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𝓐𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔀𝓮 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓶𝓮𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮

❝𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥,

𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐡, 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥:

𝐈 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐥❞

➳ Warning!: explicit sexual content, fluff, angst, Hee is an asshole at the beginning, like the smut is so good but damn what about the angst? I literally cried writing this

➳ Pairing!: Idol! Lee Heesung x fem! reader

➳ Summary!: You start working as Enhypen's new stylist, with very strict rules: you can't touch them, befriend them, or have any relationships with them. You've always been an obedient and respectful girl. Until one day, you break all your rules for him.

➳ 18k words!

⋆·˚ ༘ * ˚꒦꒷🌱꒷．❝𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭❞ ﹆

》｡･♡ﾟ• ｡♡ﾟ･｡ More under the cut

It’s your first day as a stylist for the wildly popular boy group Enhypen, now at the peak of their fame.

A surge of excitement courses through you like electric shocks, keeping you on edge. You can’t stop pacing back and forth, like a golden retriever hyped up on caffeine, while your supervisor rattles off a list of dos and don’ts.

“No touching the boys when cameras are around—the fans will get jealous, and you’ll get yourself fired,” she warns, striding through one of the wide hallways of HYBE, your new workplace. You trail behind, nerves buzzing beneath your skin. “No asking for their personal phone numbers. No getting too friendly with them, and above all, no taking private photos—let alone posting them online.” She stops abruptly in front of a black door at the end of the corridor and turns to face you.

You meet her gaze, anxious, discreetly wiping the sweat from your palms onto your jeans.

“You’re their apprentice stylist, and you’re younger than some of them. Company policy forbids stylists under thirty-five who aren’t married, but since you were the top of your class, we’ve made an exception for you. Don’t let us down. No relationships beyond professional with them, or you’ll be out of a job.”

Got it. You understand perfectly, and you don’t think those rules will be an issue. Despite only knowing Enhypen in passing from social media, you don’t expect them to be anything extraordinary.

They’re just regular guys, right?

“Understood.”

Satisfied with your compliance, the staff member nods, turns on her heels, and opens the door behind her. You step inside, following closely, your eyes quickly scanning the stark white walls, the cluttered tables overflowing with tissues, magazines, and snacks, and the black armchairs lined against the right wall. Five of the boys are seated there—some scrolling through their phones, others chatting among themselves.

The remaining two stand in front of the group, engaged in what seems like a lively debate.

You raise your eyebrows, but when the staff member clears her throat to get their attention, all seven turn to look at you both.

You bite the inside of your cheek. No, you’re not going to let their looks sway you so easily.

“Guys, this is your new apprentice stylist,” she begins, introducing you and praising your skills. The seven of them smile and introduce themselves in return.

You already know their names and faces—you made sure to memorize them this morning. But you’re still jittery.

Everything happens in a blur, and soon the boys are joking among themselves.

“Do you think they hired her because of Jake’s hair disaster?” a boy with soft blonde hair and a distinctive mole on his chin teases. Ni-ki.

The one with fiery red hair laughs at the jab, grinning as he runs a hand through his locks. He glances at you, and something strange stirs in your chest when he does.

“Must be something like that. We’ve never had stylists this young.”

Your first day at work passes faster than you could’ve imagined. After meeting the boys, you leave the room and dive into meetings with the rest of the staff and managers to organize your schedule.

You can’t help but wonder what happened with Jake’s hair to make it such a running joke.

The next day is more of the same—meetings upon meetings, trailing your mentor stylist from one end of the building to the other.

By the third day, you finally get a chance to breathe. They even let you wander the halls alone, and right now, you’re on a mission to find the bathroom. Your mentor showed you where the restrooms are on the first and second floors, but you’re on the fifth floor now, and you’re a little lost. You glance left and right, seeing only doors labeled Recording Studio, Practice Room, Gym—but no sign of a bathroom anywhere.

You groan in frustration, your brows knitting together.

Deciding it’s best to ask someone, you notice the staff member you saw moments ago has vanished into one of the rooms, where the faint sound of an unreleased HYBE track spills out.

You head toward the end of the hallway where the elevators are, considering going back to the second floor to use the bathroom you know, when you accidentally bump into someone stepping out of the elevator.

Faded red hair, a confident gaze, and an Adam’s apple that’s distractingly defined. Handsome.

Heesung.

Your pulse quickens. He’s too good-looking for this world. You instantly understand why he’s such a celebrated idol. It’s not just his dazzling talent—fans call him the Ace of the fourth generation for a reason—but his presence alone fills any room he’s in.

His dark eyes lock onto your curious ones, catching you staring, and you freeze.

“Heesung,” you say, lowering your head, trying to stay professional after he caught you gawking.

He looks at you silently for a moment, offering a polite nod.

“Looking for something?”

“Uh, I was wondering where the bathroom is on this floor.”

He studies you, his expression unreadable. Then, with a kind gesture, he points to a sign nearby you hadn’t noticed, indicating the restrooms are just behind a door.

How foolish.

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment for missing it. Heesung’s smile softens, and he lets out a quiet chuckle. It’s not mocking, you know that, and it encourages you to laugh lightly too.

You clear your throat, thank him, and hurry off to the bathroom, a bit flustered.

[…]

Your first month as a stylist passes without… any major incidents. A satisfactory outcome, you could say. Except for that one time you couldn’t find the bathroom right in front of you. Since then, you haven’t spoken much to Heesung.

Every time you see him, you recall that moment and cringe. Not that he does anything to engage with you either. You don’t blame him—he’s keeping things professional, maintaining a safe distance.

On the other hand, you’ve grown close to the other Enhypen members. Though your relationship is strictly professional, you laugh at their jokes while styling their hair. You even find yourself sharing bits of your life, like when Sunoo casually asked about your past relationships, and you ended up telling them a little about yourself.

Just as you’ve opened up to them, they’ve shared secrets with you that would set the fandom ablaze if they ever left the building.

But it’s all safe with you. Even if you hadn’t signed a strict confidentiality agreement before starting at HYBE, you wouldn’t spill anything. No matter how famous they are, they’re still people. And you’re… something like their friend? At least during work hours.

Good friends don’t go spilling secrets.

The second month passes smoothly, with Heesung keeping an odd distance. It’s strange—you try to get closer, but he always feels a thousand miles away.

He’s polite, offering you a smile that feels a little forced, avoiding accidental touches when you ask him to pass you a comb, or not meeting your gaze when you say goodbye after a day’s work. He’s completely different from the other six, who are warm and approachable despite you being younger than most of them.

The first two months are fine; you love your job and enjoy the boys’ company. But the third month marks a shift.

You’ve noticed something off about Heesung, something that doesn’t align with his usual pattern of avoiding you: now, when you turn around suddenly while rushing to fix someone’s hair before the hairspray dries, you catch him staring. He quickly looks away, pretending he wasn’t watching.

You think you’re imagining things, but you know you’re not. His gaze lingers like a shadow, always watching you in secret.

Why?

Why does he stare covertly but treat you so distantly? The excuse of professionalism doesn’t hold up anymore—the other six members are friendly with you, far more than Heesung, and they manage to keep it perfectly professional.

You try to push these thoughts out of your mind. Overthinking isn’t healthy, and it’s not like you should care about a guy as charming as him. His quirky smile won’t haunt you if you stop working with them, nor will his adorable habit of falling asleep anywhere—

“Ah! Heesung!”

You don’t see it coming and trip over your own feet. You were rushing to a Monday team meeting when you collided with the boy with the most striking hair in the office. Great.

He lets out a startled sound and grabs your wrist briefly, causing a slight twinge of pain but keeping you upright. You recover clumsily, grateful you didn’t hit the floor. Turning to face him as he lets go, you bow deeply.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you, and I was in such a hurry that…!”

He sighs.

“It’s fine, really.”

That’s all he says, but when you look up, his eyes seem to hold something unspoken. Whatever it is, he keeps it to himself. He turns and disappears into the endless white hallways of HYBE.

You stand there, frozen in the middle of the corridor, watching his back.

At the meeting, you’re a bit distracted. Despite how kind each of the seven Enhypen members is—each unique in their own way—the eldest acts so differently toward you that it bothers you.

If he’d grabbed your waist instead of your wrist when you tripped, you would’ve looked less foolish and avoided that painful tug. But he didn’t.

You frown. You want to believe it’s normal for him to keep his distance, given the company rules. Yet something about it feels off, like puzzle pieces that should fit together by their design but don’t align at the edges.

The meeting ends, and you stand quickly, eager to get back to the boys. They have an important magazine interview tomorrow, and you need to double-check their outfits for any last-minute fixes. You’re already sweating, feeling pressed for time.

When you reach the room where the boys are, they’re lounging comfortably in their seats, chatting with each other or staff members. Others, like Heesung and Sunoo, are glued to their phones, unbothered.

You approach the leader, Jungwon, who notices you immediately and flashes a bright smile.

“There you are! We were waiting for you. How was the meeting?” he asks casually, with endless warmth.

You return the smile.

“Fine, a bit boring,” you shrug. “Not like I expected anything else.”

“Normal. When our boss sends us to meetings, I’m bored out of my mind too. But it’s work, so we deal with it.”

His playful complaining is oddly endearing, making you smile. You humor him for a bit before getting the attention of the other six. You start giving instructions, telling them to change into their outfits.

Though you’re still an apprentice—your training ends in four months—your mentor has given you authority to direct the staff, so the morning’s work wraps up smoothly. The boys are styled perfectly, and the outfits you’ve chosen and tailored for each of them fit like a glove. You’re proud of yourself.

Maybe, after all, you’ll achieve your dream. At this point, you shouldn’t doubt it.

The boys are in the changing rooms now, carefully hanging their outfits for tomorrow on the hangers you provided.

You slump into the nearest chair, exhausted—maybe because Jake and Ni-ki are a chaotic duo that drains your energy, or because Jungwon is basically a golden retriever with caffeine in his veins. At least Sunghoon is calm, sitting quietly in a corner; Sunoo seems like an angel sent from heaven; and Jay is the most level-headed, despite not being the eldest…

Your lips twist. For some reason, thinking about Heesung feels like something you shouldn’t do.

The interview day is hectic. Despite preparing everything yesterday, the boys always manage to point out some tiny detail you overlooked. It’s fine—nothing a needle and thread can’t fix at the last minute.

You approach the area where the older members are seated in front of mirrors, getting their hair and makeup done by staff. You can’t help but notice Heesung.

He’s asleep.

You smile, not entirely sure why.

His chin rests on his chest as an assistant carefully applies makeup, concealing the natural imperfections that only enhance his beauty.

You can’t help but notice how relaxed he looks, arms folded in his lap, brows slightly furrowed, lips…

You stop your thoughts there.

