a second. "what?"

"do you ever get tired of being everyone's dream guy and never yourself?"

he barked out a startled laugh, but was hollow. "that's not what i'm hired for."

"that's not an answer to my question."

the streetlight caught the tension in his jaw as he looked away. for the first time tonight, he seemed different—like you could see the layers unraveling behind his mask, like you'd pulled a thread he didn't want loose.

"it's easier this way," he said finally, voice quieter. "no surprises or disappointments."

you recognized the words for what they were—a shield.

he was too good at his job because he did care—just not in a way that ever left him vulnerable. his reviews praised him for being 'the perfect boyfriend', but you wondered if anyone ever asked what he got out of it—besides the money. if he ever felt like an actor in everyone else's story, but never the main character in his own.

"must be lonely," you said softly.

he stiffened. "i don't—

he cut himself off, exhaling through his nose. for a second, it seemed like he might actually say something real—something raw—but then his shoulders listed in a practiced shrug.

"it's just a job." the words were light, but the way he avoided your eyes betrayed him. "you shouldn't worry about me, i'm here to help you."

before you could press further, your phone buzzed in your pocket—a sharp, unwelcome sound in the quiet between you. you fished it out, half-irritated, and glanced at the screen

yeonjun: so??? how was the double date, did he feed you dessert?

you huffed and rolled your eyes, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

you: shut up. it was practice. nothing more.

soobin peeked over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of the screen before you could hide it. his lips curled into a smirk. "work husband checking in?"

you snapped your phone shut. "work what—?"

"yeonjun," he said, nodding toward your phone. "the coworker who booked me for you. sounds like he's invested."

you snapped your phone shut, but not fast enough. his smirk was already in place, smooth and effortless—the perfect mask sliding back on.

"he's just nosy," you grumbled, shoving your phone into your pocket.

soobin's eyes crinkled at the corners. "mhm. sure."

you elbowed him lightly. "don't start."

he laughed, the sound warm and rich in the cool night air. "wouldn't dream of it."

you fished your keys from your bag, the weight of them familiar in your palm—your escape route, your reminder that none of this was real, no matter how convincingly you'd played the part tonight.

soobin walked behind you, hands tucked lazily into his pockets, the fabric rustling softly with each movement. his shoulder brushing yours as you walked toward the parking lot.

the parking lot was quiet, the hum of distant traffic filling up the comfortable silence between the two of you.

you hesitated, keys jingling in your grip, clicking the unlock button on your key fob. the car chirped in response, the headlights flashing twice—bright, impatient almost like a silent plea. "so. that went... okay?"

soobin tilted his head slightly as he studied you. "better than okay. you didn't flinch once."

"yeah well," you said, swinging your car door open, "i had a decent teacher."

his grin widened, slow and pleased. "aw. was that a compliment?"

you raised your eyebrow. "don't let it go to your head."

you slid into the driver's seat, but before you could shut the door, soobin's hand caught the frame, holding it open. he leaned down slightly, the streetlight casting shadows across his face, his voice dropping to a softer tone. "seriously. you didn't even flinch once. even when i—"

his fingers brushed your wrist where it rested on the steering wheel, then reaching toward your face, swiftly tucking the loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"—did that."

then he straightened, stepping back with that infuriating smirk—radiating his usual confidence. "see you at the dinner, babe."

the door clicked shut before you could retaliate.

you groaned, gripping the wheel.

just two days left.

"do you ever turn it off?"

soobin's fingers tapped restlessly. your voice clung to him, sharper than the cold air outside.

"do you ever get tired of being everyone's dream guy and never yourself?"

no one had ever asked him that. his chest tightened by the surfacing memory.

clients didn't pay for real. they paid for better—better than their exes, better than loneliness, better than whatever hollow version of love they'd settled for before. and soobin was good at giving them that. flawless, even. five-star reviews across the board.

you didn't ask for better.

you wanted honesty, the raw truth of what was behind the mask, the shield.

he dragged a hand down his face. he'd almost answered. for one reckless second, when your eyes held his under the flickering lights—sharp and seeing too much—he'd wanted to tell you, the raw truth.

but it shouldn't matter. that wasn't what you were paying him for.

the whole point of his job—no attachments, no complications. just a transaction. a role.

but you kept asking things that weren't on the script.

"how many of these fake relationships have you done?"

a question most clients asked, but not like that. not like they were counting how many times he'd pretended to care—not like you.

the neon sign of the late-night convenience store buzzed overhead, casting flickering pink light across soobin's face as he leaned against the brick wall outside. beomgyu had dragged him here under the urgency of needing late night snacks, but the way his friend was now smirking at him—chip bag crinkling in his grip—told him this was an interrogation in disguise. "so," beomgyu drawled, tossing a chip into his mouth. "when's the wedding?"

soobin let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "shut up."

beomgyu grinned mischievously. "i'm serious, the way you looked at her?" beomgyu fake gagged. "i almost threw up my kimchi pancakes. digsusting."

"it's called acting," soobin retorted, rolling his eyes at the dramatic antics of beomgyu.

"acting my ass. you've never looked at a client like that before." beomgyu shot back with a teasing grin.

soobin hesitated, the silence stretching for too long. beomgyu's smirk faltered when soobin didn't immediately fire back. his voice softened, just a fraction. "no way—wait. do you like her?"

soobin flicked his gaze away, taking a slow sip of his drink. the carbonation burned his tongue. he shrugged casually before answering. "i like getting paid."

there was another silence. then—

"bullshit." beomgyu crumpled the empty chip bag and lobbed it at his head. "you're a terrible liar when it comes to these stuff."

soobin swatted it away, scowling. "there's nothing to lie about. she's a client. end of story."

beomgyu studied him, uncharacteristically serious. "you know what your problem is? you're so used to playing the perfect boyfriend for strangers that you don't know how to be real with someone who actually sees you."

soobin's jaw clenched. "that's not—"

"you looked at her tonight," beomgyu pressed. "not the way you do with clients. the way you used to do, back when you still—"

"drop it, gyu."

a sharp pang twisted in soobin's chest.

beomgyu sighed, but didn't push further. "look, all i'm saying is—if you keep acting like you don't care about anything, eventually you won't."

soobin rolled his eyes. "since when are you the wise one?"

"since always." beomgyu grinned, slinging an arm around his shoulder. "now buy me more snacks. my advice isn't free."

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

© bangtanbeom 2025

[bangtanbeom]

⋆˚࿔ perfect match 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 2

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

pairing: rentalbf!soobin x fem!reader genre: fluff, comedy? (debatable), fake dating au summary: desperate to escape your friends matchmaking, a small lie spirals out of control. soobin—your charming, professional, rental boyfriend—the perfect answer. but what if the hardest part won't be fooling your friends? what if it’s reminding your own heart it's all fake? w/c: ~3.9k warning: not entirely proofread, fluff (might be cringe), an attempt at humor. a/n: um hello my fyp is all kai and soobin kissing (ง ื▿ ื)ว heehuehueh. i was struggling a lot with continuing this one. i kept writing stuff, but it didn't do anything for the actual story line so i had to delete everything again and start over :c but here we are >:) taglist: always open! | @soobinz-wife | @saccharinezennie

the evening air was cool against your flushed cheeks as you stepped out of the cafe, soobin holding the door open behind you, his tall frame casting a shadow across the pavement. somewhere in the past hour, the nervous knot in your stomach had unraveled—replaced by something lighter, calmer.

"you're sure about the bookstore story?" you asked, turning to face him under the glow of the streetlamp.

soobin tilted his head, the light catching the subtle curve of his smile, the way his dimple creased just slightly. "unless you'd prefer we met in a more dramatic way, a near-death experience, perhaps. you saved me from a runaway trolley."

you chuckled. "trolleys don't run in seoul."

"fine," he concluded, eyes gleaming with amusement. "a rogue electric scooter, then."

laughter bubbled unexpectedly, and you pressed a hand to your mouth to stifle it, shoulders shaking slightly. soobin's eyes crinkled at the corners, his satisfaction evident in the way he leaned just a fraction closer, pleased with himself.

"you're ridiculous," you said, shaking your head, though the grin tugging at your lips betrayed you.

"and yet, you're hiring me." he pulled his jacket tighter against the evening chill. "speaking of—should we practice before the dinner?"

you blinked. "practice?"

"couple things." he counted off on his fingers. "pet names. how we hold hands. whether you're the type to steal fries off my plate."

"i—i don't think that's necessary."

soobin raised an eyebrow. "so when i put my arm around you in front of your ex, you won't stiffen up like a startled cat?"

you opened your mouth, then closed it. he had you there.

"...okay. maybe one practice session."

your phone buzzed as you stepped into your apartment.

yeonjun: how'd it go?

you sank onto the couch, exhaustion and something else—anticipation? maybe.

you: better than expected. he's easy to talk to.

yeonjun: good. that's what you're paying him for.

you chewed your lip, then added:

you: we're doing a trial run before the dinner. to make it look real.

yeonjun: smart. text me if you need back up. and have fun while you're at it ;)

you stared at your reflection in the mirror, adjusting the collar of your sweater for the fifth time.

it's just practice. a trial run. nothing to freak out about.

except, you were freaking out. because today, you and soobin were going to reenact your fake first meet—cute in a bookstore, like some kind of rom-com side plot. the absurdity of it made your stomach twist.

your phone buzzed.

soobin: running 5 mins late. save the last copy of 'the giving tree' for me.

you groaned.

you: that's the book we're supposedly fighting over? really?

soobin: it's poetic. tragic. romantic.

you: it's cliche.

soobin: exactly. no one questions cliche. they just sigh and say "aww."

you rolled your eyes but couldn't fight the twitch of your lips. annoyingly, he had a point.

the bookstore was quiet. soft, golden light spilled from the iron lamps, casting a warm glow over the wooden shelves that stretched toward the ceiling. the air thick with the scent of aged paper and ink wrapping around you as you browsed the fiction section. you'd already located the giving tree—just one copy left, exactly as soobin had planned—and now you were psyching yourself up to pretend to reach for it when he arrived, rehearsing the script in your head like a bad actor preparing for an audition.

god, this is stupid.

a hand—warm and deliberate—brushed against yours just as your fingers grazed the book's spine.

"oh—sorry," came a familiar voice, warm and amused. "looks like we had the same idea."

you turned, and there he was.

soobin looking unfairly effortless, bathed in the soft glow of the bookstore lights his cream-colored sweater loosely hugging his frame. the fabric slightly rumpled in that perfect careless way, as if he'd just thrown it on without a second thought. his dark hair was tousled, falling slightly over his forehead, and his fingers lingered near yours on the book. his expression was the perfect mix of surprise and interest, like this wasn't a meticulously staged moment.

you, on the other hand, froze. completely. like a deer in headlights.

"uh," you said intelligently.

soobin's lips twitched. "you're supposed to flirt back," he murmured under his breath.

right.

you cleared your throat. "i—guess great minds think alike." you offered weakly.

great minds think alike? you wanted to kick yourself.

soobin, thankfully, didn't laugh at you. instead, he tilted his head, studying you with exaggerated curiosity as if you were the most fascinating person in the room.

"you know, i've been looking for this edition forever. but..." a pause, deliberate. his thumb brushed lightly against the edge of the book, his fingers still so close to yours. "i'd hate to take it from someone who appreciates it as much as i do."

his voice was smooth, so earnest. his smile was easy—like he actually believed this ridiculous scenario.

meanwhile, you were pretty sure your face was flashing sheer panic.

"i—uh. we could share?"

the second the words left your mouth, you regretted them.

but soobin's eyes lit up, bright with joy. "i'd like that." he said, soft and sure, as if the idea had never occurred to him before this moment.

and just like that—with a shared glance, a staged touch, a scripted lines—the scene was set. your fake first meeting, now "officially" established.

the moment you were out of earshot of other customers, you exhaled sharply through your nose, the tension in your shoulders finally releasing. "that was terrible," you groaned, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes as if you could physically erase the memory of your stilted performance.

soobin grinned, flipping idly through the book he'd just bought—for authenticity—his expression far too pleased with himself. "you were adorable."

"i was awkward." you corrected, shooting him a wilting look.

he shrugged, unfazed. "same thing."

you shot him a glare, but he just chuckled, the sound low and warm, like he found your frustration endearing rather than irritating.

"look," he said, lowering his voice as he steered you toward the cafe section of the store. the scent of freshly ground coffee beans and warm pastries wrapped around you. "the whole point of practicing is so you don't panic at the dinner. right now, you're overthinking."

"because this is weird," you hissed under your breath. "we're strangers pretending to be in love. that's not something you just rehearse."

soobin shrugged. "sure it is. actors do it all the time."

"we're not actors."

"aren't we?" he tilted his head, studying you with a look that was far too perceptive. then, leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. "you're playing a part of someone who's moved on. i'm playing the guy who helped you do it. the only difference is, we're writing our own script."

you frowned, crossing your arms. "you're way too good at this."

"i told you—it's my job." he took a sip of the iced coffee he'd just bought, watching you over the rim with an infuriatingly knowing glint in his eyes. "but if it makes you feel better, most of my clients don't argue with me this much."

"i'm not arguing. i'm adjusting."

"mhm. sure." the smirk playing at his lips told you he didn't believe you for a second.

you scowled, but there was no real fury behind it. annoyingly, he was right—you were overthinking. but that didn't make it easier to act natural when every touch, every glance, felt like a performance.

"okay," soobin said, setting his cup down. "next step."

"there's a next step?"

"couple habits. the little things that sell the act." he reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before you could react. "like that." his touch was feather-light before dropping away.

you stiffened. "what was that?"

"something boyfriends do." his fingers lingering near your cheek for half a second too long before dropping away. "too much?"

yes. "no," you lied. "just... warn me next time."

"warnings aren't realistic."

"this isn't realistic," you muttered.

soobin sighed. "you're resisting on purpose."

"i'm not—" you cut yourself off, frustrated. "fine. what else?"

he studied you for a moment, then nodded toward your hands. "hand-holding."

you hesitated, your fingers twitching at your sides before you reluctantly offering your hand. his palm met yours, warm and steady, his fingers sliding between yours with an ease that felt practiced—natural, even.

his thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, a small, absent-minded gesture that sent an unexpected shiver up your spine.

"see? not so bad," he said.

"right." you muttered.

the cafe table between you and soobin suddenly felt too small as he leaned forward. the warm glow of the overhead light cast shap shadows across his face, highlighting the careful calmness in his expression. his voice low and professional.

"we should talk about physical boundaries," he said, fingers laced together on the table. his thumb tapped once, twice against his knuckle.

you stiffened. "what do you mean?"

"the contract allows kissing if necessary. with consensual consent, of course." his tone was clinical, like he was discussing a business strategy rather than kissing you. "but we should establish what your comfortable with before the dinner. no surprises."

your fingers tightened around your coffee cup, the coldness of the cup lingering onto your palms. "i don't think that'll be necessary." you said, a little too quickly.

soobin raised an eyebrow. "your ex is going to be watching us all night. if he's as much of a jerk as you say, he'll be looking for cracks in the act." he pointed out.

"we can sell it without that." you insisted, but your voice wavered on the last word.

"maybe." he shrugged, leaning back slightly. the leather booth creaked under his weight. "but if he corners you alone and asks why your boyfriend hasn't kissed you all night, what's your answer?"

you opened your mouth—then snapped it shut. damn it, he had a point.

"fine," you muttered, staring resolutely at the condensation forming on your iced coffee. "but only if it's absolutely necessary."

"agreed." the corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but something close to amusement. "i don't exactly go around kissing clients for fun."

"good to know," you deadpanned, finally meeting his eyes again.

"now, pet names," soobin continued, flipping open his notebook, like this was some kind of tactical meeting. the afternoon sunlight streaming through the store.

you groaned. "do we have to?"

"yes." his tone left no room for argument. "couples use them. especially in public." he scanned the list. "i was thinking 'babe' or 'love'. nothing too cringey, but enough to sound natural."

you shifted in your seat, the fabric of your jeans suddenly too rough against your skin. the idea of him calling you anything intimate made your skin prickle—not in a good way. it wasn't because of him.

and then there was the other thing.

the last person who'd called you babe had been him—your ex—his voice dripping with that same casual sweetness right up until the moment it wasn't sweet at all. the memory still left a bitter taste in your mouth.

