OH, QUE SERA?
EOM SEONGHYEON X READER
SUMMARY. . . An encounter in a hidden jazz club brings you face to face with Seonghyeon. What begins as a quiet exchange of glances turns into an intimate dance where every movement deepens an unspoken connection.
WARNING. . . kissing, intimate proximity (nothing sexual), emotional intensity, slow-burn?
Listen to Oh qué Será by Willie Colón
WC. . . 2.7K
AUTHOR NOTE. . . 👀
playdatbeat © 2026
The club didn’t have a name on the outside, just a flickering amber light that turned off every few seconds above a narrow door tucked between a tailor shop and a closed bookstore. There was no sign. No menu posted outside. No music spilling onto the street to lure people in.
Just that light. The type of place where no one knew the name but somehow everyone knew the place and inside, it breathed. Warm brass lights. Low laughter and the occasional clinks of glasses. The velvet hum of a bassline curling through the air like smoke. The aroma of the alcoholic drinks served along with the hint of cigarette smoke from the men who reentered the club.
The humidity of the room was an understatement, bodies that moved around to the rhythm of the jazz bands music as the singer managed to be stable despite his dramatic movements. Couples who moved in a sync like a practiced dance.
You originally hadn’t meant to stay long. It was supposed to be one drink, you told your friends as you said goodbye and went your separate ways. Something to wash away the heaviness of the past couple of days. But the moment you stepped in, the world outside was muted, or overrun, as if the city itself had exhaled and left you here in this pocket of time.
The music shifted. A slow, aching intro. Something deeper. Something older.
“Oh… qué será…”
The singer’s voice slipped into the room like silk, wrapping around every conversation, every breath. That’s when you noticed him. He was across the room, leaning slightly against the bar with an arm propped up, not slouched, not rigid, just… present. Like he belonged to the music in a way the rest of the room didn’t. Seonghyeon.
You didn’t know his name yet. But something about him felt known. Dark hair falling over his forehead just right, casting a slight shadow over his eyes with the dim light. A glass that seemed like it was untouched in his hand. Eyes steady, observant, already on you. Not in a fleeting way. Not in the way strangers glance and look away.
No.
He was looking at you like he had been before you even noticed him. And when your eyes met, He didn’t look away. The world narrowed. The music deepened. The lyrics of the song curled around your ribs, something bittersweet and searching.
“Oh qué será… que será…” A question with no answer.
Your breath caught, not from fear, not from discomfort, but from the strange, electric bold that seemed to connect the two of you without it being seen. Truly seen. You looked down for a moment, fingers circling the rim of your glass, grounding yourself. But something pulled you back.
When you looked again, He was moving. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Each step he took was deliberate, weaving through tables and drifting between bodies, until suddenly he was there, close enough that you could see the very faint sweat marks starting to form at his hairline from the humidity in the room. “May I?” he asked softly. His voice matched the music, low, smooth, with something unspoken beneath it.
You blinked, caught between surprise and inevitability “May you…?” He tilted his head slightly, the faintest smile touching his lips. “Dance.”
The song swelled, as if on cue. You hesitated only a second longer, not because you didn’t want to, but because something about this moment felt too perfectly timed, like stepping into a story already written. But then you placed your hand in his, everything clicked into place.
He guided you toward the open space without needing to check if you’d follow.
The dance floor wasn’t a defined space—just an open area in the middle of everything where couples moved like shadows, close and fluid. Seonghyeon guided you there with quiet confidence, his hand warm, steady around yours.
When he turned to face you fully, something shifted again. Closer now, you could see the details, the faint crease near his eyes when he focused, the softness beneath his composure, the way his gaze never wavered from yours.
“Just follow me,” he murmured. And you did.
The first steps had felt like a beginning. But the longer the song played, the more it became something else entirely. Something deeper. Something that didn’t feel like it would end when the music did.
The rhythm settled into your bones slowly, like warmth spreading through cold hands. The song itself wasn’t rushed, it lingered, stretching each note as if it wanted to savor the space between heartbeats. And Seonghyeon danced like he understood that.
Like he was that space. His hand at your waist adjusted, just slightly, but it changed everything. His touch wasn’t just guiding anymore. It was listening. Feeling the subtle shifts in your balance, the way your breath caught when he drew you closer, the way your fingers tightened when he let you drift just out of reach.
“Relax,” he murmured, barely audible over the music. You hadn’t even realized you were tense. But the moment he said it, his thumb traced a slow, absentminded line along your side, not distracting, not intrusive, just enough to anchor you.
And you let go. Your next step softened. Your shoulders loosened.