Not a good idea. Never a good idea.

You turn on your heels to focus on another member, approaching Sunoo, who beams at you with bright eyes and a cheerful smile. You’ve grown fond of him, and you sense he feels the same. He seems happy with your attention.

“That outfit looks great on you,” you compliment once the hairstylist steps away, leaving you two alone.

Sunoo smiles and glances to his right, where Heesung is still dozing, two chairs away.

“Thanks, but I bet you’d rather say that to him, right?”

His words catch you off guard. What? No! Absolutely not.

You flash a polite smile, though it’s laced with tension you try to hide. If any member suspects you have ulterior motives, they could report you to your superiors, and you’d be fired without hesitation.

“Of course, the clothes look great on Heesung too,” you reply with all the professionalism you can muster. “But the compliment was meant for you, Sunoo.”

He grins at your words, raising a brow with a knowing look.

“Thanks. Don’t worry, I won’t say anything.”

After that odd exchange, you step away from Sunoo and head to a corner of the room where your bag is. As you rummage through it, you feel strange, like an open book. Maybe Sunoo is just good at reading emotions you can’t fully decipher yourself. You glance at Heesung’s reflection in the mirror. His hairstylist is still working on him, and he’s still asleep, lips slightly parted, cheeks adorably flushed.

You look away quickly. You’ve been staring too long—it’s risky for your job.

Clearing your throat to refocus, you grab your work tablet and review the group’s packed schedule for the day, trying to distract yourself.

When preparations are done, and the boys head out to meet the audience, you follow a few steps behind. But you feel Sunoo’s eyes on you when he turns to talk to another staff member. He’s watching you, though you don’t understand his intentions.

He said he wouldn’t tell. You trust him, but… you can’t fully trust yourself.

Or rather, you can’t trust your feelings.

Though, you don’t even like Heesung! He’s just attractive, like the other members—nothing out of the ordinary.

You inhale and exhale to steady yourself, and at some point, you manage to focus.

The boys nail the interviews with ease, interacting kindly with the Engenes in the audience. You feel proud, even though your role is limited to their appearance.

The day wraps up. Back in the dressing rooms, the team removes the boys’ makeup as they relax, scrolling through their phones or joking around. They’re like brothers, and their joy is infectious.

Once again, Heesung is asleep in his chair.

You can’t help but notice, your gaze drawn to him like metal to a magnet. He’s asleep, adorably so.

Why does he have to act so distant with you?

You’re tempted to approach, but you hold back.

Though you sneak a glance at Sunoo, who isn’t watching you—Sunghoon’s teasing him, and they’re caught up in a playful argument. Maybe you take a step closer when you notice confetti stuck in Heesung’s faded red hair, his stylist having stepped away, leaving him to sleep. One step becomes two, then three. Now you’re standing in front of him, nerves buzzing.

Why? Before Sunoo said anything, you didn’t feel this strange tightness in your chest around Heesung. Now, your hands tremble.

You reach for his hair as if it’s nothing, noting the softness of his dyed strands and how unfairly handsome he looks pouting in his sleep.

“What’s up?” he murmurs suddenly.

He stirs, and your heart clenches. He’s awake, staring at you with those doe-like eyes that define him. Though sleepy, he’s still breathtakingly gorgeous.

You clear your throat, acting like it’s no big deal.

“You’ve got confetti in your hair,” you point out, as if you didn’t use that as an excuse to get closer.

Heesung glances at the mirror and spots the glittering piece tangled in his hair.

“Oh. Could you take it out for me?”

Could you? Of course.

His request catches you off guard. First, he treats you like a piece of furniture that occasionally talks, and now he’s speaking to you in that flirty tone he uses with fans? He must’ve fallen out of bed and hit his head this morning.

You don’t dwell on it—you’re probably overthinking, as usual.

Reaching for his hair again, you remove the confetti, your hands trembling slightly.

When you’re done, Heesung looks up at you and smiles. Your heart skips a beat, stumbles when you glance at his lips, making you dizzy. He’s so damn gorgeous you can’t ignore it anymore.

But you have to.

You can’t do anything with him. It’s forbidden—it would ruin your dream.

“Thanks,” he says, his smile widening, erasing your worries with the tilt of his head.

“No problem,” you mumble, flashing a nervous smile before hurrying away.

Though you feel his gaze burning into the back of your neck for a moment too long.

[…]

Two days later, you arrive at your office at the usual time, a couple of hours before the boys are due, so you can sort schedules and handle office tasks. Being a stylist isn’t just about their image.

As you settle into your desk chair and boot up your laptop to check emails, a knock comes at the door of your small, private office space, granted to you a couple of weeks ago.

“Yes?” you call, barely glancing up from the screen.

The door opens, and your eyes snap to that familiar faded red hair and dark eyes, now hidden behind sleek glasses.

Heesung.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, confused, feeling almost dizzy.

Maybe you’re still dreaming, and your alarm hasn’t gone off yet.

But Heesung smiles that confident smile of his, like he knows everything will work out, and steps inside, closing the door behind him.

“I came early to practice the new song a bit more. I feel like I haven’t nailed the high note,” he explains with that irresistible grin.

You raise your brows, and he continues.

“I came for the studio keys.”

You nod absently. It’s true you have a set of keys, but why is he asking you when he could ask anyone else?

You’re probably being paranoid.

“Alright, here,” you say, opening a desk drawer and rummaging for the keys.

You feel Heesung watching you, his gaze prickling the back of your neck as you search until you find them. You hear him step closer, and your breath hitches.

You hand him the keys, and he takes them, his fingers brushing yours.

It must be a coincidence—don’t overthink it.

Heesung flashes a wide smile, showing off his perfect teeth, making your heart trip over itself. Maybe twice.

You return a tight-lipped smile. You’re being foolish—it’s impossible someone like him is interested in someone like you. Besides, with how handsome he is, you can’t imagine he’s single. Though you remind yourself that being attractive doesn’t mean he’s taken, you look away before your thoughts spiral.

You clear your throat and step back, feeling like a stranger in your own body as you return to your chair with shaky steps you try to hide.

“Well, uh, see you later,” you mutter, trying to shoo him out.

He gives you an odd look you’re not sure you want to decode. Then, finally, he turns and leaves, your keys dangling from his fingers with that silly Sanrio keychain you love but now feel embarrassed about.

You sigh, alone again, relaxing your shoulders in the quiet of your office, convincing yourself that the eldest Enhypen member doesn’t affect you at all. It’s impossible—making a mistake like that would tank your career.

You sigh again, feeling at ease. Nothing can disrupt your focus now…

Until something does.

The door opens again, and your eyes collide with those perfect lips and that confident smile. Doe-like eyes, a perfect nose, high cheekbones, and your keychain tangled in his fingers.

Heesung. Lee fucking Heesung.

You almost groan at the sight of him. It’s not that you dislike him, but right now, he’s the last person you want to see.

Yet you stay calm, despite the strange sensation pooling in your stomach, pulling you toward him. You lift your chin to meet his gaze.

“What’s up?”

“Here, the keys,” he says, tossing them from the doorway. Luckily, you catch them with a small yelp, earning a gorgeous, mischievous smile that you’re sure will haunt your nights.

“Thanks,” he adds with a solemn nod. “Cute keychain, by the way. I’m a Sanrio fan too.”

And he winks.

You blink, unsure if you’ve dozed off at your keyboard or if Lee Heesung actually just winked at you.

But it feels real.

Your lips part to stammer something, but before you can find the words, Heesung slips out of your office and closes the door.

You’re left frozen, keys in hand, unsure what to do or think. Moments later, the door opens again, and Heesung peeks in, half his body inside.

“By the way, I’m staying late in the studio tonight, practicing. Later than Jungwon, if you’re wondering,” he murmurs, licking his lips nervously.

Before you can tell him you’re not allowed to do that, he disappears again, leaving you alone with your thoughts and doubts. The sensation in your stomach fades as soon as he closes the door, leaving your hands and legs trembling.

You set the keys with the silly keychain beside your laptop and swear you try to focus. But the question of why he told you that lingers, driving you crazy. Add to that the fact that every time you glance at the keys, you think of him and his odd compliment—you’re sure you won’t make it home sane today.

Though, deep down, you’re certain his invitation was a blatant flirt, but does he know you can’t get involved with any members? Your relationship must stay strictly professional.

You’re convinced he knows—they were all told on your first day. So why is he taking the risk? Or… is it some kind of trap?

Impossible. Heesung’s a good guy—you know that. You can’t doubt him.

But the question of why he’s suddenly so friendly after being so distant keeps swirling in your head, stopping you from focusing on more important—and legal—things, like your job.

You sigh, open your desk’s top drawer, and toss the keys inside, slamming it shut. It’s a bit harsh, but you don’t care.

The worst comes when it’s time to meet the boys. They’re gathered because they have an offline fan event next week, and they need to look flawless. So it’s time to review the newly arrived outfits.

When you enter the room, they’re all there with some staff, as usual, the atmosphere comfortable, almost familial, even as they tease each other.

Before you clear your throat to get their attention, only Heesung and Sunoo notice you. Heesung offers a soft smile before nervously looking away, focusing on Ni-ki beside him. Sunoo, meanwhile, flashes one of his radiant smiles, cheeks and fox-like eyes shining, waving at you. It’s comforting, easing you before dealing with them.

The meeting goes smoothly, except you avoid looking at Heesung unless he speaks to you directly—you don’t want to be rude. It’s ironic how the tables have turned: first, he avoided you, and now you’re dodging his gaze. But every time his bright, dark eyes meet yours, your heart flips, and your stomach tightens. Why does he have this damn effect on you? It’s almost annoying.

The meeting ends, and you practically sprint out of there. You don’t want to look back and catch Heesung watching you again.

Though you know he is.

When you return to your office, your cheeks are burning, and your head spins. Why did he have to be so obvious during the meeting? Does he *want* to get caught?

You’re embarrassed by your own thoughts—after all, you haven’t done anything wrong.

Yet.

Because after your shift, you stay an extra hour. Your heart races, and your mind reels at what might happen if you stay after Jungwon leaves.

That first hour turns into two as you hear Jungwon and Heesung still talking in the studio.

By the third hour, well into the night, you hesitantly walk back to the studio. Your coworkers praised your “hard work” for staying late, unaware that your curiosity outweighs your exhaustion.

Your shaky legs stop in front of the studio door. You hear nothing.

You tremble as you knock, feeling foolish. No one answers, and for a moment, you think Heesung forgot about you and left. Until the door swings open.

There he is.

Looking down at you with a bright, beautiful smile, relieved you took his hint and didn’t let his extra hours go to waste.

He steps closer and peeks into the hallway, not so subtly checking both directions.

