hii friends <3 i apologize for The inactivity, these past few weeks have been really rough for me. i haven’t written SHIT and i honestly dont think i will for a while.
in other words, im gonna chill and pause on writing indefinitely until i’m less busy and my mental state is better :) i’m not at all worried about writing since im doing it for fun— i just felt bad for going MIA without warning! i promise i’m not dead 😋
feel absolutely free to still slide into the asks and dms, i looove talking to u guys💗
❤︎ your boyfriend is basically the king of being nonchalant, until it comes to you and your bright and bubbly self! based off of this ask
(💭) :: hihihii my first written work.. i'm so shy guys!!! i'm so sorry to my bubble anon because i kinda lost the plot... wups. my dialogue still needs a lot of work and this is my first fanfic so please bear with meee. I LOVE U ENJOY. i’ll try n make a part two ( ^ 3 ^ )
Everybody always said James looked cold and unapproachable. He always had earphones on, and despite listening to pretty happy songs, he still had a blank expression on his face that made people hesitate to ask him for help with directions.
But, it all faded when it came to you. You and your silly Monchhichi clips that you make him wear, accompanied by the matching Cheese Sandwich and Pinkie Pie bracelets you both had.
If it was any other person, he probably would've declined and just said "It's not my style." But, the second he sees you pull out random pink trinkets and thread insisting on — in your words — giving life to his earphones, instead of the word no escaping his lips, he would catch himself handing them to you.
He would watch you crochet pink thread around the wires of his earphones and add little charms in between, your tongue sticking out while your brows furrowed.
You were cute when you concentrated, he thought; and you earned a tiny smile from James, one that he would only show to you.
"What?" you asked looking up at him, your nose scrunched up. James just shook his head, his hand finding a way to pinch your cheek.
He always did that whenever he didn't really know what to do with his hands, he would squish your cheeks in all kinds of ways or take the hem of your shirt in between his fingers and fidget with it.
It was one of the habits of his that you favored.
"You're just being cute." He chuckled out, his whisker dimples giving his smile that familiar charm that always made your heart skip a beat. "I always am," you replied.
Your heart might have skipped a beat, but you always said things without skipping a single one. You were just quick like that. A cheeky expression was on your face as you continued on decorating his earphones.
It took you some time to finish them since you ran out of pink thread and had to ask James to drive you to the nearest craft store. He didn't need much convincing, you were already dragging him across gem sticker aisles and craft glue sections.
That day resulted in his now pink and blue threaded earphones, with My Little Pony charms hanging from them for good measure!
James touched his earphones, pressing them between his fingers while his other hand toyed with the little rarity charm. The thought of you made him feel all soft again.
He was listening to the new song the band had to practice today and he found himself nodding along to the lyrics and tapping his feet to the beat, which was unlike him, Usually he'd just sit down and listen to the song while staring blankly into the wall.
He was the first one to show up to practice, so luckily, no one would be teasing his cute accessories… Yet.
Soon, the boys arrived one by one, greeting each other and finding their instruments. James had tucked away his newly decorated earphones for safekeeping.
There was a bit of bickering between the two youngest boys but it quickly ended when Martin yelled at them to "Lock in."
Practice finally started, all the instruments playing together in harmony; not perfect, not yet, but it was good enough. James felt satisfied, and he felt a smile creeping up his lips.
When practice ended, he found himself being a little more talkative with the boys. He sat down beside Juhoon and became an active member of the conversation.
Keonho must've noticed a change in James, who was smiling and actually talking. This was a miracle.
"Hey," He started, looking at James with furrowed brows. "What's got you so happy today? I mean — you're not usually this talkative."
Martin nodded along, a teasing grin already on his face. "Right? Like, what's with the pep in your step, man?"
Suddenly, James remembered why he loved his earphones so much.
"I don't know what you guys are talking about." A lame excuse, really — but, how was he gonna tell his friends that he was in a much better mood because his girlfriend decorated his earphones and stuck a bunch of pink food stickers on his phone case?
With the shit-eating grin Seonghyeon already had on his face? No way, he did not plan on getting bullied today.
"You're talking more than I am." Juhoon added with a shrug, a playful smile present on his lips. James rolled his eyes, his members were unbelievable. Though, he couldn't help but question himself.
Was he really being that obvious? It wasn't hard to think about you, not when you had basically personalized all of his things.
It seemed like the members had moved on (not for long) and were talking among themselves, something about making 2016 TikToks.
James felt a buzz in his pocket then took his phone out. His eyes instantly lit up as he saw a notification from you.
Pinkie Pie 3:15 PM
Haii
I'm almost thereeee
James instantly locked in, phone in hand as he typed away with a goofy smile on his face, the sound of “Faded” by Alan Walker literally fading away as he messaged you.
Cheese Sandwich 3:15 PM
ok stay safe
see u babe
<3 <3
"James-hyung! Join in — Oh, what?" Seonghyeon looked down at James' hand, the brightly decorated phone case resting between his laced fingers. Seonghyeon’s expression wasn't one of judgment, more of… Surprise.
James furrowed his brows in response. "What?" Seonghyeon just looked at him and gestured toward the elder’s phone.
James realized too late. He was basically already writing a eulogy right now. He attempted to hide the evidence again, but it was too late. He had already been caught red-handed! Or.. Maybe, pink-handed.
“No! Hyung, it’s cool, seriously!" Keonho took the phone and looked closer at the phone case, inspecting all the little details. From the I LOVE YOU SO MATCHA! stickers to the tiny little gem ones. Soon, they all huddled up, aww-ing at James' phone case.
"Okay," James started, pinching his brows like an old man dealing with children, which was probably one way to describe this situation. "Can I have my phone back now?" He continued, which earned a shhh from Martin. James rolled his eyes at that.
James didn't really mind his friends of all people seeing the stuff you made for him. The thing is… they didn't even know you existed! And, of course, he didn't want to be teased each time they practiced.
"James-hyung... I think your MBTI has changed." Martin said, finally looking up from the phone case, his lips forming into a thoughtful pout. James deadpanned.
"…What do you think it is now?" He said with a tired sigh.
"C-U-T-E."
At that, the boys — excluding James — erupted into a fit of laughter. "Good one, Martin!” and “You're right!" echoing throughout the practice room. James had to hand it to him, it was pretty funny, but you couldn't tell with his expression.
"No, but seriously. Hyung, do you decorate this yourself or—"
Suddenly, a faint sound of jingling and heels clacking was heard from a distance.
"James!" you exclaimed as you ran up to him, Your bag charms jingling as you did. His eyes instantly softened as he saw you running towards him.
There were about ten keychains hanging from your bag and they all swayed as you greeted James.
"Hey, babe." His voice was as smooth as velvet as he pulled you closer. Looking like a lovesick fool, which he definitely was. He looked at his members (honestly forgetting they were even there), his eyes saying everything he couldn't say out loud. Not. A. Word.
Unsurprisingly, the members looked shocked. You were just so cute! Dressed in a frilly skirt and colored socks and just so unlike someone who would gravitate towards James.
You pulled away from James and you couldn't miss the tiny frown on his face as you did, you gave his members a friendly wave.
"Hi!"
you adjusted your bag from your shoulder, moving the heavy keychains away from the zipper. You take out a bag of gummies from inside, the plastic crinkling under your hands.
"Do you guys want some?" you said, shaking the bag of assorted candies in an attempt to ease the tension.
"…Can you decorate our phone cases too?" Keonho mumbled out.
"Keonho—"
"What? Just asking the important questions.."
You blinked at Keonho's question, it made you happy that somebody else was interested, your smile brightened, the worried glance on your face turned into a look of excitement.
You nodded at his question. "Of course! Maybe I can bring supplies next time." You offer him the bag of gummies, which he sheepishly takes and offers to Seonghyeon beside him. "I mean, if you don't really mind all the pink."
"Pink's my favorite color," he said. Your eyes widen, the soft smile on your lips melted into a chuckle. He did seem like someone who would like pink. "Really? It's also James' favorite." You say teasingly as you nudge your boyfriend's shoulder.
You could hear the boys trying to hold back their laughter. You honestly felt amused seeing how much fun they had by just teasing their fellow bandmate.
"It is not." James shook his head, his cheeks heated up as they continued laughing, no longer trying to hide it.
"It really is." You snorted, seeing James lose his cool nonchalant aura in front of his friends. You could see him fighting off a smile as he slung his arm over your shoulder. "We should get going."
You pout, looking up at James. Was he seriously trying to be a party pooper? Everybody — well, Keonho — seemed very interested in phone case decorating! You were just getting excited.
"Before this one exposes me even more…" James gestured towards you, which made you roll your eyes. "Aw, we were just having fun!" You were getting a kick out of teasing James. You made a mental note to apologize to him later, but he seemed just as pleased.
"Yeah, you guys are having fun." James countered, the response making you all laugh. The air was still filled with this awkward tension but it seemed to be cooling down with the amount of jokes being cracked.
James bid his members a goodbye and you gave them all another pack of candies, which couldn't be too good for their throats… But, hey, at least they were enjoying it.
You two walked hand in hand on the way to James' car, with you yapping his ear off as he listened intently. He always made sure to give some input so you knew he was paying attention, and it warmed your heart.
“I could've still decorated Keonho's phone case,” you mumble softly, toying with the ring on James' finger. “And Seonghyeon already had his earphones out, he seemed kind of excited.”
James' lips perked up, it was nice seeing that his friends had liked you so quickly.
"You'll have more time the next time you'll see them."
Martin was already texting him, asking if you could decorate his MIDI keyboard controller. Juhoon seemed very interested in your keychains. And, of course — Seonghyeon and Keonho were practically beaming when you mentioned bringing your materials next time.
You nodded in response to James. It was true. Next time, you'd bring your giant case of stickers and charms.
There was comfortable silence after you reached James' car. The slight hum of the engine turning on as he turned his keys. Before you left, James turned over to you, the faintest pout on his lips; if you didn't look long enough, you would've missed it.
"…What?" You tilt your head in confusion. He was being sulky all of the sudden. James tapped his fingers against your thigh, it seemed like the gears were turning in his head as he tried figuring out what to say.
"Uh," he started, his fingers stopped momentarily. “Please don't use the best stickers on the guys."
Was that it?
Before you knew it, you caught yourself laughing. Was he seriously worried about that?
"Okay, you know what? Nevermind. Ignore me. I didn't say that—"
"No! No, its—" Another giggle ripples from your chest, the sound making your necklaces jingle. "It's fine! Oh my god — you looked seriously worried!"
"Of course I am." He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I can't let the guys have your Hangyodon sticker collection. Please, babe. That's gonna be my next phone theme, right?"
You look at James and you feel like you're melting. He was seriously cute. Maybe even as cute as you, if that was possible..
You pat his shoulder, mustering up the most reassuring look you can, trying your hardest not to laugh at his adorable worried look.
"Yes, babe. Definitely, I'm already thinking about the layout and all that."
Relief washes through James' expression and he finally starts driving. Even his car was all cute, courtesy of you of course.
Smiskis lined up on the dashboard, stickers littering all over it, and the highlight of it all was two Monchhichis hanging from the rear view mirror.
"Hey," James called out softly, eyes still on the road.
"Hm?"
"I think I know what your MBTI is."
You looked at him, your expression was puzzled, trying to figure out where he was going with this.
"Uh, I think I told you once—"
"I think it's C-U-T-E."
Silence.
"Did you steal that from one of your friends?" You joked, and James let out an offended gasp. With how nonchalant he was with his friends, you wouldn't expect this sort of reaction.
"What? No. Absolutely not."
"Don't lie."
"Am not!"
You chuckle in response, shaking your head as you take his free hand. "It's okay, James." You lace your fingers together and press a kiss to his knuckles.
"I still love you," You could see the triumphant smile forming on his face. "Even if you steal pick up lines from your friends."
He groaned in response, his hand still in yours. "Way to ruin a moment." He joked, squeezing your hand three times.
You both laugh, you squeeze his hand one more time before letting it go so he could focus on the road once more.
James could be intimidating, but never to you. You cherished moments like this where he would show his soft side, something only you were able to bring out.
Seonghyeon x fem!reader (third person) angst/yearning, 1.4k
A/N: guess who's been reading books lately! im currently reading ‘normal people’ by sally rooney and her style is so distinct and unique which inspired me to venture out of the writing style of my previous works. I'm not sure why it never registered to me that I can write a fic in the third person LOL. Happy early vday!!!
The knock is softer than she expects.
It's ironic that she’s spending Valentine's day alone this year. She was supposed to be spending it with who she thought was the love of her life. As twilight begins to set in, it's unusual for someone to be knocking on the door.
She peeps out the window to assure nothing suspicious will happen to her once she opens the door. Her heart virtually skips a beat.
Is opening the door the best option? Surely it would be easy enough to ignore him, she could hide away in her room and pretend that nothing happened, though she's certain the thoughts will loom in the back of her head uninvited later. Hesitantly, her hand reaches for the door knob.
He’s standing further back then he usually does—actually, he would usually go up to kiss and hug her. She doesn’t like the way this feels. It resembles some sort of awful alternative reality that only happens in her worst nightmares. If this wasn’t real it would be easier, if they weren't real this would be easier. Her hand stays on the backside of the door, craving the familiar comfort behind her rather than the one that made her feel anxious standing in front of her.
He’s fidgeting with the corner of the white envelope he's holding, grazing the sides of it with his fingers. He always fidgets with his hands when he's nervous, she knows that well. He takes a deep breath, the cool evening air hits his lungs sharply which surprisingly relieves him. His entire body is running hot, she can tell by the slight warping of the paper caused by his sweaty palms and his lightly flushed cheeks.
“Hi” he says, cautiously, not wanting to respond unless she gives him a sign. He’s not sure what type of sign he’s looking for, even a crumb of the attention of what he usually gets from her would be enough.
“Hi”
She doesn't meet his gaze—mirroring, he doesn't meet hers. It’s as if the topic isn't real if they don’t face each other. They are processing things differently yet similarly. She can feel the familiar tightening in her chest that she hasn't felt in days, she was getting over it. Why did he have to show up—why now?
He doesn’t want to overstep, not again, but he needs to try, just one last time. He’s already tried picturing a reality of both outcomes. He tries telling himself that he’ll be okay with either scenario though, he’s still unconvinced. He can't imagine a future without her.
“This is for you” he sheepishly extends the white envelope out to her
“I mean—it’s up to you, you don't have to read it if…” he trails off, not wanting to finish that sentence. By rejecting his card she’d be essentially rejecting him, he holds his breath in silence. He only relaxes when she offers a response.
“What do you want, Seonghyeon?”
She says his name in a way she's never said it before. It lacked her usually soft cadence and playfulness when she addressed him—he always loved the way she said his name. Now, he feels a twinge of pain. It's so sharp and targeted, he can feel her hurt with her enunciation. The last thing he’d ever want it to be is the cause of her pain. Things don’t seem to be going his way lately.
When she saw that card extended out to her, she was immediately reminded of the gift basket she made for him. She’d been carefully curating for months, this valentine day was supposed to feel special. The basket is tucked away in a corner, she doesn’t remember which one, she doesn’t try to either.
The items were supposed to be returned by now, the second she broke up with, she promised herself she would get rid of everything that reminded her of him. But still, the photos of them together hang along her walls and his clothes are scattered all around. It shouldn't matter though, they’ve already officially broken up. For some reason, she can’t bring herself to going about the tasks she was so certain about completing before.
“I’d like you to read it.”
He doesn’t want to sound desperate in front of her, even though he’s burning with desperation. It’s his one wish, just a sign that maybe this could be restored.
Reluctantly, she outstretches her fingers to take the envelope from him. The paper trembles in his hands, it doesn’t stop when she takes it from him. She's been hiding her hands behind his field of view. He finds it comforting that she’s nervous too—it’s a sign that she doesn’t resent him. Any sign is a good sign.
She caught a quick glimpse of him when he wasn’t looking, she decided immediately that she’s not going to do that again. Just looking at him makes her want to cry, she hasn’t cried over him in days and she doesn’t want her streak to reset.
She’s moving in closer towards the entryway, creating a further space between him. Separated by the doorframe—outside, in. She wants to hide, not because she didn’t want to try with him but because she didn't know how to. He’s always been the one to initiate that sort of thing and even now, standing outside her door in the evening, he’s stumped.
There’s silence between them, all that can be heard is the distant sounds of cars driving and a wind that howls slowly. Usually, the silence between the two of them didn't matter. It built their sense of security in their relationship, they bonded over the silence. Presently, it just feels so wrong, it's painful.
The breeze is beginning to bother her, the cool air seems to heighten the intensity. Being inside would be better. She backs up slowly, about to close the door behind her. She's not expecting anything more from him, was there really anything left to say?
“I’m sorry”
She stops the door where it is, slightly ajar.
“What?” she knows she heard him right but she wants confirmation.
“I was being a huge dick to you, I’m sorry I didn’t give you space—I just felt so intense” he pleads, eyes darting everywhere but her gaze.
“It was intense for me too”
“I know, I truly didn't meant to hurt you like that” he pauses
His lips flatten into a thin line, he hesitates before he musters “I don’t think i can live without you”
“Well maybe you'll have to learn how to.” she's hoping he didn't notice the way her voice broke.
She wishes she had more to say but the words seemed to have dried up. Maybe an apology on her end would have been nice too, it wasn’t entirely his fault. The lack of a compromise in communication is what led to this—if only it was so simple.
“Goodnight Seonghyeon” is the last thing she says, closing the door behind her, physically separating the two of them. The tears begin to fall as she sits down on the floor. She's as unsure as she is sure about the reason as to why she’s crying. He can’t be that far off by now, if she opens the door now she would surely catch him. She could say the rest of what she wanted to say. But, her body stays frozen in place as she hugs her knees towards her chest.
He stands at the door for a moment after it was closed on him. He can feel his breath beginning to become more rapid and shaky, its clouds forming in the chilly air. He puts his fist against the door, standing like that for a moment until he ultimately decides that knocking isn't the best idea. He needs to respect her space, risking causing more conflict isn’t worth it. She already sensed distress anyway—oh how badly he wishes he could hold her and tell her that everything is going to be okay.
He’s been standing out front for too long now, he decides to leave peacefully—maybe one day the two of them can communicate again
When the door finally opens and she looks out longingly, he’s already gone, like a distant, yet close memory. She didn’t know how she'd feel if he were still there but she understands profoundly the ache that she's feeling now that he’s gone.
The envelope remains in her hand, the warped edges serve as a reminder that he was there, he tried to show up but, ultimately it failed.
