This is a SAFE SPACE, Homophobia, Transphobia, Misogyny or any bigotry at all is NOT TOLERATED and YOU WILL BE BLOCKED
I have âš ADHD âš, and I may or may not forget to post
Minors and Adults are both welcome here, please be civil about it. I am of legal age but I do not post any NSFW, however, I Do read NSFW works so if you are a minor or uncomfortable with these then I highly recommend blocking all related tags if youâre following me, in case they come up. I will not reblog any NSFW based works, but I will reblog longer multichapter words that feature smut, (if its skippable) however I do like them so they may still come up on your pages by association
This isnât my first account nor my last, but I wanted a clearing of my old blog and to move on to new ramblings.
All works here will be Kpop related but I may occasionally post about or reblog posts from non kpop fandoms which interest me.
I ult Ateez, TXT, and Stray kids
I also stan Seventeen, Bts, Enhypen, Xlov, Oneus, Kard, Illit, and Alexa
Hongjoong is my ult Bias (if that wasnât obvious)
The rest of my bias line consists of Soobin, Felix/Lee Know, Joshua, Jimin/Taehyung, Jungwon, Hwanwoong and J-seph
LINK TO A LIST OF WORLDWIDE CRISIS HOTLINES IN CASE YOU NEED THEM
I will add links to my masterlist(s) and other related things once I actually write something
me holding a gun to a mushroom: tell me the name of god you fungal piece of shit
mushroom: can you feel your heart burning? can you feel the struggle within? the fear within me is beyond anything your soul can make. you cannot kill me in a way that matters
me cocking the gun, tears streaming down my face: IâM NOT FUCKING SCARED OF YOU
ăGenreă : slow burn, angst, fluff, smut, reader is a choreographer at kq
ăSummaryă : your new job at kq suddenly becomes dangerous as professional boundaries blur between you and the leader of the company's biggest boy group
ăWarningsă : 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
ăAuthors Noteă : 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
SUPPORT BY REBLOGGING
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.Â
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.Â
You didnât 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.Â
You hesitated. The professional thing to do would be to go back to your studio, mind your business, and pretend you hadnât seen him. You werenât 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 heâd 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.Â
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.
âOh hey, whatâs up? What are you doing here so late?â He said, pulling off his headphones. His voice was rough, like heâd been singing or rapping along to his tracks. âI didnât know anyone else was here.âÂ
âI could say the same for youâ you chuckled, still standing in the doorway. âAre you working on something for the comebackâ you asked, pointing your eyes at his monitor.
His expression shifted. Part excitement, part exhaustion. âAh yeahâŠ. Iâve been trying to get this bridge right for days, but somethingâs not clicking.â He paused, then added almost shyly, âDo you⊠would you want to listen? I know youâre more on the choreography side, but since you produce tooâŠâ
âYeah let me take a listenâ you said, stepping fully into the studio. Hongjoong slipped his headphones off his ears and held them out for you to grab.Â
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, âWait, go back, and just play the bridge.â
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.
âWhat?â you asked.
âNothing, I justâŠâ He shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. âYou were choreographing it in your head, werenât you?â
âMaybe,â you admitted. âBut thatâs actually the problem. The bridge feels like it wants to be choreo-focused, but the melody doesnât support enough movement. Itâs like youâre pulling back right when you should be pushing forward.â
His eyebrows rose. âThatâs⊠exactly what it feels like. I couldnât figure out how to describe it.â
âCan I?â You gestured toward his keyboard.
âYeah, of course.â 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. âWhat if instead of dropping the energy here, you built it? LikeâŠthisâÂ
He leaned forward, focusing on what you were changing. âWait, do that again.âÂ
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.
âThat actually sounds really good, I like itâ he compliments. âI would have been stuck here all night trying to figure out how to fix itâ he added.
You hand him back his controller. âAh no big deal really, like you said earlier, I was focused on the choreographyâ you chuckled awkwardly. âI'm gonna get back to my studio nowâ You said, inching towards the door.
âRight, yeah. Of course.â Hongjoong walked you to the door, maintaining a careful distance now. But when you reached the threshold, he added quietly, âHey, if you ever want to⊠I mean, if youâre working late again and want another set of ears on somethingâŠâ
He left the offer hanging in the air between you.
