References of: Giselle of aespa, jisung,Sion, yushi, riku, jaehee of nct, all boynextdoor members except for woonhak, rei of ive, matthew of zerobaseone
Synopsis. Riwoo's career has just kicked off. Having joined a label with 3 of his friends, he works the hardest he could to write and produce his music. His first drop is charting and he's being propelled towards success. But all great things have downsides. Riwoo is lonely. I mean, he has great friends but he craves for a relationship and he knows now isn't the right time. Or in which Yn, a college student in her senior year, amidst the stress of settling down and planning her future finds solace in an underground artist that she met at the clurbbb.
Status: ongoing
A/N: first smau!!! If this is sloppy forgive me im figuring it out
The dizzying lights casting a glow over the entire venue might've altered your perception of things. Or maybe it was the stuff in your glass. But whatever it was, it got you brave. Brave enough to even think about talking to the boy across the room.
You turned to your friend,who was hunched over the counter, talking to the barista in front of her.
âGi, I'll be a little, call me if Iâm gone for too longâ A small hum left your friend's throat in response.
You slipped through the crowd of bodies. A mix of sweat and alcohol hanging in the air. With each move you felt the boy's eyes following you, until you were finally in front of him.
âWhat's such a handsome young man like you doing all alone in hereâ You spoke, a little tipsy from the alcohol.
âFriends dragged me out.â He looked into your eyes, cheesing a little.
Time felt still, unmoving. Awkwardness threaded between you two. You were drunk, but not drunk enough. And he had absolutely no alcohol in his system, being the designated driver.
âWanna get away from here?â You nodded, letting him guide you up to the balcony.
Conversations with the stranger, whose name you had found out was Riwoo flowed easily. He felt familiar, almost like home but there was something distant about him.
âSo,â the man started. âGo onâ You leaned your head onto his shoulder.
The view of Seoul from the rooftop was breathtaking. Lights swirled and glowed in beautiful tones and buildings ahead formed a pathway. Straight ahead was the full moon that decorated the sky's dark blue canvas.
âWould you mind giving me your-â A gasp interrupted Riwoo. âOH MY GOSH THERE YOU AREâ both your heads snapped towards the voice in sync. âRei!â You yelled out âwhat are you doing hereâ
âsearching for you??? I thought you got abducted or somethingâ Riwoo's phone vibrated. "bruv where are you we're leaving"- jaehyun his screen glowed faintly.
âUhh⊠sorry I gotta go, see you around?â He stammered out, backing away. âYeahâ you mumbled, looking down at the space between you two.
An. Emptied a month old draftđ, im so excited!!
"this fic uses em dashes, so it must be ai-generated" real humans use em dashes.
"this fic has long paragraphs with overly described details and scenes, so it must be ai-generated" real humans can write like this.
"this fic has inconsistencies, so it must be ai-generated" real humans make errors and mistakes. that's why we have this thing called plot holes. sometimes writers are tired and they don't remember what they wrote in the last sentences or paragraphs, let alone chapters.
"this fic sounds robotic and unnatural, so it must be ai-generated" not every writer writes in their native language. sometimes they can sound 'robotic and unnatural' if they wrote in their second or third or fourth language (and kudos to them).
"this fic has a prompt left in it that the author forgot to delete, so it must be ai-generated" the 'prompt' the author accidentally left in their fic could actually be a part of an outline that was meant only for them, so they could keep track of what they would write.
"this author posts too often, no human writes this fast, so they must use ai" 1.) you don't know how fast someone can or can't write, how much time a person has in a day or how motivated/skilled they are. 2.) the frequent updates you see could be something that has already been finished and sitting in the author's drafts for god knows how long. just because it's recently posted doesn't always mean it's recently written.
my point? no, you can never know if a fanfic is 'ai-generated'. unless the author says they use ai, you're just assuming, suspecting and witch hunting. chances are that you're not going to 'stop ai fics from being created', you're just going to wrongly accuse genuine writers of using ai and ruin their day at best, make them want to quit writing or sharing their works at worst.
AND THEY WERE ROOMMATESâŠYEAH RIGHT. | Park Sungho
pairings â boynextdoorâs sungho x reader
genre â very much giving situationship, romance, slice of life, and domesticity.
warnings â they donât acknowledge their feelings. very casual physical affection (WC. 1k)
note â did i giggle while writing this? yes.
more works: navigation | bnd!masterlist
LIVING WITH SUNGHO is like cohabiting with a natural disaster, except instead of earthquakes or tornadoes, itâs the kind of storm that hums pop songs at 7 a.m. while searching for cereal that you know he definitely finished yesterday. He is noise in every formâdoor handles rattling because he doesnât know how to close things gently, sneakers abandoned in the hallway like he lost the will to take three more steps to the shoe rack, the sound of his laugh bouncing off the walls like it owns the place.
Heâs handsome, yes. But you notice it like you notice a lamp in the corner of a roomâthere, obvious, but not worth obsessing over. Handsomeness doesnât make the socks he leaves around any less misplaced.
You function together like an already-married couple if you ignore the technicalities. Grocery shopping is a joint mission. Laundry is a battle of whose turn it is to fold, and he cheats by suddenly declaring heâs âbusyâ every time the dryer buzzes. Meals are communal, though âcommunalâ means he eats half of yours under the pretense that food tastes better when itâs stolen.
None of this is romantic, though. This is survival. At least, thatâs what you tell yourself.
He has this habit of touching you without asking. Itâs never anything grandâjust a hand at the small of your back to move past you in the kitchen, his arm slung casually across the back of the couch so close that his fingertips graze your shoulder. If youâre carrying too many things at once, heâll pluck the heaviest bag from you without comment. If you look cold, heâll pull his hoodie over your head before you can object, tugging the hood so it swallows your face.
Friends donât usually do that. But apparently roommates do.
Last Tuesday, you fell asleep on the couch watching some mindless drama. When you woke up, there was a blanket over you and Sungho was still on the other end of the couch, sitting cross-legged with his phone, earbuds in. He didnât even look surprised youâd caught him. Just said, âYou snore, by the way,â with that little smirk, as if he hadnât just tucked you in like a child.
You didnât bother replying. It felt safer to roll your eyes and pretend you werenât warm in a way the blanket couldnât explain.
Tonight, the apartment feels heavier than usual, even though itâs the same walls, the same furniture. Sungho sprawls on the couch with his head tipped back, hair sticking up from where heâs been running his hands through it. Thereâs a half-empty water bottle balanced on his stomach like a challenge. He glances at you when you walk past.
âYouâre ignoring me,â he announces.
âI didnât say anything,â you reply flatly.
âExactly.â He shifts, patting the spot beside him. âSit. You look lonely.â
Youâre not lonely. Youâre carrying laundry to fold, which is objectively more productive than indulging him. But you sit anyway, laundry basket dumped at your feet. His knee presses into yours, casually, as if it belongs there.
He watches you fold a shirt, then leans over to put his head on your shoulder and his arms around your waist in a side-hug.
Itâs quiet for a moment, and you really believed itâd be a peaceful moment.
Yeahâno.
Sungho felt neglected so he rubbed his cheek on your neck, and when you didnât reply his hand deliberately went to your laundry and messed it up, unfolding it with one careless tug.
âWhy are you like this?â you ask.
âQuality bonding,â he says, grinning, and you resist the urge to smile back.
By the time the clock ticks past midnight, the apartment is quieter, and the edges of his chaos soften. You wander into the kitchen for water and find him already there, leaning against the counter while the kettle hums. His hairâs dampâshower, apparentlyâand he looks calmer, smaller somehow, without the daytime theatrics.
