OUT OF TUNE ˖ 🎙◞⋆ (part 2)
pairing: producer!beomgyu x producer!femreader part 1 // part 2 // part 3
summary: you and beomgyu have been at each other’s throats since day one at HYBE. both of you are producers, both of you are talented, and both of you absolutely refuse to lose to the other. whether it’s competing for the best demo, fighting over studio time, or bickering in team meetings, everyone knows one thing: you and beomgyu cannot stand each other so, of course, your boss decides to put you two on the same project—producing ENHYPEN’s next album. together. as in, sharing a studio, making creative decisions, and not murdering each other in the process. and suddenly, the tension isn’t just about work.
genre: enemies to lovers, coworkers to lovers, slow burn, angst with a good payoff // w/c: 26k // warnings: not proofread, MDNI!! smoking (reader and beomgyu smoke), drinking, angst, jealously, overworking characters, making out, petnames, dry humping
author's note: you guys loved part 1 so much that i decided to drop part 2!! i wasn’t originally planning on posting this so soon, but all the love and reactions made me wanna share it with you asap. hope you enjoy <3 READ PART 1 HERE //
out of tune's playlist <3
The night was quiet, but Beomgyu’s mind wasn’t.
It had started with a question. A simple, stupid question that he never should have asked.
Waiting for your boyfriend to pick you up?
You had blinked at him, caught off guard, before letting out a soft laugh—so casual, so oblivious to what you had just done to him. "Yeonjun? No. God, no. He’s just—" You shook your head, still smiling. "He’s not my boyfriend."
Beomgyu had scoffed, looking away before you could see how tightly his jaw had clenched.
It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that you weren’t with Yeonjun. It didn’t matter that you had laughed, like the thought had never even crossed your mind.
And yet, by the time he pulled into the parking lot of his apartment that night, exhaustion was settling deep into his body, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He rarely did these days, not properly, anyway.
The hallway to his apartment was quiet, dimly lit, the familiar flickering of the overhead lights casting long shadows against the walls. It wasn’t a bad place. Spacious, modern enough. But it felt empty.
As soon as he stepped inside, he tossed his bag onto the couch and went straight to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. His shoulders ached from hunching over his desk all day, his head heavy from staring at screens for too long.
Still, instead of going to bed, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his call log. His thumb hovered over the contact labeled Mom, but for some reason, hesitation rooted him in place.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to her. It was just that… sometimes, it was easier to pretend things were fine when he didn’t hear how tired she sounded. Still, after a few moments, he forced himself to dial.
When she picked up, her voice was soft, laced with the kind of exhaustion that came from being sick for too long. "Gyu-yah."
His chest tightened. "Hey, Mom."
"You’re calling late," she murmured, a small smile in her tone.
"You’re awake late," he echoed his earlier words to his brother.
She chuckled lightly. "Guess it runs in the family." Another beat of silence. "You’ve been working a lot, haven’t you?"
Beomgyu leaned against the counter, closing his eyes briefly. She always saw right through him. "Yeah. Big project."
"Hm. And how’s that going?"
He exhaled, rubbing his fingers over his temple. "It’s—" He hesitated, searching for the right words. "Harder than I thought."
"Isn’t it always?"
He huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah."
His mother’s voice softened. "What’s making it difficult?"
Beomgyu rolled his shoulders, shifting against the counter. He could lie, say it was just the usual stress of production, deadlines piling up, expectations weighing on him. That was part of it, sure. But there was something else. "She’s… challenging," he admitted before he could think better of it.
A pause. Then, amusement slipped into his mother’s voice. "She?"
Beomgyu regretted his wording immediately. "I meant the project is challenging." His mother hummed knowingly, and somehow that was worse than if she had outright called him out. He sighed, tipping his head back. "It’s just—I don’t know. I’m used to working on my own. Or at least, if I do work with other people, I don’t have to think about them all the time."
"All the time?"
He gritted his teeth. "Not like that."
His mother just laughed softly, as if she had already heard this story before. "That means they’re good, doesn’t it?"
Beomgyu scoffed. "More like they piss me off."
"That’s the same thing sometimes." He rolled his eyes, but a small, unwilling smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Does she make your job harder?" his mom asked after a moment, more thoughtful now.
Beomgyu exhaled slowly. "She makes my job better."
It was the truth. And he hated that. Because you did. Even when you were annoying, even when you were frustrating, even when you made him want to slam his head against the mixing console, you still made the music better.
And that should be the only thing that mattered. Should be.
His mother hummed softly, as if she could hear everything he wasn’t saying. "Some people just have a way of getting under your skin," she murmured. "And sometimes, that’s not a bad thing."
Beomgyu didn’t respond to that. Because he wasn’t sure he liked where his thoughts were heading. After a while, he let her rest, hanging up the call and tossing his phone onto the couch. He should go to bed. But instead, he found himself standing in his kitchen, staring at the dark city skyline through the window, mind circling back to the same damn thing. To you.
To the way you had looked at him earlier, confused by his mood. To the way your voice had softened when you told him you weren’t having a good day. To the way you had laughed at the idea of being with Yeonjun, so casually, like it wasn’t even a possibility.
He didn’t know why that last part stuck with him the most. And he really didn’t like that he cared enough to wonder.
And now, standing in the middle of a crowded party, staring at you across the room, he realized: You had never really left. You were looking at him. Even with the haze of alcohol buzzing in his system, even through the blur of shifting bodies and flashing lights, Beomgyu felt it—sharp and unmistakable. The way your eyes found him, held him, even for just a moment. The way your expression flickered, unreadable, like you were trying to piece together something that neither of you had the words for.
And for the first time that night, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to smirk or swear. Because he liked it. He liked that you were looking. He liked knowing that, no matter how much you fought him, no matter how much you denied it—there was something there. But then, you looked away. Like it hadn’t meant anything. Like he didn’t mean anything. And something twisted deep in his chest, hot and sour. So, naturally, he did what he always did. He let his mouth run before his brain could catch up. "But don’t worry," he said, voice light, almost lazy, but aimed with precision. "I don’t care either way. After all, like you said… I’m just your coworker." The words landed exactly how he intended. He saw it—the way your shoulders tensed, the way your lips pressed together. The way something flickered in your eyes, so fast that if he blinked, he might’ve missed it. Then he smirked. Just a flash of teeth, just enough to make your stomach twist. And before he could second-guess himself, before he could let the alcohol-fueled honesty catch up to him, he turned on his heel and walked off, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, head spinning, caught between wanting to kill him and— No. You weren’t even gonna finish that thought.
You let out a slow, frustrated breath, running a hand through your hair. You needed to get out of your own head. You needed a drink. And after that, you needed Yunjin.
The party was still buzzing when you stepped back inside, the room warm and crowded, laughter spilling over the music. You spotted her near the bar, leaning against the counter, drink in hand, mid-conversation with some guy you didn’t recognize. You marched straight up to her, grabbing her wrist.
“I need to talk to you.” Yunjin barely had time to react before you were pulling her away from the noise, past groups of people, through the doorway leading to one of the quieter lounge areas.
Once inside, she gave you a look, raising an eyebrow as she took a slow sip of her drink. “Damn. No ‘hey, how are you?’ Not even a ‘you look great tonight, Yunjin’?”
You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Not now.”
She studied you, then smirked knowingly. “This is about Beomgyu, isn’t it?”
You stiffened. “No.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, completely unconvinced. “Go on…”
You exhaled sharply, slumping onto the couch, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me.”
Yunjin sat beside you, kicking off her heels, posture casual. “Alright, let’s hear it.”
You hesitated, staring at the floor, feeling strangely vulnerable all of a sudden. It took a few seconds before you found your voice. “I—” You stopped, frowning. “I don’t even know what I feel right now. I’m just… frustrated.”
She hummed. “At him?”
“At everything,” you admitted. “At this whole fucking project. At the way he gets under my skin so easily. At the fact that—” You cut yourself off, clenching your jaw.
Yunjin, sharp as ever, caught it immediately. “At the fact that what?”
You hesitated, gripping the edge of your seat. “I want his approval.” The words came out quiet. Frustrated. “I don’t know why. I just—I hate how much I care about what he thinks. Every time we work on something, I catch myself waiting to see how he reacts. Like, I tell myself it doesn’t matter, that I don’t need him to validate me, but then—” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “But then he does. And it fucks with me.”
Yunjin listened, her expression unreadable. “Do you want his approval?” she asked. “Or do you want him?”
Your head snapped toward her. “What?”
She shrugged, completely unfazed. “I mean, you’re so worked up over him, and yeah, some of it is because of work, but…” She tilted her head, giving you a look. “Is that all it is?”
Your stomach twisted. “Yes,” you said immediately. Yunjin just stared at you, unimpressed. You crossed your arms. “It is.”
Silence. Then she smirked, slow and knowing. “Liar.”
You groaned, shoving your face into your hands. “Oh my god, shut up.”
She laughed, nudging your foot with hers. “I mean, come on. This whole thing screams unresolved tension. You two have been circling each other for months, pretending you’re just rivals when clearly there’s more to it.”
You lifted your head, glaring. “There isn’t.”
“Okay,” she said, amused. “So if he kissed you tomorrow, you wouldn’t think about it for the rest of your life?”
Your brain short-circuited so violently that you actually choked on air. “What—”
Yunjin grinned. “Exactly.”
You scowled, but the damage was done. The thought was already planted in your head, unshakable. Beomgyu, close. Beomgyu, leaning in. Beomgyu, looking at you with that stupid, unreadable expression of his before—
Nope. You refused to entertain this. You grabbed her drink, downing the rest of it in one go, ignoring the way she laughed at you. “I hate you,” you muttered.
“No, you don’t,” she teased. “But you do have a thing for Beomgyu.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“Shut up.”
“Denial isn’t a good look on you, babe.”
You groaned, sinking further into the couch, your mind an absolute mess. Because no matter how much you wanted to deny it, Yunjin wasn’t completely wrong.
The music pulsed through the party, deep bass reverberating in your chest as you let yourself sink into the moment. The weight of the conversation with Yunjin still lingered in the back of your mind, but you shoved it aside, focusing on your friends instead—on the warmth of Yeonjun’s arm slung over your shoulder as he dramatically belted the lyrics to whatever song was playing, on the way Taehyun shook his head at him, on Hueningkai laughing so hard at something that he nearly dropped his drink. You let yourself get lost in it.
And then, eventually, the night began to wind down. People started leaving in waves, slipping out the doors in pairs or groups, laughter and goodbyes trailing after them. Your own friends were still lingering, but you were exhausted, drained from the long week, from the constant push and pull inside your head.
You needed sleep. You told them as much, earning dramatic protests from Yeonjun that didn't want to leave with you, a teasing “boring” from Yunjin, and an understanding nod from Taehyun. Hueningkai just patted your shoulder. "Get home safe," he said, voice warm.
Near the entrance, just a few feet away, Beomgyu stood against the wall, shoulders tense, arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t talking to anyone, wasn’t laughing, wasn’t even pretending to enjoy himself. He was just there, like he had been standing in that same spot for too long, stewing in whatever storm was brewing behind his unreadable expression.
And he was looking at you. Even in the dim lighting, even from across the room, you could feel the weight of it—heavy, unwavering, pressing against your skin like static before a thunderstorm. There was something sharp in his gaze, something unsettled. Irritated. His jaw was tight, his fingers flexing slightly against his bicep, like he was holding something back. But from what? From you?
The noise of the party faded into the background, drowned out by the heavy thrum of your own heartbeat. You didn’t know why you were still standing there. You didn’t know why the sight of him like this made something twist sharply in your stomach, something restless, something uneasy.
You exhaled sharply, breaking the moment before it could turn into something you weren’t ready to name. Without another glance, you turned on your heel and walked out of the party.
You didn’t know what you felt.
But whatever it was, you hated it.
Just like you thought you hated Beomgyu.
You woke up feeling like absolute shit.
The kind of headache that pounded behind your eyes, the kind of dryness in your throat that made you regret every decision from the night before. You groaned, burying your face in the pillow, willing the pain to go away.
It didn’t. Of course it didn’t.
Memories from last night filtered into your mind slowly, fragmented, like puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit together at first. You remembered the warmth of the alcohol in your veins, the steady bass of the music vibrating through your chest, the feeling of actually having fun for once—until you saw him.
Beomgyu.
You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that could make the memory disappear.
Beomgyu, drunk and loose-limbed, flashing you that easy, lazy grin that made your stomach flip before you could even process why. Beomgyu being nice, too nice, his words softer than usual, his teasing edged with something warmer.
And then, just as quickly as it came, it was gone. The shift. The way his smile dimmed when he saw you talking to Yunho. The way his fingers curled slightly around his drink, his jaw tightening just enough for you to notice. The way his gaze darkened, cold and distant again.
And right before he walked away, he had turned to you with that unreadable look in his eyes, that frustrating mix of amusement and distance, and had said— "After all, like you said… I’m just your coworker."
Your stomach twisted. You threw the blanket off you, forcing yourself to sit up, because if you laid here any longer, you were going to start throwing things.
The apartment was dead silent, except for the faint sound of someone snoring in the living room. You got up carefully, wincing at the headache that pulsed through your skull, and padded out of your room. Yeonjun was passed out on the couch, one leg hanging off the side, his face smushed into a pillow. You sighed, grabbing the nearest blanket and draping it over him.
Then, as you turned toward the kitchen, you nearly tripped over two bodies sprawled out on the floor. Hueningkai and Taehyun. Both dead asleep, Kai using a hoodie as a pillow, Taehyun curled up in the most uncomfortable-looking position you had ever seen.
You stared at them for a long moment, then sighed again, rubbing at your temples. You needed coffee. You needed out of this apartment. That's why you decided to grab coffee somewhere else.
It was still too early for the world to feel real. The streets were quiet, the sky dull with that soft, overcast light that only came on hungover Sundays. You wrapped your jacket tighter around yourself as you pushed through the doors of the coffeeshop, craving caffeine more than you had ever craved anything in your life.
You were so focused on getting to the counter that you didn’t even notice him at first.
"So we really had the same idea, huh?" You blinked, turning toward the voice. Soobin was sitting at a corner table, hoodie pulled up over his messy hair, looking just as wrecked as you felt. His iced coffee sat half-finished in front of him, condensation dripping down the sides.
You stared. "Holy shit. You look like hell."
He scoffed. "Thanks. You’re glowing this morning."
You snorted, finally ordering your drink before sliding into the seat across from him. "Didn’t expect to see you here."
Soobin hummed. "Didn’t expect to be here. But I woke up with a headache from hell and figured coffee might bring me back to life."
"Same." You took a slow sip of your drink, wincing as the cold hit your stomach. "Last night was… a lot."
Soobin huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah. Some more than others."
You narrowed your eyes. "What’s that supposed to mean?"
He just smirked, shaking his head. "Nothing. Just… Beomgyu was in rare form last night."
You stiffened slightly. If Soobin noticed, he didn’t mention it. "That drunk?" you asked, voice carefully neutral.
"Drunk enough to be nice," Soobin mused. "Which, you know, is when you should be really concerned." You huffed a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Soobin watched you for a moment, something thoughtful in his expression. "You know," he said eventually, stirring his drink with the straw, "he’s not as much of an asshole as he tries to be."
You raised an eyebrow. "Could’ve fooled me."
Soobin chuckled. "Yeah, he’s good at that. But—" He tilted his head slightly, studying you. "—he respects you."
You hesitated. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe that. You knew Beomgyu took you seriously, he wouldn’t compete so hard with you if he didn’t. But respect wasn’t the word that had been echoing in your head since last night.
