The third time you meet Jung Hoseok, you realise the last ten years has done nothing to the way you were drawn to him, with a force as sure and inescapable as gravity.
Genre: Idol!Hoseok, Chaebol!Reader, OT7 bangtan show up too,Slow Burn, Unrequited feelings, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Fluff, (we might include some other things later let’s see)
The teacup clinks shrilly against its saucer as it is set down on your desk with a trembling hand. You press a finger to your temple. It's throbbing slowly, and the throbbing will not go away.
“Jungkook. Please stop staring at our guest.”
The comment startles him and the second cup of coffee (that you most certainly had not asked for but he had taken upon himself to personally make and serve) makes the rest of it’s journey to the table with a loud clang. Your assistant clutches the the tray to his chest with a small gasp and folds into a little bow, embarrassed. Though, he still sneaks a glance sideways and turns pink while gasping noticeably when he makes brief eye contact with Hoseok.
“Jungkook." You say, without looking up from your notes.
Hoseok notes that you say this like you’ve said it a million times before.
Hoseok smiles, trying to ease the tension in the room. "Comeon, ____. Give the poor boy a break."
"It's unprofessional, Mr. Jung."
"Oh, so we're on a last name basis now?"
"Unprofessional. I run a business, not a daycare. It's Ms. ____ in the office."
“Sorry! Ms. _____.” The wide eyed boy worries his bottom lip between large front teeth.
It was going to be a long day. With a small sigh, you wave him away, turning back to the documents on your desk.
“Thank you for the coffee Jungkook. We’re good here, you can go now.”
When you don’t hear the door open and close, you look up again to find Hoseok smiling at Jungkook, who looks to be on the brink of a swoon that would put any victorian era lady to shame.
“Yes! Yes!” He snaps out of it, nearly dropping the tray but now standing at attention. “What can I do!”
“We can get a picture together later.” Hoseok stage whispers to Jungkook, and it makes the younger boy’s eyes go even wider. He nods his head vigorously with a wide smile and a scrunched nose. Hoseok suddenly has an image of a little overly eager bunny in his head.
"Thank you, Jungkook." You repeat again, this time with emphasis.
Jungkook's smile fades in a moment of realisation and mouths a silent "ohhhhhh". He nods in determination and mutters something unintelligible under his breath as scuttles to the door. You note that his hair has now grown out to his jaw (when did that happen?), and it’s fluffy at the ends. From behind, he looks like a little bouncing triangle kimbap. It’s just a little bit endearing, you'll admit.
When the door shuts behind him, Hoseok takes a sip of his coffee. Silence sits heavily in the air.
“You don’t use your last name in the company?”
“No, I don’t.” You don't look up from your papers.
“And you let him call you noona?"
A begrudging noise rumbles quietly in the back of your throat. “I’ve known him since he was in diapers.”
“Well, we’re feeling chatty today.” Hoseok mutters from behind his cup.
You ignore his comment, thumbing your way through a stack of manila folders on your desk and slide one across to Hoseok, who sets the cup down and opens it.
“A contract so early on?” He looks a little smug when he flips the folder open to the first page. It's such a good look on him. It's so annoying. You want to slap it right off his handsome face. “Look who's eager."
You resist rolling your eyes because well, it was unprofessional and in this moment you wanted to be the poster girl for Professionally Detached and Unbothered.
Was it just you or had his ego inflated twice its size daily in the past ten years? You can tell he's trying to push your buttons to get a reaction out of you, and he knows exactly where to press. You were just beginning to face the truth that maybe your heart hadn't made all the same changes your appearance had gone through over the years, especially when it came to Hoseok. All it took was a smirk and a sentence to ruffle your feathers; so easily he rendered useless your emotional detachment and the protective walls you'd built around yourself. And in the end... well. You were just you.
"It's protocol for anyone we agree to headline our masterclass series. The contract protects us from any associated damages like unfavourable press, and your intellectual property. If I had this my way, Mr. Jung, you wouldn't be sitting there at all. You're only here because the board voted you in, not me." Technically, the last part wasn't all true because you could have said no if you had really wanted, but he didn't need to know that.
