#coworkers au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lily-blue · 1 year

Text

13 reasons why | reason no.8: they support aspiring artists

☆ characters: music producer!jihoon & singer!you (Jihye - ‘94 liner) ☆ genre: coffee shop au, coworkers au ☆ summary: you are struggling to make your dreams come until one day you cross paths with jihoon who not only sees your potential, but falls in love with your music and then, with you ☆ words: 11,9k ☆ massive thank you: to @dat-town ♥ for always taking your time to support me, my writing and my dreams ☆ taglist: @soobin-chois

➼ chapter index

You didn’t hate your job. However, you wouldn’t have said that you were particularly content with it, either. Sure, with years of work experience at the same company, you had managed to get yourself a team leader position that paid enough to live a comfortable life in the capital city, but the workload had started to slowly burn you out during the last couple of months and you didn’t like how you were always too tired for your hobbies. You missed working on lyrics and recording your own songs a whole lot.

A part of you had been hopeful that with the end of the holiday season, things would be a bit less hectic again, but it was already late January and you still hadn’t had a week when you hadn’t had to stay overtime three or four days out of five. The only reasons why you could have left the office before seven this once was your little brother’s birthday and the fact that you had your brother-sister cinema date in your work calendar since November.

Taking a step forward, you lifted the back of your hand in front of your mouth to hide your yawn, then took a glance at the screen of your phone, checking the time. You had around one hour to get yourself a black coffee to not fall asleep ten minutes into the movie and arrive at the cinema where Jiung had promised to wait for you with the tickets and snacks despite your protest that you should have been the one who paid for everything. He had made awful good arguments for his age. If he had waited for you just so you could have used your card, you would have missed the trailers of the upcoming movies. And you both loved making future cinema plans on the spot, while you were sipping on your coke.

When the person in front of you bid her goodbye to the barista and left the line with a tray of delicious pastries, you took another step forward and greeted the guy with a polite smile.

‘I would like to have an espresso and an avocado-chicken sandwich to go, please,’ you said, deliberately disregarding the fact that you would have a huge basket of sweet popcorn to eat in an hour. You needed something more filling for dinner that you had skipped on purpose to make up for your early departure. You were also too old to live off on snacks.

While the barista was preparing your order, you watched him swing from one of the coffee machines to the food display, then back to your drink and listened to him as he was singing along with the radio. His voice was surprisingly stable and not just that, he managed to hit all those high notes Taeyeon executed flawlessly in the original ballad, which made you wonder whether he had been taught professionally or learned on his own just like you.

‘You know, this place could use a live singer. Open mic nights are pretty popular nowadays, but they’re still relatively rare, so the competition isn’t that cut-throat,’ you suggested with a hint of a smile, the musician in you feeling some sort of connection with the guy although you hadn’t paid attention to his name tag when you had ordered. ‘You have a beautiful voice,’ you added as you belatedly realised that you should have looked for your wallet if you hadn’t wanted to hold up the line for too long.

‘Thanks,’ the barista said, his sudden shyness merging with his voice, his tone a pitch higher than before. It was adorable, but you obviously didn’t voice it out loud. ‘I’ll make sure to mention your idea to Seungcheol hyung,’ he added while he placed your paper cup in front of you on the counter along with a brown paper bag.

You fished a few bills out of your wallet, then shoved the change back into it quickly before you grabbed your order, bid your goodbye and let the next customer ask for a medium sized caramel macchiato.

You didn’t stay much longer, only until you threw your wallet and your sandwich into your bag and made sure you had an empty hand to open the double door with. You might have had to take the subway to the cinema, but you couldn’t have been sure you would be able to get on the first one and you didn’t want to make your brother wait. He deserved the world and more for being your biggest supporter and the best baby brother you could have wished for.

Arriving on time, making his only wish come true and spending the rest of your day with him were the least you could have done. (You also couldn’t have waited to see his face when he opened his present and put his hands on the designer backpack you had gotten for him from Milan.)

Late January and early February for your team was all about Valentine’s Day. You had to find not one, but a dozen of different ways to include the holiday in your seasonal advertisements without being too cliche or liberal, without coming off as cringe and pushy. It was draining, because love in itself was somewhat banal in your opinion and there weren’t many sides of it that hadn’t been overused by artists all around the world, but what needed to be done was needed to be done, therefore, you tried your best to add a bit of uniqueness to every idea that come up during your brainstorming sessions.

With your decayed creativity, it didn’t get easier to work on your mixtape, but you had some promising snippets you could send to independent producers and entertainment companies, so you wouldn’t have said you were short on feedback you could anticipate. It usually took them a week or so to respond to your email, however, you had already encountered agencies that had turned your demos down within a day or reached out to you after a month, which meant you preferred checking your personal email once in every hour. Just to be sure you didn’t miss out on a good opportunity because of your slow reply.

At the familiar ping of your notification, you shifted your gaze from the line your brother was standing in to your phone and took it in your hands with a semi-excited, semi-anxious heart. You didn’t want to get your hopes up, but it was a Saturday afternoon. You would have liked to think that people who were working on the weekend didn’t spend their time on sending out rejection emails, but seeked out talents they couldn’t afford to lose.

‘Is it from YG?’ Jiung’s question came from in front of you, the fact that he was already back with your orders genuinely taking you aback.

How long have you been staring at your screen without opening their email? It felt like you had barely unlocked your phone.

‘Yeah…’ you mumbled, willing yourself to touch the envelope icon in the left bottom corner, then the first incoming email above many that you hadn’t had the energy to delete yet. You should have really taken your time to unsubscribe from all those mass emails you received on a daily basis but never bothered to read. It was easier to just ignore them.

The polite rejection was in the first sentence after the greeting, but you pretended to read the whole letter to steal yourself a couple of moments to contain your disappointment. You didn’t want to look disheartened in front of Jiung, because you had noticed that sometimes he talked and acted like the older sibling and you wanted to be someone he could have relied on and turned to instead of another person he had to lend his shoulder to cry on.

‘They don’t need it,’ you spoke up with a pseudo-unbothered tone, then put your phone back on the table and reached out for the tomato-mozzarella-ham sandwich you had asked for.

‘That company is a sinking ship anyway. They wouldn’t recognize good music even if it was shoved into their face,’ your little brother scoffed, coaxing a genuine chuckle out of you with the disapproving grimaces he made. He was clearly over exaggerating; YG was one of the big three for a reason even if their idols were managed poorly. Still, you were grateful for his lighthearted words and painfully biassed opinion.

Lacking a response that could have brushed Jiung’s worries away without sounding insincere, you decided to take a big bite from your food without adding any further comments to the topic. You prayed that your brother would take the hint like he usually did, but his emotional intelligence had either left the building or he deliberately ignored your silent request to move on from your newest failure.

Knowing him, it was most probably a mixture of both: he saw right through you and wanted to make sure you wouldn’t have given up on your dreams because of another brick wall.

‘Hey, if they don’t need it, it’s their loss,’ he claimed and at that moment, you envied him for his faith in you. Not that you were about to throw in the towel for real, but there were days when it felt harder to run after the cart that didn’t want to take you.

‘I know. I wasn’t too hopeful about them anyway,’ you claimed with an enervated shrug as you lifted your sandwich in front of your mouth and took a big bite from the heavenly food. You concealed your bitterness with your exaggerated reaction to the perfect combination of flavours, though, you weren’t lying. Comforting lost souls with your music and working on new snippets in your own studio had been your dream since high school. You had started to send your demos to entertainment agencies during your freshman year in university when you had realised your voice cracked in front of a real audience. The years behind your back had taught you not to be too hopeful.

Even when the initial reaction was positive about your songs. Nothing was set in stone until one had a contract in their hands and sometimes, not even then.

Munching on another bite while playing with the spoon in your black coffee, you were about to ask Jiung about your parents and how your father had taken the news that instead of going to the same university everyone in your family had attended, your brother wanted to study animation at Bang Arts Academy, when the furrow between his eyebrows made you alert and you changed your priorities.

‘What’s…’

‘Sis… have you seen this?’ Jiung’s stunned question cut off your worried one, successfully confusing you with the lack of details or pointers in the inquiry. You lowered your half-eaten sandwich and let your lower arms touch the edge of the table as you leaned forwards, trying to see what he was so focused on.

It was one of the leaflets the employees in Coffee Carat had put on every table; the one they advertised their first open mic night with. You had already seen the A3 sized version of it on the entrance, not to mention that Wonwoo also sent the draft versions to you after one of your visits because for some reason his boss wanted you to have one vote, too, besides all those people who could have had a say in the final design.

‘Yeah, their manager pulled me aside two weeks ago and asked me whether I wanted credit for the idea. I said it wasn’t necessary, but he even gave me a month’s worth of free coffee coupons, so I rolled with it,’ you said with an amused chuckle, not deeming it necessary to tell your baby brother how the coffee shop’s giant baker had walked over to you when you had given your business card to Wonwoo and torn it into pieces while he had enlightened you that his friend had already had a girlfriend.

Like you would have ever hit on someone in the catering industry - or put up with their lame attempts to charm you - while they were on the clock. Some of these people earned more tips a week than their actual monthly salary. They flirted for a living. And while you didn’t judge them for it, you looked for something more serious.

‘Cool! Do you plan to sign up for their first open mic night?’ Your little brother asked, his dark, chocolate brown eyes shining with the same excitement you often saw in them when he was talking about fashion and his favourite webtoons.

You took a sip from your coffee and made a face.

‘No, not really,’ you mumbled, suddenly unable to look at Jiung’s face as you were afraid you disappointed him with your answer. It wasn’t that you wouldn’t have liked to sing in front of people. It was more like you couldn’t.

‘Come on! Why not?’ He pressed and you genuinely weren’t sure whether he was pretending to be unaware of your boundaries or he was about to lecture you that most things were only impossible because you made them to be.

You decided to not give him enough time for the latter and instead of taking another bite from your sandwich, you leaned your back against your chair and raised a brow in annoyance. You obviously loved your brother too much to be angry with him when he acted like this, but his laid back and optimistic personality could piss you off in no time when you had to spell the obvious out to him to make him stop.