Soobin leaned back in his chair. "And maybe he likes your work a little too much."
Your heart skipped, just once, just enough for you to feel stupid. You forced out a scoff, shaking your head. "Right. Sure. That’s why he spent half of the night treating me like shit."
Soobin’s smirk barely twitched. "I never said he handles it well."
You stared at him, trying to figure out if he was messing with you. But there was nothing teasing in his gaze, just knowing amusement, like he had already seen how this story played out before you even knew what page you were on.
You hated that. You hated that something about it made your stomach twist.
So, you stood up, grabbing your order. "I need to go before you start giving me life advice."
Soobin grinned, unfazed. "See you Monday, then?"
"Yeah, yeah," you muttered, already heading for the door.
But even as you stepped out into the cold air, the caffeine still not fully kicking in, Soobin’s words stuck with you. Maybe he likes your work a little too much. Whatever that meant, you weren’t sure if you wanted to know.
The walk back to your apartment was slow, the cool morning air doing little to clear the fog still lingering in your head. The coffeeshop bag swung gently at your side, filled with coffee and a few pastries, not because you were feeling particularly generous, but because you knew the three idiots waiting for you would need it just as much as you did.
When you finally pushed the door open, the apartment was still a disaster.
Yeonjun was awake now, sprawled across the couch in the same position you had left him in, scrolling through his phone with half-lidded eyes. Taehyun and Hueningkai were still on the floor, looking like they had barely moved.
You let the door shut behind you with a soft thud, and all three of them flinched.
"Jesus," Yeonjun muttered, rubbing his face. "Not so loud."
You rolled your eyes, tossing the bag onto the coffee table. "Brought coffee. If any of you die, it’s not my fault."
Hueningkai groaned, blindly reaching for the bag without sitting up. "You’re an angel. A mean one, but an angel."
Taehyun sat up with effort, running a hand through his already-messy hair. "Where’d you go?"
"Coffeeshop," you said simply, grabbing your own cup before sitting on the arm of the couch. "Needed air."
Yeonjun stretched his arms above his head, then let them drop dramatically. "Did we ever figure out what happened to Yunjin?"
"Yeah," Taehyun answered, taking a sip of his drink. "We got her home safe. She passed out halfway there."
"Typical," Yeonjun muttered, shaking his head.
Hueningkai yawned. "We were too drunk to go back to our own places, so we crashed here. Hope you don’t mind."
You shrugged. "I figured. You were taking up half my floor." You shook your head before speaking again. "Ran into Soobin there, in the coffeeshop."
That got their attention. Hueningkai snorted. "Damn, everyone had the same idea."
"Yeah," you mused, stirring your straw through your drink. "He looked just as bad as me. Maybe worse."
Yeonjun hummed. "He drank a lot last night."
"Yeah," you agreed, then took a slow sip of coffee before adding casually, "But he said Beomgyu was worse." You expected some reaction. A laugh, a sarcastic remark, maybe even an exaggerated groan. What you didn’t expect was the subtle way Yeonjun and Taehyun exchanged glances. You frowned. "What?"
Yeonjun exhaled, setting his drink down. "Nothing—just…" He hesitated before continuing, "after you left, Beomgyu and Yunho got into it."
You blinked. "What?"
Hueningkai nodded, chewing slowly. "Yeah. Not, like, a full fight or anything. But they were arguing. And it wasn’t friendly."
You sat up slightly. "Over what?"
Yeonjun shrugged. "No clue. Heeseung and I stepped in before it got worse, but they were both pissed."
Your mind raced, replaying the night. Yunho had been fine when you left, normal, flirty, acting like he always did. And Beomgyu? Beomgyu had been weird. The shift had been so sudden, one second he was being nice, playful, softer than usual. The next, cold, distant. And now, apparently, he had also picked a fight with Yunho. None of it made sense.
You drummed your fingers against your cup. "What did Yunho even say?"
Taehyun shook his head. "Dunno. But whatever it was, Beomgyu hated it."
You scoffed lightly. "So what? He was already pissed at me."
"Was he?" Yeonjun asked, raising an eyebrow.
You frowned, opening your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Because, honestly? You didn’t know. He had been acting off all week, distant and unreadable. And then last night, he was the opposite, warm, teasing, close. And then, again, the shift, cold. Your head hurt just thinking about it.
"I don’t care," you muttered, standing up and stretching. "I’m taking a shower. If you guys are still here when I’m done, I’m kicking you out."
Taehyun smirked. "Love you too."
You rolled your eyes, but as you walked toward your room, the weight of Yeonjun’s words lingered. Whatever it was, it clearly got under Beomgyu’s skin. But why did that matter? And why the hell did you care?
The car ride to work on Monday was quiet, but not in a peaceful way.
Yeonjun was dropping you off like usual, his music playing softly in the background, but you weren’t really listening. Your thoughts were elsewhere, circling, looping, pulling you into an endless spiral of what the hell is going on with you and Beomgyu.
You had spent the entire Sunday trying not to think about him.
Trying not to think about the way he had been so warm, so teasing, so himself, until he wasn’t. Trying not to think about Yunho, about their argument, about the way Beomgyu looked at you when you left.
And yet, here you were, staring out the car window, still thinking about it. Because now you had to see him again. And you had no idea which version of Beomgyu you were going to get. The smug, infuriating one who lived to push your buttons? The cold, distant one who had barely acknowledged you all week? Or the version from the party, the one who looked at you like he knew exactly what he was doing to your head?
Which was exactly why you didn’t want to talk about this. Because if you said it out loud, then it would feel real. Instead, you just turned back toward the window, watching as the HYBE building came into view.
You made it to your studio without seeing Beomgyu. Thank god.
You hadn’t even realized you had been holding your breath until you shut the door behind you, exhaling slowly. The last thing you wanted was to run into Beomgyu in some awkward hallway moment, trying to pretend like everything was fine when clearly nothing was.
So you did what you did best. You threw yourself into work.
The hours slipped by, your fingers moving almost mechanically over your keyboard, your mind hyper-focused on mixing, arranging, tweaking. It was easier this way, easier to pretend that nothing had changed, that your work was all that mattered.
You didn’t see Beomgyu once. Not in the hallway, not in the break room, not even in the usual spaces where he always seemed to be. Maybe he was avoiding you too. You tried not to care. Tried not to think about it.
But then, just as the day was winding down, just as you were finally about to pack up and go home, there was a knock at your door.
You frowned, pushing your chair back. "Come in."
The door swung open, and standing there, looking as serious as ever, was Baekhyun. "Hey," he said, stepping inside. "Got a minute?"
You straightened slightly, your pulse kicking up for no reason at all. "Uh… yeah, of course."
Baekhyun shut the door behind him before turning to face you. His expression was unreadable, calm, neutral, but with a weight behind his eyes that made your stomach churn. You had a bad feeling about this.
"Listen," he started, crossing his arms. "I wanted to tell you this before you heard it from someone else."
You swallowed. "O…kay?"
Baekhyun exhaled, then said, "Beomgyu dropped out of the project."
The words didn’t register at first. You just blinked at him, waiting for him to say something else. But he didn’t. Because that was it.
You sat up straighter, confusion flashing across your face. "What?"
"He asked to be reassigned," Baekhyun clarified. "You’re the sole producer now."
Your stomach dropped. "He what?"
Baekhyun sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don’t know what happened, but it wasn’t about work. His excuse was weak as hell. He just said he ‘wasn’t the right fit for the project’ and left it at that."
You stared at him, your brain struggling to process. Beomgyu, who never backed down from anything, had quit? Beomgyu, who had spent the last few weeks going head-to-head with you, challenging you, pushing you, had walked away?
Just like that? Your pulse roared in your ears. "Why?" you demanded.
Baekhyun shook his head. "I have no idea. And honestly, I don’t have time to figure it out. The album still needs to get done, and now it’s all on you."
You barely heard him. Because all you could think about was him.
The way he had been acting all week. The way he had been acting at the party. The argument with Yunho. The distance. The sudden shift. And now this.
Beomgyu didn’t just quit. Not unless there was a reason. But what the hell was it?
Baekhyun sighed, checking his watch. "Look, I have to run, but if you need anything, let me know."
You nodded stiffly, barely registering as he left the room, shutting the door behind him. And then you were alone. Alone with the news. Alone with the confusion. Alone with the sharp, twisting feeling in your chest that you refused to call anything other than frustration.
Your brain spiraled. Your hands clenched into fists against your desk, your pulse hammering in your ears. Beomgyu quit? Just like that? Without saying a word to you? Without even giving a proper reason?
It made no sense. None of it made sense. You sat there, staring blankly at your screen, but you weren’t processing anything. All you could think about was him.
You exhaled sharply, pushing back from your desk. You weren’t going to sit here and let your thoughts drive you insane. If he wasn’t going to come to you, then fine. You’d go to him.
The building was nearly empty. Most people had already gone home, leaving only a few scattered producers and trainees still working. The silence felt heavier somehow, like even the air itself knew something was wrong.
You walked straight to his studio first. Locked. No lights inside. Empty.
Your jaw tightened as you turned away, moving faster now. Fine. Maybe he was in the break room.
You checked there next, stepping inside and scanning the area. Nothing. Not even a half-finished cup of coffee or an abandoned snack, things that always seemed to be left behind whenever Beomgyu was around.
Your fingers twitched at your sides. You were already walking before you had fully decided to, heading down the hallway toward the smoking area outside. You shoved the door open, stepping onto the dimly lit balcony. The cold air bit at your skin, but you barely noticed. Because the space was completely empty. He wasn’t here.
You let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through your hair. Where the hell was he?
After a few more seconds of standing there uselessly, you turned back around, forcing yourself to accept that you weren’t going to find him tonight. Maybe he had already gone home. Maybe he had been home this whole time, avoiding everything and everyone. Maybe you were wasting your energy trying to chase after someone who clearly didn’t want to be found.
Defeat sat heavy in your chest as you trudged back toward your studio, exhaustion sinking into your bones now that the adrenaline had faded. You should just let it go. Just let him go.
But when you stepped inside your studio—
You froze. Because there he was.
Sitting in your chair, arms resting on the desk, staring at you like he had been waiting. Like he had known you’d come looking. He had that look on his face. That stupid, pathetic, guilty expression—like a kicked dog, like he knew exactly what he had done, like he was bracing himself for the storm he knew was coming.
You shut the door behind you harder than necessary, your heartbeat roaring in your ears. Beomgyu swallowed, his hands tightening slightly where they rested on the desk.
"Listen—"
"Listen what?" Your voice snapped through the air, sharper than you even intended, but you didn’t care. Because after everything, this was what you got? A half-hearted listen? No. Not happening. You crossed your arms, glaring at him. "Go on, Beomgyu. I’d love to hear it."
The words hit the air like a match against gasoline. Beomgyu exhaled sharply, rubbing his palms against his jeans before leaning forward, elbows on his knees. His gaze flickered up to meet yours, hesitant, cautious. "I just—" He ran a hand through his hair, frustration leaking into his voice. "It wasn’t working."
"What wasn’t working?" you demanded. "Because from where I’m standing, the only thing that wasn’t working was you deciding to disappear without saying a damn word to me—"
"Would you just let me talk?" Beomgyu snapped, his voice cutting through yours.
You froze. He never raised his voice at you. Not like this. Not with something heavy sitting behind it, something too close to something real. You set your jaw, arms tightening over your chest. "Fine. Talk."
He let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. "You think I wanted to leave the project?"
You blinked. "You literally did."
"Yeah," he snapped. "And maybe if you weren’t so stuck in your own head all the time, you’d realize why."
Your stomach twisted. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Beomgyu scoffed, pushing himself up from your chair. "It means," he said, voice low, controlled, "that I warned you about people you let in in your life, and you didn’t listen."
And there it was. The shift. The argument that had started as one thing—the project, his sudden absence, your frustration, suddenly becoming something else. Your hands clenched at your sides. "This is about Seungcheol?!"
He let out a sharp laugh, running his tongue over his teeth. "Wow. Look at that. You do listen sometimes."
You took a step closer. "And what exactly is your problem with him?"
Beomgyu’s jaw ticked. "My problem," he muttered, "is that you’re so damn naive sometimes—"
"Excuse me?"
"You think everyone is exactly what they show you," he continued, voice rising slightly. "You think people don’t have their own reasons for the things they do, for why they pay attention to you—"
You felt something sharp crawl up your throat, something dangerously close to real anger. "And why the fuck does that matter to you?"
Beomgyu’s breath hitched, just for a second, just enough for you to see it. And then, just as quickly, his face hardened again. "It doesn’t," he said flatly.
You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Right. Got it. So, you threw away an entire project, left me with all the fucking work, because you suddenly don’t care?"
Beomgyu’s hands curled into fists. "I left because I knew this was going to get messy."
"It’s already messy, Beomgyu!" you exploded. "You made it messy! I thought we were a team—I thought, for once, that maybe you weren’t just trying to be better than me, that maybe we actually worked well together, but no—of course not, because you had to fucking run the second it got complicated—"
"Are you even hearing yourself?" His voice was sharp, eyes blazing. "Do you really think I left because of the fucking project?"
You opened your mouth—then shut it. Because, no. You didn’t believe that. Not for a second. Because if this was just about work, then Beomgyu would’ve fought harder. He always fought harder.
Your breath was shallow now, your heart racing against your ribs. There was only a foot of space between you.
You could hear his breathing, sharp, uneven. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched at his sides like he was fighting the urge to do something. And you could feel it, how the air between you had shifted, thickened into something neither of you knew how to name.
This wasn’t just about work. This wasn’t just about Yunho, or Seungcheol. This wasn’t just about Saturday night. It was about everything. But neither of you were ready to say it. Neither of you knew how.
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral. "Then why did you?"
His jaw clenched. "I told you—"
"No," you cut him off, stepping even closer, your anger outweighing your restraint now. "You didn’t. You keep talking in circles, Beomgyu, but you haven’t told me shit. You just keep—acting like I’m supposed to read your fucking mind."
Beomgyu exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "Because you don’t get it!"
"Then make me get it!" you snapped.
His eyes flashed, dark and burning. Then, suddenly—
"You drive me insane."
The words hit the air before he could stop them, before you could process them, and for a second, the room froze. Your breath caught.
Beomgyu’s lips parted slightly, like he couldn’t believe he had actually said it out loud. His chest rose and fell unevenly, like he had been holding onto those words for too long, like they had just ripped their way out of him.
You felt your stomach twist, your skin heat, your pulse roar in your ears. Because he wasn’t looking at you with anger anymore. He was looking at you like you were something dangerous. Like you had the power to ruin him. Like you already had.
"Ever since we started this fucking project," he continued, voice rough, "I haven’t been able to think straight. I go home, and I still hear your voice in my head. I wake up, and I’m already wondering what kind of mood you’ll be in, if we’re gonna fight, if we’re gonna work, if—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "It’s you. It’s always fucking you."
Your pulse slammed against your ribs. This, whatever this was, it had been bubbling under the surface for so long, hidden under sharp words and competition and a rivalry neither of you had ever actually needed.
"You fucking ran." Your voice was quieter now, but not softer.
Beomgyu’s brows pulled together. "I had to."
"No," you countered, stepping closer. "You wanted to. Because it was easier than—than whatever this is. Because you can’t handle anything you can’t control."
Beomgyu let out a sharp breath, tongue running over his teeth. "You think I’m the only one running?" You hesitated. That second of hesitation was all it took.
Because then, suddenly, Beomgyu’s fingers curled around your wrist, not pulling, not forcing, just grounding, and you felt the warmth of his skin burn into yours. "You tell me to stop running," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper now. "Then tell me to stay."