Hey there!! This was mainly inspired by that one interview where Martin said Seonghyeon is the type to confront arguments right away. I wanted to explore briefly how that dynamic could affect someone who does not respond well to direct confrontation oops i hope it was okay 🤗
hey guys imy 💔 this week has been Nuts with all of my music performances, i js had two tonight a keonho fic has been in the works and is supposed to be out for his bday but yk… we may be getting Unrealistic here…
also why the hell am i balls Deep into the worst one-sided situationship 😅😂‼️ ts has been going on for TWO YEARS too long and it’s currently progressing suspiciously. shi got me feelimg like white moon. pray 4 me Yall idk how this is ending 🥀
( #BOAF ) PART TWO ──── when your situationship doesn't know how to treat you right but his hb plotting on u on the low
INCLUDES . . . . KIM JUHOON × FEM!READER ft. ZHAO YUFAN ( fluff, humor, slight angst ) &&. SITUATIONSHIP!YUFAN BSF!WONHEE messyy as hell 😭 hella flirtyyy yummm morally grey characters reader grows the biggest pair bro code non-existent everyone's SHADYYY 💀 james is a DICK. HEAD. POS.
&&. for my 1975 lovelies 💞
( 𝓀aikai. ) y'all absolutely loved the last one and it hasn't even been 20 hours in between part one and part two 😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏 i luv and appreciate all that support so much 😴💪 gonna tell my kids this was the 2 man AHAAJAJAJA okk enough joking #enjoyyy 😝😝 + THIS IS MOST LIKELY THE FINAL INSTALMENT 😓✌️
READ PART ONE PART TWO
DISCLAIMER : none of the characters are in committed relationships & i do not condone cheating 😭
SYNOPSIS in which your longtime crush loves his piano more than you . . . but won’t admit that you’re sweeter than any beethoven symphony.
or, headcanons of juhoon and reader as schroeder and lucy!
INFO fluff, peanuts au, biblically accurate schrucy, fem reader, wc 829
NOTES my first attempt at hcs AND gradients! baby is growing up… also my first juhoon work that i love enough to post <3
schroeder juhoon who never takes his fingers off his piano keys when you approach. his practice time was precious, even if he practiced every waking hour of each day.
lucy reader who admired him silently, resting her elbows on the piano and face in her hands. when she was sick of the lack of attention, she resorted to flustering him. “have I ever told you how pretty your eyes are?”
schroeder juhoon who would squeak and fumble around his keys every time you complimented him, hitting a nasty chord. he was great at feigning disinterest any other time you were around, but he was not the strongest soldier when it came to your compliments.
lucy reader who needs his attention at every given moment, though he never really gave it to her. she’d find him practicing diligently and repeat his name like a mantra. “juhoon. hoon? earth to juhoon?”
he didn’t stop playing until she waved her hand in front of his face. “what?” he snapped, slamming his fingers onto piano keys aimlessly.
she gave him the dreamiest look when he finally spoke. “do you love me, juhoon?” she had her signature pout that he hated. not that he hated her face itself; but he hated how it made his heart melt.
schroeder juhoon who was sick of hearing that question and sick of giving the same answer. “i love beethoven.”
she slapped her hand onto the piano, earning a panicked yell from him. “hey! that’s my baby!”
“why do you love a dead guy, when you have a beautiful girl right in front of you!”
he kept his head down to avoid eye contact with her; that was something he could never really do. “beethoven can’t bother me when he’s dead.” he mumbled.
“but don’t you think i’m beautiful?” she frowned, fiddling with the hem of her blue dress.
“i-”
“you hate me!” the stomp of her foot made juhoon flinch. he looked up with a deadpanned expression. something told him that he could say nothing to convince her. so, he simply sighed.
that earned him a death stare from her, and possibly steam coming from her ears. “you’re a real idiot, juhoon. you’ll see what you could’ve had one day!”
he watched her go as she kept spewing frustrated words. something along the lines of, “you could have a wife that makes you tuna casserole every day,” and “i’d bring flowers to every one of your recitals!”
“man…” juhoon huffed, rubbing the back of his neck.
lucy reader who ignored him for the next few days, even when it was time to meet up for baseball. she was still her usual self; bossing everyone around, complaining in right-field, and missing every ball because she was distracted.
schroeder juhoon who squinted through his catcher’s mask to watch her in outfield. that was the best part of being catcher: he got to keep his eyes on her without anyone noticing. he should’ve been relieved that she was ignoring him, but something in him missed her presence. when the short game ended, he approached her once she came infield.
“what do you want?” she crossed her arms, squinting accusingly.
”well, i just…” he paused. every word got caught in his throat, especially since she was standing right in front of him with messy hair and flushed cheeks. her impatient foot-tapping was the only thing that forced the words out. “i do think you’re beautiful.”
the way her entire face seemed to light up made his agony worth it. “oh, juhoon! you really mean it?” she closed the distance, her arms wrapping his torso in a suffocating hug.
“uhm-” he struggled against her, but melted as soon as she started peppering kisses on every inch of his face.
“i knew you loved me!” she squealed in between pecks.
juhoon’s face burned hotter than the sun that beat on them in the middle of the baseball field. but to him, a bit of embarrassment was worth it. maybe he would consider practicing piano a little less.
schroeder juhoon who finally accepted his feelings for her and learned to tolerate her. he didn’t fight the narrative that they were a married couple. he didn’t kick her out when he was practicing; in fact, he let her sit next to him as he played.
lucy reader who was more whipped than before, if possible. she made it a habit to call him “sweetie” (mostly because she enjoyed the violent blush that crept onto his cheeks every time). she learned every possible fact about beethoven and became familiar with his works. juhoon’s favorite part, though, was the good luck kiss she gave him before every baseball game.
schroeder juhoon who got made fun of by his friends for being so head-over-heels for her. when she was around, it was like birds were flying over his head. but honestly, how could the teasing matter when he had the girl of his dreams (and previously his nightmares?)
SYNOPSIS in which your longtime crush loves his piano more than you . . . but won’t admit that you’re sweeter than any beethoven symphony.
or, headcanons of juhoon and reader as schroeder and lucy!
INFO fluff, peanuts au, biblically accurate schrucy, fem reader, wc 829
NOTES my first attempt at hcs AND gradients! baby is growing up… also my first juhoon work that i love enough to post <3
schroeder juhoon who never takes his fingers off his piano keys when you approach. his practice time was precious, even if he practiced every waking hour of each day.
lucy reader who admired him silently, resting her elbows on the piano and face in her hands. when she was sick of the lack of attention, she resorted to flustering him. “have I ever told you how pretty your eyes are?”
schroeder juhoon who would squeak and fumble around his keys every time you complimented him, hitting a nasty chord. he was great at feigning disinterest any other time you were around, but he was not the strongest soldier when it came to your compliments.
lucy reader who needs his attention at every given moment, though he never really gave it to her. she’d find him practicing diligently and repeat his name like a mantra. “juhoon. hoon? earth to juhoon?”
he didn’t stop playing until she waved her hand in front of his face. “what?” he snapped, slamming his fingers onto piano keys aimlessly.
she gave him the dreamiest look when he finally spoke. “do you love me, juhoon?” she had her signature pout that he hated. not that he hated her face itself; but he hated how it made his heart melt.
schroeder juhoon who was sick of hearing that question and sick of giving the same answer. “i love beethoven.”
she slapped her hand onto the piano, earning a panicked yell from him. “hey! that’s my baby!”
“why do you love a dead guy, when you have a beautiful girl right in front of you!”
he kept his head down to avoid eye contact with her; that was something he could never really do. “beethoven can’t bother me when he’s dead.” he mumbled.
“but don’t you think i’m beautiful?” she frowned, fiddling with the hem of her blue dress.
“i-”
“you hate me!” the stomp of her foot made juhoon flinch. he looked up with a deadpanned expression. something told him that he could say nothing to convince her. so, he simply sighed.
that earned him a death stare from her, and possibly steam coming from her ears. “you’re a real idiot, juhoon. you’ll see what you could’ve had one day!”
he watched her go as she kept spewing frustrated words. something along the lines of, “you could have a wife that makes you tuna casserole every day,” and “i’d bring flowers to every one of your recitals!”
“man…” juhoon huffed, rubbing the back of his neck.
lucy reader who ignored him for the next few days, even when it was time to meet up for baseball. she was still her usual self; bossing everyone around, complaining in right-field, and missing every ball because she was distracted.
schroeder juhoon who squinted through his catcher’s mask to watch her in outfield. that was the best part of being catcher: he got to keep his eyes on her without anyone noticing. he should’ve been relieved that she was ignoring him, but something in him missed her presence. when the short game ended, he approached her once she came infield.
“what do you want?” she crossed her arms, squinting accusingly.
”well, i just…” he paused. every word got caught in his throat, especially since she was standing right in front of him with messy hair and flushed cheeks. her impatient foot-tapping was the only thing that forced the words out. “i do think you’re beautiful.”
the way her entire face seemed to light up made his agony worth it. “oh, juhoon! you really mean it?” she closed the distance, her arms wrapping his torso in a suffocating hug.
“uhm-” he struggled against her, but melted as soon as she started peppering kisses on every inch of his face.
“i knew you loved me!” she squealed in between pecks.
juhoon’s face burned hotter than the sun that beat on them in the middle of the baseball field. but to him, a bit of embarrassment was worth it. maybe he would consider practicing piano a little less.
schroeder juhoon who finally accepted his feelings for her and learned to tolerate her. he didn’t fight the narrative that they were a married couple. he didn’t kick her out when he was practicing; in fact, he let her sit next to him as he played.
lucy reader who was more whipped than before, if possible. she made it a habit to call him “sweetie” (mostly because she enjoyed the violent blush that crept onto his cheeks every time). she learned every possible fact about beethoven and became familiar with his works. juhoon’s favorite part, though, was the good luck kiss she gave him before every baseball game.
schroeder juhoon who got made fun of by his friends for being so head-over-heels for her. when she was around, it was like birds were flying over his head. but honestly, how could the teasing matter when he had the girl of his dreams (and previously his nightmares?)
What winter olympic sport they’d be + the vibes they bring to the olympics (headcanons)
OT5! winterolympics!au
Permanent taglist // open! @yeppiz @faseanz
A/N: my next fic is going to take 8 billion years to complete so here are some easily digestible crumbs for my bbyboos 🤗
James - ski jumping ⛷️
Reason: the MOST james coded sport.
Known for: making silly faces during his jumps
Olympic scandal: accused of using eye contact as psychological warfare
Verdict: one eye open when you're sleeping, two eyes for james
Skijumper!jameswho acts equally silly in the land and air. Always finding one way or another to make the audience fall even more in love with him
Skijumper!james who ducks his face and smiles when the crowd cheers for him, he always brushes it off like it was easy, refusing to gloat even a little bit.
Skijumper!james who laughs at his own silly jump faces when they get replayed on his feed. He promptly changes his profile picture to whatever fan edits he thinks are the funniest
Skijumper!james who catches constant media attention. The broadcast cuts to him often for his fun persona and entertaining antics.
Skijumper!james who gets nervous at the top of the ramp but immediately relaxes when he sees you waving at him enthusiastically in the crowd below.
Skijumper!jameswho attempts to persuade you into giving ski jumping a try—he’d be a great teacher is his reasoning. It's never going to happen.
Keonho - half-pipe snowboarding 🏂
Reason: very boyish and cool
Known for: almost snowboarding into the crowd at the end of his runs
Olympic scandal: fake beef with another athlete for entertainment
Verdict: menace—ten years in the hole
Snowboarder!keonho who makes the largest snow sprays on purpose, which backfires on him since he can’t see where he is going anyway.
Snowboarder!keonho makes sure to run his hair through his fingers every time he takes off his helmet—-he knows his fanbase well.
Snowboarder!keonho who attempts the craziest combos and scares the audience half to death but lands them without fail. He claims he wasn't trying after he broke the world record…right.
Snowboarder!keonho who only eats snacks during the olympics until you tell him to actually fuel himself properly. His coach hasn't seen him eat that well, ever.
Snowboarder!keonho who tries to impress you with his gold medal, he’s shocked when you respond to him so nonchalantly (masking) and gains an interest in you.
Snowboarder!keonho who is grateful he’s done competing because you would have completely occupied his mind, not that it bothers him now.
Juhoon - figure skating ⛸️
Reason: he looks like he spins well
Known for: being a fidget spinner
Olympic scandal: always mogging on the ice
Verdict: face card=accepted
Figureskater!juhoon who always sets the trends for the seasonal attire. Teams constantly use elements of his preseason designs in their competitive ones. Brands scramble to get him to represent them in any way.
Figureskater!juhoon who practices his jumps everywhere, in the halls, lobbies, waiting rooms. He sometimes runs into an object, resulting in laughs and a minor bruise.
Figureskater!juhoon who forgets how to tie his skates when he sees you walk by, causing a mess of knots that takes the help of his teammates to undo.
Figureskater!juhoon who credits his gold medal winning performance to not wanting to disappoint you in the crowd. You don't know each other yet but he wanted you to remember him
Figureskater!juhoon who always gets turtle plushies thrown at him and the end of his performances. He takes note of the one you threw at him so he can keep it.
Figureskater!juhoon who later posts pictures of his gold medal, along with his new turtle companion, he hopes you’ll notice.
Martin - super g skiing 🎿
Reason: he's tall!
Known for: crashing into flags, almost crashing into flags
Olympic scandal: starting a snowball fight during official downtime
Verdict: what a g!
Skier!martin who is a chronic flirt on the slopes and in the olympic village. Reporters, athletes, volunteers, definitely you.
Skier!martin who always takes up the opportunity to customise his uniform in any way. He adds quick doodles and random stickers he gets to his helmet and skis.
Skier!martin who immediately takes his skis off and dramatically flails onto the snow after his runs, taking selfies with fans from the ground as he receives his time.
Skier!martin who fumbles his medal, causing it to fall down in one of his interviews. He turns red immediately but everyone just laughs it off. Thankfully no one noticed the dent in his olympic medal.
Skier!martin who searches for you everyday after you recommended the best chocolate muffins to him. He really wants to thank you (and invite you to the slopes with him)
Skier!martin who is a chronic tiktok user and vlogs his entire olympic experience to his millions of followers. Everyone seems to be asking about the status quo of his relationship status, he shrugs.
Seonghyeon - curling 🥌
Reason: gentlemens sport
Known for: always looking confused but podiums every time
Olympic scandal: chronic meme starter (accidently)
Verdict: stan twitter loves him—here’s your baddie chain seonghyeon
Curler!seonghyeon who always causes an influx of viewers whenever he’s playing. He’s slightly confused as to why he has an official fan club but he goes with it regardless.
Curler!seonghyeon who looks at his teammates as if he doesn't understand what's going on. He contorts his face in different ways to express his confusion, somehow always making eye contact with the cameras
Curler!seonghyeon who slips and almost falls on the ice multiple times during the olympics—immediately getting clipped for future reaction gifts.
Curler!seonghyeon who sometimes claps for the other team mindlessly. At least curling is a gentleman's sport.
Curler!seonghyeon who always gets lost in the olympic village and needed the IOC to print out a map for him so he could find his way from his room and the cafeteria.
Curler!seonghyeon who continues to wander around just to get the chance to catch another glimpse of you. He wishes he had the chance to talk to you earlier at his match but you seemingly disappeared.
SYNOPSIS keonho hated one thing more than playing out of tune, and that was the sound of your voice. much to his dismay, he found that fraternizing with the enemy wasn’t so bad.
INFO angst but barely, fluff eventually, tension, high school au, rivals to lovers, cellist!keonho x cellist!fem!reader, wc 5k
NOTE very self-indulgent and based on my own musical experience… i highly suggest listening to the pieces below! i apologize if i didn’t explain the music terms enough :c
teaser part two
the concert program 𝄞 ˚*･ॱ ˙
poet and peasant overture - suppé
pavane pour une infante défunte (for orchestra) - ravel
prince igor: polovtsian dances - borodin
OCTOBER
Audition season was a musician’s doomsday. They would either let the endless hours of practicing work their magic, or have their nerves swallow them whole. Three minutes in a room, a sheet separating you and two judges, and a student helper in the corner trying not to wince at your mistakes. It was the same hell every year: all just to play in an orchestra with other random kids from around the region.
For a dedicated, over-the-top musician, it was also the day your worth was determined. Are you exceptional, or just mediocre? Would university orchestras want you? Every answer came down to the three minutes of sweaty hands, rushed audition excerpts, and shitty room acoustics.
You seemed to be a master of the process. Every time without fail, you walked out of that audition room with a convincing poker face. To the kids in line for their audition, you were easily the principal cellist. A born prodigy. Auditions were nothing to you because you were born a winner.
Keonho thought otherwise. He knew you— your weaknesses, strengths, and just how to piss you off. And who was he to not use that to his advantage every time he caught you thirty minutes before an audition? You were the only burden between him and that principal seat; he had to break you down somehow.
You walked into the warm-up room (or, a high school cafeteria) with a sigh, hard cello case heavy on your back. The place was too familiar; your auditions were held there almost every year. You knew the path to and from the cello audition room, the cold tile floor of the room (which was not your friend), and the same orchestra directors that volunteered every year. It was hard to forget them when they greeted you like a saint.
Picking your favorite corner of the cafeteria, you scoped the place for any familiar musicians. There was the violist girl that was the principal every year. Her prominent shoulder-rest mark on her neck showed how much she practiced. Then you saw one of your favorite cellists to play with, a girl named Maya that you got coffee with before your one morning rehearsal last year.
You checked your phone. Fourty minutes until your audition. You finally began unpacking your cello, sifting through your case for the rosin you preferred to use for auditions. The cafeteria seat was stiff and probably seconds away from breaking. You set yourself up to play and found your tuner, playing a few long bow strokes on your A-string.
“Yikes. So sharp.”
Sighing, you turned at the familiar voice. “Good thing I have a tuner in my hand.”
Keonho shot you an infuriating smile. He tilted his head. “Don’t you have perfect pitch? Could just tune on your own.”
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” You scoffed, resting your bow upwards on your knee.
“My audition is in an hour. I’ve got time.” He shoved his hands in his pockets casually. He was far too relaxed for your liking, but you rarely saw him tense anyway. Only during extremely fast passages in rehearsals, or when you learned the reseating results. Every year, you watched his face drop when your name tag was placed on the principal chair. Every. Single. Year.
You adjusted yourself, turning away from him. Mostly because you couldn’t stand to make eye contact. How could you, when he looked so sure of himself? When he looked more determined than ever to take your place? “Tryhard.” You mumbled.
“Sure, you could say that. Or you could say i’m trying very hard to take you down.” He shrugged, pausing to find a crack in your expression. When there was none, he gave you a fake smile. “Well, good luck.”
You looked back up to watch him walk away, briefly making eye contact when he turned back to look at you one more time. The unreadable look in his eyes made your stomach stir. Keonho knew exactly how to make orchestra seem like a survival show, and you felt like you were getting eliminated very soon.
The rest of your warm-up time went by far too quickly and before you knew it, you were standing outside of your audition room. You leaned your head against the smooth brick wall, attempting to run through the perfect audition in your head. Auditions should be easy enough; you’ve been doing them since seventh grade and you were never rejected from an orchestra. Why did this one feel like your first?
The door to the audition room opened. It was your turn. The room monitor reminded you of the same words you heard every year: no talking, take your time, good luck. Right; except luck felt useless when you had the universe and an egotistical sixteen-year-old boy working against you. A thousand thoughts ran through your head as you sat down in front of the curtain that separated you from the judges. The seat was still warm from the cellist before you. Were you about ace this audition like usual, or let Keonho get in your head?