“Come in before someone sees us,” he whispers, his voice soft and masculine.

His hand gently takes your elbow, pulling you inside. You follow with hesitant steps, but you don’t regret it. As he leans closer, his bold, masculine scent envelops you, making you dizzy.

You don’t pull away from his presence, and he notices.

When the door closes behind you with a soft click, you feel it—a strange tension building between you, starting in your stomach and, you imagine, ending in his. It pulls you toward him, making you focus only on him. Nothing in the studio matters less.

All that matters are his mischievous dark eyes, the curve of his smile, and the shape of his Adam’s apple.

Heesung smiles and steps back cautiously.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” he says, his voice low but laced with relief.

You note that he’s not as confident as he seems, revealing a sweet, shy side.

You return his smile before replying.

“And I thought you’d forgotten about me,” you say, shifting in place, unsure what comes next.

His soft laugh fills the room, and a warm sensation slides over your skin, settling in your chest, rivaling the delicious tension still tormenting your stomach and weakening your legs.

You let out a nervous giggle, and your eyes meet again. Silence follows.

Until you’re no longer as far apart as you thought. Until your head spins from his touch. Until his lips are on yours, kissing you, and you’re kissing him back.

You shouldn’t be kissing him, you know, but something urgent pushes you to do it despite his odd behavior until recently, despite the fact that kissing him might ruin your life, despite everything you shouldn’t.

Despite it all, you breathe into his mouth.

Despite it all, you lift your hands, your fingers running through his soft hair, tangling with him as he wraps his arms around your waist. You lose yourself in his mouth, and he loses himself in yours. You press against him, his warmth, his scent, his lips that taste of forbidden promises and whispered secrets.

You pull apart for a moment to catch your breath, your heart pounding so hard you’re not sure if you’ll choke on it or swallow it to keep kissing Heesung. The second option seems more tempting as he leans in again, and you lose yourself in the feel of his tongue against yours, his lips moving in sync with yours.

This time, when he pulls back, he looks into your eyes and gives you a sweet smile you’ve never seen before. He gazes at you like it’s the first time, tracing every feature of your face as if committing them to memory. He lifts a hand to your face, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Sorry, I should’ve asked first,” he murmurs, though he doesn’t seem remorseful.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind.”

You pull his cheeks toward you to kiss him again.

The moment heats up more than you expected, more than you feel capable of controlling. Heesung pushes you backward, and you stumble against the wall, your back hitting the cold surface, stealing your breath.

His hands trail down your body, settling on your hips, then your thighs. You know you should push him away—it’s a bad idea, you shouldn’t be doing this here, with him—but something keeps you hooked on his warmth, his touch, his taste. So you only moan against his lips and cling to him tighter.

A noise startles you, snapping you apart like a spring. Someone’s opened the door, and when you turn, Sunoo’s staring back at you.

You swallow hard, hearing Heesung clear his throat beside you, a few steps further than you’d like.

Sunoo offers an awkward smile, though you catch a glint of complicity in his eyes.

“Sorry for interrupting, uh… your sweet moment,” he apologizes with a slight nod. “I came to grab the bag I left here.”

He points inside the room, where a fabric bag sits, almost hidden between chairs and a wall.

Heesung stammers that it’s fine, and no one says anything as Sunoo grabs his bag and leaves, bidding a quiet goodbye.

He closes the door, leaving you and Heesung suddenly awkward, unsure what to do. The heat that consumed you moments ago now leaves you cold and slightly annoyed. Beside you, Heesung must feel the same, as he stays silent for an uncomfortably long time.

“Well, uh, I think we should go,” he mutters, clicking his tongue.

You nod, smoothing your clothes to hide your sins.

“You’re right.”

You leave the studio in silence, Heesung trailing a few steps behind.

You don’t know where he’s going with this, but you don’t let it bother you as you head to your office to grab your things, ready to leave. Though your cheeks still burn, and Heesung’s taste lingers on your lips. You lick them, not wanting to dwell on it now.

You’re too scared to let your mind wander like that.

Because, even if it’s Sunoo, he’s still a member, and that definitely kindizes your hard-earned job… which you’ve just thrown away in moments.

You think of all this, your heart pounding frantically against your ribs, as you gather your things and prepare to leave. But when you step out of your office, Heesung’s waiting, leaning casually against the opposite wall.

“What we just did was a mistake,” you say sharply, glancing at him briefly before turning to lock the door.

You hear him sigh behind you, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. It’s late, and you doubt anyone’s left in the building besides the quiet cleaning staff.

To your surprise, he doesn’t say anything. He just stands beside you until you finish locking the door and turn to face him. He meets your gaze silently, lips pressed together. You hold his stare, determined and defiant.

Until Heesung finally sighs and looks away, a soft, adorable blush coloring his cheeks.

“You going home by public transport?”

His simple question startles you. You mentally curse yourself for not thinking about it. Yes, you don’t have a car yet—you’re saving up—so you rely on the train.

Muttering a curse, you check your phone for the time. It’s late; the last train leaves soon, and no matter how fast you run, you won’t make it. Why didn’t you think of this earlier? Despite being distracted by Heesung’s invitation and not knowing when he’d be alone in the studio, you feel foolish.

“Damn,” you mutter, closing your eyes tightly. You could take a taxi, but it’d be expensive given where you live, and you’d rather save for your future plans.

Heesung frowns, and you feel him watching you, but you refuse to meet his gaze.

“I guess I’ll take a taxi,” you resolve, turning on your heels toward the elevator.

Your heels click in the hallway, followed by Heesung’s steady steps, trailing you like a shadow—or a bodyguard.

You enter the elevator together, and again, no one speaks, a heavy silence settling over you. He presses the button for the basement but skips the ground floor, where you need to get off, which annoys you. How ungentlemanly!

As you reach to press the button yourself, Heesung’s voice interrupts.

“I can drive you home if you want. Taxis are hard to come by this late,” he says, and you sense he wants to add more but holds back, watching you through the elevator’s mirror.

You bite your lips at his offer. It’s not a bad idea—you trust Heesung more than a random driver, and it’d save you money. But you live far, and you don’t want to inconvenience him.

You surprise yourself by not worrying about giving him your address. Honestly, you feel an odd trust in him.

“I live pretty far…” you say cautiously.

Heesung raises his brows, that gorgeous smile appearing on those lips you like too much.

“I don’t mind. It wouldn’t be right to leave you alone at night just because it’s a long drive.”

You have no choice but to accept, doing so with a small smile.

You follow him to the garage, where his car is the only one left, confirming everyone else has gone home.

You walk around the car with Heesung, and he opens the passenger door for you. You thank him with a nod and settle into the plush chocolate-brown leather seat. Moments later, he slides into the driver’s seat and closes his door with a soft thud. He glances at you with a smile as he buckles up.

You do the same, savoring the car’s scent of leather, coffee, and spices. You place your things in the backseat after buckling up, settling in, feeling more comfortable than you’d like to admit.

Heesung starts the car, adjusting the mirrors, the engine purring to life. He drives out of the parking lot, and through the windows, you see how dark it is outside, genuinely grateful you accepted his offer.

You give him your address, and he sets off without complaining about the distance. He turns on the radio, and a soft melody fills the car, its notes tangling in his long lashes, his faded red hair, and his gentle smile when you glance at him.

“Thanks again for the ride,” you murmur, sleepy.

He glances at you briefly before focusing on the road.

“I swear it’s no trouble. But if you thank me again, I’ll pull over and leave you on the road,” he teases, his lips curving into a smile. Those lips you kissed not long ago.

You blush furiously at the memory, letting out a soft giggle, bringing a hand to your forehead, questioning everything you’ve done tonight.

“Alright, I get it,” you whisper, though more thanks stick in your throat.

You’re exhausted, catching yourself nodding off. The music is soothing, the car’s scent lulls you, and Heesung drives with such elegance. It’s all so him, intoxicating and calming.

You drift off, head resting against the purring window.

When you open your eyes, Heesung is standing in front of you, having opened the passenger door. The night breeze brushes your cheeks, which you’ve drooled on in your sleep. Mortified, you blink rapidly to wake up, wiping the saliva discreetly with your sleeve.

“Heesung!” you mumble, fumbling with your seatbelt to unbuckle it.

You’re in front of your house, and he’s watching you with an amused smile as you scramble, stressed. You didn’t mean to fall asleep in his car—it’s rude, a mistake you swear not to repeat.

“No worries,” he says before you can apologize. “You looked really cute sleeping.”

Blush creeps up your neck, and you open your mouth to protest, but Heesung presses a finger to his lips.

“Shh, it’s late. You don’t want to disturb the neighbors, right?”

Dumbass.

You roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips.

Silently, you close the car door and open the back to grab your things. When you’re done, you turn to face Heesung, who’s still standing there, watching your every move with his dark gaze.

Under the streetlights, his dyed hair glowing in the moonlight, his features relaxed after a stressful day, you realize photos don’t do him justice. He’s far more striking in person, being fully himself without worrying about his public image.

You push those thoughts away and step toward him. To your surprise, Heesung doesn’t step back.

“You should go, Heesung,” you warn, and he raises a brow, holding your gaze firmly. “It’s not good if a neighbor recognizes you and things blow up online.”

He squints in annoyance, knowing you’re right but not arguing.

“Fine,” he sighs, looking up at the sky, constellations reflecting in his eyes. “See you tomorrow.”

He clears his throat and looks at you again, as if waiting for something more. Your cheeks flush as you recall the kiss you shared earlier, and you step back.

“Well, see you tomorrow,” you nod in response, watching as Heesung gives up and heads to the driver’s side, opening the door before giving you one last look.

You hear the car’s engine purr before it starts moving. Though you’d love to see Heesung driving one last time, the tinted windows prevent it, so you wave goodbye, unsure if he sees you.

Though you’re certain he does.

[…]

The next day at work feels suffocating. As you head to the HYBE building, all you can think about is that Sunoo saw you and Heesung… kissing. You don’t know exactly how much he saw or if he cares enough to tell anyone.

Either way, your career hinges on his reaction.

Your hands are so sweaty you nearly drop the keys with the silly Sanrio keychain you now like a bit more. You grip them tighter and unlock your office door with a groan, still torturing yourself over what Sunoo might do. Part of you is sure he won’t say anything; he’s a good person—you see it in his eyes. But doubt lingers.

Maybe he wants to protect his group’s image.

You dismiss that thought quickly—he likely sees other people too and wouldn’t sabotage his friend. But what if it bothers him that his apprentice stylist is getting involved with Heesung?

You don’t know. All you can do is wait, powerless.

The hours before the boys arrive are agonizing. You can’t stop overthinking, suddenly regretting letting Heesung drive you home last night. What if a nosy neighbor saw him and took evidence?