Your heart nearly stopped. The challenge in his tone, the weight behind it, felt like stepping off a ledge. You stared at him, your throat tight, your head light, your pulse a fucking mess. Because this wasn’t how things were supposed to go. This wasn’t the plan.
And yet, your fingers tightened slightly around his. Barely, just enough for him to feel it. Just enough for something inside him to snap.
You barely had time to process it before Beomgyu moved.
His hands found your face first, warm, calloused fingers cradling your jaw like he needed to hold you in place, like he was afraid you’d pull away before he could do what he had been holding back for too long.
The space between you disappeared, and then his lips were on yours.
The first press was firm, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if you’d kiss him back, if this was something he was allowed to take. But then you gave in. A sharp inhale, a slight tilt of your head, the way your fingers fisted into his hoodie, yanking him closer. That was all he needed. Because once Beomgyu realized you weren’t stopping him, that you weren’t pushing him away, he lost it.
The kiss got harder, deeper, his lips parting against yours as his hands slid from your jaw to your waist, fingers gripping your sides like he was pissed off—at you, at himself, at the entire world for making him wait this long.
You made a sound against his mouth, but it wasn’t protest. It was frustration, relief, disbelief that this was even happening. Because fuck, he kissed like this? Hot and desperate and messy, like he had been waiting for this for longer than even he was willing to admit. Like he had no idea where to put his hands because he wanted to touch you everywhere.
You felt his teeth graze your lower lip, just barely, just enough to make you gasp, and he took full advantage of it, deepening the kiss, pressing himself into you until your back hit the door behind you.
All you could process was him, his lips, his warmth, the way one of his hands slid up, fingers curling around the back of your neck, angling your head so he could kiss you even deeper, even dirtier. Your fingers dug into his hoodie, tugging him forward, not willing to let him have all the control. He groaned at that.
A soft, frustrated sound that sent a thrill through your body, because you had never heard him sound like that before, had never imagined that you could pull that sound from him. And then, just when the heat between you had grown unbearable, just when his hands started to wander, gripping at your waist like he wanted to pin you there forever—
You both realized what was happening. Realized that this was you and him. That this was real. That this wasn’t something either of you could take back. So you pulled away first. Barely, just a few inches. Just enough to catch your breath. Beomgyu didn’t move.
His forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips, his hands still gripping your waist like he couldn’t let go. Your chest heaved, heart hammering so loudly you swore he could hear it. Neither of you spoke. Neither of you could. Because whatever line had been there before? You had just obliterated it.
His breath was uneven, and the silence between you both stretched longer than either of you had anticipated. The air in the studio felt thick now, charged with something neither of you quite knew how to handle.
Finally, you broke the silence. Your voice came out rough but firm as you looked at him. "You… you can’t just walk away."
Beomgyu’s hand twitched at your waist, his grip still there, like he was trying to hold onto something real in the middle of all the chaos between you two. His lips parted, but he hesitated, like he wasn’t sure what to say next.
"You want me to stay?" he asked, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable than you expected. "You really want me to stay?"
You swallowed hard, a knot forming in your throat. It wasn’t that simple. But then again, it was. "I do," you said, your words coming out with an honesty you couldn’t take back.
The air seemed to crackle around you both, and Beomgyu finally let go of his tight grip around your waist, but not completely. He just let his hands fall to your sides, his touch lingering as though he was afraid of pushing too far.
And there it was. The line had been crossed. The weight of your words hung between you, settling like something inevitable. Neither of you moved, but there was something different now, something undeniable that shifted in the space you shared.
Beomgyu’s eyes softened for the first time, he leaned in again, his hand gently cupping your cheek this time, as though he was finally allowing himself to believe that this wasn’t just another fleeting moment, another mistake. His touch lingered for a moment longer, his hand soft on your cheek as though he were afraid that if he moved too quickly, everything would fall apart. His eyes searched yours, the intensity of the moment hanging between you, thick with unspoken words. His lips parted slightly, as though he was going to say something, but the words seemed to get stuck in his throat.
For a long moment, all that was heard was the sound of your breaths, his shaky, yours quick. But then, just as quickly as he had leaned in, Beomgyu pulled back.
The change was immediate. His hand dropped from your cheek, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something almost… regretful. You could feel the tension in his body shift, a quiet storm brewing in him that you couldn’t quite understand.
"Beomgyu…" you started, but before you could get another word out, he turned away from you.
Without a word, he walked toward the door. Your chest tightened, confusion and frustration flooding your senses as you watched him move. You didn’t know whether to call out, to beg him to stay, or to just let him go and pretend that this whole mess hadn’t happened. But no matter what, you felt a pit in your stomach, a weight you couldn’t shake off.
Beomgyu reached for the handle, his back still to you, and for a brief second, you thought maybe he would say something—anything. Maybe he would explain himself, finally tell you what was going through his head. But instead, he opened the door. The sound of the hinges creaking was like a cruel reminder of what was happening.
He stepped outside, and for a heartbeat, the door remained open, leaving you to watch him through the gap. His expression was unreadable, his body stiff. Then, without looking back, he closed the door behind him, the sound echoing through the room like the finality of everything.
And just like that, you were left alone.
Your heart pounded in your chest as you sat down, staring at the door, still hearing the faint click of it locking in your mind. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. It felt as though the world had tilted on its axis, leaving you floating in the aftermath, unsure of what had just happened. What had changed? Why did it feel like you were left with nothing?
Everything was so… messy. You had never felt so raw, so exposed, and yet, Beomgyu had walked away without a single word. The silence that filled the room now was deafening. You wanted to scream, to shout, to demand answers, but all you could do was sit there, trying to make sense of it all.
Had you been wrong to ask him to stay? Did you push him too far, too soon? Or was this all just another part of that complicated dance you two had been doing from the very start?
You didn’t know. All you knew was that the studio felt emptier now, quieter. And Beomgyu… Beomgyu had walked away. The silence in the studio was suffocating.
You sat there, unmoving, eyes still locked on the door even though Beomgyu was long gone. Your hands were trembling in your lap. The lump in your throat tightened, and before you could stop it, a sharp, broken breath escaped you. Until the tears spilled over, hot and relentless, blurring your vision and burning your cheeks.
You sucked in a shaky breath, gripping the edge of your desk like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. You never cried over shit like this. Not over work. Not over him. You hated this. You hated feeling like this.
You blinked rapidly, wiping at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, but the tears wouldn’t stop. Your breath came out in uneven gasps, the weight in your chest growing heavier by the second.
You needed to leave. Your fingers scrambled for your phone, your vision still blurred with tears as you unlocked it and pulled up your messages. You barely even thought before typing.
[you]: can you pick me up The response came within seconds.
[yeonjun]: on my way. stay there.
You let out a shaky breath, gripping your phone like it was the only thing keeping you from completely unraveling.
The second you slid into Yeonjun’s car, the dam broke.
The moment the door shut behind you, the sobs you had barely been holding in ripped out of you, raw and unfiltered, shaking your entire body.
Yeonjun didn’t hesitate. Didn’t ask any questions. Didn’t push. He just reached across the console, one hand on your back, grounding you. "Hey, hey, hey," he murmured, his voice low and calm as he rubbed small circles. "I got you, okay? Just breathe."
You shook your head violently, pressing your palms into your eyes, trying, and failing, to stop crying. "I—I don’t—" A sharp inhale, a choked-out sob. "I don’t even know why I’m crying."
Yeonjun let out a soft breath, like he already knew that was a lie. You sucked in another shaky breath, leaning your head back against the seat, staring up at the roof of the car. For a few minutes, neither of you spoke. Yeonjun just drove.
The car was quiet, save for the steady hum of the engine and the occasional sound of your sniffles as you tried to get your breathing under control. Yeonjun didn’t say anything right away. He didn’t press, didn’t demand answers. He just waited and held your hand while he drove. Slow, steady, like he had done this a hundred times before. Like he knew you needed the silence before you could find the words.
And when you finally did, your voice came out small. Tired. "He quit the project." Yeonjun’s grip on the wheel tightened slightly, but he stayed quiet, letting you continue. "I don’t—I don’t get it," you said, shaking your head as you wiped at your eyes with your sleeve. "I was working all day, and then Baekhyun came in and just dropped it on me like it was nothing. Like it was some casual decision Beomgyu made, and now I’m just supposed to deal with it—"
Yeonjun exhaled sharply. "Wait. He just left? No warning? No explanation?"
You let out a shaky breath. "Nothing. I—I went looking for him, but he wasn’t anywhere. Then when I finally gave up and went back to my studio, he was just there, like he had been waiting for me or something." Yeonjun frowned, but he didn’t interrupt. "And I was so fucking mad," you admitted, voice thick with frustration. "I just—I don’t understand him. He always has to push my buttons, always has to act like he doesn’t care about anything, but then he turns around and does this. Like it means something, but then he—he just—"
Your breath hitched. You squeezed your eyes shut, your chest aching. "And then he kissed me," you whispered.
Silence. Yeonjun inhaled slowly. "What?"
Your hands clenched in your lap. "I don’t even know how it happened. We were yelling at each other, and it just—it happened."
Yeonjun didn’t respond right away. His fingers flexed around the steering wheel, his brows furrowing as he processed what you just said. "And then what?" he asked, quieter now.
Your throat tightened. "And then… he left."
Yeonjun let out a slow, controlled breath. "What a dick." You let out a weak, wet laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, well, I mean it." He tightened his grip on the wheel before exhaling, forcing himself to soften.
Then, carefully, he reached over, his fingers curling around your knee, grounding you. "Hey." You sniffled, not looking at him. Yeonjun’s voice was softer this time. "Did it mean something to you?"
Your breath caught. Because, fuck. It did. It did, and you hated that. You let out a shaky exhale, running a hand over your face. "I don’t know," you lied.
Yeonjun hummed like he didn’t believe you for a second. He didn’t push, though. Instead, his thumb rubbed slow, calming circles into your knee. "Look, Y/N… I don’t think Beomgyu ran because he didn’t care. I think he ran because he does."
Your chest ached. "Then why not just fucking say that?"
Yeonjun sighed, turning onto your street. "Because people are dumb. Men are dumb. And Beomgyu’s spent years convincing himself that he doesn’t care about anything. You think he’s just gonna wake up one day and admit that he cares about you?" Your breath stilled. Yeonjun just shook his head. "He’s an idiot. That’s all it is."
You let out a weak laugh, leaning your head against the window. "Yeah," you murmured. "That makes two of us."
Yeonjun pulled into your apartment complex, shifting into park before turning to you. He didn’t say anything for a second, just watched you carefully, his eyes warm and steady. Then, gently, he reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "You’re not an idiot," he murmured. "You just care too much, and you’re scared."
You scoffed. "No shit."
You swallowed hard, your throat tight. He let that sit for a second before shaking his head. "You know what I think?" Yeonjun hummed, thoughtful. "I think he’s scared, too."
You stiffened slightly. "He didn’t seem scared when he left me standing there."
"Yeah?" Yeonjun mused. "Then why did he leave at all?"
You frowned, glancing at him. "What do you mean?"
Yeonjun sighed. "Think about it. If Beomgyu was just messing around, if this was just another game to him—he wouldn’t have left. He would’ve stayed. Would’ve laughed it off, made some cocky comment, pretended like it meant nothing." Your stomach twisted. Yeonjun turned toward you, his expression softer now. "But he didn’t, Y/N. He ran."
You let that sink in. Because maybe Yeonjun had a point. Maybe Beomgyu leaving wasn’t just some asshole move. Maybe he had been just as freaked out as you. The thought made your chest tighten all over again.
Yeonjun reached over, squeezing your hand once before letting go. "You don’t have to figure it all out right now," he murmured. He gave you a small smile before reaching over, pulling you into a hug. "You’re gonna be okay," he murmured against your hair. "I promise."
You let out a shaky breath, gripping onto him a little tighter. You weren’t sure if you believed him. But for now, you needed to. You sighed, leaning back against the seat, exhausted. But even as Yeonjun turned off the car, even as you sat there, trying to steady yourself, one thought wouldn’t leave your mind.
Beomgyu had run. But what the hell was he running from?
The question rattled in your mind, looping over and over as you stepped into your apartment, your limbs heavy with exhaustion.
You barely remembered saying goodnight to Yeonjun. You barely even registered the moment you locked yourself in the bathroom, turning on the shower and stepping under the scalding water.
Steam filled the space around you, thick and hazy, but it did nothing to quiet the storm in your chest. You tilted your head back, letting the water soak through your hair, tracing down the curve of your spine. Your breathing was still uneven, your mind still too loud.
You were supposed to be fine. It wasn’t a big deal. So what if he had kissed you? So what if he had left? You and Beomgyu had been dancing around each other for years—this was just another part of the cycle.
Right?
You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling deeply through your nose. Then why does it feel different this time? Your fingers curled into fists.
You could still feel his hands on your waist, his breath against your lips. Could still see the flicker of hesitation in his eyes right before he pulled away. Could still hear the sound of the door clicking shut as he left.
You sucked in a sharp breath, forcing yourself to push the memory away. You weren’t going to do this. You weren’t going to sit here, overthinking every second, every glance, every fucking thing about Beomgyu.
So instead, you stayed under the water until your skin was raw, until the ache in your chest dulled into something you could ignore.
And despite everything—despite the storm in your chest, despite the weight in your head—you managed to fall asleep. But you woke up feeling like your body was still stuck in yesterday.
Your limbs were sluggish, your mind groggy, and the second you remembered why, your stomach twisted unpleasantly. You groaned, dragging a pillow over your face, trying to will yourself back to sleep.
But outside your door, you could already hear Yeonjun moving around the kitchen. You forced yourself out of bed, padding into the living room to find him standing by the stove, frying eggs like he actually knew how to cook. You frowned. "What are you doing?"
Yeonjun glanced over his shoulder. "Making breakfast."
"You don’t cook," you pointed out.
"Yeah, well, desperate times." He nodded toward the table. "Sit."
You sighed but obeyed, rubbing at your temples as you slumped into a chair. A minute later, Yeonjun set a plate in front of you, eggs, toast, and a coffee. You blinked. "You’re really committing to this whole overbearing best friend thing, huh?"
Yeonjun smirked, plopping down across from you with his own plate. "You love it."
You rolled your eyes but took a bite of the eggs anyway. They were… passable. Yeonjun watched you carefully between bites, waiting. You sighed. "I will be fine, you know."
He hummed. "Yeah, I know." He took a sip of his coffee, then added, "But are you fine right now?" Your fingers tightened slightly around your fork. You didn’t answer. Yeonjun just sighed, reaching across the table to squeeze your wrist. "You don’t have to be fine yet, Y/N."
Your throat tightened. So instead of answering, you just nodded, pushing your food around your plate. Yeonjun didn’t push. Just let you sit there, existing, until you finally managed to eat something.
When it was time to leave, he drove you to work again, filling the silence with easy conversation, talking about his projects, making fun of bad drivers, anything to keep your mind off of what was waiting for you at HYBE.
But the second you stepped out of the car, the weight returned. The anxiety crept back into your bones. Because today, you had to see Beomgyu. And you had no idea what was going to happen.
You made it to your studio without running into him. You didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.
But instead of sitting there, drowning in your own thoughts, you pulled out your phone. Your fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before you typed.
[you]: taehyun, i need to talk to you [taehyun]: About what? [you]: just… when you have a second. come by my studio [taehyun]: Be there soon.
You exhaled, setting your phone down. You didn’t know why you needed to talk to him. But right now, Taehyun felt like the only person who could give you some kind of clarity. And clarity was exactly what you needed.