âCouldnât sleep?â he asks without looking at you.
âJust thirsty.â
He pours water into two mugs anyway, sliding one toward you. No words, no offer. Just assumption. Domesticity in its simplest form.
You take the mug, sip, and watch him move around like heâs been doing this forever. The way he hovers closer than necessary when he slides past you. The way his shoulder brushes yours like punctuation. The way he nudges you toward the stool at the counter as if to say, sit, stay, donât leave yet.
He doesnât talk much in these hours. Itâs almost jarring compared to the usual noise. But his quiet is comforting in a way you donât want to admit.
Thereâs a moment where you think heâs going to leaveâretreat to his room, close the door, end the night. Instead, he notices youâve crossed your arms against the chill and without ceremony, drapes his hoodie over your shoulders. Itâs still warm.
âYouâll catch a cold,â he mutters.
You could say youâre fine. You could roll your eyes again, keep up the act. But the truth is, you donât want to shrug it off. His hoodie smells like his detergent, sharp and familiar, and you let it settle around you.
Sungho doesnât make a big deal of it. He just sits beside you, shoulder pressed to yours, both of you staring at nothing in particular. The clock ticks. The kettle clicks off.
And it feels stupidly easyâlike this is the only way nights are supposed to end.
Roommates donât do this. They donât fold laundry side by side like a ritual, or share tea at midnight in the half-light of a kitchen, or casually press knees together until it feels like breathing. They donât cover you with blankets and hoodies without asking, or tuck themselves so seamlessly into your space that you forget what it was like without them.
But apparently you two do.
And youâre both just roommates. Yeah, right.
Nobody lets their roommate kiss the top of your head like that.
Oh, did the narrator forget to mention that detail?
pairing: music composer! taesan x radio rj! reader
genre: opposites attract (extroverted sunshine character reader and socially awkward taesan), pining, secret identity, slowburn, fluff, workplace romance (kind of?)
synopsis: taesan went by his days quietly, producing and composing tracks for television shows and films in the comfort of his studio at his broadcasting company. but one day, when he tunes into the radio show you hosted a few floors above his own, the opportunity to call in as an anonymous listener presents itself to him, and his curiosity towards you, along with his want for something more in life, all bubble over into a decision which heâll probably regret later.
word count: 10.1 k
warnings: mentions of food, kind of loser taesan, reader is mentioned to be shorter than taesan
With bated breath, the young girl hides behind the kitchen counter, hand pressed tightly against her lips, praying to whichever god who could help her in this dire moment of life and death. However, her prayers seem to be disrupted by the shuffling footsteps behind her, followed by what could only be described as maniacal laughter. Each second seemed to drag on as all she could do was curl up her small frame into the marble kitchen island, hoping that the man whoâd been after her for hours would not notice her trembling body and futile attempts to silence her ragged breath.
âCome out little lamb, letâs play!â
The voice, shrill and wicked, rings through the large kitchen. Itâs like her heartbeat has turned into an unsteady tune of snares. As his footsteps grow louder and louder, itâs like an orchestra of sounds has made themselves home in her head, buzzing in her ears. First comes the percussion, slow and steady, setting the beat, followed by, in all their grandeur, the strings, building up the tension as the laughter seems to move eerily closer to the shivering girl. Finally joined by the brass and woodwind, the music keeps blaring around the two figures, or maybe it was the rush of blood in her ears causing her to imagine things. The music crescendos. And then. Silence.
âPeekaboo, little lamb!â
As the drum set builds up in intensity, his deranged laughter is the last thing she hears before the knife twisted into her abdomen slowly takes away the last of her shallow breaths.Â
Heaving a sigh of satisfaction, Dongmin takes off his headphones to let them rest on his shoulders, leaning back into his swivel chair as he stretched out his arms after a long dayâs work. The deadline for the third episode of the drama series was quickly approaching, so he saved his draft and sent it to his superior to examine before it slipped his mind again.Â
Heaving a deep breath, he let his eyes scan the small studio that had become a second home to him in the past few years.
Being a music production engineer had never been Dongminâs dream. Heâd always loved music and sound in general, sure, but when he meant being part of the music industry, he meant singing, writing his own songs, and most of all performing, and being able to convey his emotions to thousands in the form of heartbreak songs and serenades.
 But when his Soundcloud musician dreams slowly came crashing down, he never expected to end up cooped up in a little studio, barely knowing when day turns to night, composing the backtracks to movies and television shows that graced the screens of thousands nationwide.
But thatâs not to say that Dongmin hated his job though, despite his scepticism when his long-time mentor and advisor Jiho recommended the post as his junior at the broadcasting company. In the past few years, Taesan had developed an innate appreciation towards the sounds and music accompanying each scene of any show, movie or broadcast; setting the mood and portraying emotions far better than words could.Â
Sometimes, it almost felt akin to magic; the way music was able to transform one scene from an adorable romantic scene between two inseparable lovers to one of chilling fright and unspeakable terrors, or even intangible and unbearable sorrows. In his own way, the job made him fulfil his dreams of touching the hearts of thousands, though not quite the way he expected.Â
But in the sanctuary of his little studio, surrounded by instruments and production tools, he had to admit that sometimes when the brain fog got to him, and his fingers seemed trapped on a single key of his synth, unable to think of the next, the days seemed to stretch infinitely and felt unbearably mundane. But that never became a problem for too long as the few friends he had made in his time at KOZ Broadcasting Corporation always found a way to make his days better. Speaking of them, they should be crashing into the room right aboutâŠ
âHYUNG!! YOUâLL NEVER BELIEVE WHAT I COVERED ON THE FIELD TODAY!â
As the journalism intern came tumbling into the room panting, catching his breath, Dongmin swivelled around in his chair, eyebrow perked up in mild curiosity at the younger who had already made himself home on the small sofa in the room, rambling about some poultry farmer who ended up accidentally releasing a hundred chickens into a highway, and about how he had to actively dodge a few to score an interview with the already frazzled man.Â
âOi Han Dongmin! Iâm starving, can we please escape this cave of yours?âÂ
Another booming voice that Dongmin had grown to recognise barged in, still in a smart suit after his evening news reading duties. Myung Jaehyun, an anchor, known and loved throughout the company for his never-depleting energy, sauntered in, kicking the journalist off the couch, causing a string of grumbles from the younger. As he watched the two go on with their usual antics, Dongmin shook his head with a sigh, although he couldnât deny feeling grateful towards them for making his rather solitary way of life a bit more colourful.Â
After some more small talk about each of their days, filled with exchanges of complaints and stories, the three finally left the studio, making their way up to the top floor of the company, as they did every day, to join the queue of workers to get dinner at the cafeteria. As it was just another boring Wednesday, with most being too tired or too busy to go out for their meals, the cafeteria was packed, which left the boys hunting for a table after escaping the sluggishly long dinner queue.Â
As they finally found a table and cosied into their seats, another familiar face almost apologetically approached them with his own tray of food, asking if the extra seat at the table was vacant. Kim Donghyun, Dongmin had learnt with time; a camera operator at Jaehyunâs newsroom, and due to the crowded days at the cafeteria, a good acquaintance to the three seated at the table.
Basking in the bluster of the cafeteria and of the four similar-in-age friends munching away at their dinners, Dongmin allowed his mind to wander freely. His mind became preoccupied with the many deadlines that crept up on him; the ones for the new variety show didnât seem to bother him much but the horror film set to release later that year seemed to be a bit more challenging. In the chaos of his thoughts he didnât hear his name being called out the first time, and only with a snap of Jaehyunâs fingers did he float back into the present.
