#but she told me to go see it without her and that she would feel worse if she made me miss it so she was very selfless | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wbbfannnnnn13 · 2 days ago

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Motion Sick // Chapter 13

A/N: So this was crazy, didn't realize i wrote this much, but here we are... so enjoy!! i did a quick read through and didn't see any errors, but i did write this over like 3 days, some of which was written very deliriously so idk let me know if you see anything. appreciate you reading and reacting 💕

WC: 12K+

Warnings: explicit sexy things, Minors DNI

**** Chapter 13 ****

The second week of waiting didn’t feel easier. Just… managed.

Lexi was still in Hawaii, posting golden hour sunsets and snapchats of poolside smoothies like it was the best week of her life. Smiles in every photo. Inside jokes in every caption. The kind of trip where everyone comes back with matching anklets and a stronger group chat.

Azzi double-tapped a few out of instinct, but even that was starting to feel performative. She wasn’t waiting on texts anymore. Didn’t really notice the gaps between them until they were pointed out by the timestamp. And when Lexi did send something—some blurry selfie or beach emoji—Azzi would stare at it for a few seconds too long before swiping it away without answering.

It wasn’t just distance. She was pulling back. Slowly. Quietly. Letting the space stretch a little further every day. And Lexi didn’t seem to notice—or maybe she just wasn’t reaching to close it.

Different time zone. Different team. Different rhythm.

A different life.

Maybe that was unfair. Maybe not.

They hadn’t really defined anything. Not officially. Not out loud. It was still new. Still loose. But Azzi couldn’t help noticing the way she’d started hesitating before answering Lexi’s texts. How her stomach didn’t flip anymore when her name lit up the screen. How easy it was to let hours—sometimes days—go by before she responded to a simple “miss u.”

And the truth was—she didn’t miss her. Not even a little. Not in the way she knew she should. Not in the way that counted.

She felt a little guilty about that. Like she was failing some unspoken test of what it meant to be good at relationships. Lexi had been kind. Supportive. Safe. She deserved more than silence on the other end of a text thread. More than someone who felt herself slipping away and didn’t try all that hard to stop it.

But Azzi couldn’t fake missing someone she didn’t think about when they weren’t right in front of her.

Azzi could go hours without thinking about Lexi. Maybe even days—if Lexi didn’t keep snap-streaking her smoothies like it was a contractual obligation.

She couldn’t make it through a single minute without Paige slipping into the corners of her mind, soft and stubborn, like a song she never meant to memorize.

So she stayed busy instead. Tried to keep her head down and her hands full. Morning lifts. Rehab. Practice. Film. Sleep.

Repeat.

She told herself if she could just keep moving, she wouldn’t have time to unravel.

Azzi was cleared for full practice, which helped. She had a schedule again. A rhythm. Early lifts, afternoon film, full-contact reps. Enough to sweat out some of the chaos still simmering beneath her skin. Enough to keep her from crawling out of hers every time Paige looked at her like that.

The season hadn’t exactly been smooth. Her injury had come at the worst time—just as conference play was heating up. They’d managed a couple solid wins without her, sure. Pulled it together when it counted. But the rhythm was off. The energy. Everyone felt it.

The other girls had stepped up in ways that made Azzi’s chest ache. But the truth was, they needed more than that. They needed Azzi.

And Azzi—God—she needed to be needed. To get back on the court and do something other than watch. Other than feel.

The structure gave her something to grip—like handrails on a staircase that still felt too steep. Something to hold onto while everything underneath stayed unstable. But the second she wasn’t actively busy, the second her body stilled and her mind had room to wander, it always drifted back to the same place.

To Paige. Because Paige was everywhere.

In the locker room, Paige kept stealing her Biofreeze like it was a bit they were both in on. Like she didn’t already have her own. Like using Azzi’s somehow made it hotter.

It started innocently enough. Paige would uncap the tube and squeeze some into her palm, rolling up the leg of her shorts to rub it into her knee, slow and deliberate. Head tilted. Eyes locked on Azzi like she was waiting to be caught.

She never rushed it. Always the same rhythm—long, slow circles, thumbs pressing into the muscle like she was trying to prove something. Like she knew Azzi was watching and wanted to make it worse. Paige would sit on the bench across from her, legs spread, smirking, smug, and infuriatingly pretty. Hair half-damp. Skin flushed from practice. Biting her lip like it was a reflex.

And then—of course—she’d turn the attention to Azzi.

"You want some?" she’d ask, already walking over.

Already behind her.

No room to say no.

Azzi would feel the cool weight of Paige’s hands on her shoulders before she could brace for it. Paige would rub the Biofreeze in like it was foreplay��palms broad, strokes slow. Her knuckles would graze just below Azzi’s collarbone, dangerously close to everything off-limits. Fingers drifting, pressing, dragging like she was sculpting tension out of skin.

Azzi would stiffen. Every time. Breathe through her nose and focus on a scuff mark on the floor like it might anchor her to reality.

This was a training room. With people. Coaches. Consequences. And yet.

She’d feel Paige’s breath at her ear—warm, barely there—and she’d want to lean back into it. Just for a second. Just to see what would happen.

Paige would always finish it the same way: a quick squeeze at the base of her neck and a murmured, “You good?”

And Azzi—still recovering, still furious, still not breathing right—would mutter something like “Fine,” when what she meant was I hate you or please do that again.

She never said it out loud. But Paige always walked away smiling like she’d heard it anyway.

In the gym, she was even worse.

Injured and bored was apparently Paige’s personal brand of menace, because instead of focusing on her own rehab, she hovered. Circled Azzi like it was a game. A routine. A ritual they weren’t allowed to talk about.

Spotting her during lifts even when she didn’t need one. Pretending to check her form, fingers slipping just under the hem of Azzi’s shorts to “adjust” the resistance bands on her hips. Dropping to her knees like it was normal—like it didn’t make Azzi forget how to stand upright.