‘Because this coffee shop is actually pretty popular. There will be people,’ you made a point, going as far as shifting your gaze from one table to another in the customer area for emphasis.

‘That’s even better!’

‘Tell that to my anxiety,’ you retorted sharply with a scoff, disbelief more dominant in your actions than anger.

‘But what if it could actually he–’

‘Can we talk about something else? Please,’ you pleaded and your pouty lips and puppy eyes seemed to do the trick. Because the next moment your brother bit into his mouth and put the leaflet back into its place.

Jiung shot a sheepish smile in your way and scratched his nape like a child who got caught red-handed while stealing candies from a cookie jar. It reminded you of those months when he had actually had the tendency to stuff himself with sweet snacks before dinner and your frustration was no more.

During the rest of those hours you spent in Coffee Carat, you did ask him about your father’s reaction to his future plans, but you dismissed that topic as well when his answer implied that he hadn’t taken it well. You knew your mother would have moved out as well if your old man had thrown Jiung out of home for real, so you weren’t worried. Still, you made a mental note to give your father a call and talk this matter through with him before your brother had taken it into his head that he would have paid for his tuition on his own. You wanted him, you needed him to stay a child for a bit longer. He could have obviously worked part-time during school breaks like he had done last summer and this winter, but you weren’t willing to let him work beside the academy.

In this matter, your opinion was final. So even if you had failed to talk some sense into your dad, you would have found a way to support him financially. He could have whined about it as much as he wanted, it was no question at all.

You couldn’t have pinpointed which one of the following had convinced you in the end that singing up for the open mic night was a good idea: Jiung’s pleading emojis and encouraging messages whenever the topic had come up in your conversations (and he had always found a way to hint at the event even when you had been talking about cooking), the curt reply in which the representative of IST Entertainment had advised you that you should have tried for their upcoming audition, or the degrading comments under your latest cover on your Youtube channel that had called you fake.

Well aware that you rarely acted on impulse, it was most probably the result of them all. You might have gotten up on the wrong side of the bed that day, too, getting easily irritated by the comments people had made at work. Anyhow, what had been done had been done and your name was about to be called by the emcee in any second.

‘Okay, guys! Let’s give a round of applause to Kim Dahee,’ Boo Seungkwan encouraged the crowd to cheer for the brunette and his bubbly personality would have made you smile under almost any other circumstances. If only you hadn’t felt like throwing up.

You tried to focus on the girl’s song that might have been a bit amateur in the context of beats and composition, but had lovely lyrics. However, once she got to the refrain for the second time, your chest got heavy and your heart was about to explode inside your ribcage.

You didn’t think much. You rushed towards the hallway in the back that led to the restrooms, then locked yourself in the women’s once you were sure the tiny room was completely empty. You put your hands on the marble countertop and shifted a big part of your body weight onto them, relieved to be alone.

The space obviously wasn’t sound proof. You could hear the blond emcee calling your name, but you willed yourself to shut him out along with the disappointed and confused noises of the audience. You tried to calm yourself with the usual, textbook-like methods: you counted to ten, twenty, then fifty, but it barely helped. You also washed your face and neck with cold water, but that did more harm to your grey tee than good to your nerves. Therefore, after two attempts at different breathing exercises, you decided to focus on what made you feel the best in life: music.

As you were humming the same song you had sent to those entertainment agencies that were constantly rejecting you during the past couple of days, you could feel the tension leaving your stiff muscles and you were finally able to breathe. Singing in front of so many people might have been one of your biggest fears, but enjoying the melodies you created was what made you keep chasing your dreams.

It could have taken mere minutes or half an hour, you weren’t sure. All you were aware of was that impatient knock on the restroom’s door that pulled you back to reality and urged you to leave the room before the person on the other side called for the employees’ help. The last thing you needed was Wonwoo coming to your rescue when you weren’t stuck and reassuring you that you could have still gone on stage after the last participant.

‘I’m sorry,’ you mumbled under your nose, avoiding eye contact while you bowed to the older woman with your palms pressed together. You hoped your voice was loud enough for her to hear, but quiet enough to ignore easily.

Not exactly keen to stay until the end of the open mic night and having no other reason to be at the coffee shop, you were about to keep your head down and sneak out of the building when someone cleared their throat on your right and took advantage of your reflexes to gain your attention. You snapped your head towards the black haired boy before you realised and his sharp gaze sucked your soul out of your body as soon as your eyes met.

He made you feel uneasy: like you were a mere child up to no good and he was about to scold you for every harmless crime you had ever committed in your life.

‘What’s the name of that song? I’ve never heard that one before,’ the boy asked and the blood ran cold in your veins upon hearing his question. With furrowed eyebrows, you took in how he had his back leaned against the wall and for the first time since you had noticed him, you couldn’t have helped but wondered: was he waiting for his turn to use the men’s restroom or he was waiting for you.

‘What?’ You gaped at him, internally scolding yourself for exaggerating your surprise when you could have just told him you couldn’t recall either the artist or the name of the song. ‘I… I don’t know. I don’t remember,’ you tried to save the situation, although a part of you was convinced that you only made it worse.

The silence that followed your statement was heavy. It made you fidgety, because you didn’t know whether he would call you out on your blatant lie or cut you some slack instead, saving you from the urge to lie into his face again, this time, in more detail.

‘I see. Are you perhaps one of the participants?’ The boy asked, approaching the matter from another direction. You didn’t understand why he was so pressed about your song, but you had gotten enough rejection letters in the past weeks. You might have always been down for the good old constructive criticism from a fellow musician, but you didn’t want him, a layman, to talk poorly of your skills once he had figured out that it was your own creation.

‘No!’ You retorted a bit too loudly, earning a side eye from the old woman who just left the women’s restroom and passed you by. Coming to your senses and realising how ridiculous you were acting, you straightened your back and cleared your throat. You even fixed your hair with your fingers before you rephrased your answer in a calmer tone. ‘I mean… No, I’m not.’

This boy had no power over you! He was just a stranger. Someone you would most probably never see again, let alone talk with.

‘What a shame!’ He exclaimed with an almost pout that you couldn’t have helped but found cute despite your better judgement.

Your cheeks turned ruby when you realised you weren’t just zoning out, but staring at his thin lips for literally no reason and for shamelessly too long.

‘Here! In case you suddenly remember,’ he took a step closer to you and held his business card out for you until you took it. ‘It could use a few more modifications, but it has potential,’ he added with an encouraging smile before he bid his goodbye and left the corridor.

Instead of following him with your eyes until he disappeared, you were staring at the business card he had given you and his name that was more than just familiar. As a wanna-be singer, songwriter and producer, you were obviously up to date with the cream of the industry you oh so desperately wanted to be a part of. However, you had never seen any footage of Woozi in spite of those two dozen awards his songs had received since his debut under Pledis Ent. No one had.

He looked nothing you had imagined him to be based on those songs he had written about dreams, bittersweet love, and yearning for something better. If he had really been Woozi. But that was a “you” problem, and a fact you should have accepted on your own.

Taking a deeper breath, you shoved the business card in your pocket and fixed your clothes. On the count of three, you power walked to your table and grabbed your purse. You might have been tempted to finish your black coffee even though it had gotten cold, but you didn’t want to take risks. Thus, you left the crowded building immediately: without explanations or goodbyes.

On your way to the metro station, you told yourself they didn’t need you to call the open mic night a success and that you could have always apologised to Wonwoo via text for not feeling well enough to go on stage. You had a feeling that he would have understood.

Needless to say, you were sceptical about the black haired boy and his real intentions with the song you had written. Because no matter how much respect you had towards Woozi as a musician, you couldn’t figure out why he - of all people - would have seen so much potential in your work. Not to mention that a defensive part of you still questioned his identity. It was hard to picture the industry’s young prodigy at an amateur open mic night, looking for talents. Maybe, if it hadn’t been the first event at Coffee Carat, your gut feeling wouldn’t have pulled walls around your heart at the thought of being discovered by one of your idols, but it just felt too good to be true. Something that would have happened with your annoying cousin or your neighbour who always greeted you cheerfully in the elevator, but never with you.

No wonder it took you two weeks to write to the boy about the song that you had suddenly remembered without attaching the file to your email. But at least he didn’t seem to mind your caution based on his reply, his professionalism helping you ease yourself into the thought of meeting him again. He even let you choose the location and while it would have made sense to talk about your song in his studio, you picked the same coffee shop you had first met since you had already known a few of the baristas there by their name. They could have been your safety-net if something had gone horribly.

While you were waiting for your usual black coffee in front of the counter, you made a poor attempt at fixing your dishevelled hair. However, despite doing your best, you still felt like a mess when Sooryeon slid the porcelain towards you and sent an encouraging smile in your direction as though she knew you were worried about the worst first impression one could have made at an important meeting.

In your case, another horrible first impression since you had already lied in the boy’s face the first time.

‘I started to think you wouldn’t come,’ you heard the boy say in a neutral, almost eerie tone that made you gulp as you took a seat on the chair next to him instead of the one across from him.

‘I’m sorry. I needed to take a small detour. Check on a venue for work,’ you explained curtly, hoping that he wouldn’t ask for more details although you would have told him everything if that could have lightened the mood. It wasn’t that he gave you side eyes for arriving half an hour late, but you felt bad for doing so anyway.

To your surprise, he didn’t call you out on the fact that it was a Saturday afternoon. Whether it was because he didn’t care or believed you, you couldn’t be sure. Anyhow, you decided to focus on how he was still at the shop and intertwined your fingers around your cup to avoid fidgeting with the handle. The porcelain was pleasantly warm against your skin.

‘Did you bring the audio file? I’d like to listen to the whole song first,’ he asked and you let go of your coffee quickly, so that you could have fished your laptop out of your bag.

‘Of course!’

You placed the device in front of the boy in an angle that allowed you to see the screen, then typed in your pin code and opened the folder in which you kept your songs - including both the finished and unfinished snippets. You had never realised before how ridiculous the funny titles of the latter were until you were suddenly super aware that Woozi could see them. Still, despite feeling his judgemental gaze burning holes in your skull, when you glanced up at the boy, he was staring at your laptop, waiting for you to open the file with endless patience.

