Hongjoong’s Biggest Simp @luuucifer-writes - Tumblr Blog

luuucifer-writes

Nov 29, 2025

belongjoong

Worth the Risk k.hj part 1

「Pairing」 : idol!hongjoong x fem!staff!reader

「Word Count」 : 26.6k

「Genre」 : slow burn, angst, fluff, smut, reader is a choreographer at kq

「Summary」 : your new job at kq suddenly becomes dangerous as professional boundaries blur between you and the leader of the company's biggest boy group

「Warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! mutual pining(?), secret relationship, overworking, alcohol consumption, sleep deprivation, bailey (pre adp) is your work bestie, softie hongjoong, kissing, petnames, you almost get caught, titty sucking, hickies, oral (m & f), unprotected sex (you know the drill), creampie duh, multiple orgasms, joong is talkative, god level aftercare, bathing together, probably other things heres your warning

「Authors Note」 : guyyyysss this is my first ateez fic so i hope you enjoy! my requests are open always and i would love some constructive criticism. love you all <3

part 1 part 2 part 3

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Nights spent cooped up in the production studio happened more often than you would like to admit. Editing audio clips and merging sounds over and over again could easily drive someone crazy.

But there was something about it that made you keep going. The aim for quality and the need to be perfect could easily be your biggest downfall. A song you had been working on for the past 3 weeks was starting to become something actually worth listening to. What excited you even more was thinking about how you would choreograph the song. Each lyric. Each beat. Producing was only something you picked up as a hobby, but KQ originally hired you for your dancing and choreographing experience.

You didn’t expect anyone else to be in the building at 2 AM on a Thursday. The sound of a door opening down the hall made you pull off your headphones. You saved your project file quickly, a paranoid habit from too many crashed sessions, and stepped out of your studio.

The hallway was very dimly lit, the light from the exit sign was the only thing providing any sort of light. You could see a silhouette vanishing into another studio down the hall. You recognized the build. The height, the hair, the style. It looked like Hongjoong.

He was there seemingly for the same reason you were. Working late on some tracks that could have definitely waited until the morning. You had worked alongside Hongjoong in the studio setting maybe once or twice. Nothing too crazy. But you had spent hours upon hours with him and the rest of his group for choreographies for their previous songs.

You hesitated. The professional thing to do would be to go back to your studio, mind your business, and pretend you hadn’t seen him. You weren’t really supposed to make contact with the members outside of scheduled sessions. The company had been very clear about boundaries.

But curiosity won.

You walked down the hall and stopped outside his studio door, which he’d left slightly cracked. Through the gap, you could see him hunched over his desk, headphones on, his fingers flying across his MIDI controller. The glow of his monitors painted his face in shades of blue and white.

You knocked softly. He startled, spinning around in his chair so fast he nearly knocked something off the desk. When he saw you, his eyes widened in recognition.

“Oh hey, what’s up? What are you doing here so late?” He said, pulling off his headphones. His voice was rough, like he’d been singing or rapping along to his tracks. “I didn’t know anyone else was here.”

“I could say the same for you” you chuckled, still standing in the doorway. “Are you working on something for the comeback” you asked, pointing your eyes at his monitor.

His expression shifted. Part excitement, part exhaustion. “Ah yeah…. I’ve been trying to get this bridge right for days, but something’s not clicking.” He paused, then added almost shyly, “Do you… would you want to listen? I know you’re more on the choreography side, but since you produce too…”

“Yeah let me take a listen” you said, stepping fully into the studio. Hongjoong slipped his headphones off his ears and held them out for you to grab.

You took the headphones from him and put them over your ears as he opened the file to the track. This studio was small. At least smaller than the one you usually work in down the hall. There was barely enough room for his chair and the small couch pushed against the wall, its cushions worn from what you imagined were countless late nights just like this one.

You leaned forward against the desk and he started the song, hyper aware of how close you were to him. The song started, and immediately you understood why he was still here at 2 AM. It was good, like really good. It was dark and aggressive in the verses, his rap was precise and captivating. But when it hit the bridge, you heard what he meant. The energy dropped awkwardly and the transition felt off.

You listened to it all the way through and said, “Wait, go back, and just play the bridge.”

He nodded, isolating the section and looping it. You closed your eyes this time, letting your body respond instinctively to the music. Your fingers tapped against your thigh, finding the rhythm, and without thinking about it, you started moving, subtle shifts of weight, your shoulders catching the beat.

When you opened your eyes, Hongjoong was watching you with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing, I just…” He shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. “You were choreographing it in your head, weren’t you?”

“Maybe,” you admitted. “But that’s actually the problem. The bridge feels like it wants to be choreo-focused, but the melody doesn’t support enough movement. It’s like you’re pulling back right when you should be pushing forward.”

His eyebrows rose. “That’s… exactly what it feels like. I couldn’t figure out how to describe it.”

“Can I?” You gestured toward his keyboard.

“Yeah, of course.” He rolled his chair back slightly, giving you access.

You leaned over the desk again. This time you were close enough to faintly smell his cologne and the coffee sitting next to him. “What if instead of dropping the energy here, you built it? Like…this”

He leaned forward, focusing on what you were changing. “Wait, do that again.”

You made a few more adjustments with the MIDI controller while he stared intensely at the screen. After your tweaks, you pressed play for him to hear.

“That actually sounds really good, I like it” he compliments. “I would have been stuck here all night trying to figure out how to fix it” he added.

You hand him back his controller. “Ah no big deal really, like you said earlier, I was focused on the choreography” you chuckled awkwardly. “I'm gonna get back to my studio now” You said, inching towards the door.

“Right, yeah. Of course.” Hongjoong walked you to the door, maintaining a careful distance now. But when you reached the threshold, he added quietly, “Hey, if you ever want to… I mean, if you’re working late again and want another set of ears on something…”

He left the offer hanging in the air between you.