It didn’t take long for Taehyun to show up. You barely had time to fully gather your thoughts before there was a soft knock at your door, and then he was stepping inside, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, head tilting slightly as he studied you.
"Alright," he said, shutting the door behind him. "What’s up?"
You opened your mouth, then closed it. Because now that he was actually here, you weren’t sure where to start. Did you tell him about Beomgyu quitting? The fight? The kiss? Did you tell him about the way your heart had completely fallen apart when Beomgyu walked out of that room?
You exhaled, rubbing your temples. "This is stupid."
Taehyun raised an eyebrow. "Well, now I definitely wanna hear it."
You shot him a dry look, but he just crossed his arms, waiting. So you told him. Everything.
How you found out that Beomgyu had quit. How you had gone looking for him. How he was already waiting for you when you got back to your studio. The argument and then… And then the kiss.
Taehyun listened carefully, barely reacting at first. Just nodding, humming occasionally, letting you spill everything you had been holding in since last night. And when you finally finished, slumping back into your chair with a deep breath, he exhaled slowly, shaking his head.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "You guys are exhausting."
You let out a short, humorless laugh. "Tell me about it."
Taehyun was quiet for a moment, thoughtful. "He’s an idiot," he said. You blinked. "He is," Taehyun repeated, sitting on the edge of your desk. "Beomgyu is… complicated. He’s impulsive, and reckless, and sometimes he doesn’t think before he acts. But he’s not bad, Y/N."
You frowned, shifting in your seat. "I never said he was bad—"
"You didn’t have to," Taehyun interrupted. "You’re pissed, and you should be. He left you with an entire project and just disappeared. That’s a dick move."
You scoffed. "Glad we agree on that."
"But," Taehyun continued, leveling you with a look, "you also know that if this was just about work, he wouldn’t have left."
You stiffened. Because, yeah. You did know that.
Taehyun sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look… I’ve known Beomgyu for a long time. And I can tell you one thing for sure—he’s confused as hell about you." Your stomach twisted. "Beomgyu’s not used to… feeling things like this. You know him—he jokes, he messes around, he acts like nothing ever really matters to him. But this? You? This is probably the first time something has actually gotten to him in a way he doesn’t know how to handle."
You looked away, fingers tightening slightly around the edge of your desk. "He looked at me like…" You hesitated, searching for the right words. "Like he regretted it."
Taehyun hummed. "Maybe he did." Your heart sank. Taehyun must have noticed your expression, because he shook his head quickly. "No—not like that. Not in the I wish I never kissed her way. More like… Fuck, what did I just do?"
Your breath hitched. Taehyun leaned forward slightly, watching you carefully. "Y/N… if Beomgyu didn’t care, he wouldn’t have left. He wouldn’t have pulled away. He wouldn’t be acting like this at all."
You swallowed hard. "Then why didn’t he just say something?"
Taehyun sighed. "Because he’s a coward."
You blinked. "Wow. That’s blunt."
"Yeah, well." He shrugged. "Someone has to say it."
A short silence stretched between you, the weight of everything still settling in your chest. And then, Taehyun’s voice softened slightly. "I know you want to see him." You inhaled sharply, but before you could argue, he continued. "But you won’t," he said simply. "Not for a while, at least."
"What do you mean?"
Taehyun rubbed the back of his neck. "I overheard Baekhyun talking to some of the staff this morning. Beomgyu asked for a week off before getting reassigned to another project." Your stomach dropped. You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Taehyun hesitated. "He’s not ot gone. Just… off the grid for a bit."
You swallowed hard. A week. You had a week without him. A week to focus on work. A week to stop feeling like this. A week to—
To what? Forget about him? Pretend none of this ever happened? Pretend that the past twenty-four hours hadn’t completely flipped your world upside down?
You clenched your fists in your lap, nodding stiffly. "Okay."
Taehyun studied you for a moment. Then, finally, he sighed and reached out, squeezing your arm. "You’ll be okay," he murmured.
You let out a shaky breath, forcing a nod. "Yeah."
But as he walked out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts, one thing was clear. You weren’t sure if that was true.
The first day without Beomgyu was easier than you expected.
Maybe because you were still fueled by frustration. By anger. By the exhaustion of the past few days. It was easier to channel all of that into work, to drown out the silence with layers of sound, synths, drums, melodies, anything to keep your mind occupied.
You convinced yourself that you didn’t need him here. Didn’t need his input, his annoying commentary, his stupid smirk when he knew he was right about something. And for a little while, you almost believed it.
But then the second day came. And the third.
And by Wednesday, you realized just how much space Beomgyu used to take up, physically, mentally, emotionally. The studio felt different without him. Too quiet.
You had spent so long being annoyed by his presence, by the way he was always around, always making some offhand comment, always pushing your buttons just because he could. And now it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Like the silence was mocking you. You tried to ignore it.
Tried to focus on the album, on the endless meetings with Baekhyun about tracklists, on your studio sessions with the Enhypen members.
Jake had mentioned that they were excited about the project. Jungwon had suggested a few ideas for the second track. Heeseung had even sat with you for over an hour, working through some of the melody transitions.
It was good. The work was getting done. Everything was moving forward. So why did it still feel like something was missing?
By Thursday, Yeonjun had stopped asking if you wanted to talk about it. At first, he had tried, little things, subtle attempts to get you to open up.
"You seem really focused on work this week," he had mused over dinner on Tuesday. "Trying to distract yourself?" You had rolled your eyes, shoving a bite of food into your mouth just to avoid answering.
By Wednesday, he had simply given you a long, knowing look before sighing. "Okay. I get it. You don’t want to talk about it."
And you didn’t. Because what was there to say? That you missed him? That you had caught yourself glancing at his empty chair during meetings? That every time you pulled up a demo, you could still hear his suggestions in the back of your mind? That you had started a dozen text messages, only to delete them before even finishing the first word? No. You weren’t going to do that.
You weren’t going to let Beomgyu live rent-free in your head while he was off doing whatever the hell he was doing.
So by Friday, you had convinced yourself that you were fine. That you were moving on. That you had finally, finally stopped thinking about him. At least, until you walked into your studio that morning.
And saw the letter sitting on your desk.
At first, you thought it was just another memo from Baekhyun. Or maybe some notes from one of the Enhypen members. But then you got closer. And you saw his handwriting.
For a moment, you just stood there, frozen in the doorway, staring at the folded piece of paper like it might disappear if you blinked. Then, cautiously, you stepped forward. Your fingers hesitated before reaching for it. The paper was slightly creased, as if he had folded and unfolded it multiple times before finally deciding to leave it here. No greeting. No explanation.
Just one simple sentence, scrawled in messy, familiar ink.
i think this fits for track 1
Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes flicked down to the lyrics below. And the second you started reading, your breath caught.
Just the two of us, getting deeply moonstruck Oh, you make me go crazy over you, you, baby Let me hold you close, I want to feel you until the end of the night Fly this night above the rising moon Crazy over you, you, baby We can take it slow Moonstruck in ecstasy
Your fingers clenched around the edges of the paper. This wasn’t just a song suggestion. This wasn’t just another track for the album. This was Beomgyu, talking to you the only way he knew how. Your pulse roared in your ears.
Because, fuck. You weren’t stupid. You knew exactly what this meant. And now, you had no idea what the hell you were supposed to do about it.
You sat at your desk, gripping the paper so tightly it was a wonder it hadn’t torn yet. Your eyes kept flicking over the words, tracing the messy, slightly smudged ink of his handwriting. Moonstruck.
You read the lyrics again. And again. Each time, they felt heavier.
I'm so intoxicated, getting more and more into you, baby
What the fuck was he trying to say? You tried to rationalize it. Maybe he had written it before everything that happened. But that didn’t make sense, did it?
Your fingers curled into the fabric of your hoodie as your mind looped back to that night. The way he had kissed you. The way he had run. And now, instead of an explanation, instead of a conversation, he left this? A song?
You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to push it aside. If Beomgyu wanted to talk in lyrics, fine. You would make sure they were heard.
The Enhypen members were already lounging around their practice room when you arrived. Sunghoon was sprawled on the couch, lazily scrolling through his phone. Jungwon and Jay were flipping through notes on the album’s concept. Jake was throwing a crumpled-up piece of paper at Sunoo, who swatted it away with an exaggerated groan.
The second you stepped in, Heeseung perked up. "Oh, hey, you’re here. What’s up?"
You inhaled deeply, clutching the paper in your hands. "We have a song."
That got their attention. Sunghoon sat up properly. Jay leaned forward, brows raising. Ni-ki, who had been half-asleep in the corner, immediately straightened, eyes flicking toward you.
You placed the lyrics down on the table. "It’s called Moonstruck," you said, keeping your voice steady. "Beomgyu wrote it."
A beat of silence. Jungwon blinked. "Wait. Beomgyu?"
You nodded stiffly. "Yeah."
Jake leaned in, scanning the paper. "When the hell did he even—?"
"I don’t know," you admitted, arms crossing over your chest. "But it’s good. And I think we should use it."
They didn’t argue. Instead, they took the next few minutes carefully analyzing the lyrics, murmuring about which parts fit their vocal tones best.
"Pre-chorus has to be Ni-ki and Sunghoon," Jay noted, nodding to himself. "Their voices will carry this section perfectly."
Ni-ki grinned. "I do sound good under moonlight."
Sunoo groaned. "God, shut up."
Jake chuckled, shaking his head. "The first verse has a nice flow. Maybe Heeeseung and Jay can split it?"
You nodded. "Yeah, that works."
As they discussed vocal distribution, you quietly worked on the arrangement, playing with some of the melodies on your laptop. And as much as you hated to admit it, the song was beautiful.
The harmonies, the depth, the longing in the lyrics—it all weaved together into something intoxicating. Something that felt like Beomgyu. And, more terrifyingly, something that felt like you and Beomgyu.
You poured yourself into it. Every ounce of frustration, every unanswered question, every lingering moment of that damn kiss, you put it all into the music. If Beomgyu wanted to communicate this way, then fine. You would answer him in the production.
By the time the first rough demo was put together, the entire room had shifted. The members listened intently, nodding along to the beat, already humming harmonies under their breath.
And when the final note played, Heeseung let out a low whistle. "Okay," he muttered. "That was… insane."
Jake leaned back against the couch, arms crossed. "This might be one of the strongest songs on the album."
Ni-ki grinned. "It’s sexy."
Jungwon rolled his eyes. "It’s romantic, you idiot."
Sunghoon smirked. "Both."
You stared at the screen, fingers still hovering over the controls, heart pounding in your chest. You had lost track of time, lost yourself in the production, in the process of turning Beomgyu’s words into something real.
Heeseung stretched his arms over his head, glancing over at you. "How the hell did this come together so fast?"
You hesitated. Then, before you could think too much about it, the words tumbled out. "Because Beomgyu wrote it."
The room fell quiet for a beat. You swallowed, suddenly feeling exposed under their stares. You ignored the pointed looks, turning back toward the screen.
You had done what you needed to do. You had taken Beomgyu’s song and made it something real. And yet, as you sat there, staring at the lyrics again, one thought lingered.
This was his way of talking to you. But when—if—you finally saw him again… Would he have anything else to say?
The weekend arrived quietly, slipping in like a breeze through an open window. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to exist outside of work, outside of the chaos, outside of the constant hum of him in the back of your mind.
You spent Saturday sprawled across the living room floor, limbs tangled with Yunjin’s as she attempted (and failed) to beat Hueningkai in a Mario Kart tournament.
"HOW is this fair?!" she screeched, gripping the controller like it personally offended her. "This little shit has been in first place for the entire race—"
"Skill issue," Hueningkai mused, barely sparing her a glance as he executed yet another flawless turn.
Taehyun cackled from his spot on the couch. "Face it, Yunjin, you’re bad at this game."
"You’re supposed to be on my side!"
"I would be," Taehyun said easily, taking a sip of his soda. "If you were winning."
Yunjin let out an exaggerated wail, flopping back onto the floor in defeat as Hueningkai crossed the finish line with ease. You laughed, stretching your legs out, your shoulders relaxing in a way they hadn’t all week.
This was nice. No tension, no overthinking, no lyrics folded neatly onto your desk like an unanswered question. Just this. Just them.
Yeonjun, who had spent the afternoon attempting to make cocktails, only to get tipsy himself after "taste testing" every single one. Hueningkai, who had somehow convinced everyone to build a fort in the living room, resulting in a half-collapsed mess of blankets and fairy lights that no one had the energy to fix.
Taehyun, who had made it his personal mission to bother you at all time, poking your cheek, stealing your hair tie, purposefully messing up your playlists just to get a reaction out of you. And Yunjin, who was now lying dramatically across your lap, still mourning her loss. "I hate this game," she mumbled into your hoodie.
"You say that every time you lose," Yeonjun reminded her, nudging her foot with his own.
She groaned. "Because I do."
You chuckled, resting your head against the couch cushions. For the first time in days, your mind felt quiet.
Maybe Beomgyu was just a phase. A storm that had come and gone, leaving only a few stray raindrops behind. Maybe by Monday, you would go back to work and it wouldn’t hurt anymore. Maybe.
It wasn’t until Sunday night, when the apartment had finally settled into silence, that something shifted. Everyone had gone home. Yeonjun had retreated to his room, muttering something about a deadline he had been procrastinating. And you were alone.
The weight of it settled over you slowly, like an old sweater you hadn’t worn in years but still fit perfectly. You weren’t sure when you reached for your guitar. Hadn’t even realized you were doing it until you were sitting cross-legged on your bed, fingers ghosting over the strings. It had been a while.
Too long since you had written something for yourself. Too long since you had let yourself sit in the mess of your own emotions, instead of tucking them neatly into productions meant for other people’s voices.
You plucked a few chords aimlessly, letting the melody come to you naturally. Something soft. Something slow. And then—without meaning to—you started to hum. A tune that wasn’t meant for the album. A tune that wasn’t meant for anyone.
The words slipped out like a confession, too quiet for anyone else to hear. You didn’t even think about them. You just sang.
Your fingers stilled. The room felt too small. You closed your eyes, exhaling through your nose. And then, with trembling hands, you picked up a pen and started to write. Not because you wanted to. But because some things were too heavy to carry in silence.
The first chord rang out soft and hesitant, barely louder than the steady hum of the city outside your window. You pressed your lips together, fingertips finding the familiar weight of the strings, the slightly worn frets beneath them.
And then, you started to sing.
This is the first day of my life Swear I was born right in the doorway I went out in the rain, suddenly everything changed They're spreading blankets on the beach
The words came slowly, carefully, like they had been waiting for you to let them out. Your voice was quiet, almost unsure at first. But as the melody settled into you, as the lyrics unfolded with each passing chord, something in your chest loosened.
Yours was the first face that I saw I think I was blind before I met you And I don't know where I am, I don't know where I've been But I know where I want to go
Your breathing evened. Your fingers moved more fluidly. And suddenly, it wasn’t just a song anymore. It was him.
The memories bled into the music, uninvited but unavoidable. The late nights in the studio, the sharp bickering that always gave way to something deeper. The way he looked at you sometimes, like he knew you, like he saw through every wall you had ever built and wasn’t afraid to push past them.
So if you wanna be with me With these things there's no telling We just have to wait and see But I'd rather be working for a paycheck Than waiting to win the lottery Besides, maybe this time is different I mean, I really think you like me
The realization settled slowly, creeping in like the soft glow of headlights through your window. You missed him. Not just as a producer, not just as a coworker, not just as the person who had spent years getting under your skin.
You missed him. His presence, his voice, the way his eyes flickered with something unreadable when he looked at you. The way you had always convinced yourself that the tension between you two was nothing but competition.
