pairing: non-idol! taesan x reader
genre: enemies to lovers + college AU
word count: 2.7k
cw: small mention of inadequate feelings ( and a jaehyun feature. )
The both of you existed in a bizarre duality. “Taesan and Y/N,” both deeply entrenched in the world of music production and composition, meaning your academic paths constantly overlapped. It was almost inevitable that you shared the same major-related classes, but fate, or perhaps a mischievous scheduler, insisted on pairing you and Taesan in unrelated electives too. You both were on campus roughly ninety percent of the time. The remaining ten percent was spent in shared, quiet spaces; the over-roasted coffee shop or the worn-out park bench. Not the most creative spots, but anywhere they could seek inspiration for their next composition. Despite this constant, almost suffocating proximity, an unnerving silence persisted. You felt you should at least be on a first-name basis. Yet, Taesan offered no acknowledgment. At All. Whenever you saw him, he spared you nor anyone else a glance, headphones on, existing solely in his own musical bubble.
This silence was never more painful than during class presentations. Your work would invariably receive positive feedback from peers, but Taesan’s seat would remain conspicuously silent. Not only does it piss you off, but it makes you a bit insecure. In response, of course, you adopted the same, cold tactic of choosing to ignore him entirely. It was clear to anybody that he was a musical prodigy. A master of instrumentals, lyrics, and arrangement. His brilliance, so casually displayed, fed a quiet, persistent insecurity in you, prompting you to push harder, striving for something just as amazing. What you couldn't see was that Taesan felt that same sharp, competitive ache whenever your work played, sounding so effortlessly brilliant. This cold, silent competition of "who did it better?" defined your first semester and...relationship? Both succeeded, both excelled, achieving almost identical high marks.
Then, the curriculum shifted.
For the new semester, the professor announced the final project; a collaborative piece. Partners were assigned, and with an almost predictable, soul-crushing inevitability, you and Taesan were paired. The chances, it turned out, were 100%. For days, the silence held firm. Too stubborn to be the first to break the ice, you continued to ignore him, and he did the same. The project timeline was ticking, but the tension was a physical barrier between you. The ceasefire was forced by an unexpected outside force: Myung Jaehyun. Your fellow music major and apparent mutual friend.
A text notification broke your focus one afternoon-
Jaehyun: “woww, why is Taesan asking me for your phone number ☺️”
You stared at the text, momentarily dumbfounded, then immediately defaulted to the practical.
You: “Probably because we have a project to do?”
Jaehyun: “probably? hm.” he replied just seconds after, the text vibrating with implied knowledge.
You: “Just give him my number and be quiet.”
Jaehyun: “dont think I forgot about you saying you have a crush on this ‘kinda rude guy in my class’”
You: “I NEVER said that”
Jaehyun: “okay. ‘he’s so rude but so cool…kind of admirable.’ same thing, y/n”
You ignored the jab. Moments later, a text arrived from an unfamiliar number, requesting to “just meet at the campus library…if you want.”
The walk to the library was a knot of anxiety. Taesan had never addressed you directly. How were you supposed to act? Once inside, you scanned the tables and spotted him, focused on his Mac, scrolling through GarageBand. “He still uses GarageBand?” you thought to yourself, but made sure to un-furrow your brows before he noticed. You walked over and sat down, hoping the move was noticeable enough to warrant attention. It was. He immediately took off his headphones and looked up, straightening his posture. The silence that followed was agonizingly awkward. “So…what do you wanna do?” he finally asked. You mirrored his caution. “I don’t know, what do you wanna do?”
More silence.
“Well I guess we can pick a theme first. Do we want light, dark, theatrical, poppy…” he offered, seemingly trying to break the tension. “I’m not sure…um” you start, keeping an eye on his body language as you spoke. It was just as awkward as yours. You brought up something the professor had mentioned doing for the project. “We do have the option to make it into a song instead of just the instrumentals. I know that you sing, so did you want to do that instead? Or?” You offered, still weary of his reaction and rejection. “Only if you sing too,” he replied, eyes locking onto your own now that you piqued his interest. “I’m not that great at singing though…” you admitted, feeling your cheeks warm at the memory of past failed attempts. “I think your voice is great,” he stated simply, immediately replacing his overall persona of nonchalance with a confusing rush of flustered bashfulness. In that moment, his tongue moved too fast for his brain to process what he was going to admit. “When did you hear me sing?” you asked, stunned. Taesan froze, his eyes widening slightly. “Just a few times when I’d go to the production room, but you were already in there.” You nodded slowly, trying not to overthink the implication that he had been listening. More than once, “We can make it a song then. I don’t mind singing.” You say, trying to move past that conversation. Again, he just nods. Though he didn’t say it, he was grateful for your decision. “Great, so now we pick a theme.” he says, opening his notebook. They settled on 'dark'. Not scary or overtly sad, but something with a deliberate, low energy and tempo designed to convey a complex emotional feeling. Something everyone could interpret in their own way.