Your self-destructive thoughts halt when someone knocks on your office door.

You clear your throat before granting permission to enter. To your relief, it’s not Heesung but a staff member reminding you that you were supposed to be in the boys’ room five minutes ago. You didn’t realize your pre-work hours passed so quickly while you spiraled.

You apologize hurriedly and follow, head down.

When you arrive, the boys are as usual—some tense, some relaxed, some seated, others messing around. You spot Ni-ki doing quick push-ups in a corner, with Jake laughing as he counts.

You can’t help but relax. Despite everything, you’ve grown fond of them, and they make you feel at ease.

Instinctively, your eyes seek Heesung, who’s sitting in a corner on an armchair, eyes glued to his phone. He must sense your gaze because he looks up and gives you a silent greeting with a playful brow wiggle.

Flustered and scared someone might notice—though you don’t know why you’re so paranoid, as maintaining a good rapport with the members is key—you look away and focus on Sunoo, who’s busy eating something he bought and sharing with the staff. When he notices your attention, he offers a gentle smile and approaches.

“Good morning,” he greets, holding out a bag of chocolates. “Want one?”

You nod absently, thanking him before popping a chocolate into your mouth. The bittersweet taste floods your palate.

Despite it all, you’re still worried about yesterday and what he might’ve seen.

As if reading your mind, Sunoo flashes a knowing smile and gives you a friendly nudge on the shoulder to focus on him.

“Don’t worry about it,” he whispers, popping another chocolate into his mouth. “Heesung needed someone. Just look at him! He’s a hopeless romantic, but every girl who’s approached him so far was after his wallet, his pretty face, or his fame.”

You bite your lips at his words, feeling bad for Heesung and reflexively questioning if you like him for those reasons. You dismiss it immediately—money doesn’t interest you in a relationship, you’re too proud for that; though his face is gorgeous, you’re sure that’s not why you fell for him; and his fame is exactly what kept—or keeps—you at arm’s length.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Sunoo interrupts your thoughts, and you focus on him again. “I like you a lot, and I have a feeling you’ll do him a world of good. Trust me, he needs it.”

His kind words lift a ton of guilt off your shoulders.

The day passes calmly. The boys are relaxed, and the outfits for their Japan concert in three weeks look fantastic. The staff praises your keen eye, noting how well they match the theme of the new album dropping two days before the show.

As for your relationship with Heesung, it remains unsteady.

You can’t talk much during work, and you haven’t seen each other since the Sunoo incident when you both stayed late. You’re aware you need to be more careful, or someone else might catch you… and you won’t be as lucky as with Sunoo, who seems to ship your relationship.

A week passes, then another. In that time, you’ve secretly exchanged contacts, and you find yourself eagerly awaiting Heesung’s good morning texts every day without fail. They’re so sweet they might give you diabetes someday.

You’ve been texting a lot, giving you a chance to discover sides of him you didn’t know existed.

You feel comfortable sharing your deepest thoughts with him. Though you haven’t kissed again since that first time, you’ve shared light touches—passing something to each other, brushing past in the hallways. Nothing too scandalous; sometimes Heesung tucks a stray hair behind your ear, or you fix his shirt sleeves that didn’t need fixing. But those small moments feel good.

Though you think it’s not enough anymore.

The third week after the kiss, you’re overwhelmed. The group’s new album drops tomorrow, and in two days, they fly to Japan for their first post-comeback concert. It’s chaos with the outfits—you still need to adjust each one. Ni-ki’s grown even more, so you have to re-measure his suit, and Heesung tore his pants filming the lead single’s MV. Everything needs to be ready by tomorrow night.

Something tells you you’re not sleeping tonight.

You enter Enhypen’s break room and scan for the two troublemakers.

“Ni-ki, Heesung, I need you to come with me,” you call. Deciding to bring both instead of one at a time is smart—you won’t be alone with either, reducing the risk of rumors.

“It wasn’t me, I swear,” Ni-ki protests, seeing your fiery glare from how stressed you are.

You soften at his words. In the nearly four months you’ve worked with them, you’ve grown closer to the group, especially Ni-ki, who was painfully shy with you at first. Thankfully, he’s opened up and treats you with more ease. You’re quietly grateful.

“Yes, it was you who grew too much at the worst possible time,” you tease, raising a brow. Of course, you’re not mad—it’s not his fault.

Riki grumbles but stands and follows you. Heesung does the same silently. Now that you think about it, it’s a relief he’s not ignoring you as much as he did initially, though his sudden change in attitude remains a mystery… something you’ll have to ask him about later.

You lead them to the dressing rooms and hand them their outfits.

“When you’re done changing, let me know, and I’ll come in to make adjustments.”

They obey without complaint, and you wait outside until they call you. You step in to review the changes, getting to work. You’ve already sewn the tear in Heesung’s pants and lengthened Ni-ki’s shirt sleeves, jacket, and pant hems. As expected, it’s not perfect, so you start with Ni-ki, marking the adjustments you’ll make tonight.

“You guys nervous about the comeback?” you ask randomly to keep them talking and let you work in peace.

Your plan works, and the room fills with their honest admissions about feeling a bit nervous.

You finish with Ni-ki’s outfit quickly and stand to focus on Heesung, whose dark gaze makes you nervous.

“Guys,” Ni-ki calls, drawing your and Heesung’s attention. “If you’re done with my outfit… I’ll head to the bathroom and give you some space,” he mumbles, a nervous smile on his lips.

Your brows shoot up so high you think they’ll fly off your face.

“Yeah, I’m done with you,” you stammer, surprised.

So he leaves. Heesung thanks him, and you swear you feel mortified.

When the door closes behind Ni-ki’s broad back, you focus on Heesung, biting your lips as doubt swirls in your mind.

“Does Ni-ki know about us?” you whisper, scared someone might overhear.

Heesung seems relaxed now that his bandmate’s gone, looking at you through his lashes from his towering height, making you feel pleasantly small. Why does everything about him have to be so appealing? From his casually nervous demeanor in public to the curious mole on his forehead.

“Definitely. He caught me texting you one day, though he’s always suspected something. He’s not dumb, you know.”

You frown and look down.

“Busy tonight?” he asks, his voice soft but cautious.

You let out a slightly bitter laugh and raise your brows, eyeing his pants to finish adjusting them.

“I’ve got to get all this ready before you leave for Japan, so I’ll be pulling overtime.”

Overtime. The words feel strange on your tongue, and you chew on them, recalling the last time you stayed late. Heesung must be thinking the same, as you feel him tense under your touch. Or maybe it’s because you’re touching his knees—you’re not sure.

“You’re not coming with us to Japan?” he asks after a long silence.

You shrug, still kneeling in front of him, pinning needles where needed.

“I can’t. As an apprentice, I’m not allowed to travel with you,” you murmur, keeping your head down.

You hear Heesung sigh before he responds.

“I’ll miss you.”

Those four words send a flush up your neck. Really? He’ll miss you? It sounds so… romantic.

“I’ll miss you too, Hee.”

You don’t realize you’ve used a nickname until he shifts under your touch.

“Hee?”

“Oh, sorry,” you mumble an apology, looking up with a soft smile.

But kneeling in front of him with your hands on his knees doesn’t help the situation. You notice Heesung’s lips curve into a nervous smile, and you feel yourself blush at the thoughts creeping into your mind.

You stand quickly, clearing your throat and looking away.

“Your pants are done, Heesung,” you say, changing the subject, stepping back. “Be careful with the pins when you take them off, then give them to me, okay?”

Silence engulfs you, and you grow nervous, wiping the sweat from your palms on your pants.

Though you said you’d leave to give him privacy to change, you haven’t moved more than two steps toward the door. Heesung hasn’t asked you to leave either. You’re just… silent.

And as you meet his gaze, all you can think about is how desperately you want to kiss him.

As if reading your mind, Heesung steps toward you, but you don’t back away. You lift your chin, losing yourself in his deep, lively dark eyes.

He lifts his hands to your face, cupping your cheeks, his gaze tracing your features as if memorizing them. Until his eyes settle on your lips, and he licks his own. You go on tiptoes, and he leans forward to kiss you, finally, after so long.

You sigh against his mouth, melting into his arms, his warmth enveloping you.

You slide your hands up his back, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, craving more intimacy, more of him. When Heesung’s hands leave your cheeks and trail down your back to grip your ass, you moan in surprise, not expecting it. Feeling him smile against your lips, you press closer to him.

But it’s late. As much as you want to keep kissing him, Ni-ki’s gifted time is running out. So you pull back with a smile, your hands smoothing his faded hair.

Heesung watches you, a strange glint of adoration in his eyes as he smiles back.

“Better get going,” you say, stepping back. “Like I said, watch the pins.”

Heesung nods, and you turn to leave, but his voice stops you.

“I’ll miss you so much in Japan.”

Though he’s repeating himself, it makes you smile. Damn, you’ll miss him too.

The overtime hours that follow feel endless.

Though you try to focus while sewing Ni-ki’s pant legs, your eyes keep drifting to Heesung’s pants and the tear you need to mend. You can’t help recalling how you were kneeling in front of him, pinning the fabric, trying not to attach sexual connotations to the scene. It was professional. Or so you tell yourself.

The torture ends when you finish both Ni-ki’s and Heesung’s clothes.

The next two days, Enhypen’s meeting rooms are chaotic. The new album drops the day before their Japan flight, and fans go wild over the new content. Before you know it, you’re saying goodbye to the group before dusk, unable to properly bid Heesung farewell in public. But his eyes shine when he says goodbye, and his hand lingers on your elbow longer than necessary.

That night, tucked in bed, you text him, giggling nervously. Heesung promises to stay in touch and keeps repeating how much he already misses you. Silly boy, does he know the hopes he’s giving you?

The next day, HYBE feels empty without your seven favorite vampires roaming its halls. Though they’re not in Korea, you still have work, albeit less.

The first day blends into the second, and you find yourself watching Heesung’s new fancams. The week he’s gone feels unbearable, and you miss his lips on yours. Though you text every night, you crave his closeness.

The week passes, and the boys return, tired but smiling, satisfied with their trip. You congratulate them on their comeback and performances, and they thank you for the outfits you prepared.

At one point, you’re alone with Heesung in the meeting room, both lingering intentionally after everyone else leaves.

“I watched all your fancams,” you admit, surprising yourself since you hadn’t planned to tell him.

The smile on his tired face makes it worth it.

“How’d I do?” he asks, his dark gaze meeting yours as he walks lazily toward you, near the exit door.

His hand brushes yours briefly, and you finally smile fully, happy to have him back.

“Incredible,” is all you say, and it’s enough for him.

As you open the door to step away cautiously, you hear his whispered words, laced with forbidden promises.

