to busy for you

twitter: @gojiminnie

[just-nc-tea]

LOVESONG(demo).wav

⭑.ᐟ an office romance featuring marketing girly Y/N and producer Heeseung Who would’ve thought that stumbling into room 3B-47 crying your eyes out would lead to the best thing that ever happened to you in that cursed HYBE building.

⋆｡◛ ⊹ ⤳ requested ･:*:･｡☆

ᝰ genre. fluff!!!! just pure fluff .ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ warning. stress at work, drinking, sexual harassment at work? .ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ word count. 19.6k .ᐟ₊ ⊹

The door to your office was closed, which was unusual. Your smile faltered a bit as you carefully nudged the door open with your elbow. The pastel cake box in your hands wobbled slightly as you moved inside. Today was the first day of the campaign for Enhypen’s newest comeback, and you had decided to bake a cake to celebrate your team's hard work finally paying off, knowing full well that you were already planning the next comeback.

Working at HYBE meant you were always working. It felt like the company moved in dog years, every week sprinting at the speed of a month.

Idols had it worse. Practicing, performing, filming, traveling, interacting with fans, and repeating it all again with barely a break. You didn’t understand how they did it. At least you went home. You could sleep. Cook. Watch trashy dramas and feel your brain melt in peace. With Enhypen having comeback after comeback after comeback, the team behind them was also working all the time. Designing concepts, thinking about inclusions and albums, getting all of that produced, and campaigns published. But today, you finally had the first publication of their concept trailer, which in your opinion should be celebrated.

The air in the office was already stuffy. It was almost silent. The fluorescents buzzed faintly overhead, but otherwise… nothing. No chatter, no gossiping. Just the frantic click-click-click of keyboard abuse and one person swearing under their breath near the copy machine. Your smile died right there on the threshold.

As you marched past your favourite colleague and the intern, no one turned around, not the usual “good morning”, no "oh, you brought cake." You carefully set down your box and opened the lid slightly to check if the meringue cream and the sprinkles survived your subway trip to the office. The sugary scent of the cream spilled out into the quiet.

The second you turned back around to announce to the office that you brought cake and everyone could take a piece, your phone vibrated.

[8:04 AM] Manager-nim Y/N, are you in the office? If yes, room RB_12. Asap.

You barely had time to pull your sleeves down and smooth your dress before you were hustling down the hallway, your heels thudding softly on the carpet. The door to RB_12 was cracked open, and even from the corridor, you could hear your manager’s voice. He sounded furious. Your manager was usually a very chill person. He was very pleasant to work with, so hearing him raise his voice was quite rare. And if he did, something went really wrong.

“We can’t just change everything now, because they decided to plagiarize us?!” You slipped inside quietly. Your manager stood at the head of the table, tense and indeed furious. Seated across from him was Mr. Kim from Legal. “I’m not saying change everything,” Mr. Kim replied with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Just enough so it doesn’t look too similar. That can't be too hard, Mr. Park.” Mr. Kim was short and stout with greasy hair and round glasses that constantly slid down his nose. You had had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Kim one time too often, and every time, you left feeling like you needed to shower. He was known for saying the most disgusting things to any woman around, constantly sexualizing them whenever he opened his mouth. You did really liked your job, so you never said anything back. “We didn’t copy anything. They published the video on Friday. We were already done on Friday!” your manager almost shouted. “Mr. Park, that is a problem you will have to work on. Management wants us to push the release two weeks, so adjust the timeline accordingly. Think of a valid reason why we have to push the release back, and see if you change enough to make it different.” The lawyer stood up, straightened his suit, and looked at you. The moment his eyes did find you, they flicked up from your calves to your chest with a slowness that made your skin crawl. His face shifted into what he probably thought was a charming smile. “Miss Y/L/N,” he said, his voice syrupy sweet. “Always such a pleasure. That dress looks incredible on you. Quite the distraction for a Monday morning.” You suppressed a shudder and forced a tight, practiced smile. “Thank you, Mr. Kim.” He made his way towards the door, and you stepped out of the way, praying he wouldn’t find a reason to touch you. His arm brushed too close to your waist as he passed. “Have a nice day, Mr. Park. Miss Y/L/N,” he called lightly, pausing by the door to flash you one last look, far too amused with himself. “Let’s do lunch sometime. I have suggestions for next quarter’s visuals.” You nodded once and closed the door behind him, the second you could. Your manager sat down heavily, scrubbing both hands over his face.

“They want us to change it,” he muttered. You blinked, trying to shift your focus. “Change what?” “The comeback.” His voice was flat now, tired. “Starboiz published their MV on Friday. Same font direction. Same color palette. Even similar choreography shots. Legal’s worried someone will say we copied. So they decided to delay the release, and we are supposed to redesign everything.” You felt your stomach sink. “The entire promo rollout?” “The entire thing,” he confirmed, eyes dark with exhaustion. “I’m going to talk to upper management about next steps. In the meantime, I need you to map out what we’ll have to shift. New deadlines. Meetings to reschedule. Reassignments. We’ll need a rough plan of the new look before the end of the week, and it should be done within the next two weeks.”

You made your way into your office again. Walking much slower this time, while you were drafting the first emails for meeting invites. 

The office was still silent, and the air felt tense. The box of cake sat forgotten near the window, untouched. The meringue had started to collapse in the warmth. You watched it for a second, its shape sinking, before you steeled yourself and opened your laptop.

You cleared your throat. “Can I get everyone’s attention?”

You thought for a second how to tell everyone that they would have to essentially redo months of work within two weeks, and decided not to sugarcoat it.

“As you all probably noticed, Legal came down this morning,” you started, your voice low but steady. “There are… concerns about the similarities between our rollout and Starboiz’s new video. It wasn’t a direct accusation, but…”

You stopped for a second, taking a deep breath.

“…we’re pulling the current campaign. Management wants a full revision. The comeback date will be pushed, but not by much, only around two weeks. We need to rework the visual concept, reprint all materials, and update the promotional assets. Everything we had ready… it won’t go live.”

Someone cursed under their breath.

You continued. “I know this sucks. I know you put in so much work, and it was good. It is good. This isn’t because we failed. It’s politics and timing and bad luck.”

“Do we have to redo the teaser edits?” someone asked, voice brittle.

“Yes.”

“And the inclusion set designs?”

“Still being discussed,” you answered, “but yes, most likely.”

After answering every question that came up and running over a short task plan, you settled back down into your chair with a huff.

Jungwoo walked past you on the way to refill his mug and muttered low, “We kinda figured. Legal showed up first thing this morning and killed the entire vibe.”

You nodded slowly. “You think the manager already knew?”

“Probably. I did think there were many similarities when I watched the video on Friday as well, so he probably knew, yeah.” Jungwoo gave a sad smile. “Thanks for bringing cake. It looks very yummy.”

You smiled back weakly. “Thanks.”

You pulled up Starboiz’s new music video and watched it frame by frame. You listed every overlap. Font choice. Filter tone. Light leaks in the first chorus. A goddamn pink balloon in the dance break that looked exactly like one of your teaser shots.

You dissected it like a surgeon, fingers flying across the keyboard, notes, deadlines, names of designers, editors, and choreo consultants. You cross-referenced what needed to change with who had bandwidth to do it, calculating the most damage-limiting way to blow it all up.

And as the minutes ticked by, the weight in your chest only grew.

You weren’t upset for yourself, not really. You were used to cleaning up. Used to picking up when people higher up made decisions and dropped the pieces on your desk like puzzle shards.

You were upset for your team. You were upset for Jiwon, the new hire, whose first comeback had become a minefield. You were upset for the idols, who would smile and say “it’s okay” even though it meant another reshoot, another delay, another storm of hate.

Almost ten hours later, you were still in that stupid dress.

It clung to your skin in all the wrong places, too tight at the waist, too breezy at the shoulders. You felt cold. Hungry. Tired in your bones.

The clock on your screen reads 21:56.

You shut the lid of your laptop with a resigned sigh. Your back ached, and your thighs prickled with pins and needles from sitting too long. Most of the team had left already, voices trailing off one by one as they said soft goodbyes.

The building was never dark, not even in the middle of the night, but it was dead silent in the hallway.

You padded down toward the elevators, your heels clicking dully against the tile. You hit the elevator button with the side of your fist. And then you heard it.

“Miss Y/L/N.”

The voice slithered in before the man did.

You looked up and felt your stomach tighten like a fist.

Mr. Kim.

You forced a polite, brittle smile. “Evening, Mr. Kim.”

“Working late?” he asked, stepping into the elevator with you. 

“Yes,” you replied in a clipped but still polite tone, hoping he'd get the message.

“You should be careful about how late you stay here,” he said, voice low and oily, taking a step closer to you. “It’s not safe for women to be alone in the dark. Someone might take advantage.”

You stared at the elevator doors. Just two more floors.

But he was apparently not done yet.

“Though I suppose,” he chuckled, eyes dragging down your body like grease, “if you dress like that, you probably don’t mind the attention.”

It was said with a grin, as if it were charming. You said nothing in response.

The doors opened on the fifth floor, and another person stepped in. You nodded a quick “Good evening, Sir,” and stepped out of the elevator. 

He winked, “Good night, Miss Y/L/N.”

The second the doors closed behind you, you squeezed your eyes close to prevent your tears from falling. Your legs started moving on autopilot toward the far wing, past the B-studios and the practice rooms.

You were praying that room 3B-47, one of the vocal booths, was not being used right now. The air conditioning was broken, and it always ran too warm in the room, so the trainees and producers usually weren’t using this room during the summer months. You knew because you’d used it before to escape your office when everything got too loud.

You reached the room with trembling fingers. You just needed five minutes. Five minutes in the quiet. Five minutes to fall apart and then pull yourself back together.

You pushed the door open and stepped inside, ready to finally breathe, and froze. 

A guy was sitting at the desk in front of the mixing board, headphones around his neck and a can of soda next to him. He turned when he heard the door and froze, just as startled as you were.

“Oh,” he said softly.

You blinked at him, and despite not being alone, you felt the first few tears spill out of the edges of your eyes, and your lip wobbled.

For one long, mortifying second, you just stood there, half-in, half-out of the room, tears streaking down your cheeks, chest tightening in sheer panic.

“…Hi,” you croaked, your voice barely working. And then, because what else could you possibly do?, you laughed. A broken, awkward little sound that came out more like a hiccup. “Sorry. This room is usually empty.”

His eyes were wide with concern. “It usually is.”

You wiped your face quickly with the sleeve of your jacket, trying to salvage whatever dignity you had left. “I didn’t mean to – I can just – I’ll leave.”

You started to backpedal, face burning now on top of everything else.

But he stood up, alarmed. “No – wait, are you okay?”

You gave another watery laugh, shaking your head. “Not really,” you admitted. Then immediately cringed. Why did you say that? To a stranger??

He stepped around the desk but didn’t come too close. His voice was gentle. “You, uh… do you want a tissue or something?”

You blinked again, and this time a fresh tear slipped out. You nodded helplessly.

He turned back to his backpack, rummaged, and pulled out a slightly crumpled pack of tissues. “Here.”

You took one, murmuring a hoarse, “Thanks.”

You wiped your eyes and cheeks, sniffling. “This must be so weird.”

He cracked a small smile. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t usually get cried at by strangers in my break room.”

You huffed a soft, wet laugh. “Break room?”

“Kind of. I use this place during lunch sometimes. One of the speakers buzzes, so no one really books it anymore.”

You nodded, still dabbing at your eyes. “Oh. I didn’t know that. I thought no one came in here because of the AC.”

He watched you carefully, like he wasn’t sure if he should say more or just let you sit. 

“I’m Heeseung,” he said finally, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

Despite yourself, you smiled.

“I’m Y/N,” you said. “I swear I don’t usually cry on strangers.”

Heeseung smiled gently. “It’s okay. I’ve had worse introductions.”

You laughed again, or tried to, but your throat was still tight, and the sound came out small.

There was a beat of silence. You dabbed at your face with the tissue, eyes darting to the dusty corner of the booth, embarrassed all over again when you noticed the black streaks of mascara on it. 

“Today was supposed to be a good day,” you said, and sniffled a bit.

Heeseung blinked. “Yeah?”

You nodded, staring down at the balled-up tissue in your hands. “I baked a cake this morning. With homemade meringue cream, sprinkles, sponge layers, the whole thing. I thought we’d finally get a little breather. One project done, celebrate a bit, move on to the next.”

You laughed, but it cracked partway out of your chest.