You should have said no. Should have reinforced the boundary, kept things strictly professional.

“Yeah,” you said instead. “Same goes for you.”

His smile was small but genuine. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Hongjoong.”

——-

It was about 3 weeks since your previous interaction with him. The lights in the practice room were bright, and a wall with mirrors from the ceiling to the floor reflected the Ateez members as they slowly filtered in behind you.

You were already at the front of the room, messing with the speaker, and queuing up the song for them. The song. The same song that you helped Hongjoong edit all those nights ago.

“Good morning” you greeted as they set their things at the edge of the room. A line of “good mornings” echoed back.

Hongjoong entered last, a baseball cap pulled low, carrying an iced americano. He nodded in your general direction, the same polite acknowledgment he’d give any staff member, before joining the others in their stretching circle.

“Alright, so today we’re working on the bridge section for the title track,” you announced, connecting your phone to the speakers. “I know you’ve heard the updated version. The energy builds differently now, so the movement needs to reflect that.”

You demonstrated the first eight counts, your body hitting each accent with precision. The members watched attentively, “The key here is the transition,” you explained, running it back slower. “You’re building momentum.”

“Can you show the arm movement again?” Seonghwa asked, stepping closer to watch your form. You broke it down, and he copied it carefully. The session fell into its usual rhythm. Demonstrate, correct, encourage, repeat. It was comfortable. Familiar. Professional.

After a few more slow, in depth run throughs, You called for everyone to take a quick break. You stayed near the front of the studio, making notes on your tablet about sections that needed refinement.

“How are we doing on time?” Yunho asked, appearing beside you.

You checked your watch. “Good. We’ll run it twice more full-out, then call it.”

Across the room, Hongjoong glanced up from his phone. Your eyes met for perhaps half a second in the mirror before you both looked away. Him back to his screen, you back to your notes.

Nothing unusual. Nothing significant.

The rest of the session was entirely professional. When it ended, the members thanked you as they always did, bowing politely before filing out. Hongjoong left in the middle of the group, laughing at something Jongho said, his bag slung over his shoulder.

He didn’t look back.

You stayed in the practice room for another 30 minutes after everyone left. Editing notes, checking the precision of certain moves in the mirror. Everything looked great.

——-

Many weeks had passed. They had already done a few music show promotions and your choreography landed the way you’d hoped. Fans loved the song of course, but you were proud of yourself for your contribution to their performances.

Now, later into the night, you were at a bar the company had rented out for the after-party. Staff members, choreographers, producers, and some of the idols who’d performed were scattered throughout the space. The music was loud but not overwhelming, the lighting dim. People were finally relaxed after weeks of stress, including yourself.

Across the room, you caught sight of the ATEEZ members. They pushed two tables together and were laughing loudly about something, Wooyoung gesturing wildly while San nearly fell off his chair laughing. Hongjoong was there too, smiling along with his members. He must have felt your gaze because he looked up. Your eyes met across the crowded bar. He raised his beer slightly in acknowledgment. You did the same.

Then you both looked away.

“Earth to hello?” Bailey, another choreographer, waved her hand in front of your face. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked if you’re finally going to take a vacation now that the showcase is over.”

“Oh. Maybe. I haven’t thought about it.”

“You should. You’ve been running yourself into the ground.”

“So has everyone else.”

“Yeah, but everyone else isn’t…” She stopped, her eyes narrowing. “Wait. Were you just looking at someone?”

“What? No.”

“You were. Who was it?” She turned, scanning the bar.

“Nobody. I was just spacing out.”

“Uh-huh.” But she was smiling, thankfully letting it drop.

“Come on, let’s get another round. We’re celebrating.”

An hour and a few drinks later, you started to feel tipsy. Definitely not drunk, but you were definitely more relaxed.

You’d made the rounds, talking to various staff members, discussing future projects. Now you were sitting at a high-top table near the back, alone for the moment, scrolling through your phone. Someone slid into the seat across from you.

You looked up. Hongjoong.

“Hey,” he said. His cheeks were slightly flushed. He’d been drinking too.

“Hey” you pause for a second “Your performance was incredible.”

“Thank you, but let’s not act like you didn’t help me produce the song. And you also choreographed the whole thing.”

“Well I wouldn’t say produced….” you combated.

“I’m serious though.” He leaned forward, his eyes intense in a way that made your breath catch. “That song was difficult to work with, you did a good job.”

You weren’t sure what to say. The alcohol had loosened something in him too, making him more direct than usual.

“That means a lot,” you said finally. “Especially coming from you.”

“Why especially from me?”

“Because you get it. The creative process, the pressure, the perfectionism.” You took a sip of your beer. “Not everyone understands that.”

He nodded slowly. “No. They don’t.”

A small smile appeared at the edge of his lips as he looked down to the palms of his hands. He stood up from the table, grabbing his drink. He subtly grazed his hand across your upper back as he walked behind your chair, into the direction of his friends.

“Hongjoong!” Wooyoung’s voice cut through the moment. You both looked over quickly as Wooyoung stumbled over, clearly drunk, San supporting him. “There you are! We’re doing karaoke, you have to come sing.”

“I don’t think-” Hongjoong started.

“No excuses! You too,” Wooyoung pointed at you. “You should sing. You’re always so serious, relax”

“I’m not really a singer,” you protested.

“Everyone can sing when they’re drunk enough,” San said eagerly. “Come on.”

They literally pulled you both toward the karaoke setup the bar had in the corner. You ended up squished between Jongho and Mingi on a booth seat, Hongjoong across the way with Seonghwa and Yunho. The separation felt both safer and disappointing.

Wooyoung and San performed an enthusiastic duet. They were crazy, but it was entertaining. Yunho did a surprisingly good trot song. Yeosang dragged you up for a girl group song, and you stumbled through it, laughing too hard to hit most of the notes.