You should have said no. Should have reinforced the boundary, kept things strictly professional.
âYeah,â you said instead. âSame goes for you.â
His smile was small but genuine. âGoodnight.â
âGoodnight, Hongjoong.â
ââ-
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.Â
âGood morningâ you greeted as they set their things at the edge of the room. A line of âgood morningsâ echoed back.Â
 Hongjoong entered last, a baseball cap pulled low, carrying an iced americano. He nodded in your general direction, the same polite acknowledgment heâd give any staff member, before joining the others in their stretching circle.
âAlright, so today weâre working on the bridge section for the title track,â you announced, connecting your phone to the speakers. âI know youâve heard the updated version. The energy builds differently now, so the movement needs to reflect that.â
You demonstrated the first eight counts, your body hitting each accent with precision. The members watched attentively, âThe key here is the transition,â you explained, running it back slower. âYouâre building momentum.â
âCan you show the arm movement again?â 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.
âHow are we doing on time?â Yunho asked, appearing beside you.
You checked your watch. âGood. Weâll run it twice more full-out, then call it.â
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 didnât 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.
ââ-
Many weeks had passed. They had already done a few music show promotions and your choreography landed the way youâd hoped. Fans loved the song of course, but you were proud of yourself for your contribution to their performances.Â
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 whoâd 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.Â
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.
âEarth to hello?â Bailey, another choreographer, waved her hand in front of your face. âDid you hear what I said?â
âSorry, what?â
âI asked if youâre finally going to take a vacation now that the showcase is over.â
âOh. Maybe. I havenât thought about it.â
âYou should. Youâve been running yourself into the ground.â
âSo has everyone else.â
âYeah, but everyone else isnâtâŠâ She stopped, her eyes narrowing. âWait. Were you just looking at someone?â
âWhat? No.â
âYou were. Who was it?â She turned, scanning the bar.
âNobody. I was just spacing out.â
âUh-huh.â But she was smiling, thankfully letting it drop.
âCome on, letâs get another round. Weâre celebrating.â
-
An hour and a few drinks later, you started to feel tipsy. Definitely not drunk, but you were definitely more relaxed.
Youâd 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.Â
You looked up. Hongjoong.
âHey,â he said. His cheeks were slightly flushed. Heâd been drinking too.
âHeyâ you pause for a second âYour performance was incredible.â
âThank you, but letâs not act like you didnât help me produce the song. And you also choreographed the whole thing.â
âWell I wouldnât say producedâŠ.â you combated.
âIâm serious though.â He leaned forward, his eyes intense in a way that made your breath catch. âThat song was difficult to work with, you did a good job.â
You werenât sure what to say. The alcohol had loosened something in him too, making him more direct than usual.
âThat means a lot,â you said finally. âEspecially coming from you.â
âWhy especially from me?â
âBecause you get it. The creative process, the pressure, the perfectionism.â You took a sip of your beer. âNot everyone understands that.â
He nodded slowly. âNo. They donât.â
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.
âHongjoong!â Wooyoungâs voice cut through the moment. You both looked over quickly as Wooyoung stumbled over, clearly drunk, San supporting him. âThere you are! Weâre doing karaoke, you have to come sing.â
âI donât think-â Hongjoong started.
âNo excuses! You too,â Wooyoung pointed at you. âYou should sing. Youâre always so serious, relaxâ
âIâm not really a singer,â you protested.
âEveryone can sing when theyâre drunk enough,â San said eagerly. âCome on.â
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 wasnât very wide, so you and Joong may have accidentally brushed your fingers a few times. Or maybe it wasnât 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.
âGet home safe,â Hongjoong said, his voice carefully neutral.
âYou too.â
You fell asleep that night replaying the moment your fingers had touched across the table, the way heâd looked at you. Nothing had really changed. But it felt like everything had.