But now? Now, as you sat here with a guitar in your lap and a song that tasted like confession on your tongue, you weren’t so sure anymore.
The words hung in the air, delicate and fragile. And for the first time in weeks, you stopped running from the truth. It wasn’t just a rivalry. It wasn’t just frustration. It wasn’t even just a stupid, fleeting crush.
You liked him. And that was terrifying.
The car ride to work felt different today.
You weren’t as anxious as last week, your chest wasn’t as tight, your hands weren’t as clammy, but there was still something unsettled in you, something quietly nagging at the back of your mind.
Because today, Beomgyu was coming back.
And you had no idea what that meant. No idea which version of him you’d be facing. No idea if he’d pretend like nothing had happened, if he’d be cold again, or if he’d acknowledge it, that stupid, reckless, earth-shattering kiss. Or, if you'd even seen him today.
The HYBE lobby was already buzzing with early-morning energy. You kept your head down as you made your way toward the café, deciding that you desperately needed caffeine before facing the rest of the day. When you stepped inside, the familiar scent of espresso and vanilla filled the air, the quiet hum of conversation washing over you like white noise.
You spotted Taehyun near the counter, casually scrolling through his phone as he waited for his order. "Morning," you greeted, sliding into line beside him.
Taehyun glanced up from his phone as you slid into line beside him. "You’re here early," he remarked, taking a sip of his coffee.
You shrugged, adjusting the strap of your bag. "Figured I’d try something new. Maybe if I start my day with caffeine instead of stress, I’ll live longer."
Taehyun smirked. "Doubt it. But I respect the effort."
You hummed, stepping forward as the line moved. "What about you? Thought you weren’t a morning person."
"I’m not," he admitted, stuffing his free hand into the pocket of his hoodie. "But some of us have obligations."
You snorted. "Right." You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you reached for your phone. And just as you unlocked it, a notification popped up at the top of your screen.
[baekhyun (HYBE)]: meeting on the 18th floor. 10 minutes.
Your stomach twisted slightly. Taehyun must’ve noticed the shift in your expression because he raised an eyebrow. "Everything good?"
You exhaled, locking your phone and slipping it back into your pocket. "Yeah. Just got called into a meeting."
He hummed, sipping his coffee. "Just you?" You nodded, grabbing your drink from the counter. Taehyun studied you for a beat before smirking. "Well. That’s suspicious."
You shot him a flat look. "Everything is suspicious to you."
"And yet, I’m usually right." Taehyun smirked. "Good luck, warrior."
You shot him a dry look before turning to leave. But as you made your way toward the elevators, your chest tightened slightly. You weren’t nervous. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.
But the moment the elevator doors slid open, your breath caught in your throat. Beomgyu was already inside.
He stood toward the back, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the veins in his forearms. His dark hair was slightly tousled, messy, like he had run his hands through it too many times this morning.
Your heart did something stupid in your chest.
You hesitated for half a second, debating whether you should just wait for the next elevator, but then Beomgyu’s eyes met yours. And you couldn’t run. Not again. So, stiffly, you stepped inside.
The doors slid shut behind you, and the silence pressed in like a heavy weight. You swallowed. Beomgyu said nothing. You could feel him there, standing just a few feet away, but he didn’t look at you. His jaw was set, his gaze fixed on the doors in front of him, his entire body wound tight.
The tension was unbearable. So, stupidly, you spoke first. "You’re back."
His lips pressed together slightly. "Yeah."
You exhaled slowly, nodding. The elevator climbed higher, the numbers blinking above the doors, but the silence remained.
"I saw the tracklist update," Beomgyu said, voice even. "You kept Moonstruck."
Your breath hitched. For the first time since you stepped inside, he looked at you. And suddenly, you were back there. Back in the studio. Back in the moment he kissed you like it meant something. Back in the moment he ran.
You swallowed hard, gripping your coffee cup like it could anchor you. "Yeah," you said, keeping your voice steady. "It’s a good song."
Beomgyu’s gaze flickered, just briefly, just enough for you to see something shift. But he didn’t respond.
The elevator slowed. And before either of you could say anything else, the doors slid open. 18th floor. You stepped out first, pulse hammering against your ribs. But just before the doors shut behind him, you heard Beomgyu exhale a quiet—
"See you around."
And fuck. You were not ready for this.
Your legs carried you toward the meeting room, but your mind was still in that elevator. Moonstruck. He had noticed. You didn’t know why that made your stomach turn. Why it sent a hot, prickling feeling down your spine.
You had convinced yourself that the song was just work, just another track, just another piece of the album puzzle. But hearing him say it? Knowing that he knew?
It made it real. And the way he had looked at you when he said it, like he was waiting for something. Like he wanted an answer. But you didn’t have an answer. Because what were you supposed to say?
You inhaled sharply, pushing open the door to the conference room. And the second you stepped inside, you regretted it. Because sitting at the table, next to Baekhyun, was Seungcheol.
His eyes flicked up to yours immediately, and his lips curled into that same knowing smile he had given you at the HYBE party. "Ah," he mused. "Finally, our star producer has arrived."
Your stomach twisted. You forced a polite smile, slipping into the seat across from them. You had no idea what this meeting was about. But suddenly, you had a feeling it was going to be a lot.
You sat down, adjusting your posture, trying to ignore the sudden unease creeping into your chest. It wasn’t like you had anything against Seungcheol, he had always been perfectly pleasant whenever your paths crossed.
At the HYBE party, when Baekhyun introduced you, he was polite, curious, asked questions about your work that felt genuine. A few days later, in the hallway, he reinforced that same interest, saying he wanted to learn more about your creative process, that he admired what you were doing. It made sense, he was HYBE’s creative director, after all. It was his job to connect with the producers.
But then he happened. Beomgyu. With his endless stubbornness, his unwarranted judgment, his obvious disdain for Seungcheol.
He didn’t trust the guy. And he made that very clear, not just at the party when he interrupted your conversation, but later, in the hallway, with the way he threw out casual, cutting remarks, as if it was obvious that Seungcheol had ulterior motives.
You had ignored him. Because Beomgyu was always like that, poking, provoking, saying things just to get under your skin. But now, sitting across from Seungcheol, watching the way he smiled at you, the way his gaze lingered just a little too long, something inside you hesitated. And that was when you realized, that voice in my head isn’t mine. It’s Beomgyu’s. The thought irritated you. You didn’t need him planting ideas in your mind. Seungcheol had done nothing wrong.
He had never been inappropriate, never crossed any lines. If you were uncomfortable now, it was only because Beomgyu had convinced you that you should be.
Seungcheol leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on the table. "I was really pleased when I heard you’d be leading the production on your own," he said, his voice smooth, effortless. "I think you deserve it—this is a great step forward in your career."
You blinked, keeping your expression neutral. Something about the way he said it bothered you. Because the truth was, you hadn’t minded producing the album with Beomgyu. He was a good producer. One of the best, actually. And despite all your frustrations with him, you couldn’t deny that the work had been better when he was there.
You licked your lips, choosing your words carefully. "I never had a problem sharing the workload," you replied smoothly. "Beomgyu is incredibly talented. The album was going really well with the two of us working together."
Seungcheol didn’t react immediately. Instead, he just smiled a little, as if he had been expecting you to say that.
Next to him, Baekhyun, who had been flipping through some papers, glanced up. "Beomgyu’s decision to leave was personal," he noted, sensing the tension. "He requested to be removed. It had nothing to do with the quality of your work together."
You nodded, but Seungcheol simply let out a quiet, almost amused chuckle. "That sounds like something he’d do," he murmured, almost to himself.
You frowned. "What do you mean by that?"
Seungcheol met your gaze, tilting his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "He’s impulsive," he said simply. "Always has been. He doesn’t handle things well when they don’t go his way."
Your jaw clenched. Something about the way he said it bothered you. It wasn’t what he said—it was how he said it. His tone was too calculated, his words too deliberate, like he was trying to implant something in your mind without directly stating it. And maybe you were being paranoid, but it almost felt like he was waiting for a reaction from you.
You kept your face carefully blank, but you couldn’t stop the words from slipping out. "Or maybe he just had a valid reason for leaving," you said, keeping your voice light but firm. "Whatever it was, he’s one of the best producers here. He always delivers, and he knows exactly how to handle pressure when it matters."
Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, like he was mildly surprised by your defense. But instead of pushing, he just smiled again. "If you say so."
Baekhyun cleared his throat, flipping to another page. "Anyway, now that you’re leading the project, we need to finalize some decisions about the album direction. We have to lock in arrangements before we move forward with recording."
You nodded, relieved that the conversation was shifting back to work. The meeting had gone on longer than expected. You had been so focused on the album’s direction, discussing arrangements and potential changes to the tracklist with Baekhyun, that for a moment, you managed to forget about Seungcheol entirely.
Until you didn’t. Because at some point during the discussion, as you were leaning over the table, flipping through some production notes, Seungcheol’s hand landed on your arm.
Not aggressive. Not too much. Just enough. Enough to make your shoulders stiffen, enough to make your fingers freeze mid-page, enough for that cold, uncomfortable feeling to creep down your spine.
It was subtle, an easy touch, light pressure on your forearm as he leaned in slightly. "I really admire how dedicated you are," he murmured, his voice smooth, casual. "It’s rare to find someone so talented and hardworking."
Because now, you saw what Beomgyu saw. Maybe he had been dramatic. Maybe he had been exaggerating. But Seungcheol was flirting with you. And for the first time, you couldn’t ignore it.
You swallowed, keeping your eyes on the papers in front of you, pretending not to notice the way his fingertips lingered a little longer than necessary before he finally pulled away.
This was work. This was a meeting. You weren’t going to make a scene. You shifted slightly in your chair, tucking your arm out of reach, nodding stiffly. "Thanks," you said, your voice carefully neutral.
If Baekhyun noticed anything, he didn’t react. He simply continued walking you through the album structure, his focus locked on the material in front of him. But your focus was gone. Because now, every single word out of Seungcheol’s mouth sounded different.
When he agreed with your ideas, it wasn’t just professional, it was deliberate. When he smiled at you, it wasn’t just friendly, it was calculated. And Beomgyu’s voice, the one you had sworn you wouldn’t listen to, was ringing in the back of your head, loud and unshakable.
You should be careful with him.
By the time the meeting wrapped up, you were exhausted, not from the work, but from everything else. You had barely finished stacking your papers when Seungcheol stood up, stretching his arms with an easy smile. "Well," he said, buttoning his blazer, "this was productive."
You hummed noncommittally, hoping that was the end of it. But as he reached the door, he paused, glancing over his shoulder at you. "Oh, and by the way—" You looked up. "The invitation still stands," he said, that same smile playing on his lips. "You should drop by my office sometime. I’d love to go over more of your work."
Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. Before you could respond, he was already walking out, leaving you alone with Baekhyun. The second the door shut, you let out a slow breath, pressing your fingers to your temple.
Baekhyun sighed, setting his notes down. "Alright," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I know that look. What’s on your mind?"
You hesitated for half a second before deciding—fuck it. If you didn’t say something now, you were going to explode. "Look," you exhaled, straightening. "You’re my boss. I respect you. I like working with you. But I need to be honest—"
Baekhyun raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
You licked your lips, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "That whole meeting just made me really uncomfortable."
His expression shifted slightly, his features smoothing into something unreadable. "Because of Seungcheol?"
"Yes." You didn’t hesitate. "It’s not just today. It’s been happening for a while. I didn’t want to make assumptions, but now I—" You shook your head, exhaling sharply. "I don’t know. The way he talks to me, the way he acts… It doesn’t feel like it’s just about work."
Baekhyun didn’t answer immediately. He watched you carefully, considering your words before finally sighing. "Yeah," he muttered. "I figured as much."
You blinked. "Wait, what?"
Baekhyun rubbed his temple. "I had a feeling this might happen eventually. Seungcheol has a reputation—he doesn’t always separate work from… other things."
Your stomach sank. "So it’s not just me," you muttered.
Baekhyun hesitated before shaking his head. "No. It’s not just you."
You exhaled, leaning back in your chair, processing. Baekhyun watched you for a moment before continuing, his voice lower now. "Listen, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. If he makes you uncomfortable, I’ll back you up. But I also know how these things can be tricky, so… what do you want to do?"
You stared at him. You hadn’t expected that. You hadn’t expected someone to actually ask. You swallowed, gripping the edge of the table. "I just… I just want to do my job."
Baekhyun nodded. "Then that’s what you’ll do."
And for the first time that day, you felt like someone was actually listening. You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. "Honestly… I didn’t want Beomgyu to leave the project."
Baekhyun leaned back in his chair, watching you closely. "Yeah, I figured."
You hesitated for a moment before continuing, choosing your words carefully. "It wasn’t perfect, working with him. We fought a lot. We had different approaches. But the album was better when we were both on it. And now, I don’t know… it just doesn’t feel the same."
Baekhyun hummed thoughtfully, tapping his fingers against the table. "You know," he started, "when he asked to leave, I thought it was weird too."
Your brows furrowed. "Weird how?"
Baekhyun exhaled, tilting his head slightly as if trying to recall the exact conversation. "For starters, the excuse he gave me was bullshit. He said he just had ‘other priorities,’ but it didn’t add up. He didn’t have anything urgent lined up. He wasn’t being reassigned yet. If anything, he was in the perfect position to stay on the project."
Your stomach twisted. "Then why did he do it?"
Baekhyun studied you for a moment before answering. "Because of you."
Your breath hitched slightly. "What?"
"He told me you were the perfect person for this album," Baekhyun said simply. "He said that if anyone deserved to take full control of it, it was you. That you understood the vision, that you had the best instincts for the sound, that this was your project."
You blinked. Baekhyun smirked slightly. "He also said he’d still be available if you needed anything—which was interesting, considering he was insisting on stepping away."
You swallowed, shifting in your seat. "So… he didn’t leave because I was in the way."
Baekhyun raised a brow. "No. He left because he thought he was."
Your chest tightened, your fingers clenching slightly over your notebook. Beomgyu thought he was in the way? That didn’t make sense. That wasn’t how this worked.
You had spent years competing with him, matching his energy, pushing yourself to outdo him the way he pushed himself to outdo you. You thought he saw you as a rival, as someone to challenge, someone to beat.
This didn’t sound like someone trying to win. This sounded like someone stepping aside. And suddenly, for the first time since that damn kiss, you wondered— Had you misunderstood everything?
The meeting wrapped up soon after, but your mind was far from settled. Baekhyun left first, offering you a knowing look as he walked out. Seungcheol was already gone, thankfully, leaving the room feeling a little lighter.
You stayed behind for a moment, fingers tapping restlessly against the table, thoughts still tangled in everything Baekhyun had just told you. Beomgyu thought he was in the way. He stepped back because of me?
The idea felt foreign, almost ridiculous. But the more you sat with it, the more you replayed every interaction, every lingering glance, every almost-argument that dissolved into something softer. Maybe it wasn’t ridiculous at all.
You exhaled sharply, pushing the thoughts aside as you gathered your things and made your way back to your studio. By the time you stepped inside, something had already shifted in you. Because for the first time in days, you wanted to write. Not because of deadlines. Not because of expectations.
But because something inside you was begging to be let out.
You locked the door behind you, took a deep breath, and crossed the room, fingers reaching for the guitar propped against the wall. It had been there for a while, untouched, gathering dust in the chaos of everything else. But the second your fingers curled around the neck, something inside you settled.
You didn’t know why, but you wanted to record this song you wrote on Sunday night. First Day of My Life. You knew it wouldn’t fit the album. It was too raw, too stripped-down, too honest. It wasn’t meant for Enhypen’s project—it wasn’t meant for any project.