"Mr. Jung?" Hoseok repeats the cordial salutation, and it tastes bitter.
Hoseok purses his lips. "Feisty."
"No," you counter. Over the last few bits of conversation you realise you've been leaning forward, and you make a special effort to recline back into your chair. "Professional."
With a tiny huff, he opens the folder again, holding it up to his face so that you can only see the top of his head. You make no move to fill the lull in conversation as he gives the contents a cursory read over. At this point, the less you said, the better. After a minute, Hoseok glances at you over the top of the file.
He's met with a raised eyebrow.
“Is there a clause you have a problem with?”
“Are the payment terms not favourable? That’s negotiable if you wish.“
“No.” He abruptly shuts the folder and puts it back on the desk pointedly.
"What's not to your liking then?"
Hoseok's lips sets in a line, like he's trying to figure out a difficult problem. You could always tell when he was struggling to figure things out - that little furrow in the middle of his eyebrows was such a tell, even when he tried to convince you otherwise. It was a tell then, and it's a tell now.
“Well. I’ll give you a few days to look it over then. You can have someone send me the amendments, but in the meantime - “ you give your watch a glance, and then look back at him “ - we can head over to the conservatory to view the practice rooms if you have time.”
He leans forward on your desk and laces his fingers together, eyes searching your face, looking for even a hit of emotion but your brows are relaxed, mouth straight, and eyes flat and still and dark as a lake on a windless night. There is nothing there and he hates it. Hates it even more when he realises he cannot read you anymore. He doesn’t know why, but it makes him want to grab you by the shoulders and shake some sense into you. It gets an itch under his skin, like a pebble in his shoe, rubs him the wrong way -
“We’re really not going to talk about it, huh.” He settles on that, finally. Beating around the bush was pointless right now.
“You. Me. Whatever is going on here?” He gestures between the two of you.
“The signing of the contract?”
“Then I have really no idea what you’re referring to, Hoseok -“
You set the papers you were holding and stare him down just as strongly so as not to belie the way the tone he's taken with your name still makes you freeze. If the way he’s eyeing you testily is anything to go by, he’s not going to let this go so easily. Hoseok could be the most stubborn, obstinate piece of shit if he put his mind to it.
After a few tense moments, you decide to give in. "Is this about the other night at the opening gala?"
"Glad you're finally ready to stop dancing around this elephant." Hoseok snorts and throws a hand in the air.
“You said your apology, I heard it. We've been through this already, I don't know what more you want." You reply levelly.
“Come on, _____. That wasn’t even close to a conversation.”
“Conversation, implying two willing participants.”
Hoseok gestures at himself. “Willing.”
“Participants.” You correct him, stressing the plural. “In case I didn’t make myself clear, this is me being very unwilling.”
“______, If you’d just let me - ”
Something rises from deep in your belly and presses against your chest- a ball of indignance, anger, resentment, general feelings, because how dare he -
“Has it ever occurred to you that I really don’t want or care to hear whatever you have to say to me?” Your outburst is sharp and so unexpected it makes Hoseok flinch.
"I'll only say this once. Who is this apology really for? Me? Or is it for you? Because somehow, after leaving me in radio silence for ten years, let alone what you did, my working theory is that you suddenly need something from me, so you're trying to get back in my good books. Or even worse, for some godforsaken reason, you grow a tiny shred of conscience so you stomp back into my life and demand that I hear your apologies and explanations. You come in here, upend my life so you can go on with a clear conscience? You don’t get that right. Just because the world hangs off your every word, Jung Hoseok, doesn’t mean that I have to.”
Your voice shakes a little on that last sentence, but that is all you allow him.
For the first time in a long time, Hoseok’s lost for words. There's a slight ringing in his ears. In his eagerness to patch things up, make amends, apologise, what have you, he realises with a sharp and sudden clarity that you were right. He’d not spared a thought if you had actually wanted to hear it or not. That whatever he was doing might be painful for you. That he might have been selfish. He thinks he understands that a little now, as he lowers his eyes to your hands, fingers laced, mirroring his own. You’re only half a desk away, but to him, it feels further than you ever have been in the past ten years.
