☆-Tangled In Rehearsal Lights
Pairing: Heeseung x fem!reader
Genre: enemies to lovers, slow burn, idol au, fluff/comfort
Synopsis: Everyone thinks you and Heeseung can’t stand each other.
You argue during practices, challenge each other constantly, and somehow always end up fighting over choreography. But behind the scenes, you become the only person Heeseung feels safe enough to vent to after exhausting schedules and sleepless nights.
From hidden sticky notes and secret polaroids to late-night calls and a snowstorm that traps you together overnight, your relationship slowly turns into something neither of you can ignore anymore.
I used to think I hated .
At least that’s what everyone thought.
Including the fans later on.
And honestly? We made it very easy to believe.
His voice echoed sharply through the practice room mirrors as the music cut off for the sixth time in twenty minutes.
I turned around so fast my ponytail whipped across my shoulder. “You stopped the song again?”
“You’re literally obsessed with correcting me.”
“And you’re obsessed with being wrong confidently.”
From behind us, groaned dramatically. “Here we go.”
“Ten bucks says they argue for another hour,” muttered while stretching on the floor.
I pointed at Heeseung. “Your timing is off during the turn transition.”
His eyebrows lifted. “My timing?”
“Oh my god, you’re insufferable.”
“And yet you keep staring at me during practice.”
The room erupted immediately.
Heeseung looked equally startled that he’d said it out loud.
Then he cleared his throat and turned away stiffly. “Again from the second verse.”
At the time, I worked as one of HYBE’s in-house trainee assistants.
Not officially a manager.
Somewhere awkwardly in-between.
I’d started as a dance trainee years ago but ended up helping with choreography cleanup, vocal recordings, trainee evaluations, and performance direction because apparently I was “good under pressure.”
And spent most of my life yelling counts at exhausted teenagers.
He was impossible from the beginning.
If I corrected another trainee, they usually nodded and tried again.
He challenged every detail.
“Why should my shoulder drop there?”
“Because it looks cleaner.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
Working with him was addictive.
Because he cared as much as I did.
He stayed after everyone left.
Practiced until three in the morning.
Repeated single vocal lines until his throat became hoarse.
There were nights I’d leave the company building at dawn only to see him still dancing alone under fluorescent lights.
Like he was trying to outrun his own limits.
The first time we became something other than rivals happened by accident.
Everyone else had gone home after monthly evaluations.
The practice room floor was covered in water bottles and discarded hoodies.
I sat cross-legged near the speakers, typing performance notes into my laptop while eating terrible vending machine ramen.
He stood alone in front of the mirror, breathing hard as he replayed the same choreography section over and over.
Something about it looked wrong.
I sighed. “You’re overthinking.”
He grabbed his water bottle without looking at me. “I need to fix this before evaluations.”
The thing nobody else seemed to notice about him because he hid it under confidence and sarcasm.
I closed my laptop slowly. “What part is bothering you?”
Then quietly said, “The chorus feels empty.”
That was not the answer I expected.
“You’re worried about emotion?”
He shrugged awkwardly. “If I dance perfectly but don’t make people feel something, then what’s the point?”
For a second, I just looked at him.
I walked beside him and replayed the music.
“You keep dancing like you’re trying not to make mistakes.” I pointed toward the mirror. “You’re watching yourself too much.”
“That’s literally how practice works.”
“No.” I stepped closer. “Practice works when you stop trying to look perfect.”
The song restarted softly.
This time he danced differently.
Not trainee Lee Heeseung.
Not future idol material.
Just a boy who loved performing more than breathing.
By the end of the song, both of us were panting slightly.
Then slowly, a smile spread across his face.
“You were right,” he admitted.
I gasped dramatically. “Holy shit. Say it again.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Not the polite idol laugh.
Warm and bright and dangerously pretty.
That was the moment everything changed.
After that night, we developed routines.
Sharing convenience store dinners at 1 AM.
Arguing over choreography while sitting on practice room floors.
He became the person I spent the most time with without realizing it.
The members noticed first.
One evening, I walked into the lounge carrying coffees only to hear:
“Mom and dad are fighting again.”
pointed toward Heeseung and me casually. “You two.”
“You bicker like a married couple,” added calmly.
Heeseung nearly inhaled his drink wrong.
I stared at them in horror. “You’re all insane.”
“Then why does he only listen to you?” Jake asked.
Heeseung looked away first.
Which was suspicious enough on its own.
People thought we hated each other because we fought constantly.
What they didn’t see was everything underneath.
Like how he always noticed when I skipped meals.
“You’ve had coffee for dinner.”
“And you’re terrifying when caffeine replaces nutrients.”