But still. You adjusted the mic, positioned the guitar properly, and pressed record. And then, you played.
Your fingers moved over the strings carefully at first, but then muscle memory took over, and suddenly, it was effortless. The chords flowed easily, filling the quiet studio, wrapping around you like something safe, something familiar.
And then your voice followed. The words came soft, steady.
“Yours was the first face that I saw…”
You thought about the way he looked at you when he didn’t think you’d notice. The way his lips parted like he wanted to say something but never did.
“I think I was blind before I met you.”
Your breath hitched slightly, but you kept going, pouring yourself into every note, every word. The melody washed over you, unfiltered and vulnerable, and for the first time in a long time, you weren’t thinking about what came next.
You were just feeling. And when the last chord faded into silence, you opened your eyes slowly, exhaling shakily. You sat there for a moment, staring at the blinking red light on the recorder. Then, without hesitating, you saved the file.
You stared at the tape sitting on your desk. And it stared back.
You had written a post-it, your handwriting slightly messier than usual, because your hands had been shaking when you wrote it.
wanted the opinion of the best songwriter i know.
Your stomach twisted. This was stupid. It was so stupid. And yet, you grabbed the tape before you could overthink it.
The hallways of HYBE were quieter now, most people already heading out for the evening. You didn’t know where Beomgyu was, but you hoped, prayed, that he wasn’t in his studio right now. Because you weren’t ready to see him. Not yet.
Your footsteps were light as you reached his studio door. It was closed, the small light inside turned off. Empty. Good. You slipped inside quickly, ignoring the way your heart was pounding against your ribs. You set the tape down gently on his desk, smoothing the post-it out with your fingers. And then you stepped back. You stared at it for a moment longer, your pulse hammering in your ears.
He might not even listen to it. He might throw it away. He might ignore it completely. But still, you left it there. And as you walked away, your chest felt lighter. Because for once, you weren’t running. You were giving him a chance.
You were late.
Not catastrophically late, but late enough that you were definitely pushing it. Yeonjun had texted you when he woke up, asking why the apartment was unusually quiet, only for you to send back a half-panicked “I overslept, don’t judge me” before practically rolling out of bed.
You hadn’t meant to stay up so late the night before. But lying there, staring at the ceiling, replaying every single second of the last few days in your mind?
That was apparently more important than sleep.
By the time you rushed into HYBE, coffee was your only priority. You barely had time to breathe as you dodged people in the hallway, some of them calling your name, others trying to get your attention.
"Y/N, do you have a second?" "Hey, I sent you that file, did you get a chance to look at it?" "Oh, Y/N—can you check in with the Enhypen team later?"
The words blurred together, the weight of everything pressing against you as you nodded, mumbled vague acknowledgments, and kept walking. Because, in the end, none of it mattered. Not right now.
Not when the only thing on your mind was getting to your studio and catching your breath before the day swallowed you whole. You reached your door, exhaled sharply, and pushed it open.
And froze. Because there, sitting casually in your chair like he belonged there was Beomgyu. Holding the tape.
Your stomach dropped. The scene was so eerily familiar that for a split second, you thought you had hallucinated it. The way he was slouched slightly in the chair, the way his fingers turned the tape over slowly, like he was still processing it.
The way his dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, and how, in that exact moment, you saw it. You saw the feeling written across his face. Soft. Open. Maybe even a little wrecked. You sucked in a sharp breath and, without thinking, shut the door behind you. A beat of silence passed.
"You wrote this," Beomgyu murmured, his voice quieter than you expected.
It wasn’t a question. You swallowed hard. "Yeah."
His fingers tightened around the tape slightly. "Was it for the album?"
You shook your head. "No. It doesn’t fit the concept. I just… wanted to record it."
Beomgyu exhaled, slow and measured. "It’s beautiful."
The words hit you in a way you weren’t prepared for. You blinked. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t throwing in a sarcastic remark, or a smug smile, or anything that would make this easier to brush off. He just meant it.
And it made your chest ache. You shifted slightly, gripping your coffee cup a little tighter. "You listened to it?"
Beomgyu nodded, still looking down at the tape. "Twice."
Your breath hitched. "Twice?"
His lips twitched, just barely. "Maybe more." You let out a short, breathy laugh, shaking your head. A pause. "What made you write it?"
Your fingers curled slightly over your cup, heat pressing into your skin. You could lie. You should lie. But you didn’t. You licked your lips, shifting your gaze to the floor for a second before looking back at him. "I don’t know. I guess I just… needed to."
Beomgyu studied you for a long moment, the weight of his gaze settling over you like something heavy. And then, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it, he says: "It felt like something you needed to say."
Your heart stumbled. Because maybe it was just your imagination. Maybe you were hearing things that weren’t there. But the way he said it, like he understood, like he knew.
Beomgyu’s fingers drummed lightly against the tape, his gaze flickering between you and the guitar leaning against the wall. The silence between you felt fragile, like if either of you moved too fast, it would shatter. Then, without a word, he reached for the guitar. You raised an eyebrow as he adjusted it on his lap, fingers testing the strings before looking up at you again. "Pass me the chords?"
You hesitated, but eventually nodded, grabbing a piece of scrap paper and jotting them down quickly. When you slid it across the desk toward him, his fingers brushed yours as he took it, sending something electric up your spine.
Beomgyu studied the chords for a moment, then started playing. Slow, tentative, like he was feeling out the song in his own way. And before you even realized what you were doing, your lips parted—
"This is the first day of my life…"
The words came out softer this time, more intimate. You weren’t just singing anymore, you were sharing something. Beomgyu kept playing, his eyes locked onto you now, his expression unreadable.
"Swear I was born right in the doorway…"
You swallowed hard, voice faltering slightly when you saw the way he was looking at you. Like there was something he wanted to say. But he didn’t. He just kept playing. And so you kept singing.
"Yours was the first face that I saw… I think I was blind before I met you."
Something shifted in the air. You weren’t sure if it was you, or him, or just the weight of everything that had been left unsaid between you two for so long.
But for the first time, it felt like neither of you were trying to fight it.
When the song finally came to an end, the last note fading into silence, Beomgyu exhaled slowly, letting his fingers rest against the strings. And then, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it—
"I’m sorry."
You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden softness in his voice. "For what?"
He looked down at the guitar, running his thumb absently over the wood. "For dropping the album."
Your chest tightened. "You didn’t have to," you murmured. "I never wanted you to."
He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "I thought… I thought you’d work better without me."
You frowned. "That’s not true."
Beomgyu hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly. "I didn’t want to leave you alone." He inhaled sharply, like he was steadying himself. "But I didn’t want my feelings to get in the way."
Your breath hitched. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. Slowly, carefully, you asked— "What feelings?"
Beomgyu tensed. For a second, he looked like he wanted to say it. Like he might say it. But then something closed inside him. His shoulders stiffened, his fingers gripping the guitar a little tighter. And when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. More distant. "It’s hard for me."
You furrowed your brows, confused. "What is?"
Beomgyu swallowed, looking down. "This. Talking. Saying things out loud." His lips pressed together for a moment before he let out a soft, humorless laugh. "It’s easy to write about it. To turn it into lyrics. To make it rhyme and feel poetic and beautiful."
He shook his head, exhaling through his nose. "But when it’s real? When it’s not just a song?" He shaked his head. "In real life, it’s harder."
You stared at him, heart twisting. Because this was him. This was Beomgyu without the smirks, without the teasing, without the carefully crafted walls. And for the first time, you realized, maybe this wasn’t just difficult for you.
Maybe he didn’t run because he didn’t care. Maybe he ran because he did.
Your heart pounded, your throat felt tight, but you forced yourself to breathe, to steady your voice. "What did you mean by that?"
He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "You know what I mean."
"Do I?"
Beomgyu let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Come on, Y/N."
There was something in his voice, frustration, exhaustion, something too tangled up in itself to pull apart. You frowned. "I don’t want to assume."
"Right," he muttered. "Because assuming things with me has always worked out so well."
Your chest tightened. "Beomgyu—"
"I—" He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, then finally, finally, looked up at you. And god, you hated the way it made your breath catch. The way his eyes, dark and searching, made you feel like you were standing at the edge of something.
Like if you took one more step, there’d be no turning back. But before you could say anything—before he could say anything—the door creaked open.
Both of you turned at the same time.
"Hey," a familiar voice broke through the tension. "Think I left my pen with you earlier."
Seungcheol. His voice cut through the tension like a blade, sharp and unexpected. He stepped inside, eyes flickering between the two of you, taking in the scene—the guitar in Beomgyu’s lap, the tape on the desk, the way neither of you seemed to be breathing.
You turned toward the doorway, blinking as he leaned against the frame, his usual easy confidence settling into the room like he belonged there. Beomgyu’s entire posture shifted. It wasn’t obvious, no clenched fists, no outright glare, but you saw it anyway. The slight stiffening of his shoulders, the way his fingers curled subtly against the guitar.
You exhaled, stepping toward your desk. "Yeah, I think you did."
Seungcheol grinned. "Knew it."
You grabbed the pen and handed it to him, your fingers barely grazing before he pulled away. "Thanks, sweetheart," he said, easy, casual. "See you later."
And just like that, he was gone. The door clicked shut.
The silence that followed was worse than before. You turned back to Beomgyu, and immediately knew something was off. He put away the guitar, his arms crossed, expression unreadable, but his jaw was tight. "You going along with him?" His voice was sharp, cutting.
You frowned. "What?"
"Seungcheol," Beomgyu said, eyes locking onto yours. "You going along with his shit?"
Your frown deepened. "No. What the hell are you talking about?"
He scoffed, shaking his head. "I told you not to trust that guy."
"And I didn’t," you snapped, "I just gave him back his damn pen."
Beomgyu’s jaw clenched, his frustration spilling out in waves. "Yeah? Well, maybe you should know what your old friends are saying about you before you act like I’m being dramatic."
You stared at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, like he was trying to decide if he should even tell you. But then, his eyes darkened, and whatever hesitation he had burned away. "You remember Yunho?"
Your stomach twisted. Of course you remembered Yunho. Beomgyu didn’t wait for your answer. "After you left the party, he came up to me," he said, voice tight. "Started making conversation—asking if I worked at HYBE, shit like that. And then, out of nowhere, he says he knows Seungcheol."
Beomgyu watched your reaction closely, but he didn’t stop. "And then, Yunho tells me he used to fuck around with you," he continued, voice growing harsher, "but dropped you because, in his words, you were ‘too desirable.’"
You flinched. Your fingers curled into your palms, nails pressing against your skin. "What?"
Beomgyu let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah. And apparently, Seungcheol’s been waiting for his turn. ‘Dying to get a piece,’ is what he said."
The words hit like a punch to the gut. Your heart pounded. "You’re lying."
Beomgyu’s gaze snapped to yours, sharp, furious. "I fucking wish."
You felt sick. But Beomgyu wasn’t done. "And then," he continued, voice low, "this motherfucker—this piece of shit—starts talking about how he doesn’t go for ‘girls who get around’ because he has standards." Your breath hitched. "That’s what he called you," Beomgyu said, voice flat. "A girl who gets around."
A sharp, ugly silence settled between you. Your pulse was roaring in your ears, rage and humiliation coiling together in your stomach like poison. "You fought him."
Beomgyu scoffed, shaking his head. "No. We talked."
You frowned. "Talked?"
"Yeah," he said, jaw tight. "He was acting like he had some kind of moral high ground," Beomgyu went on, voice sharpening. "Like he wouldn’t go for a girl who’s ‘too easy’—but oh, Seungcheol? Seungcheol was dying for a chance with you. And the way he talked—" Beomgyu exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "It pissed me off."
You swallowed hard, something ugly and bitter crawling up your throat. "So what, you argued with him?"
Beomgyu’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. His expression darkened. "Don’t do that."
"Do what?"
"Act like it doesn’t bother you," he snapped. "Act like it’s nothing when people say shit like that about you. I know you, Y/N."
Your breath caught. Because he wasn’t wrong. But you weren’t about to admit that. The air between you crackled with tension. His expression flickered. You should’ve let it go. Should’ve walked away. But something about the way he was looking at you made something snap inside you.
You shook your head, frustration burning beneath your skin. "You’re exhausting," you muttered, voice sharp. "One second you’re quiet, then you’re nice, then you’re picking fights, then you act like I’m just some coworker—"
Beomgyu’s expression flickered, something dark flashing in his eyes. "You think I treat you like that?"
"You tell me, Beomgyu," you snapped. "Because I have no fucking clue what you want from me."
The words hung in the air like a threat. His jaw tightened, his fingers flexing at his sides. "Don’t act like you don’t know," he said, voice rough. "Act like this is just me playing games—like I’m trying to play with you just for fun."
You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Aren’t you?"
Beomgyu’s entire body tensed. "Are you serious right now?"
"Yes, I’m fucking serious!" You took a step closer, rage bubbling up from every place you had been shoving it down. "You kissed me, Beomgyu. And then you disappeared for a fucking week. No texts, no calls, nothing. And then you show up at work like it never happened—like I should just be fine with that."
His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. "It wasn’t like that."
"Then what the fuck was it like?"
He ran a hand through his hair, fingers tugging slightly at the strands, like he was trying to pull himself together. "I needed time."
You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. "Bullshit."
Beomgyu scoffed. "Oh, so now I’m the bad guy?"
"You’re not the fucking victim," you shot back. "You don't get to kiss me like that, make me think—"
You cut yourself off, biting down hard on the words before they could spill out. But it was too late. Beomgyu was already looking at you like you had just punched the air out of his lungs. Like he knew exactly what you were about to say.
The air between you was too thick, too charged, suffocating and electric all at once. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his chest rising and falling unevenly. "You think I don’t fucking feel it too?" His voice cracked slightly, rough and raw. "You think this is easy for me?"
Your breath caught. "Then why do you keep running from it?"
Beomgyu exhaled sharply, something desperate in his gaze. "Because I don’t know what to do with it!"
Silence. His confession settled between you like an exposed wire, dangerous and crackling with heat. His jaw clenched, like he hated admitting it, like he hated feeling this much. But then, his expression shifted, morphing into something sharper, something wrecked.
"Fuck, Y/N," he muttered, voice strained. "You don’t get it. You don’t fucking get it."
"Then make me get it!" you yelled, frustration boiling over. "For once in your goddamn life, just say it!"
Beomgyu’s breath hitched. For a second, he didn’t say anything.
"Because I can’t fucking want you this much and still pretend it doesn’t matter!"
Your entire body locked up.
Beomgyu exhaled sharply, chest heaving, his eyes dark and so fucking serious it made your stomach flip. "I can’t—" He dragged a hand over his face, voice lower now, wrecked. "I can’t pretend that this thing between us doesn’t fucking kill me every time I try to ignore it." Your heart was a wildfire in your chest. Beomgyu let out a sharp laugh, one that sounded more like frustration than amusement. "I don’t know how to fucking want you without ruining everything else."
The words hit harder than they should have. The words hit harder than they should have. Because that was it, wasn’t it? That was why he ran. Why he pushed, pulled, disappeared, came back. Why he kissed you and then left.
Because he wanted you. But he didn’t trust himself with you. The realization sat heavy in your chest. And for the first time, you saw it, the fear beneath the anger, the hesitation beneath the frustration.
Beomgyu didn’t just want you. He was terrified of wanting you. And you didn’t know what scared you more. The fact that he was afraid. Or the fact that you weren’t.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was stretched too thin, humming with something neither of you knew how to control. Then, Beomgyu exhaled, deep, uneven. His gaze flickered downward, his fingers flexing at his sides like he wanted to reach for something but couldn’t bring himself to do it.