"let's just stick with our actual names," you said tightly.

soobin studied you for a second, then sighed. "look, i get it. this feels forced. but the whole point is to make this believable. if i call you by your name all night while every other couple is using nicknames, it's going to stand out."

you gritted your teeth. "fine. but not 'love'. that's too much."

"deal. 'babe' it is." he smirked. "ready to test it?"

"no."

"too bad." he reached across the table, his hand slid across the table, his fingers brushing yours before his thumb grazed over your knuckles. "so, babe, what do you want to order?"

the word rolled off his tongue so easily, like he'd said it a thousand times. meanwhile, your brain shut down. it wasn't bad—that was the worst part. it was just... strange. a stranger's voice wrapping around a word used to mean something.

you pulled your hand away. "that was awful."

"you flinched."

"because it was awkward."

"it won't be by the time we're done practicing." he leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. "again."

you glared at him. "you're enjoying this."

"i'm professional," he corrected, but the glint in his eyes said otherwise.

by the fourth attempt, you'd stopped cringing when he said it. by the sixth, you even managed to fire back with a dry, "sure thing, babe," just to see him falter for once.

he did. victory.

a small hitch in his breath, the slightest widening of his eyes before he recovered.

but then soobin took it up a notch.

his arm slid around your shoulders as you stood in line for another drink, his touch casual but deliberate, his palm warm through the fabric of your shirt. his voice dropping near your ear. "you're doing good, darling."

your spine went rigid. "we didn't agree to this."

"we didn't not agree to it." his breath tickled your temple, warm and teasing. his fingers face your shoulder a light, reassuring squeeze. "relax. i'm not going to bite."

you elbowed him lightly—just firm enough to make him exhale sharply through his noce. "i might."

he laughed—a real, unfiltered sound, rich and bright, the kind that turned heads. the barista glanced over with a smile. like the two of you were just another cute couple in caught up in your own little world.

the realization made your stomach twist.

it's working too well.

the evening air had deepened into a soft indigo by the time you and soobin stepped out of the bookstore, the city lights flickering to life. he walked beside you, hands tucked into his pockets, close enough that his sleeve occasionally brushed your arm—just once, twice—each graze sending an unwelcome spark of awareness through you.

too close.

"so," he said, nodding toward a place down the street—a cozy restaurant with warm light spilling from its windows. "next phase of rehearsal."

"ugh." you groaned. "there's more?"

"of course." he shot you a side long glance. "how do you think couples sit? side by side? across from each other?"

you hesitated. "...side by side?"

"depends on the couple." he slowed his steps, turning to face you. "but for our purpose? you'll want to be close enough so that i can—" his hand hovered near your back, not quite touching. "—guide you to your seat. maybe steal a bite of your food. all very normal boyfriend things."

you narrowed your eyes. "you're really committed to this method acting."

"i'm thorough." he corrected, reaching out to tug gently at the sleeve of your sweater. "come on. time to prove you won't get flustered if i hold your hand in public.

you swatted at him, but he dodged, already stepping backwards toward the restaurant, grinning.

the restaurant was dimly lit, amber lighting that made everything feel just a little more intimate. the hum of conversation and clinking silverware filling the space between you and soobin as you picked at your pasta. surprisingly, the conversation had been... easy. no awkward silences, no stilted exchanges—just normal, almost comfortable small talk.

progress.

"so," soobin said, swirling his wine glass. "what's your favorite movie?"

you narrowed your eyes. "why?"

"because if someone asks me what my girlfriend likes, i should know." he smirked, leaning back in his chair. the candlelight caught the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips. "unless you want me to make something up."

you sighed. "fast and furious."

"really?" he tilted his head. "i totally called you as a rom-com person."

"why? because i'm a girl?" you shot back, voice dry.

"no, because you're clearly a masochist who enjoys emotional suffering." he gestured to himself. "case in point: you hired me."

you snorted despite yourself. "wow. self-burn."

"i'm self-aware." he took a sip of wine. "your turn. ask me something." he added, setting the glass down.

you hesitated, swirling your fork in the pasta absentmindedly. "why do you do this? the whole... fake boyfriend thing."

soobin's fingers stilled on his glass. for a second, you thought he wouldn't answer. then he shrugged. "money's good. hours are flexible."

"that's it?"

"what else is there?" his tone was light, almost teasing, but there was something guarded in his expression.

you studied him. "most people don't fall into jobs like this."

"and most people don't hire fake boyfriends to spite their exes." he arched a brow. "yet here we are."

the waiter came by to refill your water, and soobin took the opportunity to slide his hand over yours on the table—casual, effortless. like he'd done it a hundred times before.

you tensed.

"relax," he murmured, thumb brushing your knuckles. "we're supposed to look like a couple remember?"

"i am relaxed."

"you're gripping that fork like you're about to stab me." he observed, nodding toward your white knuckled hold on the utensil.

you loosened your fingers with a huff. "this is weird for me, okay? i'm not used to—" you gestured vaguely at your joined hands. "—this."

"i noticed." he leaned in slightly, voice dropping. "you're my most difficult client yet."

"sorry to ruin your perfect track record," you muttered, resisting the urge to yank your hand away.

soobin chuckled. "don't be. it's kind of refreshing."

you blinked. "what?"

"most clients are too eager. they forget this is pretend." his gaze flicked over to your face. "you? you don't even want to like me."

a flush crept up your neck. "that's not—"

"it's fine." he squeezed your hand once before letting go. "makes my job easier."

by dessert, you'd almost—almost—gotten used to the way soobin's arm draped over the back of your chair, his fingertips occasionally brushing your shoulder.

"okay, next test," he said, nudging your foot under the table with the toe of his shoe. "what's my favorite color?"

you frowned stabbing your fork into your cake. "how am i supposed to know that?"

"you've been dating me for two months," he said, stealing a bite of your dessert. "you should know these things."

"ugh. fine." you eyed him. "blue."

"wrong."

"green?"

"nope."

you groaned. "just tell me."

soobin grinned, licking a smear of chocolate frosting from his thumb. "i don't have one."

"that's not a real answer."

"sure it is. some people don't have favorites." he stole another bite, unfazed by your glare. "but now you know."

you swatted his hand away. "you're impossible."

"and you're stubborn." he leaned back. "but we're making it work."

the night air had turned crisp, the streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement as you as soobin stepped out of the restaurant. the dinner had gone surprisingly well—no major slip-ups, no awkward silences, just two people who were almost starting to feel like friends.

but now, as the reality of the evening settled in, you hesitated at the curb, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself.

"i'll just call a cab," you said, already pulling out your phone, the screen's harsh glow illuminating your face in the dark.

soobin frowned, glancing at the time on his watch. "it's almost midnight."

"and?"

"and i'm not letting you take a cab alone this late." he dug out his keys out of his pocket, nodding toward the parking lot. "i'll drive you."

you stiffened. "that wasn't part of the plan."

"neither was you nearly choking when i called you babe in front of the waiter, but we adapted." he raised an eyebrow, the streetlight catching the amusement in his eyes. "come on. it's just a ride."

you opened your mouth to argue—then stopped. he was right. it was just a ride. and yet, the idea of being alone with him in the close confines of a car, the quiet intimacy of the shared space, made your pulse skip in a way you didn't want to examine.

"fine," you muttered. "but only because cabs are expensive."

soobin grinned. "whatever you say."

the moment you slid into the passenger seat, you were hit with the quiet intimacy of his space. the interior was clean but undeniably lived-in—a faint scent of coffee lingering in the air, a half-empty pack of gum in the cupholder, its wrapper slightly crumpled from frequent use. the stereo screen glowed softly, displaying a playlist with familiar-sounding titles, the kind of music that had clearly been played enough times to become a habit.

it felt strangely personal, like stepping into a part of his life he hadn't rehearsed for you.

you buckled your seatbelt, hyper-aware of the way the leather cracked under your weight.

"address?" he asked, tapping the gps screen.

you hesitated, curling your fingers into the edge of your seat. "you don't have to do this."

"i know." he glanced at you, fingers hovering over the screen. "but i'm going to. so."

you sighed and rattled off your address, watching as he typed it in with quick, efficient movements. the gps chirped to life, calculating the route, and then the engine rumbled beneath you as he pulled out onto the road.

silence settled in between you, the kind that was neither comfortable nor tense—just there, filling the space like a third passenger.

you fiddled with the hem of your sleeve. "thanks. for the ride, i mean."

soobin kept his eyes on the road, one hand resting loosely on the wheel. "don't mention it."

another silence. the city lights streaked past the windows, painting his profile in flashes of gold and shadow—the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lower lip, the way his lashes cast faint shadows under his eyes.

"you're quiet," he said finally.

"i'm tired."

"liar." he smirked. "you're overthinking."

you shot him a look. "you don't know that."

"i do." he mimicked an exaggerated thinking face, wrinkling his brow until you snorted despite yourself. "you get this little crease between your eyebrows."

"okay, fine. maybe i'm overthinking." you slumped back in your seat. "this whole thing just feels... surreal."

"which part?"

"all of it." you gestured vaguely. "the fake dating. the practice dinner. the fact that i'm in your car like some weird, reverse first date."

soobin chuckled. "it is a little backwards, isn't it?"

"a little?"

he shrugged. "most people get to know each other before they start pretending to be in love."

"yeah, well. most people don't hire professionals to make their exes jealous."

"true." he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "but for what it's worth, you're not the worst fake girlfriend i've ever had."

you rolled your eyes. "wow. high praise."

"take the compliment."

the gps chimed, announcing a turn, and soobin smoothly switched lanes, the car gliding through the night. you watched his hands on the wheel—long fingers, relaxed grip—and wondered, absurdly, how many clients he'd driven home like this.

"you're staring," he said without looking at you.

you quickly averted your gaze. "i was zoning out."

"sure."

another silence, this one heavier.

"so," you said, desperate to fill it, "how many of these fake relationships have you done?"

soobin exhaled through his nose, amused. "that's a very personal question."

"you know everything about me at this point," you pointed out. "it's only fair."

he considered that, then shrugged. "enough to know what i'm doing."

"that's not an answer."

"it's the only one you're getting."

you huffed. "you're annoying."

"and you're nosy." he shot you a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth tilting up. "but i'll tell you this much—you're the most persistent client i know."

"is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"haven't decided yet."

the car rolled to a stop outside your apartment building, the engine humming softly beneath the hood as it idled. for a moment, neither of you moved.

"well," you said, unbuckling your seatbelt. "thanks again."

soobin nodded, his fingers still resting lightly on the steering wheel. "don't forget—we've got one more practice session before the dinner."

you groaned, tipping your head back against the seat. "another one? do we have to?"

"yes." his tone left no room for argument. "we're not risking all this effort because you get flustered when i hold your hand."

"i don't get flustered—"

"you absolutely do."

you shot him a half-hearted scowl, though the effect was ruined by the way your lips twitched, fighting a smile. "fine. just one more."

"good." he smirked—infuriatingly smug. "i'll text you."

you hesitated, hand on the door handle. something about the moment felt... unfinished. like there was more to say, but you didn't know what.

in the end, you just nodded. "night, soobin."

"night, babe."

you shot him a glare, but he was already grinning. the streetlights catching the mischief in his eyes, the curve of his mouth.

shaking your head, you pushed the door open and stepped out into the cool night air, the sound of his laughter lingering behind you like an echo.

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

© bangtanbeom 2025

[bangtanbeom]

⋆˚࿔ perfect match 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

pairing: rentalbf!soobin x fem!reader genre: fluff, comedy? (debatable), fake dating au summary: desperate to escape your friends matchmaking, a small lie spirals out of control. soobin—your charming, professional, rental boyfriend—the perfect answer. but what if the hardest part won't be fooling your friends and your ex? what if it’s reminding your own heart it's all fake? w/c: ~3k warning: not entirely proofread, fluff (might be cringe), an attempt at humor. a/n: hi! welcome to another story (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ i had this idea for years and recently i've been reading so many fake dating webtoons and it motivated me to finally start writing this one! and i thought soobin would be a perfect fit for the perfect boyfriend image. i'm excited how this one will turn out! enjoy <3

the cafe buzzed with chatter, the scent of vanilla lattes and fresh pastries filling the air. you stirred your iced coffee absentmindedly, half-listening to your friend's conversation—until mina leaned forward, eyes gleaming with mischief.

"so," she said, tapping her nails against the table. "i met this amazing guy at the gym last week. tall, sweet, works in finance. you have to meet him."

you sighed, already knowing where this was going. "mina, no."

"oh, come on!" jia chimed in, nudging your arm. "you ghosted every guy after the blind dates and you're rarely out of the house since you got dumped. it's been months!"

"and i'm fine with that," you said, though the words tasted hollow even to you.

mina scoffed. "liar. you've been buried in work, and your idea of fun friday night is rewatching 'reply 1988' alone. again."

you opened your mouth to argue, but jia cut in before you. "just one more blind date. if you hate him, we'll never bring it up again."

a headache was forming between your temples. you loved your friends, but their relentless matchmaking was exhausting, and you knew they would definitely bring it up again. before you could think better of it, the words tumbled out.

"i am seeing someone."

silence.

mina's spoon clattered against her cup. jia's eyes widened.

"what?" they said in unison.

your stomach dropped. you hadn't planned this—there was no name, no face, just the desperate need to make them stop.

jia recovered first. "since when? who is he? why haven't you mentioned him before?"

"it's... new," you hedged, scrambling for details. "we're taking it slow."

they exchanged glances, and you braced yourself for interrogation—but then mina's expression softened. "well... we're happy for you. seriously."

jia nodded. "but you have to bring him to the dinner next week. you know, the one where he might show up."

your ex. the one who'd made you feel small, replaceable. the reason you'd taken a break from dating in the first place.

a cold knot formed in your chest. you couldn't show up alone. you weren't ready to face him, especially when you were still hurt.

"of course," you heard yourself say. "he'll be there."

as your friends cheered, your mind raced.

what have i just done?

you had exactly eight days to find the perfect boyfriend.

and he didn't even exist.

the moment you stepped into your apartment, the weight of your lie crashed down on you.

eight days.

eight days to produce a boyfriend out of thin air—one charming enough to convince your friends everything's going well, impressive enough to make your ex regret everything, and believable enough to not get caught in your own web.

you groaned and face-planted onto the couch.

"this is a disaster."

your phone buzzed. a text from mina.

mina: can't wait to meet your mystery man! tell me everything about him!!

you stared at the screen, your fingers hovering uselessly over the keyboard. what could you say? that your imaginary boyfriend was tall? kind? had a nice voice? that was all you had—vague traits you'd daydreamed about but had never actually found in real life.

you typed back:

you: haha i'll tell you more later!

and immediately threw your phone across the couch like it had burned you.

the next morning, you dragged yourself to work, dark circles under your eyes from a night spent spiraling. your coworker, yeonjun, took one look at you and whistled.

"wow. who died?"

"my dignity," you muttered, slumping into your chair.

he rolled his chair closer, intrigued. "okay, drama queen. spill."

you hesitated. but yeonjun was the king of bad decisions—if anyone had advice on digging yourself out of a hole, it was him.

so you told him.

his eyebrows shot up. then burst out laughing.

"oh my god. you actually told them you had a boyfriend?"

"shut up." you hissed, glancing around the office. "i panicked!"

yeonjun wiped a tear from his eye. "okay, okay. so just... find a guy to pretend for one night. easy."

you blinked. "easy?"

"yeah! get a friend to do it. or—" his eyes lit up. "oh! rent one."

you stared at him. "a boyfriend?"

"yeah! it's a thing. there are, like, agencies for that. super professional." he pulled out his phone. "look, here's one—'perfect match rentals.' they specialize in fake dates, events, all that."

your stomach twisted. was this really your only option?

yeonjun smirked. "unless you wanna tell them you lied?"

you shuddered. no. absolutely not. they'd never let you live it down. you already dug the hole for yourself—too deep. and let's not start about your ex.

with a deep breath, you nodded.

"fine. let's rent me a boyfriend."

yeonjun swiped through his phone with the enthusiasm of a kid in a candy store. "okay, let's see what we've got here. perfect match rentals—professional, discreet, and way too many good-looking guys."

you leaned over his shoulder, squinting at the screen. the agency's website was sleek, polished and slightly intimidating. rows of profiles stared back at you—smiling, smoldering, some even holding puppies for maximum charm.