Thus, this was exactly what you did next.

You had a couple of scenarios in your head about what could happen after he took his headset off and turned his attention to you again. He could have turned you down politely and said he had been talking about a different song and it was all a misunderstanding. He could also have been straightforward and claimed it sounded better in his memories. You were fairly prepared for the worst of the worst, but his first question, nevertheless, managed to take you aback.

‘Where do you work?’ He asked, his eyes telling you that he was serious despite the comedy in his words. Shouldn’t he have asked you about the story behind the lyrics or what had given you inspiration to write about the happiness in heartbreaks?

Shouldn’t you have talked about music?

‘Uhm…’ you started, a bit confused. You hold onto your drink with tooth and nail to resist the urge to scratch your nape out of uneasiness. ‘I work for a multinational company. I’m the leader of their marketing team,’ you answered, once again, not going into too much detail on your own.

‘What about your free time?’ He threw yet another irrelevant question at you before he lifted his coffee in front of his lips and took a few gulps from it, keeping his piercing gaze on you.

In theory, you were well aware that you weren’t obliged to answer or tell him the truth. You could have easily and rightfully said your personal life wasn’t his business and asked him to not waste your time if he had hated the song, but reality in a conservative country often went against these kinds of ideas.

If he had indeed been Woozi, he was not only a man, but also your senior. You shouldn’t have offended him deliberately when he was here for you.

‘I’m either with my little brother, do some house chores or work on my music,’ you admitted, hoping you didn’t sound too plain or lame. Obviously, you had friends. And you were kind of up to date with their lives even beside your inhuman working hours. It was just… you always told yourself it was an inevitable part of adulthood that the three of you could meet up for dinner only once a month. There was nothing wrong with preferring texts over friendly dates until you were genuinely concerned about them.

You must have furrowed your brows or puffed out your cheeks while you were lost in your thoughts because the next thing you realised was Woozi trying and failing to hide his smile while he was watching you.

Bashful, you tore your gaze away and chose to analyse the cup you had gotten your drink in, how it was pristine on the outside and how you could make out a few light-brown lines close to its edges where your coffee touched it on the inside. Undoubtedly, you were acting ridiculous.

‘I mean, how much free time do you have on a usual week?’ Woozi asked and you shrugged without looking at him. You couldn’t have said you had a lot, but it could have been worse. If you had learned anything after moving out from your parents’ house it was how things could always get worse.

Having a job that you didn’t despise, a job that paid you enough to lead a comfortable life in the capital city was in itself a privilege. Even if it drained you and killed your creative energy sometimes.

‘It depends on the season. But honestly, not much,’ you admitted, although you made sure your voice wasn’t too blue. You didn’t want him to pity you or worse! To think you were just another sad girl in the line, dreaming about making it big in the music industry. ‘But today was an emergency! It’s rare that I need to work on the weekend,’ you added quickly as an afterthought when it hit you how your actions might have made your statement worse than it was.

‘Good,’ the boy said, confusing you with his almost relieved tone. He acted like it mattered to him. Like the lack of your free weekends and nights had any affect on his life when you were still calling him on his stage name in your head. When had you jumped to the part when you had become his concern? You hadn’t even realised you had been going in that direction.

Not sure how you were supposed to react, you opted for sitting in silence and waiting for him to take the first step, but instead of literally anything you could have come up with in your head such as him having a friend who was in the same shoes as you, he did none. Instead, he finished his black coffee in one go and leaned his back against his chair, observing you with his arms linked in front of his chest.

You wondered whether he was about to tell you your song was mediocre at best.

‘Would you like to work with me? I’m talking about a one-month trial as an intern who does more than bringing me my black coffee every morning,’ he specified before you could have asked, his words registering in your mind a bit slower than you would have been proud of. ‘It won’t be easy. You will definitely need to learn to be more confident, more adamant while staying humble and open for suggestions,’ Woozi claimed, and while what he was offering you was quite literally your dream job, your first instinct was to tell him all those reasons that made you unqualified for the internship.

For example, your current job.

‘I… I don’t have tim–’

‘It’s enough if you come by only on the weekends. You can also leave around eight or nine on Sundays so you could sleep enough before your full-time job. How does that sound?’ He drove a hard bargain like he really wanted you to jump on the opportunity despite the voice in your head that kept reminding you that some dreams were meant to remain just that: a dream. You were already closer to thirty than twenty. Weren’t you too old for believing in miracles? (Or to try yourself out in an industry where some people became sunbaes before graduating high school?)

A part of you was afraid that living your dream would ruin it for you forever, the picture you had of the musician life in your head. But it was also something you had wanted to explore with your whole being. You would have regretted turning down this internship even if giving it a try had left a bittersweet taste in your mouth afterwards.

‘I’ll do it!’ You exclaimed before your worries could have caught up to your determination and forced you to accept that you were a marketing team leader, not a singer. You could have been both and whatever you wanted to be. It wasn’t too late for you.

You might have been high on the moment, you probably were, but if anyone had asked you, you would have sworn Woozi’s smile was proud before he said:

‘Then, see you tomorrow,’ and got up from his chair.

You wanted to ask him about the specifics: the exact time when you should have shown up at his studio, the things you should have brought with you, what you should have told at the reception. You wanted to know whether the company knew about his offer or it had been a split second decision because he had liked your song that much. If it had been the latter, what would happen if his bosses didn’t need you?

However, your million questions obviously needed to wait because by the time you untangled your messy thoughts, the boy was out of the door and you were sitting by the table on your own. If he had bid his goodbye to you or anyone else in the building, you hadn’t noticed. You barely registered that Sooryeon walked up to your table and gave you a slice of chocolate pie to congratulate you on surviving your meeting with Jihoon.

Oh. She called him by his birth name. Could it have been that he had come to the open mic night because he had known someone from the shop? Then, it hadn’t been pure coincidence, nor had he been looking for raw gems in his free time when he had found you.

‘Thank you, Sooryeon-ah,’ you mumbled under your nose a bit belatedly, but the girl didn’t seem to mind your absentmindedness. She walked back behind the counter where Wonwoo was explaining something to another barista by the cash register, then patted her coworkers’ shoulders and entered the staff only area that was hidden behind a pair of curtains.

You didn’t stay much longer. You finished your extra dessert and your black coffee then said hi to Wonwoo and left. The odd feeling that your alarm could have woken you in any minute stayed with you through the day, but you didn’t mind it, not really. It kept you on your toes, not letting you get your hopes up too high.

Because the more you expected or secretly wished for, the bigger your disappointment could be when these expectations didn’t match with your reality. And you didn’t intend to start this new chapter of your life with a bitter heart.

In the next three and a half weeks, you had pinched your arm each and every time you had entered Woozi’s studio. And you did it again, when two days before your internship ended, he slid a pile of papers in front of you during your short albeit well-deserved lunch break.

‘What’s this?’ You asked with a raised brow, right after you had swallowed down a huge bite of your jjajangmyeon. You usually opted for less messy food when you ate this close to the equipment, but tonight you were both too lazy to go as far as the canteen on the second floor.

You looked up at Jihoon in confusion who took a sip from his coke before he pointed at the stack with his index finger.

‘A full-time producer assistant contract,’ he said, encouraging you with a nod to look through the papers. ‘You know my drafts aren’t this neat,’ he added with an amused chuckle while you slowly slid your gaze back to the pile and placed your chopsticks carefully atop of your bowl.

‘Are you serious right now? Do they really want me to stay?’ You asked, disbelief loud and clear in your voice. You made sure to wipe your hands clean with a tissue from your tote bag before you touched the contract, but even then, with the evidence in front of you, it was hard to comprehend.

‘Why not? You’re talented, diligent and a quick learner,’ Jihoon argued between two small bites, his mouth full with lukewarm black bean noodles. ‘Not to mention, we’re a good team. What else would they need?’

It was clearly a rhetorical question, hence you pressed your lips into a thin line and hovered over the first page of your new contract silently. You were aware that Jihoon was right. You were more than just good together. Your team work had been spot on from the beginning as you were precise and reliable that gave the producer a reason to rely on you when he felt like his schedule was all over the place, blocking his creative flow. You had composed five new songs - songs that were accepted by your higher ups - in the past three weeks and you had a good feeling about finishing the sixth for Minhyun sunbaenim’s solo album in the next 24 hours.

However, you weren’t delusional. You knew the monster part of these projects were done by Jihoon. He was the one who stayed at his studio to work on them when you needed to leave and catch up on some sleep before your full time job. You merely helped him with your ideas and beginner enthusiasm, criticising him professionally and cheering on him when he felt he was running in circles fruitlessly.

‘Shut up!’ You grumped under your nose and pinched your lower arm one more time, making Jihoon scoff with affection because of the ridiculous sight. You were acting ridiculous again. Especially when finishing the first paragraph of the contract, your first thought was that you couldn’t have met the criteria. How were you supposed to take on so many administrative tasks and help Jihoon with the songs when you worked forty to fifty hours a week at another company? ‘Even if I quit my job now, I’ll still need to work there for another month,’ you explained, your sour expression more disappointed than you intended to showcase.

‘Just look at page four,’ the boy mumbled with a full mouth, encouraging you to do as he said and you did.

Scanning through the fourth page, your lips parted in bewilderment when your eyes fell on the second paragraph. There, it was stated black and white that the company would give you another month of paid internship at the beginning with the slight difference that instead of a fixed amount of hours - now you worked twenty hours a week -, this time you would need to work as many hours as Jihoon required you to.

Your smile was small albeit grateful. You had no doubt about it that it was Jihoon’s doing as he was pretty up to date with your schedule at the marketing team, so that he could have had you around when he knew you weren’t too exhausted to form complex sentences or bear with his occasional mood swing without crying. He had told you on your first day that he couldn’t comfort crying people and that you shouldn’t have taken it to your heart if he had left you alone as soon as you showed the first signs, because it was simply his way to give you more space to put yourself together without him awkwardly staring at you from a distance.