Or how he’d quietly sit beside me after difficult evaluations without saying anything.
Sometimes that felt more comforting than words.
And then there were the notes.
One stressful week, I left sticky notes around practice rooms for trainees.
Shoulders down during turns.
Don’t be too hard on yourself.
Most disappeared eventually.
I assumed they got thrown away.
I walked into Studio C searching for my charger.
Music still played softly from speakers.
One arm hanging off the side.
Head tilted awkwardly against a hoodie pillow.
I moved quietly to grab my charger from the table when something caught my eye.
Colorful paper peeked out between pages.
I frowned slightly and pulled one free.
You’re improving more than you think.
Don’t forget to rest after practice.
My chest tightened slowly.
I flipped through the notebook carefully.
Every single one I’d ever left around the company.
Protected between pages like they mattered.
Like they were important.
My throat suddenly felt weirdly tight.
“You weren’t supposed to find those.”
Heeseung was awake now, blinking sleepily at me from the couch.
“…You collect my sticky notes?”
He sat up too quickly. “That sounds creepy when you say it like that.”
His answer came quieter this time.
He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sometimes after bad practices… I read them.”
Something in my chest cracked open softly.
this exhausting, stubborn, perfectionist idiot—
had been carrying around tiny pieces of my encouragement like they kept him together.
“You really kept all of them?”
His ears turned pink. “Maybe.”
“You know,” I murmured, “you could’ve just talked to me instead.”
He looked down at the notebook.
That sentence stayed with me for years.
Then came the polaroid camera.
That thing exposed him immediately.
At first he photographed random stuff constantly.
Clouds from dorm windows.
Shoes left outside practice rooms.
Jake sleeping in impossible positions.
Very artsy. Very idol-core.
Then one afternoon, while waiting backstage during a music show, Sunoo grabbed the stack of developed polaroids from Heeseung’s bag.
“WHY IS Y/N IN EVERY PHOTO?”
My head snapped up so fast I almost got whiplash.
Sunoo scattered the photos dramatically across the couch.
Smiling while drinking iced coffee.
Yawning during rehearsals.
Fixing choreography notes.
Sleeping against the van window.
Laughing with my head thrown back.
Most of them I didn’t even remember.
Because he’d been taking them quietly.
“Oh my god,” Jake wheezed. “Bro is DOWN BAD.”
“Give those back,” Heeseung said immediately, lunging forward.
“You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“You’re embarrassing me!”
I picked up one polaroid carefully.
It was blurry from movement.
I stood in the practice room mirror wearing oversized sweats, smiling at someone outside the frame.
The way he’d captured it felt soft.
Then I turned the photo over.
My face burned instantly.
“HE WRITES ON THEM TOO?!”
Heeseung looked seconds away from death.
And somehow that was the exact moment I realized:
In blurry photographs no one was meant to see.
And maybe that was why it affected me so much.
Because every tiny thing he did felt real.
By the time winter arrived, things between me and had become… dangerous.
Not dangerous in a dramatic way.
Nobody was secretly dating.
Nothing technically happened.
But everyone around us could feel it.
The way he always searched for me first after schedules.
The way I unconsciously saved him a seat beside me everywhere.
Even the members stopped pretending not to notice.
One night after rehearsal, looked between us while drinking juice and casually asked:
“So when are you two getting together?”
I nearly dropped my phone.
“You look at each other weird,” he continued.
Heeseung choked on air beside me.
“We do not look at each other weird,” I argued.
Jake stared blankly. “You literally stare at each other like you’re in a K-drama.”
Sunghoon nodded. “It’s uncomfortable.”
“Y/N,” Jungwon said calmly, “he carries your polaroid in his wallet.”
I turned slowly toward Heeseung.
He looked genuinely betrayed. “Why would you expose me like that?”
I think Sunoo actually fell off the couch laughing.
And meanwhile I just sat there staring at him because—
“…You keep my photo in your wallet?”
His ears turned bright red.
“You put it in my hoodie pocket!”
“That is not the same thing!”
The boys were practically dying now.
But underneath my embarrassment, something warm spread quietly through my chest.
Because he kept pieces of me everywhere.
Late-night conversations.
Like I’d somehow become stitched into the spaces of his life naturally.
I think he had become the same for me.
Schedules became heavier after debut.
People only saw the glamorous parts online.
What they didn’t see was him collapsing onto practice room floors at 2 AM because his body hurt too much to move.
Or silently re-recording vocal lines until sunrise because he thought one note sounded “off.”
Or the dark circles under his eyes getting worse every comeback.
Sometimes I worried he was burning himself alive trying to be perfect.
One particularly exhausting night, I found him alone in Studio B long after everyone left.
Music played quietly from the speakers.