The mirrors made it worse. Unforgiving. Honest.

Paige, kneeling behind her. Hands on her thighs. Looking up like she was about to pray.

Azzi had to fake a quad cramp once just to walk it off.

And Paige would just hand her a water bottle after like none of it had happened. All casual. All composed.

“Here you go, princess,” she’d say with a smirk that should’ve been illegal. “Don’t say I never take care of you.”

Azzi would shove her, weakly. Or blush. Usually both. And Paige would walk away with her towel slung over one shoulder, already biting back a laugh.

She was so annoying.

So smug. So obvious. So goddamn hot.

And the worst part?

Azzi liked it.

She liked the attention. The teasing. The way Paige was flirting without ever technically crossing a line. Like she was daring Azzi to be the one who broke first.

And every time, Azzi got a little closer to doing it. To crossing that line. To turning around mid-lift and grabbing Paige by the collar just to see what would happen.

She didn’t, of course.

But she thought about it. More than she wanted to admit. Enough that ignoring it started to feel like lying.

And Azzi—fully aware that she was spiraling—started pushing back.

She wore shorter shorts. Took her time stretching, especially when Paige was around—slow, deliberate movements that made eye contact feel dangerous. Sat next to her at team dinners and let her leg rest against Paige’s under the table, warm and unmoving. Started sending her texts that didn’t even try to play innocent anymore.

Sometimes it was just a photo.

A mirror selfie from the locker room, chest gleaming, eyes half-lidded. A snap of her legs stretched out on the recovery table, skin flushed and glistening. Once, a post-shower shot—towel tucked just high enough to stay legal, water dripping from her hair, lips parted like she didn’t mean to look that good.

No context. No warning.

Just vibes.

Paige would open it. Leave her on read for five whole minutes. Then send back the same emoji every time: 😇

And Azzi would stare at her phone like, you are so full of shit.

Eventually, the photos turned into texts. Hotter. Filthier. The kind of things that made her want to throw her phone across the room the second she hit send.

Once, late at night, Azzi texted: if you’re gonna eye fuck me all practice, the least you could do is help me finish.

No selfie. No punctuation. Just chaos.

Paige left her on read again.

And then—two nights later—got her revenge.

Azzi was laying in bed when it happened. Barely paying attention to her screen, hoodie pulled over her face like she was trying to hide from her own decisions.

Her phone buzzed.

It was a selfie.

Just Paige—head tilted, lips parted, eyes low and dangerous. A full smirk pulled across her mouth like she was daring Azzi to react. No makeup. No shirt in frame. Just collarbone. Jawline. Sin.

A text followed: you miss your seat or should I bring it to you?

Azzi audibly choked. Dropped her phone. Had to lie there for a full minute and just breathe.

Because she knew what it meant. There was no room for misinterpretation. Paige had sent that smirking selfie like she wasn’t about to ruin Azzi’s whole life from several floors away. Like she hadn’t just planted the mental image of Azzi on her face and dared her to react.

Azzi stared at the ceiling like it might offer her divine intervention. Or at least temporary amnesia.

She didn’t sleep that night. Didn’t even try.

How could she, when her brain was now running a 24/7 highlight reel titled Things Paige Bueckers Has Done To Emotionally Terrorize Me (And That I Would Absolutely Let Her Do Again)?

Paige

Paige had been enjoying the game. More than she should’ve. More than she admitted to herself most days. It had started out harmless—teasing, pushing buttons, seeing how close she could get without touching flame.

But her mind played dirtier than she meant it to. Filthier by the minute.

What Azzi saw as flirting, Paige was already rewriting in her head into scenes that shouldn’t be happening in a public gym. Or ever, really. And it was getting harder—literally, sometimes—to keep that energy locked behind her teeth and not act on any of it.

She was hanging on by, like, two threads of physical restraint and one very overworked sense of self-control.

So she tested it.

The next day, she “accidentally” brushed her fingers against Azzi’s hip while adjusting her warm-up band, and Azzi jolted like Paige had whispered something filthy instead of just touched her.

Which—fair. Paige probably had that look in her eyes again. The one Azzi pretended not to see. The one Paige didn’t even bother hiding anymore.

They flirted in gym mirrors and whispered in hallways like they weren’t two seconds from getting caught. Stole food off each other’s plates like it was foreplay. Azzi started handing her the Gatorade bottle without a word, just a slow pass, fingers brushing, gaze locked. Paige always drank from it a little too slow. A little too smug. Because she knew.

They both did.

Outside of basketball, it was somehow worse. There were fewer rules. Less structure. Just impulse.

They’d been dumb enough to try spending the night together once. Just to sleep. That was the rule.

It had been a long day—Paige was sore from treatment, mentally fried from sitting through two hours of film with the freshmen who still didn’t know how to defend a stagger screen, and Azzi hadn’t wanted to walk back to her dorm after sticking around late from a movie. They were both tired. Delirious.

So when Paige said, “You can just crash here if you want,” it felt harmless. Practical, even. They were adults.

They could handle a twin XL and one shared blanket.

Obviously.

They set rules. Boundaries. Two feet apart. No funny business. No breathing weird. No “accidental” touching. And absolutely no mid-sleep spooning.

For a while, it worked.

Sort of.

Azzi lay on her side, back to Paige, motionless but not asleep. Paige mirrored her—flat on her back, eyes wide open, tracking every sound in the room like it might save her from herself. The hum of the mini fridge. The rustle of sheets. The shallow rise and fall of Azzi’s breath.

They weren’t touching. But they were close. Too close.

Every inch of Paige’s body felt aware of her. Like Azzi had become a gravitational field Paige couldn’t fully step out of. And the worst part? She didn’t want to.