“Looks like I’ll be staying late tonight.”

The overtime hours that day feel like the longest of your life.

You don’t know how to kill time and feel restless in your seat. Until your phone buzzes with a notification from Heesung, saying Jungwon just left the office.

You sigh in relief, abandoning your laptop and planner on your desk.

You grab nothing as you slip out of your office, heading stealthily to the recording studio where Heesung must be. It’s late, and the office feels eerie, though you swear you hear a female voice from a dance room—someone else working late, for real, unlike you. You’re not worried; whoever it is won’t cause trouble.

Your feet stop at Enhypen’s studio, and you open the door without knocking. Heesung’s waiting, seated, eyes on his phone until he looks up, his features softening with relief.

“You’re here,” he sighs, almost gratefully.

You walk toward him as he stays seated, his gaze growing hungrier, darker, tracking your every move.

“I missed you so much,” you confess, and he smiles at your words.

Your hands rest on his shoulders, his wrapping around your waist. Your lips meet with a sigh, and you’re kissing him again.

Kissing.

Being kissed.

Kissing each other.

“I missed you so much too,” he breathes against your mouth, a slight smile making you melt in his arms.

You respond by opening your mouth, letting him kiss you slowly, deeply, like you’re his, only his, with all the time in the world, though you know that’s not true.

You’re not sure when his hands move to the backs of your thighs, lifting you slightly to straddle him. He guides you forward from your hips, and you follow, your lips lost in his. He pulls back slightly, your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Heesung,” you sigh, breathless, feeling his hardness pressing against your core. Pleasure shudders through you. “We need to make this quick. We don’t want to get caught, right?”

Whatever you’re doing; whatever he wants to do with you. Deep down, you know you don’t care what it is—you’d let him do anything.

“Heesung?” he murmurs, his eyes roaming your body slowly, memorizing how you tremble under his , his caresses; over him, his. Completely his, no need to say it for him to know. His gaze returns to your eyes, full of anticipation.

“What about Hee?”

That teasing question again.

You sigh, smiling, leaning forward to murmur the nickname against his lips. Heesung responds with a purr, tilting his chin to seek you out.

“You didn’t answer my question,” you tease between kisses.

His hands stay on your hips, guiding you back and forth, grinding you against the bulge in his pants. Each slight movement sends shivers through you, pooling in your lower belly.

Your stomach flips. You need him now.

“No one’s catching us,” he assures, but you’re not convinced. Still, you let him kiss you, let him guide your hips as you ride him until he gives your ass a playful smack.

“Up.”

You obey.

You stand from his lap, and Heesung rises too. He bends to meet your height, leaving a soft kiss on your lips before guiding you to the studio desk. He moves keyboards and papers aside so you can sit on it.

His lips return to yours, his hands to your thighs. Soon, his kisses trail down your jaw, his teeth grazing your neck—not enough to mark, but enough to startle you.

“Hee, no one can know what we’re doing,” you murmur through gritted teeth, eyes rolling back despite your protest.

He doesn’t reply but obeys, replacing his teeth with his tongue, licking the bitten spot with deliberate sensuality, soothing wounds not yet open.

Though you know, in the not-so-distant future, they might be.

You spread your legs, letting him slide between them, his hands teasing the hem of your pants before slipping under your shirt, exploring your stomach, your skin burning under his fingertips.

You let go completely, hands on his shoulders for balance, because his worshipful touch makes you feel unsteady. Why is he so good at everything? Not just on stage or in the studio, but in bed.

Damn.

His skilled fingers caress your lower belly, toying with your jeans’ button, then unzipping them. You don’t protest, helping him remove your pants and panties, which he tucks into his pocket.

“Keeping these for later,” he murmurs against your skin, as if it’s a perfectly reasonable excuse.

You nod with a distracted “hm.” Honestly, you don’t care much.

You let him kneel between your legs, your hands tangling in his faded hair. His fingers trace your dripping pussy, aching for him, and the corners of his lips curl into a smile.

“So wet already, and I’ve barely touched you, hmm?”

His comment doesn’t embarrass you—you don’t have time. His lips kiss your knee, then higher, sloppier, more tempting. You sigh, head falling back, eyes closing as his butterfly kisses flutter along your inner thighs.

Finally, his lips reach your core, his tongue licking your length without hesitation. You moan and squirm, overwhelmed by his wet warmth cleaning your fluids, though more keep flowing.

His right hand joins between your legs, palming your pussy as his fingers spread your entrance, letting his tongue lick deeper.

You shudder and squeeze your thighs. With your hands in his hair, you pull him closer, hips moving against his mouth, craving more.

Heesung smiles against your soaked pussy and slides two fingers inside, his nose on your clit, his tongue matching his scissoring motions.

You arch your back, stifling moans with a hand over your mouth. It’s not enough—he’s everywhere, and every inch of you surrenders to the chaos he’s unleashing between your legs until you cum on his mouth with a muffled cry of his name. Heesung keeps sucking, unperturbed, and even after you finish, he licks you clean, leaving you flushed and trembling.

You pant, shaking as he stands, his lips glistening with your fluids, which he licks off. His gaze meets yours briefly before he leans in to kiss you softly, once, twice, as if you’re entirely his.

Honestly, that’s how you feel.

Heesung pulls back with a content sigh, grabbing your pants from the floor. You watch in silence, pulse racing, legs trembling as he hands them to you with a gentle smile.

“Better put these on.”

Makes sense.

You obey, taking the pants and sliding off the desk, dizzy from what just happened, with warm remnants of your orgasm lingering. Your gaze sweeps the desk—Heesung had pushed everything aside, and some pens and papers are on the floor. You turn to him, a question on your tongue, but he reads it in your eyes.

“Give me a sec, I’ll fix it,” he whispers conspiratorially, giving your lower back a playful pat before cleaning up the mess you made.

Once you’re dressed and Heesung tidies the desk, you leave the studio in silence. With each step, he glances at you, ensuring you’re still there, not an illusion.

You stop at the elevator, waiting quietly as the night’s darkness seeps through the building’s windows. You sigh, realizing you might miss the last train again and—

Heesung interrupts your thoughts, placing a hand comfortably on your waist, pulling you closer. His warmth envelops you, and you’re surprised by how natural it feels after he just ate you out in the studio.

“I can drive you home again,” he suggests softly.

You smile as the elevator doors open.

So you’re back in Heesung’s car, soft music playing through the speakers, creating a cozy atmosphere. Like last time, he drives with elegant ease, making your heart skip. You watch him silently, leaning against the leather seat, captivated by how the traffic lights soften his features.

At a red light, Heesung turns to look at you fully, leaning in. You meet his kiss, letting his lips savor yours, his scent enveloping you. When he pulls back, his hand rests comfortably on your thigh, as if it’s always belonged there. You don’t push it away; you sigh, blushing, and look at the dark sky.

Your panties are still in Heesung’s pocket, so you’re bare under your pants. Though it could feel awkward, you don’t mind. Something about him keeping your underwear makes you want him to have it, though you’re nervous his hand might slide too high and make you ruin your pants in an embarrassing way.

Luckily, the drive stays chaste. Just a few kisses and casual touches as you talk about everything and nothing.

He parks in front of your house and gets out to open your door.

“You’re too kind,” you smile, taking his hand to step out.

“It’s because you’re a princess,” he replies, raising his brows.

His comment draws a giggle, and you nearly go on tiptoes to kiss him. You stop, remembering you’re in public—him driving you home is risky enough, and a kiss would make things worse.

Instead of kissing, you share a silent, intimate moment that sparks a tingle in your chest.

“Hee,” you call as he closes your door and steps back, ready to return to the car. He pauses to hear the words you’re nervously pushing out.

“Want to sleep over?” you murmur, hoping he’ll stay. “The drive back is long since I live far, and I don’t want you—”

“What? I’d love to,” Heesung cuts off your excuses with a carefree smile. “I’d love to.”

So you enter quietly, warmth spreading through you as you show him your living room.

Heesung leaves his things on the sofa as you instruct, then texts the boys he won’t be home tonight. For some reason, that makes you grin like an idiot. Later, you head to the kitchen. You rummage through your pantry, knowing you have specific food Heesung’s eyes light up for.

“Oh, you have a radio,” he says behind you as you pull out plates and cutlery.

“Want to play something?”

Heesung hums affirmatively, and soon you hear him fiddling with the radio, a familiar song floating in the air before he switches stations.

You smile to yourself and turn to see him focused, skipping through stations. As always, his hair falls over his long lashes, highlighting his furrowed brow and slightly parted lips—a habit when he’s concentrating. You blush, realizing how much you’ve been watching him.

“Hey, I liked that song,” you say when the notes of Those Eyes by New West are drowned by static as Heesung changes stations again.

He turns at your words, chuckling before focusing back on the radio to return to the previous station.

“This one?”

You nod, smiling, forgetting the instant ramen you were searching for.

“Yeah, this,” you murmur, catching the song’s lyrics.

It’s halfway through, but you vibe to the notes and words.

“Every hi, every bye, every I love you you ever said,” you sing distractedly, looking away from Heesung as he fixes his gaze on you.

You’re a bit embarrassed but figure you sing well enough, and honestly, you don’t think he’ll tease you. So you keep humming.

You turn to handle the ramen you finally found, preparing to heat water, when Heesung’s voice joins your carefree concert.

You let out a surprised laugh, turning to see him singing your favorite song.

“‘Cause all the small things that you do,” he sings, leaving the damn radio to approach you carefully.

He doesn’t stop murmuring the lyrics, his hands reaching for yours, gently pulling you toward his warmth.

It’s just you two.

You two and the curve of his lips when he smiles, the way his gaze slides over your features, pausing on your lips; the way his fingertips brush your wrist, sending shivers through you.

“I didn’t know you knew this song,” you whisper, breathless, following how his lips smile before he leans in, each word brushing against yours.

“And I didn’t know you loved it so much.”

It feels silly, but the way he says it makes you sigh against the kiss he presses to your mouth.

You kiss again. And again, you let him lick your lips, pressing his tongue against yours as he pushes you back against the kitchen counter. You sigh, closing your eyes, your hands finding his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. You pull him closer, and Heesung tilts his face to kiss you deeper, his palms bracing the counter on either side of you.

You lose yourself in his lips, the song’s notes, the forbidden way he makes you feel like his. Or at least, his in these moments when he kisses you like he can’t—and won’t—let you go.

You pull apart, taking a sharp breath, licking your lips. Heesung sighs, resting his forehead against yours. The song plays on, the final verses ringing out.

And the small things you do

When we’re done making love and you look up and give me those eyes

You feel him smile at those last words, kissing you slowly, taking your bottom lip between his teeth.

“You know, we haven’t made love yet, hmm?”