And suddenly, the dance stopped feeling like something you were trying to follow, and started feeling like something you were creating together. He stepped back, gently pulling your joined hands with him. You followed instinctively.
One step.
Two.
The distance between you stretched, but the connection didn’t break, it tightened, like an invisible thread pulled taut between your bodies. Your arm extended, fingers still intertwined, your body angled toward his. Then, he turned his wrist.
A small motion. But you felt it instantly. You spun.
Not the kind of spin meant to impress, but one meant to linger. Your dress caught the motion, the fabric whispering around your legs as the room blurred into streaks of amber and shadow. For a moment, you lost sight of him. And then, you found him again.
Exactly where you expected him to be. Waiting. Watching, with that look in his eyes that hadn’t seemed to change the whole time since he laid his eyes on you that evening.
Your hand returned to his chest as he drew you back in, your palm flattening briefly over his heartbeat. It was steady. But not calm. And something about that made your lips curve faintly. “You’re enjoying this,” you whispered. His eyebrow lifted just slightly, a quiet challenge in his expression. “You’re not?”
You didn’t answer.
Instead, you shifted your weight forward, just a fraction The music swelled, richer now, layered with emotion that felt almost too big for the small room.
Your bodies began to trace shapes across the floor, weaving between other dancers who seemed to fade into the background. It was as if the two of you existed in your own pocket of rhythm, untouched and uninterrupted.
He led you into a half-turn, your back brushing lightly against his chest for the briefest second before he redirected you again, your bodies reconnecting face to face. You felt the heat of him even after you turned back. Felt the ghost of his presence along your spine. And he noticed.
His gaze darkened just slightly “Trust me,” he said softly. And before you could question it, He let go.
Not completely but enough to barely be touching. One hand remained in yours. But the other, the one that had been grounding you, guiding you, disappeared. His body aligning with yours just long enough to steady you.
And then, another turn. Faster this time. But still controlled. Your breath caught as the world spun, your balance teetering on the edge of something thrilling and unfamiliar.
But he was there. Always there. His hand firm around yours, his timing precise, catching you exactly when you needed it. You began to anticipate him. To feel the rhythm not just in the music, but in him. The subtle tension before a turn. The slight shift in his grip before a dip. The way his body leaned just a fraction before guiding yours to follow. It became instinct. You stepped back before he pushed. Turned before he asked. Leaned in before he drew you close. And that’s when it stopped feeling like he was leading at all. It felt like you were both moving toward the same invisible point, again and again, meeting there without needing to think or communicate.
The song softened unexpectedly, the instruments pulling back, leaving space, raw and open. Seonghyeon used it. He stepped closer and loser until there was no space left between you. Your hand slipped from his shoulder, settling instead against his chest again, fingers curling slightly into the fabric as if grounding yourself.
His hand returned to your waist, no, lower this time. Careful, respectful, but undeniably more intimate. The movement slowed. No spins. No patterns. Just a gentle sway.
But somehow, it felt more intense than everything before. Your bodies moved as one, barely separate, your steps so small they were almost invisible. Your breathing synced again. Your gaze didn’t leave his. The world outside this moment felt distant. Irrelevant. The lyrics floated back in, soft and aching.
“Qué será…”
You felt it then, not just in the music, not just in the dance, but in the space between you. That question. That pull. That something undefined, unspoken, but undeniable.
The final instruments of the song slowed, softening into something almost fragile. The space between each note stretched, leaving room for everything else, for breath, for hesitation, for choice. Seonghyeon felt it coming. The end.
And with it, the inevitable breaking of whatever this was. He didn’t want it to end like that. His hand shifted at your waist, not pulling, not pushing, just adjusting. But you felt it. He saw it in the way your gaze flickered for half a second before returning to his, sharper now and more aware. Good. You were paying attention. So was he.
He stepped back just enough to create space. Not distance. Never distance. Just enough room to move again. Your fingers slid from his chest, returning to his hand, your warmth lingering even after the contact broke. It stayed with him.
Annoyingly so.
He lifted your hand slowly. Deliberately. Not the kind of motion meant to impress, but the kind that asked a question without words. Would you follow? You did. He turned his wrist one last time and you spun.
He didn’t guide the speed. You did. Your turn was slower than before, intentional, almost drawn out. As if you were stretching the moment just as much as the music was. Seonghyeon watched you the entire time. Didn’t look away. Didn’t dare to blink.
The room blurred around you. The golden light caught the edges of your silhouette, your movement smooth, unbroken. For a brief second, you weren’t entirely real. You were something softer, something untouchable. And then, You were facing him again. Too close. Closer than before.