"this feels illegal," you muttered.

yeonjun scoffed. "illegal would be if we were hiring a hitman. this is just... strategic dating."

you shot him a look.

he grinned. "relax. think of it like ordering food. you're just picking the perfect dish for the occasion."

you sighed. "fine. let's see the menu."

yeonjun tapped the first profile. "ooh, check out jackson. 29, business man, speaks three languages. his tagline is literally: 'impress your collegues—or your ex.'"

you squinted at the photo of a sharp-jawed man in a tailored suit. "he looks like he owns a yacht."

"exactly! your ex would hate that."

"yeah, but he also looks like he'd side-eye me for using the wrong fork."

yeonjun snorted. "okay, fair. next!" he swiped. "oh! jaeyun. 25, specialty: 'the kind your mom would love to.' look at his smile! he probably bakes cookies."

you tilted your head. "he's cute, but..."

"but what?"

"i don't need a golden retriever in human form. my ex would think i downgraded to a puppy."

yeonjun groaned. "you're impossible." swipe. "alright, how about taehyung? 27, 'mysterious artist' vibe. look at that smolder."

in the photo, a brooding guy in all black stared moodily at the camera, a paintbrush behind his ear.

you deadpanned. "i don't need my fake boyfriend giving me cryptic one-word answers all night."

"ugh, fine." yeonjun scrolled furter, muttering. "sweet but not boring, handsome but not intimidating, confident but not arrogant..." then he froze.

"oh."

you frowned. "what?"

he turned the screen toward you.

the profile photo showed a guy with soft, warm eyes and a dimpled smile that felt like spring. he wasn't posing dramatically—just leaning against a cafe chair, looking at the camera like he already knew you.

name: soobin age: 24 specialty: the boyfriend experience

your breath caught.

yeonjun's voice dropped to a whisper. "damn."

you swallowed. "he's..."

"exactly what you need," yeonjun finished, grinning.

you hesitated. "but what if he's too good? what if my friends think i'm lying because there's no way someone like him would date me?"

yeonjun rolled his eyes. "first of all, rude to yourself. second—that's the point. he's supposed to make it believable." he tapped the screen. "look at his reviews. five star across the board. 'made my parents adore him.' 'had my ex seething with jealousy.' 'felt like a real relationship.'

you bit your lip.

yeonjun smirked. "so... should i book him?"

you took a deep breath.

"do it."

yeonjun's fingers flew across his phone screen with terrifying enthusiasm. "aaand—booked." he grinned at you, satisfied. "you're officially getting a fake boyfriend."

your stomach flipped. "wait, already? what did you even put in the request?"

"relax," he said, waving his phone. "just the basics—dinner with friends, ex will be there, need someone to make you look like the ultimate glow-up." he scrolled through the confirmation email. "oh, and he'll meet you tomorrow at 6 PM to go over details."

you nearly choked. "tomorrow?!"

yeonjun shrugged. "professionalism, baby. this guy doesn't mess around."

you groaned, dragging your hands down your face. "i can't believe i'm doing this.

"believe it," yeonjun said, slinging an arm around your shoulders. "by the time next week, your ex will be crushed, your friends will be shocked, and you—" he poked your cheek. "—will owe me big for saving your ass."

you swatted him away, but a nervous laugh escaped. "this is either going to be the best decision of my life or a spectacular disaster."

yeonjun winked. "best part? either way, it'll be entertaining. for me."

the glow of your phone screen was the only light in the darkened room, casting long shadows across the piled of discarded clothing thrown over your bed. you stared at the text from mina, the words blurring as your eyes burned from lack of sleep.

mina: omg he said yes?? so he's coming? super funn!

you tossed the phone aside with a groan, letting it sink into the sea of fabric surrounding you. the digital clock on your nightstand ticked over to 1:18 AM, the red numbers glowing in the darkness.

"this is ridiculous," you muttered to the empty room, flopping back onto the mattress. a misplaced coat hanger stabbing into your shoulder, and you batted it away with more force than necessary.

the ceiling fan spun lazy circles above you as your mind raced through the same exhausting loop it had been stuck in for hours.

outfit. story. backstory. cancellation.

a nervous laugh bubbled up as you imagines explaining this to someone.

i'll be meeting my fake boyfriend tomorrow to plan our fake relationship for a dinner where my very real ex will be watching.

your phone buzzed again.

yeonjun: stop overthinking and go to sleep. you have a hot date tomorrow.

you scowled at the message.

you: it's NOT a date. it's a business meeting.

yeonjun: sure. whatever helps you sleep at night.

you rolled onto your stomach, burying your face in a pillow that smelled faintly of fabric softener and regret. the scent reminded you of laundry day, which reminded you of chores, which reminded you of all the very normal, very boring things you should be worrying about instead of this elaborate charade.

the sweater you'd tried on earlier—the soft cream one with the delicate embroidery at the collar—laid crumpled near your feet. it had been the frontrunner before the great wardrobe purge of midnight. classy but casual. approachable but put together. the perfect 'i didn't try too hard but still want to make a good impression' outfit.

not that you were trying to impress anyone.

except, well.

you groaned again, louder this time, as if the sound could exorcise the butterflies staging a rebellion in your stomach.

a glance at the clock. 1:37 AM

with a sudden burst of determination, you sat up and grabbed your laptop. the screen flared to life, illuminating your tired face in the dark room.

"backstory," you muttered to yourself, fingers hovering over the keys. "we need a believable backstory."

the blank document stared back at you, cursor blinking expectantly.

how did we meet?

your fingers tapped out possibilities:

coffee shop (cliche)

mutual friends (vague)

work connection (too easy to fact check)

you deleted them all with a frustrated backspace barrage.

the reality of what you were doing settled over you like a heavy blanket. you were about to pay a stranger to pretend care about you. to look at you with affection that wasn't real. to spin lies so convincing your closest friends would believe them.

your fingers stilled on the keyboard.

maybe you should cancel.

the thought brought both relief and a strange pang of disappointment. you could text yeonjun right now, tell him to call it off. you'd face the teasing from your friends, sure, but at least you wouldn't be living this lie.

your phone buzzed again, startling you.

unknown number: hi, this is soobin from perfect match. looking forward to meeting you tomorrow at 6. let me know if you have any special requests for our backstory.

your breath caught.

he texted like a normal person. no corporate speak, no weird formality.

you stared at the message, thumbs hovering over the screen. what did one say to their rented significant other?

looking forward to being fake-dating you?

before you could overthink it, you typed:

you: hi! likewise, no special requests—just need to survive dinner with my ex.

you hit sent before you could second-guess yourself, then immediately cringed.

"survive dinner with my ex?" you muttered. "what are you, twelve?"

the three dots appeared almost immediately.

soobin: ah, the classic revenge fake-dating scenario. don't worry. i've got plenty of experience making exes regret their life choices.

a surprised laugh escaped you

you: that's weirdly comforting.

soobin: that's what i'm here for. see you tomorrow. try to get some sleep.

you stared at the message, something warm yet nerve-wrecking feeling unfurling in your chest. maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

closing the laptop, you finally turned off the light. outside the window, the city hummed its nighttime lullaby, and for the first time that evening, your mind grew quiet too.

tomorrow would come, with all its complications and charades. but for now, in the dark, you let yourself imagine—just for a moment—what might feel like to have someone like soobin, just someone in general, look at you like you were the only person in the room.

even if it was all pretend.

the cafe was too bright.

that was your first thought as you hovered outside the entrance, fingers nervously adjusting the strap of your bag for the twelfth time in two minutes. the afternoon sun glinted off the glass windows, making the entire establishment look like it was under a spotlight—which, of course, only amplified your growing sense of dread.

this was a mistake.

you checked your phone again. 5:58 PM. two minutes early.

your stomach twisted.

you could still leave. you should leave. this whole thing was absurd. who hired a boyfriend? who pretended to be in a relationship just to save face in front of their ex?

you... apparently.

with a deep breath, you pushed open the door.

the scent of roasted coffee beans and warm pastries wrapped around you as you stepped inside. it was cozy—wooden tables, soft jazz playing in the background, the low hum of conversations. a few people glanced up as you entered, and you immediately stiffened, suddenly hyper-aware of how out of place you felt.

was it obvious why you were here?

you swallowed hard and scanned the room.

then you saw him.

soobin.

he was sitting near the back, one hand curled around a coffee cup, the other tapping idly on his phone. he looked... normal.

not in a bad way. just—human?

no flashy suit, no over-the-top charm oozing from his posture. just a guy in a soft-looking sweater, his hair slightly messy like he'd run a hand through it one too many times.

and then he looked up.

your breath hitched.

his eyes—warm, brown, kind—met yours, and for a second, you forgot how to move.

then he smiled.

not a practiced, customer-service smile. not a smirk. just a small, genuine tilt of his lips, like he was happy to see you.

it threw you off completely.

you forced your legs to work, weaving through the tables until you stood awkwardly in front of him.

"hi," you said, voice slightly too high. "you're soobin, right?"

he nodded, setting his phone down. "yeah. and you must be my date for next weekend."

his voice was deeper than you expected. calm. steady.

you nodded, then realized you were just standing there like an idiot.

"right. yeah. should i—" you gestured awkwardly at the chair across from him.

"please," he said, motioning for you to sit.

you did, gripping the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping you from floating away.

it lasted approximately three seconds.

three agonizing seconds where you stared at your hands, at the table, at the wall behind him—anywhere but at him—while he just... waited. patient. unfazed.

finally, you blurted out:

"this is weird."

soobin blinked. then, to your surprise, he laughed—a soft, warm sound.

"yeah," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. "it kind of is."

the honestly caught you off guard.

"you're not going to pretend this is totally normal?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

he shrugged. "would you believe me if i did?"

"...no."

"exactly." he took a sip of his coffee. "so. let's just acknowledge it's weird, and then move on."

you exhaled, shoulders loosening slightly. "okay. yeah. that helps."

another silence.

"so," you tried again, "how long have you been, uh, doing this?"

"renting myself out as a fake boyfriend?"

you cringed. "when you say it like that, it sounds bad."

he grinned. "about a year. mostly for events like this—dinners, parties, the occasional family gathering."

"do you... like it?"

"it pays well," he said simply. then, after a pause, "and sometimes, it's nice. helping people out, i mean."

you studied him. there was something in his tone—not quite sadness, but... understanding. like he got why someone would do this.

"so," he said, setting his cup down, "tell me about this dinner."

you sighed, rubbing your temples. "right. okay. so my ex is going to be there—"

"right, yes. revenge."

you shot him a look. "it's not revenge. it's just... a lie that got out of hand." you trailed off.

"sounds like revenge." he supplied, smirking.

you groaned. "fine. maybe a little."

he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "i'm listening."

and so you explained—the lie, your friends, the never-ending blind dates, the way your stomach churned at the thought of showing up alone while he got to parade around with his new girlfriend—the same girl he had cheated on you with.

soobin nodded along, his expression shifting between amusement and something softer—sympathy, maybe.

when you finished, he hummed. "okay. so we need a backstory."

"right."

"how did we meet?"

you hesitated. "i was thinking... coffees shop?"

he raised an eyebrow. "like this?"

"too obvious?"

"a little." he tapped his fingers against the table. "what about... a bookstore? you were reaching for the same book, we got to talking..."

you blinked. "that's... actually kind of cute."

"i have my moments," he said dryly, but there was a playful glint in his eyes.

"okay, bookstore it is," you agreed, "and we've been dating for...?"

"two months. long enough to be serious, not so long that it's weird they haven't met me yet."

you nodded, scribbling notes in your phone like this was some kind of bizarre business meeting.

"what do i do for work?" he asked.

"something impressive but not too impressive," you mused. "graphic designer?"

"perfect. and you?"

"same as real life. marketing."

he grinned. for the first time since you'd walked in, your shoulders loosened. maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

as you wrapped up the details—favorite foods, pet peeves, how you like your coffee—you caught yourself laughing at something he said.

laughing.

with your fake boyfriend.

the absurdity of it all hit you again, but this time, it didn't feel like panic. it felt like... fun.

soobin leaned back in his chair, studying you with an amused expression. "you're not as nervous anymore."

you blinked. "i'm not?"

"nope. your shoulders dropped about ten minutes ago."

you hadn't even noticed.

"guess you're just that good at your job," you muttered.

he smiled—not the polite one from earlier but something warmer. "or maybe you're just not as awkward as you think you are."

you rolled your eyes, but couldn't help but smile.

"so," he said, finishing the last of his coffee, "we good for next week?"

you took a deep breath. "yeah. we're good."

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

© bangtanbeom 2025

[bangtanbeom]

*•.¸undeniably yours¸.•*' bonus

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / bonus ୨♡୧

pairing: beomgyu x fem!reader genre: fluff, strangers to friends to lovers , college AU, slow burn (trying to). summary: you and beomgyu are partnered for a group project, the connection starts off as simple friendship. but as you share quiet moments, unspoken glances, and moments of vulnerability, the lines between friendship and something more begin to blur. w/c: 611 warning: not entirely proofread, fluff (might be cringe), an attempt at humor. a/n: HEYY thats it. its done. i suck at finishing stories, i always drag things out too long and don't know how to end it. it could've been better. feedback is always appreciated! at least i enjoyed writing it, it was a way to get these random scenarios out of my head. i love you, the nice comments and the likes you're making me cry ;-; THANK YOU A LOT EVERYONE!! and don't forget to stream love language! <3

sunlight spilled through the half-open blinds, streaking gold across the rumpled sheets. you stirred, blinking against the light—then froze.

there was an arm slung over your waist, fingers curled loosely into the fabric of beomgyu's hoodie that you stole. a warm weight pressed against your back, steady breaths ruffling your hair.

oh.

right.

you turned around slowly, and there he was—beomgyu, mouth slightly open, one cheek smushed against the pillow, his hair an absolute disaster, and his lashes fluttering as he dreamed. you'd seen him like this a hundred times—passed out on the couch after movie nights, slumped over his notebook in the library—but never this close.

your chest did something dangerous.

carefully, you reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

beomgyu's nose scrunched. then his eyes blinked open, slow and drowsy, pupils blown wide with sleep. for a second, he just stared at you, uncomprehending. then—

realization.

his lips curved into that infuriating, lopsided grin, the one that made your stomach flip.

"morning," he rasped, voice rough with sleep.

you swallowed. "morning."

his gaze flicked over your face, lingering on your lips, then back up.

"so," he said, dragging the word out like he was savoring it. "just to confirm..." his fingers slid down to your wrist, tracing your delicate skin. "you don't actually hate me?"

you groaned, shoving at his shoulder. "i take it back. i do hate you."

he caught your hand, laughing , and tugged you flush against him. "liar," he murmured, lips brushing your knuckles. "you like me. you're obsessed with me."

"in your dreams."

"oh definitely." his grin turned wicked. "you should've seen the one i had last—"

the bedroom door flew open with a force that rattled the frame.

"OH MY GOD."

soobin's voice boomed, loud enough to shake the ceiling. his usual calm face twisted in pure unadulterated disgust, a half-eaten sandwich clutched in one hand like a weapon. his gaze darted between you—still tangled in beomgyu's sheets, beomgyu's arm very obviously around your waist—grinning like an idiot.

"I TOLD YOU TO TALK—NOT—NOT WHATEVER THIS IS—"

beomgyu didn't even flinch. just sighed and pulled the blanket over your head like a shield. "soobin. knocking. it's a thing."

"KNOCKING?" soobin's voice cracked. "i've been listening to you mope for DAYS—'oh she hates me, oh i'm unlovable, oh, soobin, play me a sad song on the world's tiniest violin'—AND NOW YOU'RE—YOU'RE—" he gestured wildly at the two of you, nearly smacking himself in the face with the sandwich. "I LIVE HERE TOO, YOU ANIMALS."

beomgyu gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "soobin. what are you implying? we slept. like, actual sleeping. with no funny business—"

"i don't care. i'm burning the couch."

"wait—why the couch?"

"because i heard you two whispering at 3 a.m. like creeps," soobin said, his face filled with disgust. "and now i have to live with this? unbelievable."

you peeked out from under the blanket. "we didn't do anything weird." you pointed out.