You flush at his mischievous tone, pushing him lightly on the shoulder.

“Would you call it ‘making love’ if we slept together?” you ask, acting nonchalant, though his answer matters more than you can bear.

Heesung meets your gaze, as if he’s amused that you distinguish between fucking and making love.

“Want to find out now?”

You roll your eyes, turning back to your silly dinner and the water you need to heat.

Still, you hear him approach from behind, his hands covering yours on the counter, lacing his fingers with yours, leaving a soft kiss on your neck. You shudder under his lips and hiss to shoo him away, but he ignores you.

“I’d make love to you, princess,” he whispers against your skin, and you can’t help melting at his words and the way his hands tighten around yours.

“Oh, are you flirting with me or something?” Your question feels foolish, but you ask anyway, feeling him laugh against your skin.

“I literally ate your pussy and kissed you senseless, and you’re asking if I’m flirting?” He huffs between kisses on your pulsing neck vein, knowing your racing pulse is because of him. “Of course I’m—” another kiss, “flirting—” another kiss, “with you, princess. I’ve been doing it for months.”

You raise a brow at that last part, recalling the first two months when he was so cold to you for no reason.

“You sure?”

“Yes?”

You press your lips together, figuring it’s something beyond his control. No, you won’t overthink it.

“Hee, how about letting me heat up dinner?” you ask with a confidence you don’t feel.

He complies, clicking his tongue as he steps back, leaving a cold trail where his lips and hands were moments ago.

You prepare the instant ramen together, and he teases you about watching him to learn his favorite food, though you snap back that it’s not hard to guess when he’s always eating the same thing. Somehow, you end up at the dining table, enjoying the noodles, lost in easy conversation about everything and nothing—his work, yours, even sharing personal tidbits.

As you speak, Heesung watches you with a softness that melts you, and you’re suddenly aware of the relationship you’ve built. Though you like it, it scares you.

Because you know he’s not for you.

He can’t be.

You sigh, standing to clear the plates and cutlery, heading to the kitchen, suddenly upset about what could be but shouldn’t. You have no right to think this way. You should enjoy the moment and be grateful Heesung’s risking so much for you…

“Hey, why the long face all of a sudden?”

You turn, realizing Heesung followed you to the kitchen, his dark gaze scanning your features with warm concern. A strange warmth blooms in your chest, clashing with the heavy feeling from before.

“Nothing serious, Hee. Thanks for worrying.”

He smiles, stepping closer to help with the dishes, loading them into the dishwasher while you clean the counter. Again, you’re struck by how natural this feels, like you’ve been living with Heesung forever. It’s oddly addictive, enchanting.

“Want to shower?” you offer as you finish, ready for bed. Since you live alone, you have a guest room where Heesung could sleep…

“If it’s with you, then yes,” he replies, shrugging.

“Hey!”

A mischievous smile plays on his lips as he sees your reaction, then he looks away.

“If I have to shower alone, I’ll say I already did at work after practice.”

You huff at his words, though you consider the options.

Showering with Heesung sounds sweetly tempting. But also dangerously impulsive.

“No, I’m a morning shower person,” you reply, aware of the odd tension pooling in your stomach.

He clicks his tongue in response.

“Alright, I’ll find you some pajamas,” you pivot, heading to your room with Heesung close behind.

He stays quiet as you rummage through your wardrobe. You know you have something from an ex or your oversized phase you’d rather forget. You don’t want to revisit it, but giving Heesung your huge shirts feels right.

You shudder at the thought.

“What’s taking so long?”

Heesung’s whisper brushes your ear, and you jump, realizing he’s crouched beside you. You clear your throat, swallowing nervously.

“Mind wearing a Pokémon shirt?”

His laugh wraps around you, making you smile too.

“As long as it’s yours, I don’t care,” he says, stroking your hair with a tenderness that sends shivers through you.

You hand him dark pants left by your ex, which you’ve cried enough over to not care about, and the Pokémon shirt you once found adorable. It’s all you have, and deep down, you like the idea of giving these clothes new meaning. Maybe when Heesung’s gone, and you’re alone, you’ll wear that shirt and savor his scent—

Better not follow that thought.

“I’ll change in the bathroom,” Heesung stands, heading to the bathroom casually, and you’re left watching his back, like he’s the damn love of your life.

You shudder, because you don’t want him to be.

Anyway, you change into your own pajamas—simple, cute, and slightly provocative, hugging your curves. You like it, feel confident, and blush realizing you’re dressing for him, despite sleeping in separate rooms.

“You’re not making me sleep in another room, are you?” Heesung calls your name, appearing in your doorway, wearing those old pants you hated but now love on him, and your silly Pokémon shirt that somehow makes him hotter.

“Of course I am.”

He raises his brows, and you grin foolishly.

You step toward him, and he opens his arms, surprising you with a hug, your face buried in his chest, savoring his warmth and the scent of your laundry soap mixed with his natural aroma. He kisses the top of your head, and you smile, tightening your arms around him, not wanting to let go.

You pull back slightly to look into his eyes, his gaze soft and shivery. He leans forward, and you go on tiptoes to let him kiss you.

Again, you lose yourself in his lips, his tongue licking yours, his fingers trailing your back, his smile when you press your mouth harder against his, seeking more.

You part, and Heesung tilts his face, kissing you deeper, his hands sliding to your hips, pulling them back to cup your ass, squeezing, pressing you against him. You moan in response.

He pulls back abruptly, and you open your mouth to protest.

“Oh, no,” Heesung presses a finger to your lips, silencing you with that confident smile. “You don’t want to share a bed with me, so that’s all the kisses for today.”

You frown, but he clicks his tongue.

“So you’re having fun with this,” you grumble, but your smile betrays you. “Come here, you idiot.”

You grab his shirt collar, pulling his mouth to yours, kissing again, his hands back on your body, you on tiptoes to reach him, him leaning to meet you.

You feel whole just with this.

You wrap your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his faded hair. He grabs your hips, making you jump to wrap your legs around his waist.

He kisses you quickly before pulling back to look into your eyes.

“So, we’re sleeping in the same bed?”

You sigh and roll your eyes.

“Oh, shut up and kiss me.”

That’s all the confirmation he needs to carry you to the bed, setting you gently in the center. He climbs on, his hands on your knees, spreading your thighs for him.

And he kisses you again, and you lose yourself in his racing pulse, his scent, his laugh when you press against him, shivering at the feel of his hard cock between your legs.

“Fuck, princess, you’re driving me crazy,” he murmurs, breathless, leaving one last peck on your lips before trailing them down your chin, jaw, and the pulsing vein in your neck.

You can only moan, head falling back against the sheets. Your fingers in his hair pull him closer as his wet kisses cover your collarbones.

“Heesung, Heesung, fuck.”

You sigh and arch against him, feeling him hard in all the right places. He laughs, noticing how desperate you are.

Jerk.

But you let his hands find your shirt’s hem, pulling it up, helping him remove it, leaving your breasts bare since you sleep without a bra. His gaze locks onto them, hunger in his eyes as he licks his lips.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, giving you one last look before his lips descend on one breast, sucking needily.

“Is something wrong?” Heesung asks, each breath he takes to speak brushing against your breasts, still wet from his saliva, making you tremble.

“I want to be on top,” you confess, your voice shakier than you’d have liked.

Heesung pulls back slightly from your skin to meet your gaze and smiles in response.

“As you wish,” he replies.

Relieved, you push against his shoulders, and this time Heesung lets you, allowing you to roll him onto his back on the bed. Satisfied, you straddle his hips and tug at his shirt, pulling it upward. Heesung sits up with you still on his lap, helping you pull the shirt over his head, further tousling his hair in a way that falls over his lashes, unfairly attractive.

Damn.

Your hands move to his face, brushing the hair from his forehead, and you kiss the mole there. Heesung takes the chance to press a kiss to the curve of your neck, sending a shiver through you.

You pull back to kiss his lips again, opening your mouth, diving into the wet heat of the connection, your hands roaming his chest, savoring the searing skin-to-skin contact. Until they drift lower to the waistband of his pants, tracing the V-line on his abdomen that disappears beneath the fabric, your fingers dipping lower, making Heesung tense beneath you.

“Fuck, just take my clothes off already,” he moans against your mouth, the sound igniting a heat in you that you’ll never admit out loud.

You do just that, and his hands mirror yours, stripping you both bare on the bed, breaths heavy and pulses racing. Before you go further, you climb off his lap and step off the bed.

“Give me a sec, I’m grabbing a condom,” you say, heading to the corner of your closet where you know you keep some that shouldn’t be expired. Just to be safe, you check the date before returning to him.

You hand it to him, and he puts it on before you climb back onto the bed, settling over his thighs. When you sit, he wraps his arms around your waist, his lips pressing one, two, three kisses to your left shoulder.

But then one of his hands slides down to the wetness between your legs, and you can’t help but moan when he touches you, trembling at the way he makes you feel.

“Shit, you’re so wet,” he mutters, stopping his kisses to look down at your dripping pussy, aching with desire for him.

You don’t know why, but you let out a nervous smile. Still, Heesung moves his other hand to his cock, and with the one between your legs, he guides you up slightly to align himself with your entrance, pressing the tip against you, making you tremble even more, if that’s possible.

You brace your hands on his shoulders and push forward, slowly sinking onto him. Both of you gasp at the intrusion, and Heesung’s hands find your hips, his fingers digging into your flushed skin.

You settle with your hands on his shoulders for support, sinking deeper, shuddering as you let out a moan you don’t want or can swallow. Heesung tenses beneath you, inside you, and thrusts his hips forward, driving himself a little deeper.

“Hee, hold on,” you hiss, feeling him so deep it flushes you with heat. “Let me do it. You’re not exactly small, you know?”

You know your words feed his ego, but you don’t bother hiding the truth. He obeys, staying still but gripping your skin harder, and you know you’ll have marks tomorrow.

Until you’re fully seated on him, feeling him so deep it almost hurts. You sigh, resting your forehead on his shoulder, adjusting to him.

But Heesung finally moves his hands from your hips, sliding them up your waist, wrapping you in his strong arms, pulling you against him in an embrace that makes your heart stumble over its own beats.

Your eyes widen at the gesture, but you let him hold you, sinking into the sensation blooming in your chest, drowning you sweetly, making you feel more cherished than you know you are.

You sigh and pull back slightly, leaving a careless kiss at the corner of his lips.

“Does that mean I can move now?”

You hear the need in his voice and simply nod, letting Heesung thrust against you with a desperate gasp. He closes his eyes, his hands gripping your thighs, pulling you toward him, then back, only to drive deeper inside you, making you tremble, moan his name, and gasp, pressing your hips against his, matching his movements as best you can.