“Look, Hoseok,” you begin again, using his first name, voice softer now, but back to the level tone you'd opened with before. Leaning back in your chair, you press a hand to your forehead briefly as you tighten the reins on your senses and responsibilities.
“We were... who we were ten years ago. We aren't those people anymore. Now, either way, we’re still going to have to work together, and I really do want the best for this program. I’m sure you do too. It’s going to be good for both of us. Let’s both just… drop this, okay? So we can do this amicably, professionally. Believe it or not, I don’t want to fight with you. I want us to get along well. Let us leave things as they were.”
There’s a sort of quietness in his eyes when he next looks at you, but it’s so fleeting you think you’ve imagined it.
“Okay. I don’t want us to fight either. I won’t talk about it anymore.”
He unclasps his hands and reaches across to extend one to you.
“We can be colleagues, then? Friends?”
You consider it, and him for a moment, and against your better judgement, you slide your hand into his.
“Okay.” You breathe. “Friends.”
He squeezes your smaller hand in his for a short moment before releasing it. It feels warm, reassuring, constant. There’s a short but much more comfortable silence as the two of you figure out how to re-orient yourselves to navigate this new dynamic.
“So you said something about viewing practice rooms in the conservatory?” Hoseok starts, and you’re glad for something else to talk about. Work. Yes, you can talk about work.
“Yes, I thought I’d show you some of the rooms today so you can see which you’d prefer best for teaching.”
Hoseok looks at his watch and then back at you apologetically. “I can’t today, I’ve got to start hair and makeup for a shoot on the other side of the city in about forty minutes.”
“It’s okay. Hmm.” You chew on the back of your pen as you flip through your planner. “Next week? Say… Friday, around three?”
“Works for me. There’s a cafe nearby as well, we can get coffee after if you like.”
You tense up, and clearly, it shows, because Hoseok immediately backpedals and you feel a little guilty. The two of you had agreed to try to get along well, and this was him trying.
“I mean, we don’t have to, if you don’t want to, I was just thinking, and I’m sure you have better th-“
“No, let’s do it.” You offer a small smile and he relaxes. “It’d be good for us to get to know what our creative and working styles are."
“That.. that’s great. I’ll text you, what’s your number?”
“You can call my office.”
"You're not really expecting me to -" Hoseok rolls his eyes and holds out his hand. “Give me your phone, ____.”
After a moment of you not responding, he raises his eyebrows and thrusts his hand out to you again, spreading it in a come on, give it motion. You pass your phone over, albeit hesitantly.
He taps away at the screen for a few seconds. His own phone buzzes in a missed call before he offers the phone back to you.
You reach out to take it wordlessly, but at the last minute he draws his hand back and your fingers close around thin air.
“Text me.” He empasizes knowingly. You try not to feel like a child who’s just been warned not to misbehave.
“Fine.” You concede, grumbling. “Give it.”
He slides the phone into your hand for real this time and standing from the chair. You say your goodbyes, and when the door finally closes, you heave a sigh and clutch your pen just to have something to grip, because if that wasn’t the most emotionally taxing meeting you’ve had this week -
“______!” The sudden exclamation of your name and your office door opening abruptly shocks you to attention. Your drop your pen, eyes wide and back ramrod straight.
Hoseok has stuck his head back through the door, and there's a smile he's biting back, knowing that he’s startled you.
“Jesus, what the heck. Okay, okay, I’ll text you,” You grit out.
His grin shifts into a lopsided half smile, and it looks so much like what you'd have given up everything for ten years ago that your chest tightens, whether you like it or not.
And with that he disappears back behind the door, letting it swing shut. You eye it tensely for a few moments. Just in case.
When you’re sure Hoseok isn’t going to come bursting back in, you slump back in your chair, one hand on your chest to calm yourself, heart still going a mile a minute. Unlocking your phone to text Taehyung, you nearly choke when you see Hoseok has saved his number with a little sun emoji at the end of his name. It’s cute and you want to fling yourself out of the window.
Dont you dare. You say to yourself. Don’t you fucking dare.