Every time you glanced across the booth, Hongjoong was watching you. And every time he looked away, you found yourself watching him.

The night blurred. More drinks, more songs, more laughter. At some point Jongho did a ballad that made everyone go silent with how good it was. The table wasn’t very wide, so you and Joong may have accidentally brushed your fingers a few times. Or maybe it wasn’t accidently. Eventually someone spilled a drink and there was chaos cleaning it up.

Around 2 AM, people started calling it. You were exhausted, pleasantly drunk, and emotionally wrung out.

You found yourself outside the bar with a group waiting for taxis. The night air was cold, sobering.

Hongjoong was there too, talking with Yunho and Mingi. When your taxi arrived, you said general goodbyes to the group.

“Get home safe,” Hongjoong said, his voice carefully neutral.

“You too.”

You fell asleep that night replaying the moment your fingers had touched across the table, the way he’d looked at you. Nothing had really changed. But it felt like everything had.

——-

Recently, you had successfully avoided working late. It was either your awesome time management skills or that you were trying your hardest to avoid Hongjoong at the company building. The latter. But today you had a deadline to meet that had a few hours of work still needed to be put into it. A choreography video breakdown due to the production team by Wednesday morning, and you’d been procrastinating on the editing all week. There was no way around it, you needed to be at the company to access the full footage files and proper editing software since your dinosaur of a laptop would not be able to handle it.

It was already getting late, You arrived at the company building around 7PM. You headed up to the editing suite, thankful that it is in an entirely different area of the building than the production studios were.

The editing suite was empty, as you’d hoped. You settled in, pulled up the footage, and got to work. Outside, rain began pattering against the windows.

On the 4th floor, Hongjoong was in his studio, completely absorbed in a mix. He’d been good about staying away too. Hadn’t worked late, hadn’t lingered in the hallways, had been professional and distant during the one brief interaction you’d had in passing yesterday, which was nothing more than a polite nod.

But tonight he needed to finish this track. The deadline was flexible, but his brain was finally in the right space for it, and he’d learned not to waste those moments of creative clarity. He’d checked the weather. Rain, but manageable. He’d be fine. The rain started picking up around 7:30. He barely noticed, headphones on, fingers flying across his keyboard.

By 8PM, the rain was very heavy. You looked up from your video editor app and noticed that the raindrops were big, and slamming against the window aggressively and loudly. The sky outside was dark gray, almost black, and the rain was coming down in sheets. You pulled out your phone to check the weather app.

SEVERE WEATHER WARNING: Flash flood warning in effect until 6 AM. Avoid all travel. Seek shelter immediately.

You have got to be kidding me. You opened the weather map. The entire district was lit up in red. The rain was supposed to get worse over the next few hours. Subway lines were already shutting down due to flooding. Roads were closing. Even if you wanted to go home, you were stuck since you had taken the train to get there.

You had maybe 10 more hours of editing, but with the rain, we don’t know how the wifi and electricity will act.

Your phone buzzed. A message from the production team manager.

Manager: If anyone is still at the building, stay put. Do not attempt to travel. Flooding is severe. Buildings are safe but roads are not.

Great

You stood there for a second, contemplating what you should do next. You walk towards the window and look down the streets. The water was already getting deep to where the drains couldn’t keep up with it. There were a few cars that were driving slowly trying to navigate. You were stuck here. Probably for the whole night, or at least the majority of it.

You went back to your editing, trying to focus. At least you had work to keep you occupied. And there were vending machines in the building. You’d survive.

Hongjoong saw the weather alert at 8:15.

He pulled off his headphones and went to the window. The rain was torrential now, the street below barely visible through the downpour.

His phone buzzed with the same message from the manager.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Stuck here. Fine. He’d been planning to work late anyway. At least now he had an excuse. He checked the group chat. None of the members were at the building. They’d all left hours ago for their dorms. He sent a quick message saying he was safe, just stuck at the company, and would see them tomorrow. He pocketed his phone and went back to his desk, and had to make the most of his time now that he is trapped here.

Around 9 PM, you needed a break. Your eyes were tired from staring at the timeline, and your stomach was growling. You saved your progress and headed out of the editing suite toward the vending machines on the third floor.

The hallways were eerily quiet. The weather outside didn’t help much with your perception of the building. The overhead lights were on, but everything felt too still, too empty. Your footsteps echoed off the walls.

You took the stairs down to the third floor and found the vending machines. You got a coffee and some crackers, then hesitated. The sixth floor was three floors up. The studio floor.

You wondered if anyone else was stuck here. The building was big, but on a Tuesday night this late…No. Don’t think about it. Even if someone was here, it didn’t mean…

You heard a door open above you. Footsteps on the stairs.

Your heart jumped into your throat. You stood frozen in front of the vending machine, coffee in hand, as Hongjoong rounded the corner and stopped dead when he saw you.

For a moment, neither of you said anything.

He was wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, his hair messy, looking as surprised to see you as you were to see him. God he looked so effortlessly sexy.

“Oh,” he said finally. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Your voice came out steadier than you felt. “You’re stuck here too?”

“Yeah. I was working when the alert came through.” He gestured vaguely upward. “You?”

“Editing. Fourth floor. Had a deadline.”

“Right.”

Another pause. The awkwardness was almost painful.

“I was just” You held up your coffee. “Taking a break.”

“Same. I was coming to get…” He looked at the vending machine like he’d forgotten what he wanted.

You stepped aside to give him access. He moved forward, careful to maintain distance, and stared at the options without really seeing them.

The silence stretched.

“So,” you said finally, because this was ridiculous. “Looks like we’re stuck here until morning.”

“Looks like it.” The awkwardness killing both of you.

“The weather report said the flooding won’t clear until at least 6 AM.”

“I saw that.”

More silence. This was painful. You were two adults who worked together regularly, who’d had plenty of normal conversations before. Why was this so difficult?