Needless to say, the boy hadn’t seen you cry so far. However, you were pretty certain it was because of his warning, his willingness to let you sleep enough, and your determination to prove to everyone you could handle the industry.

You took your sweet time reading through the details, but Jihoon didn’t seem to mind your speed even though initially you had given yourselves a twenty-minute lunch break so that you could have had time for recording a demo, too, once you finished the current ballad. Instead of reminding you of your plans like he would have usually done, this time he finished his noodles in silence, threw away the trash and walked back to you with his notebook and a pen, jotting down what most probably were new lyrics and song ideas.

You were about to sign your name at the bottom of the last page when Jihoon chose to break the silence.

‘You don’t look too happy, though,’ he stated, a clear observation, and you wondered whether he had known you so well already or your face was just that bad at concealing your thoughts.

Frankly speaking, under the anxiety-filled layers, you were beyond happy. You were joyful, you were over the moon, you were every bright adjective in the dictionary. You just couldn’t have helped but being reminded of your original ideas of your future as a delusional teenager now that you got so close to living that dream.

‘I am happy,’ you claimed and signed the papers before you slid the pile back towards Jihoon on the coffee table you used for eating. He raised a brow at your curt answer and you sighed in defeat. You reached out for your cold jjajangmyeon and took a bite from it to steal yourself a couple of seconds before you would have elaborated.

Jihoon didn’t rush you, but you could feel his attention on you even when he did everything in his power to keep his eyes on his notebook.

‘I’m happy. Working with you… it’s an amazing opportunity I’m grateful for,’ you started to make sure the boy didn’t misunderstand you. You had loved every minute of your internship under his direct guidance even when it had been disheartening to retake the same two lines over and over again. ‘It’s just…’ You took another bite from your soggy lunch. ‘I still can’t sing live in front of a living, breathing audience. I’ve always thought that once I sign with a label, I’ll do it as a singer and not as a producer,’ you admitted, the words heavy on the tip of your tongue. You felt so stupid, so shameless and ungrateful.

Jihoon’s calculative eyes didn’t leave you. He tilted his head sideways, let his shoulders fall a bit forwards, then let out an amused scoff.

‘That’s it?’ He asked, his reaction irking you because of the palpable relief in his voice. As though now that he knew the reason for the change in your mood, he deemed it unworthy of his worries.

A rational part of you was aware that your dream was none of his business, hence his tone should have been understandable, but people had never meant to be rational, especially about things that were dear to their heart. Thus, you rolled your eyes, annoyed but kind of polite, then took another bite from your lunch.

You expected the conversation to be over with this and maybe a reminder that he was your boss - although Jihoon had not once used his title against you in or outside of his studio -, but what you got was a soft smile and another offer that made it hard to believe you were awake.

‘I can help you with that,’ the boy claimed, unbothered and confident while he kept his brown eyes on you.

‘You make it sound like you could fix all of my problems in a week,’ you stated slowly as one of your eyebrows slid a tad bit upwards. It wasn’t that you hadn’t tried every damn trick you had found on the internet. You had sung with a mask on your face just for your voice to crack after the first verse; you had tried singing with your back to the audience, but your hands had been shaking so much, you had dropped your mic. Your case wasn’t as easy as he thought.

‘Only your stage fright,’ he retorted. ‘And I might need a month or two.’

‘A month or two?’ You echoed with disbelief, but Jihoon just nodded. He didn’t elaborate. At least, not as much as you wanted him to.

‘Come to the coffee shop on Tuesday after work,’ he said before he pointed at the half-empty bowl in your hands. ‘And speed up! We don’t have all the time in the world,’ he reminded you that you still had a song to finish, which immediately set your priorities straight.

Instead of calling him out on his overconfidence or pestering him about the details of his plan, you finished the rest of your noodles silently, then tidied up the area around the coffee table and got back to work.

You two stayed until 11:30PM that Saturday, but the familiar tiredness in your bones was so worth it, you thought, when listening to the last take of the demo, you noted that you once again succeeded at creating something beautiful that could have brought comfort to people.

(This was the part of your new job that you had failed to find in any other profession.)

After the first night you had stayed at Coffee Carat after closing time with Jihoon and a few of the staff members, you had had serious doubts whether you would have ever been able to sing in front of people.

Three weeks, seven failed and two semi-successful attempts later, your confidence level was stagnant at your newest low, but you still kept coming back because what else could you have done? These people had already seen you losing your balance in the middle of a song when you had tried to shut them out and closed your eyes. It could hardly have gotten worse.

‘He’s making me nervous,’ you admitted when Jihoon walked up to you with a glass of warm honeyed herbal tea that might have tasted like cough medicine, but always helped you feel a bit more in control while it warmed up your vocal cords.

‘Who? Minghao?’ The boy asked when he stole a glance at the customer area from above his shoulder, his sharp gaze loitering over his friends who were chatting by the tables that were closest to the counter and the corner where you were about to perform one of your ballads. ‘That’s just his face. He’s built like that,’ he insisted with a nonchalant shrug, his attention back on you and your stiff posture.

You took a sip from your drink and frowned.

‘Last time I dropped my coffee on the floor and Wonwoo asked him to take care of the mess. I’m pretty sure he hates staying here longer because of me,’ you complained in a small voice while your fingertips were drumming a familiar melody on the outer side of your mug. The porcelain was pleasantly warm against your palms, but the mere memory of the boy’s grumpy face from Monday kept you on the edge. You were old enough to understand that being loved by everyone in life was an impossible concept, but he was Jihoon’s friend. For some reason, getting on his bad side didn’t sit well with you.

‘No one is forced to stay longer because of you,’ the boy said in a neutral voice for which you gave him a sceptical look. You honestly doubted all of them stayed at the shop willingly each and every time when you couldn’t have finished one song during the past three weeks. ‘They are not! He’s here because his girlfriend wants to support you and he doesn’t want her to get in trouble on her way home,’ Jihoon explained and you shifted your gaze from his face to the girl who was sitting next to Minghao. Sooryeon was stuffing her face with a leftover croissant while she was chuckling at someone that the owner’s fiancée was explaining to her with big hand gestures.

‘So it’s because of me,’ you concluded. Because at the end of the day, it was still on you that these people were at the coffee shop. You needed them so that you could practise in front of a real audience.

‘Since when are you so whiny?’ Jihoon asked, the furrow between his brows showing only a slight annoyance and a lot more confusion.

You pressed your lips together, into a firm, pale line.

Since when were you this self-conscious? Your behaviour must have had something to do with your frequent appointments for embarrassing yourself in front of the same employees who served you black coffee five times a week. But breaking this down to the boy aloud might have sounded ungrateful considering how much Jihoon had done for you in his free time, so you chose to keep your mouth shut and answered with a small albeit apologetic smile.

‘You will be fine. I brought you blindfolds.’ He squeezed your shoulder, then pulled a grey textile out of his hoodie’s pocket.

You narrowed your eyes as you let your gaze linger on the silk-looking stripe. Honestly, you weren’t sure it would stay up in case he planned to secure it with a knot at the back of your head, but instead of making a comment on that, you decided to pull his attention on a more crucial fact: your awful sense of balance while nervous.

‘Thanks. I hope you brought pillows, too, before I faint again and crack my head open,’ you said with a playful edge to your words and a light nudge, earning an eye roll from Jihoon that seemed as amused as annoyed.

‘It’s super thin. You’ll see everyone, just not as clearly as before, so their faces won’t distract you,’ he informed you and waited until you finished your drink, so that he could have placed it on the counter behind you.

Jihoon’s hands were working gently when he tied the blindfold around your head and you had to give it to him, his idea felt a lot less problematic than you had previously thought when you took a look around the shop. Just like he had promised, you could make out shapes and a bit of depth, too, through the thin material. You saw his friends, Hoyeon’s hand gestures and Mingyu’s lame attempt at stuffing a piece of something into his best friend’s mouth. Yet, their facial expressions didn’t make you overly self-conscious anymore since they were too blurry for you to put your hands on their assumed feelings and thoughts.

After a deep breath, you took your worn guitar in your hands and walked in the middle of the stage without tripping and causing another accident. This achievement in itself gave a little boost to your confidence. You could do it!

It was Seokmin who announced you to your audience and it would have been a lie to say that your heart wasn’t pulsing frantically in your throat when the buzzing of the coffee shop came to a sudden silence. However, being blind to the guys’ reaction helped. Your fingertips might have slid on the strings a few times when they weren’t supposed to and your voice might have cracked in the middle of the last bridge, but you successfully finished the song without major mistakes. And most importantly: you did get to the end of the ballad.

It was a baby step that every fibre in your body celebrated with the small albeit proud smile in the corner of your mouth. However, what was an achievement in itself in your dictionary was the opportunity to thrive for more in Jihoon’s.

You knew him. You had been working with him for over a month by then, but it still took you off guard when instead of congratulating you like the others did, he asked you to sing another song right away. And a third one when you managed to perform the second one with only two tiny mistakes on your guitar.

‘Good job!’ Jihoon exclaimed, clapping calmly while you reached for the blindfold and took it off with a bright smile. His acknowledgement meant a lot more to you than he thought; he had been your idol once and now, he was your mentor.

High on adrenaline and the feeling of finally moving forwards, you rushed up to the blacked haired boy and wrapped your hands around him. You were rocking back and forth due to your excitement and didn’t let go of him even when his characteristic, musky scent reminded you of how close you were standing.

You had never stood this close before.

Contemplating whether you should have apologised immediately, making everything more awkward in front of his friends, or just pulled away like it was no big deal, your eyes widened at the realisation that you could feel the light weight of Jihoon’s palm on your back. He was patting you a little clumsily, but it was precious: his attempt to reassure you it was alright.

You pulled away after a couple of seconds, flustered, but happy.

‘I’m… thank you,’ you mumbled, unsure how the rose tint of the boy’s cheeks made you feel. You were too used to his snarky remarks and affectionate eye rolls to comprehend the slight change in his attitude. Not that you weren’t aware it was your fault. You had just jumped on him in front of everyone, of course, he was affected. You could have only hoped his obvious discomfort would have disappeared quickly.