“And then legal comes in and suddenly everything we’ve worked on for the past three months is ruined. A different group released something similar, and now it looks like we copied them, which we didn’t, but my manager got chewed out, and now we have to redo all of it. Like, start from scratch. In a week.” You looked up, eyes tired. “Have you ever tried to rearrange three months of work for a seven-member idol group and their entire comeback rollout in a week?”

Heeseung looked stunned. “No. God, no.”

You exhaled shakily. “Yeah. Everyone’s stressed, my team’s exhausted, I’m exhausted, and then Mr. Kim from legal–” Your face twisted at the name, voice going sharper. “–tells me my dress is ‘lovely’ while staring directly at my boobs in the elevator. And I couldn’t even yell at him because of power imbalance and corporate hierarchy and all that fun stuff.”

Heeseung’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening.

“And now I’m crying in a broken practice booth in front of someone I’ve never met.”, you sniffled again. “I promise I’m not usually like this.”

There was a small pause. Heeseung took a small step closer.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said quietly. “Seriously.”

You blinked up at him.

“Sounds like you deserve to punch someone, who isn`t me, in the face.” He gave you a soft, lopsided smile. 

You let out a breath, something between a laugh and a sob, and dropped your shoulders.

Heeseung looked toward the little stool near the desk. “Want to sit for a bit? I mean, unless you want to go home. I won’t judge.”

You hesitated, then nodded slowly. You really didn’t feel like walking through the whole building while crying like a baby. “Yeah… I’ll sit.”

You sat down with a quiet sigh, letting your shoulders sag, the tissue still clenched loosely in your hand. The booth was warm, slightly stuffy from the broken AC.

Heeseung leaned against the edge of the desk. He was quiet for a moment, studying you like he wasn’t sure if he should ask something. You beat him to it.

“What about you?” you asked, voice still hoarse from crying. “What’re you doing here at ten p.m.? Do you always let people cry in your booth?”

His mouth tugged into a surprised smile. “Maybe. I guess that depends.”

You raised an eyebrow. “On?”

“If you’re someone who’ll report me for sneaking in to work on personal projects.”

You blinked. “Wait. You’re not even supposed to be here?”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “No, no. I work here. I’m not trespassing, I promise.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Doing what? Are you… like, a trainee?”

He raised his eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”

You waved a hand vaguely in his direction. “I mean. You're good-looking enough. You do look like you had a few HYBE-funded plastic surgeries.”

He choked on a laugh, genuinely startled. “HYBE funded plastic surgeries?”

You shrugged, cheeks warming despite yourself. “Dude, your nose is so pretty. Maybe I’m also just going crazy. I’ve been crying for twenty minutes. Just take the compliment.”

He grinned, tilting his head. “I used to be a trainee, actually. Years ago. But no, I’m a vocal instructor now. Well, technically… assistant instructor. I help run some of the trainee vocal sessions, and I do warm-ups with some of the newer groups before recordings and help with the recordings. ”

You blinked. “Oh. So you work with the idols?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m trying to get into producing, though. That’s why I am in here, just trying out some stuff. This is one of the only rooms where no one bugs you.”

You tilted your head. “Doesn’t it bother you? The AC being broken?”

“Honestly?” He glanced around. “Not really. If I am really locked in, i don’t even notice how warm it gets. I haven’t been in here during the summer, tho.”

You leaned back against the wall, nodding slowly. “Yeah. I think I get that.”

Another moment of quiet settled between you. This time, it didn’t feel uncomfortable.

“I really didn’t want to cry in a toilet again.”, you said after a while. 

He chuckled. “I’m honored to be chosen over one of the toilets here.”

You smiled faintly in response. 

It was almost nine thirty p.m. when you slipped into the booth again a day later.

Your bag was heavy, overstuffed with a tumbler for water and one for coffee, sticky tabs, two notebooks, a Tupperware box with the rest of your lunch, and a laptop that had maybe one percent battery left. Your shoulders ached from stress, and your phone was still buzzing.

The small studio was dimly lit, with only one lamp in the corner casting a warm pool of light. The faint scent of instant ramen hung in the air, and Heeseung sat by the mixing desk, hunched forward slightly, headphones covering his ears. 

He didn’t notice you at first. He was lost in whatever he was working on, eyes on the screen, a pen tapping slowly against his thigh in rhythm with something you couldn’t hear.

You paused, the door quietly clicking shut behind you. “Hey,” you said softly, barely louder than a whisper.

He startled slightly, looked up, and then relaxed when he saw you.

His lips curved into a small smile. “Hey. Back again?”

You nodded, already pulling your things out of your bag. “Yeah. Sorry. I just… I needed somewhere that is not my office to finish up some things.”

He pulled one side of his headphones off his ear. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer right away. You set your laptop down, pulled out your folder, and exhaled like it physically hurt. “I have to redo everything,” you murmured. “And I don’t even know where to start. I mean. I do. We already did a lot today and yesterday, but I still feel kinda lost. It’s so much work.”

He just nodded slowly and gestured to the table beside him.

“Sit. Do your thing. I’ll be quiet.”

You offered him a tired, grateful smile and slid into the chair, spreading out your chaos across the desk.

For a while, you both worked in parallel silence. Heeseung occasionally nodded his head to the beat in his headphones and, once in a while, scribbled down something in a well-loved notebook. You muttered under your breath, highlighted something in angry pink, and crossed it out again.

At some point, he slid a half-eaten protein bar toward you.

You stared at it, then glanced at him.

“Do I look that miserable?”

He grinned, eyes still on his screen. “Just hungry. Miserable was yesterday.”

You let out a laugh that surprised even you.

And then, quietly, you returned to your mess of unfinished tasks, and he returned to his music.

The silence stretched comfortably for a while. You had managed to sort the campaign into vaguely manageable buckets, and your brain was finally slowing down enough to process other things. 

Like the quiet hum of bass through Heeseung’s headphones. 

Or how he tapped out beats on the desk.

Or the soft smile he had when something on his screen clicked into place.

You glanced over, curious.

“What are you working on?” you asked, voice soft. “Is it… for work, or just something you’re playing with?”

He looked up and pushed his headphones down around his neck. “A bit of both, I guess. It’s something I’ve been producing for a while. A side project.”

You tilted your head, still watching him. “Do you produce for the company? Not just teach vocals?”

He blinked, seemingly a little surprised at the question. “Yeah. I mean, officially, I’m with the vocal team, mostly coaching and arranging. But I co-produce tracks when I can. Some of the groups I work with let me sneak stuff in.”

You smiled, intrigued now. “Anything I might know?”

He gave a small, sheepish laugh. “I mean… probably.”

“Oh?” You leaned forward slightly. “Like what?”

He hesitated, then reached for his phone and scrolled through something. After a moment, he turned the screen toward you. A familiar Spotify page, listing tracks from Enhypen’s last two albums.

Your eyebrows shot up. “Wait. You helped produce these?”

He nodded. “Yeah. ‘Bite Me,’ ‘One in a Million,’ and a couple of B-sides. Some vocal arrangements, too.”

You stared at him, genuinely stunned. “I was so obnoxiously annoying about ‘Bite me’ last year.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly a bit bashful. “Well. That’s a compliment, right?”

You nodded, still reeling. “You’re telling me I’ve been slowly dying under three separate campaign deadlines for Enhypen… and the guy whom I met in a random recording booth while crying my eyes out wrote my favorite songs?”

He grinned, looking down. “I didn’t know you were on their team.”

“I didn’t know you were a genius,” you shot back, smiling now.

He laughed, warm and genuine, and your stomach flipped slightly. 

You looked back down at your notes, flustered. “Okay, well. No pressure. I’m just rebuilding your next concept rollout from scratch.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “Then I guess I should start sneaking you some coffee, because what you gave us for the new changes is hard to do in such a short time frame.”

You barked out a laugh. “Tell me about it, Heeseung, tell me about it.” 

The subway platform smelled faintly of coffee and the sweet smell of the forsythias that were blooming all over Seoul at the moment.

You stood half-asleep in Line 2, wrapped in a cardigan you’d pulled off the back of your chair in a daze. Five hours of sleep, a slice of leftover toast, and a double-shot latte from Megacoffee were all that kept you vertical.

The doors slid open with a soft chime, and you stepped out, the early morning crowd moving with a surprising speed, making you adjust your footsteps to keep up with the crowd.

While you were waiting to check out your t-money cards, you spotted a familiar figure. Heeseung was wearing a hoodie half-zipped and had a big bag slung over his left shoulder. He looked as exhausted as you felt. Considering you left at almost 11 pm and he said he would stay a bit longer, and it was 7:06 am right now, you weren’t surprised. 

“Heeseung!” you said when you were close enough to where he was standing in the crowd. 

He blinked once when he saw you, like it took a moment for his brain to register what his eyes were seeing.

You gave a little wave. “Morning.”

He huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh, falling into step beside you as you both headed toward the exit of the subway station. “Good morning, Y/N.”

“You look like you slept worse than I,” you said, offering him a sideways glance.

He rubbed his face. “I have a meeting slot at seven thirty. Am. Seven thirty a.m.”

You grimaced. “That’s illegal. Call HR.”

He snorted. “Trust me, I’ve thought about it.”

You shuffled across the final crosswalk toward the HYBE building, warm summer wind tussling the yellow flowers slightly.

“It’s so stupid pretty today,” you mumbled.

Heeseung nodded. “It does look really pretty.”

You chuckled. “I love this season. In between summer and spring.”

“I like the quiet in the morning,” he said. “Before the heat kicks in. Or the fans start screaming in front of the building.”

And right on cue, as you turned the corner toward the entrance, you both slowed, spotting the small cluster of fans already hovering by the doors, phones out, whispering, some filming. 

You shared a glance, silently commiserating. 

“Looks like someone interesting walked by,” Heeseung muttered.

You gave them a wide berth, eyes down. “I’ll never understand how they do this every day.”

“Neither do some of the idols,” he said under his breath.

Once inside the cool glass doors, you both paused in the lobby. 

Heeseung gave you a small nod. “Good luck with your soul-crushing deadlines.”

You smiled tiredly. “You too. Have fun with your 7 a.m. meeting.”

That made him chuckle as he stepped into the elevator, lifting a hand in lazy farewell.

You stood there a moment longer, watching the doors close before you moved to your part of the building.

You and Jungwon were staring at your screens for about two hours now, picking and matching fonts together, when he groaned and let his head fall back against his chair.

“No offense,” he said, pointing at the monitor like it had personally wronged him, “but if I see one more handwritten brush font today, I’m going to start biting people.”

You hummed sympathetically. “We just need something clean. And no serifs. Nothing like the old one but kind of like the old one.”

He huffed. “Great, so… Helvetica?”

You snorted, adjusting the saturation levels on a font. The new concept was sleek, a little icy, almost sterile. It was going to be gorgeous. Sometimes, having to do something completely from scratch again results in perfection. But it also meant your eyeballs were bleeding from staring at high-gloss gradients for six hours straight.

Your screen pinged with a message.

[15:16] Lee Heeseung Hi Y/N, could you please come to Room 3C (production suite) when available? We had a couple of questions about the new concept visuals.

You blinked.

Then turned to Jungwon. “Did we miss a sync-up with A&R?”

Jungwon frowned, reading over your shoulder. “I thought the notes weren’t even finalized yet.”

You shrugged and started typing back.

[15:18] Y/N L/N Hi Heeseung, thank you for reaching out. Is this a time-sensitive matter, or would it be possible to align closer to noon? Currently finalizing teaser assets.

His reply came back thirty seconds later.

[Meeting Request: 15:30 – Production Room 3C] Title: Concept Sync — ENHYPEN / Visuals / Sound Direction From: Heeseung, Lee

You blinked at it.

Then looked at Jungwon, who was sipping from his oversized iced Americano.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s… weirdly formal.”

“Right?” you said, clicking Accept with a sigh. 

Jungwon squinted at the meeting invite, then at you. “Who’s Heeseung again?”

You blinked. “He works in A&R. He’s one of the vocal producers on the current cycle. Well, technically, he’s helping with the changes to the title track. They’re rerecording with some of the members today? Wait, let me pull up his profile picture.”

“Oh,” Jungwon said, sitting back, looking at the picture. “That guy. I think I’ve seen him around the elevators. He is quite tall, right?”

You nodded and turned back to your screen. “Yeah. Anyway, A&R and the members were already briefed on the concept changes?”

“Maybe they hate the new font,” he offered dryly.