âSo Dongmin-ah, whatâs going on with you? Your whole life still revolving around that studio, huh?â
The composer shrugged, not quite understanding why his friends seemed to have a problem with his rather quiet way of life. Sure, he never met anyone else other than his fellow production engineers and his few friends, and yeah, his studio was the only place he ever seemed to be at, but he never quite minded that. Not really. Or so he told himself.
âCome on hyung, you got to get out and about more! Meet new people and stuff!â
The loud journalist exclaimed between rushed shovels of food down his throat. The quiet cameraman to his left nodded approvingly, âMaybe you should even meet someone new, spice things up a bit. How much longer will you cocoon your whole life into that studio?âÂ
At Donghyunâs words, Dongmin looked up at him pointedly, only to be met by three pairs of curious yet teasing eyes. âYeah Taesan, all these love songs and still no lover? Thatâs just sad.â Jaehyun asks with a giggle, addressing him by his producer name.Â
Dongmin lets out a heavy sigh knowing that the three werenât going to let go of this too easily. As they went on throwing tips at him on how to find someone heâd like and escape this âmiserable lifeâ of his, he held on to that question;
How much longer would he live alone, in solitude, like this?
He wasnât going to lie and say that the thought hadnât caressed his mind before; the idea of being in a relationship, of not having to spend his days and nights alone save for the few minutes his tied-up friends would spare for him.
The days when the silence of the studio felt oddly hollow, and the pulsing cursor against his unfinished lyrics seemed to taunt him, he couldnât help but let his mind wander to the what-ifs. But his friends were right, with the way he lived, knowing nothing but the comfort of the four walls of his studio, nothing would ever change. And he was never the outgoing type anyways.Â
He let this thought engulf him, tuning out the rest of the conversation and chatter around him, even as they all bid farewell to each other before heading back to the usual hustle of their lives, even as he trudged his way back up to the all-too-familiar room, and back to his seat in front of his screens. He dropped his head down to his hands, spinning about slowly in his chair. His friends had always made fun of his almost soulless way of life, yet Dongmin never seemed to pay any heed. So what was so different now?Â
Maybe his head was just muddled. Yeah, that must be it. He just needed to clear it up.
Reaching his arm across his work desk, past the stack of messily arranged papers, Dongmin reached for the radio that his father had gifted him when he first got the job, though he never really got to use it with his packed schedule. As he mindlessly turned the knobs of the device, fluttering through the different frequencies, his eyebrows bunched in confusion as he was certain he was doing something wrong as the studio was filled with the constant screech of the static.
That was until he heard it.
As the static dampened, making way for a much clearer sound, his ears perked up. It was melodic, he thought, the way your voice cut through the air, enunciating each word with a contagious sort of energy yet calming enough to allow him to grasp onto the tether of your voice among the myriad of thoughts that raced in his head. Your voice seemed to silence the static in his brain.
You werenât a stranger to him though; being in the same company as him, hosting the late-night radio show a few floors above his own. Dongmin had often seen you clock into work just as heâd step out of his studio, surrounded by your colleagues, a radiant sort of joy engulfing your being, and everything and everyone you fluttered by.Â
It always felt ironic to him; how you were a late-night show host. For to Dongmin, you were like the Sun itself, basking everything in your light that felt akin to the rays of morning sunlight. It intrigued him more than anything else: how you always seemed to have a bubbliness to you that never ran out. How your lips always seemed to be curled up in a smile that could pull the world out of the darkest of times. How sometimes he was the one who felt exhausted just watching you bounce about the company walls, greeting every face you met on your way to the radio station with an almost infectious sort of felicity.
But thatâs all heâd ever done. Watching you. For you confused him, maybe even scared him. For if you were the Sun, he was the Moon, with no light to give out of his own. He could count his friends with one hand, and there you were, chattering away with anyone and everyone you met, as if youâd known them your whole life.Â
But it would be a lie to say that your starkly different ways of life hadnât piqued Dongminâs interest just a tiny bit, but he knew all heâd ever do was silently admire your zeal from the sidelines.
You were the Sun after all, and the universe revolved around you, and he was only the moon, to watch you in all your brilliance.
As you concluded the final song in your setlist, lulling Dongmin out of the slight daze he had fallen into, voice still laced with the same radiance he had grown to look forward to, you introduced the start of the next section of your programme, âTune In To Youâ a section where listeners could call in to talk about their worries or ask questions to the RJ. Reciting the number of your radio station, you urged your listeners to call in, with your ever-so-compelling voice.
Almost too compelling.Â
Before he could think otherwise, his fingers reached into his pocket, fishing out his phone and dialling in the numbers you melodically repeated. As his fingers hovered over the blaring green call button, he hesitated. What was he doing right now? But almost as if he were in a trance, he shook off the voices in his head screaming at him to stop and went for it. He started the call. Well⊠itâs not like youâd actually pick up anywa-
âHello! This is Midnight Talkies! Thanks for calling in, could I please have your name, dear listener?â
Oh God.
As your voice echoed throughout the room, Dongmin froze. He didnât think youâd pick up. And now he had no clue on what to do. As he began to aggressively curse himself in his head, your voice rang through the air again, laced with a twinge of concern this time.
âUm Sir? Madam? Could you please introduce yourself for us?â
Taesan snapped back to the issue at hand, and before his head could process his actions, his lips began moving. âYou can call me uh⊠Giant MountainâÂ
OH GOD.
Behind the mic at the radio station, you stifled a giggle as the name caught you off guard, looking up at the sound technicians on the other side of the recording booth who also seemed to have a difficult time remaining stoic at the weird name.
âRight⊠Mr Mountainâ you say as Dongmin can feel himself cringe as he hears the name out of your lips this time, making him realise all the more how stupid using the nickname was.Â
âSo what do you have for us? Any questions or confessions for us today?âÂ
Taesan stills. He has no idea what to say. Everything heâs done in the past few minutes was completely on a whim and now heâs bearing the consequences of it all. Yet, even in this moment of chaos, your voice grounds him. And the first thing he can think of flits by his lips.
âUh⊠That song you just played? Wonderwall? I really like it.â He says, almost dumbly.
As he braces himself for your obvious confusion and judgement for his out-of-the-blue statement, you do it again.Â
You manage to surprise him yet again.Â
âOh my god! You like Oasis? I love them too! I adore the chill vibe they have with their classics, I had even personally asked for this song to be in tonightâs setlist!â
Dongmin blinks in astonishment. He did not expect you to agree with him, let alone like the band he had spent years obsessing over. Having endured hours of bullying from both Woonhak and Jaehyun for his mild obsession with the English band, he couldnât stop his heart from somersaulting at your agreement.
And before he could stop it, the music nerd in him took over, talking about the intricacies of the baseline and how the emotional tone of the lead singerâs voice made people feel calm yet still held that rich depth of rock music, you subtle hums of agreement only urging him to go on.Â
As he rambled on, behind the mic, you couldnât help but be intrigued at the passion of the man on the other end of the line. He certainly sounded like he knew what he was saying and the way his voice resonated with excitement over being able to talk about something heâs so passionate about was endearing. This Giant Mountain guy, whoever he was, was kind of⊠adorable. And you couldnât help but let out a giggle at that thought.