‘Yeah, no big deal. It’s not like I cured your stage fright already,’ he brushed your gratitude off with a nonchalant-looking shrug, and you let out a lighthearted scoff due to the familiarity of his tone. He seemed fine. A tad bit flushed, but fine, which put your heart at ease. The last thing you needed was things getting awkward between the two of you now that you also had a signed contract with Pledis.

‘True. But you still have time,’ you reminded him of his confident claim about how he would help you sing in front of a living, breathing audience in a month or two; the promise more possible than it had sounded to you weeks ago.

The last thing you heard before Sooryeon, Seokmin and Mingyu showered you with their congratulations was the click of Jihoon’s tongue. You got a “nice job” cupcake from the tall baker and a bone-crushing hug from Seokmin before the only other girl in your small group pulled you aside and asked you about how you were feeling and what did you think, when would you have been able to attend their open mic night.

The more people gathered around you, the more overwhelming the experience got, but it was also very comforting to know that they were so excited for you. It made you believe that they really hadn’t been forced to stay after their shift in the past few weeks.

It was Jihoon who reminded you that tomorrow was a Wednesday, hence you shouldn’t have stayed for too long if you hadn’t wanted to feel exhausted during your 9AM meeting. And he was right. No matter how much you enjoyed talking about your music, you got easily irritated when you were sleep deprived and you still needed to cook something quick but delicious for your lunch break. It was better if you bid your goodbye.

Which you did not long after, bowing and waving on your way towards the exit, grateful for Jihoon’s offer to give you a ride back to your place. It proved that the impulsive hug that had turned both of your cheeks’ rose coloured had done nothing to stir the waters in your relationship.

You weren’t sure what had made you see Jihoon in a new light in the end when everything had felt normal after he had dropped you off on Tuesday. However, let it be because of how you were suddenly incapable of not noticing the light tint of his cheeks when he was looking directly in your eyes or due to his support, you couldn’t have denied that it felt different to be around him after that night.

Anyhow, it wasn’t like you could have asked your immediate boss whether he had felt just as confused and excited around you as you did around him. You had just signed with the label and you still had a bit of time from your offboarding period at your previous workplace. Both a negative and an affirmative answer could have messed up the path that led towards your dreams. You couldn’t have afforded to develop feelings for him (or confront him about them now that you were more than possibly screwed).

Taking a deeper breath, you gave yourself a couple of seconds before you opened Jihoon’s studio with your card, then took a seat beside him by his table where the two of you had been working on a hopeful love song before you had excused yourself to the restroom. It was for a new artist, a female soloist with the most beautiful, raspy voice you had ever heard and you were determined to fit the lyrics to her uniqueness despite the cliché concept the management had chosen for her debut.

You looked at the notebook in front of the boy and let out a pleased hum when you saw the progress he had made while you had been away. A complete verse in five minutes? He wasn’t called a prodigy for no reason.

‘You make it look like we were playing around all morning,’ you joked, earning a soft chuckle from him with your comment even though he kept his focus on the scribbled page. You both knew it wasn’t true. You had already had a vague idea for the melody and a theme you intended to build the lyrics around.

‘Always a sweet talker at work,’ he teased and jotted down a few promising one-liners that you could have used in the last verse before he read through what you had so far and changed a couple of words here and there, so that the flow of the lyrics would have been smoother or more poetic.

He always did this; never a hundred percent satisfied with his own work even when you two had already decided that the last version was good enough.

‘No, but seriously. What gave you so much inspiration all of a sudden?’ You asked when you stole another blunt glance at the notebook and leaned close enough to the boy for Jihoon to be hyper aware of the lack of distance between your bodies.

That, or his timing to lean his back against his chair and simultaneously get further from you in the process was very unlucky.

‘Dunno,’ Jihoon said and you furrowed your brows when he cleared his throat and slid the notebook closer to you on the table. This way, his notes were right in front of you, so you could look at the current page while you were sitting comfortably in your own chair. ‘Check the new verse, I’ll bring us something to drink,’ he announced before he stood up and turned his back to you.

You watched him walking towards the door with bewildered eyes, but shook your confusion off fairly quickly. Thus, you were able to find your voice before he closed the door on you.

‘Strawberry coke?’ You asked, forcing him to look at you from above his shoulder just so he could give you a displeased glare. His nose scrunch was more adorable than intimidating, but you wouldn’t have broken this down to him for the world.

‘I’ll see,’ he retorted with a visible frown, but without lecturing you on how every flavoured version was a disgrace to the original taste of coke. ‘Check the new verse!’

You saluted with a cheeky grin on your face, then turned back to the notebook right away; the echo of the quiet collision of the door and its frame filling your senses as you hovered above the last page.

Reading the new lyrics, you couldn’t have helped but wonder what had made Jihoon feel the way he had felt when he had come up with these exact lines. What had made him yearn for something or someone so intensely, his similes grabbed your heart and squeezed it dry over and over as you jumped from line to line?

These questions stayed with you even after the boy came back with your drink and asked for your opinion. They were in the back of your mind while you were working on the rest of the ballad, after you had bid your goodbye to Jihoon at 10PM, while you were waiting in line for your takeout at your favourite diner, and under the shower head as you were getting ready for bed.

You fell asleep thinking of that particular verse the black haired boy had finished on his own and wondering whether you were delusional for assuming: maybe, it had been your absence that had made him come up with those lines.

You were talking on the phone with your brother, throwing questions at him about his senior year in high school and those bonbons he had received on White Day, when you heard your name echoing off the walls close to Jihoon’s studio. Your steps came to an immediate halt.

‘Jiung-ah? I need to go, I’ll talk to you later,’ you murmured into the speaker, suddenly super anxious about being noticed although a rational part of you tried to convince you that hiding behind a wall wasn’t necessary or a good idea.

‘Noona, are you oka–’

‘I’m fine, it’s just a work emergency. Love you,’ you cut him off in a hurried manner, giving him just enough explanation to not call you back before you hung up the phone and shoved the device into your pocket.

‘Why won’t you introduce me to her? Everyone else has already met her, it’s unfair!’ The boy, who was standing in front of Jihoon, asked, his pouty lips emphasising his distress. As you were watching the interaction, you couldn’t decide whether he was that good at acting or he was genuinely hurt by being left out, but his puppy eyes tugged on your heart nonetheless.

‘They met her because they work at the coffee shop. Don’t start!’ Jihoon sighed and took a step sideways. However, the other boy copied his movements without missing a beat.

‘Tsk, so now people need to work at Cheol hyung’s to be introduced to your girlfriend? I am your best friend!’ The kicked puppy boy claimed and you needed to cover your mouth with your hand to not let out a giggle because of his dramatics. You would have never guessed that Jihoon of all people had such a hyperactive best friend, but the more you saw, the easier it became to understand why their friendship worked.

Sometimes opposites did attract.

‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ Jihoon hissed and only when his words got to you did you realise what they were bickering about. A not-girlfriend girlfriend. Oh.

Your nails scratched the surface of the wall when you leaned closer to the duo, desperate to hide your body, but eager to steal a glance at the black haired boy’s face. You wanted to know whether he really meant it. Was he sad that he wasn’t in a relationship with this girl? Was he unbothered by the topic and annoyed only because his friend was pushing it?

‘But I’m your best friend and…’

‘Debatable,’ Jihoon scoffed and you didn’t even have to see his face this time to know he rolled his eyes.

While you were busy pondering how perfectly the boy’s crush fitted every scenario you had come up with since you had read his yearning lyrics for Rayun’s solo debut, Jihoon pushed his best friend out of the way and took a couple of confident strides towards his studio. He was almost in front of the familiar, midnight blue door when the puppy boy raised his voice and shouted after him.

‘You got her a contract and wrote songs about her!’ He said, kicking the air out of your lungs with his boldness and the implication his words carried in themselves. You closed your eyes for a second to gather your thoughts, then leaned your forehead against the wall.

Jihoon had gotten a contract for you. And you had definitely heard your name before you had hung up the phone on your little brother.

The puppy boy’s claim was followed by eerie silence. It was heavy and sticky. Instead of embracing you with warmth and comfort, it stuck to everyone and made you anxious. You obviously didn’t think anyone at Pledis would have been willing to offer you a full-time job if you hadn’t had potential, but it was your opinion. Jihoon’s friend should have known better than to say something so controversial in the company’s hallway where anyone could have heard and misunderstood them.

‘Fine, I did. So what?’ Jihoon retorted, visibly irritated. However, in a twisted way, the boy’s admission made you really happy. Because it meant he liked you, too.

Giddy, you were so hung up on the revelation, you didn’t notice the person who walked up to you and tried to gain your attention by waving her hand in front of your face after you had unintentionally ignored her calling your name.

The yelp that escaped your mouth was a lot louder than it should have been. And you weren’t particularly proud of the way you jumped backwards, either, but that was embarrassing for a completely different reason.

Because one uncertain look at the boys made it as clear as day: they both knew you had heard them. The sharp difference between their reactions lay in one small albeit significant detail: unlike Jihoon, his friend had no idea who you were.

You sucked in your lower lip to not make things worse with your cheap excuses. Even though you would have most probably made the same decision if you could have turned back time, you were aware that eavesdropping was morally wrong.

‘Can we… can we talk?’

It was Jihoon who broke the awkward silence and you nodded wordlessly before you bowed to Mina and Jihoon’s best friend with an embarrassed smile on your way to Jihoon’s studio.

When the door closed shut behind your back, you considered apologising immediately. Yet, just as you parted your lips, Jihoon cut you off with his hesitant words.

‘Look, I…’ he started and the panicked glint in his eyes closed up your throat. It made you feel that if you hadn’t been straightforward enough, if you had let him overthink the situation, he would have denied everything you might have heard and you didn’t want that.

So you took a deep breath and a step closer to him to make him focus on you instead of the walls and his equipment he was suddenly so interested in.