Azzi shifted slightly. Paige felt the blanket tug. One of Azzi’s knees brushed her calf—barely—but Paige’s brain short-circuited anyway. Everything went very still. Very quiet. The kind of quiet that buzzed in your chest.

And then—breathing. Not loud. Not sharp. Just... different.

Slower. Thicker. Like Azzi felt it too.

Paige’s hand twitched in the dark. She thought about reaching out. Just once. Just to see.

Not to start anything. Not really. But maybe a little.

She wanted to touch her. Wanted to trace the curve of Azzi’s spine just to feel it, to prove she still could. She wanted to press her fingers into the soft place behind her knee, the one she used to kiss for no reason at all. She wanted to hear the sound Azzi made when she lost her breath—not just because of her body, but because of her.

It wasn’t just about wanting her. It was about missing her. It was about still knowing her in ways that made her hands ache with the need to remember.

She didn’t move. She didn’t reach.

Because as much as she wanted to—God, she wanted to—this wasn’t the moment. Not yet. Not when there was still mess hanging in the air that didn’t belong to them. Not when Azzi still had someone else’s name on her texts.

They’d waited this long. They could wait a little longer.

Because when it happened—when they let it happen—she wanted it clean. Honest. Theirs.

And right now, it wasn’t.

Not yet.

And then—just a little—Azzi shifted her hips.

Nothing major. Just a small shift—enough to get comfortable. But Paige’s brain short-circuited anyway. She let out the softest, stupidest breath against the back of Azzi’s neck. A dead giveaway.

Azzi didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But then—so quiet it barely counted as sound:

“I miss you.”

Paige went still. Every breath caught halfway. Every muscle braced like she'd been hit in the chest. The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was everything.

Then, barely a whisper, like it hurt to say it:

“I miss you too.”

The space between them felt full. Like maybe they could stay there forever if they didn’t say anything else. If they just let the wanting settle and stayed very, very still.

But Paige knew better.

Instead, she sat up too fast. Her heart was pounding. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes like that would make it stop. Like it would undo what was already happening.

Azzi didn’t speak at first. Didn’t move. Just watched her with that unreadable expression Paige could barely look at.

Paige shifted awkwardly. “I’m gonna—” Her voice caught, too rough. “I’ll be back.”

Azzi’s brows pulled together, just slightly. “You don’t have to.”

Paige hesitated. “I know.”

Azzi nodded, like that answer was enough. Like she already knew why Paige needed to leave.

So Paige grabbed her hoodie off the chair and left before she could change her mind.

The hallway was cold. The stairwell was worse. She took them two at a time.

Because the truth was? Azzi had been in her room. But Paige needed the distance. Needed to breathe.

So she went to Azzi’s instead.

Same building. Just one floor down. Completely empty. Still smelled like her lotion and her shampoo and everything that made Paige feel unsteady.

She curled up on Azzi’s bed, pulled the extra blanket over her head, and stared at the ceiling in the dark.

She didn’t sleep.

Not even close.

****

She woke up to someone poking her in the forehead.

“Paige.”

Poke.

“Paige.”

Poke.

“Why are you in Azzi’s bed without Azzi?”

Paige groaned and rolled onto her side, face half-smushed into the pillow. “Go away.”

Caroline did not go away.

She stood at the foot of the bed, staring like Paige was a science experiment gone mildly wrong. “No, seriously. You’re in Azzi’s bed. And Azzi is... not. So unless she sleep-parachuted out the window, I’m gonna need answers.”

Paige blinked. Sat up slowly. Her hair was a disaster. Her hoodie was on backwards. One of her socks had somehow migrated to the floor.

“She’s not here,” Paige said, voice flat and hoarse. “Because she’s in my bed.”

Caroline raised both eyebrows. “Well, that raises exactly a million more questions.”

Paige sighed and held up a hand. “We were watching a movie. It got late. She didn’t want to walk back to her room, so I said she could crash.”

“Okay, sure. Still not explaining why you’re the one playing Goldilocks in her bed.”

Paige groaned. “We tried to sleep. Like, actually sleep. But then it got all quiet and weird and... tense. Like the kind of tense where breathing starts to feel like a crime? And I just— I didn’t trust myself not to do something reckless, so I bailed. Came here to cool off.”

Caroline blinked. “So your grand solution was to flee your own bed and emotionally pace in hers.”

“I didn’t pace.”

“You are mentally pacing, Bueckers.”

Paige flopped back dramatically onto the mattress. “When the hell does Lexi get back?”

“Not soon enough. I’m getting sick watching you two eye-fuck each other in public like it’s a team bonding activity.”

“I’m hanging on by a thread,” Paige mumbled into the pillow.

“A fraying thread. On fire. Wrapped around a bomb.”

****

The hallway was still quiet when Paige made it back upstairs, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands, her heart pacing at the dumbest speed for someone who technically hadn’t done anything last night.

She pushed open the door to her room—their room, for the night—and felt the breath knock out of her.

Azzi was still there.

Curled up on Paige’s bed like she’d been planted there on purpose. Hair sprawled across the pillow, one arm tucked under her cheek, the other resting on her stomach like she’d drifted off mid-thought. Her hoodie had slipped slightly off one shoulder. The same shoulder Paige had kissed once in the dark when things were simpler. Or maybe just more confusing.

Paige stood in the doorway for too long.

She wasn’t even trying to be subtle anymore.

Because this? It wasn’t fair. But God, it was beautiful. It was Azzi. Soft in a way that didn’t show up on game tape. Quiet in a way that made Paige ache.

She crossed the room slowly, like one wrong move might wake her or ruin the moment.

God, she looked peaceful.

And Paige wanted to be that peace. For her. She wanted to be the thing Azzi reached for when everything else felt too loud. Not the complication. Not the mess.