Dongmin paused. As he heard your soft laughs from across the line, it was like his heart stilled. If he could bottle up that sound and get drunk off of it every day, he knew heâd be a goner in no time.Â
And before he knew it, the two of you were animatedly discussing your favourite bands and as he hears you talk about your favourite Radiohead album, Dongmin thinks you couldnât be more perfect than he already thought you were. But as the allocated time for your call comes to an end, with your exuberant voice, you wish him good night, moving on to the final ment before you sign off and pass it on to the next host.
As the call ends, and the silence fills his studio again, Dongmin canât help but miss the sound of your voice bouncing around the walls. The silence feels heavier than usual as his actions finally sink in and it all hits him at once; embarrassment, shock and even⊠elation?
Though this might have been the dumbest thing heâs done in years, Dongmin knows one thing for sure, this wonât be the last time he calls in to you. If heâd get to hear your voice once more and talk to you the way he did tonight, just once more, maybe the embarrassment of being known as Giant Mountain didnât matter all that much anymore.
Back at the radio station as you stepped out of the recording booth, you were met with the teasing smiles and laughs of your colleagues as the last call of the night had everyone intrigued. Despite your usually bubbly personality, it was rare for you to be so into a conversation the way you had been with⊠Mountain man. And your colleagues also seemed to catch on. Yet as you brushed away all their remarks with a sing-songy goodbye, you couldnât stop the small smile playing on your face as you thought of the nervous yet interesting persona you had met today. Even if it was only just a voice.
Dongmin was sure the universe had a personal vendetta against him.
Only a day had gone by since that fateful night of questionable decisions that he could not take back. Not that he regretted it all that much, honestly. With the way he moved with a slight perk in his steps or how even the broken coffee machine in the break room couldnât dampen his exuberance, it was safe to say that his little late-night talk with you had made the usually indifferent man giddy with joy.
Nothing could take him down from this high horse.
Or he thought.
âSo Iâm sure youâve heard of our companyâs radio show Midnight Talkies? Theyâre renewing for a new season in a few months so weâve been tasked with creating a new jingle for them: something catchy but still bringing in the chill late-night atmosphere. And since Sungho and Minji both have three other projects to work on, Iâm sure youâll be fine with this? Itâs not anything too difficult anywayâ
As he slowly trudged out of Jihoâs office. He wished for nothing more than the ground beneath him to open into a gaping hole and swallow him whole. He usually loved working for something commercial like jingles and such, but with last nightâs events, which at the thought of still left the back of his neck flaming with slight embarrassment, your show was probably the last thing he wanted to work on.
And things didnât get any better when your superior suggested having you, the host, come over to review some ideas on how to make a catchy tune that would convey your showâs essence.Â
Too soon.
But you wouldnât catch on, would you? After all, he was just another voice you met on your show. Even though it was everything to him, he knew that the short interaction between the two of you was entirely trivial to you.Â
As you walked your way down to the sound departmentâs floor, a few flights of stairs down from your own, your eyes scanned the open area as large pieces of equipment were scattered around, making way for a hallway of rooms with their doors shut tight, barely any indication of life within them.
Those had to be the studios.
As you walked past each door, hoping to somehow miraculously end up in front of the right one, your steps came to a halt at the door in the far corner, adorned with a wooden sign.
TS.
This had to be the one right?Â
Hesitantly, you brought your knuckles up to the door. One knock. And⊠nothing.
Once again your hand meet the door, three knocks, this time. Still, only silence greets you.Â
Maybe he wasnât in.
Just as you were about to turn on your heels and leave, you hear the lock click open, and soft amber light seeps through the crack, only obscured by the shadow of a rather tall man with messy tousled hair sitting haphazardly over his forehead.Â
âCome in.â
As you bashfully walk into the small studio, your eyes scan your surroundings with gnawing curiosity, trying not to meet the intense stare of the much taller man in front of you. Along with many sound equipment you wouldnât even try to name, were instruments arranged neatly against the wall, a few guitars, a keyboard, and some percussion for his more intense work. As your eyes trailed up to the walls littered with band posters and album covers, a true testament to the ownerâs passion for music, your eyes couldnât help but catch a rather familiar sight.
âOoh (Whatâs the story) Morning Glory? I love that album!â
At your mention of the Oasis album, Dongminâs eyes which were deliberately watching your every move shot up to meet your own, widening slightly. As your eyes locked with his, almost as if you were trying to extract his deepest darkest secrets, he knew it was all over. Youâd figured his rather dumb secret out and you probably thought he was the biggest weirdo known to mankind.
But instead, he was only met with a quiet laugh from you, almost contemplative. âYou know I could have sworn Oasis wasnât that popular here, but lately, I keep hearing about them. Iâm not complaining though, they need more recognitionâ
With a smile on your face, you settle down on the sofa, coercing him to take a seat too. Dongmin lets his gaze follow you once again, as you bounce one knee up and down, waiting for him to break the silence that was slowly clouding over the cramped room. He heaved a sigh, mainly of relief as he settled back down into his chair. He needed to get a hold of himself if he wanted any chance of his secret still only being his to keep.
âOkay, so what kind of vibe do we want to go for?â
Youâd been in his studio for hours already. Or maybe only minutes had passed. Dongmin could not tell.Â
As he played you one sample after another of jingles and random sets of beats for you to gauge what met your fancy, youâd constantly quip up with what you liked and what you didnât about each one, which helped Dongmin narrow stuff out. He admired the way you clearly knew what you wanted, despite your lack of knowledge about the technicalities of it all. He liked that about you.Â
Sometimes youâd laugh at a funny tune or even pop a joke or two which eased the initial tense silence between you two into something much more comfortable. Even Dongmin, who was infamous for his reservedness, couldnât help but join in with small remarks and soft giggles here and there, as your energy and good spirits almost felt like it was infectious.
Yet, as you had been the object of his keen watchfulness for years, after having grown used to eyeing you from afar for all this while, having you seated less than an armâs length away from him, actively conversing and interacting with him was rather unnerving. Every time youâd casually compliment him for a well-made tune or jingle heâd feel his heart clench just a bit, warmth blooming within its walls, spreading to every part of his being, even if he tried to curb it.
But despite the rush of his nerves and the tingliness about his fingertips as they moved around the mixboard, as your gaze seemed to burn into his back while his own was glued onto his work, he had grown fond of the serene air that hung between the two of you, almost as if this was how it was always supposed to be.
Until a small buzz chirped from your phone, breaking the tranquil, and with it indicating that it was time for you to leave. Dongmin was probably imagining it, but he could have sworn that you looked like you hated to leave the cosy studio just as much as he wanted you to stay. Trying not to let his despondency be too obvious, he wished you a quiet goodbye, wishing you luck with the nightâs radio broadcast.
But your next words seemed to raise his spirits a bit, âIt was so fun working with you today Taesan, you wouldnât be free the same time tomorrow, would you? Iâll research some lyrics to add in with the catchphrase so that it sounds good too!âÂ
Agreeing with a bit too much enthusiasm, Dongmin watched as a soft smile graced your face, as you waved him goodbye, closing the door to his studio gently. Before he could stop it, a similar smile mirrored on his face, as his eyes stayed fixed on the same spot that you, with all your radiance, had just left. That was until a familiar news anchor came crashing in through the same door, quick enough to notice the unfamiliar expression on his dear friendâs face.
âPlease, you should have seen that derpy grin on his face, Iâm telling you, Hak, he so loves her!â
As the two friends, who he usually loved to death, giggled teasingly as Jaehyun continued to exaggerate what happened after you had left the studio, Dongmin sighed exasperatedly as they seemed to pay no heed to his convincing that it was nothing more than him finding you an interesting person to be around.