‘I know we’re coworkers, but… would you like to go on a date with me?’ You asked and you genuinely couldn’t believe you had just done that.

Based on the boy’s wide eyes, he had a hard time believing his own ears as well.

It was nerve-wracking: waiting for him to process your question and say something, but then he shot a beautiful, grateful smile in your direction and your heart found peace even before he said:

‘Yeah. I’d like that. Very much, actually.’

Feeling like a happy mess, you were about to hug him for the first time since that Tuesday night at the coffee shop, but before you could have wrapped your arms around him, Jihoon’s best friend made his presence known with an annoying(ly adorable), whine-like noise.

‘Psst! Does this mean you can finally introduce me to your girlfriend?’ He asked from behind the door, only his head and his fingers visible in the position he clung onto the moving object to be able to peek inside the room.

Although you tried, you couldn’t contain your chuckles when Jihoon took a deep breath and launched himself at his friend. You watched them from a safe distance, seriously taken aback by the black haired boy’s vigour and determination to push the taller guy on the floor. You had never seen this side of him before, but you found it oddly charming.

At the end, Jihoon did introduce you to Soonyoung who stayed at the studio for half an hour, entertaining you with ridiculous stories about his best friend and the guys from Coffee Carat. He kept referring to you as Jihoon’s girlfriend and while it was obviously too early to claim yourself that title (you hadn’t even dated yet), the fact that the black haired boy didn’t correct him made you feel hopeful.

It felt like an unsaid promise that he wanted this thing between you two to work just as much as you did.

➼ next reason

#seventeen scenarios #caratwritersclub #jihoon x reader #woozi x reader #jihoon x you #woozi x you #woozi #ssbyme #seventeen series #coffee shop au #coworkers au

66 notes · View notes

daechwitatamic · 2 years

Text

Chapter 10: Complete Faith || KTH

(banner by @itaeewon)

Title: Complete Faith (Masterpost)

Pairing: Taehyung x female reader; {background SJ x OC, mentions of YG x OC, and HS x OC}

Rating: Soft R overall, this chapter: soft R

Wordcount: 50k total; this chapter: 5563

Summary: It’s Taehyung himself who admits that it’s usually around the one-month mark that he starts to lose interest in his relationships. So even though you’re so drawn to him you can barely stand it… when you start dating, you feel like you’ve got an expiration date from day one. But will it be Taehyung’s issues that get in the way, or your own?

Alternate summary: coworkers to friends to lovers to idiots to lovers again

TW/CW: Full list on the Masterpost. This chapter: strong language, alcohol consumption, some Jane Austen yearning shit, kissing, groping, a little dancefloor grinding, depiction of a panic attack, the fic is over you need a warning for that :((((

Notes: This fic is complete and will be updated every Friday evening (EDT timezone). A HUGE HUGE HUGE thank you to @kookstempo for the amazing beta job tytytytyty!

Chapter 10: Complete Faith

Nikki comes to get ready for the club in your room, letting the boys hang out and drink beer with Seokjin in theirs. She begs and needles you until you give in and let her dress you for the club. She chooses a black dress out of several that she packed. You’d never have picked it for yourself, but you have to admit it looks good – it hugs your ass in a way that makes you feel like you need to put a whole fucking cape over it to hide, but Nikki swears it looks amazing. You sit in front of the mirror and let her have her way with your hair and make-up.

“Don’t you think this is a little much?” you ask her when she’s done. She’s humming happily as she works on her own make-up.

“You look great,” she says. “Too much does not apply right now. I’m honestly feeling jealous, so be nice to me. I’m the birthday girl, I’m supposed to be the hot one.”

You roll your eyes at her hyperbole. But you eye yourself in the mirror again, pleased.

You dig through her bags to find jewelry and shoes. Eventually, you all meet downstairs to get Ubers out to the club Nikki chose. Of course your eye goes straight to Taehyung in the lobby, how could it not? He looks phenomenal, curls loose around his eyes, black button-down tucked into black jeans, a simple silver chain dipping beneath the collar, one silver hoop earring swinging every time he moves.

You look away quickly, trying to engage someone – anyone – in conversation before you get caught staring. You find Jimin, who you feel like is making more of an effort with you since your talk earlier in the week.

“Holy shit,” he says to you, looking you up and down.

“It’s my birthday present to Nikki,” you tell him, smiling. “I was not allowed to tell her no to any fashion decisions for tonight.”

Jimin shakes his head and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like Poor Tae.

You take two Ubers, and you end up crammed between Taehyung and Seokjin, with Nikki mostly in Seokjin’s lap but really half in yours too. At one point, the Uber takes a sharp turn and you all slide, laughing. Taehyung steadies you with a hand on your waist, but he pulls it back quickly, muttering an apology.

Inside, the lights are so dim it almost seems like a complete black-out until your eyes adjust. The music is so loud, it’s clear to you immediately that you won’t be conversing with anyone tonight. The boys head over towards the tables to see if they can find space, and you and Nikki head to the bar first. You get a tray of shots and make your way to the table the boys found, passing them out until everyone has one.

“To Nikki!” you yell, and everyone echoes you, throwing the shots back. You and Nikki each take a second one, bumping them together.

“Let’s dance!” she screams, and takes you by the wrist. You follow her out to the dancefloor, ready to lose yourself in the bass, in the burn of alcohol in your throat.

–

Hours pass like seconds and you lose track of drinks, lose track of guys you’ve danced with, their hands on your hips. The current song ends and you detach yourself from whoever he is and you start to head to the table to catch your breath when you notice Taehyung across the club. He’s standing a few feet from the table, looking in your direction. His brows are furrowed, face frowning. A cute blonde girl is trying to talk to him, but he’s not even looking at her.

Your eyes meet. Your heart sinks, your stomach swoops, and you almost stumble. You freeze, trying to get it together. He has no right, you tell yourself. He has no right to stand there and look at you like that. You’re here to have fun, here to celebrate Nikki, so fuck him. Instead of going back to the table as planned, you turn and push further into the crowd on the dance floor, swinging your hips and raising your hands as the beat starts for the next song.

You know it’s Taehyung’s body behind yours without even looking when he comes up behind you. His hands on your waist, his smell, his chest against your back, the way one hand practically holds you by a hipbone, pulling you back into his hips as you move to the music - it’s all so familiar you don’t even need to check. You close your eyes and lean your head back against him as you dip together, following his guidance when the beat changes up.

Then you’re turning, facing him, body still moving, and he’s got both hands on your ass, and you tangle one hand in his hair without thinking – your hand’s got a mind of its own - and then his mouth is on yours, searing.

You’ve wanted this for months and you’re kissing him hard, desperate. You’re drunk and you’ve missed him, and god he’s so hot. You’re still swaying to the beat as you kiss, as he slides one hand away from your ass and holds the back of your neck instead, holding you in place as your mouths open for each other. He’s hard almost immediately, and you’re trying to give him as much friction as you can as subtly as you can as you roll your hips to the beat, and he groans – not that you can hear it, but you can feel it reverberate through his chest into the hand you’re resting there.

He breaks away from the kiss and moves up your jaw, stopping to whisper in your ear, “Jesus Christ, never let Nikki dress you again. Never.”

You laugh, and this breaks the spell enough for you to step back. He looks at you questioningly, but you shake your head and take another step back, heading… you don’t know where. Just away. He steps forward, and you step back again, keeping the distance. “Don’t,” you say to him, knowing he can’t hear you at all, but he can read your lips perfectly. “Please don’t.”

Everything is suddenly crashing in on you, making it hard to breathe - everything your mom said, the reality that you’ve been hurting and pushing away people who loved you, how badly you’ve missed Taehyung, the heartbreak of losing him after falling fucking in love with him over the summer, how wonderful it felt to have him under your hands again -

Falling in love with him over the summer…

The whole room seems to swing sideways, and you clutch a stranger’s table for purchase as these words seem to blare through your consciousness. Your arms and legs are starting to tingle, starting at your fingers and toes. As you gasp for breath, the buzzing spreads up your arms and legs, closing in on your chest. You need air. You need quiet. You need to sit the fuck down.

Desperately, you make it through the crowd to the edge of the room, and then push your way outside. Everything seems somehow not real, too far away. You make your way over to some concrete steps a few doors down, sitting heavily. You can feel yourself gasping for each breath. The buzzing is aggressive, unignorable, and it’s reached your shoulders and your stomach. You feel sure that if it reaches your chest, your heart will fucking stop.

You’re taking deep, shuddering breaths into your hands, trying not to cry and wreck your makeup, when you hear someone call your name.

“Y/N, hey!” Then, as he comes closer and sees your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking – “Baby… are you okay?” He’s crouching in front of you, holding your wrists gently, trying to see your face.

You lose it at baby. It’s fucking over. You swear you can feel it happen when your heart absolutely shatters into dust. You’re breathing only in loud, desperate gasps and they echo in your ears. You can barely hear anything else. He pulls you to stand and wraps you up in his arms, holding you tight as you try to suck in air, try to get your head to stop spinning. You close your eyes and lean your forehead against his chest, the buzzing taking over your entire body. You’re sure you’re dying, sure this is a heart attack.

“Breathe,” he whispers to you. Then, “More slowly. Try.”

You work on counting as you breathe in, hold it, let it out slowly.

“You’re okay,” he tells you quietly, smoothing down your hair. “I’ve got you. You’re fine.”

It takes a while, but things stop spinning bit by bit, the buzzing in your limbs melting away from your chest, down to your elbows, slowing to a tingle before fading altogether.

When you’re breathing more like a normal person again, he peers at you, his wavy hair obscuring one of his eyes as his head tilts.

“Do you have all of your stuff?” he asks. “Can I help you back to the hotel?”

You nod, and he pulls out his phone to get an Uber. You don’t speak on the ride back, but he keeps an arm around your shoulders, helping you stay upright.

He helps you back into your room, where you sit on the end of the bed, looking at him blankly. He fishes in the mini-bar and hands you a water bottle.

“You better drink all of that,” he advises. After watching you drink some, he sits in the chair by the desk. “What the hell happened? You just had too much to drink?”