Just… hers.

She crouched down next to the bed and reached out—gentle, like she didn’t want to disturb whatever dream Azzi was lost in. She brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, let her thumb ghost along the side of her face, down to the sharp line of her jaw, lingering just a second longer than she probably should have.

Azzi stirred. Eyes blinking open, soft and unfocused at first.

Then—Paige.

And that smile.

Sleepy. Real. Like she was happy Paige was the first thing she saw.

“You came back,” Azzi whispered.

Paige smiled too, something tight and fluttery pressing against her ribs. “Of course I came back.”

Azzi shifted a little, making space for her. Paige sat on the edge of the bed, their knees brushing. Azzi’s blanket slipped slightly, and Paige didn’t know if it was the morning light or her own brain short-circuiting, but she swore she could feel the warmth radiating off her skin like gravity.

“I’m sorry I left,” Paige said, voice lower now, softer. “I just… I didn’t trust myself.”

Azzi gave a tiny shake of her head. “Thank you for leaving.” Her voice was still thick from sleep, but her eyes were clear. Honest. “Because if you hadn’t... I wouldn’t have stopped you. There’s no way.”

Paige let that sit between them for a second. Let herself believe it. Because she’d known—felt—how close they were to the edge. One shift. One sigh. One hand in the wrong place.

And it would’ve been over.

Or worse—it wouldn’t have been enough.

Azzi reached under the blanket and laced their fingers together, casual like it was muscle memory. Paige let her.

God, she wanted to be reckless. She wanted to lie down next to her and press her mouth to that dimple on Azzi’s left cheek—the one that only showed up when she was really smiling, the one Paige could never look at without wanting more.

But she also wanted to do right. For once. For both of them.

Azzi’s thumb moved over Paige’s knuckles under the blanket, slow and thoughtful. Neither of them said anything for a moment, like speaking might shatter the delicate calm they'd built between them.

Then Azzi exhaled. “This week is going to suck.”

Paige let out a soft, dry laugh. “Understatement of the century.”

Azzi looked up at her, a tired half-smile tugging at her lips. “We made it this far, though.”

“Barely.”

“Your fault,” Azzi said, nudging her knee against Paige’s. “With your smug little water bottle stunt and your gym mirror thirst traps.”

Paige gasped—dramatically. “My fault? You were the one sending post-shower selfies and stretching like a menace in spandex.”

Azzi grinned. “Allegedly.”

They both laughed—quiet, breathless, the kind of laugh that felt like relief.

Then silence again. But this time, not heavy.

Paige’s eyes drifted toward her desk.

And there it was.

The bracelet.

Still sitting where she left it. Unworn. Untouched.

Pink and purple beads. The word purpose spelled out in white block letters. Azzi had made it herself. Not a replacement for the one Paige had given her last year—but something new. Something that came out of the silence. Something chosen.

Paige nodded toward it. “That bracelet… I think I need to start wearing it.”

Azzi followed her gaze, then back at Paige, her voice soft but slightly teasing. “Why now? I was starting to think you didn’t even like it.”

Paige let out a quiet laugh, almost sheepish. “I liked it too much, maybe. I wasn’t ready to wear something that actually meant something.”

She looked down, then back at Azzi, her voice quieter now. “But I think I am. I think I need it. Just to remind me to hold on a little longer.”

Azzi didn’t say anything right away. But the shift in her face was instant—gentler, steadier. Like something in her had finally unclenched.

“I want this,” Paige said, voice barely above a whisper. “Like—really want this. But if we’re gonna do it… I want to do it right. No guilt. No mess. No baggage hanging on us like a shadow.”

Azzi nodded, eyes shining just a little. “I want that too.”

“Then we wait,” Paige said, her fingers tightening slightly around Azzi’s. “Even if it’s hell.”

Azzi smiled—small and sweet and real. “Purpose,” she repeated, like the word itself could steady her heartbeat.

Paige reached forward and picked up the bracelet. She slid it over her wrist slowly—it caught slightly on her knuckles, the elastic tugging before settling snug against her skin. Pink and purple beads pressed gently into her pulse, warm from the light and the moment. Like armor. Like hope.

Azzi

The trip to Omaha was cursed. That was the only logical explanation.

Creighton was no joke. Easily one of their hardest conference games. They were tough. Disciplined. Sharp from the perimeter. And the gym always had that weird haunted-church energy—like even the bleachers wanted them to lose.

Azzi wasn’t dreading the game, though. She liked games like this. High stakes. Real strategy. A good excuse to hit the reset button and drown her feelings in defense. And more than anything, she was playing. Not fully cleared, not a full workload—but she was back in the rotation. Back in the warmups, back in the pregame huddles, back on the scout report. Even if it was just restricted minutes, it meant something. Her name would be called again. She could feel the itch in her chest—that wired, buzzing anticipation that only came from knowing she’d get to make an impact, even if it was only a handful of possessions.

No, what she was dreading was the rest of it.

The travel. The hotel. The Paige of it all.

They’d cleared the air—well, as much as two people could while still pretending they weren’t seconds away from combusting. Set some rules. Drew the line in something thicker than sand.

She’d meant it.

She wanted to mean it.

Because the truth was, she liked what they were building. The slow, careful stitching of something real. Not just heat and habit, but trust. She’d seen the bracelet on Paige’s wrist that morning—Purpose, snug against her pulse like a promise—and something had settled in her chest. Like maybe they could actually hold on long enough to make it count.

But that didn’t mean this trip wasn’t going to suck.

Because wanting the right thing didn’t make the wrong thing stop pulsing under her skin every time Paige so much as looked at her.

And Nebraska.

God, Nebraska.