ââ-
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 youâd 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.Â
The editing suite was empty, as youâd 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. Heâd been good about staying away too. Hadnât worked late, hadnât lingered in the hallways, had been professional and distant during the one brief interaction youâd 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 heâd learned not to waste those moments of creative clarity. Heâd checked the weather. Rain, but manageable. Heâd 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.Â
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 donât know how the wifi and electricity will act.Â
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 couldnât 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. Youâd 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. Heâd 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. Theyâd 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 didnât 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 lateâŠNo. Donât think about it. Even if someone was here, it didnât meanâŠ
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.Â
âOh,â he said finally. âHey.â
âHey.â Your voice came out steadier than you felt. âYouâre stuck here too?â
âYeah. I was working when the alert came through.â He gestured vaguely upward. âYou?â
âEditing. Fourth floor. Had a deadline.â
âRight.â
Another pause. The awkwardness was almost painful.
âI was justâ You held up your coffee. âTaking a break.â
âSame. I was coming to getâŠâ He looked at the vending machine like heâd 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.
âSo,â you said finally, because this was ridiculous. âLooks like weâre stuck here until morning.â
âLooks like it.â The awkwardness killing both of you.
âThe weather report said the flooding wonât clear until at least 6 AM.â
âI saw that.â
More silence. This was painful. You were two adults who worked together regularly, whoâd had plenty of normal conversations before. Why was this so difficult?
Because of the party. Because of the way heâd 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.Â
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.
âWell,â you said. âI should get back toâŠâ
âDo you want to..â he said at the same time.
You both stopped.
âSorry, what?â you asked.
He looked uncertain, almost vulnerable. âI was going to ask if you wanted to maybe⊠I donât know, not sit in separate parts of the building all night? Itâs kind of creepy being here alone.â
Your heart was doing complicated things. âWhere would weâŠ?â
âI 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 youâ he clarified.
âYour studio is fine,â you said. âI could use a real break anyway. My eyes are starting to cross.â
Relief flickered across his face. âOkay. Good.â
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. âYou can sit there. Itâs more comfortable than it looks.â
âThanks.â 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 heâd been working on.
âSo what are you editing?â he asked, the question feeling safe after the awkwardness in the hallway.
âChoreography breakdown for the new trainee group. Itâs tedious work. Lots of slow-motion, annotations, that kind of thing.â
âSounds mind-numbing.â he chuckles, eyes still locked on his laptop.Â
âIt is. But itâs necessary.â You took a sip of your coffee. âWhat about you?â
âIâve been working on matching the beat to the lyrics in a new song,â he explained. Nothing out of the ordinary.Â
âCan I listen?â You leaned off the couch.
He looked surprised. âYou donât have toâ
âI want to. Fresh ears, remember?â
A small smile crossed his face. âYeah. Okay.â
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.
âI actually really enjoy what you have going on right now, It suits your style. I like it.â you admitted.
âYou like the sound or you like my styleâ he questioned teasingly.
âMaybe a little bit of bothâ You settled back into the couch, holding your coffee, trying to slow your heartbeat.
An hour passed.
Youâd both fallen into a comfortable rhythm. Him working on his mix, you scrolling through your phone and occasionally offering feedback when he plays something.Â
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.
âIs it just me or did it get freezing in here?â you asked finally, unable to ignore it anymore.
Hongjoong looked up from his screen. âOh. Yeah, the building probably switched to night mode. They lower the heat to save energy after a certain hour.â He frowned, noticing the way you were curled up trying to stay warm. âAre you cold?â
âA little bit. Itâs fine though. I didnât realize how cold it got without the heat running.â
âHere.â 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.
âYou donât have toâ you started.
âTake it,â he insisted, holding it out. âI run warm anyway. I barely even noticed the cold.â
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.
âBetter?â he asked, his voice slightly rougher than before.
âYeah. Much better. Thank you.â
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 werenât 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.
Youâd 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.
âYou okay?â you asked, looking up from your laptop.