"THAT'S NOT THE POINT."

beomgyu propped himself up on one elbow, grinning. "you're just jealous because your love life isn't as exciting."

soobin's eyes twitched. he took a deep breath, then slowly—dramatically—took a huge bite from his sandwich, staring at beomgyu dead in the eyes. "i hope you hit your little toe against the bed frame," he declared. then he spun on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door.

silence.

then—the door swung open for a second time, revealing soobin, pointing an accusing finger at the fridge. "and for the record—no more banana milk hoarding! i found six cartons in there. six."

before any of you could respond back, he slammed the door again.

you groaned, stealing beomgyu's pillow. "we're switching to strawberry."

beomgyu's lips planted soft kisses on your forehead and chuckled softly. "hm? i like strawberry more than banana anyways."

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / bonus ୨♡୧

© bangtanbeom 2025

[bangtanbeom]

’*•.¸undeniably yours¸.•*’ 3

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / bonus ୨♡୧

pairing: beomgyu x fem!reader genre: fluff (this part leans more to angst) , strangers to friends to ? , college AU, slow burn (trying to), summary: you and beomgyu are partnered for a group project, the connection starts off as simple friendship. but as you share quiet moments, unspoken glances, and moments of vulnerability, the lines between friendship and something more begin to blur. w/c: ~4.2k warnings: not entirely proofread, couple of curse words, bit angsty a/n: i still can't thank everyone enough! your comments, reblogs and likes make me sososo happy. i check and reread every comment at least 10 times a day <3 i was so deep in my own imagination while writing this, that i made it more angsty than i wanted to, i'm sorry. i really wanted to make an all fluff story for once, but i guess i like pain, agony and drama, i did enjoy writing it but sorrysorry oops LOVE LANGUAGE IS FINALLY OUT AAAA i pulled an allnighter for this while writing and waiting, im going to bed now bye <3 taglist: for the cuties who wanted to be tagged <3 @thearcherbeomgyu | @georgeweasleys-gf | @urfavmaknae | @eumpappasmom | @jisungooner |

the sunlight poured through the cafe's large windows, painting stripes of gold over wooden tables. outside the cherry blossoms filled the street, their petals swirling like confetti against the blue sky. a girl sat across from him, her fingers curled around the edges of his notebook like she owned it. her smile as bright as the sun combined with her effortless beauty.

and beomgyu—

he was smiling—not his usual lopsided grin, but something softer, intentional, his fingers tapping the table to a rhythm only they seemed to know.

your stomach twisted.

soobin nudged you. "they've been working on that song for weeks. it's good."

"cool," you said, too quickly. the words tasted sour.

you turned to the counter, where the barista—who knew your order by heart—was already sliding a steaming mug your way.

"banana latte, extra cinnamon," she said with a wink. "he paid ahead. said you'd need it after your exam."

the mug burned your palms. he'd remembered. of course he had. beomgyu always remembered—the way you took your drink, your fear of the dark, the fact that you hated studying for exams alone.

you took a sip. it was perfect.

and it made you furious.

because right then, he was leaning toward the girl, his brow furrowed in that way it only did when he was truly listening, and—

she reached out.

just a brush of her fingers against his wrist, a fleeting thing. but beomgyu didn't pull away.

your throat tightened. the sweet latte tasted bitter on your tongue.

you set the mug down too hard, the sound drowned out by the cafe's chatter.

soobin raised an eyebrow. "you okay?"

"perfect," you lied. "but i have to go."

the door jingled again as you left, the warmth of the latte still lingering on your palms.

your feet carried you blindly through the streets, past laughing couples and slow-walking tourists. the world snapped into clarity—the too-loud scrape of a chair against the pavement, the shriek of a child's laughter, the sound of a text notification that wasn't his.

you pulled out your phone. unlocked it. closed it.

unlocked it again.

you found it. the girl's instagram was right there. you told yourself you wouldn't.

but you did.

her latest post was a blurry shot of sheet music spread across a cafe table—our table—with beomgyu's hands just visible in the corner.

your thumb hovered over the photo. if you clicked it, you'd see his comment. if you didn't, you'd imagine it.

so you imagined it.

the replay in your head was worse than the actual moment.

the way she touched his notebook, the cherry blossoms swirling outside, through the window behind them—looking like a scene from a romantic drama.

the notebook—the same notebook with your stupid doodles in the margins, the one he'd shoved at you last week with a grin,

"write something here. make it deep."

his smile. not the teasing one, not the one he used as armor—the real one. the one you thought—

no. it doesn't mean anything.

so what if he was sitting next to her? so what if she touched his wrists?

it didn't have to mean anything.

you'd seen him like that a hundred times—laughing with soobin, nodding along to some professor's rambling, humming under his breath while he scribbled lyrics.

this wasn't different. was it?

you kicked a pebble. it skittered across the sidewalk and smacked into a trash can with a hollow clink.

your stomach twisted, over and over again.

why did it bother you so much?

you were just friends.

the friend who stole his hoodies and laughed at his stupid jokes. the one who noticed the way his voice softened when he was tired, or the way his fingers tapped restless rhythms against his thigh when he was thinking.

just—

your steps faltered.

oh.

oh no.

this wasn't just annoyance. this wasn't just friendship.

this was—

no. no. no.

you couldn't. you wouldn't.

because if you admitted it, even to yourself, everything would change, and you couldn't lose him. you couldn't.

unbelievable.

you were overreacting.

maybe you were just tired. maybe you were reading into things. maybe the way your chest ached when he smiled at her was just—

indigestion.

this wasn't jealousy. it couldn't be.

except your chest tightened when he smiled at her.

your phone buzzed, a notification lit up your screen.

beomgyu: you left?

the three dots appeared. disappeared. so did your breath.

then—

nothing.

you stared blankly at your textbook, the words swimming before your eyes. your phone buzzed for the third time in twenty minutes, the screen lighting up with another message from beomgyu. you didn't need to look to know what it said—another attempt at his usual banter, another question—another attempt to close the distance that was created by you.

your fingers hovered over the keyboard. last week, you would have responded with a sarcastic joke or ridiculous meme. now, your thumbs moved mechanically.

you: sorry, busy studying. talk later.

you hit send before you could second-guess yourself, immediately feeling the emptiness of the words. the message stared back at you, its distant tone—a stark contrast to the colorful, emoji-filled exchanges that used to fill your chat history.

beomgyu sat in his apartment room floor, guitar resting on his lap. his phone screen lit up as your message appeared, his chest tightening at your short response.

soobin watched from his bed seeing the way his roommate's shoulder slumped slightly.

"still nothing?" soobin asked gently, his eyebrows furrowed slightly in sympathy.

beomgyu shook his head, thumbs brushing over his phone screen.

"she's just... different now." he forced a laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "maybe i finally annoyed her into hating me."

beomgyu tried to rationalize it.

maybe you were stressed about midterms. maybe you were mad at him for something he didn't remember doing. maybe you were just tired.

but then—

you stopped sitting next to him in lectures.

you stopped laughing at his jokes.

you stopped looking at him.

and that—that stung.

one afternoon, he cornered you after class, blocking your exit with his body, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. "did i do something?"

you blinked. "what?"

"you've been avoiding me."

your throat tightened. "i haven't."

"bullshit." he rolled his eyes, his tone light-hearted, but lingered with a slight tone of frustration—desperation, maybe.

you forced a weak laugh.

his fingers twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for you but didn't know if he was allowed anymore.

beomgyu exhaled, his cheerful facade slightly disappearing, he was running a hand through his hair. "just—tell me what i did."

you didn't do anything. it's me.

you opened your mouth. closed it.

beomgyu's jaw tightened, not able to hide his expression anymore. "if you don't want to be friends anymore, just say it."

your chest ached.

"that's not—" you cut yourself off, shaking your head. "i don't—"

i don't want to just be friends.

the words sat heavy on your tongue, unspoken.

beomgyu waited, hurt, concern, written over his face.

but you couldn't do it.

you gently pushed his body to the side. "i'm just really busy. i have to go."

campus was nearly empty. you didn't expect him to find you.

but of course he did.

because this was beomgyu. and beomgyu always found you.

when he found you sitting on a bench, your back against the sun-warmed brick wall. he approached with caution, holding two iced coffees like a white flag—almost looking like a peace offering.

"thought you could use this," he said, offering you the drink, the condensation dripped onto his fingers as he waited for you to take it.

you accepted the cup automatically, the cold shocked against your palm mirroring the discomfort twisting in your stomach. "thanks," you murmured, setting it beside you on the bench without taking a sip.

beomgyu's smile faltered. he took a long sip from his own cup just to have something to do with his hands.

"so... that midterm was brutal, huh? i swear, the professor takes pleasure in our suffering."

"yeah," you nodded without looking up from your notebook. "brutal."

silence stretched between you, thick and unfamiliar. beomgyu shifted his weight from foot to foot, the usual easy rhythm of your conversation nowhere to be found.

he tried again, forcing lightness into his voice, "you know, if you keep giving one-word answers, i'm going to start charging you per syllable."

the joke landed with a thud. you offered a weak smile. "sorry. just tired."

he studied your face—the way you avoided his gaze. the tense set of your shoulders. this wasn't tired. this was something else entirely. the realization settled heavy in his chest—you were pulling away, and he didn't understand why.

spring showers—the rain pattered against the music building's windows as you hurried down the hallway, desperate to make your next class on time. the sound of familiar laughter made you freeze mid-step.

through the practice room's small window, you saw beomgyu sitting at the piano, the same girl from the cafe perched beside him. her fingers danced over the keys as he leaned in to point at something in the sheet music, his face alight with that particular enthusiasm he only got when talking about music.

their heads bent close together, her dark hair brushing against his shoulder as she laughed at something he said. you watched, rooted to the spot, as beomgyu reached out to adjust her hand positions on the keys, his touch lingering onto hers just a second too long—in your opinion.

the scene burned itself into your retinas. you turned away sharply, your chest aching with something too close to jealousy for comfort. this was ridiculous. you had no claim on him. no right to feel this way.

yet the image followed you all the way to class—his easy smile, their comfortable closeness. the way he looked at her with none of the awkwardness that had crept into his interactions with you recently.

but this was what you wanted—the moment you decided to create that same distance between the two of you.

it wasn't supposed to be like this. you weren't supposed to care this much, but here you were—again—lying in your bed, staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers, replaying every stupid interaction, every laugh, every moment that had somehow led you here—to this.

you groaned, pressing the heels of your hand into your eyes until stars burst behind your lids.

idiot.

you had one job—keep things simple. keep things easy. and what did you do?

you went and fell for him.

the same person who still laughed with milk dripping down his chin, who stole your fries just to get a reaction, who looked at you like you were the only person in the room even when the room was full.

the same boy who was probably sitting in a cafe—strumming his guitar—with her, smiling like she'd hung the stars.

you squeezed your eyes shit.

stop.

but you couldn't

because the truth was, you hated this. the way your stomach twisted when you thought about him, the way your chest ached when he texted someone else. hated that you'd become that person—the one who reads too much into every glance, every touch, every stupid banana milk he handed you like it meant something.

and you messed up.

because right now, every time he looked at you, you froze, every time he joked, you forced a laugh. every time he tried to close the distance, you moved away.

and he noticed. of course he did.

and instead of fixing it, instead of just telling him—you ran.

"hey, by the way, i think i might be in love with you, and now i can't even look at you without wanting to scream. cool, right?"

no.

that wasn't happening.

because the second you said it out loud, everything would change. you couldn't—wouldn't—risk losing him. not when he meant this much.

so you did the only thing you could.

you pulled away, trying to get rid of those feelings.

and now, here you were—lying in bed, hating yourself for being weak, for being scared, for being the one who ruined the best thing you'd ever had.

all because you were stupid enough to fall for him.

your phone buzzed. again.

you didn't need to look to know who it was.

beomgyu—always beomgyu.

you sat back against the couch, the faint scent of him still clinging to the fabric of the hoodie he'd left behind.

the knock on your apartment door was sharp—impatient. you barely had time to set down your mug before your sister let herself in, her coat slightly damp from the drizzle outside.

"you're ignoring mom's calls," she announced, toeing off her shoes. "and don't say you're 'busy'."

you groaned, flopping back onto the couch.

she flopped beside you, stealing your half-eaten bag of chips. "is this about that guy? beomgyu?" the way she said his name—like it was a secret she'd caught you writing in a diary—made your throat tighten.

"no," you said too quickly. "we're just friends."

she raised a brow. "the kind of friend you ignore calls for?" she smirked. "or the kind you like?"

you rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, averting your gaze. "god, you're so delusional. he's just—" you waved a hand, scrambling for the right word.

annoying. loud. not at all the kind of person who makes your chest ache when he laughs.

"—he's a friend. barely. more like a nuisance."

"a nuisance who brought you banana milk every morning?"

"a nuisance who's super clingy," you snapped, harsher than intended. the words tumbled out, desperate—like if you said them loud enough, you'd believe them. "he's everywhere, all the time, with his stupid jokes and his stupid grin—"

"wow." your sister blinked. "you hate him that much?"

"yes."

no.

"he's insufferable." you continued, your voice cracking. "i could never—never—fall for someone like him." a mocking laugh escaped from your lips. yet the lie burned your tongue.

a moment of silence. then—

a floorboard creaked.

your blood turned to ice. your sister's eyes flicked to the door—then back to you, wide with realization.

she forgot to close it.

your stomach dropped. slowly, you turned. the door was slightly ajar. not enough to notice at first, but enough to see the shadow retreating. enough to hear the muffled thud of someone stumbling back.

no.

you lunged forward, yanking the door open—

rain. empty hallway.

and a single, half—crushed banana milk carton abandoned on your welcome mat.

the silence was unbearable.

beomgyu had stopped texting you. no more random updates, memes. no more banana milk left on your doorstep. completely nothing.

you'd catch yourself staring at your phone, thumb hovering over his contact, only to pull away.

you didn't know what to say.

"sorry i lied about hating you?" "sorry i ran?"

pathetic. you tried texting him—once, twice, a hesitant "hey", then a more desperate "can we talk?"

no response.

worse—the new semester has started, this time he wasn't in any of your shared classes. he wasn't at the cafe. he wasn't anywhere. it was like he'd vanished, and the realization made your stomach twist.

you might have ruined everything already.

the thought clawed at you—what if he was done? what if he'd finally realized you weren't worth the trouble?

you considered going to his apartment, but the fear stopped you. you weren't sure if he even wanted to see you. maybe he would shut the door in your face, his eyes cold in a way you'd never seen before.

you were sitting on a bench outside the library, staring blankly at your untouched coffee, when someone cleared their throat.

you looked up to see soobin standing there, his usual easygoing expression gone—replaced with a sharp expression.

"wow," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "you look about as happy as beomgyu these days."

your fingers tightened around the coffee cup. "what do you—"

"save it," he cut in, plopping down beside you with enough force to make the bench creak. "i'm not here to play therapist. but someone needs to knock some sense into one of you, and since he's currently wallowing in our living room like some tragic romance protagonist, that leaves you."

your breath caught.

soobin raked a hand through his hair, frustrated. "do you have any idea how annoying it is to live with him right now? the sulking, sighing? the way he keeps opening his damn phone, staring at it for five minutes, then throwing it across the couch?" he shot you a look. "and don't even get me started on the guitar playing at 3 a.m."

the words settled heavily in your chest.

"i don't know what happened between you," soobin continued, his voice losing some of its edge, "but it's been over a week. a whole week of this... whatever this is." he turned to face you fully. "so here's my question—are you going to fix it, or do i need to start hiding his guitar?"

you swallowed hard. "is he... does he hate me?"

soobin barked out a laugh. "if he hated you, do you think he'd still be keeping banana milk in our fridge? if he hated you, would i be finding him walking around in your unwashed hoodies, that still has your scent?" he leaned in.

"use your head."

the lump in your throat grew heavier. you stared at the dark liquid in your cup, watching the light reflect off its surface.

soobin dragged both hands down his face with an exasperated sigh, his shoulders slumping as some of the tension left them. when he spoke again, his voice had lost its sharp edge, replaced by weary sincerity.