Because of the party. Because of the way he’d touched your back. Because of the way your fingers had kept finding each other across the table. Because of everything unspoken between you. Clearly he feels a certain way about it too if he is acting like this.

Hongjoong finally selected a coffee and an energy bar. He turned to face you, and you both just stood there in the fluorescent lighting of the hallway, holding your respective snacks, not sure what to do next.

“Well,” you said. “I should get back to…”

“Do you want to..” he said at the same time.

You both stopped.

“Sorry, what?” you asked.

He looked uncertain, almost vulnerable. “I was going to ask if you wanted to maybe… I don’t know, not sit in separate parts of the building all night? It’s kind of creepy being here alone.”

Your heart was doing complicated things. “Where would we…?”

“I mean if you are able to take a little bit of a break from your editing, we could go to my studio. If not, I could come to you” he clarified.

“Your studio is fine,” you said. “I could use a real break anyway. My eyes are starting to cross.”

Relief flickered across his face. “Okay. Good.”

You followed him up the stairs to the sixth floor, maintaining that careful distance. The hallway was dim, most of the lights on energy-saving mode this late at night. His studio door was open, light spilling out into the hallway.

It was exactly as you remembered. Small, crowded with equipment, the couch pushed against the wall. He gestured toward it. “You can sit there. It’s more comfortable than it looks.”

“Thanks.” You settled onto the couch, setting your coffee on the small table beside it. The cushions were worn soft, and you could smell the faint scent of his cologne embedded in the fabric.

Hongjoong took his seat at the desk, putting a respectable distance between you. He opened his laptop, pulling up the project he’d been working on.

“So what are you editing?” he asked, the question feeling safe after the awkwardness in the hallway.

“Choreography breakdown for the new trainee group. It’s tedious work. Lots of slow-motion, annotations, that kind of thing.”

“Sounds mind-numbing.” he chuckles, eyes still locked on his laptop.

“It is. But it’s necessary.” You took a sip of your coffee. “What about you?”

“I’ve been working on matching the beat to the lyrics in a new song,” he explained. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“Can I listen?” You leaned off the couch.

He looked surprised. “You don’t have to”

“I want to. Fresh ears, remember?”

A small smile crossed his face. “Yeah. Okay.”

He pulled up the track and played it through his monitors instead of headphones, a small intimacy, sharing the sound in the open air of the room. You closed your eyes and listened, letting your body respond to the music the way you always did.

When it ended, you opened your eyes to find him watching you. A slight tint of blush bloomed across your cheeks.

“I actually really enjoy what you have going on right now, It suits your style. I like it.” you admitted.

“You like the sound or you like my style” he questioned teasingly.

“Maybe a little bit of both” You settled back into the couch, holding your coffee, trying to slow your heartbeat.

An hour passed.

You’d both fallen into a comfortable rhythm. Him working on his mix, you scrolling through your phone and occasionally offering feedback when he plays something.

The rain continued outside, a steady percussion against the windows.

Around 11 PM, you noticed the temperature dropping.

At first it was subtle, just a slight chill. You pulled your knees up onto the couch, wrapping your arms around them. But it kept getting colder.

“Is it just me or did it get freezing in here?” you asked finally, unable to ignore it anymore.

Hongjoong looked up from his screen. “Oh. Yeah, the building probably switched to night mode. They lower the heat to save energy after a certain hour.” He frowned, noticing the way you were curled up trying to stay warm. “Are you cold?”

“A little bit. It’s fine though. I didn’t realize how cold it got without the heat running.”

“Here.” He stood up without hesitation, pulling his hoodie off in one smooth motion.

Underneath he wore a simple black t-shirt that revealed the lean muscles of his arms, and you very deliberately looked away before your stare could linger too long. The bottom of his shirt lifted up slightly when he pulled his hoodie off, exposing part of his toned stomach.

“You don’t have to” you started.

“Take it,” he insisted, holding it out. “I run warm anyway. I barely even noticed the cold.”

You accepted it hesitantly. The fabric was still warm from his body heat, and when you pulled it over your head, you were immediately enveloped in his scent. Cologne, similar scent to the one on the couch, laundry detergent, and something that was just… him.

It was too big on you, the sleeves falling past your hands, the hem reaching mid-thigh. You had to roll the sleeves up several times.

When you looked up, Hongjoong was staring. He caught himself quickly and turned back to his computer, but not before you saw something flash across his face, something that made your pulse quicken.

“Better?” he asked, his voice slightly rougher than before.

“Yeah. Much better. Thank you.”

You pulled the hoodie tighter around yourself, trying not to think about the fact that you were wearing his clothes, that you could smell him with every breath, that the intimacy of it felt both too much and not enough at the same time.

You eventually went back to your editing room to transfer some files to your laptop. You weren’t able to do all of the work on it, but it would be more productive that scrolling on your phone.

Around midnight, the exhaustion really started to set in.

You’d been awake since 6 AM, and the combination of the late hour, the warmth of the hoodie, and the steady sound of rain was making your eyelids heavy.

Hongjoong had been quiet for a while, working steadily, but now he stopped and leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh.

“You okay?” you asked, looking up from your laptop.

“Yeah. Just…” He rubbed his face with both hands. “Tired. And thinking too much.”

“About the mix?”

“About everything.” He spun his chair slightly to face you.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you ever feel like you’re missing your own life?”

The question caught you off guard. “What do you mean?”

He was quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “Like… you’re so busy working, so focused on the next deadline or the next project, that you look up one day and realize you haven’t actually lived. Haven’t seen your family in weeks. Haven’t had a real conversation with a friend. Haven’t done anything that wasn’t work-related.”

There was something raw in his voice, vulnerable in a way you’d never heard from him before. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I feel like that a lot, actually.”