But despite all their teasing over his supposed fat crush on you, he almost found himself agreeing to their words as the thought of you and your time in his studio only made his heart flutter, your voice plaguing every corner of his brain like a record player that simply couldnât be silenced. And he wanted to hear it one more time that night.
He knew it was a risky game, yet he didnât seem to mind anymore as a faux sense of confidence surged through him. After hurriedly wishing his confused friends goodbye, he found himself rushing back into the studio, back into the certain comfort of the four walls he could call his own, once again accompanied by the radio, this time with the knobs tuned perfectly so that the moment Dongminâs fingers flicked it on, the studio was once again filled with the warm crackle of your voice.
You were still putting on some familiar hits which soothed Dongminâs slowly creeping nerves as he laid his head on his crossed arms, allowing himself to unwind after the eventful day. As the final song by The Carpenters came to a slow stop, you announced, once again in that same voice that hadnât lost its vigour throughout the day, the start of the daily programme that Dongmin had been waiting for all day.Â
Almost like clockwork, he found himself dialling in the numbers, and waiting as the phone rang, this time much more hopeful to hear your voice on the other side.
âHello! This is Midnight Talkies! Youâre live listener! Would you mind introducing yourself for us?â
Despite his nerves, a small smile dangled on Dongminâs face at the sound of your voice, a surge of boldness filling him along with it.Â
âHello lovely, remember me from yesterday?â
As the smooth voice played through your earphones, your eyes widened in surprise, not having expected to hear the same voice that had been the object of your curiosity the past night, to call so soon.
âOf course, Mr Giant Mountain, how ever could I have forgotten about you? So tell me, anything on your playlist that youâre dying to hear on here?â
âWell, could you play And I Love Her by The Beatles? The song has been stuck in my mind all day, and I figured that I had to share it with my favourite RJâ
âOh I must say Iâm flattered, Mr Mountainâ, you say with a light laugh.
âIs there any reason this songâs stuck in your head or do you just happen to be a hopeless romantic with good taste?â
âHa, I guess a mix of both? I think it has to do with its mood, you know? The soft guitar with the gentle vocals is just so melancholic, you know? It just makes sense, just like talking to you, Miss RJâ
Your eyes once again flashed upwards towards your coworkers standing outside the booth, stifling their giggles at the bold man on the other side of the phone. With a slight rouge painting your cheeks, you reply, âMr Mountain, you certainly seem to be one for compliments, hm? So do tell, what do you find yourself doing when youâre not listening to me ramble or play music on the radio?
âHmm, mostly thinking about how to sound as cool as you do on air? Spoiler alert: Itâs going abysmally.â
This time you were certain that the blush on your face had undoubtedly darkened as you respond with a slight laugh. âWell, Iâd say itâs going pretty well Mr Mountain, youâve got that whole âmysterious callerâ thing going for you, itâs kinda coolâ
âMysterious, huh? Iâll take it, especially if you think itâs cool, pretty. But donât get too curious, Ms RJ, I met just lose all reins and ruin the facadeâ
âOh, now youâve got me on my toes. Well, how about this, next time you call back, you tell me a little something about yourself, Deal?â
âHmm, deal, but only if youâd play something by The Smiths next time, we got to keep this retro romance theme going, no?â Dongmin says, intrigued by your curiosity towards uncovering his little persona.
âOoh, weâre doing themes now, huh? Alright then, Mr Mountain, just for you, And I Love Her is up next, thanks for calling in â and donât be a stranger, yeah?â
With a lingering smile, âWouldnât dream of it, talk soon and goodnight Miss RJâ
Dongmin had fallen into a comfortable rhythm the following few weeks. Despite both of your busy schedules, your face at his door was something that had become quite frequent in his days, the two of you making significant progress in moulding the short jingle to be exactly what you had envisioned for your show. Dongmin had started to look forward to your visits, as his initial awkwardness around you had melted away into something much softer, your presence, a gentle light in his dull life.
Sometimes the two of you would even bump into each other outside the dingy studio, sometimes in the cafe near the company, where Dongmin had graciously bought you a cup of coffee despite your reluctance, that you gratefully sipped on as the two of you busked in the comfortable silence that had been a staple during your times together.
Another was when Dongmin had been waiting quietly by the elevator, his figure lost among the many others waiting, some tapping their feet in impatience, others caught up in their conversations, as he simply observed his surroundings, an earphone bud dangling from one ear.
That was when a bright voice shot from across the concierge, one that he recognised far too well.
âTaesan!!âÂ
Your bubbly figure bounded up to him as you waved hello at the quiet man clad in all-black, whose eyebrows had perked up in surprise. Yet, as he finally got over your genial greeting, a smile graced his face as he politely greeted you back, the two of you falling into small talk, the people around you all melting away as a soft bubble seemed to envelop the two ever-so-different souls, as you were sucked into a world of your own.Â
In your absence, it was almost as if Dongmin had begun waiting for you to pop out behind some wall or door; hoping to run into you some way or the other. But he never had to wait too long as every night, his calls with you had become part of his routine, and you too couldnât deny that it was something that you had looked forward to.
Every night, your mystery man would call in, making you perk up in unconcealable excitement as you fall into your usual conversation, sometimes about music or sometimes about your days, where heâd reveal certain bits and pieces about himself that never were too specific to give out his identity but made you feel like you had started to get to know him more. And along with the bubbling curiosity about your frequent caller, you also would be surprised by the manâs blatant flirting with you.Â
It started small, but with time, it slowly built up into less-subtle compliments and double entendres that had you, the ever-professional RJ melting into a mess, a constant blush decorating you as you went on about your daily calls with this mystery man who you had grown unbearably inquisitive about.Â
Your colleagues at the radio station had also caught onto your flustered behaviour with this one specific listener and you had become the victim of their relentless teasing. But despite furiously refusing all their joking remarks, you couldnât help but feel a warmth bloom in your chest every time your mystery man became the topic of your conversations.
However, it wasnât just your coworkers who had become fans of your undeniable chemistry with the voice you looked forward to every night. Many listeners of your radio had also written into the station, flooding in messages about the two of you.Â
With you growing bolder with your Mr Mountain, often you play into the flirtatious tension you have with the man, requesting one of your favourite love songs by the Cure, dedicating it to a special someone,
âThis oneâs for the voice that keeps me company here even on the darkest of nightsâÂ
Needless to say, this puts your listeners in a frenzy, blowing up the stationâs social media page with questions and comments about the two of your will-they-wonât-they type of chemistry.
And despite considering the whole interaction as an entertaining and elaborate joke, you couldnât help but boil over in desperation to find out who this enigma was, subtly trying to pry for details every call, but despite his laidback persona, Giant Mountain was ever-so evasive, preferring to keep the mystery and curiosity alive.Â
Some days, youâd clock into work to be pleasantly surprised by little gifts sent by the same mystery man. Once it was a vinyl record of your favourite album, and another day it was your favourite coffee order, that you simply couldnât wrap your head around how he had figured out. But everything was always signed by a short but sweet note:
âWith Love, G.Mountainâ
One thing was for sure, you were going to figure out who this man, who seemed to know a lot more about you than you did him, was. You tried to tell yourself that it was just your natural curiosity taking over, but you knew that the real reason was something else. Something else, given the circumstances, felt a lot harder to justify.
Dongmin was certain that you would never figure him out.