âYeah. JustâŠâ He rubbed his face with both hands. âTired. And thinking too much.â
âAbout the mix?â
âAbout everything.â He spun his chair slightly to face you.Â
âCan I ask you something?â
âSure.â
âDo you ever feel like youâre missing your own life?â
The question caught you off guard. âWhat do you mean?â
He was quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. âLike⊠youâre so busy working, so focused on the next deadline or the next project, that you look up one day and realize you havenât actually lived. Havenât seen your family in weeks. Havenât had a real conversation with a friend. Havenât done anything that wasnât work-related.â
There was something raw in his voice, vulnerable in a way youâd never heard from him before. âYeah,â you said softly. âI feel like that a lot, actually.â
âMy parents live three hours away,â he continued, still looking at his hands. âI havenât 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 Iâll make time, Iâll go see them next month, but next month comes and thereâs always something else thatâs more urgent. And the members, I feel like I donât have enough time for them. That I am not being a good friend. That I'm failing them.â
âHongjoongâŠâ You sat up straighter, drawing your knees up and wrapping your arms around them. âYouâre not failing them. They love you. Anyone can see that.â
âMaybe. But I could be better. I should be better.â He finally looked up at you, and there was something achingly honest in his eyes. âSometimes I wonder what the point is, you know? Working this hard, sacrificing everything, if at the end of it Iâm just⊠alone. With nothing but the music.â
Your chest felt tight. âYou wonât be alone.â
âHow do you know?â
âBecause youâre not the kind of person who ends up alone. You care too much, even if you donât always have time to show it the way you want to.â
He laughed, but there was no humor in it. âYou have a lot of faith in me.â
âI do.â
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 didnât 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.
âWhat?â he asked softly, noticing your stare.
You should look away. Should say ânothingâ and change the subject.
âI was just thinking that youâre really hard on yourself,â you said instead. âHarder than you need to be.â
âSomeone has to be.â
âWhy does it have to be you?â
âBecause if I donât push myself, who will?â
âMaybe you donât need to be pushed. Maybe you need to rest.â
He smiled, sad and small. âI donât know how to do that.â
âI know. I donât either.â
The confession hung between you. Two people who didnât know how to stop, who didnât 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 youâd 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.
âYour voice gets different when youâre tired,â you observed without thinking.
He paused mid-sentence. âDifferent how?â
âLower. Softer.â You felt your face heat. âNever mind, that was a weird thing to notice.â
âNo, itâsâŠâ A small smile appeared on his lips. âItâs not weird. Iâve noticed things about you too.â
Your heart skipped. âLike what?â
âLike how you play with your sleeves when youâre thinking. Or how you tilt your head slightly when youâre really listening to music. Or how your whole face changes when youâre explaining choreography, you light up in this way thatâsâŠâ He stopped himself.
âThatâs what?â
âBeautiful,â he said quietly. âItâs beautiful to watch.â
The word made you freeze. You should say something. Should deflect or joke or change the subject. But you couldnât find any words at all.
Hongjoong seemed to realize what heâd said, because he looked away quickly. âSorry. That was..I shouldnât have..â
âItâs okay,â you managed. âI just⊠wasnât expecting that.â
âI know. Forget I said it.â
But you both knew you wouldnât forget. Couldnât forget.
ââ-
The hoodie sat folded on your dresser, where youâd placed it the morning you got home. Youâd meant to wash it immediately. The professional, appropriate thing to do before returning it.
But you hadnât. 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 wasnât just a hoodie, and you both knew it.
Youâd been good about staying away from the building. Working from home when possible, scheduled your studio time for hours you knew he wouldnât be there, kept yourself busy with projects that didnât 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. Youâd said you were fine, just tired from the storm night. She didnât 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.
Youâd 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 heâd said âbeautifulâ 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 isnât 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 heâd started with âhope this isnât weird.â
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 itâs 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: Thatâs what I was thinking but I wasnât sure if it would translate. Iâve 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 youâd 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 shouldnât have.
Your heart was beating too fast.
 You: Like what?
Hongjoong: Like calling the way you explain choreography beautiful.
You: Why shouldnât 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 isnât 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.
ââ-
Monday morning, you had a meeting with the production team. Youâd 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 Hongjoongâs 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 textâŠan airdrop request.
âHongjoongâs iPhoneâ wants to share a note.
Your heart jumped. You glanced around the cafeteria but didnât 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.
âHey,â he said quietly.