A judge’s voice brought you back down to reality. Okay, it was time to lock the fuck in and stop worrying about some guy. You knew your worth, and it was certainly more than a silly boy like Keonho (were you being too harsh, or was it valid, considering that his life’s mission was to make you miserable?). You slowly calmed your breathing, listening to the judges give directions.
Three minutes of doom had passed and you left the room feeling light. The room monitor congratulated you with a whisper, face way too awestruck by your playing. Knowing you, talk of your talent probably reached the orchestra students at this school. It felt surreal and a little unsettling, practically being a mini-celebrity. You were either feared or admired every time you showed up to auditions or performance assessments.
You walked down some hallways back to the cafeteria, cello and bow in one hand and music in the other. You exchanged some ‘hello’s’ and ‘good luck’s.’ That audition had you feeling more chipper than you expected. They made you play easy scales and you played your excerpts with near-perfection. Maybe Keonho never really got in your head.
Well— maybe not your head, but definitely your space; because why was his annoying face suddenly in yours when you entered the cafeteria? He trapped you in the doorway with a smug look on his face. Maybe he was praying on the downfall of your audition while you were in the room.
“Excuse me.” You muttered, shuffling your feet to find your way past him. You were mostly irritated by the fact that Keonho had the audacity to fool around when you had thousands of dollars worth of wood in your hand.
“No thanks.” He smiled, wider than you’d seen him smile when your past conductors complimented him. “How was your audition?”
“Perfect, actually, thanks for asking.” You said dryly.
“Oh? Must’ve gotten lucky.” He jabbed. Your jaw clenched at that, because what the hell was he implying? That you needed sheer luck to get through an audition?
You clicked your tongue before speaking. “I don’t need luck. Shouldn’t you be warming up? You have an audition in like… fifteen minutes.”
Keonho brushed his hair back in that infuriating way he always did when he was trying to prove himself. You could never tell if it was on purpose, or if he really did care about his hair that much. “I’m already warm. What scales did they give you?”
Your brows furrowed. He had a shit ton of nerve today. “Why the hell would I tell you that? So you can cheat your way into my principal seat?”
He scoffed. “I don’t need to cheat, sweetheart. I heard you warming up on your excerpts, and they sounded like shit. I think i’ll do just fine getting that seat.”
Your heart fell. He had to be trolling, but it was so hard to tell when it was just that or if he was being truthful. Your sweaty hand clenched around the neck of your cello. “Fuck you, Ahn. Seriously. I’ll see you at rehearsal when you’re sitting last.” You pushed past him, shoving his shoulder in the process.
Keonho turned to watch you stomp away, smirking in satisfaction when he caught the bothered look on your face. He felt like a bit of an asshole for insulting your playing, especially when his words were far from true. You sounded perfect, and that’s what made him panic. But when were you ever not perfect? He had to do something to change that if he wanted principal cello. That was all that mattered at the moment, your feelings be damned.
It was safe to say that his audition went nearly perfectly; and Keonho wasn’t just being egotistical. Maybe a little, but he knew he was talented. Everyone knew him as one of the best cellists in the region— but never the best. That was always your title. You were the girl with the natural talent, and he was almost as good as you. Perhaps that was why he despised you so much. You outshone him constantly, and he craved the recognition you received. This year would change. This year was his year, and you wouldn’t be getting in the way of that. Not if he succeeded in knocking you down.
NOVEMBER
Your nails were chewed down after going through every day this week with an embarrassing amount of anxiety. It was around the same time that results came out every year, you just had no idea when exactly they would come out. Your orchestra director told you repeatedly that there was no chance you wouldn’t make it. You knew this. Making it wasn’t the issue; it was keeping your principal seat and your dignity.
Thirty minutes away, Keonho locked himself in a practice room at his own school. There was still an hour until school actually started. This was his daily practice routine; before school, during class, then three more hours at home. His friends called him a maniac, but he knew the work was necessary. He had a sneaking suspicion that the region orchestra results were coming out today. Based on the grind he’d been on, he was pretty confident his name would be first on that list of cellos.
From the corner of his eye, Keonho saw his orchestra director move outside of the practice room door. She had a singular sheet of paper and a stapler in her hand. Fuck, he was right. He set his cello down and practically bolted out of the practice room.
His director, Mrs. Kang, turned at the sound of urgent footsteps behind her. She said nothing and simply gave him a smile. His heart skipped; that smile wasn’t for nothing. It was knowing. Proud. “Can I, uhm.. see it?” He felt like a pain in the ass for being so impatient, but Keonho felt like he would literally burst if he didn’t see the results now.
“Sure.” Mrs. Kang passed him the paper. It was impossible to read her expression now. Why was she being so cryptic?
His hands shook like he’d downed two cups of coffee (in all honesty, he had). Such an insignificant piece of paper held the weight of everything; his self-worth, his purpose, his future. After taking a deep, long breath, he looked down at it. Scanned through the violin, viola, and wind/percussion results to avoid getting to doomsday on paper. Then he found string bass and moved his eyes up just a touch. In bold, he read cello. Right below, he read Ahn Keonho.
He brought the paper closer to his face. Was he just seeing things? He rubbed his eyes; maybe the morning sleepiness still blurred his vision. There was his name, still staring back at him as the first cello on the list. If he was principal, then…?
His eyes shifted down. There was your name, directly below his. Holy shit, he actually did it. His audition was better than yours. Keonho looked back and forth between the paper and Mrs. Kang’s eyes in disbelief. So that’s what that suspicious look was.
“Congratulations, Keonho.” She gave him a smile that made him feel more worthy than he felt in a while. “I had a feeling you would be principal this year. You just needed that extra push.”
The small smile that blessed his face, fell. “Extra push as in her?” His body tensed at the thought of you. He wondered if you were seeing the same results at the same exact time as him, seething at his name being above yours for the first time.
Mrs. Kang frowned. “No, that’s not at all what I meant. These opportunities don’t exist for you to make enemies. You should be thankful that you get to make beautiful music with such dedicated musicians. Even her.” The look in her eyes wasn’t mad or stern, but more pitiful than anything. She could see right through him. Although he’d never opened up to her about the truth behind why he loathed you, she absolutely knew.
When Keonho stayed silent, she continued. “Just… try to make it a positive experience, okay? Loosen up, make some more music friends. Maybe even within your own section.”
He didn’t like her implications— not one bit. She was seriously suggesting that he become friends with you? The idea left a sour taste in his mouth. Keonho would rather use his cello as a tennis racket than be nice to you.
You’d gotten your cello out to warm up before class when you saw it, that sick feeling erupting in your stomach immediately. Your director clutched the region results in his hand before sticking it to the whiteboard with a magnet. Some of the people in your orchestra exchanged nervous glances because they themselves had auditioned. Others looked directly at you because they were afraid you’d explode if you didn’t get the result you wanted.
You stood and followed the people that migrated to the board. Two violinists high-fived each other and a bassist sighed in defeat as he walked away from the board. The people in front of you were smiling until they turned and saw you. The grim look on their faces nearly made you vomit.
Swallowing the lump in your throat and the mid-day snack threatening to leave your body, you reached the results. Your finger traced along the instruments, stopping at cello. Maybe you should’ve stayed curious and looked when you were alone.
Why the hell weren’t you first? And why—
Why was Ahn Keonho the first name you read? Your finger twitched as you read your own name under his. There was no fucking way this was real. You put so much effort into that audition, practicing it for hours at a time on top of a solo you had to perform soon, and concert music for your school’s orchestra. All for your seat to be taken from you like it was the easiest thing ever. It was probably because of a stupid squeak from your string, or Keonho using slightly more weight in his bow. Or just the universe working against you, per usual.
Oh, were you going to get your seat back after reseating auditions. You would get the most satisfying revenge that he would never forget about.
Too bad that vengeful mindset didn’t last you all day, because by the time lunch hit, you’d looked like you went through a devastating breakup. You were too sick to even eat lunch, so you found a quiet corner in the library. That was where your best friend Stella stomped towards you, clearly on a mission.
“What’s going on with you? People are saying you look emo. You skipped lunch when they had rainbow sprinkle cookies!” She hovered over your dead-looking figure in a beanbag chair.
“I couldn’t give a fuck about a sprinkle cookie right now.” You mumbled, turning on your side.
“That’s not normal at all.” She found a spot on the floor next to you and crossed her legs. “Cmon, tell me what’s wrong.”
A nudge from her made you flinch violently; that’s how mentally checked out you were. “Region results are out. I’m not principal cello.”
Stella tilted her head. “Huh? Then who—“ she paused, backing away at the death glare you gave her. “Oh.”
“I’m going to kill him.” Your jaw clenched hard enough to feel pain in your nerves.
“You can’t actually hate him that much. It’s just a chair. Plus, isn’t he like, really cute?” She grinned at the flash of something foreign in your eyes.
“First, it’s not just a chair. It’s my chair, and he’s been trying to take it from me since eighth grade. Him taking it means i’ve officially failed at life.”
A slow, devious smile spread across Stella’s face. “So you won’t deny that he’s cute?”
“He is NOT cute.” Your fist met the beanbag with a hard smack. That earned you a couple of shushes from around the library. In humiliation, you snuck deeper into the chair.
Curious as to how long you had until lunch ended, you pulled your phone out of your pocket. You sighed, frowning at the time. Ten minutes until the bell.
“You spent your lunchtime sulking in here, sorry.” Stella jabbed.
“Yeah, for good rea—“ your phone buzzed in your hand: a notification from Instagram.
shostakeonho started following you
Stella searched your face for any indication as to why it just went so pale. “Uh… you good?”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You unlocked your phone with a sense of urgency you felt ashamed to have. Opening Instagram, the first thing you saw was a message request.
shostakeonho | just now
hey, principal!
wait lmfao
that’s not you, is it?
Of course, Keonho went out of his way to troll you. Of course, his username had to be a Shostakovich reference. Smug piece of shit. You weren’t even going to question how he had your Instagram account. “Keonho just slid into my dms.” A painfully straight expression graced your face.
If Stella wasn’t already bouncing off the walls, she was now. “Holy shit! Since when does he have your insta? What did he say?”
You shushed her at the same time as the people surrounding her. “Shut up! He followed me two minutes ago.” She peered over your shoulder to read his messages, her eyes growing wider with every word that passed through her vision. “Oh, so he’s like that.” She hummed.
Your eyes narrowed. “Like what? An asshole?”
She turned to you with the cheesiest grin. You absolutely hated when she had that look, because you knew she was either plotting something, or knew something you didn’t. “No. He’s rage baiting you to get your attention.”
Every word that left her mouth made less sense. How could Keonho possibly want your attention? Every time he had your attention, you ended up in a heated argument. “I don’t see why he’d want my attention when my attention is throwing insults.”
Your best friend knew you were smart. But at this moment? You were the densest person she’d ever met. She sighed at your blindness. “Right, of course. Maybe someday, the two of you will get over the rivalry and just kiss already.”
That left you gaping like a fish. Even worse, Stella walked away before you could even defend yourself. This was not a cliché rivals-to-lovers story. No, this was pure loathing. You knew Keonho felt the same. Right?
DECEMBER
Keonho took several opportunities throughout the last month to drive you insane. He slid up on your story to congratulate you on a solo performance, only to say he was glad he didn’t hear it because “blood would’ve been seeping from his ears.” He sent you videos of him practicing the concert music flawlessly. He texted when the weather got colder and hoped your instrument (would)n’t fall apart. You officially declared that he was evil.
The first rehearsal for region rolled around far too fast. Only one evening to spend time exceptional students in the area until your next rehearsals in January. Only one evening for you and Keonho to hate each other more, if possible.
When you arrived at the school the rehearsal was hosted at, he was already unpacked and warming up. He played passages from the concert music at unnecessarily high speed, and you knew damn well he was waiting for you to walk in to do that. You rolled your case into the theater and unpacked next to the pile of instrument cases backstage.
Different timbres and instrument colors filled your ears like you’d just dove into a pool. Those sounds bounced off of the theater walls in the most satisfying way. The principal french hornist practiced the solo sections in Pavane and it could’ve made you cry; it was that beautiful. The hell of auditions and fighting Keonho was always worth it to you, because in the end, you got to contribute to an orchestra filled with only the best musicians in your region.
Your eyes landed on the chair next to Keonho. A piece of paper with your name, grade, and school sat on the music stand in front of the chair. This wasn’t your seat. You were meant to be first. Keonho would always be second to you. The wood of your bow digging into your palm reminded you that you were standing in the middle of the stage, gripping your bow and cello neck maniacally.
The stiff chair was the least annoying thing on that stage as long as Keonho was there. He ignored you as you sat and instead continued to rush through the cello solo in the Poet and Peasant Overture. You cleared your throat, knowing you were prone to wimpy voice cracks when you were around him. “You’re going too fast.”
He finally stopped, but didn’t turn his head to look at you. Rehearsal hadn’t even started and he was already starting to push your limits. Oh, was he going to be entertained. “Tempo is up to the soloist’s interpretation.”
“Too bad you’re not the soloist.” You shot back, keeping your eyes on the side of his face. The obnoxious lighting onstage accentuated his eyelashes in a way that made you angry. Did he curl his eyelashes just to piss you off, or was he just born perfect?
Keonho turned to you with a proud smirk. “Oh, am I not? Pretty sure the principal cellist gets the solos. And in case you didn’t know…” he leaned in impossibly close to you, close enough for you to smell the obvious peppermint breath spray. “I’m principal, and you’re not.”
You hated the way his breath tickled your ear and left goosebumps on your skin. And, of course, the stage lighting had to shine on said goosebumps in the most apparent way possible. There was no reason for him to be whispering. In fact, he should be yelling over the noise of at least sixty musicians warming up. “Don’t get too proud, Ahn. This seating is solely based on auditions. Best believe you’ll be back where you belong once we do reseating auditions.”
He snorted. You sounded ridiculous; you were the one who got lucky in every audition. Keonho was always better than you, he just didn’t do well under pressure. “I’m right where I’ve belonged every year— you just like to get in my way. Not this year, though. You’re over.” The threat in his tone left you confused and frankly, a bit unsettled.
Before you could respond, the conductor of the orchestra stepped up to the podium. You’ve briefly seen him at performance assessments, but you never exchanged words. He tapped his baton on the podium’s stand a few times to cease the people warming up. “Evening, everyone! I’m Dr. Wilson and i’ll be your 2026 Region Symphony Orchestra conductor. I’m happy to see your beautiful faces, some familiar.” He turned to you and Keonho in the front row, giving the boy an acknowledging smile. Great, so your conductor was a Keonho glazer. That’s one more person working against you.
Both you and Keonho zoned out during the rest of Dr. Wilson’s spiel. You were devising a plan to break Keonho’s ego and sabotage his reseating audition in January. He was basking in the satisfaction of beating you for the first time. He had a direct view of the empty auditorium and began visualizing the packed seats at the actual concert; his family and Mrs. Kang would watch him with the proudest look in their eyes. And you? You would probably eye him with your signature death glare while you had rests in the music.
Finally, your conductor shut up and started tuning and warming up the orchestra. Then he told you to take out the piece you probably dreaded the most. “Take a look at the Overture. And hmm..” he flipped through the score, “let’s start at the beginning and go through the first section of the cello solo.”
Your hand shot up immediately while Keonho gave you a look that said shut the fuck up. “Excuse me— would you like that to be played by one cellist, or…?”
Dr. Wilson tapped his baton to his chin. His foot tapped on the podium and the deep sound echoed around the stage. “I’ve heard Mr. Ahn play, but I’ve also heard some wonderful things about your talent. Why not have both of you play it until we do reseating?”
The smile that spread across your face was probably the most unfamiliar thing to Keonho. You rarely smiled that wide when you were around him. He wished he was smiling that hard right now. How could he be, when his spotlight was taken by you, once again? “Dr. Wilson, I’ve actually been practicing the solo pretty diligently.” He spoke with a tone so sweet, your ears wanted to bleed.
The conductor gave him an admiring smile, like he was proud of him for doing the bare minimum of practicing. “I’m sure you have! I’d just like to give our co-principal a chance to play it for us too.” Keonho huffed at that, his shoulders slumping. The whispers behind you sounded like the people you’d been in this orchestra with for years; in other words, they were used to your passive rivalry.
A few seconds later, you were off. The overture started with a warm chorale with brass. Anticipation made the opening of the piece feel a thousand years long and the sweat on your hands nearly made your fingers slip off your strings. Finally, after a sweeping entrance in the string section, the only people left playing were you, Keonho, and the harpist.
You found that playing the solo was much better when you shut your eyes. You felt the music, instead of playing it like a routine. That’s what set you apart from Keonho. He was so robotic, so obsessed with being perfect. You were in love with your instrument and treated it like so.
But, you still needed your moment to shine. Keonho was dimming the light with his obnoxious volume. Experimentally, you shifted your foot closer to his and pressed into the side of his shoe to distract him. And hell yeah, did it work.
He flinched in the middle of a sustain note that was unfortunately high. The movement created an unflattering crack in the note, earning questioning glances from Dr. Wilson and cellists behind you. It took him a few notes before he regained his footing. While he struggled, you played out with exaggerated dynamics. “Damn snake,” he whispered under his breath.
The rest of the three hour long rehearsal went exactly the same. You did something to tease and distract him, while he struggled to keep his composure. It was usually the exact opposite dynamic; Keonho would do anything in his power to piss you off and sabotage you. Until now, you didn’t realize how fun it was to be in his position.
Dr. Wilson checked his watch after cutting you off during a section in Polovtsian Dances. “Well folks, looks like I have to dismiss you.” He sighed. “It was wonderful working with you all tonight. I haven’t heard such a dedicated group in a long time. See you in January, don’t forget to practice until then!”
It wasn’t until he stepped down from the podium that Keonho turned to you. “Are you fucking serious?” He spat, no context needed. You scoffed as you gathered your belongings. “Someone isn’t a fan of payback.”
“No, you don’t get to give me payback. This is different. I’ve never been principal in this orchestra; why can’t you give me one damn chance?” He pointed an aggresive finger at you.
You stood to hover him, hoping it would give you some semblance of power over him. “Why can’t I? Why can’t you earn your place from the passion in your heart, instead of envy? What’s the point if this is all to get back at me, and not to satisfy yourself?”
Keonho stood to your level. “You think you know me so damn well. I can tell you this: four rehearsals and occasional crossovers with me every year aren’t enough to know me. You don’t know how you make me feel every time I see you.” He cursed at his poor choice of wording. Shit, that was far too vulnerable, far too revealing.
You glitched; was that supposed to have some sort of double-meaning? Because in no way did that just sound like envy. “I don’t want to know you, Keonho. And quite frankly, I wish I didn’t.”
He didn’t even get a chance at a rebuttal, because you’d already walked away from him. You left him on the nearly-empty stage, drowning in his resurfacing feelings and something unfamiliar; was it guilt?