It had been just over two months since you had started working with him on the programmeâs jingle, and today would mark the final session for touch-ups. The two of you had grown a lot closer during this short time, spilling little bits and pieces about yourselves during the conversations that flowed like water between you. Yet, despite all the redundancies between him and his vocal persona, you never seemed to catch on to him.
However, he could not help but be grateful for your obliviousness. His strongly built walls had started to crumble slowly in your presence, and Dongmin himself discovered a side to him that he did not know existedâa much brighter and talkative version, one only you seemed to bring out on air.Â
He couldnât understand where the sudden boldness he found himself exuding came from, but he didnât hate it; it felt like having two personas he could alternate between when it came to you. But now that your time together working on the jingle would be coming to an end, he could not stop the sinking feeling from settling down into his heart at the thought of not being able to see you as often as he did now.
Dongminâs friends had also noticed his peculiar affection towards you and the way that he seemed to melt in your presence or bashfully talk about his time working with you in the studio. Theyâd begun teasing and throwing jokes about his âloverboy eraâ, but mainly, urging him to make a move before the chance got away.Â
But it all seemed too difficult for Dongmin. As âGiant Mountainâ, he was simply a voice, a persona with no face or human responsibilities, and the flirtatious personality came with no repercussions. Yet as Taesan, a well-renowned producer and someone you would keep seeing around in your time at the company, making a move felt far more burdensome.Â
As the afternoon sun just started to subside, a much calmer warmth being cast over the city, Dongmin heard the three familiar knocks that had his heart stutter for a beat, and his ears perked up like an excited puppy. As he craned his head back, your figure met him, your face lit up in a shy yet gleeful smile as you waved hello, making your way to your designated spot on the couch.
âSo I took the little notes you had into consideration, and I have what I think is the final version of the intro⊠You ready to hear it?â
Dongmin asked, a curious smirk curling up the corners of his mouth. Your eyes sparkled in excitement as you quickly nodded. Taesan scrolled to the play button on his screen and clicked it. Then, he leaned back in his chair, slightly swivelling around so that he was angled towards you.Â
As the light melody started to pour through the speakers, filling every corner, the upbeat yet chill tune had you nodding along to every beat as you absentmindedly closed your eyes, vibing along to the music.Â
Unbeknownst to you, a pair of eyes were observing every movement of yours, analysing how you reacted to the piece he had spent hours trying to compose and perfect. And seeing you completely immersed in it, enjoying every second was the only reward Dongmin could have asked for.
As the jingle wrapped up with a whisper of the station name, your eyes fluttered towards Dongminâs expectant ones, as he patiently waited for your final verdict.
âTaesan⊠Itâs perfect, itâs everything I wanted!â
You exclaimed, your eyes crinkling into a smile, as Dongminâs face mirrored the same expression as yours, as relief and joy washed over him at your approval.Â
âWell, Iâm going to send this over to my head, and wellâŠthis is it then, huh?â He asks as a much more solemn mood settling into the studio.
As the realisation that you wouldnât be seeing the quiet producer around as much, sunk in, something shifted in you. Despite his composed and oftentimes cold exterior, you had grown quite fond of Taesan, with the way heâd joke around or tease you for your obliviousness when it came to music, or the way heâd listen with utmost attentiveness when youâd wind up rambling about one thing or the other, and even chirp in with remarks or soft giggles.
It felt like you had access to a softer side of the talented producer that not many others had the opportunity to witness. And you liked that. And you couldnât help but feel sorry that the short time you had with Taesan had already come to an end.Â
As the two of you worked with packed schedules, you could only promise to treat the composer to a meal since you had to leave to prepare for your show with the programmeâs producer. However, before you departed, you fished out a packet of Ferrero Rocher from your bagâyour favourite, as you mentioned while handing it to the stunned manâas you hurried out of the studio that you were certain you would miss.
Wrapping up the script overview, you walked into your recording studio, putting on the snug pair of earphones as you waited for everything to be set and rolling. As the large âON AIRâ sign blared a bright red, you fell into a comfortable pace that you did every night, expertly greeting your dedicated listeners with the lively voice that many around the country had grown to love and adore.
Soon, youâd reached the segment that you had admittedly been anticipating the most, as you often found yourself doing these late nights, and as the sound of someone joining the broadcast played, you sat up straighter, only for the silky smooth voice on the other end to be one you recognised immediately.
As you finished up the initial greetings that the both of you had gotten used to, Giant Mountain started the conversation with the usual sort of flirtations that had your eyes rolling in mock disbelief but always left a smile lingering.
âHey Miss RJ, I must say Iâve missed your voiceâ, he starts with a playful tone.
âMr Mountain, my favourite caller, I was wondering if youâd remember to call in today, but you never fail to do so, hm? So tell me, whatâs on your mind today?â
âWoah, forget about you? How ever could I do that? Your voice is practically the soundtrack to my nights, Iâd say itâs hauntingly good, but I wouldnât want to scare you away now, would I?â
âHauntingly good, huh? Iâll take that as a compliment⊠But do say, if Iâm the soundtrack, does that make you the lead vocalist or the backing vocals to accompany my melody?â
âHmm, maybe Iâm the fan who admires from afar, knowing every lyric by heart? Oh! Talking about the heart, I fear I have a question for you, Miss RJâ
âUh-oh, that sounds serious. Whatâs up, Giant Mountain?â
âNot serious, just⊠thoughtful. Valentineâs Day is coming up real soon, and I was wondering what our lovely RJ has planned for the special dayâ
You raise an eyebrow at the sudden question. Valentineâs was a day you never had much to look forward to as you had spent much of your youth trying to get somewhere as an individual, and despite your incredibly outgoing nature, you never quite found someone to spend the cheesy, yet romantic day with.
âHmm⊠Nothing much, Mr Mountain, having my wonderful listeners by my side along with some sweet music is more than enough company for the dayâ
âWell, that sounds nice⊠But what about something to spice it up, maybe youâd like a surprise?â
As you often found yourself doing during these calls with your Mr Mountain, you glanced at the staff working at the controls, exchanging a surprised expression for their amused ones.
âA surprise? I donât think I caught on to what you mean⊠How will you surprise me while on call, Mr Mountain? I mean we havenât ever met and I canât imagine a surprise in any other way?â
âGetting curious now, arenât we Miss RJ, well, donât worry too much about it. And while weâre on the topic of surprises, you wouldnât mind playing âNo Surprisesâ by Radiohead in todayâs setlist now, would you? And for a clue of sorts, letâs just say⊠Iâm a lot closer than you think I might be, so maybe you really shouldnât be too surprised.â
âWell, itâs hard not to be curious with you, Mr Mountain, youâre the only one who keeps me on my toes, and I really donât know what Iâll do with that last cryptic part, Mr Mountain, I fear itâll keep me up for nights. But while I immerse in that thought, hereâs âNo Surprisesâ by Radiohead, and I hope to hear from you soon, Mr Mountain.â
You werenât entirely wrong about his words keeping you up for nights.
From his words, it felt like Giant Mountain was hinting at you knowing him, in real life. The more you thought about it, you couldnât help but feel something familiar about the husky voice which accompanied you for so many nights.
In the way he talked, and the way he let out breathy laughs at a joke, or even the steadiness that wound about every word he uttered, there was something about the man that you recognised but could not pinpoint what.
As the days to Valentineâs Day ticked by quickly, you grew more inquisitive about Giant Mountainâs words and well, the man himself
But with the way the man evaded each one with his usual laid-back nonchalance, you found yourself being driven to the edge of your patience and curiosity.
