ꕤ｡˚⋆ i hear it when you sing ⋆˚｡ꕤ han taesan
✧ you were just supposed to record his song. he was just supposed to be your producer. somewhere between quiet directions, late-night sessions, and “just one more take,” it stops being that simple.
✧ han taesan x fem!reader | idol au, producer au, slow burn, studio romance, mutual trust, soft tension, light teasing, emotional fluff | wc: ~2.8k
✧ author’s note: first BND fic!!!! woooo!!!!
you shouldn’t have been nervous.
really.
you’d spent years training for this.
you’d sung in front of vocal coaches who looked physically incapable of smiling.
you’d danced until your knees gave out under the lights in practice rooms that never seemed to sleep.
you’d stood in front of company executives with your hands clasped behind your back so they wouldn’t notice they were shaking.
you’d survived all of that.
so one recording session shouldn’t have been the thing that did you in.
...right?
your manager gave you an encouraging pat on the shoulder.
"don’t worry too much."
easy for him to say.
"he’s a sweet guy. think of him as just another producer."
but that somehow made it worse.
because he wasn’t just anybody.
he was han taesan.
producer. songwriter. idol.
the taesan whose name was buried somewhere in half the demos trainees whispered about.
the taesan who somehow always looked calm in behind-the-scenes videos while everyone else looked like they hadn’t slept in three days.
the taesan who had apparently been trusted with producing your group’s debut song.
no pressure.
your fingers tightened around the lyric sheet.
the studio door slid open before you could think yourself into turning around and pretending you got the room number wrong.
he was already there.
one ear covered by oversized headphones, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, quietly scrolling through files before looking up at the sound of the door.
your eyes met.
he blinked.
you blinked.
"...hi."
"...hey."
silence.
not an uncomfortable one though.
just one where two people seemed equally convinced the other should probably say something first.
then, unexpectedly—
he laughed.
small. quiet. more to himself than anything.
“i’m relieved.”
you frowned.
"...relieved?"
“you look nervous.”
your ears immediately warmed.
“oh—and great, so it’s definitely showing,” you said with a small, nervous laugh.
“but i’m kind of relieved i’m not the only one.”
you stared at him.
"wait...you’re nervous?"
he rubbed the back of his neck with an embarrassed smile.
“a little.”
“oh?”
“okay, maybe a lot.”
“but haven’t you done this before?”
“i’ve written songs before. but i’ve never written one for another group.”
the smile on his face was tiny.
almost sheepish.
“like... what if you hate it?”
you stared at him for exactly half a second before pointing at yourself.
“excuse me?”
he blinked.
“what if i hate it? we should be a bit more concerned on what if i ruin it?”
for a second, neither of you said anything.
then he laughed again.
a real laugh this time.
and somehow you were laughing too.
the tension that had been sitting on your shoulders all morning dissolved into something lighter.
something warm.
he held out his hand with a grin that looked more like encouragement than confidence.
“then...”
he tilted his head.
“...let’s both do our best?”
you looked at his hand for exactly one second before shaking it.
“let’s work hard.”
—
the red recording light blinked on.
you adjusted your headphones, inhaled once, and sang.
when the take finished, silence settled over the room for exactly three seconds before his voice came through the speakers.
“one more take?”
you let out a small, steady breath and nodded.
“got it.”
“i liked it.”
“…but?”
“i think you can go a bit deeper emotionally in the second half.”
you focused, already shifting into work mode.
“okay. more build-up into the chorus, or more contrast?”
he leaned back slightly, thinking.
“both. i know what i want it to feel like, i just—”
a pause. his fingers tapped lightly against the desk.
“i can hear it in my head, but i can’t really explain it properly.”
“try me.”
he looked up, intrigued.
“warm, but a little far away,” he said slowly. “like nostalgia, but not sad. more like you’re remembering something you don’t want to lose.”
you listened, then nodded.
“okay. let me something out.”
the next take ended, and he didn’t speak right away.
you could hear him replaying it—once, then again.
then—
“wait.”
his tone shifted, sharper with interest.
“that part before the chorus—can you do it again?”
“like this?”
you sang it once more, softer, a little more suspended at the end.
silence.
then—
“oh.”
“what?”
he sat up slightly.
“that’s it.”
“like that?”