HIII!! omg lowk feeling shy writing this HAHAHAHA but i just genuinely wanted to say i loveddd reading 440 hz and your writing is so so enjoyableee!!
btw I loved how you wrote both yn and keonho in a way where we can understand both of their perspectives so like theyre pretty complex and thats another thing i really liked abt this story🥹 (also some of the moments r so relatable as an orchestra musician HAHAHA)
ANYWAY HAHA ty for taking the time to read my random yapping😭🙏 pls keep writing and have a wonderful day <3
AW HI MYKAAAAA💘 thank you so much, you’re the sweetest mootie!!!
i was pretty worried about the perspective changes because they might be confusing, but im saurrr glad you liked them! it felt unfair to only speak from one perspective because the two characters have very different stories 🙁 keonho may be mean as hell but he has a reason to be i swear!! some moments are relatable cus i MAY have written based on my experiences..
YOU CAN YAP TO ME ANYTIME!!! i have way too much fun with these bruh. also EDDY!!! twoset got me through middle school orchestra.. lit would’ve died without them. i actually finally got to see them in october 🥺. anyway have an AWESOME day (dont forget to practice 40 hrs) 😛
SHUT UPPP MAL THIS THEME & DAT NEW PFPPOP WHEEEEWWWWW IM DROOLING 🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤 im bout to dig into 440hz thing u js posted lfg bois tns a good night 🙏🙏😆😆😆
STAWPPP MADDY😭😭🙏 ngl the theme has me feeling so tuff cuz.. why is it so nonchalant… 👀👀🔥 AND THE PFP LMAOOO i love it when keonho aura farms😻 i wish i was a cute n swaggy teenage boy fr. GO devour 440 Hz ik i am bru.. i need this kinda rivalry in my life
SYNOPSIS keonho hated one thing more than playing out of tune, and that was the sound of your voice. much to his dismay, he found that fraternizing with the enemy wasn’t so bad.
INFO angst but barely, fluff eventually, tension, high school au, rivals to lovers, cellist!keonho x cellist!fem!reader, wc 5k
NOTE very self-indulgent and based on my own musical experience… i highly suggest listening to the pieces below! i apologize if i didn’t explain the music terms enough :c
teaser part two
the concert program 𝄞 ˚*･ॱ ˙
poet and peasant overture - suppé
pavane pour une infante défunte (for orchestra) - ravel
prince igor: polovtsian dances - borodin
OCTOBER
Audition season was a musician’s doomsday. They would either let the endless hours of practicing work their magic, or have their nerves swallow them whole. Three minutes in a room, a sheet separating you and two judges, and a student helper in the corner trying not to wince at your mistakes. It was the same hell every year: all just to play in an orchestra with other random kids from around the region.
For a dedicated, over-the-top musician, it was also the day your worth was determined. Are you exceptional, or just mediocre? Would university orchestras want you? Every answer came down to the three minutes of sweaty hands, rushed audition excerpts, and shitty room acoustics.
You seemed to be a master of the process. Every time without fail, you walked out of that audition room with a convincing poker face. To the kids in line for their audition, you were easily the principal cellist. A born prodigy. Auditions were nothing to you because you were born a winner.
Keonho thought otherwise. He knew you— your weaknesses, strengths, and just how to piss you off. And who was he to not use that to his advantage every time he caught you thirty minutes before an audition? You were the only burden between him and that principal seat; he had to break you down somehow.
You walked into the warm-up room (or, a high school cafeteria) with a sigh, hard cello case heavy on your back. The place was too familiar; your auditions were held there almost every year. You knew the path to and from the cello audition room, the cold tile floor of the room (which was not your friend), and the same orchestra directors that volunteered every year. It was hard to forget them when they greeted you like a saint.
Picking your favorite corner of the cafeteria, you scoped the place for any familiar musicians. There was the violist girl that was the principal every year. Her prominent shoulder-rest mark on her neck showed how much she practiced. Then you saw one of your favorite cellists to play with, a girl named Maya that you got coffee with before your one morning rehearsal last year.
You checked your phone. Fourty minutes until your audition. You finally began unpacking your cello, sifting through your case for the rosin you preferred to use for auditions. The cafeteria seat was stiff and probably seconds away from breaking. You set yourself up to play and found your tuner, playing a few long bow strokes on your A-string.
“Yikes. So sharp.”
Sighing, you turned at the familiar voice. “Good thing I have a tuner in my hand.”
Keonho shot you an infuriating smile. He tilted his head. “Don’t you have perfect pitch? Could just tune on your own.”
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” You scoffed, resting your bow upwards on your knee.
“My audition is in an hour. I’ve got time.” He shoved his hands in his pockets casually. He was far too relaxed for your liking, but you rarely saw him tense anyway. Only during extremely fast passages in rehearsals, or when you learned the reseating results. Every year, you watched his face drop when your name tag was placed on the principal chair. Every. Single. Year.
You adjusted yourself, turning away from him. Mostly because you couldn’t stand to make eye contact. How could you, when he looked so sure of himself? When he looked more determined than ever to take your place? “Tryhard.” You mumbled.
“Sure, you could say that. Or you could say i’m trying very hard to take you down.” He shrugged, pausing to find a crack in your expression. When there was none, he gave you a fake smile. “Well, good luck.”
You looked back up to watch him walk away, briefly making eye contact when he turned back to look at you one more time. The unreadable look in his eyes made your stomach stir. Keonho knew exactly how to make orchestra seem like a survival show, and you felt like you were getting eliminated very soon.
The rest of your warm-up time went by far too quickly and before you knew it, you were standing outside of your audition room. You leaned your head against the smooth brick wall, attempting to run through the perfect audition in your head. Auditions should be easy enough; you’ve been doing them since seventh grade and you were never rejected from an orchestra. Why did this one feel like your first?
The door to the audition room opened. It was your turn. The room monitor reminded you of the same words you heard every year: no talking, take your time, good luck. Right; except luck felt useless when you had the universe and an egotistical sixteen-year-old boy working against you. A thousand thoughts ran through your head as you sat down in front of the curtain that separated you from the judges. The seat was still warm from the cellist before you. Were you about ace this audition like usual, or let Keonho get in your head?
A judge’s voice brought you back down to reality. Okay, it was time to lock the fuck in and stop worrying about some guy. You knew your worth, and it was certainly more than a silly boy like Keonho (were you being too harsh, or was it valid, considering that his life’s mission was to make you miserable?). You slowly calmed your breathing, listening to the judges give directions.
Three minutes of doom had passed and you left the room feeling light. The room monitor congratulated you with a whisper, face way too awestruck by your playing. Knowing you, talk of your talent probably reached the orchestra students at this school. It felt surreal and a little unsettling, practically being a mini-celebrity. You were either feared or admired every time you showed up to auditions or performance assessments.
You walked down some hallways back to the cafeteria, cello and bow in one hand and music in the other. You exchanged some ‘hello’s’ and ‘good luck’s.’ That audition had you feeling more chipper than you expected. They made you play easy scales and you played your excerpts with near-perfection. Maybe Keonho never really got in your head.
Well— maybe not your head, but definitely your space; because why was his annoying face suddenly in yours when you entered the cafeteria? He trapped you in the doorway with a smug look on his face. Maybe he was praying on the downfall of your audition while you were in the room.
“Excuse me.” You muttered, shuffling your feet to find your way past him. You were mostly irritated by the fact that Keonho had the audacity to fool around when you had thousands of dollars worth of wood in your hand.
“No thanks.” He smiled, wider than you’d seen him smile when your past conductors complimented him. “How was your audition?”
“Perfect, actually, thanks for asking.” You said dryly.
“Oh? Must’ve gotten lucky.” He jabbed. Your jaw clenched at that, because what the hell was he implying? That you needed sheer luck to get through an audition?
You clicked your tongue before speaking. “I don’t need luck. Shouldn’t you be warming up? You have an audition in like… fifteen minutes.”
Keonho brushed his hair back in that infuriating way he always did when he was trying to prove himself. You could never tell if it was on purpose, or if he really did care about his hair that much. “I’m already warm. What scales did they give you?”
Your brows furrowed. He had a shit ton of nerve today. “Why the hell would I tell you that? So you can cheat your way into my principal seat?”
He scoffed. “I don’t need to cheat, sweetheart. I heard you warming up on your excerpts, and they sounded like shit. I think i’ll do just fine getting that seat.”
Your heart fell. He had to be trolling, but it was so hard to tell when it was just that or if he was being truthful. Your sweaty hand clenched around the neck of your cello. “Fuck you, Ahn. Seriously. I’ll see you at rehearsal when you’re sitting last.” You pushed past him, shoving his shoulder in the process.
Keonho turned to watch you stomp away, smirking in satisfaction when he caught the bothered look on your face. He felt like a bit of an asshole for insulting your playing, especially when his words were far from true. You sounded perfect, and that’s what made him panic. But when were you ever not perfect? He had to do something to change that if he wanted principal cello. That was all that mattered at the moment, your feelings be damned.
It was safe to say that his audition went nearly perfectly; and Keonho wasn’t just being egotistical. Maybe a little, but he knew he was talented. Everyone knew him as one of the best cellists in the region— but never the best. That was always your title. You were the girl with the natural talent, and he was almost as good as you. Perhaps that was why he despised you so much. You outshone him constantly, and he craved the recognition you received. This year would change. This year was his year, and you wouldn’t be getting in the way of that. Not if he succeeded in knocking you down.
NOVEMBER
Your nails were chewed down after going through every day this week with an embarrassing amount of anxiety. It was around the same time that results came out every year, you just had no idea when exactly they would come out. Your orchestra director told you repeatedly that there was no chance you wouldn’t make it. You knew this. Making it wasn’t the issue; it was keeping your principal seat and your dignity.
Thirty minutes away, Keonho locked himself in a practice room at his own school. There was still an hour until school actually started. This was his daily practice routine; before school, during class, then three more hours at home. His friends called him a maniac, but he knew the work was necessary. He had a sneaking suspicion that the region orchestra results were coming out today. Based on the grind he’d been on, he was pretty confident his name would be first on that list of cellos.
From the corner of his eye, Keonho saw his orchestra director move outside of the practice room door. She had a singular sheet of paper and a stapler in her hand. Fuck, he was right. He set his cello down and practically bolted out of the practice room.
His director, Mrs. Kang, turned at the sound of urgent footsteps behind her. She said nothing and simply gave him a smile. His heart skipped; that smile wasn’t for nothing. It was knowing. Proud. “Can I, uhm.. see it?” He felt like a pain in the ass for being so impatient, but Keonho felt like he would literally burst if he didn’t see the results now.
“Sure.” Mrs. Kang passed him the paper. It was impossible to read her expression now. Why was she being so cryptic?
His hands shook like he’d downed two cups of coffee (in all honesty, he had). Such an insignificant piece of paper held the weight of everything; his self-worth, his purpose, his future. After taking a deep, long breath, he looked down at it. Scanned through the violin, viola, and wind/percussion results to avoid getting to doomsday on paper. Then he found string bass and moved his eyes up just a touch. In bold, he read cello. Right below, he read Ahn Keonho.
He brought the paper closer to his face. Was he just seeing things? He rubbed his eyes; maybe the morning sleepiness still blurred his vision. There was his name, still staring back at him as the first cello on the list. If he was principal, then…?
His eyes shifted down. There was your name, directly below his. Holy shit, he actually did it. His audition was better than yours. Keonho looked back and forth between the paper and Mrs. Kang’s eyes in disbelief. So that’s what that suspicious look was.
“Congratulations, Keonho.” She gave him a smile that made him feel more worthy than he felt in a while. “I had a feeling you would be principal this year. You just needed that extra push.”
The small smile that blessed his face, fell. “Extra push as in her?” His body tensed at the thought of you. He wondered if you were seeing the same results at the same exact time as him, seething at his name being above yours for the first time.
Mrs. Kang frowned. “No, that’s not at all what I meant. These opportunities don’t exist for you to make enemies. You should be thankful that you get to make beautiful music with such dedicated musicians. Even her.” The look in her eyes wasn’t mad or stern, but more pitiful than anything. She could see right through him. Although he’d never opened up to her about the truth behind why he loathed you, she absolutely knew.
When Keonho stayed silent, she continued. “Just… try to make it a positive experience, okay? Loosen up, make some more music friends. Maybe even within your own section.”
He didn’t like her implications— not one bit. She was seriously suggesting that he become friends with you? The idea left a sour taste in his mouth. Keonho would rather use his cello as a tennis racket than be nice to you.
You’d gotten your cello out to warm up before class when you saw it, that sick feeling erupting in your stomach immediately. Your director clutched the region results in his hand before sticking it to the whiteboard with a magnet. Some of the people in your orchestra exchanged nervous glances because they themselves had auditioned. Others looked directly at you because they were afraid you’d explode if you didn’t get the result you wanted.
You stood and followed the people that migrated to the board. Two violinists high-fived each other and a bassist sighed in defeat as he walked away from the board. The people in front of you were smiling until they turned and saw you. The grim look on their faces nearly made you vomit.
Swallowing the lump in your throat and the mid-day snack threatening to leave your body, you reached the results. Your finger traced along the instruments, stopping at cello. Maybe you should’ve stayed curious and looked when you were alone.
Why the hell weren’t you first? And why—
Why was Ahn Keonho the first name you read? Your finger twitched as you read your own name under his. There was no fucking way this was real. You put so much effort into that audition, practicing it for hours at a time on top of a solo you had to perform soon, and concert music for your school’s orchestra. All for your seat to be taken from you like it was the easiest thing ever. It was probably because of a stupid squeak from your string, or Keonho using slightly more weight in his bow. Or just the universe working against you, per usual.
Oh, were you going to get your seat back after reseating auditions. You would get the most satisfying revenge that he would never forget about.
Too bad that vengeful mindset didn’t last you all day, because by the time lunch hit, you’d looked like you went through a devastating breakup. You were too sick to even eat lunch, so you found a quiet corner in the library. That was where your best friend Stella stomped towards you, clearly on a mission.
“What’s going on with you? People are saying you look emo. You skipped lunch when they had rainbow sprinkle cookies!” She hovered over your dead-looking figure in a beanbag chair.
“I couldn’t give a fuck about a sprinkle cookie right now.” You mumbled, turning on your side.
“That’s not normal at all.” She found a spot on the floor next to you and crossed her legs. “Cmon, tell me what’s wrong.”
A nudge from her made you flinch violently; that’s how mentally checked out you were. “Region results are out. I’m not principal cello.”
Stella tilted her head. “Huh? Then who—“ she paused, backing away at the death glare you gave her. “Oh.”
“I’m going to kill him.” Your jaw clenched hard enough to feel pain in your nerves.
“You can’t actually hate him that much. It’s just a chair. Plus, isn’t he like, really cute?” She grinned at the flash of something foreign in your eyes.
“First, it’s not just a chair. It’s my chair, and he’s been trying to take it from me since eighth grade. Him taking it means i’ve officially failed at life.”
A slow, devious smile spread across Stella’s face. “So you won’t deny that he’s cute?”
“He is NOT cute.” Your fist met the beanbag with a hard smack. That earned you a couple of shushes from around the library. In humiliation, you snuck deeper into the chair.
Curious as to how long you had until lunch ended, you pulled your phone out of your pocket. You sighed, frowning at the time. Ten minutes until the bell.
“You spent your lunchtime sulking in here, sorry.” Stella jabbed.
“Yeah, for good rea—“ your phone buzzed in your hand: a notification from Instagram.
shostakeonho started following you
Stella searched your face for any indication as to why it just went so pale. “Uh… you good?”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You unlocked your phone with a sense of urgency you felt ashamed to have. Opening Instagram, the first thing you saw was a message request.
shostakeonho | just now
hey, principal!
wait lmfao
that’s not you, is it?
Of course, Keonho went out of his way to troll you. Of course, his username had to be a Shostakovich reference. Smug piece of shit. You weren’t even going to question how he had your Instagram account. “Keonho just slid into my dms.” A painfully straight expression graced your face.
If Stella wasn’t already bouncing off the walls, she was now. “Holy shit! Since when does he have your insta? What did he say?”
You shushed her at the same time as the people surrounding her. “Shut up! He followed me two minutes ago.” She peered over your shoulder to read his messages, her eyes growing wider with every word that passed through her vision. “Oh, so he’s like that.” She hummed.
Your eyes narrowed. “Like what? An asshole?”
She turned to you with the cheesiest grin. You absolutely hated when she had that look, because you knew she was either plotting something, or knew something you didn’t. “No. He’s rage baiting you to get your attention.”
Every word that left her mouth made less sense. How could Keonho possibly want your attention? Every time he had your attention, you ended up in a heated argument. “I don’t see why he’d want my attention when my attention is throwing insults.”
Your best friend knew you were smart. But at this moment? You were the densest person she’d ever met. She sighed at your blindness. “Right, of course. Maybe someday, the two of you will get over the rivalry and just kiss already.”
That left you gaping like a fish. Even worse, Stella walked away before you could even defend yourself. This was not a cliché rivals-to-lovers story. No, this was pure loathing. You knew Keonho felt the same. Right?
DECEMBER
Keonho took several opportunities throughout the last month to drive you insane. He slid up on your story to congratulate you on a solo performance, only to say he was glad he didn’t hear it because “blood would’ve been seeping from his ears.” He sent you videos of him practicing the concert music flawlessly. He texted when the weather got colder and hoped your instrument (would)n’t fall apart. You officially declared that he was evil.
The first rehearsal for region rolled around far too fast. Only one evening to spend time exceptional students in the area until your next rehearsals in January. Only one evening for you and Keonho to hate each other more, if possible.
When you arrived at the school the rehearsal was hosted at, he was already unpacked and warming up. He played passages from the concert music at unnecessarily high speed, and you knew damn well he was waiting for you to walk in to do that. You rolled your case into the theater and unpacked next to the pile of instrument cases backstage.
Different timbres and instrument colors filled your ears like you’d just dove into a pool. Those sounds bounced off of the theater walls in the most satisfying way. The principal french hornist practiced the solo sections in Pavane and it could’ve made you cry; it was that beautiful. The hell of auditions and fighting Keonho was always worth it to you, because in the end, you got to contribute to an orchestra filled with only the best musicians in your region.
Your eyes landed on the chair next to Keonho. A piece of paper with your name, grade, and school sat on the music stand in front of the chair. This wasn’t your seat. You were meant to be first. Keonho would always be second to you. The wood of your bow digging into your palm reminded you that you were standing in the middle of the stage, gripping your bow and cello neck maniacally.
The stiff chair was the least annoying thing on that stage as long as Keonho was there. He ignored you as you sat and instead continued to rush through the cello solo in the Poet and Peasant Overture. You cleared your throat, knowing you were prone to wimpy voice cracks when you were around him. “You’re going too fast.”
He finally stopped, but didn’t turn his head to look at you. Rehearsal hadn’t even started and he was already starting to push your limits. Oh, was he going to be entertained. “Tempo is up to the soloist’s interpretation.”
“Too bad you’re not the soloist.” You shot back, keeping your eyes on the side of his face. The obnoxious lighting onstage accentuated his eyelashes in a way that made you angry. Did he curl his eyelashes just to piss you off, or was he just born perfect?