You settle better on his lap and lean down to kiss him, moaning into his mouth, savoring the desperate wet heat of his kisses as he matches your rhythm without stopping his thrusts. The position must not be the most comfortable for him, because he grabs your thighs and flips you onto your back against the messy sheets.

From this angle, he pulls you toward him by the hips, his kisses leaving your lips to nip at your collarbones, kiss your neck, and lick the line of your throat.

“God, you’re so fucking tight, princess,” he groans.

You moan and dig your nails into his back as he hits that spot inside you that drives you wild. You clamp your thighs around him and arch against him, scratching his back without caring if it might affect his work. All you feel is him and the way he’s fucking you senseless against the bed, the way his lips worship your sweat-dampened chest between muffled groans.

Your hands move to your clit, touching yourself just enough until you feel the edge, your orgasm surging from deep within as you cum around Heesung.

He groans your name over and over, trembling inside you as he presses against you and cums hard.

Finally, he pulls out, removes the condom, ties it off, and looks at your trembling, sweaty body. He smiles and presses a soft kiss to your forehead before getting off the bed.

“I’m gonna toss this in the trash,” he says, his voice hoarse, before leaving your room. You watch him go, trying to steady your breathing.

When he returns, he turns off the room’s lights and lies beside you, wrapping his arms around your body, pulling you close. You can’t help but fall asleep with a foolish smile tugging at your lips.

[…]

You wake to the damn sound of your alarm. You mutter curses under your breath about not wanting to go to work, reaching for the alarm clock to shut it off when your fingers brush something that’s definitely not your alarm.

Your eyes snap open, and you find Heesung, still fast asleep despite the noise. You can’t help but smile at how he looks, the soft sound of his breathing, the way his expression is infinitely relaxed.

He looks so adorable.

You sigh and finally turn off the alarm, not wanting to wake Heesung just yet. He stirs slightly in the sheets, mumbling something in his sleep. You settle beside him, resting your head on the pillow, watching him, adoring how the streetlights’ glow illuminates his features.

As if sensing your gaze, he opens his eyes slightly, squinting until they focus on you. When they do, he smiles, and your heart skips a beat.

“What time is it?” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep, far too charming for your liking.

“Too early to drive to work.”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes to shake off the morning grogginess. Then he sits up, grabbing the alarm clock to check the time, while you’re distracted by how the sheet slips down his body, revealing his bare skin and the scratch marks you left on his back. You blush furiously but sit up beside him.

Heesung glances at you, offering a lazy smile.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” he murmurs, and you smile back. “So, are we showering together today? It’s morning.”

What a dork.

You let out a giggle and agree, so he follows you to the bathroom, where you shower amidst laughter, kisses, and caresses. Honestly, you’ve never felt as relaxed as you do with him.

After the shower, Heesung has no choice but to wear yesterday’s clothes, and though he only wore the makeshift pajamas you gave him for a few minutes, he thanks you for lending them. You feel like a lovesick fool as he says these things, following him to his car.

Since your alarm went off at the time you’d need to get to work by public transport, driving with Heesung gives you extra time, so he suggests stopping by his place first.

“I need to change,” he explains, keeping his eyes on the road, driving with that fluid ease you love. “If I show up in the same clothes as yesterday, the staff will get suspicious.”

You agree and suggest he drop you off on a quiet street first so you can get to work on time, a bit earlier than his group.

So he drives to the spot you mentioned, and during the ride, you can’t help but feel filled with warmth and calm. It’s strangely wonderful, and you love it. You keep up light conversation that makes you smile, humming along to the songs playing on the car radio.

You feel so happy, you don’t want this moment to end.

But at some point, it does.

Before you can step out of the car, Heesung calls your name and gently tugs your wrist, pressing a soft kiss to your lips that catches you off guard.

“See you in an hour,” he whispers, and you lose yourself in his deep, lively eyes.

“Alright, Hee, take care of my panties,” you say with a nervous smile, earning a grin from him.

“I will.”

You open the car door with an overly sappy phrase stuck on the tip of your tongue. You know you can’t say it. Though you want to part with it, you don’t want to make him uncomfortable after everything that’s happened. So you just turn, give him a smiling glance, and mouth a “take care” without saying the words.

Then you grab your things and step out, closing the door behind you.

You turn away so you don’t see him drive off and walk toward the HYBE building, which doesn’t feel as good without Heesung in it.

Your first hour at work finds you fidgeting with the keys and the Sanrio keychain, which brings a smile to your face. The second hour, you’re drumming your fingers on your desk, anxious because you don’t have a schedule with the group for another hour.

Finally, the third hour arrives, and you leap from your chair, gathering your things to head to the meeting room where you’ll discuss the outfits for the music video of their comeback’s lead single.

When you arrive, the boys are as usual—lounging on couches with their phones, chatting, or, in Heesung’s case, simply sleeping. You fight not to grin like an idiot when you see him, so deeply relaxed and unfairly attractive.

You look away and focus on Sunoo, who was already watching you. He smiles broadly and approaches to greet you.

“How’ve you been?” he calls your name, asking as if he didn’t see you literally yesterday.

“Good,” too good. “How about you, Sunoo?”

He clears his throat and glances at Heesung briefly before meeting your eyes again.

He raises his brows as if he knows more than he should.

“Let’s drop the formalities,” he steps closer, lowering his voice. Luckily, no one else in the room seems to care what you’re doing. “Heesung went to your place last night, didn’t he?”

You close your eyes tightly. Shit, it’s true—Sunoo knows about you two, just like Ni-ki.

“You won’t tell anyone, right?” you whisper back.

You trust Sunoo, but you need to be sure.

In response, he steps back, his smile radiant. Adorable, so adorable.

“So he’s finally accepted it?”

He sounds proud, but you frown. Accepted what?

“Accepted what?” you hiss, a strange feeling settling in your stomach, but Sunoo waves it off dismissively.

“Don’t worry. He’s a fool who only thought with his dick, but I’m sure it’ll be different with you.”

You swallow hard. Though Sunoo says it cheerfully as he walks over to Jungwon, it leaves a strange taste in your mouth. Sure, you slept with Heesung, but before that, he was sweet and careful with you. Plus, he drove you to work today and kissed you goodbye; there’s no way he’s just playing with you.

You push the thought aside and get to work.

You call the boys and staff to attention, and everyone takes their seats at the table. Thankfully, Jake wakes Heesung, who blinks a few times to shake off sleep before settling into his chair. Before you start speaking, his gaze finds yours. He smiles.

And all your doubts vanish.

You begin the meeting with a surge of joy flooding your senses.

The day goes smoothly. Heesung only steals a few smiles and fleeting glances, nothing riskier than that.

That day, neither of you stays late, but as you leave the building, you get a text from him saying goodbye with a heart emoji that makes you smile at your screen.

Trouble starts the next day when you check the news on your phone during the train ride. Your heart sinks when you read the headline about a dating rumor involving a certain idol you know all too well.

Lee Heesung is being accused of a dating rumor by a stalker who apparently took photos from the day before yesterday, when Heesung drove you home… and stayed over.

Shit.

You open the photos, and sure enough, it’s clearly you two, showing you both entering your house.

“Fuck, are you serious?!” you exclaim, clapping a hand over your mouth to stifle the shout you nearly let out.

Deep down, you knew something like this would happen, but you thought the disaster would take longer to arrive. Not this soon, not like this.

A heavy feeling consumes your body, and a flood of conflicting emotions battles for control. For now, you focus on steadying your breathing, which has become rapid and heavy.

Your hands tremble, and your vision blurs. You’re going to lose your job. The job you worked so hard for, your lifelong dream. But worst of all, it’s not even that. Heesung… you don’t know what’ll happen to him, but you hope it can be resolved.

You press your lips together and look down, realizing you’re crying. Despite your dream and your beloved job, above all, you’re worried about Heesung and his career. Just for having a personal life, will everything go to hell if the paparazzi dig deeper? You hope not; it wouldn’t be fair. You… don’t want to be a burden to him. You hope you’re not.

With anguish spreading through your body every second, you arrive at your damn job, trembling, hands sweaty.

You don’t even make it to your office floor before your supervisor—your boss, for now—intercepts you, giving you a look that promises nothing good.

“Come with me to my office.”

That says it all. You don’t need the half-hour that follows to know you’ve been fired. The reading of your termination and the reasons for it hit you hard. You broke the first rule with all your heart, and now you’re paying the consequences. You couldn’t have a relationship with them, not in any way outside of work.

And you did.

As your boss explains this and asks you to collect your things from your former office, you fight with all your strength to hold back the tears threatening to spill. For now, you’re winning the battle.

Until you reach your former office and close the door behind you.

You lean against the door and slide down to the floor, sitting there. Then you cry, and all the hazy feelings you didn’t want to name force their way out. You fall apart, there on the floor of what was your office just moments ago.

You wrap your arms around your knees, bury your face in them, gasping shamefully, sniffling, sobbing. Despite the way your chest tightens, the shudders of each sob, the helplessness reigning in your body, you’re certain of one thing.

Despite it all, you don’t regret loving Heesung for a single moment.

Maybe you regret how you did it. Maybe you regret not ensuring no paparazzi were nearby when you invited him into your home, but you don’t regret the moments you shared with him. You’re sure you’ll treasure them for the rest of your life.

You gather all the strength left in your body and stand, heading to the desk that’s no longer yours. You start packing your things into the small cardboard box your former boss gave you, holding back the tears still blurring your vision. No, if you have to leave, you’ll do it with dignity.

You’ve packed everything—your laptop, your notebooks with annotations, all the little things you’ve left scattered over the three months you’ve been here. All that’s left is to remove the silly Sanrio keychain from the office keys before handing them to your former boss.

You set your bag and the box on the desk and focus on removing the keychain. Once it’s off, you stare at the silly toy dangling between your fingers, unsure what to do with it. Finally, you toss it into the trash bin under the desk, grab your things, and leave without looking back.

No regrets.

But with your hopes and dreams shattered.

[…]

You don’t hear from Heesung for the next two days, which you spend crying on your apartment’s couch and eating like never before. You only received a message from Jungwon, lamenting your firing and saying how nice it was to work with you. He thanked you on behalf of the group and noted they weren’t allowed to say more through official channels like email. His words made you cry harder.

You’ve also been ignoring texts from friends and family—you don’t want to talk about what happened with anyone, not yet—and have only been scrolling through social media, reading fans’ reactions to the situation between you and Heesung.

Opinions online are wildly mixed. Some fans hate you and Heesung for having a private life, while others support him for the same reason.

Either way, the guy in question hasn’t reached out to you in any way, and that’s what hurts the most. When you left the HYBE building a few days ago, you sent him a text apologizing and wishing him luck with everything you knew was coming his way, but he hasn’t even read your messages.