“My parents live three hours away,” he continued, still looking at his hands. “I haven’t visited them in almost two months. My mom calls every week and I barely have time to talk to her for more than ten minutes. And I keep telling myself I’ll make time, I’ll go see them next month, but next month comes and there’s always something else that’s more urgent. And the members, I feel like I don’t have enough time for them. That I am not being a good friend. That I'm failing them.”

“Hongjoong…” You sat up straighter, drawing your knees up and wrapping your arms around them. “You’re not failing them. They love you. Anyone can see that.”

“Maybe. But I could be better. I should be better.” He finally looked up at you, and there was something achingly honest in his eyes. “Sometimes I wonder what the point is, you know? Working this hard, sacrificing everything, if at the end of it I’m just… alone. With nothing but the music.”

Your chest felt tight. “You won’t be alone.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re not the kind of person who ends up alone. You care too much, even if you don’t always have time to show it the way you want to.”

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You have a lot of faith in me.”

“I do.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and something shifted in the air between you.

You found yourself staring at his face, really seeing him in a way you usually didn’t let yourself. The exhaustion around his eyes, the slight stubble on his jaw, the way his lips were pressed together like he was holding back words. He was beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with the idol polish and everything to do with the vulnerable, tired, honest person sitting in front of you.

“What?” he asked softly, noticing your stare.

You should look away. Should say “nothing” and change the subject.

“I was just thinking that you’re really hard on yourself,” you said instead. “Harder than you need to be.”

“Someone has to be.”

“Why does it have to be you?”

“Because if I don’t push myself, who will?”

“Maybe you don’t need to be pushed. Maybe you need to rest.”

He smiled, sad and small. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“I know. I don’t either.”

The confession hung between you. Two people who didn’t know how to stop, who didn’t know how to exist outside of their work, recognizing that same brokenness in each other.

The hours blurred together after that.

You talked more. About families, about pressure, about the things you’d both sacrificed for your careers. The conversation was easier than it should have been, flowing naturally despite the late hour and the weight of the topics.

Around 2 AM, you noticed his voice had changed. It was lower now, softer, with a slight rasp from exhaustion. Every word felt more intimate, like he was sharing secrets even when he was just talking about mundane things.

“Your voice gets different when you’re tired,” you observed without thinking.

He paused mid-sentence. “Different how?”

“Lower. Softer.” You felt your face heat. “Never mind, that was a weird thing to notice.”

“No, it’s…” A small smile appeared on his lips. “It’s not weird. I’ve noticed things about you too.”

Your heart skipped. “Like what?”

“Like how you play with your sleeves when you’re thinking. Or how you tilt your head slightly when you’re really listening to music. Or how your whole face changes when you’re explaining choreography, you light up in this way that’s…” He stopped himself.

“That’s what?”

“Beautiful,” he said quietly. “It’s beautiful to watch.”

The word made you freeze. You should say something. Should deflect or joke or change the subject. But you couldn’t find any words at all.

Hongjoong seemed to realize what he’d said, because he looked away quickly. “Sorry. That was..I shouldn’t have..”

“It’s okay,” you managed. “I just… wasn’t expecting that.”

“I know. Forget I said it.”

But you both knew you wouldn’t forget. Couldn’t forget.

——-

The hoodie sat folded on your dresser, where you’d placed it the morning you got home. You’d meant to wash it immediately. The professional, appropriate thing to do before returning it.

But you hadn’t. Every time you walked past it, you caught a faint trace of his scent. Cologne and laundry detergent and something that just reminded you of the other night. And every time, you had to resist the urge to pick it up.

This was ridiculous. It was just a hoodie.

Except it wasn’t just a hoodie, and you both knew it.

You’d been good about staying away from the building. Working from home when possible, scheduled your studio time for hours you knew he wouldn’t be there, kept yourself busy with projects that didn’t require you to be on-site. It was only so long before you had to go back to teach a choreography, or edit another in-depth video, or even just practice your music production.

Bailey had texted twice asking if you were okay. You’d said you were fine, just tired from the storm night. She didn’t believe you, but she let it go.

Now it was Friday evening, and you were sitting on your couch, staring at your phone, the hoodie visible in your peripheral vision. It is crazy to think about how much the mere presence of the hoodie has affected you.

You’d managed three whole days without texting him.

Three days of wondering if he was thinking about that night too. Three days of replaying conversations in your head. Three days of remembering the way he’d said “beautiful” and then immediately regretted it. Three days of trying to convince yourself that the smartest thing to do was maintain distance and let whatever this was fade naturally.

Your phone buzzed, and your heart jumped before you even looked at it.

Hongjoong: Hey. Hope this isn’t weird to text outside of work hours.

You stared at the message, your pulse quickening.

Hongjoong: I have a demo that needs choreography input. Would you be able to listen when you have time?

It was perfectly professional. A completely reasonable work request.

Except it was 9 PM on a Friday night, and he’d started with “hope this isn’t weird.”

You typed and deleted three different responses before settling on:

You: Not weird. I can listen now if you want to send it.

Three dots appeared immediately, then disappeared. Then appeared again.

Hongjoong: Sending now. No rush though, I know it’s late.

When you opened up the audio file, you were met with a sound that was different than his usual work. His song felt more intimate, more personal.

You: I think calm and minimal movement choreography would go good with this song, to focus more on the meaning of the lyrics and not the power of the dance.

Hongjoong: That’s what I was thinking but I wasn’t sure if it would translate. I’ve been writing a lot lately. Processing things.

You: The storm night?

You sent it before you could stop yourself. Three days of careful distance, and you’d just acknowledged it directly.

The dots appeared and disappeared several times.

Hongjoong: Among other things.

You: Me too.

Hongjoong: Yeah?

You: Yeah. Hard not to think about it.

You could feel the awkwardness radiating through the screen.

Hongjoong: We talked a lot that night.

You: We did.

Hongjoong: And I said some things I probably shouldn’t have.

Your heart was beating too fast.