"I’m sorry," he said.
The words were quiet, but they landed with the weight of something long overdue. You swallowed. His lips parted, then closed. He let out a slow breath, shaking his head slightly, like he didn’t even know where to start. "For kissing you," he murmured. "For leaving. For not talking to you for a week like a fucking coward." His jaw clenched. "For making you think that it didn’t mean anything."
You stared at him, heart pounding. "And did it?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Beomgyu lifted his gaze then, something wrecked behind his dark eyes. "You already know the answer to that."
Your breath caught. He was looking at you differently now. Not with frustration, not with hesitation, but with a kind of certainty that sent heat curling in your stomach.
Then, before you could even process it, he took a step back. "Come with me," he said.
You blinked. "What?"
Beomgyu turned, already heading toward the door. "Come on," he repeated, glancing back at you. "I wanna show you something to prove it."
Something in his voice made your pulse jump. Still, you hesitated. "Show me?"
He didn’t answer. Just held the door open, waiting. And for some stupid, unexplainable reason, your feet started moving.
The walk to his studio was silent. Not tense, not uncomfortable, just charged. You could feel it, the way he was holding something back, something big. His pace was quick, purposeful, like if he didn’t move fast enough, he’d lose his nerve.
When you reached his studio, he pulled out a keycard and swiped it, unlocking the door before stepping inside. You followed hesitantly, eyes flickering over the dimly lit space.
Beomgyu didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he walked over to the soundboard, pressing a few buttons, adjusting the controls. A small red light flickered on in the recording booth.
Your stomach flipped. "What are we doing?" you asked, voice quieter now.
Beomgyu turned to face you, his expression unreadable. "I want you to hear something."
And then, he pressed play. A soft, melancholic guitar filled the room. Your breath caught immediately. You recognized it before he even started singing. Moonstruck.
But it wasn’t the version you had heard before. It was him. Beomgyu’s voice. Low, warm, just slightly raspy—vulnerable.
Your mind had barely caught up to the fact that he had recorded this himself when he spoke again. "I think you know why I wrote this," he said, voice quiet, steady. Your head snapped toward him, but he wasn’t looking at you.
He was looking at the recording booth. And then, he moved. Slowly, purposefully, he reached for the door handle and pushed it open, nodding his head for you to follow. "Come here."
Your pulse stuttered. You should’ve stopped. Should’ve said something, anything to break whatever the hell was happening right now. But you didn’t. Instead, you stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind you.
Beomgyu pressed a button near the panel, locked. He finally turned to face you then, and, fuck, he was close. "I don’t want anyone interrupting this time," he murmured.
Your breath caught. The air inside the booth was thick, the music still playing softly through the speakers. Beomgyu took another step forward, and this time, you didn’t move away. "You know what this song is about," he said, voice lower now.
You swallowed hard. "Beomgyu—"
"You know," he repeated, softer.
You couldn’t breathe. Because he was right. You knew. You had known since the first time you read the demo, since the first lyric. This was about you. And now, standing here, locked inside a booth with him, his voice bleeding through the speakers, warm and raw and real, you had never been more aware of it.
Beomgyu reached up then, fingers barely grazing your wrist. Not pulling, not pushing. Just there. A question. A hesitation. You didn’t know who moved first.
Maybe it was him. Maybe it was you. But suddenly, there wasn’t space between you anymore. His hand slid up, over your wrist, your forearm, until his fingers curled gently around your jaw. Your lips parted slightly, breath uneven, your pulse roaring in your ears.
Beomgyu’s gaze flickered down to your mouth. And then, he kissed you.
It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t messy, just slow, lingering, like he wanted to memorize the way you felt against him. His fingers curled tighter against your jaw, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss, to let himself drown in it.
And you let him. Because right now, nothing else mattered. Not the past, not the fear, not the things left unsaid. Right now, there was only this. Only the music, still playing softly in the background. Only him.
The kiss deepened before you even realized it was happening. Beomgyu wasn’t hesitant anymore. He wasn’t uncertain, wasn’t holding back, he was in it, pressing into you with a kind of desperation that made your head spin. His fingers dug into your jaw, tilting your face just the way he wanted, his lips parting against yours, taking.
Your back hit the wall of the recording booth, and he was on you in an instant, one hand braced against the panel behind you, the other sliding down, grazing the side of your neck, the bare skin of your arm, like he needed to feel you.
You barely had a second to breathe before he kissed you again, harder this time, almost rough, a low sound slipping from his throat as you pressed up onto your toes, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt.
"Fuck," he muttered against your mouth, voice already wrecked. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this."
Your breath hitched. "Then why did you run?"
His teeth grazed your bottom lip, his fingers tightening around your waist. "Because I’m a fucking idiot," he murmured, pressing another kiss against your jaw, then lower, dragging his lips along your neck. "Because I didn’t know if you—"
You cut him off, pulling him back to you, kissing him harder, more insistent. Beomgyu groaned against your lips, his body pressing flush against yours now, his hand slipping down to grip your thigh, hiking it up against his hip. His touch burned, warm and firm, like he needed you closer, needed to close the space that still existed between you.
"Tell me to stop," he muttered, his mouth trailing down, lips brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear. "Tell me to stop, and I swear I will."
You swallowed hard, fingers digging into his back. "I'm not telling you to stop."
That was all it took. Beomgyu made a low, almost guttural noise, like something inside him had just snapped. The next kiss was different. Messier. Hungrier. His hands were everywhere, sliding up under the hem of your shirt, skimming over bare skin, gripping your waist tight enough to leave bruises. Your body arched into his touch, your breathing uneven, heat pooling deep in your stomach as his fingers dug into your hips.
"Say it," he muttered against your lips, voice rough with something you couldn’t quite place. "Say you want me, too."
You let out a shaky breath, barely able to think. "I want you, Beomgyu."
He groaned, pressing his forehead against yours for a split second before kissing you again, slower this time, but deeper, like he wanted to drown in it. Then, suddenly, his grip tightened. He lifted you effortlessly, guiding you up onto the small ledge of the booth, your legs wrapping around his waist, his body slotting between your thighs like it was meant to be there.
Your pulse roared. He was so close now, every inch of him pressed against you, his breath uneven, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles against the skin just above the waistband of your jeans. "You drive me fucking insane," he muttered, his lips brushing over yours between each word. "I can’t think straight when I’m around you."
You barely had time to process that before his mouth was on your throat again, biting, sucking, dragging his lips down and down and down. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan, his hips pressing forward on instinct. The friction made you gasp, your legs tightening around him. "Shit," Beomgyu swore, his forehead dropping against your shoulder.
For a moment, neither of you moved. Your breathing was uneven, your body burning, your skin thrumming with heat where he touched you. Then, slowly, Beomgyu lifted his head. His gaze met yours, dark, unreadable. His hands flexed against your waist, like he was trying to ground himself. "I don’t want to fuck this up," he murmured, voice strained. "Not with you."
Your chest ached. Because he wasn’t saying I don’t want this. He was saying I don’t want to ruin it. Your fingers traced lightly along the back of his neck, your breathing still shaky. "Then don’t," you whispered.
Beomgyu swallowed hard. "I’m trying." He was still close. His forehead was still resting against yours, his hands gripping your waist, his body pressed between your legs like he wasn’t ready to pull away yet.
Your breathing was uneven. So was his. And then, like some invisible force snapped between you, his lips were on yours again. This time, there was no hesitation. He kissed you like he had been starving for this, like he was finally letting himself have what he had wanted for so long. His fingers dug into your waist, pulling you against him, his body heat swallowing you whole as his mouth moved against yours, deep and urgent.
You gasped slightly when he tilted your chin up, angling the kiss deeper, his tongue teasing against yours just enough to make your stomach tighten.
You felt like you were burning. Everywhere he touched, everywhere he pressed, lit up. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers threading through his hair, tugging just enough to make him let out a low, almost desperate sound against your lips. His hips pressed forward, instinctive. "Beomgyu—" you breathed against his mouth, barely able to think.
"Mm?" He didn’t stop. Just kissed along your jaw, down your neck, biting down lightly at the sensitive skin there before soothing it with his tongue.
A shiver ran down your spine. "We should—"
He kissed you again, cutting off your words, his hands gripping your thighs, holding you steady against him. "Say it later," he muttered, voice rough, lips brushing against yours. "Say it after I kiss you again."
And then he did. Harder this time. Deeper. Your body arched into his without thinking, heat curling in your stomach, your hands gripping onto his shirt to keep yourself steady. You could feel everything. His heartbeat, heavy and uneven against your chest. The way his fingers flexed against your skin like he was trying to memorize the way you felt. The low, unsteady sounds he made every time you moved against him, every time you kissed him back just as desperately.
It was too much. You broke away first, chest rising and falling, trying to catch your breath. Beomgyu didn’t move. He stayed close, lips still brushing against yours, eyes dark and heavy-lidded. Your fingers were still curled in his hair. His hands were still gripping your waist.
"We should stop," you murmured, forcing the words out before you lost your grip on reality completely. "Beomgyu, we’re— We’re at work. It’s not even noon."
Beomgyu let out a slow, shuddering breath. "Fuck." He still didn’t move. You could see it, the way his jaw clenched, his eyes flickering over your lips like he was debating whether to listen to you or keep going anyway. Then, finally, he exhaled sharply, resting his forehead against your shoulder for half a second before stepping back. "Yeah." His voice was strained, rough. "You’re right."
The air felt thin without him against you. You took a slow breath, trying to calm the racing of your pulse, trying to ignore the way your body still buzzed from his touch. His fingers brushed over your thigh before he pulled away completely, straightening his shirt, raking a hand through his hair.
You slid off the ledge, steadying yourself as you smoothed out your clothes. "I should get back to work," you muttered, voice still slightly breathless. "The album—"
Beomgyu gave a humorless chuckle, rubbing a hand over his face. "Yeah. Right. The album."
Neither of you moved. Neither of you looked at each other. Because you both knew, work was the last thing on your minds right now. But still, you turned toward the door, reaching for the handle. "I’ll see you later," you mumbled.
Beomgyu hummed in response, something unreadable in his expression. "Yeah."
You pulled the door open, and then, just as you were about to step out, his hand caught your wrist. Before you could even process it, he tugged lightly, just enough to make you turn back, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against your lips. It was barely a second. Barely anything. But it hit you like a fucking meteor. He pulled away just as quickly, his eyes flickering over your face, watching your reaction. You didn’t move. Couldn’t move.
Because what the fuck was that? Not the heat, not the urgency, not the kind of kiss that made your head spin and your knees weak, but something softer. Warmer. Something that made your stomach tighten in an entirely different way.
Beomgyu’s lips quirked upward slightly, like he could see the way your brain had short-circuited. "Go work," he murmured.
You blinked. "Right." And then, without another word, you turned and walked out, your heart still pounding.
You spent the rest of the afternoon in your studio. Hours passed. You barely noticed.
The only thing grounding you was the music, the way it pulsed through your headphones, the way it filled every inch of your studio. The way it made everything else, the tension, the heat, the weight of Beomgyu’s touch, fade just enough for you to breathe.
Your fingers moved instinctively, layering melodies, adjusting levels, smoothing over instrumentals. Every track you touched felt electric, the ideas spilling out of you faster than you could process them. Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe it was something else. But whatever it was, you let it take over.
The hours blurred together, stretching into one long, unbroken moment of creation. A new beat took shape, fast, sharp, pulsing with urgency. You molded it into something heavier, something alive. You adjusted the bass, the synths, the vocal layers, adding a deeper texture, something that ached in all the right ways.
Then another track, smoother, melancholic, intimate in a way that made your chest tighten. You let the guitar linger in places it normally wouldn’t, let the reverb stretch out just enough to make it feel like the song was breathing.
Another, this one bold, unrelenting, filled with heat and confidence. It demanded attention, crackled with something fierce. You didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. Your eyes flickered to the screen as the tracklist took shape in front of you:
XO (Only If You Say Yes) Your Eyes Only Hundred Broken Hearts Brought The Heat Back Paranormal Royalty
A solid foundation. A damn good foundation. By the time you finally leaned back in your chair, exhaustion was creeping in, settling into your limbs, but there was a different kind of satisfaction sitting beside it. Because you had done it. Most of your work was done. And maybe, just maybe, you had needed this. The music. The escape. The chance to turn everything swimming in your head into something real.
With a deep breath, you saved the files, powered down your setup, and began gathering your things. Your jacket, your bag, your phone, shoving everything into place as you checked the time. Late.
The sun had already set by the time you stepped outside. The air was crisp, the streets quieter now, the city humming with the distant sounds of life. You exhaled, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder as you turned toward the metro station.
And then—
"You took your time."
Your steps faltered. Beomgyu was waiting. Leaning against the side of the building, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his head tilted slightly as he watched you.
Your brows furrowed. "What are you doing here?"
Beomgyu smirked. "Told you I had until the album dropped for you to change your mind."
You blinked. "Change my mind about what?"
His smirk widened. "About getting a drink with me."
You stared at him. "Are you serious?"
"Dead serious," he said, pushing off the wall, stepping closer. "You spent the whole day in that studio. You need a break."
Your lips parted slightly, caught between irritation and something closer to amusement. "And you decided you’d be the one to provide it?"
Beomgyu shrugged. "Obviously."
You shook your head, exhaling. "I was planning to go home."
"Okay," he said easily. "You can still go home."
You frowned. "What?"
"After one drink," he clarified. "Then you can go home."
You let out a short laugh, shaking your head again. "You’re impossible."
"And yet," he mused, rocking back on his heels, "you’re still standing here, considering it."
Your jaw clenched. Because he wasn’t wrong. The exhaustion was still there, but so was something else, something that made you hesitate, something that made you want to say yes. Beomgyu noticed.
And so he tilted his head, lowering his voice just slightly. "Come on, Y/N. Just one."
You stared at him for another long moment. Then, before you could stop yourself, "Fine."
Beomgyu smirked, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets as he led the way. "You know," he mused, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, "you’re a lot more fun when you don’t overthink things."
You scoffed. "I’m not overthinking anything."
He grinned. "Then why do you look like you’re already regretting this?"
You huffed, shoving your hands into your jacket. "I’m not."
Beomgyu just hummed, like he didn’t believe you, but didn’t feel like arguing. Instead, he turned down a quieter street, leading you toward a bar tucked between two buildings, a cozy-looking place, warm light spilling from the windows, the scent of grilled meat drifting through the air.
You hesitated. "This is where we’re going?"
Beomgyu glanced at you, amused. "Why? You don’t like barbecue?"
Your stomach growled at the thought. You sighed. "I do, a lot."
He just smirked, pushing open the door. Inside, the atmosphere was just as inviting as the smell. Low, warm lighting. Laughter. The quiet clinking of glasses. The faint crackle of meat sizzling on the built-in grills at the tables. It was comfortable. And you hated that it made you relax a little.
Beomgyu led you toward an open table near the back, sliding into the seat beside you instead of across from you, leaning back like he had done this a thousand times before. Which, knowing him, he probably had. "You come here a lot," you muttered, glancing around.
He grinned. "I have good taste."
You rolled your eyes. A server appeared, and Beomgyu barely had to glance at the menu before ordering beef short ribs, pork belly, a few side dishes, and two cold beers.
You raised an eyebrow. "Ordering for me now?"
Beomgyu shrugged, tapping his fingers against the table. "You like barbecue. You like beer. I connected the dots."
You leaned back, crossing your arms. "What if I suddenly decided I hate all those things?"
Beomgyu smirked, resting his chin in his hand as he looked at you. "Then you’d be lying." You narrowed your eyes at him.