This project should be lightwork, especially with the two of you combined. Yet slowly, painstakingly, you began to collaborate. You were genuinely surprised when Taesan suggested using elements from one of your previous projects from the last semester. He had been paying attention. In turn, you recommended merging both of your instrumentals together to form a powerful lead-in to the chorus, a true synthesis of your individual sounds. When the combined track played back, Taesan’s face lit up. He worked excitedly, turning back to you with a genuine smile when the section hit exactly right. It was the first time you had ever seen him truly smile at you, and it ripped a flutter through you heart. “He’s cute when he works, too…” you thought, watching his lips pout and cheeks puff in concentration. Then, you sternly reminded yourself to focus. Now is not the time. You had only discussed the project with him. That’s all you will let it come to.
A few more weeks passed, and the song was nearly complete, the lyrics perfectly placed by Taesan. Feeling the project momentum nearing a fever pitch, and wanting to put some distance between yourself and him with your confusing, escalating feelings, you suggested the both of you take a short break to focus on other classes. He agreed, of course, joking that your voice was “actually starting to haunt my dreams.” He laughed, but immediately worried if you’d take it negatively. It’s safe to say the master of many crafts hadn’t mastered the art of flirting. You felt a small pang of sadness, resigning to the fact that their connection, however deep it became after all these days working together, was purely platonic. Despite his past silence, Taesan was incredibly observant; he remembered your past work, memorized the sticker ticket on your latte order and brought it without a word? Sweet, yet you had to remind yourself again. He is definitely just being friendly. Yet, a few days later, Taesan texted, asking you to meet him at the cafe. You were caught up on your assignments and couldn't claim to be busy without the fear of him finding out. You had the same classes, after all, and you both were lucky your professors didn’t assign much out-of-class work. So, you agreed. When you get there, you expected him to be there with his laptop open, ready to work. Instead, he was just sitting at a table, surface bare, scrolling on his phone. Your confusion must have been obvious. When you sat down, tapping your foot nervously, he asked if you were okay. “Where’s your computer?” you asked. “I left it in my dorm room. We were taking a break, right?” he asked, slightly confused, eyes darting to from your face to his hands multiple times. “Oh…I thought you asked me to meet you here to work on the project…” you stated. He paused, scratched the back of his neck, and gave you a pretty awkward, yet sincere smile. “I should have said it in the text, but I was just hungry. Thought you would’ve wanted something from here too. I doubt you ate today…Jaehyun mentioned you forget to eat sometimes.” He said so casually, passing you one of the paper menus. One out of two of your internal questions, “Are we friends or just co-workers?”, was answered. You were friends, and that you could make peace with.
You both ordered food and drinks, which he paid for, with the promise that you both talked about anything and everything but music: how both of you met Jaehyun, your old pets, and the infamous half-decade old “is water wet” debate. The conversation flowed easily for nearly two hours until you guys realized they were the only customers left. You quickly left to let the workers close up shop, and started the walk back to the dorms. The silence returned, but this time it wasn’t cold—it was comfortable. Taesan spoke first. “I’m glad we got paired together. If we didn’t, I’d think you’d still hate me,” he said, a relieved huff of laugh escaping him. You stopped walking. “I never hated you! I thought you hated me up until maybe two weeks ago?”
“Two weeks ago? Why?” he asked, brows knit together and eyes squinted. You couldn’t believe it. He thought you were being ridiculous. You laughed, disbelief heavy in your lungs. “You never reacted to my presentations!”
“Neither did you.” He replied as he crossed his arms and took a step back to look at you, amused at your reactions. “You also never talked to me in any of the classes we had together,” you shot back.
“Yeah, because you never talked to me!” He laughed again, and you both sighed. The sound of pure realization. “Wow…we’re the worst at communicating, huh.” you said, your hands now propped on your hips as you shook your head to yourself.
“There’s that…and, I was too scared to react to your compositions. I felt like if I gave any comment or critique, then you’d ruin my life when I presented,” he confessed. You laughed again, thinking it was some sort of joke, until you examined his face. He’s not laughing. Your response was anything but smooth, stammering for a few seconds before you eventually spat it out. “You really think that your songs weren’t good? Everyone always dreaded presenting after you because we knew you’d have something amazing. The whole class loves what you make, you know that?” You projected your deep insecurity onto the collective "everyone." He smiled, a quiet thank you. “Well, knowing that you don’t actually hate me makes me feel even better than knowing the rest of the class likes my work.”