Soon, the day you had surprisingly found yourself waiting for had finally arrived: The day to celebrate love.
Though you were put on edge the entire day, a part of you was slightly hopeful that the mystery man who you admittedly had grown a soft spot for would do something like heâd said he would, although you knew that it was greatly unlikely and just something he ended up saying in the spur of the moment.Â
And you were proven right, as the day went about just as it always did; with you clocking into work and being greeted with the dayâs work, today being a bit heavier than the rest due to the special occasion. As you let yourself be consumed by your work, Giant Mountain and his words were soon pushed to the back of your mind, their blaring presence in your head being replaced by more pressing matters.
Soon, night had fallen and it had already become time for your daily show to begin. Despite the usual cheerful and lighthearted greetings you exchanged with everyone at the station, you couldnât help but feel a certain heaviness loom in your heart. Although you knew it was stupid, you had ended up being hopeful, looking forward to a strangerâs words despite never having met them, or knowing anything about them at all.
It made you think, did you end up attached to the man behind the ridiculous pseudonym?
With his often shy demeanour, that would be quickly contradicted by his smooth words that had your heart fluttering, leaving you flushed despite your poor attempt at trying to resist it, did you really end up wanting more from this unlikely relationship with⊠what you only knew as a voice?
You knew it was a dangerous path to thread, and honestly an unlikely one too. The chances youâll ever get to know more about this Giant Mountain man were not too high, and the more you thought about it, you were probably just a medium to keep him entertained; his flirtatious attitude just a fleeting game, a way to pass the time in the vast, lonely expanse of the night.
As you finished your final preparations before going on air, you couldnât stop the thought from blaring about your head: Did he ever, even once, care about you in the way you had inevitably found yourself caring about him?
You couldnât allow yourself to dwell on this thought for too long as the âON AIRâ lights flickered a blaring red, your voice now being broadcasted around the country. Refocusing your thoughts back into your work, you greeted your dedicated and loyal listeners once again with your signature lively voice.
The night went by smoothly, with the setlist leaning towards the romance genre, starring many iconic love songs that your listeners had called in before dedicating to their loved ones. Though you swooned at the romantic gestures, you couldnât help but not feel yourself despite the obvious abundance of love wafting through the air.
As the songs came to an end, the segment you most looked forward to came by, as slowly your hopes crept up higher, curiosity once again filling you as you wondered, maybe your Mr Mountain would find a way to surprise you during your daily call?
And so with raised expectations, you repeated the number to the station for the last time, waiting to be connected to your listeners, most importantly your favourite listener. Tonight, you had the time to entertain a few more listeners, so you started your calls with a sweet boyfriend who wanted to dedicate a speech to the love of his life on live radio.Â
Person by person, you found yourself spending the night talking to more people, listening to their unique takes on love and being loved, and while you found the common topic of the night to be endearing, you found yourself wishing that you were talking to a certain someone else instead.
But as your producer signalled the end of the final call-in of the night behind the controls of the recording booth, with no sign of Giant Mountainâs usual presence on your programme, a deep forlorness settled into the pit of your stomach.
Had it finally happened? Had he finally grown tired of spending the nights talking on your show? Did he finally grow tired of you?
As you pushed away the thoughts that now took full reign in your mind, you managed to wrap up the nightâs broadcast with a cheerful tone that contrasted the inner turmoil you found yourself embroiled in.
Owing to the special occasion, the show had gone on for a bit longer than usual, and maybe it was the exhaustion of it all, or perhaps just the weight of disappointment that weighed down on you, but you couldnât wait to get back to the solitude of your home and sleep away the weariness of the day.
As you wished your coworkers a drained goodnight, many had seemed to notice your apparent dejectedness, with Yunah even pulling you aside to ask if your usual bubbliness was replaced by this brooding energy due to the absence of Giant Mountainâs calls that usually had the whole studio giggling and teasing you.
But you quickly brushed her off saying that you barely even noticed the lack of his call, and that it didnât matter that much to you anyways, to which you were greeted with a skeptical raise of her eyebrow. Quickly after, you packed up your things, waving everyone with a final goodbye. Despite your adoration towards your colleagues, tonight, you couldnât have been more relieved to be left alone to your thoughts, as you slouched despondently against the insides of the company elevator.
Trudging your way past the entrance of the broadcasting station, your body a heavy weight to lug about, you take in your surroundings. The air is crisp, and the streets are quiet. You gladly welcome the serene peace the night offered, contrasting the muddled chaos in your head.
As you adjusted the strap of your bag, your eyes land on a lone figure in the desolate night, leaning against his car as he fidgeted with the ends of his sweater absentmindedly.
âTaesan? What are you doing here?âÂ
You were a bit confused. After wrapping up your show, it had already stretched past midnight and you were certain that the composer standing in front of you was supposed to have clocked out hours ago.
That was when you noticed the small yet gorgeous bouquet of flowers clutched tightly in his hand.Â
âOh! Were you waiting for someone?â You asked, your curiosity piqued. It wasnât surprising that the good-looking music composer also had a date for Valentineâs, although for some reason, the fact felt like another jab to the gut on this already upsetting day.
With a small nervous smile, Taesan finally looked up at you, eyes meeting yours.Â
âWell yeah⊠I was waiting for you.â
Wait, what?
âI told Iâd surprise you didnât I? Happy Valentineâs Day, Miss RJâ
Suddenly, it felt like the world had stopped. As you slowly start processing Taesan's words, you think youâre having an epiphany; with all the jumbled puzzle pieces that had been floating about in your head, clicking together in place, surprise and shock taking over you.
Giant Mountain⊠Taesan⊠Oh, it all made perfect sense now. And the near identical music taste from the days you had spent admiring the composerâs record collection in his studio? Now that it was all presented in front of you, you couldnât believe how youâd missed to piece it all together when it was so conspicuously in front of you.
Your Mr Mountain had been right next to you this whole time, disguised in the form of a shy yet skillful composer you had grown a soft spot for in your time working together.
âWait Taesan⊠Youâre Giant Mountain?â You asked incredulously at the tall man in front of you, whose grin had grown wider at the sight of your obvious surprise at the revelation.
âGuilty as charged. Though in my defence, I didnât know weâd have to work together when I made the first call⊠if I had known I probably wouldnât have done it, the whole thing was so risky anywaysâ, he replied sheepishly, his words trailing off as his gaze focused down to the ground.
âWell, Giant Mountain, Iâm glad the work offer came after you called in, I wouldnât want to have imagined my nights without your company anywaysâ, you replied with a small laugh, causing Taesan to snap his vision from where he was so focused at kicking around the dirt around his feet, up to your eyes, surprise evident behind the shiny orbs.
âBut Mr Composer, all those calls⊠the flirting, the song requests⊠that was you the whole time? I will admit, youâve got a lot more hiding behind the quiet studio-man persona youâve let on, you know?â
Shuffling his feet, Taesan replied quietly, his usual unreadable stoicism replaced by an adorable shyness, âWell, Iâd seen you around the company a lot, and I thought you were interesting⊠I figured if I couldnât get your attention in person, Iâd try my luck on air. And honestly, hearing your mesmerising voice every night after, it was impossible not to call inâ
You felt a warm smile tugging at the corners of your lips. âYouâre full of surprises, you know that, Taesan? Honestly, I still canât believe I didnât recognise your voice despite hearing it every dayâ
âWell, I was trying to be mysterious. But I think the jig is up now. SoâŠâ Taesan holds up the flowers in his hands, âThese are for you. Consider it my way of saying thanks for putting up with the days in the studio and my late-night calls. And⊠if youâd like, you can call me Dongmin, Taesan is really just a stage name of sortsâ
Taking the flowers from him, your hands briefly brushing in the process, you couldnât stop the flush from blooming in your cheeks. âTheyâre beautiful. Thank you⊠Dongmin. But you know, you didnât have to go through all this just to talk to me. You couldâve just⊠asked me out.â
Dongmin thought he could die happily when he heard his name slip past your lips. The same name he had spent his whole life hating sounded like the prettiest sound in the world. But shaking off the surprise, a sly grin spread across his face.