You wonder if he blocked you, but you don’t have the strength to check.

Plus, he hasn’t appeared in public since then or tried to calm things with the fans.

Another week passes before your eyes, and the pressure in your chest eases slightly. Though if you said you don’t think about Heesung, you’d be lying blatantly. Things with the fans have calmed a bit, and it seems no one recognizes you on the street when you go out to buy food.

Still, Heesung says nothing. Not to you, not to his fans.

Another week and a half go by, and you’ve almost turned the page. A month after the incident, you’ve started looking for job openings. Though they’re not as good as the one you had at Be:lift, work is work. Despite everything, the scandal you caused is real, and though your name hasn’t been made public thanks to the company’s intervention, your face has, and some employers are hesitant to hire you just because you look *cough, cough* similar to the girl in Heesung’s dating rumor.

You finally return home after another interview. You kick off the tight heels you forced yourself to wear with a grunt as attractive as a pig’s. You’re exhausted, especially mentally, from everything you’ve been through.

Finding a job isn’t so easy, damn it.

You drag yourself to your room, not hesitating to shed the stiff, proper clothes and slip into something comfortable. You freshen up in the bathroom and flop onto your bed, phone in hand, ready to distract yourself for a bit.

But your fingers betray you, opening Pinterest and searching for Heesung’s photos. Again. Like you’ve been doing the past few nights.

And to think you’ve kissed that mouth.

A bitter sigh escapes your lips as you open a particularly beautiful picture of Heesung.

Once again, you can’t help but cry at the memory, curling up in the sheets, nervously biting your lips.

Despite everything—despite Heesung disappearing from all media for nearly a month, despite him not bothering to text or check on you—despite it all, you can’t help but love him.

And loving him hurts.

It hurts so much that you cry silently every night, looking at photos of him you didn’t even take.

You feel pathetic for acting this way, but you can’t help it. Damn it, of course you can’t. But you convince yourself with thoughts like the pain is temporary and you’ll get over him someday.

And as you cry, your gaze drifts unbidden to the closet where you know the tacky Pokémon shirt Heesung wore for just a few moments still holds his scent.

And like every other night, you try not to give in to the temptation to walk to the closet, open the drawers, and put on the shirt.

But tonight, you fail.

You get out of bed and do exactly what you’ve forbidden yourself from doing for a month.

You put on the shirt that smells like him and sit in front of the closet, savoring the only thing you have left of Heesung, crying as you realize how broken you are.

You don’t know how much time passes, and you even think you’ve fallen asleep when your doorbell rings.

You mutter and curse under your breath, deciding to ignore it, thinking it might be a salesman you’re not interested in.

But then it rings again. And again. Until you get up with tired steps and peek through the peephole.

Your heart drops, but for a very different reason today.

It’s Heesung.

You don’t think twice and open the door to face him. You don’t even care about your appearance, your red, puffy face from crying. You just want to confirm it’s really him standing at your door.

“Heesung?” you ask, your voice trembling.

His gaze sinks into yours, and you feel your breath slip through your fingers.

He offers a soft smile, heavy with emotions you don’t have time to decipher. Because before you can think about how much you want to hug him, you take a step back and slam the door in his face.

It doesn’t take long to hear Heesung’s incredulous voice from the other side.

“Hey, why’d you shut me out?” His voice reaches you muffled, but you hear it as you try to process what’s happening.

You breathe heavily, putting your thoughts in order.

“I’m trying not to punch you, idiot,” you retort with more venom than you feel.

You don’t know how Heesung reacts, but you know he hasn’t left. You relax for a moment, unsure whether to confront him or leave him out there, forgotten, like he’s done to you.

But Heesung must be reading your mind because as the part of you that wants to leave him out there gains ground, he rings the doorbell again, making you jump.

Fine, maybe it’s a good idea to hear his explanations.

You open the door with trembling fingers and lift your chin to face the man you love but who hurts you so much. Heesung meets your gaze, closing his eyes briefly to let out a deep sigh. Then he opens them, his deep eyes locking onto yours, drowning you in that way only he can.

“I came to apologize,” he begins, his murmur feeling like a caress on your flushed cheeks.

You press your lips together and look down at the floor.

“You’re late.”

Heesung lets out a soft chuckle that stirs memories, making you shiver.

“I know.”

That’s all he says, and for some strange reason, it’s all you need to let him in.

You step aside, gesturing with your head for him to enter. In response, Heesung thanks you and steps into your apartment as if he’s always belonged there. In a way, he has.

You both sit on the small couch that takes up most of your living room. You’re a bit nervous, unsure if you should offer him coffee or not. If you should apologize for what you’ve done to him, or not.

But Heesung just clears his throat, his gaze dropping to the shirt you’re wearing—the one with the silly Pokémon design you lent him the night he stayed over.

“First off,” he continues, ignoring the shirt and lifting his attention to your eyes. “I have to admit I was a jerk for not trying to contact you this past month.”

You roll your eyes and let out a bitter laugh, wondering if not smacking him was a bad idea. Maybe it would’ve knocked some sense into him.

“Well, at least you realize it,” is all you say, meeting his gaze with a determination you don’t feel.

Now it’s Heesung who looks away, clicking his tongue.

“I also haven’t gone to the media to explain anything, and I can understand if that upset you a bit.”

You twist your lips at his words. In truth, his not denying your relationship was the only thing that kept you somewhat alive in the dark hole you’d fallen into without realizing.

“I couldn’t contact you because I didn’t want to make things worse,” he explains, head bowed. You can’t help but raise your brows. “I know you might think I could’ve sent a message, but I really don’t think it would’ve been the best move. I needed…” he licks his lips nervously before continuing. “I needed to sort some things out with the company before I could talk to you about anything.”

You sigh, bringing both hands to your face, wiping the tears still dampening your cheeks. You’re sure you must look awful right now, face swollen and red from crying like an idiot.

“God, I’m so sorry I made you cry,” you hear Heesung call your name as he stands from the couch and moves toward you. To your surprise, you don’t pull away.

Instead, you let him sit beside you, his arms wrapping around your trembling body, and oh, God, you’ve missed him so much.

Your nose stings, and your throat scratches. No, you won’t cry, you won’t show weakness now, you won’t throw a tantrum in his arms.

But then he leans closer, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

And you fall apart.

You don’t know why, but you can’t help breaking down in his arms, letting the tears flow fiercely, blurring your vision and soaking your cheeks, falling onto Heesung’s arms as he holds you tighter.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers over and over, calming you with his embrace, leaving soft kisses on your forehead that only make things worse.

You cry. You cry and cling to him, not wanting to let him go again. You cry because you missed him so much every breath hurt, you cry because you feared you’d forced him to hide, you cry for the unfairness of it all, and you cry for the entire month he left you in the dark.

Until the tears stop, giving way to small hiccups. You sink deeper into his chest, his shirt damp with your tears and snot. Honestly, you don’t care anymore.

“What did you have to sort out with your company?” you whisper, your voice hoarse from the outburst.

Heesung presses another kiss to your forehead, pulling you closer before answering.

“I had to tell them I want to go public with our relationship.”

His words hit your chest like a freight train, and you open your eyes wide. You pull back to look into his eyes, which gaze at you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

“What relationship?” you mumble, frowning. You’ve never had a relationship.

Despite that, Heesung lets out a smile that twists your heart.

“What relationship could it be? Ours, of course. But only if you want.”

Your brows shoot up, shock overwhelming you as you process what he’s implying.

You huff and roll your eyes, looking away from him.

“We’ve never had a relationship.”

“God, you’re so stubborn,” you hear the smile in his voice as his arms reach for you, pulling your body to his.

Despite everything, you let him, burying your face in his chest again.

“Is this your way of asking me out?” you murmur, your voice weak. “Either way, it’s not something that takes a whole month.”

You still feel hurt by how he treated you, and you know Heesung hears the pain in your voice. He sighs, lifting a hand to your face, cupping it gently and urging you to meet his gaze.

“For my lifestyle, it did take a whole month to convince my boss. It was incredibly tough, but I did it.”

You don’t dwell on it further because Heesung cuts your thoughts short, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. You close your eyes and sigh against his mouth, letting yourself get lost in the confusing situation you’re in.

“This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you,” you mutter against his lips before kissing him again.

He sighs against your mouth, but you feel his smile.

Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out something you thought you’d never see again. The silly Sanrio keychain you threw in the trash. Did he pick it up just to return it to you? Damn. You could cry again just from that small gesture.

“Don’t worry, we have a whole lifetime ahead for you to forgive me,” he murmurs, handing it to you, and you take it with trembling fingers.

“Are you offering me an old keychain instead of an engagement ring?” you joke with a weak laugh, and Heesung smiles at your reaction.

“For now, it’s all I’ve got. I promise to give you a gold ring when the time comes, my love.”

And despite everything—despite the sappy tone of his words and despite not responding immediately—you let him.

You let him announce you’re an official couple, let him drive you to the new job you landed at a smaller company every morning and pick you up every evening. You let him buy an apartment for the two of you, where you move in three months after officially starting your relationship.

One day when you both have no work, you find yourself lazily sprawled on the couch, eating instant ramen with him while watching a movie.

“You never told me why you ignored me during the first months of my job,” you say as the end credits roll.

It’s a question that’s been nagging at you for a long time, and you finally feel ready to ask.

Heesung twists his lips, thinking for a moment before answering.

“Honestly, I always wanted to get close to you from the start,” he confesses, slurping more noodles, turning to meet your gaze.

“At first, it wasn’t romantic, but I found you so interesting. You shone in a way I’d never seen before, and your ability to keep secrets even among the staff was overwhelming. I guess I liked that a lot. Either way, I didn’t want to talk to you too much to avoid risking doing something that could get you fired.”

He sets aside the empty ramen bowl and turns to lose himself in your gaze, but you drown in his.

“It was Sunoo who told me life without risk is meaningless when he noticed what was going on with me. That’s why I threw caution to the wind and started talking to you,” he says, head bowed, taking one of your hands and holding it gently between his fingers. “Until I went to Japan without you and realized I was in love with you. Fuck, the next month was the worst of my life.”

You smile, deciding his words are enough to dispel all your doubts. You let him kiss you and finally decide what your soul has been whispering to you for so long.

“Lee Heesung, I think you’re the love of my life.”

“Oh, you only think?” He smiles against your mouth, his hands sliding to your hips to pull you onto his lap. “Let me prove I’m the love of your life. In this one and every life we have left, darling.”

With that sappy promise on his lips, he lets you make love to him on the couch, whispering romantic song lyrics in your ear, adoring you like you’re the most precious thing in the world, his muse, the love of his existence.

“Oh, darling, I swear to find you and make you my wife in every life I have.”

#i need fluff

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