You felt your heart lighten, a genuine smile replacing the shock.
Days rolled into a pattern. Texts from Taesan were common, ranging from requests like “Do you think you can help me study for psych?”, to random, endearing and sometimes nagging observations, such as “I really think that giving the ducks on campus so many treats to eat isn’t good for them.” Your relationship grew exponentially, becoming a fast, strong close friendship. You managed to keep your romantic feelings at bay, perfectly happy with this new, profound level of connection. Taesan was a booster, an antidote to stress, making you even wonder why you were stressed in the first place.
Then, you returned to the project.
The final touches went smoothly. Taesan recorded his vocals, and you edited them into the background of the track, adding distortions for effect. He listened back, nodding, smiling at the results. You asked him what should be changed and braced yourself to finally get the vocalization of his critique. Yet, he just shakes his head no. “I really don’t have to fix anything. You did great, as always,” he said, pausing the track.
As you were about to reply, the lights in the studio dimmed slightly. The system powered down. He stared blankly at the dead screen, waiting for it to reboot, his irritation evident. Once the computer came back to life, he checked the file to find that the file, somehow, was gone. “…I don’t think the file saved, y/n, I’m sorry,” he said worriedly, clicking through folders in a desperate search. “What? No, it’s fine! I saved it on my usb before we even opened it on here, remember?” You told him, and pulled the drive attached to your “school flair” keychain. The relief on his face was instant and profound as he stood up and pulled you into a tight hug, making you laugh at his dramatic reaction. “God…why are you so great?” he asked, shaking you slightly before finally letting go. You shrugged and smiled at him for his uncharacteristically silly gesture before turning back to the computer to plug the drive in. Before the metal touched the port, you heard him say:
“I could really kiss you right now.”
You tried to dismiss it, to process it as just one of his sudden, playful, relief-induced jokes. You turned back to face him, trying to keep from becoming awkward, but the semi-forced laugh you let out failed you.
“Yeah. The same to you…” you replied, the words echoing their true feelings, a painful, ignored truth scratching at the surface of your heart. You truly thought your emotions would eventually fade. But, the sudden feeling of his hand resting gently on your cheek, warm and deliberate, and his lips on yours just seconds after made it now an impossible thought.
Your mind went blank, processing the shock of the action before the feeling took over. When it did, you didn't hesitate, kissing him back with all the confusing, bottled-up affection you possessed.
When you broke apart, breathless, you had to ask, “If I didn’t say I wanted to kiss you too, what would you have done it?” Holding and swinging your hands in front of him, he carefully thinks of a response. “I would’ve asked if I could. And then you’d say yes, and then I’d kiss you,” he said, his expression only serious, before cracking up at the absurdity of his own confidence. You started to laugh too, and playfully pushed him. “How would you have known I’d say yes?” You asked.
“I mean, when you tell people like Jaehyun a secret, it never stays a secret, you know?”
Your eyebrows shot up as the realization hit.
“So you knew I had a crush on you this whole time? And never said or did anything about it?”
“I had to be sure…It was a while ago that he told me. Didn’t know if you were like. Already with someone else?”
“I think you would’ve known. We literally saw each other everywhere, remember?”
He just nodded, his smile widening into something radiant. “Well. We could make up for that time right now.” He stated confidently before the fear that you’d misinterpret his words hit. “Like, dating. Each other is what I meant. We could date now…if you want, maybe-“
“Of course, Taesan.” You said, allowing the final, confusing knots of your relationship to finally unravel into something beautiful and certain.
“Woah, actually?” He asked, his smile impossibly bigger.
“Yes! You thought after all of this, I’d say no?”
“Honestly didn’t think this far in…” He confessed, looking off in the distance while absentmindedly playing with your fingers, inevitably bringing back that familiar feeling in your stomach. You’re about to say something until your text notification sounds.
Jaehyun: “whatever you two painfully oblivious love bugs are doing in the production room, I need you to make it quick pls. I’m about to lose inspo.”
Taesan reads it over your shoulder, an amused smile forming on his lips. “Let’s not tell him about this yet. Unless you’re ready for him expecting us to thank him for this happening.” He says
“True. Even though we should…he gave you my number. That saved our grade, too.”
“Yeah, you weren’t gonna talk to me at all, huh?”
“Nope.”
my asks + reqs are always open! I would love to hear from anyone <3