You shake your head. “Not more than any other time I’ve gone out with Nikki,” you say, and your voice sounds cracked and raw, like you’ve screamed all night. “ I don’t really know what happened. I just… had an intense day, I guess. It kind of caught up with me. I felt like I was dying.”

“I guess I didn’t help with that,” he says, apologetically.

You let out a single laugh. “I think if we’re being honest, I started it.”

He stands, wiping his hands on his slacks. “You’re okay now? You don’t feel sick or anything?”

You shake your head. “No,” you say. “Sorry for… I don’t even know what to call it. Sorry for freaking out? You should go back and have fun.”

“It’s fine,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. The others are on their way back anyway, Jimin just texted me.”

“Okay,” you say. “Thanks for the rescue. I know you probably… didn’t really want to do that. You always do the nice thing.”

He looks at you for a long time, then shakes his head. “Sometimes, I just don’t understand you,” he says, not unkindly, just speaking his truth.

“Yeah,” you say, laying back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. “That makes two of us.”

He lets out a tiny laugh and heads for the door. “Y/N,” he calls as he opens it. You look over at him from where you’re still laying back on the bed. “I mean it… don’t ever let Nikki dress you ever again. Seriously.”

You wake up the next morning feeling like absolute shit. Your eyes are barely open as you make your way into the bathroom and crank the shower on. You stand below the water, letting it remove the curls Nikki worked so hard on last night, letting the water carry everything away.

When you’re dressed, your wet hair wrapped up in a towel, there’s a knock at your door. You don’t know who to expect, honestly – it could be any of the crew, Taehyung included. But Nikki stands there, holding a tray with two large coffees.

“Oh my god, my savior,” you tell her, opening the door wide. She hands you one of the coffees immediately.

As you drown yourself in caffeine (and pop a few Advil for the headache), she sits on the end of the bed, looking at you carefully. “Y/N,” she says finally. “What happened last night?”

“I kissed Taehyung,” you confess, because even though you had a lot of shit happen in one day, that’s the big one.

“Taehyung kissed you,” she corrects. “We all saw it. I’m talking about what happened after that.”

You sigh. You want today to be about Nikki, but since the event hasn’t started yet, maybe you can get your issues out of the way quickly. You give her a rundown of what happened at your mom’s house.

“Wow,” she says, eyes wide. “I mean… I think that makes sense.”

“I know,” you admit. “As soon as she said it, I was like yep, sounds like me. I just… couldn’t see it myself. So I had that in my head the whole drive here, just like… wow. And then, Taehyung is here and that’s messing with my head, and here I am trashed in this club and my brain has zero coherent thoughts except that I fucking love him-.”

Nikki squeals.

“Oh my god, stop,” you lament. “It’s not a happy thing! He hates me!”

“Y/N,” she says flatly. “Let’s look at the facts, since that’s all you care about. Fact One: Taehyung was losing his mind watching you dance with other guys. Fact Two: Taehyung could not keep his eyes or hands off you once he got the chance. Fact Three: Taehyung kissed you first. Fact Four: when you left, Taehyung followed you outside and got you home safe. That’s not hate.”

You don’t answer, mulling this over.

“Okay,” she says. “So I got the stuff with your mom, and you had a revelation about Taehyung, then what happened? What happened outside?”

You explain how things had felt – the spinning, the tingling, the feeling like you couldn’t breathe.

“That’s about how my sister describes panic attacks,” Nikki muses thoughtfully. “Maybe you had one?”

You frown. “That’s never happened to me before.”

She shrugs. “First time for everything. Maybe if it happens again, talk to your doctor?”

You nod.

“I think you need to tell Taehyung,” she says finally. “I mean, if you’re asking for my advice, which technically I guess you didn’t. But if you were… I’d say tell him.”

“How do you do it?” you ask her suddenly, reaching out for her hand. She looks at you, confused. “You’ve done this with Seokjin. You made it through the scary part to the part where you just… are. How do you do it? How do you get through the uncertainty?”

She smiles at you. “Trust,” she says simply. “Take it one day at a time and ask yourself, do I trust him today? You choose each other every day.”

You take a deep breath, looking away. “I wasn’t this scared with Ben,” you admit.

She hesitates, then says gently, “I don’t think the stakes were as high with him. Plus, you hadn’t been hurt before, and now you have. But at the end of the day, do you trust Taehyung?”

You both know the answer.

You shake your head at yourself, at your own nonsense. “Of course I do,” you tell her.

She shrugs again, as if it’s all so simple. “Then step up. He’s right here. What’s stopping you?”

The picnic is adorable. The sun shines bright above you, glittering off the river. You luck out in terms of weather, and it feels unseasonably warm as long as the sun is on you. The two picnic tables your group commandeered are covered in white tablecloths, and someone has set up a Bluetooth speaker on one of them. Groups of balloons are tied to each table, and they bob in the wind. More people came up for the picnic – the club was for the tight crew only.

The tables are laden with trays of food and a giant birthday cake that reads Happy Halfway to 50!

Of course that was Seokjin’s doing.

Some of the guys throw around a frisbee, Taehyung included. You sit with Nikki and Ji-hyun, chatting and laughing.

Sometime around noon, Seokjin calls for everyone’s attention. Nikki blushes immediately, thinking this is going to be a happy birthday moment.

You all gather to hear what he has to say.

“Hello to our friends and family,” he says, smiling around at the small crowd. “As you know, today is a special day, because Nikki has turned twenty-five!”

Everyone cheers and claps, and Nikki smiles big.

“However,” Seokjin says loudly, so the noise dies back down, “there’s another reason I asked everyone to be here today. You are all so important to us, I wanted to make sure you were here to give us your love and support on the day that I ask Nikki to be my wife.”

Nikki’s eyes are wide, her hands over her mouth, as Seokjin kneels.

“Nikki,” he says seriously, voice quieter now, so that you have to strain to hear. “You are by far the absolute light of my life. You are the sun in my days, forever reminding me to see the things that are good around me. Without you, I’d be wandering in the dark.”

As you listen, your eyes find Taehyung across the circle. He’s watching you too, face unreadable. The moment seems to stretch, and you’re aware only of Taehyung’s brown eyes, the sorrow you imagine you can see in them. You wish you were standing closer, you wish you could reach out and touch his hand.

Seokjin continues, “I am so lucky to wake up every day and get to call you mine, and I don’t want a single day to go by where that isn’t true. So, I am here today with our friends and families as witnesses, to ask you… will you marry me?”

Nikki screams something that might sound like yes and launches herself into Seokjin’s arms. He stands and spins her in a circle, both laughing, lost in the moment. Everyone cheers and claps.

Taehyung never takes his eyes off of you.

Later, after the birthday cake is cut and slices are passed around, after some of the crowd has started to filter out, you head back to your car to get Nikki’s birthday present out of your trunk.

Taehyung is in the parking lot, leaning against his own car, his phone in his hand.

“Hey,” you say, unlocking your car and opening the trunk. “Everything okay?”

He glances over at you, frowning a little. “Yeah,” he says. “Just got an update from my dad about what’s happening at home. I’ll probably have to go back pretty soon and give him a hand.”

“Your mom’s bad again?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Today, apparently. It might not be a full-scale attack again, especially so soon after that last one. Sometimes she just has… weird days. But it’s a lot of work for my dad. He could use a break.”

You nod in understanding. He jerks his head towards the box you’re taking out from the trunk. “What’d you get her?” he asks.

You grin. “Mr. and Mrs. coffee mugs and bathrobes,” you tell him. “Since I knew what was happening today.”

“What if she had said no?” he teases.

You laugh. You’ve missed this Taehyung, the teasing one, the one who made you laugh like no one else. “I guess I would’ve let Seokjin keep them as a condolence present,” you say.

You stand there, looking at each other. You have so much to say to him, but you don’t know if this is the time or place.

You don’t know if he wants to hear it in the first place.

Anyway, today is about Nikki.

“Thank you, by the way,” you say, “for helping me last night. Nikki thinks maybe I was having a panic attack? I’m not sure. I don’t know.”

He moves like maybe he’s going to reach for you, but stops.

“You’re welcome,” he says quietly. “It would have been pretty shitty of me just to leave you there like that.”

You shrug. “Maybe I deserved shitty.”

The memory of Taehyung, trashed on the floor of the hallway on Halloween, swims in your mind. That was your fault, for pushing him away the first time he wasn’t perfect. Your fault for expecting his failure from the beginning and refusing to give him an honest chance. Your fault for proving to him, once again, that he wasn’t worth fighting for.

You’ve been carrying hurt and heartache since your breakup, yes, but you’ve been carrying your weight in guilt since Halloween night for causing that. The weight is so heavy on your chest that sometimes it feels hard to breathe.

You did deserve “shitty”. You didn’t deserve even a fraction of the care and kindness Taehyung had shown you last night.

He looks at you, frown deepening. “I don’t think that. I hope you don’t think I feel that way, Y/N.”

You smile, a little sadly, but say nothing.

“I, uh,” he says, clearly unsure, “I also wanted to apologize for… kissing you. I was drinking, and you looked – I mean – I just shouldn’t have done that. It did not feel good to see you having an entire meltdown after. I felt like such an asshole for… playing with your head, I guess.”

Playing with your head. Did that mean he hadn’t meant anything by the kiss? Was he apologizing for getting your feelings involved, implying that his weren’t? You feel like the blood is rushing away from your face. You take a slow breath, hoping you can keep your voice steady.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I’m sorry I was messing with you before that. I started everything. It was… extremely uncool of me.”

He shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”

You nod, looking away. “See you at work, Taehyung,” you tell him, closing your car and walking away.

You end the afternoon hugging Nikki tightly, whispering to her how happy you are for her and Jin.

“Did you know?” she asks, accusatory.

“Girl,” you say with a laugh, “who do you think organized food and decorations? You think Seokjin managed that? Please. All he was responsible for was the ring and the cake.”

She shakes her head. “I knew that cake was all him.”

You admire the ring again. “I’m so happy for you,” you tell her, meaning it with your whole heart. “You’re both so lucky.”