You let out a quiet laugh, but the thought itched in the back of your mind. Heeseung didn’t seem like the type to waste time. And a meeting this formal? For a few design clarifications, while he works in sound design?

You checked the time.

15:24.

You stood up, smoothing down your skirt. 

“Text me if you hear screaming,” you muttered, grabbing your laptop and notebook.

Jungwon gave a dramatic salute. “Godspeed.”

You gave him a weak smile, headed toward the elevators.

The production hallway was dimmer than the main office floors. You’ve never really been here. This part of the building wasn’t really for administrative employees, so you had to search for the room for a couple of minutes.

When you finally found the room, you paused in front of it, double-checking the invite on your phone:

[Meeting Request: 15:30 – Production Room 3C] Title: Concept Sync — ENHYPEN / Visuals / Sound Direction From: Heeseung, Lee

You inhaled slowly, knocked, and slowly opened the door.

And then… your brain short-circuited.

There, in front of you, standing right there in the recording booth, were Jay and Jake. Jay and Jake from ENHYPEN.

Jake, who was standing behind the glass panel wearing headphones, noticed you the fastes, grinning at you. “Hi! You must be Y/N?”

“Uh,” you said, eyes flicking between him and Jay, who was sitting on a sofa behind Heeseung, outside the recording booth. “I–Hi.”

Your voice cracked.

Cool. Really cool. You didn’t even know if Jake could hear you.

Jay smiled and stood up, offering a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

You took it numbly. “I… know. I mean– Yes. Same. I mean… you.”

Heeseung was sitting in a chair behind the producer’s desk, a few meters behind them, smiling smugly.

“Oh,” he said, as if this were no big deal. “Y/N, you’re here. Come in.”

You didn’t move. You couldn’t move. What was happening? 

Heeseung gestured lazily. “Uh– this is Jake. Jay.”

You may have stopped breathing. You may have also forgotten how to stand.

“What… what is happening?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper as you stepped just inside.

Jay chuckled. “We wanted a bit of outside perspective on the new version. Heeseung said you would be able to give lots of insights into the new concept after the changes.”

You turned your whole head toward Heeseung, expression somewhere between murderous disbelief and you absolute lunatic. He had the gall to smile at you. Teeth and all.

“She’s a genius with designs,” he explained to the guys, tapping at his tablet. “So she should definitely know if the vibe fits. You should have seen her post-it wall, she noted down everything so meticulously, dude.”

You opened your mouth to protest and defend your Post-it wall in the booth. 

“That’s fantastic! We are almost done, Jake and I are going to record a few extra lines, and maybe you could listen to the track to give some feedback?” Jay said, smiling softly. You were talking to Jay Park. What was happening? 

“I–um–I can try?”, you said, tilting your head a bit, and Jay just laughed in response, nodded, and entered the booth.

Which meant it was just you and Heeseung now.

You turned on him, whispering fiercely: “Heeseung. What. The. Hell.”

He raised a brow, unfazed. “What?”

“What do you mean what?! What am I doing here? What are they doing here?!”

“I told you we needed input.”

“You said concept adjustments. Concept. Like… design. You didn’t say ENHYPEN would be here in the flesh.”

Heeseung looked far too pleased with himself. “I thought you might like to meet them.”

Your mouth dropped open. “You–Are you–You did not just casually drop me into a room with two-fifths of ENHYPEN like it’s the most normal thing.”

He lifted his tablet innocently. “I mean. Is it a normal thing for me? I am still friends with them.”

You groaned into your hands. “Heeseung. I’m in a wrinkled shirt. I’ve had, like, one coffee. My hair is greasy, and I smudged my eyeliner.”

“You look pretty,” he said quietly.

You blinked at him. “What?”

He shrugged. “You look fine. You were normal. You also were calmer than I thought you would be. I thought you would freak out more.”

You hesitated. “I didn’t freak out–”

He gave you a look.

“…Okay, I freaked out a little.”

He grinned. “But only a little.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You crossed your arms. “This is unfair.”

Heeseung walked to the soundboard, gesturing for you to follow. “It’s not. You like their music, right? Having a fan’s insight could help us tremendously.”

You exhaled slowly, willing your heart to stop galloping in your chest as you made your way to the chair beside him.

“Fine,” you muttered, cheeks still hot. “But if I say something dumb and they think I am cringe, you’re responsible.”

Heeseung laughed, handing you the headphones. “They won’t. I promise.” 

You watched as Heeseung leaned forward, elbow propped on the soundboard, tapping out the beat with two fingers before adjusting the mic that was on the table.

“Okay,” he said into the mic, his voice calm but precise, “Jay, keep your tone tight here. Don’t overproject. I want more air, less bite. Jake, I know the ad-libs aren’t final, but throw some texture into the bridge. Go off-beat if you want, I’ll clean it up in post.”

Jay nodded, while Jake just gave a lazy thumbs-up. The music started, and both idols started singing.

You turned slowly to look at Heeseung, who was listening intently, eyes flicking from the control board to the monitor to the waveform display. Your brow furrowed deeper with every note.

“Wait,” you whispered, afraid it might interrupt them, “how do they know how to do that? He just–you just gave them, like, five words of instruction and they just…did it?”

Heeseung chuckled beside you, low and soft, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. “It’s instinct and training,” he said. “We work off reference tracks and sometimes demo vocals from overseas. Jay and Jake have good ears; they know how to adjust for tone and mood without needing a full breakdown. It’s kind of like… designing, I guess?”

You blinked. “How?”

“Well,” he said, settling back in his chair, “you don’t always tell your team, ‘make the logo 12% smaller and 4.5 degrees to the left,’ right? Sometimes you just say, ‘This doesn’t feel right.’ And they get it. Same thing here at one point, you just hear what you want to do.”

You sat back slowly, watching Jake and Jay take a sip of their waters and readjusting in the small booth. “Okay, that’s actually… cool as hell.”

Heeseung shot you a glance, smug but warm. “Glad you’re impressed.”

“Don’t get cocky,” you muttered, but the grin tugging at your mouth betrayed you.

The session continued, and slowly, your confusion melted into fascination. 

Honestly, it was kind of mesmerizing. Heeseung sat beside you and gave comments, directing his friends and adjusting when necessary. He really must love producing. Somehow, seeing him here instead of in front of the mic with Jake and Jay felt wrong. You have been thinking a lot about how he told you he was a trainee. Him not debuting was weird. He was pretty and talented, and you were sure he had a lot of potential.

You didn’t realize how much time had passed until Heeseung leaned toward the mic again and said, “Let’s take five.”

The booth door opened, and the two boys stepped out, both grinning and slightly sweaty.

“You good, Y/N?” Jake asked as he passed, tossing you a water bottle he’d grabbed from the mini-fridge.

“I–yeah,” you managed, catching it. “No, I’m good. You guys are just… really talented.”

Jay gave you a warm laugh as he walked past. “Thank you so much.”

Jesus Christ, Park Jongseong was breathing the same air as you. 

Heeseung stood up, stretching lightly. “Be right back, gotta tweak something in the vocal room.”

You nodded, watching as he disappeared down the hall. Being left alone with two of your favorite idols. Jesus. 

Your recording booth was a lot smaller, dimly lit, and far quieter than the one you were in earlier today. After about an hour of watching the boys recording one of the B-sides, you had to leave to join a meeting. You were still in disbelief that you had met Jake and Jay today. They were so …nice, and normal. They joked around with you and asked questions about you whenever they were not singing, seemingly being interested in your measly life. Their lives were so exciting, while yours was almost boring, so you didn’t really understand why they wanted to get to know you better. 

You leaned back in your chair. It had been almost a full week since the other group released their video, and the mountain of work your team had to redo was still looming. You had managed to finish about a third of it, but the rest was still open, waiting for the reshoots. And no matter how many times you tried to sit down and focus, it felt like you were just drowning in endless revisions and emails.

Frustration was simmering in your chest, and you needed a break.

You closed your laptop with a soft snap and leaned back, crossing your arms.

Heeseung, absorbed in his music, kept adjusting the sound levels on his tablet, occasionally glancing at the screen in front of him with a furrowed brow. The speakers in the booth weren’t great, but they did the job, playing the track he was working on with a slightly muffled quality.

"Can you explain what you’re working on?" you asked, your voice tinged with exhaustion. Heeseung glanced at you, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small smile. “Sure.” He pulled up a few sliders on his tablet and gestured for you to sit closer to the desk. “I’ve been tweaking some harmonies here and there. You wanna try playing around a bit?”

You moved closer, peering over his shoulder at the glowing screen. He let you try adjusting a few settings on the software, the knobs and dials responding to your fingers in a way that felt oddly satisfying. The sound in the booth changed, layering and shifting as you worked through the track.

After a few minutes of fiddling, you paused, a thought popping into your head. The voice that came through the speakers sounded familiar.

“Wait...” You blinked, your fingers hovering over the tablet. “Is that you?”

Heeseung, who had been watching you experiment with the sound, gave a slight nod, his smirk widening. “Yeah, that’s me. I’ve been adding in some of my vocals to fill the track out.”

You stared at him for a moment, blinking rapidly, unsure if you had heard him correctly. “You... You’re singing in the song?”

Heeseung shrugged, his grin never faltering. “I mean, someone had to do it. The producers and the idols are all tied up with other things, so I thought I’d help out.”

You looked at him, wide-eyed. “That’s... amazing. I mean, I didn't expect you to... you know, sing. Like in the songs. I knew you could, like you know, you were a trainee. But-.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your reaction. “I’m full of surprises.”

You laughed, but it came out a little breathless, more from the shock than anything else. "I— Wow. You really know how to keep things interesting, don’t you?"

His grin widened. “It’s all part of the job.”

You shook your head with a small chuckle. 

You sat in silence for a few beats, listening to the faint loop of the track playing through the speakers. Then, quietly, you glanced over at him again.

“You told me you were a trainee, right?”

Heeseung didn’t look up at first, just nodded once, his eyes still on the screen. “Yeah.”

You hesitated, then asked, softer this time, “Why didn’t you debut?”

That made him pause. His fingers stilled on the tablet. For a moment, he looked like he might brush it off with one of his usual casual shrugs, but he didn’t. Instead, he leaned back a little in his chair, letting out a slow breath.

“I trained for almost three years,” he said finally. “Made it pretty far in the process. Thought I was gonna be part of the debut team. We were already learning choreo, recording demos... I was so close.”

You watched him carefully, the change in his tone impossible to miss. It wasn’t bitterness exactly, more like quiet disappointment.

“But they cut me before the final lineup,” he continued. “Said it was a tight call, but that I didn’t quite fit the concept. One day I was in the practice room with the guys, next day I was… out.”

Your chest tightened. “That’s–” You stopped, unsure what words would even help. “I’m sorry. That really sucks.”

He nodded slightly, but didn’t look at you. “I mean, it’s just how it goes. That’s the industry, right? You always know it might happen. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like hell when it does.”

You didn’t say anything, letting him have the silence.

After a moment, he glanced at you and added, quieter, “I didn’t want to just hang around, waiting for a maybe. So I left. Enrolled in uni. Got into A&R later. I still wanted to be around the music. Just… not in front of the camera.”

You swallowed, the lump in your throat catching you off guard. “For what it’s worth, you’re good at what you do.”

He gave a small smile. “Thanks. Took me a while to believe that again.”

You sat back again, letting the track loop one more time. 

“You really can sing,” you said, your voice quieter now. “Like… really.”

Heeseung gave you a lopsided smile, like he appreciated it but didn’t quite know how to take the compliment. “Thanks.”

You tilted your head, watching him fiddle with the EQ levels. “Who did you train with? Back then?”

He glanced over, like the question surprised him. “Uh… I started around the same time as the TXT guys, actually. We were all in the same batch for a while.”

“Seriously?” Your eyes widened. 

He nodded. “Yeah. I am still close with Beomguy. We tend to play lol together if he does get the time to do so.“ He chuckled a little, a mix of fondness and something more wistful. “Later, I trained with Jay and Sunghoon too, for a bit. But I didn’t go to I-LAND with them.”

You frowned slightly. “Why not?”

Heeseung paused, then shrugged lightly. “I’d just gotten into Yonsei. I figured if I wasn’t debuting with that team, I should at least do something with all the time I’d spent studying on the side. It felt like a sign or whatever.”

You nodded, trying to picture a younger version of him, in practice rooms, on stages, performing.. “Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if you did go?”