"look," he said, rubbing his temple, "i'm not trying to be an ass about this. but you two..." he made a vague gesture between you and the general direction of his apartment. "this whole thing is ridiculous. just go talk to him, okay?"

he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, thumbing through it before turning the screen toward you. a recent photo of beomgyu filled the display—slumped over his guitar in their living room, hair messier than usual, crumpled sheets of paper scattered on the floor.

"see this?" soobin tapped the screen. "this is what avoiding each other looks like. and frankly? i'm tired of this."

he pocketed his phone and gave you one last, long look. "so do us all a favor and end this weird standoff before i lose any more sleep and break his guitar."

as he walked away, you noticed his steps were slower now, less agitated than when he'd arrived. the fight had gone out of him, leaving only exhausted concern in its wake.

you stared down at your coffee, the cream forming pale islands in the dark liquid. the bench creaked slightly in the breeze, the empty space beside you suddenly feeling vast and hallow. somewhere across the campus, a guitar chord rang out, or maybe you just imagined it. either way, your fingers curled tighter around the cooling cup.

you missed him.

your phone screen glared back at you—another unanswered text, another call that went straight to voicemail.

you tried catching him between classes, lingering by his usual haunts—the library, the cafe, even the music practice rooms. but he was always either just leaving or already gone, slipping through campus like a ghost.

so you did the only thing left.

you went to his apartment.

the walk there felt endless, your pulse hammering with every step. what if he refused to see you? what if he looked at you with that same cold distance that had settled between you?

this was your fault, so you had to fix it.

your fingers tugged nervously at the sleeve of your sweater, the fabric stretching under your grip.

you raised your hand to knock—hesitated—then forced yourself to do it before you lost your nerve.

the door swung open.

soobin stood there, eyebrows lifting in surprise before he nodded. his expression shifting into a knowing look. he didn't say a word, just stepped aside, grabbing his jacket from the hook in one smooth motion.

"beomgyu is in his room," he said simply, shrugging into his coat. "i'll be gone for a while."

you opened your mouth—to thank him, to ask him to stay, you weren't sure—but he was already brushing past you, tossing a quiet, "don't overthink it," over his shoulder before the door clicked shut behind him.

silence.

the apartment smelled faintly of banana milk and guitar polish mixed with his cologne. a half-empty carton sat on the counter, next to a crumpled bag of the chips you always teased him for eating too much of.

your chest ached.

you took a shaky breath and walked down the short hallway, stopping in front of his door. music played softly from the other side—a familiar melody, one you'd heard him hum absentmindedly before.

you knocked. the music stopped.

a beat of silence.

"yeah. come in."

his voice was quiet. rough.

you turned the knob and stepped inside.

the door creaked as you pushed it open.

beomgyu sat on the edge of his bed, guitar resting across his lap, fingers still hovering over the strings. his head snapped—then froze when he saw you.

for a second, neither of you moved.

his expression flickered—surprise, then something guarded, before settling into careful neutrality. his fingers tightened slightly around the neck of the guitar.

"oh..." he said, voice flat. "it's you."

he said it like he'd been expecting soobin. like he hadn't been expecting you at all.

the words didn't sound angry. they sounded hollow.

you swallowed. "yeah."

silence.

his gaze dropped to his guitar, fingers plucking at a string absently. "didn't think you'd actually show up." he paused, his voice quieter than before. "you never did before."

the words hit like a brick.

his room was dim, the only light coming from the desk lamp. there were crumpled sheets of paper scattered on the floor—lyrics? maybe. a half-empty water bottle. a hoodie tossed carelessly over his chair—your hoodie, the one you'd left at his place weeks ago.

the silence stretched, thick and suffocating. the air between you was thick with unsaid words, the kind that clogged your throat and made your chest ache. you could hear the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the distant sound of traffic outside—mundane noises that felt too loud in the silence.

you opened your mouth—

"don't," he cut in, still not making eye-contact. his voice was rough. "don't say you're sorry if you don't mean it."

you swallowed hard. "i need to say this—"

"and i need you to leave," beomgyu cut in, finally lifting his gaze. his voice was sharp, but wavered at the end, cracking like he wasn't sure he even meant it.

something in you snapped.

"no," you said, louder than you meant to. "no, you don't get to do that. don't shut me out, i... i'm trying—trying to fix this, us—just, listen!"

his fingers stilled on the guitar strings.

you barreled on before you could lose your nerve. "i missed you. every damn day. and it killed me because—because i realized something, and it scared the hell out of me, and i didn't know how to say it—"

his head jerked up at that, eyes widening slightly before his expression shuttered again.

"winter break—i realized things. about us. about me." your voice cracked. the confession spilled out like a secret too long kept. "every time you texted me, my heart would race. and it terrified me. what if i ruined everything? what if you didn't feel the same? what if—"

beomgyu's guitar pick clattered to the floor.

you sucked in a sharp breath.

"and when i saw you with her—"

your voice broke, the words tumbling out now, messy and raw.

"and i—god, i felt like i'd been punched in the gut. how she touched your wrist, how you smiled at her. and i—i couldn't even look at you without—" your hands were shaking.

"what if i was too late?" you whispered.

"and then," you let out a shaky laugh, pressing your nails into the palms of your hands. "—and then i told to my sister i hated you. said you were nothing. and you heard it, and i—" you dragged a ragged breath. "fuck, i didn't mean it. i didn't mean any of it. i'm sorry, i was just—god, i was so scared of losing you that... that i—"

beomgyu moved so suddenly you flinched.

the guitar hit the floor with a discordant twang as he stood, his hands hovering in the air between you, trembling. like he didn't know what to do with them. his eyes were wide, his breathing uneven.

"her?" he repeated, voice rough. "the—the girl from the music department?"

you nodded, unable to speak.

beomgyu let out a disbelieving laugh, running a hand through his hair. "god—she's—" he exhaled sharply. "she knew. she knew how i felt about you, and she still let me ramble about you for hours like some—some idiot—"

your pulse stuttered.

his hands finally settled on your shoulder, his grip almost too tight. "she was helping me write a song," he said, voice cracking. "about you."

the world tilted. your stomach fluttered, your heart felt like it was going to jump out of your chest.

beomgyu's thumbs brushed your hands, hesitant. "i kept the banana milk carton from our first meeting," he admitted quietly. "it's in my desk drawer. soobin thinks i'm insane."

a choked laugh escaped you.

his fingers tightened slightly. "say it again," he murmured. "please."

you swallowed. "i like you."

his breath hitched.

"yeah," he breathed, like he was savoring the word. "yeah, me too."

and then—slowly, carefully—he kissed you.

his lips were tentative at first, like he was waiting for permission, and when you didn't pull away, he leaned in fully, one hand lifting to cup your cheek. you could feel the tremble in his fingers, the way his breath shuddered against your skin.

you kissed him back, his other hand resting around your waist, pulling you closer. your hands finding the fabric of his hoodie, clutching it like you were afraid he might disappear.

and just like that—everything fell into place.

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / bonus ୨♡୧

© bangtanbeom 2025

[bangtanbeom]

✧*̥˚ pygmalion *̥˚✧

pairing: taehyung x fem!reader genre: angst, artist/muse au, dark romance, psychological drama, oneshot. summary: two artists—a reckless painter and a perfectionist sculptor—collide in a quiet studio. chaos, fascination, and the kind of connection that threatens to consume them both. they must navigate the fine line between brilliance and self-destruction. w/c: ~2.7k warning: not entirely proofread, toxic & possessive/obsessive relationship dynamic, artistic self-destruction, identity erosion, mild cursing, destructive perfectionism, validation. a/n: hello! this is one of my old drafts, i wrote this in the week when winter ahead came out and read all sorts of theories about the pygmalion mythology and it made me want to write something. i hope you'll like it! <3

the studio was quiet except for the sound of charcoal scratching against paper and the occasional sigh of frustration.

taehyung's hand moved with methodical precision, shaping the curve of a collarbone from cold marble. around him, students whispered—admiring, envious.

'it's like the sculpture could breathe.' 'how does he make it look so real?'

but he didn't hear them. he only heard the silence of his own dissatisfaction—the lifeless sculpture.

then—chaos.

a sharp curse, the clatter of a brush hitting the floor, the scent of turpentine thickening the air.

his gaze flickered to the corner of the room, where you stood in front of a canvas, fingers tangled in your hair, paint smeared across your cheek like a bruise.

"you look like you're fighting your own work," he said, voice low, carrying just enough to reach you.

you didn't turn. "maybe i am."

he tilted his head. "why?"

finally, you glanced at him, eyes dark with something raw. "because it won't listen."

a laugh threatened at the corner of his lips. "art doesn't listen. it yields."

you scoffed, turning back to the canvas. "or maybe it fights back."

he watched as you dragged your brush across the surface, a violent streak of crimson. it was reckless. imperfect.

it was alive.

and for the first time in years, taehyung felt something stir in his chest—intrigue.

he started lingering near your easel.

at first, it was subtle—passing comments, critiques wrapped in velvet.

"your composition is unbalanced," he murmured one evening, fingers hovering near the edge of your canvas.

you didn't look up. "i like it unbalanced."

his thumb brushed a stray drip of paint. "it could be better."

"better isn't always right."

his eyes darkened. "then what is?"

you finally met his gaze. "whatever feels right."

he exhaled, slow, measured. "and what does this feel like?"

you hesitated. then quietly—

"like i'm tearing myself apart."

something in his expression shifted—fascination, possessiveness, need.

"show me," he said.

and like a fool you did.

the art building was nearly empty at this hour, the hum of the ventilation system and the occasional creak of the old floorboards were the only sounds in the room.

you hadn't meant to stay so late, but the painting wasn't right—the colors were too muted, the lines too restrained. it looked like something you'd hand in for a grade, not something that clawed its way out of you.

a shadow fell across your canvas.

"you're still here."

taehyung's voice was low, smooth like the edge of a blade. you didn't turn, but you felt him step closer, the heat of his body just inches from your back.

"could say the same to you," you muttered, dragging your brush through a streak of ochre.

he hummed, fingers trailing along the edge of your easel. "i don't sleep much."

"neither do i, apparently."

a pause. then, his hand closed over yours, guiding the brush with deliberate pressure. "you're hesitating."

your breath hitched. "i'm thinking."

"don't." his lips brushed the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "just feel it."

you wanted to pull away, but his grip was firm, his other hand settling on your hip like an anchor. the brush moved again, this time with more force—a violent streak of gold cutting through the composition.

it was reckless—real.

and when you finally turned to look at him, his eyes were dark with something unreadable.

"see?" he murmured. "isn't that better?"

you swallowed hard.

it was.

the cafe near campus was always packed on sunday mornings, but you'd claimed a corner table, sketchbook open, a half-finished latte going cold beside you.

you were trying to capture the way the light cut through the window—sharp, almost harsh—but your lines were too careful, too controlled.

a chair scraped back across from you.

"mind if i join you?"

taehyung didn't wait for an answer before sitting, his long fingers wrapping around a black coffee.

you scowled. "do you always invite yourself into people's space?"

he took a slow sip, eyes never leaving yours. "only when i'm interested."

your pencil stilled. "in what?"

"your process." he reached over, turning your sketchbook toward him. his thumb smudged a line you'd drawn too lightly. "you're holding back."

you snatched the book back. "not everyone needs to bleed onto the page to make art."

he leaned forward, elbows on the table. "then what's the point?"

"the point is to create something good."

"good isn't the same as real." his voice dropped, almost intimate. "and you, of all people, know the difference."

the air between you crackled.

you wanted to argue. wanted to snap that he didn't know you, didn't get you—

but then his foot brushed yours under the table, deliberate, and your breath caught.

it already felt like he did.

the storage room smelled of turpentine and dust, the only light bleeding in through the cracked door.

you were searching for a fresh canvas when his voice slithered through the dark.

"you've been avoiding me."

taehyung

you didn't turn, fingers tightening around the edge of a blank stretcher. "i've been working."

a lie.

his footsteps were silent, but you felt him anyway—closer, always closer—until his breath ghosted over the nape of your neck.

"liar."

his hands gripped your waist, spinning you around. the canvas clattered to the floor.

up close, his eyes were black—hungry, longing.

"you promised you'd show me your new piece," he murmured, thumb brushing your lower lip. smearing the red paint you hadn't realized was there.

your pulse thundered. "it's not ready."

"or you're afraid i'll hate it."

"i don't care what you think—"

his lips crashed into yours.

the kiss was rough, possessive—his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. you gasped, and he took advantage—tongue sliding into yours, tasting the coffee and frustration on your breath.

when he pulled away, your lips were swollen.

"liar," he repeated, softer now.

you shoved him back, your chest raced and your breath shook. "what the fuck was that?"

a slow smile curled his mouth.

"proof."

the critique had gone badly.

the professor praised your piece—'finally applying real technique'—while taehyung stood in the back, arms crossed, gaze burning holes through you.

after class, you stormed out into the downpour, not caring that your sketchbook was getting ruined.

he caught up to you under the skeletal awning of the sculpture garden.

"stop running."

you whirled on him. "you did this. you twisted my work—"

"you improved," he corrected, water dripping from his hair.

"it's not me anymore!"

"because it's better now." he stepped closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "admit it. you were ordinary before me."

the words cut deeper than any blade.

you slapped him.

the sound cracked through the garden. his head snapped to the side, dark hair clinging to his forehead.

for a second, neither of you moved.

then his hand shot out, gripping your wrist.

"again," he dared, lips curling. "if you're not scared."

you trembled—with rage, with something worse.

you wanted to hit him. you wanted to kiss him.

moments shattered when thunder rolled overhead.

he released you, stepping back into the storm.

"see you tomorrow," he called over his shoulder, as if nothing had happened.

the studio was too quiet at 3 a.m.

you stared at your latest painting—his latest painting, really. the brushstrokes were tighter, the colors muted into something 'refined'. it was technically flawless.

it made you sick.

taehyung watched as you gripped the edge of the easel.

"it's still not right," he said.

your nails dug into the wood. "what's wrong with it now?"

he stepped closer, his chest pressing against your back as he reached around you, pointing at the center of the canvas. "this part. it's weak."

you flinched when his fingers closed over yours, forcing your hand to drag a harsh black line through the heart of the piece.

"no—" you tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.

"fix it," he murmured, lips grazing your ear.

the line was too sharp, too final. it ruined the balance. ruined everything.

your throat burned. "you're destroying it."

he turned your face toward him, his other hand still trapping yours against the ruined canvas.

"no," he corrected, voice soft as a blade sliding between ribs. "you let me."

and that was the worst part—you had.

you stayed.

even as the painting—your painting—became something you didn't recognize.

even as you became something you didn't recognize.

his thumb brushed your cheek, smearing the tear you hadn't realized had fallen.

"try again," he whispered.

and you did.

the studio was too quiet.

rain tapped against the high windows like impatient fingers, the only sound in the cavernous space besides the occasional scrape of your brush against the canvas. you'd been working on this piece for weeks—a commissioned portrait, something safe, something sellable. the kind of work that wouldn't make galleries raise their eyebrows or buyers hesitate.

taehyung's influence.

you didn't realize your hands were shaking until the brush slipped, leaving a jagged streak of umber across the carefully blended cheekbone of your subject.

a sharp inhale. a curse bitten between your teeth.

behind you, the scrape of a chair. slow, deliberate footsteps.

"you're overworking it."

taehyung's voice was low, his usual velvet murmur against the shell of your ear as he leaned over your shoulder. his fingers closed around wrist, guiding your hands back to the canvas with infuriating precision.

"it's fine," you muttered, trying to pull away.

his grip tightened—just slightly, just enough to remind you.

'i'm here. i'm watching.'

"it could be better."

you swallowed hard. "or maybe it's done."

a pause, then his free hand came up, the thumb brushing against the color of the painting—a spot where the colors bled just outside the lines. "this is careless."

"it's intentional."

he exhaled through his nose, a quiet, disappointed sound that made your stomach twist. "you're regressing."

the words hit like a slap.

you wrenched your hand free, spinning to face him. "or maybe i'm remembering what my work used to look like before you—"

before he carved you into something else like one of his sculptures.

the unspoken words hung between you, sharp as a blade.

taehyung's expression didn't change. calm. composed. perfect. but his eyes—dark, endless—flickered with something dangerous.

"before me, your work was chaos."