“yeah,” he said quickly. then, quieter, more certain. “exactly like that.”
“i couldn’t figure it out how to explain it,” he admitted, eyes still on the screen. “but you just did it.”
you smiled faintly.
“then i’ll keep that direction.”
“yeah,” he said softly. “i trust you on this.”
and after that, it wasn’t just him directing anymore.
it was both of you, finding the song together.
—
it started off small.
a few days later, you got a message.
“are you free for like… 30 minutes?”
no explanation. no overthinking. just that.
when you walked into the studio, he was already there—same hoodie, same half-focused expression, like he’d been stuck on the same idea for a while.
“i can’t get this chorus right,” he said immediately.
“hello to you too mr. taesan.”
he looked up, then laughed under his breath like he’d just remembered basic social skills.
“hi.”
then, quieter:
“sorry for calling you over. i just… really wanted your opinion.”
that was new.
you stepped closer.
“lets hear it.”
—
by the end of the session, you were both leaning toward the monitor.
“i think it needs less force here,” you said carefully.
he tilted his head.
“less force like… softer? or like—”
“like it’s not trying to convince anyone. it already knows.”
he looked at you.
then nodded slowly.
“…that makes sense.”
then, almost to himself:
“i don’t know why that makes more sense when you say it.”
you shrugged a little.
“same brain, i guess.”
that got a quiet laugh out of him.
—
and after that… it just started happening more and more.
a message here. a “are you free?” there. a demo file waiting for you before you even asked what it was for.
you stopped thinking of it as “helping out.”
it became something else—something unspoken, but steady.
you’d come by, sit down, and pick up on what he meant halfway through his thoughts. he’d wait for your reaction before deciding what he actually thought of a line.
sometimes you didn’t even need to talk much.
just listen. adjust. try again.
and somewhere between late sessions and half-finished choruses, it stopped feeling like work you were stepping into…
and started feeling like something you were already part of.
—
around a few weeks later, things started to shift again.
you were packing up when he spoke.
“…hey.”
you looked up.
“yeah?”
he didn’t look at you right away—like he was letting the words form properly first.
“do you ever want to hang out outside of this building?”
you blinked.
then stared at him.
“outside?”
he nodded once.
“like… not here.”
a pause.
you slowly turned back to your bag, pretending to think when you had already made your decision.
“that’s kind of a dangerous question to ask another idol,” you said, but your voice was softer than your words.
he leaned back in his chair.
“i know.”
no joke in it.
no deflection.
just honest.
“but i’m asking anyway.”
that made you look at him again.
really look.
“right now?” you asked quietly.
he gave a small shrug and a smile.
“right now works.”
your fingers paused on your bag strap.
the idea suddenly felt a little too real to ignore.
“wouldn’t that be too much?” you asked, your voice softer now, trying to sound casual as you ignored how your heartbeat had started picking up.
he tilted his head.
“depends.”
“on?”
“if we’re doing something wrong.”
a pause.
then, a little softer—
“or if we’re just getting coffee and pretending we’re normal people for an hour.”
that broke the tension immediately.
you laughed, a little breathy, shaking your head.
“you’re weirdly bold for someone who was nervous like two weeks ago.”
he hummed.
“who said i wasn't still nervous”
there wasn't any pressure in his words.
just certainty.
“honestly, i think i’d rather ask… than spend time wondering what this could turn into.”
the words hung there for a moment, like neither of you wanted to rush past them.
“…i think i’d rather find out too,” you admitted softly, your voice lighter than your thoughts felt.
then added, trying—and failing—to sound casual:
“but if this gets us caught, i’m blaming your song.”
he blinked.
then a grin broke out on his face—slow at first, like it was trying to stay composed, and then fully giving up.
“wow,” he said, leaning back in his chair, clearly amused now. “my song is already causing problems outside the studio?”
you shrugged, but you were smiling too.
“…i mean,” you said, glancing up at him with a teasing look you didn’t fully try to hide, “it is kind of influential.”
that got him laughing for real—light, surprised, like he hadn’t expected the moment to feel this easy.
“noted,” he said, still grinning as he grabbed his jacket. “i’ll tell it to behave.”
and somehow, as you both moved toward the door, it didn’t feel like stepping out of the studio anymore.
it felt like stepping into something you hadn’t named yet.