So you most definitely hadn’t planned your week around having the second half of your Friday free so that you could go home, take a shower, reapply your makeup, and then head back to where you just came from. You’d just felt grotty from a long day, and it was just courtesy to be well groomed, right? Those two full outfits laid out on the chaise lounge in your wardrobe that you’re currently eyeing? If they’ve been picked out with slightly more care? You pride yourself on being always perfectly dressed and all this pomp and circumstance was most definitely not because you were meeting Jung Hoseok, stop it, shut up, leave you alone.
There’s a soft knock on the door, and your housekeeper Madam Han enters with tea and a small plate of cookies on a tray which she sets on the small coffee table.
“Thought you might need snacks for whatever life crisis you’re working through in here.”
You make a vague approving noise in the back of your throat, and when it becomes apparent you’re not listening, she comes up beside you to peek at what you’re staring at.
“Date outfit dilemma, Ms. ______ ?”
“Mmm.” You purse your lips. “Do you think the pinstripe - NO?”
Your voice shoots through two octaves, but Madam Han just tucks the empty tray under her arm with a knowing smile and chucks you under the chin softly. “Never could fool me, little sparrow.”
“Madam Han, stop it, it’s not a date.” You fold your arms huffily and drag out the syllables, but your cheeks color anyway. Your housekeeper had an uncanny way for making you feel like a five year old caught in a lie.
No, hold on, it’s not a lie. This most certainly wasn’t a date.
She appraises the two outfits for a moment. “I think the dark jeans with the pinstripe blazer. Professional, but casual. Men seem to love that dressed down look these days.” Madam Han smiles fondly at you.
“Yes, I thought the - no, this is not happening.” You take your darling housekeeper by the shoulders with as much love as possible and steer her to the door, grabbing the plate of cookies as a last resort and thrusting them back into her hands. “Here. Please take these back. I don’t want them so you should go put them back in the jar. Or eat them, take them to Jungkook, whatever.”
Before she can get another word out, you’re closing the door in her bewildered face and stomping back to the clothes. You let the decision stew for another minute before you grab the jeans and blazer off the chaise lounge, muttering quietly under your breath.
You’re a leg and a half into your jeans when your phone rings shrilly for the third time in a row. Hobbling over to the little island counter in the middle of the room, you answer it and wedge the phone between your shoulder and ear, shimmying the pants over your hips.
Taehyung’s voice floats through the receiver before you’ve even had the chance to ask who it is.
“I’ve called to offer my services in solving the outfit dilemma you’re currently eyeballs deep in.”
You grab the phone from your shoulder and scowl at it for a moment before putting it back to your ear.
“Why do people keep saying that? I’m not having an outfit dilemma.”
“Don’t scowl at me. You are.”
“Did you install cameras in my house?” You look around the room.
“It was a hunch but thank you for the confirmation. And you always do that ugly scrunchy face when you’re caught in the act anyway. It gives you premature wrinkles, you know.”
“Do not.” You huff, but you relax your face.
Taehyung’s laugh rings crackily through the phone. “So? Have you decided? Send me a photo.”
You grumble a bit, but you figure your fashion afficionado best friend should be at least useful in times like these. Times like these, meaning a very non-date meeting. You finish buttoning your jeans, pull on a white t-shirt, and slip your arms into the jacket. Moving to face the mirror, you snap a quick photo and send it to him.
There’s a short pause and a ping as your message goes through.
“What does that mean?” There’s a panicked edge to your voice.
“It’s a good date outfit.” A short pause. “The Dior bar jacket is a nice touch. Makes your waist look small. I’m sure Hoseok will want to put his hands all over it.”
“Taehyung! For the thousandth time, it’s not a date!”
“Don’t sound so scandalised, princess. Thank me for validating your choices later.”
You scowl at your phone and finger mash the end call button, shrugging yourself out of the jacket and chuck it back on the chair. Grabbing your work bag, you sweep the essentials on your dresser in it and head out. The jacket grabs your attention again as you’re about to leave - it looks a little forlorn, tossed aside. You consider it for a long moment before swiping it off the chaise lounge and stomping out of your room, muttering all the way to the car waiting out front.