"it was alive."

a beat of silence. the rain grew louder.

then, slowly, he reached out, fingers tracing the line of your jaw. a mockery of caress. "you're being sentimental."

you jerked back. "and you're being controlling."

something flashed in his gaze—irritation, frustration, hunger. "i'm trying to make you great."

"no," your voice cracked. "you're trying to make me yours."

the words landed like a grenade.

for the first time, taehyung's composure slipped. his jaw tightened, his fingers flexing at the sides as if they were itching to shape, to fix. "and what's so wrong with that?"

the question was raw. honest.

it made your chest ache.

you looked away, toward the canvas—toward the portrait that looked nothing like you, nothing like your work. nothing like the wild, untamed pieces you used to create before him. before his hands, his voice, his expectations sank into your bones.

"i—i can't breathe," you whispered.

a flicker of something like panic crossed his face. his hand twitched toward you, then stopped. "then let me help you."

"you can't."

"i can." his voice dropped, rough with something close to desperation. "just—listen to me. let me show you—"

"no."

the word was final.

silence. heavy. suffocating.

taehyung stared at you, his chest rising and falling just slightly too fast. then, abruptly, he turned, snatching up the chisel from the nearby table.

"fine," his voice was cold. "do what you want."

he strode toward his latest sculpture—a half-formed figure, all sharp edges and unfinished lines. you watched as he drove the chisel into the marble with violence that made your breath catch.

chips flew. dust settled.

and you realized, with a sinking heart, that the sculpture—rough as it was—had your silhouette.

you took a step back. then another.

taehyung didn't look up.

but as you turned to leave, his voice followed you, quiet and vicious,

"you'll come back."

a promise. a threat.

the door clicked shut behind you.

and the sculpture remained—unfinished.

the chisel slipped again, biting too deep into the marble's left cheekbone. taehyung's breath came in ragged bursts as he stared at the flaw—another imperfection in his quest for perfection.

sweat dripped from his eyebrow onto the sculpture's blank marble eyes. he'd been working through the night again, fingers raw and bleeding where he'd ignore the blisters forming. the studio smelled of stone dust and his own desperation, the air thick with the weight of failure.

he stepped back, wiping his hands on his ruined shirt.

it was you.

every exact measurement, every perfect angle—the slight crook in your nose from when you'd broken it as a child, the way your lower lip was just slightly fuller than the upper. he'd captured it all with clinical precision.

and yet.

the sculpture remained lifeless.

cold.

empty.

a perfect replica that couldn't mimic the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed too hard, or how your nostrils flared when you were trying not to cry. the marble couldn't capture the paint stains on your fingers or the way you bit your tongue when concentrating.

"damn it." his fist connected with the worktable, sending tools clattering to the floor. the sound echoed through the cavernous studio, mocking him.

then, the door creaked open.

dust motes swirled in the sudden shafts of afternoon light, catching the edges of the abandoned canvases and half-finished clay studies. he didn't need to turn to know who it was—the hitch in your breathing was enough.

"you're still working on it."

your voice had changed. there was a strength there that hadn't existed before, a rawness that made his chest ache.

taehyung's hands trembled as he set down his tools. "where else would i be?"

when he finally turned, the breath left his lungs.

you stood framed in the doorway, changed. your hair was shorter, wilder. there were new paint stains on your clothes—vibrant reds and blues that hadn't been there in a long time. your eyes held something he couldn't name.

freedom.

you stepped forward, boots scuffing against concrete. the sculpture stood between them like a ghost.

"it's not right," you said softly.

a muscle in his jaw jumped. "i know."

"it's missing something."

the words cut deeper than any chisel. when he met your gaze, he saw no pity there, just understanding. you—who had once let him reshape you—now stood before him, whole.

he gestured wildly at the marble. "then tell me what! i've measured every angle, studied every line—"

"you made it perfect," you interrupted, reaching out to trace the sculpture's too-smooth cheek. your fingers left streaks on the dust-coated surface.

"isn't that what matters?" his voice broke.

you smiled then, sad and beautiful. "no. you took out all the things—all the things that made it real."

the silence that followed was deafening.

then—

CRACK.

the chisel struck the sculpture's face with a violence that made you flinch.

again.

again.

marble fractured under his assault, the perfect nose crumbling, the lips chipping away.

"you're right," he gasped between blows, sweat and dust coating his skin. "it's not you. it was never you."

when the dust settled, the ruins of his masterpiece lay at their feet. jagged, broken.

alive.

panting, he turned to you, his hands bleeding, his vision blurring. "show me," he begged. "show me what real looks like."

you studied him for a long moment before walking to a forgotten easel in the corner. when you picked up a brush, it wasn't with hesitation, but with purpose.

the first stroke was violent, a slash of crimson across pristine white. the second, a whirl of indigo. there was no precision here, no measured technique. just emotion made manifest.

taehyung watched, transfixed, as the woman—you—he'd tried to perfect, destroyed the canvas with beautiful, chaotic truth.

and for the first time, he understood.

perfection wasn't in control.

it was in the surrender.

the gallery lights hummed overhead, casting sterile white beams across the exhibition space. two installations stood facing each other in perfect opposition—the final conversation they could never have out loud.

on the left—

a marble sculpture, deliberately unfinished.

the face emerged from rough-hewn stone, one side polished to impossible smoothness, the other left jagged—as if the artist had walked away mid-stroke. the plaque read simply:

'unfinished (self-portrait in absence)' - k. taehyung

on the right—

a canvas exploding with violent colors.

brushstrokes layered recklessly, paint so thick it cracked and peeled at the edges. in the chaos, a familiar silhouette emerged—not captured, but suggested. the plaque:

'study of control (after the storm)' - y/n

the critics murmured about artistic dialogue, about the tension between form and freedom. they didn't understand these weren't companion pieces, but gravestones.

taehyung came at midnight when the gallery was empty. he stood before your painting, fingers hovering over the dried ridges of pigment where your hands had been. the colors were already fading—ultramarine bleeding into umber, carmine oxidizing to rust. impermanent, temporary.

beautiful.

across the room, someone touched his sculpture.

he turned to see you smudging fingerprints into the marble's polished cheek, the oils of your skin clouding the perfect surface.

a year ago, he would have grabbed a cloth. would have rushed to preserve, to protect.

your eyes met. you didn't apologize, nor did he.

tonight, he let the fingerprints stay.

when the dawn cleaners came, they found two sets of footprints leading away in different directions, and between them on the gallery floor,

a single paintbrush—yours, its bristles still damp with vermillion, resting next to a shattered chisel—his.

© bangtanbeom 2025

[bangtanbeom]

'*•.¸undeniably yours¸.•*' 2

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / bonus ୨♡୧

pairing: beomgyu x fem!reader genre: fluff, strangers to friends to...? , college AU, slow burn (trying to). summary: you and beomgyu are partnered for a group project, the connection starts off as simple friendship. but as you share quiet moments, unspoken glances, and moments of vulnerability, the lines between friendship and something more begin to blur. w/c: ~3.7k warning: not entirely proofread, fluff (might be cringe), an attempt at humor. a/n: sorry for the late post! i've been busy and wasn't at home BUT i wasn't expecting the positive responses when i posted p1, you making my heart flutter. thankyouthankyouthankyou :)) . +honestly, im not completely satisfied with this one, maybe bc i put some texting in the story, which i try to avoid(reminds me of my old ff when i was 14) ٩(ఠ益ఠ)۶ anyways i hope you'll enjoy this one! yayaayya <3 taglist: for the cuties who wanted to be tagged in the next part! @thearcherbeomgyu | @jellyyjn

a crisp breeze swept through the campus, tugging at the hem of your coat and sending golden leaves spinning across the pavement.

"hold this," beomgyu said, already stuffing a warm can of coffee into your hands before you could protest.

"i didn't ask for this." you said, staring down at the can with confusion.

"don't be ungrateful," he replied, smug. "it's a token of affection."

you blinked. "a what now?"

"affection. like... friendship love," he added quickly, with a dramatic jazz hand gesture and a smile. "the platonic kind."

you narrowed your eyes. "you just wanted an excuse to buy two and not look like you were holding two cans of coffee for yourself."

he gasped. "how dare you accuse me of such intentions!"

"you literally have another one in your pocket." you said, nodding your head to the can that was slightly sticking out of his pocket.

"that's my emergency coffee."

you chuckled as he pulled the second can out and held it with both hands like it was sacred.

he grinned. "i'm just saying, if the world ends in the next hour, at least we'll be caffeinated and cozy together under a pile of dead leaves."

"romantic," you deadpanned.

"right?" he said, a voice light but his gaze lingered before he looked away, brushing it off with a loud slurp.

you were half-wiping down a table when the bell above the cafe door jingled.

beomgyu walked in like he owned the place, wearing the most ridiculous mustard-colored scarf wrapped five times around his neck.

though, you admitted to yourself. he did look a little cute, maybe a little bit.

you squinted. "you're a walking autumn leaf."

"and proud," he said, flinging the end of his scarf behind him dramatically. "i come bearing good news and your usual banana latte.”

"you bought them from us," you pointed out.

"it's the delivery that matters," he said, placing the paper bag on the counter. "and i added cinnamon—because i'm thoughtful and mysterious like that."

you gave him a look. "you mean you paid for the extra topping?"

"that too."

he perched on a stool near the counter, kicking his feet childishly. "when do you get off?"

"why?"

"no reason. just thinking about waiting nearby until then so we can walk together."

"you're like a clingy child." you said as you shook your head, chuckling softly.

soobin looked up from his spot on the couch, one eyebrow raised as the front door clicked open. beomgyu slipped in, trying—and failed—to be quiet as he kicked his shoes off with more force than necessary.

"you're home early," soobin said, glancing at the clock. "only eleven this time. is the world ending?"

beomgyu scoffed, shrugging out of his coat. "it's cold. i have nerve endings. let me live."

soobin smirked. "that's not why you're home early. you usually don't even bother showing up 'til two these days."

beomgyu paused mid-step, then wandered over and flopped onto the armchair, head tilted back dramatically.

"caught in the act," he muttered.

soobin set his phone down. "so... who is it?"

beomgyu blinked. "huh?"

"whoever you've been hanging out with. you disappear after class, you smell like cafe pastries half the time, and some days you don't even sleep at home." soobin leaned back, arms crossed. "i don't care if you're dating or not. i just want to know who's stealing you from me."

beomgyu made a sound between a laugh and a groan, dragging a pillow onto his lap. "we're not dating."

"that didn't answer the question."

he fiddled with the pillow's corner. "it's no one. just—someone i've been spending time with. she's cool, can be funny, mostly calls me out on my shit."

soobin gave him a look. "so... you like her?"

beomgyu didn't answer right away. he just stared up at the ceiling like it would give him the answers.

"i don't know," he finally said, a voice lower now. "it's not like that. it's just... easy. being around her. like i can breathe a little slower, say weird things and not feel dumb."

soobin nodded slowly, letting the silence settle between them.

"okay," he said. "that sounds dangerously like a crush."

beomgyu groaned again, muffling it into the pillow. "it's not. or maybe it is. but it's not that kind of crush."

"what kind of crush is it, then?" soobin asked, amused.

"i don't know... the kind where i get her drinks or sweets without asking because i know she likes it, but i also feel like if i go any further, i'd ruin it."

"ah. the classic self-sabotaging emotional repression kind."

beomgyu narrowed his eyes. "what—? you've been reading psychology blogs again."

soobin just shrugged with a grin. "just don't wait too long and regret it later."

beomgyu was quiet at that.

soobin didn't press.

the hum of the radiator filled the room, steady and warm.

"did she at least like the drink?" soobin asked after a moment.

beomgyu leaned back with a soft smile.

"she said i looked like a walking autumn leaf."

"so... yes?"

"yeah, i think so."

winter came softly, then all at once.

one morning you woke to find the world outside your window dusted in white, the kind of snow that clung to tree branches like powdered sugar.

your phone buzzed.

beomgyu: look outside

you rolled your eyes, already typing.

you: wow. snow. groundbreaking.

three dots appeared, then disappeared.

then appeared again.

beomgyu: meet me in 10 mins. wear something warm.

you frowned.

you: why?

beomgyu: because i said so. and i have hot chocolate.

you hesitated, then sighed, dragging yourself out of bed.

beomgyu was waiting at the park near your apartment, bundled in a thick coat, and that same ridiculous mustard scarf, now half-buried under the layer of snowflakes. he held two steaming cups in his mittened hands.

"you're late," he said, grinning as you trudged toward him.

"you're insane" you shot back, but accepted the cup he shoved into your hands. the warmth seeped through your gloves. "it's freezing. why are we here?"

he nodded toward the empty park bench, already dusted with snow. "first snow of the year. tradition says you have to make a wish."

you blinked. "since when is that a tradition?"

"since right now." he plopped onto the bench, ignoring the way the snow melted against his jeans. "come on," he patted on the bench, beside him. "humor me."

you sat beside him, shoulders brushing. the hot chocolate was too sweet, just the way you liked it.

"did you put extra marshmallows in mine?" you asked.

he sipped his own drink, avoiding your eyes. "maybe."

you nudged him with your elbow. "soft."

"shut up and make your wish."

you laughed, but closed your eyes anyway. the cold bit at your cheeks, the steam from your cup curling into the air.

when you opened them, beomgyu was watching you, his nose pink from the cold, his breath a faint cloud between you.

"did you make one?" you asked.

he held your gaze.

"yeah," he said softly. then, clearing his throat, he stood abruptly, knocking snow from his knees. "alright wish time over. now we have to go build a snowman."

you groaned. "you're impossible."

he tugged you up by the wrist, his grip warm even through layers of fabric.

"and yet, here you are."

the snowman was lopsided.

beomgyu insisted it was artistic. you insisted it looked like it was barely surviving.

he gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "you're bullying my son."

"your son needs medical attention."

he laughed, bright and loud in the quiet morning, and something in your chest tightened.

the campus was nearly empty, most students already gone for winter break. frost glittered on the edges of the pavement, and you tucked your hands deeper into your coat pockets as you walked toward the library to return a book before leaving town.

you weren't paying attention when you turned around the corner—

"oh!"

—and collided straight into someone's chest.

a pair of hands steadied your shoulders before you could stumble back. "whoa, sorry about that."

you looked up to see a tall boy with soft features and an apologetic smile. when he smiled, his dimples appeared like magic.

"no, my bad," you said quickly, adjusting your bag strap. "i wasn't watching where i was going."

he chuckled, shaking his head. "campus is basically a ghost town now. i didn't expect to run into anyone either." he extended a hand. "soobin."

you introduced yourself, and he nodded politely. "you sticking around for break, or heading out soon?"

"leaving tomorrow actually," you said.

"lucky. i'm stuck here for another day because someone—" he cut himself off, eyes flickering over your shoulder. his lips curled into a smirk. "ah. speaking of."

you turned.

beomgyu was standing frozen a few feet away holding two takeout coffee cups, eyes darting between you and soobin like he'd just walked into an alternate dimension.

"uh," he said intelligently.

soobin raised an eyebrow. "you know each other?"

beomgyu's mouth opened, then closed.

you decided to put him out of his misery. "we have a class together."

"a class?" soobin repeated, voice dripping with skepticism. "right. that explains why you've been—"

"soobin," beomgyu practically lunged forward, shoving one of the coffee cups into soobin's hands. "here. drink this. stop talking."

soobin took the cup, amused. "wow. you remember i like mine with extra sugar. how thoughtful."

beomgyu scowled, his ears turning pink.

you bit back a smile. "you two know each other, i'm guessing?"

"unfortunately," beomgyu muttered.

"we're roommates," soobin supplied cheerfully. "which means i get to hear all about his very important study sessions that somehow always run past midnight."

beomgyu looked like he wanted to melt into the pavement. he shot you a panicked look. "ignore him. he's delusional."

"am i?" soobin sing-songed. "after all those nights you disappeared and came home smelling like sweet pastries and coffee?"

you raised your eyebrows in amusement and decided to twist the knife a little. "oh, really? what else does he say?"