Omaha at least had a few redeeming qualities—like that steakhouse the team always went to. The one with the cowboy-themed menus and the baked potatoes the size of her face. She still remembered her first trip freshman year, sitting across from Nika and Caroline, trying not to moan over a bone-in ribeye. Seriously. Some of the best steak she’d ever had. Nebraska knew how to do cows. That was probably it, though.

This time, nothing had gone right.

Flight delay. Broken kiosk. Paige’s carry-on got pulled for extra screening because of an “unidentified cylindrical object” that turned out to be her foam roller.

Caroline nearly had a meltdown when she realized that she forgot her neck pillow back in her room.

“I need to lean on something or I’ll spiral,” she declared, completely straight-faced.

“You could lean on Jesus,” Aubrey deadpanned.

Caroline just flipped her off and stole Aubrey’s Sour Patch Kids as punishment.

By the time they landed, everyone was cranky. And then Coach handed out the rooming list.

Azzi glanced down at the paper in her hand.

Room 314: Paige Bueckers & Azzi Fudd

Her stomach dropped.

“Oh my God,” Caroline said instantly, too loudly.

Aubrey peered over her shoulder and broke into a grin. “Coach really said slow burn roommates trope.”

“What?” Ines asked, looking up from her phone.

“Nothing,” Caroline chirped, way too quickly. “Inside joke. Super boring. You wouldn’t get it.”

Paige didn’t say a word. Just stared at the list like it might self-destruct. Azzi could feel her vibrating next to her—tight shoulders, clenched jaw, the barest flicker of panic behind her eyes.

Azzi didn’t trust herself to speak. Her pulse was spiking, and the air felt thinner than it should.

Caroline leaned in just close enough, lowering her voice: “Try not to moan her name so loud this time, okay?”

Azzi didn’t flinch. Just grabbed the handle of her suitcase, muttering under her breath, “Oh, fuck off.”

Caroline grinned like she’d won something.

They all shuffled toward the elevator. Paige was quiet, walking just behind her, wheeling her bag like it weighed more than it should.

Azzi didn’t look back. She couldn’t. Because this was already a disaster. And they hadn’t even opened the door yet.

The hotel room door creaked open like something out of a horror movie.

And honestly? It felt that way.

One bed.

One.

Paige’s mouth fell open. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Azzi stepped in behind her, paused, and stared like she could manifest a second bed just by glaring hard enough.

“Who in the actual…” Paige didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to. The sexual tension was already unpacking its suitcase in the corner.

It wasn’t even a queen. It was barely a full.

This was a cosmic joke.

The room felt like a trap. Like the second the door clicked shut, the oxygen changed.

They didn’t say anything.

Paige tossed her phone on the nightstand, but didn’t move otherwise. Azzi stood near the dresser, arms folded tightly across her chest, like she could hold herself back with just the pressure of her own grip.

She didn’t know how it happened. Honestly. One second, they were a room’s length apart. The next, she was on top of Paige, knees straddling her thighs, their foreheads pressed together, the kind of silence between them that wasn’t quiet at all.

They weren’t kissing. Not yet. But their breath was shared, erratic. Azzi could feel Paige’s hands already under her shirt, fingertips grazing skin like they’d never stopped touching. Paige’s eyes were dark, lips parted, her voice gone—completely swallowed by the moment.

Then—

“Shit,” Paige whispered.

Her fingers had caught on something—Azzi’s hair twisted into the pink-and-purple bracelet she had finally put on.

Azzi stilled.

The soft elastic of the bracelet tugged just enough to snap her back into her body.

That stupid little piece of string, sitting between them like a truth they couldn’t pretend didn’t exist.

Purpose.

They had made a promise. To wait. To mean it.

Azzi closed her eyes. Rested her forehead against Paige’s for one more beat.

Then pulled back.

“I’ll shower first,” she said, quiet, not looking at her.

She climbed off the bed before she changed her mind and didn’t let herself check Paige’s face on the way to the bathroom. Didn’t want to see the regret. Or the ache. Or worse—agreement.

The door shut behind her. Loud. Final.

But nothing felt finished.

She stripped fast—almost frantically—trying not to see herself in the mirror, not like this. Not flushed and flustered and shaking like someone had lit a fire in her bloodstream and dared her not to burn.

The water turned on with a screech, too hot on her skin, scalding on purpose. She needed to feel something else. Anything else. The bathroom filled with steam so quickly she couldn’t see the tiles in front of her.

But she wasn’t thinking about the water.

She was thinking about Paige. On the other side of that paper-thin wall. Sitting on that bed they weren’t going to talk about. Shirt probably tugged up just a little. Head tilted back, mouth parted, brows drawn like they always did when she was close.

The image came uninvited and landed hard—heavy and visceral and real.

Azzi’s hand moved lower before she even realized it, like muscle memory. Like instinct.

Slow. Careful. Testing the edge of her own restraint.

She squeezed her eyes shut, let her head fall back against the wall. The tile was slick against her spine. Her other hand found the edge of the shower, bracing. Her fingers moved, slow and steady, but her breathing wasn’t.

She wasn’t just imagining it. She felt Paige. The tension. The pull. The heat that had built between them since the moment that damn door closed.

Then— God. Then she heard it.

Barely at first—a breath. Maybe nothing.

But then again. Louder. A stifled moan. A caught inhale. The kind that rattled in your chest and broke apart as it left you.

Azzi’s hand stilled, her eyes flying open.

No way.

She leaned into the sound. Listened.

And there it was—Paige’s voice, soft and low, her name ghosting through the wall like a secret.

Azzi’s knees nearly buckled.

Because Paige was doing it too.

Paige was touching herself, alone in that bed, just feet away. No shame. No hesitation. Like the promise they made had already unraveled between her fingers. Like Azzi’s hands were still on her, even when they weren’t.

Something inside her cracked clean open.