You: Like what?

Hongjoong: Like calling the way you explain choreography beautiful.

You: Why shouldn’t you have said that?

Another long pause, an unintentional frown appearing on your face.

Hongjoong: Because it made things more complicated.

You: Things were already complicated.

Hongjoong: True.

Was this him admitting that he has been thinking about us? Anyone else would view your interactions prior to the storm as just normal coworker stuff, but clearly that isn’t how he felt either.

You both let the conversation sit for a moment. You could almost feel him on the other end, holding his phone, choosing his words carefully just like you were.

Eventually you let the conversation fizzle out before trying to work on your editing again.

——-

Monday morning, you had a meeting with the production team. You’d planned your arrival carefully, early enough to seem professional, late enough that most people would already be in their offices. Less chance of running into him in the hallways.

The meeting went smoothly. Discussion of upcoming projects, timeline adjustments, the usual logistics. You took notes, contributed when appropriate, and tried not to think about the fact that Hongjoong’s studio was just two floors up.

After the meeting, you went to your studio to work. You had several hours of choreography to review, and you forced yourself to focus.

Around 1 PM, you took a lunch break. The cafeteria was busy with staff and a few idols grabbing food between schedules. You got a salad and found a table in the corner, pulling out your phone while you ate.

A notification popped up. Not a text…an airdrop request.

“Hongjoong’s iPhone” wants to share a note.

Your heart jumped. You glanced around the cafeteria but didn’t see him anywhere. You accepted the airdrop.

A note file opened. Just one line:

Second floor, east stairwell. If you want.

You stared at it.

This was a terrible idea. Anyone could see you. You were in the middle of the building during work hours.

You finished your salad mechanically, cleaned up your tray, and walked calmly toward the east stairwell like you had every reason to be going that direction.

The stairwell was empty. You pushed through the door to the second-floor landing and found Hongjoong leaning against the wall, phone in hand.

He looked up when you entered, and something in his expression softened.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“Hey.” You let the door close behind you, the stairwell suddenly feeling very private despite being in the middle of the building. “Airdrop? Really?”

“Couldn’t text. Too traceable.” He pushed off the wall but didn’t come closer. “I saw you in the cafeteria and just… wanted to say hi.”

“You could have said hi in the cafeteria.”

“Not the way I wanted to.”

Your pulse quickened. “And how did you want to?”

“Like this. Without an audience. Without having to be careful about how long we talk or how we look at each other.”

“Hongjoong…”

“I know. I know we need to keep it professional. But I can’t stop thinking about that night. About the conversation. About…” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “About you.”

You should shut this down. Should remind him of all the reasons this was complicated.

“I can’t either,” you admitted instead.

He looked at you, really looked at you, and the intensity made you want to step back and step forward at the same time.

“What are we doing?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know.”

“We should stop. Before it gets more complicated.”

“Yeah.”

“But I don’t want to.”

“Me neither.”

The stairwell was silent except for the distant sound of the building’s ventilation system. You were both very aware that anyone could walk through that door at any moment.

“I should get back,” you said, not moving.

“Yeah. Me too.”

Neither of you moved.

“Your hoodie,” you said suddenly. “I still have it.”

“I know.”

“I should return it.”

“I don’t want it back.”

“Hongjoong…” His name gets caught in your throat again.

“I like that you have it,” he said simply. “I like thinking about you wearing it. Is that weird?”

Your face felt warm. “Maybe a little.”

“I’m being honest.”

“I know.” You took a breath. “I wore it. After I got home that night. And maybe a few times since then.”

His eyes darkened slightly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The air between you felt charged, dangerous. You were standing at least five feet apart, but it felt too close and not close enough.

“I should really go,” you said.

“Okay.”

You moved toward the door, then stopped. “Hongjoong?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for texting.”

“Thanks for responding.”

You left the stairwell and went straight back to your studio, your heart pounding. That was reckless. Stupid. Anyone could have seen.

But you were smiling.

Your phone buzzed a few minutes later. Another airdrop.

You accepted it.

Another note: You’re still wearing my hoodie in my mind.

You deleted it immediately, but not before reading it three more times.

——

Two weeks of careful, work-related texts that said nothing and everything at once. Can you review this demo? What do you think about this formation? The bridge needs adjustment. All professional. All safe.

All completely inadequate for what you actually wanted to say to each other.

You had only seen him while teaching the group parts of a choreography since that day in the stairwell when he’d airdropped you a note and you’d met in secret just to have five minutes of honest conversation. Since then, it had been back to distance, back to careful navigation of schedules to avoid each other, back to pretending.

But tonight was different.

Seonghwa had texted you privately three days ago: Private park hangout Friday night. Just the guys, us and the production team for the album. Bring snacks and drinks. Mingi found a spot.

You’d almost declined. Almost made up an excuse about being tired or having plans. But then Bailey had texted: You’re going right? I need someone to drink with.

And maybe, possibly, you’d wondered if Hongjoong would be there.

So here you were, Friday evening, standing in a secluded park area that felt like it existed outside of normal Seoul. It was tucked away behind a residential area, a small gazebo with a table and benches, string lights that someone (probably Mingi) had hung up, and a view of the sky that was surprisingly clear for the city.

About fifteen people had shown up. All eight ATEEZ members, a few producers, some choreographers including you and Bailey, and a couple of staff members from the album team. Casual. Intimate. The kind of gathering where everyone could actually relax and not worry about work.

You’d arrived with your friend, carrying a bag of snacks and a bottle of soju. The sun was just starting to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.

And there he was.

Hongjoong was standing near the gazebo with Yunho and one of the producers, laughing about something, wearing black jeans and a grey hoodie. His hair resting in front of his face, and he looked more relaxed than you’d seen him in weeks.

Your heart did something complicated.

He looked up as you approached, and for just a second, his expression shifted. Surprise and pleasure and something else you couldn’t quite name.