"mostly just grumbling about how someone keeps stealing his hoodies," soobin said thoughtfully. "and something about cinnamon—"

"okay. we're leaving." beomgyu grabbed soobin's arm and started dragging him backward.

soobin let himself be pulled, grinning at you over his shoulder. "nice meeting you! good luck with your class!"

beomgyu shot you a desperate look over his shoulder—half pleading, half mortified—before they disappeared around the corner.

you stood there for a moment, snow dusting your shoulders, before pulling out your phone.

you: so that's your roommate you: should i apologize for the hoodie theft? or are we pretending that never happened

three dots appeared immediately.

beomgyu: i hate you beomgyu: also no beomgyu: keep it beomgyu: it looks better on you anyway

your family's living room was cluttered with leftover wrapping paper and half-empty mugs of cocoa. the tv played a holiday movie no one was watching, and your cousin was snoring softly under a blanket fort of gifts.

your phone lit up.

beomgyu: [photo attached]

you tapped the image—a lopsided snowman in what looked like a tiny backyard, wearing your borrowed frog pajama pants as a scarf. its stick arms were outstretched like it was begging for mercy.

beomgyu: emergency update: my snowman son is in critical condition. he's asking for u.

you pressed your lips together to stifle a laugh. your mom side-eyed you from across the room.

you: that's not a snowman. that's a snow crime you: also why is he wearing my pants.

beomgyu: he's cold. have some empathy beomgyu: also i miss them. they're comfy beomgyu: don't tell soobin i said that. he'll never let me live it down

you stared at the screen. the words "i miss them" echoed through your head, wondering if he meant the pants.

2:37 AM

you were sprawled on your childhood bed, scrolling through your camera roll—a dangerous game. there was a photo from last semester: beomgyu mid-laugh, his hair a mess, holding up a spoon like it was a microphone. you'd taken it during a study session when he'd been telling you about some argument that happened with soobin about some game.

your thumb hovered over the screen. not wanting to admit, you were missing him more than you thought you would.

a new message popped up.

beomgyu: u awake?

your heart did a stupid flip.

you: unfortunately you: why? did your laundry start talking back

beomgyu: no but my ceiling is looking at me funny beomgyu: also i found a choco ring under my couch. ate it. no regrets

you: you're disgusting

beomgyu: ur just jealous u weren't here to fight me for it.

you swallowed. the room felt too quiet.

unconsciously sending the message.

you: yeah. maybe i am

the typing bubbles appeared. disappeared. reappeared.

beomgyu: come back soon

three dots. then— 

beomgyu: my snowman melted and now the frog pants are sad and alone

you pressed your phone to your chest, as if that could smother the warmth spreading under your ribs.

the scent of laundry detergent and winter air filled your childhood bedroom as you folded the last sweater into your suitcase. outside, the morning sun glinted of the melting snow, turning the backyard into a shimmering mess of slush and half-dead grass.

your phone buzzed on the nightstand. again. for what had to be the tenth time that morning.

"you know," came a voice from the doorway, sweet as honey, "if you keep ignoring your packing to text that boy, you're going to forget something important."

you didn't even look up at your sister, sauntering into the room, her slippers scuffing against the hardwood. "i'm not ignoring anything," you muttered, though your fingers were already typing out a reply to beomgyu's latest message—something about his train being delayed.

your sister plopped down on your bed, sending a pair of socks tumbling to the floor.

"mhm," she hummed, plucking your phone from your hands before you could stop her. "and i suppose beomgyu is just... what? your academic advisor? your dentist?"

"give that back!" you lunged for it, but she held it just out of reach, her eyes scanning the screen with growing amusement.

"oh this is precious," she cooed, dodging your grabby hands. "'do you think snowmen have souls?' 'only the ones wearing stolen pajamas,'" she clutched her chest dramatically. "the romance! the poetry!"

you wrestled your phone back, face burning. "we're just friends."

you threw a pillow at her, but she caught it with a laugh, hugging it to her chest. "i'm just saying," she continued, her tone laced with amusement. "for someone who claims to be so annoyed by this boy, you sure do text him an awful lot. first thing in the morning, last thing at night."

"that's not—"

"and let's not forget the hot chocolate incident on christmas eve," she added, eyes twinkling.

you groaned. that had been a mistake—you'd been mid-sip when beomgyu sent a photo of himself attempting to make a snow angel, only to realize too late he'd done it in a mud puddle. the resulting spit-take had earned you endless ridicule from your family.

your sister leaned in, resting her chin on the pillow. "so," she said, her voice dropping to a low whisper, "when do i get to meet this mysterious snowman of yours?"

"you don't," you crumbled, shoving the last of your clothes into the suitcase with more force than necessary.

she sighed dramatically, flopping back onto your bed. "fine, keep your secrets. but just know..." she pointed a finger at you grinning. "i'm rooting for you two. anyone who can make you laugh like that deserves a chance."

you opened your mouth to protest, but the words died in your throat. because the truth was, you'd missed beomgyu's nonsense more than you wanted to admit. missed the way his texts could turn even the most boring day into something brighter.

as you zipped up your suitcase, you caught your sister watching you with a knowing smile. you threw another pillow at her for good measure, but your heart wasn't in it.

the new school year was starting—early march, campus was still shaking off winter's grip—slush piled in the walkways, buzzing with students reuniting after winter break. the air was crisp with lingering winter chill, but the sun was bright.

your eyes were traveling over campus, searching for the one who kept crossing your mind through your winter break. you spotted him from across the courtyard.

or—almost didn't spot him.

because beomgyu—the same idiot who once showed up to an 8 AM lecture wearing two different shoes, with the perpetually messy wolf cut, and constantly flipped his bangs out of his eyes like it was a personal vendetta—was gone.

in his place stood a boy with short hair.

short. hair.

gone were the shaggy layers that used to curtain his forehead. now his dark locks were neatly parted, styled just enough to look intentional but still soft, like he'd run his fingers through it one too many times.

and—oh. you could see his forehead. the sharp line of his brows, the way his eyes seemed brighter without the shadow of his bangs.

your stomach did something stupid. no. nope. absolutely not. this was fine, totally. people got haircuts all the time.

he hadn't noticed you yet. he was too busy wrestling with the vending machine, kicking it lightly while yelling something, unable for you to hear, when his snack got stuck.

some things never change.

you took a step forward. then another.

"need a hand?" you called out.

beomgyu spun around so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet. his eyes—wide, startled, then instantly crinkling with recognition—locked onto yours.

"you," he said, like it was an accusation. like he'd been waiting.

you grinned and crossed your arms. "missed me?"

he scoffed, straightening up. "like a toothache."

good. normal.

"your hair," you blurted before you could stop yourself.

his hand flew up self-consciously, ruffling the shorter strands. "oh. yeah. got sick of it."

then, he stepped closer—the haircut was even worse up close. it made his stupid jawline look sharper. "why? do you hate it?"

no. it was the opposite, actually. you hated how much you didn't hate it. how it made him look different, like someone who didn't just accidentally stumbled into your life, but belonged there.

pause.

you shrugged, fighting a smile. "it's... different."

"different bad?"

"different beomgyu."

he blinked. then, slowly his lips curled into that lazy, lopsided grin you'd missed more than you'd ever admit. "well," he said, stepping closer, "i brough you a welcome-back gift."

you eyes his empty hands. "let me guess. another existential snowman?"

"better." he reached into his pocket and pulled out—

a banana milk. slightly dented from the journey, but there.

"in case you forgot the taste, he said, pressing it into your hands. his fingers brushed yours, just for a second. just enough to make your pulse jump.

"it's lukewarm." you deadpanned.

"it's symbolic, and my pockets are warm." he said with a shrug.

you snorted, cracking it open anyway. "symbolic of what?"

he leaned in, grinning. "symbolic of my undying generosity."

the banter was... familiar. safe. you took a long swig of the banana milk.

beomgyu watched you, amused. "so?" he prompted. "do i get a review? on the—"

he gestured vaguely at his head,

"—new me?"

"it's hair. it'll grow back."

"devastating review. zero stars."

"you asked."

he sighed dramatically, but his eyes were laughing. "come on," he said, nudging your shoulder with his. "we're going to be late."

the knock on the apartment door was firmer than intended, and you immediately regretted not just texting beomgyu to meet you outside. but no, you had to return his stupid textbook in person—the one he'd left at your place weeks ago, the one you could've easily slipped into his bag during class.

the door swung open before you could overthink it further.

but it wasn't beomgyu.

soobin stood there, tall and unfairly composed, a low smirk spreading across his face as his eyes flicked from the book in your hands to your slightly startled expression.

"oh," he said, leaning against the doorframe like he'd been waiting for this moment. "you're the infamous hoodie thief."

you blinked. "i—what?"

he didn't answer. instead, he turned his head just slightly and called over his shoulder, voice dripping with amusement, "beomgyu! your crush is here!"

a loud crash sounded from somewhere inside the apartment—a thud, a hissed curse, the frantic scrambling of someone who had definitely just tripped over something.

then, beomgyu appeared, breathless, his hair sticking up in three different directions, his shirt inside-out. his eyes locked onto yours, wide and panicked, before he whipped his head toward soobin.

"i will end you."

soobin didn't budge. "you were literally just complaining that she hadn't texted you back yet," he said, gleeful.

beomgyu's head snapped toward soobin, "i was talking about— uh about something else."

"sure," soobin said, stepping aside, but not without adding. "he was moping, it was pathetic."

beomgyu looked like he was considering murder. "soobin."

his head turned to you. "—uh. hey." he said, his usual lazy grin plastered onto his face as his eyes met yours, yet you could notice his embarrassment through his facade.

soobin, entirely unbothered, leaned toward you and stage-whispered, "he spent twenty minutes trying to pick an outfit before you texted—yet failed."

beomgyu moved faster than you thought possible, lunging forward to hook an arm around soobin's neck, dragging him into a headlock, regardless of their height difference. "i regret ever introducing you to oxygen," he growled, ears noticeably pink—especially after his haircut.

you held out the textbook. beomgyu finally released soobin, who staggered away, cackling. his fingers swiftly touching yours, warm yet rough—from guitar strings.

the contrast sent a stupid traitorous shiver down your spine.

"thanks," beomgyu muttered, tucking the book under his arm. his gaze flicked over your face like he was searching for something.

silence stretched between you, thick and awkward.

soobin cleared his throat. "well, this is painful," he announced. "i'm getting coffee. beomgyu put on a shirt that isn't inside-out."

the door clicked shut behind him, leaving the two of you standing there, the air between you suddenly charged.

beomgyu exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "ignore him," he muttered. "he thinks he's funny."

you swallowed. "is he wrong?"

beomgyu stilled. his eyes met yours, dark and unreadable. "about what?"

"the moping, the outfit dilemma." you said, voice softer than you intended.

a second, just a second.

then beomgyu huffed a laugh, shaking his head, "you're worse than soobin," he said, but there was no bite to it. just something warm, something that curled low into your stomach.

he didn't deny it.

the cafe door jingled as you stepped inside, the familiar scent of espresso and vanilla wrapped around you like a worn-in sweater. you're fifteen minutes late—fashionably, you told yourself, though really, you spent too long staring at your phone, rereading beomgyu's last text.

beomgyu: you better show up. i stole the good table.

since mid winter break, your mind has been occupied—with beomgyu—even if you denied him in your head, he always came back, and on some days he never left.

soobin spotted you first, slouched on a stool at the counter, stirring iced coffee with a warm smile. "took you long enough. beomgyu's been sulking since noon."

your chest fluttered—something so trivial, moved your heart easily—he was sulking. he waited.

—but then you followed soobin's gaze to the corner booth. the one with the chipped table leg and the outlet that only works if you jiggle the cord just right. our usual table.

beomgyu wasn't alone.

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / bonus ୨♡୧

© bangtanbeom 2025

[bangtanbeom]

'*•.¸undeniably yours¸.•*'

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / bonus ୨♡୧

pairing: beomgyu x femreader genre: fluff, strangers to friends to ....? , college AU, slow burn summary: you and beomgyu are partnered for a group project, the connection starts off as simple friendship. but as you share quiet moments, unspoken glances, and moments of vulnerability, the lines between friendship and something more begin to blur. w/c: ~4k warnings: not entirely proofread, fluff (might be cringe), an attempt at humor a/n: its been 10 years since i last wrote something (which was on wattpad) and actually published lol so many drafts ;-; so bear with me. i usually don't write fluff, i always leaned more to angst or smut yet here i am. i hope it's a little bit enjoyable <3

it wasn't love at first sight.

there were no sparks flying across the room, no fireworks, no swelling background music with flower petals twirling and glitters shimmering.

just a tuesday morning lecture, and a pair of tired eyes locking briefly across the room before looking back down at a notebook.

"i've assigned the partners already," the professor said, tapping his laptop. "check your emails."

you opened yours with a sigh, not expecting much. then paused.

partner: choi beomgyu

"huh?"

beomgyu? that guy who always sat in the third row by the window? who always wore those oversized hoodies, and had a habit of twirling his pen when he was deep in thought?

beomgyu. that guy with the soft brown eyes and the eternal bedhead. the one who always had a half-smile playing on his lips as your eyes met. you'd shared a few classes before, exchanged nods and awkward hellos in group discussions, but never really talked.

until now.

you agreed to meet at a nearby cafe the next day—neutral territory. the project was due in 15 weeks, and you didn't want to be the partner who slacked off. you arrived first and chose a small table by the window. you heard the soft jingle of the door and looked up just in time to see beomgyu walk in, ruffling his hair and looking around until his eyes landed on you.

he offered you a small wave, walking over with a grin. "hey."

"hey, beomgyu." you returned, sending him a kind smile.

"that's me." he slid into the chair across from you. "sorry if i'm late. i had to rescue my hoodie from my roommate's dog. he thinks it's his now."

you laughed before you could stop yourself. "did you win the battle?"

"barely. this is a peace offering," he said, holding up a slightly crumpled banana milk. "also, i brought you one. it's not coffee, but it's got charm."

you blinked, surprised. "you brought me one?"

"figured i should start off as a decent partner," he said with a casual shrug. "if you hate banana milk, i'll take it back and cry about it later."

"i like it," you chuckled softly and sent him a smile. "thanks."

your first meeting was mostly small talk and note-sharing. beomgyu was surprisingly organized, though he admitted he did most of his work at 2 a.m.

"that's when i'm the most powerful." he said with a mock serious face, earning a laugh from you.

both of you got to work quickly—organizing tasks, dividing responsibilities, setting deadlines. it was professional. efficient. but something about the way beomgyu spoke—soft and easy, laced with dry humor—made you feel oddly comfortable.

he wasn't trying hard. he didn't have to.

but what struck you the most was how easily he listened as much as he talked. he wasn't just nodding along. he remembered things, like how you preferred tea over coffee, or that you hated typing on your laptop without music playing.

by the end of that first meeting, you'd laughed more than you had all week. that was the first moment you realized he wasn't what you expected. not just the class clown or the guy who wore headphones walking down the hallway.

thoughtful, a little odd and disarming in a weirdly comforting way.

the collaboration soon settled into a comfortable rhythm. study sessions alternated between the library, the cafe, and occasionally, each other's homes. each meeting, their conversations began to drift beyond the confines of their project.

both sitting on the floor of beomgyu's living room, while his roommate was away and surrounded by open books and notes, beomgyu strummed his guitar absentmindedly.

"you play?" you asked, nodding towards the instrument.

he glanced up, a sheepish smile on his face. "a little. it's more of a hobby."

"can i hear something?"

he hesitated for a moment, his fingers softly grazing the strings. "alright, but no judging."

you nodded and his fingers danced over the strings, producing a soft melody that filled the room. you watched, captivated by the way he immersed himself in the music. as the final note lingered, you clapped softly.

"wow," you said under your breath, afraid to break the silence. "that was beautiful."

beomgyu's ears turned pink, luckily for him, his hair covered most of his ears. "thanks. it's just something i do to unwind."

"do you write your own songs?"

"sometimes," he admitted. "mostly when i can't sleep."

you leaned forward, intrigued. "i'd love to hear one sometime."

he met your gaze, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. "maybe one day."

"so, tell me something weird about you." beomgyu said as he was scrolling uninterestedly through his phone.

beomgyu was sitting on the couch, leaning with his back against the arm rest and his feet resting on your lap.

you looked up from your phone, turning your head to him as you raised an eyebrow. "weird how?"

he shrugged casually, putting his phone down, meeting your gaze. "like... you eat cereal with water, or you sing to your houseplants. something unexpected."

you grinned. "okay. i have this very serious superstition that i have to wear mismatched socks on exam days."

beomgyu blinked. "you... what?"