He hesitated. “Sometimes. Yeah. But I also don’t know if I’d still love music the way I do now if I’d pushed through it back then.” His eyes flicked to yours. “Don’t get me wrong. I respect the hell out of the idols who make it. But… I think I wanted music more than I wanted the spotlight.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you just reached out for his hand and gave it a small squeeze. Being so close but still so far away from achieving your dreams while your friends did must be horrible. Your heart was breaking for Heeseung. 

He didn’t look up when he asked, “So how’d you end up in marketing?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. “Marketing?”

He glanced at you, then back at the screen. “Yeah. HYBE. This whole world.”

You leaned back in your chair, letting your gaze drift across the scattered post-its and empty coffee cups. “Honestly?” You paused, debating how much to share. “I wanted to be a baker.”

Heeseung’s fingers stilled over the controls. “A baker?”

“Mm-hmm.” You smiled a little. “Like, own-a-little-café-and-make-pretty-cakes kind of baker. I used to bake all the time. Still do, sometimes, birthdays, project launches, stress-induced insomnia...”

“That explains the cake last week.”

You nodded. “Guilty.”

“So… what happened?”

“My parents weren’t exactly thrilled about the idea,” you said, your smile flattening a bit. “Not a real job, too unstable, that whole thing. Don’t get me wrong. I still love it. But I also liked graphic design. I spent way too much time messing around in Photoshop in high school, and that seemed like a more reasonable job. Something in graphic design.”

Heeseung hummed softly.

“Soongsil had a program that combined marketing and design,” you continued. “I applied on a whim. Somehow got in. And now I’m here. At HYBE. Running on five hours of sleep and three iced Americanos a day.”

He chuckled. “Living the dream.”

“Right?” you muttered, smiling despite yourself. “I still haven’t even met half the artists I used to lose my mind over in high school.”

He shot you a look. “You met me.”

You snorted. “I did. But you’re technically not famous. No offense.”

“Wow.”

You laughed, nudging his shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

Heeseung grinned, then tilted his head thoughtfully. “Would you want to?”

You blinked. “Want to what?”

“Meet more of them. The guys. Or, I don’t know, come with us sometime. When we go out to eat or something.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “What?”

He gave a half-shrug. “Obviously, you’d have to sign NDAs, and it wouldn’t be anything wild. But… Jay and Jake said you were cool to hang with.”

You just stared at him.

He raised a brow. “What?”

“You’re joking.”

He shook his head, completely serious. “Not really. I can ask.”

You blinked once. Twice. “I mean. Yeah. Yes? I’d love that? But are you sure?”

“Absolutely.“

Monday, you were the first one in the booth.

The room was still dim and cold when you flicked on the overhead lights. You set your bag down with a soft thud, pulled your laptop from its sleeve, and stared at the wall you’d unofficially claimed for the past week.

Post-its in every color, screenshots printed out and pinned up, concept sketches taped beside side-by-side comparisons of the old and new rollout plans. The teaser stills were up now, too, and one corner held an evolving palette reference that had been mercilessly fine-tuned since Saturday.

Honestly, it looked like the inside of your brain.

Jungwon had helped you most of the weekend, poring over typefaces and tweaking spacing pixel by pixel while eating almost half of the batch of croissants you made for the team as a cheer-up on his own. Neither of you had gotten much sleep, but you were proud of what had come together.

Now it was Monday, and the final design sprint was on.

You pulled out your laptop and your notebook and then and then, with a flick of hesitation, took a small Tupperware box containing two croissants, a strawberry, and one witch pistachio creme and placed it right in front of the screens on the mixing table. 

You sat back on the sofa and stared at your screen, continuing to adjust the promo banner’s line weight.

You heard the door open ten minutes later.

Heeseung walked in, yawning audibly, one hand ruffling through his hair as he padded across the room. He didn’t notice you at first and made a beeline for his chair, eyes fixed on the floor.

Then he stopped short.

You watched him inspect the box. 

“…What the hell?”

You set down your stylus, trying not to smile. “Good evening, Mr. Lee.”

He jumped slightly, then squinted at you. “Did you bring this for me?”

You blinked innocently. “Bring what?”

He picked up the box. “This says my name on it. In your very neat handwriting.”

You shrugged, going back to your laptop. “Figured you deserved something sweet. You’ve been working nonstop too.”

He looked at you back at the croissant and back at you, then opened the lid, picked out the strawberry one, and took a bite. He moaned. Actually moaned.

You glanced over, cheeks growing warm. “Is it okay?”

“You made this?” he said through a mouthful. “Like. You made this?”

“Mhm.”

He took another bite and threw his head back, making another pleased sound.

“Okay,” he said after swallowing, “I want ten more.”

You laughed. “You’ll have to get in line. Jungwon already stole four yesterday. He ate almost all the matcha ones, I almost had to fight him to save you one.”

Heeseung set the box down with care. “Y/N. I would quit my job and follow you to a bakery handing out these things all day long if that means I could eat one once a day.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You would work the counter?”

He leaned against the edge of the table, grinning. “Only if I get paid in croissants.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warming. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’m a visionary,” he said, still chewing. “And this visionary says we’re keeping you busy and stressed if you bake like this on no sleep.”

You smirked and turned back to your screen. “Then get me coffee and I won’t sleep today.”

He saluted dramatically. “On it.”

By 8 PM, the booth had gone quiet again, not from lack of activity, but from pure, unfiltered exhaustion.

The once-crisp brainstorm wall now looked ragged around the edges, corners curling from the humidity. Your Tupperware sat empty beside a growing sea of coffee cups, and your cursor blinked mockingly on the fifth draft of a teaser caption. You didn’t even register that Heeseung had stopped working until you felt a gentle tug on your hair as he walked past the sofa to peer into your laptop.

“Okay,” he said, voice low but firm. “That’s enough. Hands off.”

You blinked, disoriented. “Wait, just let me–”

“Nope.” He was already reaching across to shut your laptop lid. “You’re two eye twitches away from collapsing. I’m not risking a death on my watch.”

You groaned, slumping back in your chair. “I still have so much to–”

“You’ll be useless if you drop dead tonight. Sleep is part of productivity, Y/N.”

“Is that a direct quote from Bang PD?”

“Me,” he said smugly, gathering his things. “Bang PD wishes he were this wise.”

You finally caved and packed up your bag, groaning softly as you stretched. Your limbs felt like jelly. “God. I might fall asleep standing.”

“Then let’s get you on a subway before that happens.”

The subway hummed beneath your feet, rocking gently as the car pulled into your station. You and Heeseung stood side by side, swaying slightly.

“This is my stop,” you mumbled, turning towards the door.

“Oh really?” he blinked. “You live here?”

“Yeah. Near that 24-hour tteokbokki place,” you said, turning to him. “Why?”

He smiled, a bit stunned. “I’m like five minutes from there.”

“What?”, you asked, your eyebrows scrunching together. 

“We've probably missed each other by seconds.”, he said and walked towards the door, waiting for you to follow, before continuing. “I go to that tteokbokki place at least twice a week.”

“Oh really?” you shook your head, smiling. 

“I swear they make a lot of profit thanks to me.”

“So where is your apartment?”, you asked, tapping your T-money card against the sensor to open the gate for you to walk out. 

“Across from that tiny laundromat with the blue sign just down the street,” he said, as the two of you made your way upstairs and outside the subway station. 

You were greeted by pouring rain. “Oh. That’s really close to me, then.”

You used one of your hands as a makeshift umbrella, pressing your workbag closer to you. 

“Do you not have an umbrella?” Heeseung asked, unfolding his and stepping closer so you were hurdled under his together. 

“No. I forgot mine at home this morning”, you mumble, adjusting your bag again so it was protected from the rain. 

“I’ll walk you home then”, Heeseung said and nodded. 

You blinked. “You don’t have to–”

“I want to,” he said, simply.

You both fell into step, feet dragging just slightly on the quiet sidewalk. You walked in comfortable silence for a block or two, the street dim and hushed.

And then, just before your building came into view, you slowed slightly and turned toward him.

“Well,” you said, offering a small smile, “this is me.”

Heeseung nodded, rocking back on his heels. “Right.”

You opened your mouth to say goodbye when he suddenly spoke again, fast.

“Wait–uh, have you eaten?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He shifted, suddenly looking a little unsure of himself. “Dinner,” he clarified, gaze dropping for a second before flicking back to yours. “I mean. Did you eat anything yet?”

You hesitated, then shook your head. “Not really. Why?”

He exhaled like he wasn’t sure if he should keep going. “It’s just–” He paused, then gave a crooked, slightly sheepish smile. “I make really good ramen. Like… really good ramen. And I figured since you fed me the best croissant I’ve ever had in my life, maybe I could return the favor?”

You stared at him for a second, thrown off.

“You… want to make me ramen?”

“I mean, you don’t have to say yes,” he said quickly, suddenly sounding adorably embarrassed. “But I promise they are going to be the best instant ramen you have ever eaten.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself, the sound light and disbelieving. “Are you actually trying to seduce me with ramen?”

Heeseung’s ears turned pink. “Only a little?”

You bit back your grin. “Okay.”

He blinked. “Okay?”

You nodded. “Let’s see if your ramen lives up to the hype, Lee.”

He grinned, eyes lighting up like a kid getting away with something. “You won’t regret this.”

You unlocked the door with one hand and pushed it open with the other, stepping inside and kicking off your shoes with a sigh.

He crouched to undo his own laces, then straightened, glancing around the small space. “You weren’t kidding. We really do live close.”

“Five-minute radius,” you said, dropping your bag onto your sofa. “Honestly, I’ve never run into you before. Weird.”

He stepped further in, still looking around. “Nice place.”

You let out a small, awkward laugh. “It’s a bit of a mess. I didn’t think I’d get any guests today.”

He turned toward you, one brow raised. “This is a mess?”

You looked around—jacket half-draped over a chair, two mugs in the sink, and a few design books scattered on the desk.

“Kind of,” you said, self-conscious.

“No,” Heeseung said gently. “You should see my apartment. Yours looks like an Airbnb listing.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but stopped when you realized he wasn’t teasing. His voice was soft, eyes still lingering on the wall of pictures next to the sofa with something like curiosity.

“Right,” you said, clearing your throat. “Okay. So, um, what do you need to make the ramen happen?”

Heeseung stepped into the kitchen with you, looking around like he was sizing up a mission. “Pot. Strainer. A spoon and a dream.”

You laughed quietly and opened a cabinet. “Okay, I can manage that.”

While you pulled out everything he needed, Heeseung started unpacking the convenience store bag: two packets of noodles, tofu, scallions, two eggs, and a packet of cheese he insisted on buying.

He glanced at you. “Would you like to play some music?”

You grabbed your phone and shrugged. “Sure. What do you wanna hear?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

You picked one of your most listened R&B playlists. The speakers on your counter buzzed faintly as the music kicked in, and Heeseung was already filling the pot with water, sleeves rolled up, head bowed in focus.

You found yourself watching him for a beat too long.

Then you turned to the drawer, pulled out two sets of chopsticks, and set the small two-seater table without thinking, putting everything down meticulously. 

“Sorry for the lack of options with drinks,” you said eventually, twisting the cap off a bottle of water. “I didn’t really plan for dinner company.”

Heeseung looked up from where he was slicing green onions with the dullest knife you owned. “You’re kidding? This is better than most of my actual dinner plans.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Which are what, exactly?”

“Usually just me and a microwaved rice bowl.”

You laughed again, softer this time. “Tragic.”

He shot you a grin. “Hence the ramen upgrade.”

The kitchen filled with the scent of boiling broth and spice. It was quiet, save for the clatter of utensils and the low hum of the playlist. You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him stir the noodles in smooth, practiced motions.

“This feels weird,” you said, after a moment.

He glanced at you, brows raised. “Weird?”

“Not in a bad way,” you clarified. “Just… we barely know each other. And now you’re making ramen in my kitchen.”

Heeseung looked down at the pot, then back at you. His expression shifted, something between amusement and bashfulness.

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess it is kind of weird.”

A beat passed.

“But not, like… bad weird,” he added.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Not bad.”

You were halfway through reviewing the teaser layouts when a message pinged your phone.

[10:12 AM] Manager-nim Y/N, please come to Meeting Room 5A. Someone’s waiting for you.

Curious and a little nervous, you made your way upstairs, dodging a couple of rushed interns in the hallway. The second you stepped into 5A, your eyes widened.

Sitting calmly at the head of the small table was Enhypen’s manager.