The beers arrived first. Beomgyu picked up his glass, tilting it slightly toward you. "To finishing most of the album in one day."
You huffed, clinking your glass against his. "To having nothing better to do than drag me to a bar."
Beomgyu just grinned before taking a sip. The beer was cold, smooth, the kind that went down easily after a long day. And as much as you hated to admit it, this, the warmth of the place, the comfort of the food, the quiet hum of conversation around you, felt nice.
You set your glass down, glancing at him. "Alright," you muttered. "You win. This isn’t terrible."
Beomgyu smirked, leaning in slightly. "High praise coming from you."
You scoffed, taking another sip. "Don’t get used to it."
And then, the food arrived. Plates of sizzling meat, steaming side dishes, the aroma so good that your stomach twisted with hunger. Beomgyu grabbed a pair of tongs, flipping the short ribs on the grill, moving with too much ease.
You eyed him. "You really come here a lot."
He smirked. "Told you."
You sighed, watching as he expertly cooked the meat, barely thinking before reaching for the lettuce wraps, stacking up the perfect bite, then placing it in front of you. Your eyebrows lifted. "Are you seriously making me food right now?"
Beomgyu shrugged, sipping his beer. "What, you want me to feed it to you, too?"
You scoffed. "I can make my own wrap, Beomgyu."
"Yeah, but I already did it." He nodded toward the plate. "So eat."
You rolled your eyes but took it anyway, biting into the warm, flavorful wrap. You weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion, the hunger, or the fact that Beomgyu was sitting so close, watching you eat with an amused expression, but something about this moment made your chest feel too full. You pushed the thought away.
"So?" he asked, watching you chew.
You swallowed, setting your chopsticks down. "It’s fine."
He snorted. "You are so bad at compliments."
"No," you corrected, taking another sip of beer. "I just don’t like boosting your ego."
Beomgyu grinned. "Too late for that."
The conversation flowed easier after that. The second beer turned into a third. The food disappeared, leaving just the sound of clinking glasses, the occasional glance that lingered too long, the way your shoulders brushed when you leaned forward to reach for something.
Somewhere between another drink and another teasing remark, you realized something: You were having fun. And Beomgyu knew it. His smirk never wavered, his eyes never left yours for too long, his voice never dropped that teasing lilt that made your pulse stutter more than it should. And maybe it was the alcohol. Or maybe it was just him.
But as you sat there, half-listening to him ramble about some ridiculous story, you realized, you didn’t really want the night to end. And by the time the last plate had been cleared and the third beer had been emptied, you were warm all over. Not drunk. Just loose.
The world felt a little softer around the edges, your limbs lighter, your thoughts slower but comfortable. Beomgyu, across from you—no, beside you, because he had sat next to you like it was the most natural thing in the world—was in the same state, his body relaxed, his usual sharp-edged energy dulled by alcohol and good food.
You tapped your fingers idly against the table, staring at the condensation on your glass. "So," you muttered, "you never told me—what do you think of the album name?"
Beomgyu blinked, then frowned slightly, turning his head to look at you properly. "What album name?"
You exhaled, stretching your arms over your head. "The one Baekhyun’s thinking about. ‘Files of Romance.’"
His reaction was instant. Beomgyu made a face like you had just told him the worst news imaginable. "Nah, not my personal taste."
You raised an eyebrow. "You hate it that much?"
"Hate is a strong word—" he paused, reconsidering. "—but yeah, I fucking hate it."
You laughed. "Why?"
Beomgyu turned in his seat, facing you fully now, one arm resting on the back of your chair. "Because it sounds like some 2010 Wattpad fanfiction. ‘Files of Romance’—what is this, a collection of love letters? A secret diary? An unfinished manuscript?*"
You smirked, tilting your head. "It’s poetic."
"It’s cheesy," he corrected.
You rolled your eyes, taking another sip of beer. "Okay, then what would you call it?"
Beomgyu hummed, thinking for a moment. Then, he looked at you. And something in his gaze shifted. His smirk faded, not completely, but enough for you to notice the way his expression softened slightly. "Romance: Untold."
The words settled between you like something heavy. Your fingers stilled against your glass. "Untold?"
He nodded. "Because that’s what this album is, isn’t it? All these songs, all these stories—" he tapped his fingers against the table, voice dropping slightly. "It’s about things people don’t say out loud. Feelings left unsaid. The in-between moments, the things you can’t admit, the things you only let yourself feel when no one’s looking."
Suddenly, this wasn’t about the album anymore. Beomgyu wasn’t looking at you like a producer talking about work. He wasn’t critiquing an idea, wasn’t just throwing out another title. He was talking about you and him.
Your lips parted slightly, heart picking up speed. "That’s…" you hesitated. "That’s actually not bad."
Beomgyu grinned. "Not bad? Come on, admit it—you like it."
You exhaled, shaking your head. "You’re impossible."
"And you’re predictable," he countered easily, taking another sip of his beer. "You act like you hate everything I say, but deep down, you know I’m right most of the time."
You scoffed. "Most of the time?"
"Mm-hmm." He leaned in slightly, his smirk turning just a bit more smug. "Like right now."
Your eyes narrowed. "Beomgyu—"
"Say it," he murmured, voice lower now, the playful edge still there but thicker, like something else was creeping beneath it. "Say you like the name."
You exhaled sharply, pressing your lips together. He was so annoying. But also, he was right. You sighed. "Fine. It’s… a good name."
Beomgyu smirked, triumphant. "See? I always win."
You rolled your eyes, taking another sip. "You don’t always win."
"Pretty close to always," he teased, nudging your leg under the table. "And anyway—" his gaze flickered over you briefly before settling on your lips. "I get the feeling you like it when I win."
You swallowed, shifting in your seat, trying to ignore the way your skin felt hot under his gaze. "You’re drunk."
Beomgyu smirked. "Tipsy."
"Same thing."
"Not even close." His fingers tapped against his glass, his smirk lingering. "You just don’t wanna admit I’m fun outside of work."
You snorted. "Fun is a strong word."
"And yet," he murmured, leaning in slightly, "you’re still here."
He wasn’t wrong. You could’ve left at any time. You could’ve said no to this drink. You could’ve cut this conversation short the second it started feeling like more than just talking. But you didn’t. And now, sitting here, so close to him, so aware of every movement he made, every glance, every shift in his voice, you couldn’t pretend that it was just because of the album anymore.
You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to look away. "We should probably head out soon."
Beomgyu hummed, like he knew exactly what you were doing but didn’t feel like calling you out on it. "Yeah, yeah."
Neither of you moved. Instead, he let his arm stretch across the back of your chair, fingers tapping against the wood in a slow, easy rhythm. "Romance: Untold," he repeated, more to himself now. "Yeah. I like it."
You exhaled. "Me too."
And somehow, you knew, this wasn’t just about the album. This was about you and him. The story neither of you had told yet. But one that, deep down, you both knew was already being written.
The night air was cooler now, a crisp contrast to the warmth still buzzing under your skin from the drinks. The street outside the bar was quiet, only the occasional car passing by, headlights flickering against the pavement.
Beomgyu stretched his arms over his head, then shoved his hands into his pockets. "Alright, let’s get you home."
You raised an eyebrow. "You’re not driving."
"Obviously not," he said, rolling his eyes. "I’m not a fucking idiot."
You let out a breathy laugh. "So what’s your plan?"
Beomgyu tilted his head, smirking. "Gonna take the subway with you."
You blinked. "You don’t have to do that."
"I know." He started walking. "Come on."
You hesitated, but ultimately followed, falling into step beside him. The subway station wasn’t far. The streets were quieter here, the hum of neon signs flickering against the damp pavement. It felt… nice. Comfortable. Like the two of you had slipped into something easier than usual.
The train arrived just as you stepped onto the platform. You both boarded, sliding into a seat near the back of the car. "So," you mused, resting your head against the window. "Tell me something I don’t know about you."
Beomgyu hummed, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Something good or something stupid?"
"Good," you said. "And don’t say something obvious."
Beomgyu smirked, tapping his fingers against his knee. "I’ve wanted to do music since I was ten."
You blinked. "Really?"
"Yeah." He leaned back, gaze flickering up toward the train ceiling like he was remembering something. "I used to listen to my older brother’s CDs all the time—Nirvana, Radiohead, The Strokes, My Bloody Valentine. I’d sit in my room with those shitty little wired headphones and just obsess over the sounds, the production, the way the lyrics hit different when you were alone in the dark."
You tilted your head, watching him. "I never took you for a rock band guy."
Beomgyu scoffed. "What, you think I only listen to industry shit?"
"I mean… kinda."
He clutched his chest dramatically. "Wow. The disrespect."
You laughed. "Okay, okay. What’s your favorite album of all time?"
Beomgyu exhaled, tapping his fingers against the seat. "Damn. That’s hard."
"Come on," you nudged his knee with yours. "You’re a music guy. You have to have a number one."
He thought for a second. "‘Loveless’ by My Bloody Valentine."
Your brows lifted. "Shoegaze?"
"Shoegaze," he confirmed. "That album changed me."
You smirked. "Oh, so it’s that serious?"
"It’s life-changing serious," he said. "I mean, listen to ‘When You Sleep’ and tell me that shit doesn’t make you wanna dissolve into the floor."
You chuckled. "Okay, fine. I’ll listen."
"You better."
The conversation flowed easily after that. Beomgyu rambled about different albums, breaking down the exact moment he fell in love with certain sounds, which producers he admired, which live performances made him feel something real.
And you listened. Really listened. Because even though he talked a lot—too much, sometimes—this was different. This was Beomgyu talking about the thing he loved. And it made you want to know more.
By the time you reached your stop, the train car was nearly empty. The streets were quieter now, the air even cooler. Beomgyu walked beside you, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his usual smirk still tugging at his lips. And then, without warning, his arm slung over your shoulders.
You stiffened. "What the hell are you doing?"
Beomgyu grinned. "Relax. You looked cold."
You scoffed, but didn’t pull away. "You just wanted an excuse to be annoying."
"And?" he teased. "Is it working?"
"Always."
Beomgyu chuckled, squeezing your shoulder lightly before letting his arm stay there, draped over you like it belonged there. And, for some reason, you let it. By the time you reached your apartment building, the air between you had shifted again, lighter, charged, something humming just beneath the surface.
Beomgyu turned to face you, his smirk softer now. "Well, that was fun."
You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You admit I’m fun now?"
"I didn’t say that." He grinned. "I said that was fun."
You rolled your eyes, stepping toward your door. "Whatever."
But before you could reach for the handle, Beomgyu caught your wrist. You turned. And suddenly, he was right there. Closer than he had been all night. The teasing was gone from his face. His eyes flickered between yours, his fingers still wrapped loosely around your wrist. And then, he leaned in. Slowly. Deliberately. Like he was giving you time to stop him.
But just as his lips were inches from yours, the door swung open.
"Well," Yeonjun’s voice rang out, amusement laced through every word. "What do we have here?"
Your stomach dropped. Beomgyu’s entire body went rigid. Yeonjun grinned, stepping onto the porch, holding a tied-up trash bag in one hand. "I was just taking out the garbage, but this is much more interesting."
You groaned, pulling away from Beomgyu instantly. "Yeonjun."
"What?" Yeonjun feigned innocence, looking between the two of you. "I didn’t know we were having late-night meetings outside the apartment."
Beomgyu exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers against his temple. "Great timing, dude."
"I try my best." Yeonjun smirked. "So… are you gonna kiss, or should I give you some privacy?"
"Yeonjun, I swear to God—"
"Alright, alright, I’m going!" He held up his hands, stepping off the porch with a laugh. "But we will be talking about this later, Y/N."
You shot him a glare as he disappeared down the walkway, humming to himself. The second he was out of earshot, you huffed. "Unbelievable."
A beat of silence passed. "So…" Beomgyu shifted, glancing at you. "Where were we?"
A slow smirk tugged at Beomgyu’s lips. His head tilted slightly, his eyes flickering down to your mouth, just for a second, just enough for your breath to catch. He was waiting. Waiting to see if you’d push him away, if you’d roll your eyes and disappear inside, if you’d cut this tension off before it turned into something real.
But you didn’t. And that was all he needed. Beomgyu took a slow step forward, closing the space between you with the kind of confidence that sent your heart slamming against your ribs. His fingers brushed against yours, hesitant for only a moment before he tilted his chin down, leaning in. And then, finally, he kissed you.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t urgent or rough or anything close to what you had before. It was gentle. Soft in a way that made your stomach flip, slow in a way that made your knees feel weak, like he had all the time in the world to memorize the way you felt beneath his lips. Beomgyu wasn’t pushing. He wasn’t taking. He was giving. And you let yourself take it.
Your fingers curled against the front of his jacket, tugging slightly as you kissed him back, sinking into the warmth of it, the quiet rightness of it. Beomgyu let out a soft sound against your lips, half a sigh, half a laugh, before tilting his head slightly, deepening the kiss just enough to make your stomach tighten.
His hand came up, brushing against your cheek, fingers tracing the line of your jaw, slow and deliberate, like he was trying to remember this. Like he had wanted this for too long. You could feel his smile against your mouth, feel the way his fingers flexed slightly, like he wanted to pull you closer but was holding back.
And then, someone cleared their throat. Loud. Pointed. Beomgyu stilled for half a second, then pulled back, blinking like he had just been shaken out of something. Slowly, almost painfully, you turned toward the sound.
Yeonjun. Standing in the hallway. Arms crossed. Smirking. "Really?" he mused. "Right outside the door?"
Your stomach dropped. "Yeonjun—"
"You guys didn’t even wait five minutes after I left?" he continued, shaking his head. "Damn, Beomgyu. You work fast."
Beomgyu groaned, dragging a hand over his face. "For the love of God—"
Yeonjun just grinned as he stepped inside. "Don’t let me stop you. I was just coming back."
You wanted to die. You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. Beomgyu exhaled sharply, muttering something under his breath before taking a small step back, running a hand through his hair.
You cleared your throat, trying to ignore the way your skin burned. "I should go inside."
Beomgyu looked at you, his expression unreadable for half a second before he smirked. "Yeah. Probably."
You hesitated. "Goodnight, Beomgyu."
He tilted his head. "Goodnight, Y/N."
And then, because he couldn’t help himself, he leaned in one last time. A quick, teasing peck against your lips. Barely a second. Barely anything. But it sent your stomach spiraling.
Then, before you could even react, he turned toward the stairs, shoving his hands into his pockets. "See you at work," he called over his shoulder. And with that, he disappeared.
The second the door shut behind you, your back met the wood, and you let out a sharp breath. What the fuck just happened? Your fingers hovered over your lips, the ghost of Beomgyu’s kiss still lingering, the warmth of his touch still burning on your skin. Your heart was still racing, your mind still spinning, and—
"Oh, this is so good," Yeonjun’s voice cut through your spiral, full of glee.
You groaned. "Please. Shut up."
author's note: i hate to do this… but we’re getting a part 3. there was just too much to fit into this chapter, and things are about to get tense next time. if you want to be on the taglist for the next part, let me know in the comments!
ALSO i wrote this fic way before beomgyu even announced PANIC 😭😭 so pls go give him all the love bc he looks AMAZING the song is perfect and i swear the beomgyu i wrote is the same beomgyu who wrote panic did i just win????? 😭💘
taglist: @czennieszn @iyoonjh @shycreationdreamland @beomsdoll @whatblop @cbgtopia @enhaloveeee @hyunj00 @jnysaln @woncheecks @soobinslvr13 @kejingken @v1shwa-xo @yeovnjin @c1eod1n3 @etherealid7 @naeyerys
part 1 // part 2 // part 3