"they bring me luck!" you quickly defended yourself, but couldn't help but laugh a little.

"that's extremely specific. i like it." he said, his fingers touching his chin as he nodded.

"your turn," you challenged.

he thought for a moment. "sometimes i talk to my laundry."

you frowned your eyebrows before you burst out laughing. "your laundry?"

"yeah, like if i'm folding a shirt and it refuses to cooperate, i'll scold them, or just yell at them."

you clutched your stomach, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. "you are—wow." before you could finish your sentence, you began to laugh even harder.

he was now reenacting the scene.

"i'm never looking at laundry the same again." you said, trying to stop yourself from laughing.

beomgyu was effortlessly funny, the kind of person who could make you laugh without even trying. he'd mimic professors, come up with ridiculous nicknames, or read lines from their textbook in dramatic accents just to see you smile.

"wait, you've never watched spirited away?" beomgyu asked one evening, scandalized. "we need to fix that. immediately."

"i just never got around to it," you defended. "you're making it sound like i committed a crime."

"you kind of did." he grinned. "movie night. right now."

you rolled your eyes, but your lips slowly curved into a smile, betraying you. "fine. but i'm picking snacks."

the group project finished early. neither of you mentioned it, but you kept meeting up anyway.

it was the little things that began to chip away at the wall around your heart. the way he'd always wait for you outside class, even when it wasn't necessary.

how he remembered your favorite drink and brought it to study sessions without asking. the way he looked at you when you laughed—like you were something he'd been waiting to see bloom.

and it was how he didn't rush it.

even when your fingers brushed for a second too long, or when you stood closer than necessary, or when the silence stretched a little too comfortable—beomgyu never pushed.

he just let it happen, slowly, unforced, easy.

after a particularly grueling study session, both of you decided to take a break. the city lights shimmered as you wandered through the quiet streets, hands tucked into both of your pockets as the hot summer came to an end and the rainy fall was approaching.

"do you ever feel like you're going through the motions?" beomgyu asked, his breath visible in the cold air.

you glanced at him, surprised by the sudden introspection. "sometimes. university can feel like that. but then there are moments that remind me why i'm here."

"like what?"

you thought for a moment. "like this. walking through the city, just talking. it makes everything feel... real."

he smiled softly. "yeah..."

you walk in silence for a while, the distance between you two narrowing with each step. his shoulder brushed yours once, then again, but neither of you moved away.

you found yourself on beomgyu’s couch as the rain pattered against the window, a classic film playing on the tv. you curled up with a blanket, while beomgyu sat beside you, your shoulders touching.

the room smelled faintly of buttered popcorn and cinnamon tea.

beomgyu had taken over the popcorn bowl, cradling it like some priceless artifact in his lap. he was deeply focused on it. more so than the movie, picking through the pieces like a kid separating marshmallows from cereal.

you arched a brow. "are you seriously removing all the unpopped kernels?"

beomgyu didn't even glance up. "yes. they're a menace. one wrong bite and it's over. i have sensitive molars."

you laughed and shook your head slightly. "you're so dramatic."

"i'm a victim of snack sabotage," he said with a solemn nod. "you wouldn't understand."

he looked up then— eyes shining, lips curled in that typical lazy grin of his—and you blinked, caught off guard by how different he looked like that, handsome even. like summer even though it was raining. like something warm even though the windows fogged with the cold.

you shook your head and grabbed a handful of popcorn from his 'safe pile.'

"thief," he accused, his lips slightly parted as his eyes followed your hand full of his popcorn.

"you owe me for picking the movie," you said casually through a mouthful.

"which, by the way, was way too sad." he responded witty , looking down at his safe pile that was looking much smaller now, a pout growing on his lips.

"hey. you voted for it!" you said defensively.

"i was tricked."

"you literally said—and i quote—'that one has cool vibes.'"

beomgyu gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. "i did not sound like that."

"oh you did."

the laughter bounced around the room like the rain outside, soft and constant. the movie flickered on, mostly forgotten now, serving as a backdrop to something that felt... safe.

beomgyu leaned back on the couch, stretching until his arm rested casually along the back, his fingers inches from your shoulder. not touching. almost.

you pretended to focus on the screen, but you couldn't help but notice how close he was. how normal it felt.

how not-normal that normal felt.

when did it become this easy to be around him? when did he start looking like that?

beomgyu glanced over at you just then, mid-thought, and you caught him. his hand twitched like he might move it closer—then didn't

he grinned instead. "you've got popcorn salt on your cheek."

you blinked. "i do not."

"you do."

you tried wiping your face with the back of your hand.

"nope, other side."

you tried again. he squinted dramatically.

"closer," he teased. "warmer... almost... oh no. now it's smeared."

"seriously?"

he leaned in then, brushing his thumb lightly across your cheekbone. just a second. just enough.

"got it."

you froze. not from the touch, exactly—but from how something about it lodged itself under your ribs and stayed there.

that shouldn't have felt like anything, you told yourself.

but it had.

beomgyu didn't move away immediately. he looked at you, eyes scanning like he was trying to solve a puzzle. like he was trying to read you.

he wasn't smiling anymore, not really. it wasn't serious, but it wasn't just playful anymore.

why do i keep noticing the way she looks at me? why does her laugh sound like something i want to hear first thing in the morning?

that moment hung there—brief, silent, almost something.

the you grabbed a pillow and whacked him, maybe a little too hard.

"okay that was dramatic. you made it a whole moment."

he barked out a laugh, delighted, instantly recovering, his head tilted to the side. "i was being helpful! you're lucky i didn't use a napkin like an old man."

you narrowed your eyes. "you definitely would've done the whole spit-on-the-thumb thing, huh?"

beomgyu gasped. "do i look like a mom at a school drop-off?"

you looked him up and down pointedly. "you do own a cardigan that says otherwise."

he placed a hand to his chest, fake-offended. "that cardigan is a fashion statement."

"it's a threat to society."

he snatched a handful of popcorn and launched a piece at you. it bounced of your blanket.

"you're just jealous," he muttered, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "you wish you looked that cozy."

"i do look cozy," you said smugly, hugging the bowl to your chest now like it was a trophy. "and now this popcorn's mine."

"oh you think i'm gonna let that slide?" he said inching closer.

you tightened your grip. "don't test me."

your eyes locked in mock-serious challenge. then, without warning, beomgyu lunged. both wrestling over the bowl like two kids at a sleepover, laughing so hard, barely holding it together.

limbs tangled, the blanket twisted, and somewhere in the chaos, your hand ended up resting against his chest, and his leg slid beside yours, warm and solid.

both of you froze—not on purpose, but as if something instinctual told you this was different. the laughter trailed off in small, breathless remnants, but neither of you moved right away.

you looked up, realizing how close you were. his hair was a little messy now. he was smiling—but softer. not his usual teasing, lazy grin.

your fingers curled slightly into the fabric of his hoodie before you pulled them back.

beomgyu didn't say anything. he just shifted onto his elbow, resting his head in his hand, watching you as you sat up and set the popcorn down beside the couch.

the room was still. not awkward nor heavy. just full of something unspoken.

you turned towards the screen, tucking your legs underneath you again.

"you're not so bad for a popcorn snob." you said lightly, not looking at him.

"thanks," he replied, his voice softer now. "you're not so bad for a popcorn thief."

the both of you sat in silence again, this time more aware of it. more aware of each other.

it was supposed to be a quick study session. an hour, maybe two. just enough to finalize the concept sketches and finish your part of the layout. you'd done most of the work already—beomgyu had helped a lot more than you expected him to, even stayed up late editing the small mistakes you made when you were too tired to keep your eyes open.

so when he texted you that afternoon—

"you free to review the last presentation slides? i promise i'll bring snacks + my charming presence."

—you'd rolled your eyes and typed short yes.

unfortunately, the rainy season wasn't over yet. today the rain started like a whisper, then turned into a roar.

it poured down so hard, you could barely see the street from your window.

thirty minutes later, he was standing in your doorway,

drenched.

like fully soaked. hair flat. hoodie sticking to his arms. his sneakers squelched when he stepped inside.

he looked half amused, half miserable.

you blinked, your eyes traveling over him from head to toe. "did you walk here?"

beomgyu nodded, blinking rain from his lashes. "i was halfway when the sky opened up."

"why didn't you bring an umbrella?"

"i was trying to be dramatic."

you stared at him.

he smiled sheepishly. "also... i forgot."

you sighed, shaking your head, already turning to grab a towel.

he wasn't planning on getting caught in a storm, but maybe, deep down, he wanted an excuse to stay longer.

the professor gave the class another project, but you both finished it, mostly.

but that wasn't the reason he'd wanted to come over.

he liked your apartment. the plants in teacups. the art prints taped to the walls instead of framed. your weird little snack drawer organized by mood. it all felt warm, like you lived in comfort space, like you weren't trying to impress anyone.

and he liked your company, though he was still figuring out what to do with those thoughts about you that kept popping occasionally.

he liked the way your mind worked. the way you made things feel calm yet entertaining.

so yeah, he walked through the storm. and maybe he didn't care.

"guess i'm stranded." he said as you returned, holding a towel and a worn grey sweatshirt in your arms.

you tossed both at his chest.

"you're lucky i'm nice." you muttered, turning around, back to the living room.

he caught the sweatshirt midair and laughed, peeling off his soaked hoodie. "no, i'm lucky it's you."

you didn't answer him. you didn't want to read too much into it. beomgyu said things like that. he flirted for fun.

but your heart noticed.

he also didn't usually look at you like that.

you tried to ignore the way your heart sped up when he pulled your sweatshirt over his head. it looked better on him than it did on you, of course. and something about seeing him in it made the room feel smaller. closer.

you turned away and focused on making tea.

the rain hadn't stopped. it got heavier.

by that time, you both ended up on the couch under the blankets, the storm had turned the apartment into a little cave—safe, warm, cut off from everything else.

the tea steamed gently on the table. the movie played, but neither of you were paying attention. you sat shoulder to shoulder, legs tucked up, knees barely touching.

and still, you could feel him. every little shift. every glance.

you saw him look at you once. then again. and a third time.

"hey," he said, eyes on the screen, voice barely above a whisper.

you turned your head slightly. "hm?"

"i'm really glad we got partnered together." he said referring to early spring.

he wasn't sure why he said it. but he did.

thump, thump.

you weren't sure why your heart was speaking before your mind could process everything.

maybe for him, it was because the rain softened everything. maybe it was because the blanket was warm and you were warm and something about being near you made everything easier.

but he meant it.

he didn't look at you, his gaze still glued to the tv. still, he felt you turn slightly towards you.

"me too," you said, and there was a smile.

that did something to his chest, a tiny smile growing on his face.

"you know, i used to think you were kind of quiet," he said, trying to keep his tone light. you raised a brow. "but you're actually... kind of weird."

you elbowed him softly. "what... thanks, i guess?"

beomgyu grinned. "no like... you say weird stuff. the thing with your mismatched socks, talking to your plants like they're your babies. your enormous snacks collection based on your mood. but it's cool. it's interesting."

you didn't say anything, more like not knowing what to say. so you just looked at him.

your eyes, soft, kind. more than words ever could.

"your sweatshirt smells like you," he murmured, completely out of nowhere. "like laundry and cinnamon."

your heart flipped.

"that was almost romantic," you teased, pretending to be unbothered by your heart, almost jumping out of your ribcage.

he reached for his tea, brushing your hand in the process. sipping from his mug, his eyebrows dancing. "almost?"

"try harder next time."

he laughed, but his heart stuttered, ‘next time?’ he thought to himself. why did i even say that. hiding his thoughts behind a smile.

from his perspective, you didn't seem to mind, you didn't make it weird. thankfully

the thunder cracked louder now, rattling the windowpane.

you checked the forecast on your phone and frowned. "yeah you're not going anywhere."

beomgyu looked up from where he had flopped dramatically across your couch, his hair still slightly damp and sticking to his forehead.

"tragic," he said, voice dry. "guess i'll have to endure your tea and fluffy blankets a little longer."

you gave him a look. "endure?"

he looked at you with his usual playful grin, hugging a throw pillow like it was a long-lost pet. "okay, luxuriate inn. happy?"

"ecstatic," you said, tossing him a second pillow to the face.

he caught it swiftly and immediately started building a pillow wall between you. "this is for my safety."

"from what?" you asked with a raised eyebrow.

"you. you're feisty when sleep-deprived. remember your mood last week."

"you literally tried to eat expired instant noodles last week."

"and i survived, didn't i?" he said proudly and had a smug smirk on his face.

"barely."

"i am a man of mystery. i live on the edge."

"you live on convenience store snacks." you said and rolled your eyes. you pushed yourself off from the couch and his attention was now on you.

"you want me to grab something to sleep in?" you asked, voice soft with sleep.

he gave you a thumbs up from under the pillow fortress.

you came back with a pajama pants covered in tiny frogs, dropping it on his lap.

beomgyu's eyes lit up as he noticed the frogs. "i bet i'll still look handsome in this." his tone layered with confidence.

you rolled your eyes and shook your head slightly.

"whatever. i'm going to bed." you said after grabbing him a couple more blankets, since it was getting colder.

beomgyu nodded and prepared the couch to a comfortable bed.

"goodnight frog boy," you mumbled as you were walking towards your bedroom.

"goodnight popcorn thief." he said back. he was already laying comfortable, under the blankets and pillows.

the morning sunlight crept through the clouds, pale and hesitant casting a soft glow. the storm had finally passed.

you stirred awake to the faint clink of dishes and the sound of cupboard doors opening and closing.

beomgyu.

you blinked a few times, sitting up slowly. your hair was a wild mess around your face. a yawn escaped from your lips and you pushed yourself up from your bed.

you padded into the kitchen, rubbing your eyes. "what are you doing?"

beomgyu turned around, spoon in his mouth and a box of cereal tucked under his arm like a prized possession. his hair was fluffy now, dry but still unbrushed, sticking up like he'd rolled straight from the couch into the pantry.

he pulled the spoon out and shrugged. "breakfast obviously."

you raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "you have your own place."

"you don't have plain boring cornflakes," he said, lifting the box of choco rings slightly like it was a trophy. "you have joy."

you sighed, but your lips curved upward. "help yourself, i guess."

"oh i have been," he said with a playful wink, already reaching for a second bowl from the shelf.

the next ten minutes were filled with quiet munching and the soft sound of the morning news on low volume in the background. beomgyu sat across from you at the small kitchen table, still wearing the frog pants you'd given him the night before, like they were the peak of fashion.

"you've got milk on your chin," you said, half-smiling as you pount at him with your spoon.

beomgyu blinked, swiping at the wrong side of his face. you rolled your eyes, leaned over the table and wiped it with the corner of your sleeve.

he froze—just for a second. the kind of pause that hung in the air a beat too long. you felt it too, the sudden silence stretching between you.

"thanks." he said softy, eyes lingering on yours a little longer than usual.

you nodded, quickly looking down at your cereal. the clink of your spoon against the bowl suddenly felt too loud.

after a moment, he leaned back in his chair and tilted his head toward the window. "the sun's finally out," he said, his voice light again. "i was starting to think we'd be stuck in a tragic indie film forever."

you snorted. "you'd love that though."

he smirked. "depends. do i get the girl in the end?"

huh?

you stared at him—just a second too long. an unreadable expression on your face.

but your heart knew what was behind that expression, even if your mind was in denial.

he looked back, like he was trying to read something in your face. then he blinked and grinned, brushing it off like it was a joke. "kidding. unless you think i'd make a good male lead."

his usual teasing tone was evident in his voice.

you laughed, shaking your head. "you'd definitely cry at your own monologue."

"and steal the show," he said, eyebrows dancing, popping the last choco ring into his mouth.

you watched him, the sun catching his hair now, and something soft settled in your chest—warm and confusing.

"what?" he asked, catching your gaze.

"nothing." you said quickly. "just... your hair looks ridiculous."

"you say that like it's not my brand. and it's called trendy." he said and sent you a wink playfully, a light-hearted joke.

but why did my heart take it seriously?

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / bonus ୨♡୧

© bangtanbeom 2025

[minyoonjin]

yeontan, you were so loved and always will be...🕊️

[bangtanbeom]

hyyh era will always have a special place in my heart ♡