“Hey,” he said as you got closer.

“Hey.” You tried to sound casual, normal, like you hadn’t been thinking about him constantly for two weeks.

“Glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

The conversation was painfully polite, and you were both very aware of the other people around you.

Bailey pulled you away to help set up the snacks on the table, and you forced yourself not to look back at where Hongjoong was still standing.

An hour later, the sun had fully set and the string lights created a warm glow around the gazebo.

People had scattered into smaller groups, some sitting on the benches, some on blankets on the grass, everyone drinking and talking and laughing. The atmosphere was easy, comfortable, the kind of rare evening where work stress fell away and people could just exist.

You’d had about a glass and a half of soju, enough to feel warm and relaxed, the edges of your exhaustion from the week softened. You were sitting on one of the benches with Seonghwa, and Hongjoong, the three of you in the middle of a conversation about the most embarrassing moments from shoots. Bailey had wandered off to another group somewhere.

You were zoning in and out of the conversation. You smiled, taking another sip of your soju. You were sitting next to Hongjoong on the bench, not touching but close enough that you were aware of the warmth of him. Every time he shifted or laughed, you felt it.

When the question came back around to you “What about you?” Hongjoong asked, turning slightly toward you. “Worst moment?”

“Oh god.” You thought about it. “Probably the time I was demonstrating a sequence and completely lost my balance. Just fell flat on my face in front of twelve trainees. Very professional.”

“Did they laugh?” Seonghwa asked.

“They tried not to. Which somehow made it worse.”

Everyone laughed, and you felt Hongjoong’s shoulder brush yours briefly, accidental, probably, but it sent electricity through you anyway.

The conversation drifted to other topics. Seonghwa started telling another story, and you felt yourself relaxing further into the bench, the soju and the exhaustion and the comfortable atmosphere all catching up with you.

You hadn’t realized how tired you actually were until you stopped moving. It had been a brutal week, long days in the studio, late nights working on projects, not enough sleep. Your body was finally acknowledging it.

Your eyelids felt heavy. You blinked, trying to focus on what Seonghwa was saying, but the words were starting to blur together.

“You okay?” Hongjoong asked quietly, just for you.

“Yeah. Just tired.”

“Long week?”

“The longest.”

His expression softened. “You should rest when you get home.”

“I will.”

But even as you said it, you felt yourself starting to drift. The bench was comfortable, the conversation was a pleasant hum around you, and you were so, so tired. You caught yourself starting to lean away from Hongjoong, toward the other end of the bench where there was more space.

But then you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder, carefully guiding you back.

“Here,” Hongjoong said softly, his voice close to your ear.

“You’ll hurt your neck like that.”

And suddenly you were leaning the other direction, toward him, your head coming to rest on his shoulder.

You should protest. Should sit up. Should not be doing this in front of everyone.

But his shoulder was solid and warm, and you were so tired, and it felt so natural that your body made the decision before your brain could interfere.

“Is this okay?” you mumbled, already half-asleep.

“Yeah.” His voice was quiet, careful. “It’s okay.”

That was the last thing you registered before sleep pulled you under.

Hongjoong felt the exact moment you fully relaxed against him, your breathing evening out, your weight settling more completely against his side.

His heart was racing, but he forced himself to stay calm. To keep his breathing steady. To not react in a way that would draw attention.

Seonghwa, sitting on Hongjoong’s other side, had noticed too. He didn’t say anything, just gave Hongjoong a long, measured look that said I see what’s happening here.

Hongjoong kept his expression neutral, like this was completely normal and not affecting him at all.

Internally, he was absolutely losing it.

You were pressed against his side, your head tucked against his shoulder, your breathing soft and steady. He could smell your shampoo, something floral and clean. Your hair was falling across his hoodie, and he had to resist the urge to brush it back from your face.

Seonghwa caught his eye again, and this time there was the hint of a smile. He leaned closer and said, very quietly, “You’re doing a good thing. Letting her rest.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Uh-huh.” Seonghwa’s tone suggested he didn’t believe that for a second. “Just… be careful, yeah?”

The words were gentle, not judgmental, but they carried weight. I see what’s happening. I’m not going to say anything. But be careful.

Hongjoong nodded slightly, and Seonghwa settled back.

Time passed. People came and went from their circle. San and Wooyoung disappeared to look at something on the other side of the park. A couple of the producers left, calling goodbyes.

Through it all, you slept peacefully against his shoulder, and Hongjoong didn’t move.

He cataloged everything about this moment, knowing he’d want to remember it later. The weight of you against him. The soft sound of your breathing. The way your hand had come to rest against his arm in your sleep. The trust implied in every relaxed line of your body.

And somewhere during those quiet minutes, watching you sleep, feeling the solid reality of you beside him, something clicked into place.

This wasn’t just an attraction. It wasn't just chemistry or creative connection or the thrill of something forbidden.

He has feelings for you.

The realization should have terrified him. Should have sent him into a spiral of panic about complications and consequences and all the ways this could go wrong.

Instead, it felt inevitable. Like something he’d known for a while but had been too afraid to name.

He liked you. Liked your talent and your laugh and the way you understood music through movement. With your vulnerability about burnout and your honesty about struggling. With the way you fit against his shoulder like you belonged there.

And he had no idea what to do about it.

It was past eleven now, and the gathering was winding down naturally. People were collecting trash, folding blankets, saying their goodbyes.

Hongjoong looked down at you, still sleeping peacefully, and felt something in his chest ache. He didn’t want to wake you. Didn’t want to break this spell.

But he also couldn’t sit here all night.

Carefully, slowly, he shifted. You made a small sound of protest but didn’t wake. He gently guided your head down to rest on the table instead, making sure your arm was positioned so you wouldn’t wake up with it numb.

Then he stood, stretching his stiff shoulder, and looked around. Most people had left. Seonghwa, Mingi, and Bailey were the only ones still packing up.