âHey.â You let the door close behind you, the stairwell suddenly feeling very private despite being in the middle of the building. âAirdrop? Really?â
âCouldnât text. Too traceable.â He pushed off the wall but didnât come closer. âI saw you in the cafeteria and just⊠wanted to say hi.â
âYou could have said hi in the cafeteria.â
âNot the way I wanted to.â
Your pulse quickened. âAnd how did you want to?â
âLike this. Without an audience. Without having to be careful about how long we talk or how we look at each other.â
âHongjoongâŠâ
âI know. I know we need to keep it professional. But I canât stop thinking about that night. About the conversation. AboutâŠâ He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. âAbout you.â
You should shut this down. Should remind him of all the reasons this was complicated.
âI canât either,â 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.
âWhat are we doing?â he asked quietly.
âI donât know.â
âWe should stop. Before it gets more complicated.â
âYeah.â
âBut I donât want to.â
âMe neither.â
The stairwell was silent except for the distant sound of the buildingâs ventilation system. You were both very aware that anyone could walk through that door at any moment.
âI should get back,â you said, not moving.
âYeah. Me too.â
Neither of you moved.
âYour hoodie,â you said suddenly. âI still have it.â
âI know.â
âI should return it.â
âI donât want it back.â
âHongjoongâŠâ His name gets caught in your throat again.
âI like that you have it,â he said simply. âI like thinking about you wearing it. Is that weird?â
Your face felt warm. âMaybe a little.â
âIâm being honest.â
âI know.â You took a breath. âI wore it. After I got home that night. And maybe a few times since then.â
His eyes darkened slightly. âYeah?â
âYeah.â
The air between you felt charged, dangerous. You were standing at least five feet apart, but it felt too close and not close enough.
âI should really go,â you said.
âOkay.â
You moved toward the door, then stopped. âHongjoong?â
âYeah?â
âThanks for texting.â
âThanks for responding.â
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: Youâre still wearing my hoodie in my mind.
You deleted it immediately, but not before reading it three more times.
ââ
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 heâd airdropped you a note and youâd 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.
Youâd almost declined. Almost made up an excuse about being tired or having plans. But then Bailey had texted: Youâre going right? I need someone to drink with.
And maybe, possibly, youâd 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.
Youâd 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 youâd 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 couldnât quite name.
âHey,â he said as you got closer.
âHey.â You tried to sound casual, normal, like you hadnât been thinking about him constantly for two weeks.
âGlad you could make it.â
âWouldnât miss it.â
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.
Youâd 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 âWhat about you?â Hongjoong asked, turning slightly toward you. âWorst moment?â
âOh god.â You thought about it. âProbably 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.â
âDid they laugh?â Seonghwa asked.
âThey tried not to. Which somehow made it worse.â
Everyone laughed, and you felt Hongjoongâs 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 hadnât 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.
âYou okay?â Hongjoong asked quietly, just for you.
âYeah. Just tired.â
âLong week?â
âThe longest.â
His expression softened. âYou should rest when you get home.â
âI will.â
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.
âHere,â Hongjoong said softly, his voice close to your ear.Â
âYouâll hurt your neck like that.â
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.
âIs this okay?â you mumbled, already half-asleep.
âYeah.â His voice was quiet, careful. âItâs okay.â
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 Hongjoongâs other side, had noticed too. He didnât say anything, just gave Hongjoong a long, measured look that said I see whatâs 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, âYouâre doing a good thing. Letting her rest.â
âItâs nothing.â
âUh-huh.â Seonghwaâs tone suggested he didnât believe that for a second. âJust⊠be careful, yeah?â
The words were gentle, not judgmental, but they carried weight. I see whatâs happening. Iâm 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.Â
Through it all, you slept peacefully against his shoulder, and Hongjoong didnât move.
He cataloged everything about this moment, knowing heâd 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 wasnât 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 heâd 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 didnât want to wake you. Didnât want to break this spell.
But he also couldnât sit here all night.
Carefully, slowly, he shifted. You made a small sound of protest but didnât wake. He gently guided your head down to rest on the table instead, making sure your arm was positioned so you wouldnât 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 heâd left it and carefully draped it over your shoulders. The night had gotten cooler, and youâd need it.