“Y/N-ssi,” he greeted, standing and offering a small bow. “Thanks for coming. Please, have a seat.”

Your brain scrambled. Why the hell was Enhypen’s manager here? Had something gone wrong with the concept rollout? Was there another delay? 

But instead of pulling up the campaign materials, he slid a neat stack of documents across the table. A thick set of papers clipped together.  On top, in bold print:

CONFIDENTIALITY & CONDUCT AGREEMENT (NDA)

You blinked. “I–sorry, what is this?”

The manager smiled faintly. “Jay mentioned he’d invited you to join the team for dinner next week.”

You stared. “Jay?”

Why would Jay invite you for dinner? 

“The boys are very serious about privacy,” he said, flipping the first page over. “So we have to be as well.”

For the next fifteen minutes, you were walked through every clause of the NDA, contact policies, social media limitations, media interaction clauses, and personal conduct guidelines. You nodded numbly, half in shock, half in awe, as you signed your name at the bottom.

The second you were released, you didn’t even make it back to your desk. You opened your messages and texted Heeseung instead:

[10:52 AM] You: Where are you. [10:52 AM] Heeseung: Vocal Room 3. Just wrapped a lesson.

When you pushed open the door to Vocal Room 3, Heeseung was setting down a water bottle. “Wow, that was fast.” 

“Dude–” you blurted, slapping the door shut behind you. “Are you actually insane?”

He blinked. “...No?”

“You told me I’d have to sign an NDA. You didn’t tell me it was real! I thought you were joking?!”

“I wasn’t.” He grinned, thoroughly enjoying your fluster. “Do you not wanna come?”

You launched yourself at him before you could stop yourself, arms looping around his neck. “Are you kidding?! Of course I want to come! I can’t believe– thank you, seriously–”

You hadn’t even fully realized you were hugging him until you felt that split-second freeze in his posture. His hands hovered in midair like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Oh–,” he muttered under his breath.

You pulled back immediately. “Oh my god–sorry–”

“No, no,” he said quickly, shaking off whatever momentary glitch he just had. His arms settled loosely around your waist. “I just didn’t think you’d be this excited about an NDA.”

“You literally handed me a legally binding document that says Enhypen wants to hang out with me.”

He snorted. “Technically, it just says they won’t sue you if you talk about anything that might happen or will be said.”

You smacked his arm lightly.

He grinned. “We’re going for Italian on Thursday.”

You blinked. “Thursday? Crap–I have the rollout presentation Friday morning.”

Heeseung tilted his head. “Okay… so come over instead.”

“…What?”

“I’ll host. My place. We’ll do pizza or pasta or whatever. Super chill. I’ll tell the guys.”

You stared at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, like it wasn’t a big deal at all. “Absolutely.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach flip a little. You tried to pretend your ears weren’t burning as you nodded slowly.

“…Okay,” you said, voice a bit higher than intended. “I’ll bring dessert.”

“You’d better,” he shrugged. “If not, you’re getting uninvited.”

You laughed under your breath as you followed him out into the hallway, heart thudding somewhere between this is so surreal and how is he so nonchalant about this.

He laughed softly, arms coming up to steady you as you practically bounced on your heels. “Okay, okay, calm down. It’s just dinner.”

“It’s not just dinner,” you huffed into his shoulder. “It’s Enhypen dinner. I didn’t even think you liked me that much–”

“I don’t,” he teased. “I just want more croissants.”

You shoved his shoulder lightly but didn’t let go. You were still grinning way too hard to care.

The morning crowd on the subway was… less than forgiving.

You regretted everything the moment you stepped onto the packed train, clutching your bag and a coffee cup against your chest like a shield. Heeseung had met you at your usual stop with a lazy smile and two iced Americanos, one of which you almost spilled when the train lurched forward.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, half-tripping. 

“Hold that,” Heeseung said, pressing his cup into your hand and wrapping one hand around your waist, steadying you. The other shot up to catch the overhead handle just in time. You froze.

Not a single muscle moved.

His arm stayed firmly around you, low and warm and annoyingly natural.

“I was doing fine,” you protested, after a few seconds. 

“Yeah,” Heeseung said, glancing down at you with a raised brow, “you look thriving.”

You shot him a look, but the next jolt of the train had you wobbling forward again. 

And suddenly your entire spine was pressed against Heeseung’s chest, shoulder to ribs.

You were perilously aware of everything: how warm he was, how steady his breathing felt against your back, how he smelled faintly like cologne and coffee. And most of all, how he didn’t move.

If anything, he just adjusted his grip slightly. 

You wanted to say something. Instead, you just blinked at your own reflection in the window and tried not to melt.

“Relax,” Heeseung murmured near your ear, low enough for only you to hear. “I’ve got you.”

You made a tiny, strangled noise, trying not to squeeze the two cups in your hand, while panicking. 

And then, mercifully, the next stop came.

By the time you spilled out of the subway car onto the platform, your legs were jelly and your face was on fire. 

“You okay?” he asked, amused when you handed him his cup.

“Totally,” you wheezed. “Normal. Very normal train ride. Love commuting. Big fan.”

“Good,” he said, sipping his coffee, grinning at you.

The train finally began to slow near your stop, the pressure of the crowd shifting as people prepared to shuffle out. Heeseung’s arm loosened from around you, and you stepped forward as space allowed, finally able to breathe without your heart doing parkour in your chest.

At the platform, the two of you walked in step toward the station exit, letting the rhythm of the morning crowd carry you along. 

Outside, the morning air was already stuffy. You reached the entrance of the building.

You turned to Heeseung. He was already watching you with that unreadable expression of his, coffee cradled in one hand.

“See you later,” you said, a little quieter than usual.

He nodded, mouth tilting up just a bit. “Yeah. Later.”

 By 6:40 p.m. on Thursday, you were this close to crying.

Your desk was a mess of draft decks, color-correction notes, and flagged emails you hadn’t yet answered. Your hands were cold from stress, your jaw ached from clenching, and your chest felt tight.

You were just about finished for the evening when you noticed him standing in the doorway of your booth. His shoes clicked against the polished floor, his movements far too deliberate, too slow, as he made his way toward you.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he said, his voice so sickly sweet you could almost taste the insincerity. “Looking absolutely stunning tonight.”

You blinked, trying to refocus on your screen.

“Is that a new dress?” He leaned closer, his smile stretching too wide for comfort. “You know, I do enjoy when someone can dress for the occasion... So much more appealing to the eyes.”

You barely suppressed a grimace, resisting the urge to curl your lip. You'd chosen the dress that morning because it was a simple yet professional choice. You didn’t think much of it until Mr. Kim made it clear that it had caught his attention in a way that had nothing to do with your work.

His eyes lingered, scanning you too intently for your liking, and the comment that followed only made your stomach churn.

“Quite the distraction, though,” he added smoothly. “Makes it hard for a man like me to focus, Miss Y/L/N.”

You hated how his gaze felt like it was crawling over you, how it lingered a little too long on the way your dress fit and the way you sat at your desk. 

He lowered his voice slightly, the words coated with layers of suggestion. “You know, I could always help you with getting your mind off work... if you needed a break from all this stress.”

Your jaw clenched. A small part of you wanted to retort, tell him exactly what you thought of his “help,” but you knew better. You didn’t want to make a scene. You smiled tightly instead, forcing the words out with as much professionalism as you could muster.

“Thank you, Mr. Kim. But I have everything under control.”

He leaned back, satisfied with your answer, or rather, the fact that you hadn’t rejected his offer outright. You tried to shove the creeping feeling of disgust down. He made a final comment before leaving, "Don't work too hard, Miss Y/L/N. After all, we wouldn’t want you to get too tired in that lovely dress."

You almost threw your stylus at him.

Now you sat slumped in your chair, elbows on your desk.

You wanted to cancel. You really, really wanted to. 

But you couldn’t.

Because Heeseung invited you. Because he was excited. Because you were excited. Because you made tiramisu. Because this was your chance to meet some of the Enhypen members as actual people, not headline acts. 

A knock on the outer glass startled you.

Heeseung.

He walked in smiling, but his expression shifted the second he saw you. You didn’t even have time to straighten up before he crossed the room.

“Hey…” His voice was gentle. “What happened?”

You opened your mouth to answer and ended up just blinking fast.

“Oh. Okay, come here.”

He wrapped his arms around you before you could say anything else. One hand rubbed gently between your shoulder blades.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re okay.”

You sniffed, trying not to fall apart completely. “Sorry. I’m just– I don’t know, I’m just really tired and that asshole came by and–”

“I hate that guy,” Heeseung muttered, pulling back just enough to look at you properly.

His hands came up to frame your face, gentle thumbs brushing at your temples, moving a few strands of hair away with soft care. “You’re doing amazing, okay? Don’t let him make you think differently.”

Your breath shuddered out. “I just… I don’t wanna show up all weird and stressed and ruin the vibe.”

“You’re not going to ruin anything,” he said quietly. “You’re bringing tiramisu. You’ve already won everyone’s heart. Especially Sunghoons. I know he is your bias, so it’s a win, right?”

That got the smallest laugh out of you. He himself asked you if you could make tiramisu. 

He smiled. “Let me carry your stuff, okay? We’ll head to mine, eat too much, and if you want to dip early, I’ll make something up. Deal?”

You nodded slowly. “Deal.”

“And,” he added, lowering his hands but still watching you carefully, “if he ever comes near your booth again, let me know. I’m not management, but I know how to be annoying.”

You laughed again, for real this time. “You? Annoying? Never.” 

The subway car was packed.

Not just crowded, shoulder-to-shoulder, strangers-breathing-down-your-neck kind of packed. You squeezed in just behind Heeseung as the doors hissed shut, the jolt of movement almost sending you stumbling. He caught your elbow instinctively, his hand steadying you for just a second before he let go.

“Seat,” he said quietly, nodding toward the only one available, just a few feet to your right.

You hesitated. “You should take it.”

Heeseung looked at you like you’d suggested jumping onto the tracks. “You’re wearing a dress and heels.”

You blinked. “What does that–”

“Just sit.”

You didn’t argue again. You just slid into the seat, your bag clutched tight in your lap.

He stood directly to your right, one hand braced on the bar above, the other tucked into the pocket of his jacket. The car lurched forward.

Your knees bumped his leg when the train turned.

He didn’t move.

You shifted, trying to give him space, but there wasn’t any. He was close enough that you could smell the laundry detergent on his hoodie. 

Another stop. More people pushed in. He adjusted his stance slightly, his shin brushing against your ankle now, the line of his thigh against yours. 

His eyes flicked down.

Then up again.

Then away.

Neither of you spoke.

You didn’t have to. The contact was small, but your whole body was aware of it.

You stared at the blinking subway map above the door.

One stop. Then two. Almost home.

You tried not to think too hard about how nice it felt, this quiet little moment of being taken care of in the most casual, quiet, unspoken way.

By the time you reached your building, it started raining and you and Heeseung were huddled under his umbrella again. You buzzed yourself in, holding the door with your foot until Heeseung followed.

Once inside, you took off your shoes, motioning toward the living room. “Give me two minutes. Gotta grab the tiramisu and maybe… change?”

Heeseung tilted his head. “Yeah….actually, if you want to, that might be… good?”

You blinked. “Good?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Just figured you might wanna get out of your work stuff, to be…more comfortable. It’s super casual, I mean.”

You nodded slowly. “Got it. Two seconds.”

You disappeared down the hallway, your heart doing something slightly irrational as you pulled open your wardrobe.

Comfortable. Casual. Not… too casual.

You settled on high-waisted jeans and a soft black tank with scalloped straps. Simple. You undid your hair too, shaking it out with your fingers until it settled loosely over your shoulders. You checked the mirror, lips twitching.

And then, without overthinking it, you padded barefoot back into the living room.

“Okay,” you said, leaning against the doorframe. “This okay?”

Heeseung looked up from where he’d been sitting on your sofa, flipping through one of the design magazines you bunkered under the table, and froze. 

His eyes scanned you quickly and then darted immediately to the floor like the entire act of looking had caught him off guard.

“Uh–yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “Yeah. That’s–uh. That’s perfect.”

You tilted your head. “You sure?”

“Totally,” he said, too fast. “I mean–it’s not, like–you’re perfect. I mean–not like perfect-perfect, just–you look great. I mean good. Yes.”

You smiled slowly, watching the tips of his ears turn pink. “Thanks, Heeseung.”

He coughed once, avoiding your eyes. “Let’s… let’s go before I eat the tiramisu myself.”