Hongjoong grabbed his jacket from where he’d left it and carefully draped it over your shoulders. The night had gotten cooler, and you’d need it.

“Should we wake her?” Bailey asked, walking over with concern on her face.

“I can drive her home,” Hongjoong said, trying to sound casual. “I’m sober, and I know she didn’t drive herself. Easier than making her deal with getting home on her own.”

Your friend looked between you sleeping and Hongjoong, something calculating in her expression. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s not a big deal.”

Seonghwa appeared at his elbow. “That’s nice of you. Make sure she gets inside okay.”

There was something in Seonghwa’s tone, approval and warning all at once. Again.

“I will.”

Bailey hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Thank you. Do you know the address?”

“Yeah.” He did. He’d called taxis for you before after late studio sessions, made sure the address was saved in case you ever needed it again.

She gave him the specific building number to be safe, then helped gather your things, your bag, your phone, the half-empty bottle of soju you’d brought.

“Take care of her,” she said, and there was a weight to the words that suggested she suspected more than she was saying.

“I will.”

“Hey,” he said softly, crouching beside where you were sleeping with your head on the table, his jacket draped over you. “We need to get you home.”

You stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent.

“Come on. I’m going to drive you.”

“Mmm?” Your eyes opened just slightly, unfocused. “Hongjoong?”

“Yeah. Can you walk?”

“Mm. Tired.”

“I know. Come on.”

He helped you sit up, and you swayed slightly, still mostly asleep. He kept a steadying hand on your arm, then carefully retrieved his jacket and draped it over your shoulders properly.

“My stuff…” you mumbled.

“I have it. It’s in the car.”

You nodded, accepting this, and let him guide you to standing. You leaned against him heavily, and he wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you steady.

The walk to his car was slow. You were mostly asleep on your feet, trusting him completely to guide you. He got the passenger door open and helped you inside, reaching across to buckle your seatbelt while you blinked drowsily.

“Comfortable?” he asked.

“Mmhm.”

You were asleep again before he even started the car.

The drive to your apartment was quiet.

Hongjoong kept the radio off, not wanting to wake you. He glanced over occasionally, watching your peaceful face in the streetlight glow, still unable to fully process the fact that he was driving you home, that you were wrapped in his jacket, that you’d slept against him all evening.

He found your building easily. A mid-rise in a decent neighborhood of Hongdae. He parked in a visitor spot and sat for a moment, looking at you.

“Hey,” he said softly. “We’re here.”

You stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

He got out, grabbed your bag from the back seat, and came around to the passenger side. Opening the door carefully, he crouched down.

“Come on. Just need to get you inside.”

“Inside,” you repeated sleepily, but made no move to get out of the car.

He smiled despite himself. “Yeah. Inside. Can you walk?”

“Mmhm.”

But when he helped you out of the car, you immediately leaned against him again, and he had to wrap his arm around your waist to keep you upright.

He shouldered your bag and guided you toward the building entrance. The door required a code, and he had to dig through your bag for your keys, finally finding them and the little tag with your door code written on it.

The elevator ride up was quiet. You were leaning against the wall with your eyes closed, his jacket still around your shoulders.

“What floor?” he asked.

“Four,” you mumbled.

He pressed the button.

When the doors opened, he guided you down the hallway to your door 4B. Another code, which he found on your keychain, and then he was pushing open your door.

Your apartment was small but tidy. A cozy living room, a tiny kitchen visible beyond it. A door that probably led to your bedroom.

“Come on,” he said gently. “Bedroom.”

“Tired,” you mumbled, but you let him guide you through the apartment.

Your bedroom was what he expected, clean, organized, with a desk covered in notebooks and a laptop. A mirror on one wall. Dance shoes by the closet. Very you.

He guided you to sit on the edge of the bed, and you immediately started to tip over.

“Hang on,” he said, catching you. “Let’s get your shoes off at least.”

He knelt down and carefully untied your sneakers, slipping them off. You watched him with half-closed eyes.

“Hongjoong?”

“Yeah?”

“How did I get here?”

“I drove you. You fell asleep at the park.”

“Oh.” You processed this slowly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You needed sleep.”

You nodded vaguely, then started to lie down, still wearing his jacket over your clothes.

He hesitated, then carefully helped you out of the jacket. You’d be more comfortable without it.

“Here,” he said, pulling back your covers. “Get under the blanket.”

You complied, crawling under the covers and immediately curling into the pillow.

Hongjoong stood there for a moment, looking down at you. Your face was peaceful in sleep, your hair spread across the pillow. His jacket was folded over his arm, still warm from you wearing it.

He should leave. Should go before this becomes any more complicated than it already was.

But he found himself moving to your kitchen, filling a glass with water and bringing it back to sit on your nightstand. You’d be thirsty when you woke up.

Then he checked your door, making sure it would lock behind him.

Back in your bedroom doorway, he took one last look.

You were already deeply asleep, breathing steady and even.

“Goodnight,” he said quietly, even though you couldn’t hear him.

Then he left, pulling the door shut behind him, hearing the lock click into place.

In his car, Hongjoong sat for a long moment before starting the engine.

His jacket smelled like your shampoo now. His shoulder still felt the phantom weight of your head. His entire body was still hyperaware of every point where you’d touched him.

But as he drove home through the empty streets, he couldn’t bring himself to regret any of it.

Not the evening with you sleeping against him.

Not driving you home.

Not the way his heart had finally admitted what it had been trying to tell him for weeks.

And somehow, eventually, he’d have to figure out what came next.

But tonight, he’d just let himself have this. The memory of you trusting him enough to sleep against him, the knowledge that you were home safe because he’d made sure of it, and the jacket that still smelled like you.

It wasn’t enough.

But it was something.

And for now, that would have to be enough.

part 1 part 2 part 3

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