She leans her head on your shoulder as you both watch the sun dip lower, reflected on the river. “I want you to have this, too,” she tells you. “Tell him, Y/N. I mean it: step up.”

You close your eyes, leaning your head on hers.

Taehyung isn’t at work on Monday, and that by itself is a little alarming. But it gets worse when you overhear your boss, two offices down from yours, say to someone, “Yes, Kim Taehyung in Accounting is a No Call, No Show today -.”

You jump up without thinking and hurry to knock on the door.

“I’m so sorry, I promise I wasn’t listening in, but I heard his name from my office – Kim Taehyung called the HR office this morning requesting use of an FMLA day today.”

It’s completely a lie, and you hope you won’t get caught in it.

Your boss frowns at you, then continues speaking into the phone, waving you away. “Apparently he called HR, so that’s one crisis averted today…”

You text Taehyung, letting him know so that he doesn’t call the office later and blow the lie. He sends you back just “ty”. You stare at it, feeling completely absolutely sure that something is wrong.

You grab your purse and stand, going back to your boss’s office that you had just left. “I have a family emergency,” you tell him. “I have to leave. I’ll put it in as a Sick Day.”

He looks at you blankly for a minute. You’ve done this once or twice – usually in the afternoon – when you needed to get Sierra, but you usually just brought her back with you and returned for the rest of the day.

“Will you be back?” he asks.

“Not today,” you say. “I’m really sorry. Thanks for understanding.”

You turn on your heel and go, zero regrets.

You’re still following only intuition when you pull up to Taehyung’s parents’ house. Sure enough, Taehyung’s car is in the driveway. You park and walk to the front door. You have never let yourself into someone’s home uninvited before but you bite back the urge to follow protocol and open the door.

You can hear crying, moaning, and the low timbre of Taehyung’s voice.

“Tae?” you call, and the noises all stop. He comes out of the room to the right of the entry, face pale and shocked.

“Why are you in my house right now?” he asks, and then waves a hand at you. “Never mind. Whatever this is, Y/N, I can’t do it right now. You need to go, now.”

“Taehyung,” you say, voice firm. “Let me help you.”

The crying begins again behind him and he turns automatically, like he’s tethered to the noise.

“Tae,” you whisper. “What’s going on? How can I help?”

“You can’t,” he snaps, but you stand firm, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

He sighs, giving in. “My dad got called in for a work emergency,” he explains quickly, still looking over his shoulder, not at you. “She can’t walk today. I’m trying to get her to the hospital.”

“She can’t walk?” you repeat.

“She could yesterday, this hasn’t happened in years,” he says. “I’m trying to get ahold of her neurologist to see if he can meet us at the hospital or-.”

“What else needs to happen?” you ask, in Problem-Solving mode.

He throws up his hands a little. “I need to get her dressed and in the car. It’s hard when she can’t – her whole left side just doesn’t move when she wants it to.”

“I’ll do it,” you say. “Will she let me? I’ll get her ready, you call the people you need to call. Then we can get her in the car together.”

He nods at this, already opening his phone. You enter the room behind him, which seems to be a sitting room just for his mother. She’s laying back on a bed, the television on but muted atop a dresser, holding her face and crying, moaning in pain.

“Good morning, Mrs. Kim,” you say quietly. “I’m Y/N, we met recently. I’m going to help you get dressed, okay?”

You help her into a sweatsuit, holding her weakened left side and lifting her up when needed. You locate a hairbrush and brush her hair back, pulling it out of her face into a low ponytail. You find sneakers and do that as well. She mumbles thanks at you at each step and you assure her it’s your pleasure to help.

“I’m sorry you’re in such bad pain,” you tell her. “What hurts? Your leg?”

“Headache,” she grits out, eyes closed.

When she’s ready, Taehyung picks her up and you gather the items she needs to bring – her purse, some paperwork – and handle opening the doors as they make their way through the house. He settles her in the front passenger seat and you climb in the back.

“I can take it from here,” he tells you, opening the driver’s door. “Thank you for the help, but you should go back to work.”

You shake your head no, not wanting to argue in front of his mom, and buckle your seatbelt. He visibly decides he’s too stretched thin to argue with you, and gets in the car.

At the hospital, you wait with Mrs. Kim in the car as Taehyung goes inside for a wheelchair. It takes both of you to get her out of the car, and then you head inside. Taehyung goes to talk to the receptionist. You think it will be a long time before you’re seen, but they get to Mrs. Kim pretty quickly. You stay in the waiting room while triage takes her back – Taehyung goes with her – but when they take her back to her own little room in the back, you follow.

She’s given pain medication for the headache, and the doctors order some scans to check out her brain activity and see if there are any new lesions – the “sclerosis”. Until the scan can take place, you’re just waiting. You sit quietly in the hard plastic chair, holding Mrs. Kim’s hand until she falls asleep, the pain medication hitting.

Taehyung returns from the hallway, where he’d been continuing to make calls. “They’ll send the scans to her neuro, but the neuro here on site will look first and talk to me about it. And my dad is leaving work in an hour, and he’ll come here.”

“Good,” you say quietly.

“You can go home,” he tells you. “You can take my car – I’ll just go home with my dad after he gets here.”

You shake your head again, standing to look at him. “I’ll leave when you leave,” you tell him seriously. He must hear the determination in your tone, because he doesn’t argue.

They don’t admit Mrs. Kim, so she gets to go home at the end of the day. The scans were done and results sent to the proper offices, and the on-site neurologist comes to tell you that no, she does not have a new lesion, the current symptoms must be caused by the last one. Mr. Kim takes her home after a fresh round of IV steroids and with a prescription in hand to tackle the excruciating headache.

Taehyung helps his father get her into the car, kissing them both on the cheek before they leave. Then he turns to you, looking exhausted and defeated.

“Let’s go to your place,” you say quietly. You smile a little as you say, “You can shower and nap, I’ll order food.” Just what he’d said to you after the night your mother had gone missing.

Lord, you were both such messes.

That’s exactly what you do; Taehyung showers and gets in bed, and you order delivery and entertain yourself out in the chair in your nook.

When Taehyung emerges from his room, wearing sweatpants and a rumpled white tee, the sun has set. He smiles at you sheepishly.

“Feel better?” you ask. “There’s take-out in your fridge.”

“Amazing,” he says, but he comes and plops on the couch, closing his eyes again. “What a fucking day.”

“I’m glad it’s somewhat under control now,” you say seriously.

He pats the spot next to him on the couch, eyes still closed. “C’mere,” he murmurs.

You do, instantly.

“Thank you for being there today,” he says, cracking one eye to look at you. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up. That would have been a lot harder alone.”

You’re not sure if he means physically or emotionally. Maybe both. It doesn’t matter.

“Taehyung, I have something I need to say to you,” you tell him. You know he’s drained, but maybe it’s a little karma, since he did the same thing to you when it was your life crashing down around you. He uses the arm of the couch to pull himself up so he can pay attention.

“I’m all ears,” he says easily. The nap did him good.

You face him, steeling yourself, rehearsing the words you’d practiced all day on Sunday.

“Tae,” you start, “I want to apologize.” This gets his attention. He’s frowning, trying to figure out what you’ve done wrong. You continue, “I’m sorry for letting my fear be bigger than my trust.”

He’s understanding now, eyes widening as he listens.

“But I do trust you. I always did. I actually…” you swallow, looking at the floor, then back at him. You have to be brave. It’s your turn to be brave. “Fuck, I actually love you. I’ve loved you since the lake. I think I’ve loved you since you threw a water bottle at me after we fought.”

You laugh a little, and he’s just looking at you, eyes still wide. You push on. Whatever happens, at least he’ll know.

“I remember you telling me that no one ever fought for you, no one made you feel like you’re worth the fight.” You spread your hands before you, like saying here I am. “I’m fighting. I want to be with you. I want to choose to trust you every day. I want to choose to love you every day.”

He’s pulling you by the wrist across the couch and into his lap, hands going for your face as soon as you’re close enough. You straddle him happily, heart soaring, pulse racing, as he kisses you again and again.

Later, after he picks you up and carries you into his bedroom, after you lay together gasping for breath, he whispers, “I want all of those things too. I’ve been trying to tell you since the beginning, Y/N, it’s different with you. It’s been different with you the whole time. I’ve been in love with you since before you were even available. I never doubted for a minute that we could make it.”

“Complete faith,” you murmur. “You had complete faith.”

“From day one,” he agrees, and kisses you again.

Thank you so much for being here, especially to those who have shown up for every chapter! Believe me when I say I appreciate you so much.

Taglist || @rinkud

If you enjoyed this story, please keep an eye out for my upcoming fic "What Was Hidden". You can follow me or follow the tag #fic: what was hidden.

(banner by @itaeewon)

Title: What Was Hidden

Schedule: TBD - I prefer to finish writing before I start posting.

Word Count: TBD - 35k written, and I feel like it's halfway-ish? I will have a final wordcount BEFORE I start posting! :)

Pairings: Taehyung x female reader; Yoongi x OC

Rating: TBD

Genre: college!au, angst, romance, drama, strangers to friends to lovers to idiots to lovers again (because that's what i do best~)

Summary: Taehyung is flunking World Lit; you're assigned to tutor him. His paper on Strindberg's The Ghost Sonata could pass or fail him for the semester, so you two spend November discussing its themes and how they appear in your own lives. You learn that there's a lot more to Kim Taehyung than you originally assumed as you navigate the themes of one's true self versus one's shown self, darkness behind the facade, and how people can be quite literally haunted - and it has nothing to do with ghosts. summary subject to change 382384 a few more times before I post.

"I saw the sun and thought I saw what was hidden." - The Ghost Sonata, Scene III August Strindberg

#magicshoprecs #dailydaegu #bts fanfic #taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung fanfic #taehyung angst #taehyung x reader #friends to lovers #slow burn #coworkers au #non idol au #taehyung #bts fic #taehyung fic #kim taehyung fic #taehyung romance #complete #Complete Faith fic #fic: what was hidden

187 notes · View notes