You grabbed your bag again, heart fluttering just enough to make your grin feel dangerous. “Lead the way.”

Heeseung’s apartment was bigger than yours. 

He dropped his keys in the bowl near the door, turning to offer you a small smile. “They said they’d be here around seven-thirty, so we’ve got a few minutes.”

You nodded, clutching the tiramisu like it was a shield. Your heart thudded faster now, not in fear exactly, but in nerves. The idea of sitting down and casually having dinner with ENHYPEN suddenly felt very… real.

Heeseung watched you for a moment, eyes soft. “You okay?”

“Just… mentally preparing,” you said, exhaling. “It’s fine. Totally fine. Just casually meeting five people who were on my Spotify Wrapped last year.”

He grinned. “If it helps, Sunghoon still burns toast.”

You laughed under your breath and were about to respond when the shrill sound of Heeseungs doorbell interrupted you. 

Heeseung raised a brow. “They are early.”

You instinctively stepped half behind him as he opened the door.

“Hyung, I swear to god. I am so freaking hungry if we dont order food immedietely I’ll die,” Jake’s voice rang out as he stepped inside, followed by Sunoo, who immediately toed off his shoes.

“We literally just came back ourselves,” Heeseung replied, letting them all in. “We haven’t ordered anything yet.”

“Man, thats dissapointing,” Jake said, already peeking toward the kitchen where you were standing, next to the tiramisu.

“Hi,” you replied, suddenly aware of how warm your face felt.

Behind him came Niki and Sunghoon, who both had wet hair. All of them were bare faced.

“We’re minus one,” Sunghoon said as he dropped onto the couch. “Jay’s not coming.”

Heeseung blinked. “What?”

Sunghoon shrugged. “His girlfriend started her period today and he went over to her place.”

“That’s… actually sweet,” you blurted.

Heeseung gave a small laugh and motioned toward you. “Everyone, this is Y/N. She works in creative.”

You gave a small wave, not quite trusting your voice again yet.

Sunoo smiled at you, “Nice to meet you Y/N.”

You slightly cleared your throat. “Yeah. Nice to meet you, too.”

Jake stepped into the kitchen. “Wait. Is that the tiramisu?”

“Mhm,” Heeseung said walking over and, setting it in the fridge. 

“Dude I thought you ordered some,” Sunghoon said sitting down on Heeseungs sofa. 

“Yeah. Well, not exactly order, I asked Y/N if she wanted to make some,” Heeseung shrugged. “It’s Sunghoon’s favorite.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You asked for it.”

Heeseung’s expression didn’t even flicker. “Yeah. For Sunghoon.”

You turned to him, deadpan. “Dude. What the fuck. I wanted to make cookies for you cause you said u said they looked yummy and now i made tiramisu for an international super star?”

Sunoo laughed immediately. “Wait, you’re the croissant girl?”

You blinked. “The crossiant girl?”

“But Heeseung didn’t shut up about the croissants for days.”, Jake said plopping down next to Sunghoon.

You looked at Heeseung, arms crossed. “You told them about the crossints?”

Heeseung, who was now pretending to scroll through the pizza delivery app, said nothing.

“I think that’s sweet,” Sunghoon said, leaning back on the armrest. “Even if it’s a little embarrassing.”

“For him or me?” you asked.

“Yes,” Sunghoon replied with a faint smile.

You shook your head, still suppressing a grin. “Okay. You guys want pizza or not?”

“Absolutely,” Niki said. “Half bulgogi, half pepperoni. No pineapple.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jake muttered.

“Do not start a war in my apartment,” Heeseung warned.

While they argued about toppings, you helped Heeseung finish the order. 

Sunoo plopped down next to Sunghoon and patted the seat beside him. “Come on. We don’t bite.”

You hesitated, then sat, keeping your posture neutral, your legs tucked neatly under you.

“Okay,” Jake said, lounging across the arm of the couch. “So what made you want to work at HYBE?”

You blinked at the directness, then laughed nervously. “Wow. Uhm I'm there more or less on accident?”

You glanced at Heeseung, who offered a small nod of encouragement from the kitchen.

“I… actually wanted to be a baker,” you said. “I studied design because my parents wanted me to have something ‘practical’ to fall back on. Turns out I liked it enough to keep doing it. And then one internship led to another, and somehow I ended up designing teaser graphics for idol groups.”

“Do you still bake often, or was it a one time thing for hyung?” Niki asked.

“Mostly for stress,” you admitted. “Or when someone makes a really annoying request for tiramisu.” You shot a glance at Heeseung, who just smiled and opened a cabinet.

“Hey,” he said, mock-offended. “That was a great decision.”

The next morning was already chaos.

You had a stack of revised mood boards tucked under your arm, three poster mock-ups clipped to your tote, and a USB drive clenched between your teeth while you tried not to spill your lukewarm coffee. The team had pulled off near-miracles, reworking concepts, rebuilding a cohesive storyline, and salvaging designs under impossible pressure. And now it was time to present.

Your nerves were frayed and your blouse was wrinkled and of course, of course, the elevator was packed when you stepped inside.

Just as the doors started to close, a hand slipped between them.

Heeseung, headphones around his neck and hair still slightly damp like he’d showered five minutes ago made his way into the packed elevator. He offered you a sleepy smile, eyes darting to the mess in your hands.

“Are you ready?” he asked, leaning slightly against the side of the elevator.

“I am not sure,” you muttered, clutching your things. “Everything breaks if one person blinks wrong.”

“Sounds relaxing,” he said, with a small smirk.

You gave him a half-hearted eye roll, but you were grateful for the few seconds of levity. His presence was oddly grounding. Then the elevator dinged.

And in stepped Mr. Kim.

The air changed immediately.

You froze as the man’s eyes raked across the small elevator car, lingering far too long when they landed on you. Your stomach twisted. 

“Miss Y/L/N,” he said, his tone smug. “Always working so hard.”

You tried to smile without actually smiling, eyes darting to Heeseung, who glanced between you and Mr. Kim.

You gave him a look.

And without missing a beat, Heeseung shifted closer to you, casually, but firmly placing himself between you and Mr. Kim. His hand came up to gently rest on your back, warm through the fabric of your shirt. 

Your breath caught.

As the elevator slowed to your floor, Heeseung looked down at you and gave a quiet, encouraging murmur.

“You got this, babe.”

Your brain short-circuited.

You barely registered the surprised look on Mr. Kim’s face as he blinked at Heeseung, then back at you, as you stepped off the elevator.

“Oh?” he said, clearly trying to mask his annoyance. “You and Mr. Lee are… close?”

Heeseung didn’t even blink. He just smiled.

“Yes. We’ve been going out for a while now.”

Mr. Kim’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he gave a small nod, like the internal math he was doing didn’t quite add up but he’d decided it wasn’t worth the effort to challenge it, at least not now.

The rest of the meeting passed in strange, almost blessed peace. Mr. Kim didn’t interrupt you once. Didn’t cut off your points, didn’t make snide remarks. He just… sat there. Quiet.

The applause at the end of your presentation felt like a drug. Even Legal had nodded in approval, which was practically a standing ovation. When your manager turned to you with a small, rare smile and said, “Great work. We’re green lit to post. Let’s get this live by Monday,” your knees almost buckled.

You had survived.

You should have felt on top of the world.

Except…

Heeseung had been red on Teams since 10:14 a.m.

You checked. Rechecked. Closed and reopened the app. Still red.

[12:47 PM] y/n: We did it. Greenlight.

No reply.

[2:05 PM] y/n: I brought the fancy draft mockups for you to roast but you’re ghosting me instead, rude

Still red.

You tried to be mature about it. He was busy. Probably. 

Except it stung a little. Okay, a lot. Especially when your manager swung by at 4:30 with a tired grin and a generous offer.

“You’ve earned a break. Go home, everyone. Rest. Sleep. Don’t even look at your inbox until Monday morning.”

And like that, the office emptied.

You took the train back in silence. When you got home, you peeled off your work clothes, cleansed your face, and climbed into your pink kitty pajamas. You slapped on your favorite aloe sheet mask and sank into your couch like a deflated balloon.

You glanced at your phone once more, just in case.

Still red.

At 9:17 p.m., just when you were deciding whether you wanted to start a new drama or rewatch a old one your phone vibrated. 

[9:17 PM] Heeseung: Are you still in the building?

You blinked, stared, then scrambled to type back.

[9:18 PM] y/n: Nope. Left hours ago. Home now.

Three little dots appeared immediately.

[9:18 PM] Heeseung: ...Can I come over? Actually. I’ll be at your place in 5 min. 

You froze and stared at your reflection in the black screen of your TV.

You barely had time to rip off your sheet mask and throw on a hoodie before the doorbell rang.

When you opened the door, Heeseung stood there in sweatpants and a hoodie, holding a bottle of red wine and a guilty expression.

“Hi,” he said, a little breathless. “I forgot how fast I walk when I’m anxious.”

You blinked. “You’re anxious?”

“...Yes.”

He stood there for another second, then stepped inside when you moved back. He hovered awkwardly near the entrance, hands in his pockets now, looking around like he wasn’t sure if he was intruding.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I meant to come by after the elevator. I really did. But the studio called me into something last minute and then I had to stay in the editing room and–”

You blinked, confused for a second. “Wait. You were coming to find me?”

He nodded, sheepish. “Yeah. I wanted to come after you texted me you got greenlit. To congratulate…and to see how you were doing, if he did something again.”

Oh. You thought back to the elevator, Mr. Kim’s eyes on you, his words oily and smug, and then Heeseung’s hand on your back. The quiet “you got this, babe” still echoed in your head like a song lyric you didn’t know how to stop humming.

“I was fine,” you murmured.

He gave you a look.

You sighed. “Okay. I was… about to punch him but holding it together. Professionally of course.”

“I was so mad,” he admitted, voice lower now. “At him. I just—” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I should’ve texted.”

“You were red on Teams all day.”

“I was sitting on the floor with a laptop trying to fix three vocal tracks while my phone was dead in my bag,” he said, smiling weakly. “It was not my most functional day.”

You stared at him, this boy who offered you a tissue when you crashed into his, now your, booth when you were crying, who casually invited you to meet your idols, who fought off your sleazy coworker with just four words and a hand on your back, and felt something soft start to uncurl in your chest.

“Want wine?” you asked, voice gentler now.

He looked up like you’d just told him the world was ending and he had five minutes to enjoy it.

“Yes. So much.”

Fifteen minutes later, you were curled up on your couch in your oversized tshirt and mismatched socks, and Heeseung was beside you, barefoot now, as he poured you both generous glasses of red wine.

Your cat-themed pajama pants were definitely not glamorous, but he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, his expression had softened the second you shuffled back into the room with your hair damp from a quick rinse and your face washed clean of mask residue.

“You really are glowing when you’re out of that office,” he said, handing you a glass.

You wrinkled your nose. “I think that’s just the very expensive and excessive amount of skincare on my face right now.”

He smiled into his glass as you both sipped.

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, the low flicker of your floor lamp the only light in the room. The Netflix menu looped quietly on your TV, still waiting for a decision you didn’t feel like making.

Heeseung broke the silence first.

“I kept thinking about it.”

You turned your head to him. “About what?”

“The way he looked at you.” His jaw tightened. 

You said nothing. Just reached for your wine again.

Heeseung glanced sideways, then spoke again, softer. “You don’t have to talk about it. I just… wanted you to know I saw it. And it wasn’t okay.”

You nodded slowly. “It happens. More than it should. To more girls than just me.”

He looked at you, brows drawn slightly. “Still not okay.”

“I know,” you whispered.

Another beat passed.

“I didn’t expect you to say it like that,” you said finally.

Heeseung blinked. “Say what?”

“‘Babe.’”

“Oh,” he said, the tips of his ears instantly going red. “Yeah. That was… I didn’t plan that.”

You smiled into your wine glass. “It worked.”

He looked over, surprised. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “He didn’t say a single word to me during the meeting.”

“I’ll call you that again if it keeps him quiet.”

“Don’t push your luck, Romeo.”

That made him laugh, the sound low and honest, and you smiled against your glass again.

Eventually, you picked a movie and settled deeper into the couch cushions. You sat closer now, your thighs brushing once or twice, his knee occasionally bumping yours when he shifted.

By the time the movie was halfway through, the first bottle of wine was nearly gone.

You hadn’t meant to drink that much. Neither had he.