âWhereâs the fun in that? Besides, I wanted to make sure you knew how much I enjoy listening to you. Not just your voice, but the way you connect with people. Itâs pretty incredible.â
You let the smile you were fighting off the whole time fully bloom at his words, your whole being warm and flushed despite the slight chill of the February night.Â
âYou know, youâre not too bad yourself. I donât know many music composers, but Iâd like to think that most wouldnât go out of their way to dedicate âFell in Love With a Girlâ to me during a nationwide broadcastâ
Dongmin had shed himself of his initial nervousness by that point, his face adorned by a soft, genuine smile which you found utterly adorable. âWell, Iâm glad to hear that. But does this mean youâll let me take you out to coffee or dinner sometime? Even our cafeteriaâs dinner is fine if youâre busy⊠anything is fine really⊠anything you wantâ
As he stuttered over his last words, you giggled at the taller man in front of you.
âOf course, Dongmin, Iâll hold you to that. But only if you promise to keep calling in. I kind of like having my own personal mystery caller.â
âDeal, but next time, youâll know itâs me. No more hiding behind the radio persona.â
You let out a small chuckle at his words, âThatâs great. Because Dongmin, I think I might just like the real-life version of Giant Mountain so much better.â
Taesanâs eyes radiated a soft warmth as you said the last few words, but suddenly, he straightened his posture, clearing his throat, as he moved to stand right in front of you.
âWell, in that case, how about we start this Valentineâs Day over? Hi, Iâm Dongmin. I work in music production, Iâm terrible at talking to strangers, and I may or may not have been secretly crushing on you for months.â
Giggling at his antics, you took a step forward towards him, âHey, Dongmin. Iâm the host of a late night radio show here at KOZ. I talk way too much on the radio, I love cheesy love songs, and⊠I think I might have a crush on you too.â
His eyes scanning you with an adoring stare, Dongmin holds out his hand to you, a tender smile dancing about his boyish features, âWell, my dearest Miss RJ, itâs far too late for dinner, but could I perhaps interest you in some midnight ice cream?â
Reciprocating the warm smile, you take his hand. âOf course, Mr Mountain, ice cream sounds perfect.â
2 years agoÂ
You leaned against the railing of your floor, cup of coffee untouched in your hands, as your eyes stayed focused on one of the corridors a few floors beneath your own, that the radio station overlooked.
It wasnât the first time youâd seen the familiar hallways of the music and sound production department, yet something, or rather someone, had seemed to have caught your eye.Â
But as you felt a presence loom behind you, your gaze quickly shifted to your coworker and close friend. Yunah shoved your shoulder teasingly, âCareful now, stare at him any harder and you might just burn a hole into his backâ
You rolled your eyes dismissively at her words, though your eyes seemed to betray you, as they quickly flickered down to catch a glimpse of the quiet man who leaned peacefully against a pillar, headphones comfilly sitting on his head as he mindlessly bobbed his head to the music.Â
Despite his inconspicuous dark clothes and reserved behaviour, all your attention seemed to be drawn to the newcomer at the music production department; the calmness that danced about his face, his emotions unreadable.Â
But in the chaos of the bustling broadcasting company, the stillness of the strangerâs presence seemed to almost comfort you, and had spurred your interest.Â
You turned to your friend who had been studying your every past movement. âWhat did you say his name was?â
A knowing smile taking over her features, Yunah replies, âTaesan, I heard. Heâs a new composer working for the entertainment department, you know, for the movies and shows KOZ is producing. I heard from Jongseob that he used to be his senior at school.â
âTaesan...â you let the name linger on your tongue. It was a pretty name.
Yunah nudges you once more, eyebrows wiggling up and down teasingly, âWhat? You have a thing for Mr Composer over there?â
As you watched the quiet man walk away, back into the shadows of the hallway, you softly denied with a hum, âNo, he just seems rather... interestingâ
a/n: omg first post?? honestly i've read some life-changingly good bnd fics on here to the point where i was dragged out of my writing slump, so woo? anyways, i hope you like this one, this one is dedicated to all the taesan songs i have saved from soundcloud hehe ^^
You're just a warm body to hold at night when im feeling all alone
Pairing. leehan x gn!reader - situationship
Genre. Fluff(?),angst
Warnings. mentions of food. that's all I think?
Other. Leehan is kinda self destructive, reader could not care less, cheating (kind of?)
Wc. 0.5k
A/n. I can't write anything other than angstđ
Leehan knew he wasnât the only one, he knew he was just one of many. I mean, you had stated it many times âiâm just here for the fun of it allâ you would say before returning to whatever you were doing.
Those words hurt him more than anything. He told himself he didnât care and that it didnât matter, that at the end of the day he had to respect your wants. But did he really believe that?
Yet there he was again, at your front door, bags of snacks in both hands. It was the middle of the night and he knew he had no reason to be anywhere at this time, especially not your apartment. But you called, so he came.
âoh, thank you so much leehanâ
you said as you opened the door to let the boy in.
âDon't thank meâ
He replied, with a smile making his way to the couch.
He settled on the couch with a loud plop, making you turn your attention to him
âYou didnât have to come if you were tiredâ
You said while rummaging through the snacks he brought.
âI'm not tiredâ
A chuckle left his lips.
He lied, he was exhausted. He hadn't been able to sleep properly for the last week or so. Between exams and his personal life, he had no time to rest. There was nothing he wantedâ noâ needed than sleep right now. Yet here he was.
You made your way to the couch and sat down next to Leehan, sliding your hands onto his waist. When your eyes met, he felt something tugging at his chest. Something that had been eating him inside and out.
âI missed youâ
he whispered into the crown of your head.
But you just stayed quiet, eyes glued to the TV as a small âmm hmmâ left your throat.
That's when he snapped
âWhy are you always so indifferentâ
He pulled away from you
âHow else am I supposed to be?â
You asked through furrowed brows
âI don't know, it's just⊠I put so much effort into whatever we have but you justâŠâ
Leehan's words halted as his eyes started getting glossy.
You just looked at him, dumbfounded
âLook, I don't know what you think this âisââ
You added air quotes around âisâ.
âBut I don't see you as anythingâ
You paused the show you were watching to face him.
âIt's just..â
He inhaled sharply.
âIt's just that I want to be with you, it doesn't matter how, I just want to. I don't care if you break me down, I don't care if you're unfaithful, I don't care, I just want to be with you. Fuckâ all I do revolves around you. You're all I think about.â
His face smeared with tears at this point.
âLeehanâŠâ
âDon't âLeehanâ meâ
His voice suddenly went small.
He stared at the space separating you.
âLeehan you know how I feelâ
You waited for his response.
Nothing.
âI could've called someone else if you didn't want to comeâ
Again, nothing.
Then he stood up.
âI need some fresh airâ
He dragged his body toward the front entrance, swiftly putting on his shoes and making his way outside.
As the door clicked shut behind him, he looked down at the handle.