She exhaled hard and let go—fingers picking up rhythm, her body jerking forward into the heat of the spray. She didn’t hold back. Couldn’t. Not when she knew Paige could hear her too. Not when this—this—was the only thing that could quiet the ache lodged in her chest.

She pressed her forehead to the tile, her breath coming faster now, hips grinding into her hand like she was chasing something she couldn’t name. Her other hand slammed against the wall for leverage, water cascading down her spine, everything in her tight and trembling and dangerously close.

And then—

“Azzi—”

Her name. Again. Clearer this time. Desperate.

Azzi whimpered. Loud. Messy.

The sound bounced off the tile.

She moved faster, chasing the high she hadn’t let herself feel in weeks. Her thighs shook. Her jaw clenched. Her body clenched tighter. The sound of Paige’s voice—ragged, hoarse, broken—pushed her right over the edge.

“Fuck, Paige—”

It tore out of her as she came—body arching, lips parted, a sob catching in her throat. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was too much. It felt like grief and fire and hunger and home, all at once.

When it finally passed, she sagged against the wall, breathless. The water had gone lukewarm. Her legs barely held her upright.

Silence followed.

But it wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t closure.

It was the kind of silence that screamed.

She stepped out ten minutes later, wrapped in a towel, hair wet and curling at the ends. She didn’t look directly at the bed.

“Shower’s free,” she said, voice hoarse, barely there.

Paige didn’t answer. Didn’t look at her either. She was curled under the blanket, screen glowing too bright against her face.

But Azzi could feel her watching.

And even in the dark, she knew—Paige had heard her.

Knew it. Felt it.

Azzi got into bed and rolled over, facing the wall. Her heart wouldn’t slow down. She could still feel Paige’s name on her tongue.

And worse—she could still feel the pulse in her core, low and stubborn, the phantom ache of release still echoing through her body. Her skin was too warm. Her limbs too heavy. The adrenaline hadn’t worn off, not fully. It left her breathless in a way that wasn’t just physical.

She wasn’t sure what kind of silence this was—if it meant too much, or not enough.

But that had happened.

And it meant something.

Even with a wall of steam and restraint and distance between them—it still felt like the most intimate thing they’d shared in months. Maybe longer.

It wasn’t just about getting off. It was about being known. Felt. Heard.

Azzi closed her eyes and let the burn settle in her chest.

No one had ever made her feel like this. And the worst part?

Paige didn’t even touch her.

Not really. And still—Azzi didn’t want to take it back.

She stared into the dark, muscles tense beneath the scratchy hotel blanket, every nerve wired like she was waiting for something else to happen.

But nothing did.

No movement. No words.

Just the quiet.

The room felt thick with it—whatever that had just been. Not just lust. Not just crossing a line. Something deeper. Mutual. Volcanic. Like they’d shared a secret without saying a word.

The mattress shifted.

A quiet rustle of sheets.

Paige got up, wordless. The soft pad of bare feet on carpet. Then the bathroom door opened with a soft click and closed behind her.

Azzi didn’t move.

But she listened to the sound of the fan whirring to life behind the door.

And she knew—Paige was just as wrecked as she was.

Paige

The second she closed the bathroom door behind her, Paige leaned against it like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

Her pulse was still slamming.

She could hear the fan buzzing overhead, the fluorescent light buzzing harder. Everything was too bright, too loud, too real.

She hadn’t meant for it to happen like that.

No—scratch that. She hadn’t meant for it to happen at all.

Paige braced her palms on the sink, eyes fixed on the mirror. She looked flushed, hair a mess, lips bitten raw. Like someone who’d lost a fight.

Her reflection didn’t lie.

Because the truth was, the second Azzi shut that bathroom door and turned the lock, Paige knew.

She felt it. In her chest. In her stomach. Between her legs.

She tried not to listen. Tried not to picture Azzi under the spray of that shitty hotel shower, forehead pressed to the tile, breath going ragged. But the walls were too thin, and Paige’s imagination was too fast.

And once she heard her—really heard her—it was over.

Azzi’s voice, breathless and broken. Saying her name like it still meant something.

Paige had never undressed faster in her life.

And it was pathetic, honestly—how fast she’d come, how badly she wanted it, how her fingers didn’t feel like her own. Like her whole body had been holding it in for weeks.

Paige exhaled and splashed cold water on her face, as if that would help. It didn’t. It just made her flinch.

She looked down at her wrist. The bracelet was still there—pink and purple, snug against her skin, a reminder of everything they were trying to build.

Or protect. Or maybe just survive.

She ran a hand through her hair and stared at her reflection one more time.

There was nothing left to say. Not tonight.

She shut the light off before slipping back into the dark.

****

The Creighton game had gone about as well as it could’ve.

UConn won—tight but controlled, the kind of game that looked better in the box score than it felt in the moment. Azzi hit a step-back three in the second quarter that lit up the bench. It was business. Professional. Locked-in.

The rest of the trip passed in a blur of team meals, ice baths, film sessions, and forced small talk. The hotel room had remained Switzerland—neutral territory, boundaries intact.

They didn’t touch. Not really.

But that didn’t stop the long glances. The slow exhales. The moments when Paige’s hand would brush Azzi’s back while sliding past her in the hallway. Or when Azzi would sit on the edge of the bed to lace her shoes and Paige’s gaze would flick down, just once, and linger too long.

It was a silent understanding.

They were waiting.

And it was torture.

Now they were back on campus.

The cold hit like a slap—sharp and sudden, the kind that made your eyes water even if you weren’t crying. Everyone peeled off the bus in a blur of headphones, oversized hoodies, and half-zipped duffels, rushing toward dorms and off-campus apartments like they’d been gone for years instead of three days.

Paige was halfway across the quad, head down, earbuds in, when she nearly collided with someone rounding the path.

Lexi.