But you kept topping off each other’s glasses in lazy silence, the bottle tipping between you like a slow conversation neither of you wanted to end. The couch had become a sort of middle ground, with two pillows behind your backs and one blanket draped loosely over both your legs. You weren’t sure when that had happened either.

The film flickered quietly in the background, something about a bakery in Paris and a romance that neither of you were really following. Heeseung made a dramatic noise when the lead actress confessed her feelings to the wrong guy, slumping his head against your shoulder.

“Justice for the hot violinist,” he mumbled into your hoodie.

You burst out laughing, setting your glass down before you spilled.

“You’re so annoying,” you said between giggles.

“Am not,” he replied, lifting his head just enough to smirk at you.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t move away.

Heeseung grabbed the second bottle from where it had been sitting patiently by the TV and held it up like a question.

You raised your brows. “You really want more?”

“Yes.” He grinned. “Absolutely.”

You got the cork halfway out before it popped with a little pop that made you both jump and then start laughing all over again. Heeseung nearly dropped his glass trying to pour, his other hand bracing against your thigh for balance, and you swatted at him gently.

“God, you’re clumsy,” you muttered, amused.

“Blame the grapes,” he said, eyes dancing.

You sipped your wine and sank deeper into the couch, your legs half-tangled with his now, your knees bumping, your feet tucked under the blanket. The buzz in your head was warm and a little dizzying. 

“Do you do this a lot?” you asked after a while, your voice soft and hazy. “Stay late at the office? Show up at coworkers’ apartments with wine?”

Heeseung shook his head slowly, resting his head back against the couch. “No. Not really.”

You turned to look at him.

He was already watching you.

“It’s just you,” he added, voice lower now. “It’s always just you.”

You felt your heart stutter in your chest.

Then, to cover it up you reached for your glass. “That sounds dangerously close to flirting, Mr. Lee.”

He grinned, slow and crooked. “Dangerously?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And if I said I meant it?”

You looked at him over the rim of your glass. “Then I’d probably say… don’t stop.”

Both of you were silent for a second, watching each other until Heeseung turned his head towards the TV again.

By the time the second movie started your feet were in his lap, his hand resting lightly against your calf. You were curled up sideways, your cheek brushing his shoulder. At some point, his fingers started tracing slow, absent-minded shapes against your knee.

You felt them even through the blanket.

“You’re warm,” he mumbled, voice muffled into your hair.

You made a soft sound. “You’re heavy.”

“Lies.”

“Truth.“

Your wine glass was empty and forgotten on the coffee table, your head tilted slightly toward Heeseung as the credits rolled over yet another cheesy, completely ignorable romantic subplot. The soft buzz in your limbs made you slower, warmer, and more tangled up in the present than you usually allowed yourself to be.

He hadn’t made a joke in a while.

Which, honestly, was weird.

You shifted slightly, cheek brushing the edge of his shirt where your head had been half-leaning for the last–what, twenty? thirty?–minutes. His shoulder was warm and steady beneath you, but quiet.

Too quiet.

You turned your head slowly.

He was out cold.

His head had slumped just slightly to the side, lips parted the tiniest bit, one hand still loosely holding the stem of his wine glass, though it had dipped into his lap. His other hand was still half-tucked under the blanket near your leg.

You blinked.

“You traitor,” you whispered, grinning.

He didn’t move.

You leaned closer, squinting at his face in the low light. His cheeks were flushed, not just wine-warm, but rosy now, all the way to the tips of his ears.

You couldn’t help it.

You let out the softest, breathiest laugh and murmured, “You’re so red, oh my god.”

You carefully reached out and plucked the glass from his hand before he could spill anything, setting it on the coffee table. Then you curled back into the couch, closer this time, and let your head rest against the curve of his shoulder.

“You laughed through an entire subplot about a pastry chef and her ghost boyfriend,” you whispered into the quiet. “And this is what knocks you out?”

Still nothing.

But his breathing stayed slow and even.

You looked at him again, your smile softening.

He looked peaceful. Not polished or poised or the version of him you usually saw pacing around the studio, just… Heeseung. Slightly flushed, his shirt wrinkeled, wine-drowsy, and entirely asleep in your living room.

And somehow, that made your chest ache in the nicest possible way.

“Guess I’m not the only lightweight,” you whispered, barely audible.

You shifted carefully, moving one arm, then another, easing yourself up from the sofa to go sleep in your bed. 

You didn’t even get the chance to move mor ethan a few centimeters when Heeseungs hand tightened at your waist followed by a quiet, groggy voice.

“…What?”

You froze mid-sit-up and looked down.

Heeseung’s eyes were barely open, squinting in the low light, his lashes heavy against his cheeks and his mouth slack with sleep. But he was awake. Or halfway there.

You smiled, soft. “Go back to sleep.”

He blinked slowly. “Where are you going?”

“My beed,” you whispered, brushing your fingers against his wrist, trying to gently pry his hand off your hoodie. “I was just gonna–”

“No,” he mumbled, arm tightening just slightly, his voice all thick and low and whiny. “Stay.”

You blinked. “What?”

He made a small, disgruntled sound and shifted, trying to pull you back down the way someone hugs a pillow in their sleep.

“Stay,” he repeated, quieter this time, like he knew he was already asking for too much. 

You were about to argue. Say something rational. Like you’d be more comfortable in your bed or he might need space or this is unprofessional, right? But then he made that soft noise again and his fingers caught the hem of your shirt.

And your chest did that dumb, twisty ache again.

So you sighed and gave in.

“Okay,” you murmured, lowering yourself back down. “Fine. Whatever.”

You felt him relax instantly, his arm slipping easily around your waist again, pulling you against his chest with a quiet breath of relief.

His forehead bumped gently against your temple as you both settled back into the blanket.

“You’re so dramatic,” you muttered.

He let out a small, satisfied mmph, already melting back into the couch. And just before sleep pulled you under too, you thought you felt him murmur something else, a quiet, hazy little thank you, into the space where your shoulder met his chest.

Heeseung didn’t stir. Just exhaled softly, mouth twitching. You watched him for a second. The way his hair was a mess, flattened on one side. The way his mouth hung open just a little. The way his shirt had slid up to reveal a sliver of his waist where your hand had been curled all night. You shook your head and padded into the bathroom before your brain could linger on that detail too long. You washed your face, brushed your teeth, and pulled your hair into a low bun. By the time you stepped back into the kitchen, the soft blue light of morning had begun to filter through the curtains. You opened the freezer, reached in, and smiled. You still had a tray of frozen croissants.  You’d rolled and shaped them last week and froze them, just in case you needed some for an emergency. This counted as an emergency. “Perfect,” you murmured. You set the oven to preheat, arranged four pastries on a tray, and grabbed a knife to slice up some strawberries and green grapes you’d had tucked in the fridge. As the fruit hit the plate, a soft creak sounded behind you. You turned, just in time to see a very groggy Heeseung shuffle into the kitchen. His hair was sticking up in three directions, and he looked like he wasn’t really awake yet. He blinked at you. “Why are you vertical?”

You grinned, holding up a strawberry slice. “Because I have a healthy sleeping rhythm and can’t sleep longer than 8 am.” He made a soft, confused noise and collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs, his head dropping forward onto the table with a dramatic thud. You laughed quietly, setting the fruit down in front of him. “Sleep well?” He mumbled something into the wood that might have been yes or kill me, you weren’t sure. You turned back to the oven just as it pinged. The smell of the croissants was already filling the apartment. Behind you, Heeseung groaned. “Are you baking?” You glanced over your shoulder. “You’re the one who told me you’d work the counter at my imaginary bakery if I paid you in croissants.” He squinted up at you, one eye barely open. “You’re baking. At 8 am on a Saturday morning.” You slid the tray into the oven with a smile. “I am. Just for you.” You sat on the small bench by the wall, a mug of coffee wrapped in both hands, your bare legs curled up beneath you. Your shorts were riding up slightly, and your oversized t-shirt hung comfortably off one shoulder, rumpled from sleep.

Heeseung sat next to you, his long legs stretched lazily under the table. One of them bumped against yours. His knee slid alongside your thigh, skin against skin. Neither of you moved. You felt it in your stomach, low and sudden. Heeseung, half-slouched in the chair, blinked once. Then again. His gaze dropped briefly to where your knees touched, then back up to your face. You pretended not to notice. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he let out a quiet hum and slumped his cheek into his hand, eyes only half-open.  “I’m trying to remember if I said anything stupid last night.” You sipped your coffee, lips twitching. “Define stupid.” “Like… did I call you ‘babe’ again?” You smiled into your cup. “No.” He exhaled, relieved. “Just whined like a child until I stayed on the couch.” His head snapped up. “What?!” You grinned. “You literally said, ‘Don’t go yet, just stay.’ And then clung to me like a koala.” Heeseung covered his face with both hands. “Oh my god.” “I did stay,” you added, smug. “So technically it worked.”

“Please erase that entire interaction from your brain.” You let your thigh lean just slightly more into his. “Nope. Gonna treasure it forever.” He peeked through his fingers, groaning. “Why are you like this?” “Because you slept with your mouth open and drooled a little on my shoulder.” He gasped. “That’s a lie.” You shrugged innocently. “You’ll never know.” He squinted at you, then glanced down at your coffee. “Is that the good blend?” You nodded. “Vanilla roast.” He reached for your mug without asking and took a sip, then sighed dramatically. “I forgive you.” “For what?” “Mocking my emotional vulnerability.” You laughed softly, the sound curling between you like steam. When the oven pinged, neither of you moved for a moment. Your legs were still touching.  His knee was still pressed lightly against your bare skin, and your arm was now brushing his where it rested on the bench. It was nothing. And also very much something. Then Heeseung stood up slowly, stretching with a yawn that revealed the tiniest sliver of skin under his t-shirt. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked over his shoulder at you. “You’re burning our breakfast.” Breakfast didn’t last long, but neither of you moved afterward. You stayed exactly where you were: side by side on the bench, your knees brushing, your thighs pressed together, your bare leg warm against his. The soft cotton of his t-shirt clung to his side, and you could feel the rise and fall of his breath every time he shifted. Heeseung sat with one elbow on the table, chin in his hand, half-turned toward you. He hadn’t stopped smiling since the second cup of coffee, his hair still tousled, eyes still heavy-lidded with sleep. You leaned back against the wall beside him, foot nudging his under the table.

“This is weird,” you said. He blinked. “Weird how?” You tilted your head. “I don’t know. I feel like I should be freaking out. You slept over. We’re… close.” He looked down at where your legs were still touching. “Yeah.” “But I’m not freaking out,” you added. He smiled slowly. “Me neither.” You were both quiet for a moment. Then he said, voice barely above a whisper, “It’s nice.” You nodded, looking down at your empty plate. “Yeah.” His hand moved slightly under the table. His pinky nudged yours. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you moved your hand and intertwined your fingers with his long ones. And when you turned your head to glance at him again, he was already looking at you, something soft and unspoken flickering behind his eyes. “I could stay like this all day,” he murmured. You smiled. “Then stay.” Heeseung didn’t answer right away. But he didn’t move either. And neither did you.

The booth was quiet except for the occasional soft click of Heeseung’s mouse. It was already late, past golden hour, and the air outside had cooled from its blistering midday heat into something softer. Muggier, still sticky, but breathable. You sat on the couch with your legs tucked under you. A bottle of cold green tea sat between your knees. You’d finished your last rollout file before dinner. Technically, you could’ve gone home. But instead, you waited. You liked waiting. Because it meant walking home with Heeseung. That had become your favorite part of the day over the last weeks. He pulled off his dress shirt and was only wearing the white tank top he always wore underneath. His hair curled a little at the edges when he got too warm, and he kept pushing it back with one hand, blinking hard at the screen. You checked the time. “Almost done?” you asked, voice low, lazy. He didn’t look up. “You don’t have to wait.”

“I know.” His mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. He continued working for a few more seconds, and then he sat back in his chair and let out a dramatic exhale. “Okay. I think I’m done for today.” You grinned. “Took you long enough.” He finally turned to look at you. And then didn’t look away. His gaze dropped to your bare legs curled on the couch, to the faint line of sweat at your collarbone, to the gentle flush on your cheeks. He blinked once. Twice. His mouth parted like he wanted to say something, but forgot what. You just raised an eyebrow. “Ready to go?” He stood, grabbing his dress shirt, putting it on again, and held the door open for you with that same crooked, tired smile he always had at the end of a long day. The hallway was empty, the whole building humming quietly. Your footsteps echoed softly as you made your way toward the elevator. Outside, the streetlights were just flickering on. A warm wind blew past, thick with summer and stillness. Heeseung walked beside you, your shoulders occasionally brushing, your hands swinging just close enough to touch.