âShould we wake her?â Bailey asked, walking over with concern on her face.
âI can drive her home,â Hongjoong said, trying to sound casual. âIâm sober, and I know she didnât drive herself. Easier than making her deal with getting home on her own.â
Your friend looked between you sleeping and Hongjoong, something calculating in her expression. âAre you sure?â
âYeah. Itâs not a big deal.â
Seonghwa appeared at his elbow. âThatâs nice of you. Make sure she gets inside okay.â
There was something in Seonghwaâs tone, approval and warning all at once. Again.
âI will.â
Bailey hesitated, then nodded. âOkay. Thank you. Do you know the address?â
âYeah.â He did. Heâd 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 youâd brought.
âTake care of her,â she said, and there was a weight to the words that suggested she suspected more than she was saying.
âI will.â
-
âHey,â he said softly, crouching beside where you were sleeping with your head on the table, his jacket draped over you. âWe need to get you home.â
You stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent.
âCome on. Iâm going to drive you.â
âMmm?â Your eyes opened just slightly, unfocused. âHongjoong?â
âYeah. Can you walk?â
âMm. Tired.â
âI know. Come on.â
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.
âMy stuffâŠâ you mumbled.
âI have it. Itâs in the car.â
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.
âComfortable?â he asked.
âMmhm.â
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 youâd 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.
âHey,â he said softly. âWeâre here.â
You stirred slightly but didnât 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.
âCome on. Just need to get you inside.â
âInside,â you repeated sleepily, but made no move to get out of the car.
He smiled despite himself. âYeah. Inside. Can you walk?â
âMmhm.â
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.
âWhat floor?â he asked.
âFour,â 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.
âCome on,â he said gently. âBedroom.â
âTired,â 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.
âHang on,â he said, catching you. âLetâs get your shoes off at least.â
He knelt down and carefully untied your sneakers, slipping them off. You watched him with half-closed eyes.
âHongjoong?â
âYeah?â
âHow did I get here?â
âI drove you. You fell asleep at the park.â
âOh.â You processed this slowly. âSorry.â
âDonât be sorry. You needed sleep.â
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. Youâd be more comfortable without it.
âHere,â he said, pulling back your covers. âGet under the blanket.â
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. Youâd 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.
âGoodnight,â he said quietly, even though you couldnât 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 youâd touched him.
But as he drove home through the empty streets, he couldnât 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, heâd have to figure out what came next.
But tonight, heâd just let himself have this. The memory of you trusting him enough to sleep against him, the knowledge that you were home safe because heâd made sure of it, and the jacket that still smelled like you.
It wasnât enough.
But it was something.
And for now, that would have to be enough.ââââââââââââââââ
My current not-approved-by-the-government opinion is that im not anyone's parent and i should not be responsible for random teenagers online. If I post smth thats 'meant for adults' and its labled as such then what happens from there is literally not my problem. If a teen- who is fully capable of turning on self moderation settings on their own btw- doesn't use a site's provided self moderation settings and they see boobs or dicks then like literally whatever, its neither the end of the world or a big deal. It shouldn't fall on me or a website or a tech company to do a parent's job, and also frankly i don't think a parent should be breathing down their 16 year old's neck on the off chance they do actually want to look at tits, but thats a discussion that americans will fucking throw a fit at so maybe we'll discuss that another day in better company.
"But what about young children!!" see thats! where parents should be involved- that is to say, why are you letting your young child on the internet in the first place, you fucking idiot.
Edit that's not gonna be seen: i've muted this post, if you're arguing in the replies i do not see it nor do i care.
Edit 2, im ruining my own post, i dont give a fuck: this isnt about americans this about the horrible place i live called the UK where they decided it was a horrible terrible crime for a kid or teen to see a boob (this is not why they did this actually its cause they want to restrict everyone and force them to hand their data to third party companies.) But the kicker is the age of consent here is 16. I need u all to know how utterly fake and stupid this whole 'protecting children' thing is. And no the age of consent being 16 isnt the 'bad' thing here before you americans decide thats the point of this edit and post. Dont be dense.