Keonho turned to you with a proud smirk. “Oh, am I not? Pretty sure the principal cellist gets the solos. And in case you didn’t know…” he leaned in impossibly close to you, close enough for you to smell the obvious peppermint breath spray. “I’m principal, and you’re not.”
You hated the way his breath tickled your ear and left goosebumps on your skin. And, of course, the stage lighting had to shine on said goosebumps in the most apparent way possible. There was no reason for him to be whispering. In fact, he should be yelling over the noise of at least sixty musicians warming up. “Don’t get too proud, Ahn. This seating is solely based on auditions. Best believe you’ll be back where you belong once we do reseating auditions.”
He snorted. You sounded ridiculous; you were the one who got lucky in every audition. Keonho was always better than you, he just didn’t do well under pressure. “I’m right where I’ve belonged every year— you just like to get in my way. Not this year, though. You’re over.” The threat in his tone left you confused and frankly, a bit unsettled.
Before you could respond, the conductor of the orchestra stepped up to the podium. You’ve briefly seen him at performance assessments, but you never exchanged words. He tapped his baton on the podium’s stand a few times to cease the people warming up. “Evening, everyone! I’m Dr. Wilson and i’ll be your 2026 Region Symphony Orchestra conductor. I’m happy to see your beautiful faces, some familiar.” He turned to you and Keonho in the front row, giving the boy an acknowledging smile. Great, so your conductor was a Keonho glazer. That’s one more person working against you.
Both you and Keonho zoned out during the rest of Dr. Wilson’s spiel. You were devising a plan to break Keonho’s ego and sabotage his reseating audition in January. He was basking in the satisfaction of beating you for the first time. He had a direct view of the empty auditorium and began visualizing the packed seats at the actual concert; his family and Mrs. Kang would watch him with the proudest look in their eyes. And you? You would probably eye him with your signature death glare while you had rests in the music.
Finally, your conductor shut up and started tuning and warming up the orchestra. Then he told you to take out the piece you probably dreaded the most. “Take a look at the Overture. And hmm..” he flipped through the score, “let’s start at the beginning and go through the first section of the cello solo.”
Your hand shot up immediately while Keonho gave you a look that said shut the fuck up. “Excuse me— would you like that to be played by one cellist, or…?”
Dr. Wilson tapped his baton to his chin. His foot tapped on the podium and the deep sound echoed around the stage. “I’ve heard Mr. Ahn play, but I’ve also heard some wonderful things about your talent. Why not have both of you play it until we do reseating?”
The smile that spread across your face was probably the most unfamiliar thing to Keonho. You rarely smiled that wide when you were around him. He wished he was smiling that hard right now. How could he be, when his spotlight was taken by you, once again? “Dr. Wilson, I’ve actually been practicing the solo pretty diligently.” He spoke with a tone so sweet, your ears wanted to bleed.
The conductor gave him an admiring smile, like he was proud of him for doing the bare minimum of practicing. “I’m sure you have! I’d just like to give our co-principal a chance to play it for us too.” Keonho huffed at that, his shoulders slumping. The whispers behind you sounded like the people you’d been in this orchestra with for years; in other words, they were used to your passive rivalry.
A few seconds later, you were off. The overture started with a warm chorale with brass. Anticipation made the opening of the piece feel a thousand years long and the sweat on your hands nearly made your fingers slip off your strings. Finally, after a sweeping entrance in the string section, the only people left playing were you, Keonho, and the harpist.
You found that playing the solo was much better when you shut your eyes. You felt the music, instead of playing it like a routine. That’s what set you apart from Keonho. He was so robotic, so obsessed with being perfect. You were in love with your instrument and treated it like so.
But, you still needed your moment to shine. Keonho was dimming the light with his obnoxious volume. Experimentally, you shifted your foot closer to his and pressed into the side of his shoe to distract him. And hell yeah, did it work.
He flinched in the middle of a sustain note that was unfortunately high. The movement created an unflattering crack in the note, earning questioning glances from Dr. Wilson and cellists behind you. It took him a few notes before he regained his footing. While he struggled, you played out with exaggerated dynamics. “Damn snake,” he whispered under his breath.
The rest of the three hour long rehearsal went exactly the same. You did something to tease and distract him, while he struggled to keep his composure. It was usually the exact opposite dynamic; Keonho would do anything in his power to piss you off and sabotage you. Until now, you didn’t realize how fun it was to be in his position.
Dr. Wilson checked his watch after cutting you off during a section in Polovtsian Dances. “Well folks, looks like I have to dismiss you.” He sighed. “It was wonderful working with you all tonight. I haven’t heard such a dedicated group in a long time. See you in January, don’t forget to practice until then!”
It wasn’t until he stepped down from the podium that Keonho turned to you. “Are you fucking serious?” He spat, no context needed. You scoffed as you gathered your belongings. “Someone isn’t a fan of payback.”
“No, you don’t get to give me payback. This is different. I’ve never been principal in this orchestra; why can’t you give me one damn chance?” He pointed an aggresive finger at you.
You stood to hover him, hoping it would give you some semblance of power over him. “Why can’t I? Why can’t you earn your place from the passion in your heart, instead of envy? What’s the point if this is all to get back at me, and not to satisfy yourself?”
Keonho stood to your level. “You think you know me so damn well. I can tell you this: four rehearsals and occasional crossovers with me every year aren’t enough to know me. You don’t know how you make me feel every time I see you.” He cursed at his poor choice of wording. Shit, that was far too vulnerable, far too revealing.
You glitched; was that supposed to have some sort of double-meaning? Because in no way did that just sound like envy. “I don’t want to know you, Keonho. And quite frankly, I wish I didn’t.”
He didn’t even get a chance at a rebuttal, because you’d already walked away from him. You left him on the nearly-empty stage, drowning in his resurfacing feelings and something unfamiliar; was it guilt?
SYNOPSIS keonho hated one thing more than playing out of tune, and that was the sound of your voice. much to his dismay, he found that fraternizing with the enemy wasn’t so bad.
INFO angst but barely, fluff eventually, tension, high school au, rivals to lovers, cellist!keonho x cellist!fem!reader, wc 5k
NOTE very self-indulgent and based on my own musical experience… i highly suggest listening to the pieces below! i apologize if i didn’t explain the music terms enough :c
teaser part two
the concert program 𝄞 ˚*･ॱ ˙
poet and peasant overture - suppé
pavane pour une infante défunte (for orchestra) - ravel
prince igor: polovtsian dances - borodin
OCTOBER
Audition season was a musician’s doomsday. They would either let the endless hours of practicing work their magic, or have their nerves swallow them whole. Three minutes in a room, a sheet separating you and two judges, and a student helper in the corner trying not to wince at your mistakes. It was the same hell every year: all just to play in an orchestra with other random kids from around the region.
For a dedicated, over-the-top musician, it was also the day your worth was determined. Are you exceptional, or just mediocre? Would university orchestras want you? Every answer came down to the three minutes of sweaty hands, rushed audition excerpts, and shitty room acoustics.
You seemed to be a master of the process. Every time without fail, you walked out of that audition room with a convincing poker face. To the kids in line for their audition, you were easily the principal cellist. A born prodigy. Auditions were nothing to you because you were born a winner.
Keonho thought otherwise. He knew you— your weaknesses, strengths, and just how to piss you off. And who was he to not use that to his advantage every time he caught you thirty minutes before an audition? You were the only burden between him and that principal seat; he had to break you down somehow.
You walked into the warm-up room (or, a high school cafeteria) with a sigh, hard cello case heavy on your back. The place was too familiar; your auditions were held there almost every year. You knew the path to and from the cello audition room, the cold tile floor of the room (which was not your friend), and the same orchestra directors that volunteered every year. It was hard to forget them when they greeted you like a saint.
Picking your favorite corner of the cafeteria, you scoped the place for any familiar musicians. There was the violist girl that was the principal every year. Her prominent shoulder-rest mark on her neck showed how much she practiced. Then you saw one of your favorite cellists to play with, a girl named Maya that you got coffee with before your one morning rehearsal last year.
You checked your phone. Fourty minutes until your audition. You finally began unpacking your cello, sifting through your case for the rosin you preferred to use for auditions. The cafeteria seat was stiff and probably seconds away from breaking. You set yourself up to play and found your tuner, playing a few long bow strokes on your A-string.
“Yikes. So sharp.”
Sighing, you turned at the familiar voice. “Good thing I have a tuner in my hand.”
Keonho shot you an infuriating smile. He tilted his head. “Don’t you have perfect pitch? Could just tune on your own.”
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” You scoffed, resting your bow upwards on your knee.
“My audition is in an hour. I’ve got time.” He shoved his hands in his pockets casually. He was far too relaxed for your liking, but you rarely saw him tense anyway. Only during extremely fast passages in rehearsals, or when you learned the reseating results. Every year, you watched his face drop when your name tag was placed on the principal chair. Every. Single. Year.
You adjusted yourself, turning away from him. Mostly because you couldn’t stand to make eye contact. How could you, when he looked so sure of himself? When he looked more determined than ever to take your place? “Tryhard.” You mumbled.
“Sure, you could say that. Or you could say i’m trying very hard to take you down.” He shrugged, pausing to find a crack in your expression. When there was none, he gave you a fake smile. “Well, good luck.”
You looked back up to watch him walk away, briefly making eye contact when he turned back to look at you one more time. The unreadable look in his eyes made your stomach stir. Keonho knew exactly how to make orchestra seem like a survival show, and you felt like you were getting eliminated very soon.
The rest of your warm-up time went by far too quickly and before you knew it, you were standing outside of your audition room. You leaned your head against the smooth brick wall, attempting to run through the perfect audition in your head. Auditions should be easy enough; you’ve been doing them since seventh grade and you were never rejected from an orchestra. Why did this one feel like your first?
The door to the audition room opened. It was your turn. The room monitor reminded you of the same words you heard every year: no talking, take your time, good luck. Right; except luck felt useless when you had the universe and an egotistical sixteen-year-old boy working against you. A thousand thoughts ran through your head as you sat down in front of the curtain that separated you from the judges. The seat was still warm from the cellist before you. Were you about ace this audition like usual, or let Keonho get in your head?
A judge’s voice brought you back down to reality. Okay, it was time to lock the fuck in and stop worrying about some guy. You knew your worth, and it was certainly more than a silly boy like Keonho (were you being too harsh, or was it valid, considering that his life’s mission was to make you miserable?). You slowly calmed your breathing, listening to the judges give directions.
Three minutes of doom had passed and you left the room feeling light. The room monitor congratulated you with a whisper, face way too awestruck by your playing. Knowing you, talk of your talent probably reached the orchestra students at this school. It felt surreal and a little unsettling, practically being a mini-celebrity. You were either feared or admired every time you showed up to auditions or performance assessments.
You walked down some hallways back to the cafeteria, cello and bow in one hand and music in the other. You exchanged some ‘hello’s’ and ‘good luck’s.’ That audition had you feeling more chipper than you expected. They made you play easy scales and you played your excerpts with near-perfection. Maybe Keonho never really got in your head.
Well— maybe not your head, but definitely your space; because why was his annoying face suddenly in yours when you entered the cafeteria? He trapped you in the doorway with a smug look on his face. Maybe he was praying on the downfall of your audition while you were in the room.
“Excuse me.” You muttered, shuffling your feet to find your way past him. You were mostly irritated by the fact that Keonho had the audacity to fool around when you had thousands of dollars worth of wood in your hand.
“No thanks.” He smiled, wider than you’d seen him smile when your past conductors complimented him. “How was your audition?”
“Perfect, actually, thanks for asking.” You said dryly.
“Oh? Must’ve gotten lucky.” He jabbed. Your jaw clenched at that, because what the hell was he implying? That you needed sheer luck to get through an audition?
You clicked your tongue before speaking. “I don’t need luck. Shouldn’t you be warming up? You have an audition in like… fifteen minutes.”
Keonho brushed his hair back in that infuriating way he always did when he was trying to prove himself. You could never tell if it was on purpose, or if he really did care about his hair that much. “I’m already warm. What scales did they give you?”
Your brows furrowed. He had a shit ton of nerve today. “Why the hell would I tell you that? So you can cheat your way into my principal seat?”
He scoffed. “I don’t need to cheat, sweetheart. I heard you warming up on your excerpts, and they sounded like shit. I think i’ll do just fine getting that seat.”
Your heart fell. He had to be trolling, but it was so hard to tell when it was just that or if he was being truthful. Your sweaty hand clenched around the neck of your cello. “Fuck you, Ahn. Seriously. I’ll see you at rehearsal when you’re sitting last.” You pushed past him, shoving his shoulder in the process.
Keonho turned to watch you stomp away, smirking in satisfaction when he caught the bothered look on your face. He felt like a bit of an asshole for insulting your playing, especially when his words were far from true. You sounded perfect, and that’s what made him panic. But when were you ever not perfect? He had to do something to change that if he wanted principal cello. That was all that mattered at the moment, your feelings be damned.
It was safe to say that his audition went nearly perfectly; and Keonho wasn’t just being egotistical. Maybe a little, but he knew he was talented. Everyone knew him as one of the best cellists in the region— but never the best. That was always your title. You were the girl with the natural talent, and he was almost as good as you. Perhaps that was why he despised you so much. You outshone him constantly, and he craved the recognition you received. This year would change. This year was his year, and you wouldn’t be getting in the way of that. Not if he succeeded in knocking you down.
NOVEMBER
Your nails were chewed down after going through every day this week with an embarrassing amount of anxiety. It was around the same time that results came out every year, you just had no idea when exactly they would come out. Your orchestra director told you repeatedly that there was no chance you wouldn’t make it. You knew this. Making it wasn’t the issue; it was keeping your principal seat and your dignity.
Thirty minutes away, Keonho locked himself in a practice room at his own school. There was still an hour until school actually started. This was his daily practice routine; before school, during class, then three more hours at home. His friends called him a maniac, but he knew the work was necessary. He had a sneaking suspicion that the region orchestra results were coming out today. Based on the grind he’d been on, he was pretty confident his name would be first on that list of cellos.
From the corner of his eye, Keonho saw his orchestra director move outside of the practice room door. She had a singular sheet of paper and a stapler in her hand. Fuck, he was right. He set his cello down and practically bolted out of the practice room.
His director, Mrs. Kang, turned at the sound of urgent footsteps behind her. She said nothing and simply gave him a smile. His heart skipped; that smile wasn’t for nothing. It was knowing. Proud. “Can I, uhm.. see it?” He felt like a pain in the ass for being so impatient, but Keonho felt like he would literally burst if he didn’t see the results now.
“Sure.” Mrs. Kang passed him the paper. It was impossible to read her expression now. Why was she being so cryptic?
His hands shook like he’d downed two cups of coffee (in all honesty, he had). Such an insignificant piece of paper held the weight of everything; his self-worth, his purpose, his future. After taking a deep, long breath, he looked down at it. Scanned through the violin, viola, and wind/percussion results to avoid getting to doomsday on paper. Then he found string bass and moved his eyes up just a touch. In bold, he read cello. Right below, he read Ahn Keonho.
He brought the paper closer to his face. Was he just seeing things? He rubbed his eyes; maybe the morning sleepiness still blurred his vision. There was his name, still staring back at him as the first cello on the list. If he was principal, then…?
His eyes shifted down. There was your name, directly below his. Holy shit, he actually did it. His audition was better than yours. Keonho looked back and forth between the paper and Mrs. Kang’s eyes in disbelief. So that’s what that suspicious look was.
“Congratulations, Keonho.” She gave him a smile that made him feel more worthy than he felt in a while. “I had a feeling you would be principal this year. You just needed that extra push.”
The small smile that blessed his face, fell. “Extra push as in her?” His body tensed at the thought of you. He wondered if you were seeing the same results at the same exact time as him, seething at his name being above yours for the first time.
Mrs. Kang frowned. “No, that’s not at all what I meant. These opportunities don’t exist for you to make enemies. You should be thankful that you get to make beautiful music with such dedicated musicians. Even her.” The look in her eyes wasn’t mad or stern, but more pitiful than anything. She could see right through him. Although he’d never opened up to her about the truth behind why he loathed you, she absolutely knew.
When Keonho stayed silent, she continued. “Just… try to make it a positive experience, okay? Loosen up, make some more music friends. Maybe even within your own section.”
He didn’t like her implications— not one bit. She was seriously suggesting that he become friends with you? The idea left a sour taste in his mouth. Keonho would rather use his cello as a tennis racket than be nice to you.
You’d gotten your cello out to warm up before class when you saw it, that sick feeling erupting in your stomach immediately. Your director clutched the region results in his hand before sticking it to the whiteboard with a magnet. Some of the people in your orchestra exchanged nervous glances because they themselves had auditioned. Others looked directly at you because they were afraid you’d explode if you didn’t get the result you wanted.
You stood and followed the people that migrated to the board. Two violinists high-fived each other and a bassist sighed in defeat as he walked away from the board. The people in front of you were smiling until they turned and saw you. The grim look on their faces nearly made you vomit.
Swallowing the lump in your throat and the mid-day snack threatening to leave your body, you reached the results. Your finger traced along the instruments, stopping at cello. Maybe you should’ve stayed curious and looked when you were alone.
Why the hell weren’t you first? And why—
Why was Ahn Keonho the first name you read? Your finger twitched as you read your own name under his. There was no fucking way this was real. You put so much effort into that audition, practicing it for hours at a time on top of a solo you had to perform soon, and concert music for your school’s orchestra. All for your seat to be taken from you like it was the easiest thing ever. It was probably because of a stupid squeak from your string, or Keonho using slightly more weight in his bow. Or just the universe working against you, per usual.
Oh, were you going to get your seat back after reseating auditions. You would get the most satisfying revenge that he would never forget about.
Too bad that vengeful mindset didn’t last you all day, because by the time lunch hit, you’d looked like you went through a devastating breakup. You were too sick to even eat lunch, so you found a quiet corner in the library. That was where your best friend Stella stomped towards you, clearly on a mission.
“What’s going on with you? People are saying you look emo. You skipped lunch when they had rainbow sprinkle cookies!” She hovered over your dead-looking figure in a beanbag chair.
“I couldn’t give a fuck about a sprinkle cookie right now.” You mumbled, turning on your side.
“That’s not normal at all.” She found a spot on the floor next to you and crossed her legs. “Cmon, tell me what’s wrong.”
A nudge from her made you flinch violently; that’s how mentally checked out you were. “Region results are out. I’m not principal cello.”
Stella tilted her head. “Huh? Then who—“ she paused, backing away at the death glare you gave her. “Oh.”
“I’m going to kill him.” Your jaw clenched hard enough to feel pain in your nerves.
“You can’t actually hate him that much. It’s just a chair. Plus, isn’t he like, really cute?” She grinned at the flash of something foreign in your eyes.
“First, it’s not just a chair. It’s my chair, and he’s been trying to take it from me since eighth grade. Him taking it means i’ve officially failed at life.”
A slow, devious smile spread across Stella’s face. “So you won’t deny that he’s cute?”