“Oh—hey,” she said, blinking like she hadn’t expected to see anyone. “Didn’t think you guys were back yet.”

Paige yanked one earbud out, her breath catching. “Yeah. Early flight.”

Lexi smiled, easy. Familiar. Like she hadn’t been the shadow at the edge of every thought Paige had tried to ignore for the past two weeks. Her hair was still damp—fresh from a shower or the gym—and her sweatshirt was slipping off one shoulder in that effortless, unbothered way that made Paige’s stomach twist.

“I haven’t seen Azzi,” Lexi said, adjusting the strap of her bag. “I texted her when I saw the flight info online, but she hasn’t answered. She’s been kinda... distant lately? I don’t know. Have you noticed that?”

Paige’s mouth went dry. Her heart did something weird in her chest—like it skipped and then panicked to catch up.

“Oh.” She tried to keep her voice light, casual. “Maybe? We’ve all been kind of swamped.”

Lexi nodded slowly. “Yeah. Totally. I just thought—I don’t know. I figured she’d say something if something was wrong.”

Paige nodded too. Too fast. Too much.

“Yeah,” she said again. “I’m sure she will.”

But the guilt was already there, thick and low in her stomach. Hot under her skin.

Because Azzi hadn’t told her yet.

And now Paige had walked straight into it—into her—like the universe was daring her to lie again.

She stood there, blinking against the wind, while Lexi gave a little wave and started walking the opposite direction.

Paige stayed rooted in place. Cold. Quiet. Drowning a little in the knowing.

Paige waited until Lexi was out of sight before pulling out her phone, her heart still beating in that uneven, guilty rhythm.

She didn’t overthink it.

Paige: just saw lex she asked about you

The reply came almost instantly.

Azzi: planning to talk to her this afternoon

Paige stared at the screen, thumb frozen above the keyboard. She didn’t know why she suddenly felt like she could breathe again. Maybe because Azzi had a plan. Maybe because they were so close now—just one conversation away from finally stepping into whatever this was between them.

It made her chest ache in the best and worst way.

She typed slowly.

Paige: okay just wanted you to know

She watched the three dots appear.

Azzi: i know thanks for telling me

Another pause.

Then:

Azzi: we’re almost there

Paige’s breath caught.

Paige: yeah

She hesitated, then added:

Paige: i can’t stop thinking about you

Azzi: same

Paige smiled—quiet, a little wrecked. Her thumb hovered over the screen.

She didn’t say I love you. But God, it lived in the space between the words.

Paige: see you later?

Azzi: of course

And just like that, Paige tucked her phone back in her pocket and started walking again, the cold biting less than it had before.

Azzi

Azzi got there first.

She picked a small table near the window—tucked far enough away from foot traffic, but close enough to the exit in case she needed to make a fast escape. The student center café was its usual hum of espresso machines, laptop keys, and group projects being half-heartedly argued over at the next table. It was busy, but not loud. Perfect for pretending to be relaxed. Perfect for quietly breaking someone’s heart.

Her coffee sat untouched in front of her, steam curling upward in ghost-thin ribbons. She’d wrapped her hands around the cup for warmth, but her palms were already sweating.

Lexi showed up two minutes later, all sunshine and post-vacation glow. Hair up in a loose bun, tank top tucked into joggers, a hibiscus scrunchie on her wrist like a final souvenir. Her cheeks were pink, like she’d just walked from the gym—or maybe from being somewhere happy.

“Hey!” she said, sliding into the chair across from her. “Sorry if I smell like sunscreen. I swear it’s permanent now.”

Azzi smiled—small, tight. “Hey, it’s good to see you.”

“Yeah you too,” Lexi said, setting her iced drink down and pulling her chair closer. “You look tired.”

Azzi huffed a soft laugh. “That’s because I am.”

“I don’t miss road games,” Lexi said, sipping her drink through a bright green straw. “Hawaii ruined me. I forgot what alarms felt like.”

Azzi nodded, eyes flicking to the condensation dripping down the side of Lexi’s cup. “Trip was good?”

“Honestly? Yeah.” Lexi leaned back, smile still easy. “We went on this insane sunrise hike—like, full 4 a.m. wakeup call, pitch black trail, almost died twice, but the view was worth it. And the food? Unreal. I ate poke like four times a day. Might turn into raw tuna.”

Azzi smiled again, this one more real. “That sounds amazing.”

“It was.” Lexi shrugged, glanced down into her drink. “I kept thinking how much you would’ve loved it.”

Azzi looked down.

“I even brought you something,” Lexi added, reaching into her bag.

Azzi’s stomach turned. Her fingers curled tighter around her coffee cup, already knowing.

Lexi pulled out a small white box with a gold ribbon, holding it out across the table. “Saw it in this little shop on the North Shore. It felt like you.”

Azzi stared at it for a second too long before reaching for it—carefully, like it might explode.

She opened it.

Inside was a delicate gold chain. A tiny wave charm in brushed silver, barely bigger than her fingernail. It shimmered under the overhead lights.

“It’s beautiful,” Azzi said softly. “But I can’t accept it.”

Lexi blinked. “What?”

Azzi looked up, eyes searching. “I mean it. I shouldn’t.”

Lexi froze, her face flickering—confused first, then quiet.

“Why not?” she asked, even though Azzi could tell she already knew.

Azzi exhaled. “Because I didn’t come here to catch up.”

Azzi looked down at her hands, then back up.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this. I didn’t want to do it over text. You deserve more than that.”

Lexi didn’t move. Her face stayed soft, but her shoulders tensed just slightly.

Azzi kept going.

“I care about you. I really do. But I can’t keep pretending like I’m fully in this. It’s not fair to you. Or me.”

Lexi was quiet. Waiting.

Azzi forced the words out, even though they tasted like guilt.

“I have feelings for someone else.”

There. It was out.