Your momentum carried you forward, and his hand met your waist instantly, steadying you, but neither of you corrected the distance. Neither of you stepped back.
Your breathing wasn’t steady anymore. He noticed immediately. Not uneven, but aware. Like you were feeling it too. Whatever this was. Whatever had been building since the moment your eyes met across the room.
Seonghyeon’s gaze dropped. Just for a second. Your lips. And then back to your eyes. There it was. The question. Clearer now. Unavoidable. He didn’t ask it out loud. Didn’t need to. The music softened further, the vocalist’s voice barely above a whisper now, carrying that same unanswered refrain.
“Oh, qué será…”
Your hand tightened slightly in his. Not pulling away. Not uncertain. Just… present. And that was enough. Seonghyeon didn’t rush. That wasn’t his nature. He moved the same way he had all night, deliberate, controlled, aware of every inch of space between you and how quickly it was disappearing.
Your foreheads almost touched. Not quite Your breaths mingled first. Warm and close. Shared. For a moment, nothing happened. And somehow, that moment felt louder than anything else in the room. Then,
You closed the distance.
Or maybe he did. Later, he wouldn’t be able to tell. The kiss wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t hesitant either. It was something in between, something that felt inevitable, like the final note of a song that had been building from the very first chord.
Your lips met his softly at first. Testing. Confirming. Seonghyeon stilled. Not out of surprise. But because for a fraction of a second, he needed to feel it. Understand it. Warm and real.
Unmistakable.
His hand at your waist tightened, not enough to trap you, but enough to keep you close, to make it clear he wasn’t stepping away. Not now.
The kiss deepened naturally as if you were being molded together. No force. No urgency. Just a quiet, mutual shift, like both of you had silently agreed to stop holding back at the same time. He tilted his head slightly, adjusting, refining the contact the same way he had adjusted every movement in the dance. Precise.
And you matched him. That was what stayed with him the most. Not just the kiss itself, But the way you met him in it. When you finally pulled back, it wasn’t abrupt. It was slow. Reluctant. Like letting go of something neither of you had expected to find.
The music ended.
Applause filled the room, sudden, loud, almost jarring after everything that had just happened. Seonhyeon didn’t react. Didn’t look away. Neither did you. For a brief moment, the world existed again, but it didn’t matter. He exhaled quietly, his forehead resting lightly against yours. Too close. Still too close. “Stay,” he said. It wasn’t about the dance. He felt your breath hitch slightly before you answered. “I wasn’t planning on leaving.”
That, that did something dangerous. Because Seonghyeon realized, in that moment, that he didn’t want this to end at all. Not with the song. Not with the night.
And that was a problem.
Because things like this Moments like this they didn’t last, they never did. He knew that. He had always known that. But instead of stepping back, instead of creating a distance. He reached for your hand. Not to dance. Just to hold like he was still making sure you were truly real
Your fingers laced with his easily, naturally, as if they had done it before. They hadn’t. And yet, It felt like they had. He glanced toward the exit. Then back at you. No question this time. “Come with me.” It wasn’t a command. It wasn’t even a request. It was an invitation
And you didn’t hesitate. He led you through the crowd, your hand still in his, your presence at his side grounding in a way he hadn’t expected. People moved around you, conversations resumed, the band began preparing for the next song, but it all felt distant. Muted. Irrelevant.
The door came into view. That same narrow exit from where you entered not expecting anything from tonight. That same flickering amber light beyond it. Seonhyeon pushed it open, the cool night air rushing in immediately, sharp and refreshing against the warmth of the club.
You stepped out together.
The city greeted you again, alive, restless, full of movement and noise. But it felt different now. Changed. Or maybe You had changed. He didn’t let go of your hand. Not when the door closed behind you. Not when the music faded. Not when the world rushed back in. For a moment, you both just stood there. Side by side. Breathing in the same night air.
Seonghyeon looked at you then, really looked this time, without the dim lighting, without the haze of music softening the edges.
You were still the same. And somehow, Not at all.
“…I don’t usually do this,” he admitted quietly. It wasn’t an apology. Just the truth. His thumb brushed lightly against your knuckles, absent, thoughtful. “But I don’t want to pretend this was nothing.” The city moved around you. Cars passing. Voices in the distance of people who were still out despite the late hour. Neon flickering overhead.
And yet, It felt like the two of you were still inside that song. Still inside that moment. Still suspended in something neither of you had named yet. Seonghyeon tightened his hold on your hand just slightly. Not enough to trap. Just enough to keep. “Walk with me.” This time, it wasn’t about leaving.
It was about what came next.