“He is NOT cute.” Your fist met the beanbag with a hard smack. That earned you a couple of shushes from around the library. In humiliation, you snuck deeper into the chair.
Curious as to how long you had until lunch ended, you pulled your phone out of your pocket. You sighed, frowning at the time. Ten minutes until the bell.
“You spent your lunchtime sulking in here, sorry.” Stella jabbed.
“Yeah, for good rea—“ your phone buzzed in your hand: a notification from Instagram.
shostakeonho started following you
Stella searched your face for any indication as to why it just went so pale. “Uh… you good?”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You unlocked your phone with a sense of urgency you felt ashamed to have. Opening Instagram, the first thing you saw was a message request.
shostakeonho | just now
hey, principal!
wait lmfao
that’s not you, is it?
Of course, Keonho went out of his way to troll you. Of course, his username had to be a Shostakovich reference. Smug piece of shit. You weren’t even going to question how he had your Instagram account. “Keonho just slid into my dms.” A painfully straight expression graced your face.
If Stella wasn’t already bouncing off the walls, she was now. “Holy shit! Since when does he have your insta? What did he say?”
You shushed her at the same time as the people surrounding her. “Shut up! He followed me two minutes ago.” She peered over your shoulder to read his messages, her eyes growing wider with every word that passed through her vision. “Oh, so he’s like that.” She hummed.
Your eyes narrowed. “Like what? An asshole?”
She turned to you with the cheesiest grin. You absolutely hated when she had that look, because you knew she was either plotting something, or knew something you didn’t. “No. He’s rage baiting you to get your attention.”
Every word that left her mouth made less sense. How could Keonho possibly want your attention? Every time he had your attention, you ended up in a heated argument. “I don’t see why he’d want my attention when my attention is throwing insults.”
Your best friend knew you were smart. But at this moment? You were the densest person she’d ever met. She sighed at your blindness. “Right, of course. Maybe someday, the two of you will get over the rivalry and just kiss already.”
That left you gaping like a fish. Even worse, Stella walked away before you could even defend yourself. This was not a cliché rivals-to-lovers story. No, this was pure loathing. You knew Keonho felt the same. Right?
DECEMBER
Keonho took several opportunities throughout the last month to drive you insane. He slid up on your story to congratulate you on a solo performance, only to say he was glad he didn’t hear it because “blood would’ve been seeping from his ears.” He sent you videos of him practicing the concert music flawlessly. He texted when the weather got colder and hoped your instrument (would)n’t fall apart. You officially declared that he was evil.
The first rehearsal for region rolled around far too fast. Only one evening to spend time exceptional students in the area until your next rehearsals in January. Only one evening for you and Keonho to hate each other more, if possible.
When you arrived at the school the rehearsal was hosted at, he was already unpacked and warming up. He played passages from the concert music at unnecessarily high speed, and you knew damn well he was waiting for you to walk in to do that. You rolled your case into the theater and unpacked next to the pile of instrument cases backstage.
Different timbres and instrument colors filled your ears like you’d just dove into a pool. Those sounds bounced off of the theater walls in the most satisfying way. The principal french hornist practiced the solo sections in Pavane and it could’ve made you cry; it was that beautiful. The hell of auditions and fighting Keonho was always worth it to you, because in the end, you got to contribute to an orchestra filled with only the best musicians in your region.
Your eyes landed on the chair next to Keonho. A piece of paper with your name, grade, and school sat on the music stand in front of the chair. This wasn’t your seat. You were meant to be first. Keonho would always be second to you. The wood of your bow digging into your palm reminded you that you were standing in the middle of the stage, gripping your bow and cello neck maniacally.
The stiff chair was the least annoying thing on that stage as long as Keonho was there. He ignored you as you sat and instead continued to rush through the cello solo in the Poet and Peasant Overture. You cleared your throat, knowing you were prone to wimpy voice cracks when you were around him. “You’re going too fast.”
He finally stopped, but didn’t turn his head to look at you. Rehearsal hadn’t even started and he was already starting to push your limits. Oh, was he going to be entertained. “Tempo is up to the soloist’s interpretation.”
“Too bad you’re not the soloist.” You shot back, keeping your eyes on the side of his face. The obnoxious lighting onstage accentuated his eyelashes in a way that made you angry. Did he curl his eyelashes just to piss you off, or was he just born perfect?
Keonho turned to you with a proud smirk. “Oh, am I not? Pretty sure the principal cellist gets the solos. And in case you didn’t know…” he leaned in impossibly close to you, close enough for you to smell the obvious peppermint breath spray. “I’m principal, and you’re not.”
You hated the way his breath tickled your ear and left goosebumps on your skin. And, of course, the stage lighting had to shine on said goosebumps in the most apparent way possible. There was no reason for him to be whispering. In fact, he should be yelling over the noise of at least sixty musicians warming up. “Don’t get too proud, Ahn. This seating is solely based on auditions. Best believe you’ll be back where you belong once we do reseating auditions.”
He snorted. You sounded ridiculous; you were the one who got lucky in every audition. Keonho was always better than you, he just didn’t do well under pressure. “I’m right where I’ve belonged every year— you just like to get in my way. Not this year, though. You’re over.” The threat in his tone left you confused and frankly, a bit unsettled.
Before you could respond, the conductor of the orchestra stepped up to the podium. You’ve briefly seen him at performance assessments, but you never exchanged words. He tapped his baton on the podium’s stand a few times to cease the people warming up. “Evening, everyone! I’m Dr. Wilson and i’ll be your 2026 Region Symphony Orchestra conductor. I’m happy to see your beautiful faces, some familiar.” He turned to you and Keonho in the front row, giving the boy an acknowledging smile. Great, so your conductor was a Keonho glazer. That’s one more person working against you.
Both you and Keonho zoned out during the rest of Dr. Wilson’s spiel. You were devising a plan to break Keonho’s ego and sabotage his reseating audition in January. He was basking in the satisfaction of beating you for the first time. He had a direct view of the empty auditorium and began visualizing the packed seats at the actual concert; his family and Mrs. Kang would watch him with the proudest look in their eyes. And you? You would probably eye him with your signature death glare while you had rests in the music.
Finally, your conductor shut up and started tuning and warming up the orchestra. Then he told you to take out the piece you probably dreaded the most. “Take a look at the Overture. And hmm..” he flipped through the score, “let’s start at the beginning and go through the first section of the cello solo.”
Your hand shot up immediately while Keonho gave you a look that said shut the fuck up. “Excuse me— would you like that to be played by one cellist, or…?”
Dr. Wilson tapped his baton to his chin. His foot tapped on the podium and the deep sound echoed around the stage. “I’ve heard Mr. Ahn play, but I’ve also heard some wonderful things about your talent. Why not have both of you play it until we do reseating?”
The smile that spread across your face was probably the most unfamiliar thing to Keonho. You rarely smiled that wide when you were around him. He wished he was smiling that hard right now. How could he be, when his spotlight was taken by you, once again? “Dr. Wilson, I’ve actually been practicing the solo pretty diligently.” He spoke with a tone so sweet, your ears wanted to bleed.
The conductor gave him an admiring smile, like he was proud of him for doing the bare minimum of practicing. “I’m sure you have! I’d just like to give our co-principal a chance to play it for us too.” Keonho huffed at that, his shoulders slumping. The whispers behind you sounded like the people you’d been in this orchestra with for years; in other words, they were used to your passive rivalry.
A few seconds later, you were off. The overture started with a warm chorale with brass. Anticipation made the opening of the piece feel a thousand years long and the sweat on your hands nearly made your fingers slip off your strings. Finally, after a sweeping entrance in the string section, the only people left playing were you, Keonho, and the harpist.
You found that playing the solo was much better when you shut your eyes. You felt the music, instead of playing it like a routine. That’s what set you apart from Keonho. He was so robotic, so obsessed with being perfect. You were in love with your instrument and treated it like so.
But, you still needed your moment to shine. Keonho was dimming the light with his obnoxious volume. Experimentally, you shifted your foot closer to his and pressed into the side of his shoe to distract him. And hell yeah, did it work.
He flinched in the middle of a sustain note that was unfortunately high. The movement created an unflattering crack in the note, earning questioning glances from Dr. Wilson and cellists behind you. It took him a few notes before he regained his footing. While he struggled, you played out with exaggerated dynamics. “Damn snake,” he whispered under his breath.
The rest of the three hour long rehearsal went exactly the same. You did something to tease and distract him, while he struggled to keep his composure. It was usually the exact opposite dynamic; Keonho would do anything in his power to piss you off and sabotage you. Until now, you didn’t realize how fun it was to be in his position.
Dr. Wilson checked his watch after cutting you off during a section in Polovtsian Dances. “Well folks, looks like I have to dismiss you.” He sighed. “It was wonderful working with you all tonight. I haven’t heard such a dedicated group in a long time. See you in January, don’t forget to practice until then!”
It wasn’t until he stepped down from the podium that Keonho turned to you. “Are you fucking serious?” He spat, no context needed. You scoffed as you gathered your belongings. “Someone isn’t a fan of payback.”
“No, you don’t get to give me payback. This is different. I’ve never been principal in this orchestra; why can’t you give me one damn chance?” He pointed an aggresive finger at you.
You stood to hover him, hoping it would give you some semblance of power over him. “Why can’t I? Why can’t you earn your place from the passion in your heart, instead of envy? What’s the point if this is all to get back at me, and not to satisfy yourself?”
Keonho stood to your level. “You think you know me so damn well. I can tell you this: four rehearsals and occasional crossovers with me every year aren’t enough to know me. You don’t know how you make me feel every time I see you.” He cursed at his poor choice of wording. Shit, that was far too vulnerable, far too revealing.
You glitched; was that supposed to have some sort of double-meaning? Because in no way did that just sound like envy. “I don’t want to know you, Keonho. And quite frankly, I wish I didn’t.”
He didn’t even get a chance at a rebuttal, because you’d already walked away from him. You left him on the nearly-empty stage, drowning in his resurfacing feelings and something unfamiliar; was it guilt?
Summary: Visibility always comes at a cost. When a carefully managed actress agrees to a fake relationship to shift a narrative that isn't hers to control, she comes to realize the most dangerous thing isn't the public watching, but how real it starts to feel.
Martin x reader - 10.5k wc (🐒)
Content: fem!moviestar!reader, idol!martin, hollywood AU (basically), fake dating, right person wrong time, happy ending tho (ur lucky this time), swearing, katseye featured, martin yearnssss my gawd does he yearn, implied height gap, martin falls fast and hard, reader is a seasoned actress but that's not too important, and oops! did I tease a new work in there somewhere…?
A/N: surprise! I hope the pink isn't too vibrant (if i change the header in the next few days—no I didn't!) this fic was supposed to go out *checks calendar* TWO WEEKS AGO??? I think I was getting perfection paralysis on this sigh but it's out now! ANYWAY I hope you enjoy it!! thank you @faseanz for being my emotional support diva and beta reader🤗
“Maybe we should let them think we're together?”
“What?”
He’s stopped you in the middle of the hallway of the hotel that both of you happen to be staying at. The halls are quiet since everyone has already decided to call it a night—you're trying to do the same since the day's schedule was exhausting. You're halfway to your hotel room door, keycard ready in hand when Martin Edwards stops you. His eyes don't meet yours and he fidgets with a keycard of his own.
“I’m just thinking” he pauses, regaining his composure “Like it obviously doesn't have to be real, lets just make it visible…there's just so much attention on you right now.” he continues
“I mean Martin, it will die down naturally” It's true. You know how to deal with controversy. You don't particularly like to get tangled up with the mess of the celebrity world. Keeping to yourself and not engaging in drama keeps scandals out and proves to work. You'd rather be known as “The people's unproblematic princess” even while it is a bit purest, it's safe.
Despite that, you can see the guilt in his eyes, his body language is more closed off than what you've usually seen from him. It’s not his fault, things like this happen—you try to tell him that.
“Martin, it's fine—I promise, I’ve dealt with stuff like this before, I can handle this. Don't feel bad you can't control how the public responds to these things”
“But we can try to shift the narrative so it could get better, for you. If they think you’re someone I’m actually with, they’ll stop treating you like collateral damage.” he reasons
Technically it's true, but you'd have to keep up that ruse for a while. It's skeptical to the public if you suddenly act like you're dating after a “scandal”. It’ll get labeled as PR or damage control, which is almost worse.
“We could fool them I guess, we’d have to keep up that act for a while though.” you think out loud
“I’m in L.A. until the end of the month, would that be long enough?”
“Yeah three weeks will suffice” even one might be fine but it would be weird if you stopped being seen together while he was still in the city.
“So like how do we start it should I—”
“Wait a second, I still have to think about this. I'm not really a fan of this whole PR relationship-esque sort of idea. I’ll get back to you tomorrow though.” you admit
“Okay yeah just let me know, I’m really sorry about it all.”
“You’re good” you reassure “Please go to sleep, don't dwell on this”
He seems like the type to get lost in his thoughts, maybe some thoughtful words will reassure him. You give him a smile before you leave.
You’ve only briefly encountered Martin a couple of times. The dating rumours that came from being in the same spaces were bound to happen and were relatively easy for you to dismiss. The reactions did blow out of proportion when he was photographed with a different girl though, you were now labeled as his ‘side piece’
Visibility always came at a cost. It was always easier to navigate these things in private since managing the press and keeping on top of public relations is an exhausting forefront of an acting career. That aspect is especially important now for your feature in a Christopher Nolan film—premiering in the next couple of weeks.
“You guys know Martin from Cortis, right?”
All eyes on you.
You didn't really consider mentioning it to anyone, you were pretty set on rejecting his offer after thinking about it all night. The topic seems to be worth bringing up in front of your friends who have closer ties to the music industry—you wonder what their thoughts could be.
“Woah shit. Guys don't stare at me like that, go back on your phones or something” you attempt to dismiss the topic, it proves futile. They all simultaneously say something in response.
“Dude come on” Lara says as she drags out the last word
“You can't just mention our label mate and expect us not to care” Megan exclaims
“What happened?” Yoonchae questions
“Okay fine” you start “But, it's not that interesting. He basically just asked if I wanted to fake date him—feels bad about the coup against me or whatever.”
“Oh my god are you kidding me” Yoonchae adds
“Thats like super interesting, have you never wondered what it's like to date a popstar?” Megan say, intrigued
“Well you guys are basically my girlfriends, I don't have to wonder.” you joke “Plus I don’t really see the benefit in a fake relationship.”
“Come on, you haven't even considered anyone since the whole ‘Cartergate’ situation” Lara states
“Ugh fuck that guy, you really didn’t deserve his shit. I can’t believe he used you for followers like that” Megan chimes in
I mean you were over it, you never really gave it much thought after it happened. Unfortunately it's common for girls in the industry to attract clout-chasing leeches. You try not to remember it, it's just a canon event of sorts. But, maybe it affected you more than you thought, it's true—you haven't dated in a while.
“This would be really good for you, you can dip into the aspect of dating someone with no strings attacked" Megan encourages
“Strings will definitely be attached. Two hot people can't be in close proximity like that without falling in love.”
“Lara, you read too many romance books. That only happens in fiction” Yoonchae adds
“You’ll see, I warned you” Lara says dramatically directing her words at you
“Guys I dont even know if im considering it yet”
“I mean.. it would be a nice thing to do. It can get sort of lonely in a foreign city, plus that was his sister in the picture. I can't believe people framed it like they were dating, netizens are so strange.” Yoonchae explains
Oh. You’d hate to be put in a position like that, where you aren't even allowed to explain the situation so it doesn't snowball.
“Well, let us know if you change your mind, our team can get you his contact info. You should loosen up a bit” Lara adds
“Don’t get your hopes up. I can see your smiles!” you laugh
The offer looms over your head, you try to dismiss it. This situation is not your responsibility but, you can't help but feel bad. You make sure to get the contact info from the girls before you leave, just in case.
He doesn’t answer your call the first time—probably busy. You’ve seen Cortis in the recording studio while scrolling through your feed, he seems to enjoy making music. You know very little about him but that is clear. You leave a voicemail, so he doesn't think his number got leaked or something.
‘Hey Martin, how are you? You can probably recognize me from my voice—anyway, can you call me back when you get this? I’d like to discuss some things.’
You talked to your team briefly earlier today and contrary to what you thought, they reasoned that it wouldn't be a bad idea. They assured you that the two of you don't need to do anything romantic, just being seen together multiple times in public would be enough— just as you suspected.
In a short term, this should be okay, ‘loosen you up a bit’ as a wise Yoonchae says. Being a part of the very public secret life of an idol builds character, probably. You do want to propose a condition though—Lara did have a point. You make a note to talk to him about it whenever he answers.
In the assumption that he agrees to further this plot, you realise that you don’t really know anything about him or Cortis—besides the news of Grammy nominations and stadium performances. You plan to watch some of their performances to get some familiarity. That's interrupted when you get a text.
‘Hey its Martin, I can facetime now’
Facetime? It's late at night and you've already gotten ready for bed. Casual loungewear is on as well as a sheet mask. It's different from your usual polished image, but you're sure he won't mind.
The phone rings twice before he answers. He seems to be in a studio, you can see other people in the background.
“I’ll fix the mixing in a second, can you check the bpm?”
“Sorry?” you're unsure if he's talking to you.
“Oh shit sorry i didnt realize i answered”
“It's fine” you try to make out what's going in the background “What are you working on?”
He seems to be shuffling around. You hear the sound of a door opening and closing.
“We're just cleaning up the album. It's almost done, just a couple more songs”
“That’s cool, I've always wanted to be in a studio like that” you admit
“I mean I could probably take you sometime—if you know, we're talking about what I think we're talking about”
“Right, I talked with my team and they said the concept you're proposing is fine but they’d like to manage it closely—I’m imagining yours also said something similar”
“Yeah, exactly that” he says gazing off to the side “I think they’ll be in contact soon.”
“Sounds good, I guess we’ll discuss that more later. I also have a condition.”
“Okay, what is it?” his eyes dart across the screen
“It's not bad I promise!” you reassure “Just no catching feelings”
In theory it sounds simple enough, if you're too busy focusing on the other aspects of your career there should be no issue. It's never going to be real anyway, It's all just acting.
“Yeah yeah that’s cool—im too busy for…that anyway” he says, diverting his gaze away
His last sentence sounded pretty sad. Dating is probably near impossible for an idol. Hopefully he’ll get the chance to be in an actual relationship with someone, he seems to be a nice guy.
“Okay perfect, well I don't want to keep you away from your work” you giggle nervously
“It's no problem, I'll talk to you then. Goodnight—you seem to go to bed early” seems like the face mask and pajamas were noticeable.
“Early? It's eleven thirty! You're actually insane. Go to bed”
“Never” he chuckles “Goodnight to you though”
“Goodnight Martin” you hang up the call
You watch a couple of their performances before you sleep. Ones from recently and from their debut and it's hard to tell the difference. Obviously they look older and their group harmony has improved but they already came on the stage with the same level of professionalism as the seniors. Pretty remarkable.