He sat on the floor staring blankly at nothing.
That immediately put me on edge.
Heeseung was never still.
I walked closer slowly. “Hee?”
Finally he sighed heavily and leaned back against the mirror.
The way he said it scared me a little.
I sat beside him carefully. “Bad day?”
“I messed up during rehearsals. Again.”
“I forgot choreography onstage.”
I studied his face quietly.
Exhaustion clung to him heavily tonight.
Like he was carrying invisible weight nobody else could see.
Then suddenly he laughed softly.
“Everyone thinks I’m confident.”
“They think I never get nervous.” He looked down at his hands. “But sometimes before performances I feel so sick I can’t breathe properly.”
My chest hurt hearing that.
Because no one ever saw this version of him.
Not even the members sometimes.
“I’m scared people will eventually realize I’m not as good as they think,” he admitted quietly.
I stared at him for a second before speaking.
“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.”
He looked offended immediately. “Wow.”
“I’m serious.” I nudged his shoulder lightly. “You work harder than anyone I know. You care more than anyone I know. That’s why people love watching you.”
So I continued softer this time.
“You don’t have to be perfect every second.”
His eyes lifted slowly toward mine.
The room suddenly felt smaller.
“Why are you always nice to me after we fight?” he murmured.
I smiled faintly. “Because somebody has to manage your emotional breakdowns.”
Then his head slowly dropped onto my shoulder.
Heeseung never initiated physical affection first.
But tonight he looked too exhausted to care.
His hair brushed softly against my neck.
“You smell like coffee,” he mumbled sleepily.
A small smile tugged at his lips.
his breathing evened out.
For a long moment, I just stared at him.
At the peaceful expression replacing his constant stress.
At how soft he looked without the pressure of being an idol crushing him for once.
And suddenly I understood something terrifying.
I was hopelessly in love with him.
The snowstorm happened two weeks later.
Schedules had run late again, and management split everyone into separate vans because roads were getting dangerous.
Unfortunately for us, the weather got worse halfway through the drive.
Snow buried streets almost instantly.
Eventually the driver sighed heavily. “We’re not making it back tonight.”
Which somehow led to me and Heeseung stranded inside a tiny convenience store at nearly midnight while snow hammered against the windows outside.
“This feels illegal,” I muttered while entering the store.
Heeseung snorted quietly. “You complain about everything.”
“And yet you like me anyway.”
The words slipped out accidentally.
His eyes widened slightly.
Then the power flickered violently.
Emergency lights glowed dimly overhead.
Outside, snow continued falling heavily.
The elderly store owner kindly offered us blankets and instant ramen before disappearing upstairs.
At first we sat awkwardly near the heater eating convenience store ramen in silence.
Then Heeseung suddenly stood.
“We should build something.”
“You’re twenty-something years old.”
“You want to build a blanket fort in a convenience store during a snowstorm.”
Thirty minutes later, we had somehow created an impressive blanket fort between snack aisles.
We dragged pillows inside.
A portable lantern glowed warmly between us.
Outside the storm raged endlessly while we sat hidden away from the world eating melted ice cream because the freezers had stopped working.
At 2:40 AM we started making up fake backstories for random customers in old advertisements around the store.
At 3 AM I laughed so hard soda nearly came out my nose because Heeseung attempted to imitate our vocal trainer.
And somewhere between all of it—
Maybe the storm made everything feel unreal.
Or maybe we’d been heading here for a long time already.
The laughter slowly faded.
Snow reflected pale blue light through the windows.
Inside the fort, everything felt warm and quiet.
“You know,” he said quietly, “you’re my favorite person.”
His voice dropped softer.
“When things get hard… you’re the first person I want to talk to.”
I couldn’t breathe properly suddenly.
He continued carefully, like every word mattered.
“You make me feel normal.”
That nearly destroyed me.
The boy everyone admired.
And somehow he was sitting inside a stupid blanket fort looking at me like I was his safest place in the world.
He smiled faintly. “You know what scares me?”
“If I confess, things might change.”
Snow hit the windows softly outside.
I reached for his hand first.
His fingers slowly intertwined with mine carefully, like he couldn’t believe I was letting him.
Then quietly, almost shyly for the first time in his life, he asked:
I think my heart exploded a little.
“You’re asking now after emotionally destroying me for months?”
He laughed softly. “That’s not a no.”
“It’s definitely not a no.”
Like he was scared I might disappear.
But the second I kissed him back, he melted completely.
A quiet relieved sound escaping him halfway through like he’d wanted this for far too long.
When we finally pulled apart, both of us were smiling stupidly.
Outside, snow continued falling endlessly.
And for the first time ever—
neither of us wanted it to stop.