The hum of the AC buzzed low through the apartment, doing its best against the weight of the summer heat a few days later. The heat seemed to get worse every day, clinging to your skin and making it impossible to breathe. Your AC had sputtered and died two nights ago, and since then, you’d been semi-permanently relocated to Heeseung’s place. Today, after work, you kicked off your socks and curled up on his couch, legs bare, feet tucked under a throw pillow. The oversized t-shirt you wore hung down past your hips. You stole it from him after he spilled tomato juice on your at-home T-shirt the day before. It still faintly smelled like his cologne. Your shorts were barely visible beneath the hem. Heeseung stood in the small kitchen, barefoot in a black tank top and old sweatshirts, elbows braced against the counter while he adjusted something in the blender. You’d watched him add frozen banana, ice, peanut butter, a protein scoop, and almond milk. His brow furrowed in concentration as he pushed the button. You flipped a page in the book resting across your thighs. And then didn’t read a single word of it. You were too busy ogling Heeseung in a very professional, not inappropriate way, colleagues? Friends? His muscles were taut from leaning over the counter, jaw set, skin glowing slightly from the walk home, strands of now red hair curling over his forehead from the heat. The edge of his tank had dipped low, revealing the clean cut of his shoulder and the line of his collarbone. His arms flexed slightly as he twisted the lid back on. You licked your lips and quickly looked back at your book. He wiped his hands on a towel, completely unaware of the crisis you were currently having ten feet away. Or maybe not, unaware he’d caught you staring once already when he was adjusting the fan, and you swore he smirked. You turned to another page you hadn’t read.

“Still good over there?” he asked, his voice teasing, lazy. “Barely,” you called back. “I'm still melting. I don't even wanna imagine how warm my apartment is right now.” He grabbed two glasses from the shelf. “I expect your eternal loyalty and gratitude for granting you shelter from the heat .” You gave a dramatic sigh. “You get two compliments and one baked good per week. That’s the cap.” “I already get that,” he called back. You smiled to yourself. “Then I’ll consider bringing you lunch to work sometimes.” He froze just long enough for you to see it out of the corner of your eye. Then he laughed, soft and breathless. “Noted.” You peeked up again as he walked over, two glasses in hand. He handed you one, fingers brushing yours, and settled onto the floor, leaning back onto the couch. You stared down at him, still flushed from the heat, or maybe not only the heat. “Comfortable?” you asked, sipping your smoothie. “Very.” He tilted his head back lazily until it rested against your knee. “Book good?” You stared at the unread page. “Incredible.” He looked up at you, one eyebrow raised. “You haven’t flipped it in five minutes.” You pressed the book gently to his forehead. “Shut up.” He grinned, eyes crinkling. The two of you went silent again, and after a while, your hair slipped into his hair, playing with the dry strands and grazing your nails along his scalp while you actually started reading your book again. Heeseung let out a long, contented breath. “I like having you here.” You paused. Then said, just as softly, “I like being here.”

Half an hour later, the smoothie was half-melted in your glass. Your book sat open in your lap, though you had to re-read the same paragraph three times thanks to the way Heeseung’s arm kept brushing against your side. He was still on the floor, and at one point, you joined him there, the sofa’s velvet texture feeling too warm against your skin. Your whole body was leaning against his, your head resting softly on his shoulder, and your legs draped loosely to the side. From Heeseung’s laptop, which was propped up on his thighs, came the steady pulse of a new track, layered synth, subtle guitar… and a voice. You blinked, looking up. “Wait. Is that Jay?” “Mhm.” Heeseung didn’t turn around, just scrolled through something on his screen. “He dropped by to do a scratch vocal for one of the demos. I haven’t layered the harmony yet, but his tone worked weirdly well.” You stared at the screen. Jay’s voice.

On his song. In this apartment. While you were wearing Heeseung’s shirt and drinking smoothies with your legs tangled against his, and a half-read book in your lap. You let out a quiet laugh and muttered, “My life is so weird.” Heeseung looked over his shoulder. “Good weird?” You met his eyes. And immediately regretted it. Because he was already looking at you the way he always did when you caught him off guard, soft, curious, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing but knew he didn’t want to stop. His face was close now, your head still on his shoulder, your fingers curled loosely in the fabric of your shirt right above where your thigh still pressed against his. “Very good, weird,” you said quietly. Heeseung’s gaze dropped to your mouth. Just for a second. Your heart thudded. But he just moved his head back towards the laptop. The soft sounds of Jay’s vocals looped again from Heeseung’s laptop. You could see it in his profile, that sharp little line between his brows. The tension in his jaw. He was thinking again.

Which meant he wasn’t going to do it. You waited another second. Two. Gave him a chance. He didn’t take it. So you did. You closed the book gently and set it aside, leaned over just enough to catch his attention, and when he looked up, eyes wide and questioning, you kissed him. Pressing your lips to his. You didn't even really think about it; it just felt right. He froze for half a second, just enough for you to second-guess it. But then his hand slid to your thigh, fingers tightening. His other reached for your waist, softly grazing against the fabric of the shirt. You pulled back first, just barely, your nose brushing his. He stared at you. His eyes were glazed, and his mouth parted slightly. You smiled and breathlessly muttered. “You took too long.” He blinked. “You–” His voice cracked. “I was trying to be respectful.” “You were being a coward.” “I was waiting for a sign!” “Heeseung, I gave you so many signs.” “I’m not a mind reader!”

You laughed into his neck, warm and breathless and giddy. His arms slipped around your waist properly now, hugging you close, face buried in your collarbone. He mumbled something into your skin. You stilled. “What?” He stiffened. “Nothing.” You leaned back just enough to look at him. “What did you say, Heeseung?” Heeseung stared, wide-eyed. Then blinked once. “Hypothetically. I really want to kiss you again.” You grinned, pulling him back in by the collar of his tank top. “Hypothetically, I think you should shut up and kiss me again.” So he did. His lips moved slowly and steadily against yours, and you moved your head slightly to the side, deepening the kiss for a second before he pulled away first this time, breathing heavier than before, his forehead resting against yours.

You could feel how warm his skin was. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.” You smiled. “Yeah. I noticed.” He gave a soft, helpless laugh and bumped his nose gently against yours. “So… now what?” You looked at him, all flushed cheeks and messy hair and wide brown eyes, and knew you never wanted someone else to see him like this ever again. “I don’t know,” you said honestly. “But I like this.” “Yeah?” he asked, eyes searching yours. You nodded. “Yeah. I like you.” He let out a breath like he’d been holding it for days. Then, with that lazy, crooked half-smile you were quickly learning was dangerous, he said, “Can I kiss you again?” You raised a brow. “You’re asking now?” “I’m being respectful.” You leaned in. “Then yes.” Your hand slid into his hair, thumb brushing the curve of his cheek when his lips were on yours again. His lips were on yours again before the word even left your mouth. His hand slid from your waist to your hip, palm splayed wide over the soft fabric of your shorts, fingers flexing slightly. You shifted into his lap without thinking, tilting your head, knees brushing his thighs. He made a sound in the back of his throat, and it made you smile against his mouth. “Stop laughing,” he murmured. “You make weird noises.”

He groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You’re impossible, Y/N.” You laughed, soft and breathless, fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Sorry, not sorry.” He kissed your collarbone next, just a warm brush of lips against skin. Then another, lower this time. Your breath caught.

He pulled back instantly. “Okay?” You nodded, cheeks flushed. “Yeah. Just… yeah.” His hands found your waist again, more certain now, thumbs brushing bare skin where your shirt had ridden up. Your thighs tightened around his lap just slightly. He inhaled sharply. “Y/N,” he said, like it was a question and an answer and a prayer all at once. You kissed him again. This time, you were the one deepening it. Your fingers curled in the collar of his tank top, pulling him in closer, angling your hips until your bodies fit together just a little too well.  You could feel the shift in him, the way his hands stilled, the way his breath hitched when your thighs pressed around his. But he didn’t push. He didn’t even pull you closer. He just let you kiss him, his lips soft and slow, like he’d waited long enough that he didn’t want to ruin it by rushing. Eventually, you both stilled, foreheads pressed together, noses brushing, lips kiss-dumb and smiling. “You good?” he asked softly, his thumb tracing lazy circles at your waist. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Really good.” “I swear,” he muttered, breathless, a little dazed, “I had this whole thing planned out.” You tilted your head. “What thing?”

He gave a weak huff of a laugh and shook his head, cheeks flushed. “To tell you. To ask you out. I didn’t think I’d just..get kissed out of nowhere and completely forget how to speak like a normal person.” You smiled, fingers brushing his wrist. “Heeseung.” “I’m serious,” he said, laughing softly, reaching up to caress your face. “I had it all laid out. I wrote you a song.” Your brows lifted. “A song?” He hesitated. Then nodded and reached for his laptop that was lying forgotten next to the two of you and tapped at the keyboard with one hand, the other never leaving your waist.

“I wrote it like a month ago,” he said quietly. “Kind of… when I realized.” You rested your head on his chest, watching him type. “When you realized what?” you asked. He didn’t look at you. But you saw the corner of his mouth pull up just a little. “That I really like you too, Y/N.” And then he hit play. The track started low, just a few notes of piano, slow and thoughtful. It was… beautiful. You didn’t even realize you’d moved until your hand slid down to his chest, your palm resting flat just over where his heart was pounding. Heeseung moved his head back slightly to look at you. You leaned in, brushed your lips against the edge of his jaw, and whispered, “I’m really glad I kissed you first.” He laughed, just once, softly and short, and pressed his forehead against yours. “I was so scared I’d mess it up,” he said into your lips. “I wanted it to be right.” You held him close, one hand carding gently through his hair. “You didn’t mess anything up.” He tilted his head, eyes bright. “You think?” “I think,” you said softly, “this might be the best song anyone’s ever written for me.” He smiled and whispered, “That’s good. Because I’m not writing another one about anyone else.” You closed the distance between the two of you again, pressing your lips softly against his.

Thank you so much for reading! Lots of Love, Patty

all feedback and reblogs are welcome ⭑.ᐟ ⤷ my masterlist ⭑.ᐟ

ᝰ taglist. @enhastolemyheart @dreamiestay @elairah @vviolynn @engenemilia  @xylatox @firstclassjaylee

ᝰ an. ₊ ⊹  dear anon, I am so sorry I needed 3 months to write this and I hope you enjoyed reading, regardless of the wait! I also hate tumblr. I just spend one and a half hour formatting this. Also in case someone wants to request anything! Please do! Just know I'll probably do it inbetween my other projects and might need...like 3 months lmao

[joeguk]

encouraging messages for the baby

[97teambusan95]

👀👀👀👀👀

💛🐰💙🐥

[yoonmin]

pink jimin ♡

[bts-lockscreenss]

Jikook Wallpapers ❤❤

{ requested by @chimchim48 }

Like & Reblog if u save~

Rose Gold Ver. Here

[ficklefackle]

Expectation vs. Reality

[cloudskook]

the real baby of the group

[markiejpg]

bts outcast au! edit You can follow me on Twitter @/gojiminnie if you want

[yinnezha]

lit otps ≡ basilton grimm-pitch & simon snow (carry on) For a moment — not even a moment, a split second — I imagine him saying, ‘The truth is, I’m desperately attracted to you.’ And then I imagine myself spitting in his face, and then I imagine licking it off his cheek and kissing him. (Because I’m disturbed. Ask anyone.)

[kpapier]

承 Her ‘Serendipity’ Comeback Trailer wallpaper

[markiejpg]

When you are kpop af but need to get home

© some nice guy on a magic place called youtube

[iikpoptrash]

DOUBLE SPEED APPRECIATION!!

[ryn-s]

[i-heart-kdramas]

I’m sorry, Sung Hoon… for not keeping my promise, and for leaving you alone. But after we parted, I looked for you everywhere.

[markiejpg]

Don't tag your posts with irrelevant shit, you're annoying af.

Then block me or something just because you're here saying insulting and irrelevant stuff I'm not gonna stop posting the things I like because guess what this a free community where anyone can post the things they like.So stop sending hate bc I'm not saying you have to look at my posts you can just skip them and continue with your life believe me there's more stuff out there that you should be butthurt about more than my posts Thank you 💞👌

[kwoncity-a]

a great poet once said

everyday boom boom

[yehetkpoptrash]

[loveofmylifedk]

Same