You’re woken up early by your team of stylists, there's an interview and quick photoshoot ELLE today.
You're handed your usual coffee order as you take a seat at the makeshift beauty station they have set up for you. You recognize the majority of the brands on the table, primarily from endorsements and what your friends recommend. To the side there's a rack of clothing all varying in different styles and designers—the pastel theme is evident.
Your makeup artist begins to prep your face with moisturizer as your hairstylist begins to pin your hair back into a bun. Seems like they are going with a casual girl-next-door vibe.
“We spoke with his team and you're meeting Martin Edwards after this shoot, at Urth caffe—the one downtown” your manager says nonchalantly
“You mean the busiest location?” it'll be insanely hectic around noon
“Well you sort of have to be spotted, the press loves to hang around there" your hairstylist chimes in
It's true, many celebrities and influencers like to go there for food. If you were a member of the paparazzi you'd be camping out there, it's a hotspot.
You sigh, “Fine, so what do we do? Do we just pretend to talk or what?”
“Well you can sit there for photos for an hour and be awkward.” she teases “It's a real date! Just very organized and public, act as you normally would” your manager explains
“I see, thank you for your very detailed explanation” sarcasm she laughs at you
“Hey it's not funny, I just want to have everything planned out” you add while laughing at yourself as well
“You don’t need a plan, just go with the flow. Do you think he’s cute?” your makeup artist asks
“Is that a rhetorical question, of course she does.” adds on your hairstylist
The room is silent, everyone's looking at you for an answer.
“Hey!” you exclaim “There are so many questions coming from you guys today” you're trying to hold back a smile
“Yes or no?”
“Do you know who the interviewer for the shoot is today?” you divert
The whole room exclaims—
“Oh she’s PR trained” you hairstylist laughs
“Learned from the best” your manager responds
The interview was pleasant. You've already worked with the photographer and interviewer on separate occasions. The team at ELLE also gifted you with a basket full of beauty projects and some flowers—you’ll have to pose with them later for an instagram post.
The conversations consisted mainly about your acting career and your upcoming projects. You're sitting on a plush white chair while the interviewer jots down your answers. She did manage to sneak in a targeted question though—
“Has anyone caught your eye recently, you’ve been spotted with a hotshot recently”
You immediately think it's about you and Martin, it makes the most sense since you were only photographed together recently. You debate on whether to answer cluelessly or to leave a bit up to the imagination.
“I mean, when you're in the same circles, you're bound to find yourselves together” you say vaguel—the dating narrative has to start at some point
“Would you care to elaborate on that?” She's leaning in now, excited.
“Maybe later” simply put
It's the best you can offer—and it works. You can see various employees on the set smiling behind the scenes, maybe they'll get a new celebrity couple on their cover. They will find out very soon actually. You're getting sort of anxious just thinking about the ploy as time slows down.
You're sitting in the back of a blacked out car heading towards the cafe, it's almost time.
The driver heads towards the back of the cafe. The idea is that you'll be spotted at a table together near the windows and then, you can leave together through the front entrance.
You're wearing sunglasses and a hat—he’ll probably do the same. It's not supposed to be so obvious, or people will assume it's a set up and the plan fails.
You remember the instructions—act natural. The closer you get to the table the more anxious you get. What are you supposed to be talking about on a date? The weather? Your names?
You approach the table and he's already there, browsing through the menu. His hair is covered with a beanie and he is wearing a pair of sunglasses—as you expected. Still, you can tell it's him. Other cafe goers are trying to hide their quick glances but, it's obvious—especially when they whisper amongst each other.
“So, this is it.” you say greeting him with a warm smile
“Yup” he smiles “I almost didn't expect you to show up, didn't you have a photoshoot earlier today?”
“Oh so now you know my schedule? Really playing the part” you tease
“Arent you supposed to do your research before playing a part? Maybe I'd be a better actor than you”
“Touché, I can’t even be mad at that.” you laugh “Have you considered acting before? I mean you're pretty good in your music videos.”
“No way you’ve been watching those” a flicker of surprise casts over his face
“Is it shocking? We both have to play a part—plus I meant it, you're good.”
“Actually?” he covers his mouth with his hand “That’s crazy ‘cause you’ve actually been my favourite actress since your debut”
“You’re lying”
“No, I'm being so serious. Hidden Alleyways was my shit during my predebut era”
That was your first tv show—your first lead role. You almost forgot about it, it was filmed ages ago. It was sort of niche though, you’re surprised he watched it.
“Oh my god, I was awful in that!” you exclaim
“Well the lines were a bit corny but you did the best with what you were given. It’s like my comfort show i love it”
You're in awe, you didn't expect the two of you to have a relation like that. Your face still reflects shock.
“Oh also, I'm excited for your next project. Interstellar is my favourite movie so I'm looking forward to what Christopher Nolan is putting out next.”
“You’re such a fanboy” you clasp your hands
“I’m a proud fanboy” he corrects “I would have mentioned you in interviews and stuff but people can shift narratives very quickly. As we have recently learned” he clenches his jaw momentarily
“Yeah” you giggle “This isn't too bad though, far from the worst case scenario.”
“Very true”
“I was thinking…”
You might as well ask, it'll help cement your “relationship” status.
He’s anticipating your question but he doesn't interrupt you, waiting patiently. Before you can continue, the waiter arrives
“Hello, what can I get the two of you today?” He’s trying to hide his expression but he recognizes the two of you.
Martin looks at you, signaling that you can order first
“I’ll just get a latte please”
“And can i get an iced matcha latte please” he adds
You smile, trying to suppress a laugh, failing miserably.
“Don’t call me performative—I already know you will” he says through laughter “Matcha is really good” he says convincingly.
“Hey, you said it, not me!”
The waiter leaves promptly after taking your orders. Later on, you catch him pointing in your direction while talking to a coworker, word is spreading.
“Martin, I meant to ask this before we place our orders, well I'll have to see if it's even possible. But, if I can arrange it, would you be interested in being my plus one at the movie premiere?”
“Yes!” he exclaims loudly, stares immediately follow in your direction
“Oh shit, sorry” he puts his fist up to his mouth, his face flushing.
He’s so excitable, it's cute you think. In a lot of ways you find him similar to how he is on camera—bright and kind. You feel like he’s holding back, but you shouldn't expect anything. You aren't dating for real after all.
“No it's fine, really. I'll talk to the organizers and see what they have to say” you start “I actually think you did us a favour, all eyes on us”
“Yeah oops” he laughs nervously
“So, when do you think you can get me in the studio?”
“You were serious about that?” his eyebrows raise
“Of course!” you act like you're offending “What? Do you think I'm only capable of acting—I could make you a killer producer tag”
He lightens up—as if it was possible to get any brighter than he was. “I’d actually love that, are you sure?”
“Does tomorrow evening work for you?” you offer as a response
“Uhm I'm pretty sure it will—we have some guests coming around noon so maybe six would work?”
“Sounds good, we could probably order food and drinks or something.’
The drinks arrive and the conversation continues. You find yourself leaning into the conversation instinctively, laughing at his jokes, asking insightful questions. You're more curious about him now—as a friend, no strings.
To exit, you were instructed to go through the front. The car you entered with is supposed to be stationed in front of the building, a supposedly easy trajectory.
As you prepare to walk out, you take a hold of his hand. He freezes for a moment; you make sure to give him a reassuring glance. You whisper some words to him, trying to make it look like you're saying something romantic. You notice the tips of his ears reddening.
It's way more hectic outside than you thought it would be. You know from work that a lot of paparazzi tend to hang out in their cars along the boulevard, so that whenever they get a tip they can easily move along. But holy, how the hell did they manage to coagulate in this area so quickly. You can hear the loud shutters of the camera immediately, you’ll have to move quickly.
It's definitely a scene straight out of the hollywood reporter—this moment will probably be on the hollywood reporter, ironically. The two of you scatter while trying to cover your faces from the cameras. Swiftly dodging nosy reporters and photographers invading your personal space.
Just as quick as it started, it ended. He lets you enter the car first, then he closes the door after he enters. It's not completely silent but it is quieter, you can see photographers trying to press their cameras up the window—doesn’t it get to a point?
“Ugh I fucking hate the press” you’re exasperated “Next time can we please just take some pictures or something”
“Yeah me too, I second that” he rubs the back of his neck
“Hey, but at least we did it!” the two of you smile as you initiate a high five, a small celebration.
You haven’t checked your phone all evening—its in your bag, probably. You dropped it right at the door the second you entered your hotel room. The cafe was fun, yes—but overly chaotic.
You decide to wind down by reading, this time it's ‘Emma’ by Jane Austen. While charming, her main character's avoidance is familiar. You think the concept of being a meddling matchmaker would be sort of fun, in theory.
You begin to hear buzzing that is getting progressively more frequent. You ignore it until you hear a ringtone. Peeved, you get up to check what's going on.
“Hello?”
“Hello, are you seeing this right now?” its Megan, definitely
“No, I’m reading—I’ll check later.” you say, almost uninterested
“No you should genuinely see this right now, it’s crazy” she reiterates
“Megan, I’m being lazy right now”
“Bro, just check your socials—that’s literally the laziest thing you could do”
“Fine, I’ll call you back later, bye”
The notifications are pretty insane. It's even gotten to the point where your personal contacts are asking you about it. You can barely open your apps since you are immediately flooded with comments and tags. That date really seemed to have served its purpose.
Everyone seems to want to know the status quo between the two of you. You debate making a statement but you decide it isn't worth the hassle, your team probably already has a plan. You’re wondering what Martin’s thoughts on the situation are, you’ll have to ask him about it tomorrow.
The front entrance of the building looks familiar. There's a sign that says ‘Westlake recording studios’ you’ve probably seen some of your musically-inclined friends post in front of it. It's a brown brick building, which blends in with the surrounding infrastructure. It's pretty isolated, ideal for artists to privately work on new music.
Someone from Martin’s team ushers you into the recording room he’s in. As you walk down the dimly lit halls you see records from famous artists you recognize: Michael Jackson, Rihanna, The Weeknd, Charli XCX. It's a star studded place for sure.
“We’re going into Production suite 1, just at this corner—I’m one of Cortis’ managers by the way”
Suite? Is he spending his entire life here?
“Oh okay—nice to meet you.I guess we're almost there" you try to respond, it comes out a bit shaky
“It's just the two of you today but it's strictly for PR. You are to take photos to post later on your social media. Don't overstep.”
Damn, straightforward.
His manager—did she even tell you her name? Gestures towards the door, encouraging you to head inside. I guess there is no reason for her to enter, still you're a bit shy to go in alone.
a/n: for visualisation of the studio https://www.westlakestudios.com/studios/production-suite-1
You enter the studio cautiously through its wooden door. Just like the rest of the building, the lighting was dim. It's a beautiful studio though, the older exterior of the building juxtaposes with the modern renovations of its interior.
You immediately notice the large mixing console that takes up half the room. There are so many buttons and features that you mentally put it aside because you’ll never understand half the controls.
Sitting at the console is Martin. He’s focused, wearing his headphones while he taps at his laptop and twists something on the console simultaneously. You pause for a moment, it really does seem to come naturally for him. You think you should alert him of your presence so he doesn't catch you staring.
“Hey Martin!” you tap him on the shoulder
He turns back suddenly, surprised.
“Oh woah, sorry I didn't notice you.” he puts his headphones around his neck
“No it's fine.” you reassure, smiling “What are you working on?”
He shrugs “Its nothing, just some demos”
“Can I listen to a few?” your curiosity peaking
“They’re not good yet” he laughs nervously
“You’re probably holding future platinum records on that MacBook” you joke, but you're also serious
“Nah, nah—thank you though” he blinks slowly
“Are you okay? You seem tired.”
“Yeah, I'm fine. I’ve been working here since last night, haven’t slept since.”
“Martin!” your voice raises slightly, you make sure to lower it “Have you at least eaten?”
He thinks for a second “I don't think—sometimes I forget”
You reach your hand out to his. He does seem stressed. You could tell by the way his speech was slower at the cafe and the bags forming under his eyes.
“Lets order some food them, I didnt eat dinner yet either”
The two of you decide to move to the floor while you eat since eating near the console is not ideal. You sit in silence for a moment while you organize yourselves.
“So, how's work been lately?” you start, breaking the ice
“Its…” he trails off
“Sometimes I feel the pressure to put out new work you know” he pardons himself “Sorry I don't mean to put that on you.” his lips press together
“No its fine” you say quickly “I get how the industry can be, it's nice to talk about it with others, you can talk to me about that sort of thing”
He looks at you hesitantly and exhales sharply, trying to gain some composure.
“I just feel like if I don't continue to pump out new charting songs consistently, I'll fall behind. I know we've been doing really well in our career but I feel like I get no rest as a tradeoff for the success—i can't even remember the last time I got more than five hours of sleep. The way so many deadlines are coming up: submit the concept of the music video, finish the tracks, send in choreo, photoshoots, promotional videos, fansigns—I don't know, it's just…too much. And the worst part is I have to act like I'm fine, I have to pretend that my back to back schedule isn't exhausting and that I'm so happy to be doing what I'm doing—which I am. I just feel like I'm getting sort of—”
“Burned out” that feeling is familiar
“Yeah…burned out” he mirrors
“I get that Martin” you're subconsciously reaching for his hand again don't overstep
“With the idol aspect of it all… that would be harder, your feelings are valid”
“Yeah, I wish I had more freedom. I guess that's where I envy you” he states
“Oh” You pause for a second, you don't know what to say. You never really considered how privileged your situation seems compared to him in that sense.
“I don't mean to make you feel—it's not your fault. I guess I've just always dreamed of like finding love and stuff and I can’t do that. It sucks” his tone is quieter now
“Shit, I'm sorry, I don't know what to say" you admit. You come up with something last minute—
“I mean the dating market is kind of shit here anyway—i’ve had exes that like…take advantage of me for the fame. No one seems to be here for love, only the glitz and the glam”
“Yeah that seems to be the case when you're an entertainer, I guess we just need to stay within that group. Also, I'm sorry that happened to you, people can just be so shitty I don't get it.”
“It's fine, I promise!” you insist, trying to lighten the mood. “Hey shouldn't we be taking some photos for the instagram stuff”
“Yeah we should” he says, already standing up
The two of you devise a plan—you’ll both post an ambiguous picture on your instagram stories, minutes apart. For his story, you’ll go stand behind the microphone in the recording booth attached to the studio you're in and pose with your face covered by the microphone.
“Okay so do I just stand here” you ask for clarification
“Yup, that's perfect—now pose”
You move around a bit, some serious poses, others silly. You have quite a bit of fun with it, the two of you laugh together.
For your story, you decide to take advantage of the corduroy couch in the studio. It will be mainly of you but there will be a sliver of his arm on the side of the photo, pretty standard.
“Hey Martin—do you have a hoodie I could borrow? I'm thinking it'll cement the ‘are they dating status more’.”
“Yeah sure ill go get one” he says as he walks to the corner of the room
“Oh right, I meant to ask, how do you feel about this entire situation? I mean large outlets are headlining our suspected dating and we’re a trending tag on twitter—does any of that sort of bother you or…”
“I don't mind” he says simply as he picks up a grey hoodie to hand over to you “Out of all the people I could have a dating “scandal” with, I guess you aren't too bad” he jokes
“That is one of the best compliments I've ever received” you say dramatically as you slid on the hoodie—it smells nice.
He goes to sit on the couch and gestures to you to sit down too. Once you adjust the hoodie, you go to sit down immediately greeted with an arm around your shoulder. You grab your phone from the pocket it was in.
You play around with a couple different poses, you try to contort your face in different ways that can represent an ‘oops, did you catch us?’ sort of vibe.
Scrolling through the photos you recently took, you and Martin decide which one looks the best, the two of you choose the same photo.
“I think it really captures the playful are they or are they not essence” you state, jokingly trying to sound sophisticated
“I agree, i think the general populous would adore it” he replicates your diction
You giggle at that, and so does he. Even when you look down towards your phone to post the story you can still feel his eyes on you. Is everything okay? The pressure is sort of getting to you—stumbling around with the buttons on your phone. When he looks away, you immediately relax. Is everything okay?
“It's posted!” you say, exhaling a sigh of relief
“Weren’t we supposed to get manager's approval before we posted the pictures?” Martin asks, half convinced half confused
“Wait, didn't you post yours right away?”
“Nope, I sent it to my manager first”
You immediately put your hand to your mouth, he does the same. The two of you stay like that for a few seconds then start laughing simultaneously.
“I mean its probably fine, plus its too late—im sure people are already reposting it because you have like a bazillion followers” he says while taking breaks to laugh between his words
“Oh my gosh” your mouth wide, in awe. “I can’t believe I forgot to do that.”
“It's fineee” he drags out, his hand lightly squeezing your shoulder—should his arm still be there?
“Hey” he gestures towards you “Didn’t you say you could make me a killer prod tag?”
Oh, he’s serious.
“Uhm…” you smile nervously “Did I say that? I'm not sure” acting confused
Next thing you know, he's convinced you to stand in the booth. You were just there to take some photos so it's familiar. There's a small window in front of the microphone where you can see Martin on the other side waving at you cheekily. You playfully roll your eyes at him as you take a seat in the director style chair behind you.
“What do I say?” you ask will you put the headphones over your ears
“Just anything related to…”
“What?” you didn't catch that last part—the soundproofing on the headphones was insane, you take them off temporarily.
“I said anything related to mars”
Oh right—wasnt that the name of the studio he had? You're sure you've seen that name somewhere. You gesture a thumbs to him and try to make up things related to mars. Your middle school science skills are being tested. What is Mars? Uhm hot?
You come up with a few different phrases, changing the wording up to give some variety. While the two of you go back and forth about intonation and speed you come up with five lines.
“Youve sucked me dry of ideas, someone save me, I'm being used for my talent!’ you say dramatically
He laughs “I think I might have to keep you there forever, I aspire”
You make a fake offended face, clutching your imaginary pearls in the process. You go towards the exit and go to sit at the control board that he finds himself at.
“How’s it going here?” you ask curious
“Good, I've got all the different samples logged in here” he gestures towards a catalogue on his computer “And then i’ll modify them with effects and beats later” he looks up towards you, smiling.
“Sounds cool” you take a seat in the chair beside him “You better send me fifty percent of the royalties if you use my voice in a song.”
“Well…we’ll see” he says while raising an eyebrow at you
“What does this do?” you point at a slider
“Thats the EQ, it basically just controls how the sound is.”
You continue to point at different aspects of the board, and he explains all of them flawlessly. You're retaining none of what he's saying but it's cool to watch someone talk about the things they are interested in. His voice is nice too, smooth and steady as he explains what the different buttons and sliders do.
“Yeah that's basically the entire mixing console, it's a lot of repetition but it's pretty easy once you get it” he explains
“Wow, that's super cool”
“Yeah? You sound unconvinced” he pries
“I am! It's just getting late, i’ll probably have to go to bed soon”
“You literally have the craziest sleep schedule I've ever heard of”
“Yeah says mister “I don't sleep when I’m in my flow state” you retaliate
He pauses. “No but, thank you for this. Like your time, makes me feel like I’m just a normal person my age for once”
He turns his chair to face you—you’re pretty close together now
“Oh yeah it's no problem really, I enjoyed this too” you get quieter and that last part, you can feel your heart beating faster at the proximity.
Don't overstep
It's getting quiet again, you try to focus your gaze at the booth window behind him. He leans in.
“Fuck” you muster under your breath, standing up. “Martin I'm sorry I just—
“No sorry that was my bad—i shouldn't have done that” regret immediately reflecting in his eyes
“It's fine I just like it, we barely know each other and I think it should stay casual.”
“Yeah, same” he's picking at his nail polish now, black specks falling to the ground
This next batch of silence is especially hard, you're trapped in your own thoughts but also wondering what he's thinking about.
“I think I'm going to head out now. I have that toddler bedtime schedule” you try to joke, ease the tension
You awkwardly exchange goodbyes as you make your way out of the building.
What. The. Hell.
The recent events of the night blur in your mind, did you do the right thing? I mean you didn't want to kiss him, right? You have to remind yourself that what you're doing is fake. It's fake and not real and you shouldn't want it to be real—you have a career to manage after all. Now is not the time to slip up. The thought of another heartbreak rocks in your mind, goodness you can't risk another violation of your trust.
The last couple of nights were ones of little rest. Unintentionally, the thoughts of the night of the studio kept recurring like a virus. You try to keep positive though, it'll all be fine. You have a photoshoot with Vogue today, your focus is important.
You decide to find your own way to HQ, you don't feel like being chaperoned by your entire team, you’ll see them shortly anyway.
You enter Vogue’s Headquarters—its familiar at this point. You plan on heading to the bathroom before you need to enter the meeting room to get the debriefing of your photoshoot. As you turn the corner, you run into someone.
“Oh sorry”
That’s a familiar voice, fuck.
“Hi” you start, stay on topic “It’s fine I was walking too fast”
“Yeah I've got a meeting to go to, I'll see you later though” Martin excuses himself, giving you a shy smile
You try to regain your composure.
“So..what was that?” another familiar voice, its comforting this time though.
You turn around “Oh hi Lara! I didn't expect to see you here. I’ve got to use the bathroom but it's nice to see you”
“No no don't change the subject—what happened between you two? I love you babes but that was the most awkward thing I've seen in a while”
“Its nothing—I swear” you say, trying to divert
She gives you the look.
You sigh “Okay fine it’s just that” you lean in closer and lower your voice “He tried to kiss me the other night”
“Oh my god!” she exclaims
“Shhh” you try to hush her, looking around to see if anyone noticed. If he noticed. You seem to be in the clear though, you can't see past the corner from your current angle. It should be fine, everyone's in meetings or at their desks this early in the morning
“Well hello? What happened next?”
“I scooted my chair back and left?” you say turn the other way, maybe you can escape if you start running now
“Are you okay in the head?” she sounds genuinely concerned “Why would you ever do that?”
“I don’t know, I just got kind of nervous and freaked out. I think I'm kind of scared of trusting someone like that—the intimacy of it all. My ex really fucked me up more than I thought he did.” you confess, defeated.
“Oh babe” she reaches out to you
“It just kind of sucks you know, i hate being in this position where im too scared to love” your vision becomes blurry
She hugs you tighter “I’m sorry, it'll take time but I'm sure you'll get there—you’re trying.
The tears begin to spill. You try to wipe them away quickly, remembering that you are going to be in front of an entire team of people. Hopefully your puffy eyes won't be too noticeable.
You enter the room, apologising for being late. The team coordinator—whom you recognize, assures you it's fine, they haven't started yet. Her voice is softer though—shit she can tell, everyone in the room can probably tell.
She gestures to you to sit in a middle chair at the conference table—nearbye a couple members of your team.
You sit down, adjusting the chair so it's closer to the table. Once you're settled you look across the table.
Literally why?
You make direct eye contact with him, he looks away swiftly.
“So, there's been a change of plans actually” the team coordinator clasps her hands, trying to make her tone more friendly “We’ve talked to both your teams and we've decided it would be best to have a joint photoshoot especially with all the buzz surrounding you two.”
Of course, you should have anticipated it. Your instagrams stories brought so much attention. If you really want to sell this, optimizing the press you have right now is the best idea. But now just feels like a bad time. The situation between the two of you is tricky.
“Any objections? Sorry we didn't alert you earlier, it was a quick decision but we want the two of you to be comfortable”
You appreciate the thought but, there really doesn't seem to be a choice. You give them the answer they're looking for—
"I'm fine with it”
“Me too” he responds curtly
“Perfect!” she exclaims as if this outcome wasn't what she expected to happen. “You will be getting styled right away and then we can start the shoot”
They did say it would be a quick meeting.
As everyone is scurrying to leave the room, you decide to stay back momentarily. It's not like it's a huge crazy announcement that you need time to process but it still feels relevant to take a second. You still don't know how you feel about Martin—should he just be an acquaintance or could there be something more.
“Are you okay?”
You zoned out—you thought you’d be the only one left in the room. Martin seemed to have stayed back too but he's standing up, ready to leave.
“Yeah, fine—just need a second"
He pauses for a moment. Seemingly debating what he wants to say. He looks at the door and then back at you, he decides on you.
“I should admit this to you” he starts, biting his lip
“Oh, uhm what is it?”
You're nervous, you don't really want to revisit the topic but, you wait. It could be about something else, interjecting now could make this more awkward.
“I overheard your conversation with Lara—near the bathrooms.” he fidgets with his hands
You freeze—you should’ve checked the corner
“I don't mean to push or anything and I shouldn't have violated your privacy by eavesdropping like that but” he looks to you to see if he's clear to continue speaking, you nod your head.
“I just wanted to make sure you're okay. I’m sorry that you’re going through that.”
“It's fine—it wasn't that serious, I was being awkward anyway” you reason “I guess I'm not too keen on you hearing me cry like that but I see where you're coming from and I appreciate your sentiments”
“It’s not your fault either. I should have judged the situation better. And for what it's worth, I don't mind if you cry, i’m not going to judge you” he adds
“Thanks, like genuinely” that was nice of him “Were probably going to get called over the intercom or whatever they have here if we don't get down to hair and makeup”
“Right. I forget we even had a photoshoot” he chuckles to himself, you smile in response.
The theme for the photoshoot seems to be domestic. The setting is a makeshift apartment set up. There's a living room with a couple windows, an old parisian style bathroom with a standing sink and a bed with a wired frame—the loungewear you're wearing now starts to make more sense.
The plan you were originally sent entailed a more avant-garde photoshoot but this is better, it's casual. The director gestures the two of you towards the different settings and gives you a quick debrief on what's going to happen: You’ll have a pillow fight on the bed, lounge in the living room, and take mirror shots in the bathroom.
Both of you are handed silk covered pillows and directions towards the bed. You look towards the director as if asking what you're supposed to be doing
“Just make it playful”
Vague instructions, but you manage. You take some action shots at different positions: the two of you on the bed, one person on the floor/one on the bed, laying down, jumping etc. The shots turned out pretty nice—you got to catch a glimpse when the crew was reviewing the photos.
They’re mostly action shots, but some are stationary. They look pretty real—as real as a planned photoshoot can look. The most eye-catching one is the one where you have a wide smile on your face as your pillow makes contact with Martin’s torso—he makes a shocked expression. It's a nice photo, you look happy and so does he.
The bathroom section was pretty straight forward. The photos are taken from the perspective of the mirror. It showcases your height gap and provides a unique perspective. You do a couple silly poses, some more candid ones. You're just about done when the director says—
“Okay now Martin, can you hug her from behind? Just wrap your hand around her waist.”
He looks at you taken aback “Are you okay with that?”
“Yeah it’s fine” you shrug it off
“You sure?”
“Yeah I mean it's nothing too crazy right, you good?” you ask him
“Yeah i’m fine, just making sure” he hesitantly wraps his arms around you
You can feel his hands around your waist as he moves in closer. You feel his shallow breaths running down your neck. Holy shit.
You look forward to trying to pose accordingly. You’re trying to relax but you can feel yourself fidgeting around, constantly shifting your head positioning and your arms. You've done things like this a million times before so why is it different now? This isn't real you repeat to yourself in your head, counting breaths trying to regulate yourself.
“Should we turn the fans on—he's getting pretty red.” the photographer (unsuccessfully) whispers to the casting director.
You turn around to see, she wasn't lying. You hope he isn't too uncomfortable, idols probably don't do pair photoshoots like this often. You attempt to loosen the tension.
“Martin!” you smile at him—he hides his face
“Do you find it hot in here?” You giggle at him, trying to phrase your joke like a serious question
“Uhm…yeah it is” he says, his eyes darting to the side
“It's fine then” you direct your attention at the team behind the cameras “I think the fans would be nice, it's getting pretty warm.”
You're glad no one notices how the proximity is affecting you. Thankfully, the fans proved to make some photos more dynamic, magazines are always looking for variety.
The director sits down with you to review the photos, after he finished discussing with Martin. They all look nice really, it's hard to pick a favourite. Still, you choose your top three and submit them to him.
“Hey, both of you picked the same photos—guess you guys are really in sync.” the director remarks
Oh, that's surprising. I mean they were nice photos but you didn't expect him to pick the same three that you picked out of the hundred of options. Great minds think alike.
“Yes, I guess we are!” you smile, it's good your fabrication of a relationship is even fooling people from major publications.
“Also Martins looking for you, he said something about leaving soon and front entrance.”
“Oh, okay” you say, making your way to the main entrance
“So…” he drags
“So…” you mimic
He laughs “I knew you would do that”
“Seems like we are developing some sort of telepathy. Did you know we chose the same top three pictures?” you start
“Really?” he uses his entire face to express his confusion “There were hundreds of photos there.”
“Thats what I was thinking! Anyway, as you were saying…”
“Oh yes, right. The album’s done!”
“Yay that's so great Martin, congratulations! You probably feel like a weight's been lifted off your shoulders” You mean it genuinely, he's been exhausting himself over this for months probably, he deserves to feel that relief.
“Yeah definitely, especially towards the end. I was really grinding trying to get that last song out—yeah so there's a listening party Friday night.”
“What about this listening party…”
“Bro come on” his reaction is funny, you think you should mess with him more “Well, I'm inviting you so you should definitely come”
“Wow, that means I will be booked and busy two Friday nights in a row.”
“You’re busy everyday?” his eyebrows furrow
“Of course I'll come Martin” you grab his hand playfully "You'll be repaying me anyway when you come to my premiere next friday!”
He smiles, relieved “That sounds good” he gets a text from his phone, he checks it “Well, I've got to go now but I'll see you then. Bye.”
You've been texting him more lately. They started off casually asking the occasional “you up’s” or “have you eaten today’s” but now they've sort of turned into a crazy concoction of memes, voice memos, and mini vlogs.
He without fail, has sent you a daily picture of his outfits—for feedback, for vibes, you're unsure. Still you can't help but smile at the silly poses he does in the mirror of the elevator or of the dance practice room.
What's been most enticing, is that he's been sending you little snippets of songs, presumably from the new album. He asks what your thoughts are even though he only sent three seconds worth of song. He’s trolling. You always pretend to respond enthusiastically though like you've heard the most majestical song ever created. You're sure the album will be good though, you've been looping their previous music for the past while now.
He tells you he misses you in a text message. You stare at the message for a moment then you draft up a response. The arrow to send the message stares back at you—should you send it, say what you want to say? The temptation of the backspace button hits and suddenly you're looking into your camera roll to send a meme. This isn't real.
The evening before the listening party, you get a text—from him of course. You can't help but notice the way you smile when you get a notification from him. You keep your phone around more often just to see if he's sent you a dumb reel or a chaotic voice note.
Do you want to play scrabble?
What???
Come to my hotel room, there's scrabble
You don't question it too much, I guess it's like a calm before the storm moment with the listening party happening the next day. You make sure to grab a half opened bag of chips you were gifted—can’t go to people's homes without a gift, you shrug.
“Hey why did you attach the word ‘evil’ to the ‘love’ i had” he says dramatically, clutching his chest as he rolls over on the ground.
“Easiest choice” you reason, reaching over him to grab the bag of chips
The two of you probably aren't playing properly but your freestyle method is definitely fun.
“What fruit or vegetable do you think I'd be?” he ask amongst your random conversation topics
“What is the conversation turning into?” you laugh “Uhm I think you'd be a potato—very versatile, universally liked”
“Oh, fair fair, I like that, thanks”
“My turn!” you say, you're curious to see what he he thinks about you
“You’d be a durian.” he doesn’t hesitate
“So you're saying I smell bad and you hate me” you say jokingly but also wondering why he would choose
“No no I mean it's just like you kind of have this restrictive exterior that keeps people out but on the inside you're really sweet—you should let people get closer to you, like romantically.”
“Oh, that makes more sense. You know your reasoning saved you there.”
He hit a nerve, you don't want to think about it— what was he getting at? He’s nice but you never thought this could be anything. For heaven's sake all you've been telling yourself is that this isn't real. But if it isn't real why do you feel so comfortable around him? Why do you feel like you could tell him anything, just why. You change the topic, stop thinking about fantasies.
“So how are you feeling about the listening party? Surely you have a long day ahead of you—you should rest.”
He looks disappointed—seemingly expecting more. You wish you could open up to him deeply but you can't, not now, not anytime in the foreseeable future.
“I mean this is my rest, doing mundane things with you. It's either that or work but I'd rather be doing this.”
He's trying to tell you something, you don't want to hear it—youre scared of what happens if you hear it. Run away, something tells you that you should run away.
“I meant that you should sleep” you say disguising your words as concern to escape. “Me too, it's getting late and I have some things to do on the day tomorrow—I mean thank you for this though, it was fun!”
“Hey, did I say something wrong?”
“No im just, tired you know” you grab your stuff to leave
“But you know—” he pauses abruptly, holding back, he glances to the side, avoiding your gaze “Nevermind yeah I think we both could use some rest” he concludes
“Sounds good, see you tomorrow night” you hate to put him in a position like that, where he has to bite his tongue but you appreciate that he didn't push.
3
The listening party is being held in the same building where the studio session was, except this time they have access to the full building. It's being hosted here since it’s one of the first studios Cortis worked at in L.A., its cutely symbolic you think
The lighting is still characteristically dim as expected for the entire building but it's decorated with all sorts of Cortis paraphernalia to promote their new album. Staff are handing out different trinkets and on theme beverages and food to get guests settled. You run into Yoonchae as you walk down the halls, you have yet to introduce yourself to anyone yet and the L.A. traffic has made you late—people are already flocking to the main studio.
“Have fun at the ‘afterparty’.” she winks at you as she walks by, presumably to refill the empty plate she's holding
“Yoonchae!” you’re always surprised with her audacity.
2
Thankfully, Martin saved you a seat near him, otherwise it would have been possible. Though this is the largest studio, it's completely filled up with different music executives and artists who probably worked on the tracks. You were looking at the credits on the back of the physical album you were handed and it was completely stacked. You're glad they made it big like that, especially after you got a taste of all the work they do.
The members go up to the front to quickly introduce the album and their motivations behind it—its more of a punk-pop album which they have dabbled in before but never pursued fully, the whole room is getting exciting.
As the clock counts down, the album begins to play. The songs have a different vibe but still respect the sound that Cortis has created for themselves. You even noticed your voice in one of the songs, you immediately glance at Martin, you didn't actually expect him to use it in a song. The two of you look at each other knowingly—it’s a nice touch.
For the final track Martin stands up to say some words about the track. The members have been taking turns announcing the tracks, talking about the ones that are truest to them. You're curious to see what he has to say
“So, this next track is dedicated to someone who has just recently come into my life, but has made a huge impact” he smiles while saying that
He tried to avoid looking in your direction but everyone already knows—all eyes on you. Everyone just laughs it off though, you get a couple of gasps but the moment remains lighthearted. What's concerning you the most is what did he write about you? You have gotten to know each other pretty well recently due to…unforeseen circumstances but there's no way.
The song is upbeat and psychedelic but there is not a single doubt in your mind—it's a love song. When you listen closely to the lyrics it seems to be more about a forbidden or unrequited love, and seems to be on theme to your situation. But, you feel his gaze on you, he looks away every once in a while but you can tell. You are more focused on the song though, it's really beautiful. There must be more context though—you'll have to ask about it more later, it can't solely be about you, you think.
They wrapped up the listening party, and it proved to be very successful. Everyone seems to be congratulating them on the tracks, it's hard to even talk to any of the members. You made sure to give them a quick “Congrats!” when you said them before they inevitably got stopped again. Hopefully they feel less worried about the actual album release on Monday.
You sort of linger around against the walls, you don't know anyone in the music industry and the people you recognized where already occupied but, you want to congratulate Martin in person. You could always call or text him yes, but he's been overworking himself for this album. The least you could do is recognize that in person.
You wander off into the production suite you were previously in, it's empty so it should be fine. You walk around the room reminiscing on certain parts: the booth where you joked around in, the couch where you took that silly instagram story, the mixing console where he almost…kissed you. The door opens, you turn around abruptly—
“Oh my goodness Martin, you scared the shit out of me” you take a step back to balance yourself
“I knew you’d be in here” he opens his arms out as if to say ‘told you so’
“Hey! Congratulations on the album release, I'm so proud of you” you go to hug him.
“Thanks so much! That means a lot, coming from you”
“Martin, what was that song about—the last track.”
Maybe you should have waited a little longer before you asked, let the moment sink in more. But it's all you can think about right now—besides the scent of his cologne.
He releases you from the hug slightly so your faces meet.
“Didnt I say?”
“I need to know for sure.”
He lets out a shaky breath.
“Its about you.”
1
You kiss him.
Your body moved on its own this time, as if instinctively. Your hands are cupping either side of his face, while standing on the balls of your feet. It feels like everything you’ve been holding back suddenly was released, it's freeing—you wish you could feel like that forever, completely weightless, as if nothing else mattered. Is this what they mean by being on cloud nine?
But just as quickly as it started, it ends—mutually. Afterwards, your eyes meet and you feel like you can see his truest emotions in his eyes, they look so honest and pure, as if he’s saying I mean this. You wonder what he can see in yours.
The contact is broken when you gaze off to the floor, but you still stay close—hands still cupping his face. The voice in your head comes back this isn't real, but you ignore it this time, this moment feels so deserved.
“Does anyone know where Martin went?” a voice interrupts from down the hall, capturing yours and his attention
“You should go..get to that” you hesitate while slowly rubbing your thumb across his cheek
He leans into your hand, shaking his head slightly side to side
“Just a second longer” he whispers, almost pleading
And so it is.
hey hey if you read to the end ily🤗 also cashapp me $50 its bhm
you’re getting skinned alive by twelve squirrels and turned into a soft corn tortilla if you don’t read this. im in LUVVVVVVV this was a top tier nighttime read
i love it so much i had to dedicate my entire carrd to it🙁 fun fact i started loving mint choco when i was a kid cus i took this mint medicine and realized mint ice cream tasted like the delicious medicine
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