The words hung between them like smoke—visible, choking, impossible to pull back.

Lexi didn’t react at first. She just stared, lips slightly parted, like she was still waiting for the punchline.

Then she exhaled. Slow. Her jaw flexed, and her mouth pulled into a tight, practiced line. She nodded once, mechanical. Like she’d rehearsed this exact scenario a dozen times in her head and now that it was happening, she had to stick to the script.

“Okay,” she said, voice even but clipped. “Thanks for being honest.”

Azzi felt her throat close. Her hands were clenched in her lap now, gripping the edge of her sweatshirt like it might keep her from unraveling.

“I never meant to hurt you,” she said, quiet.

Lexi gave a small, breathy laugh. Not kind. Not cruel. Just… exhausted.

“Right,” she said. One word, razor-thin.

Azzi flinched.

But something about the way she said it made her freeze.

Lexi reached for her cup. Her fingers wrapped around it slowly, deliberately. She didn’t sip it. Just held it. Staring down at the lid like she was waiting for permission.

“You know,” she said finally, “I was really hoping I was wrong.”

Azzi blinked. “What do you mean?”

Lexi stood up. Smooth. Graceful. The kind of calm that only meant one thing: something had cracked and she was holding it together with sheer will.

“That it wasn’t her,” she said. Her eyes flicked down, then back up to Azzi’s face. “But it is, isn’t it?”

Azzi opened her mouth. Closed it.

“Lex—”

Too late.

Lexi tossed the drink.

Not violently. Not in a flurry of rage. Just a single, fluid motion, like she was handing off a baton in a relay.

The cup arced forward and the lid popped off mid-air. Iced caramel cold brew splashed across Azzi’s chest and down her front—sharp and sticky, soaking into the gray cotton of her sweatshirt before she could even react.

The cold hit first. Then the sound.

The ice slid down her stomach. She gasped.

A beat of silence dropped over the café like a curtain. Conversations halted. Chairs scraped. Someone sucked in a sharp breath.

But Lexi didn’t flinch...

She didn’t apologize. Didn’t rush out in embarrassment or try to play it off.

She just stepped back and leaned in, voice low, razor-sharp.

“Tell her congratulations.”

Then she turned on her heel and walked out—shoulders back, head high, not looking back even once.

Azzi sat frozen, dripping coffee and disbelief. Her breath caught in her throat. Her hands trembled, still half-raised like she could catch the moment before it shattered.

She stared at the door long after Lexi was gone.

And then—quietly, bitterly—she laughed. Just once. Because of course this was how it ended.

Sticky, cold, and completely unforgettable.

Paige

She was lying sideways on her bed, half-scrolling, half-dozing, still in her hoodie from the flight, when the door creaked open.

“P?” came the voice. Soft. Familiar. Weirdly casual.

Paige looked up and immediately bolted upright.

Azzi was standing in the doorway. Soaked. Fully drenched. Coffee-streaked across her sweatshirt, jeans clinging to her legs, one sneaker making a gross squelch sound with every step. There was literally an ice cube stuck to her shoelace.

And she was smiling.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Paige said, staring like she'd just seen someone crawl out of a flood.

Azzi shut the door behind her and shrugged, somehow both smug and exhausted. “Lexi happened.”

“She did this to you?”

“Technically, yeah.”

Paige launched off the bed, her voice already rising. “Are you serious right now?! I will beat her ass. I’m not even kidding. I’ll walk to the student center right now—”

Azzi reached out, grabbing her wrist before she could make it past the desk. “Paige.”

“No, because what kind of psycho throws a drink on someone during a breakup—”

“Paige.” Azzi said again, this time firmer. Still smiling. “It’s fine.”

Paige blinked at her. “You’re smiling.”

“Because it’s over. Like, actually over.”

Paige opened her mouth. Closed it again. Her pulse hadn’t slowed down yet.

“She brought me a gift,” Azzi continued, like they were debriefing after a particularly chaotic group project. “A necklace. Very sweet. Very ironic. I told her I couldn’t accept it. Told her I had feelings for someone else.”

Paige’s stomach flipped.

Azzi didn’t let go of her wrist.

“She figured out it was you,” she said gently. “Threw her cold brew on me. Called it a day.”

Paige stared at her for a second longer—taking in the damp clothes, the little flecks of caramel syrup on her collarbone, the proud look in her eyes that made her chest ache in a way that wasn’t scary anymore.

Azzi leaned forward slightly, voice softer now.

“So yeah. I think I need a shower.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, no kidding.”

Azzi smirked. “Wanna supervise?”

Paige pretended to think about it for half a second. “Only to make sure you don’t slip and die.”

“Wow. So chivalrous.”

They didn’t break eye contact.

Paige let her lips twitch into a grin, finally. “You’re really sure about this?”

Azzi’s thumb brushed over the inside of her wrist. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

And that was all it took.

Paige followed her into the bathroom without another word.

The second the door closed behind them, Paige leaned back against it, watching as Azzi peeled off her soaked sweatshirt with one slow, squelching motion. Coffee had soaked clean through the front—staining the fabric, her sports bra, the waistband of her jeans.

It should’ve looked gross.

But somehow it didn’t.

Somehow it made Paige’s throat go dry.

“Jesus,” Paige murmured, stepping closer. “You really took a whole venti to the chest, huh?”

Azzi laughed, eyes soft. “Battle scars.”

Paige reached out slowly, her fingertip dragging along the edge of a sticky trail just beneath Azzi’s collarbone. The caramel had dried slightly—tacky against her skin, warm from body heat. It shimmered under the overhead light, catching in the hollow just above her chest like something sacred.

Paige followed the line with her eyes, then leaned in without thinking.

Her tongue met skin—hot, sweet, a little salty from the residue of sweat and coffee. She flattened it against the spot and licked a slow, deliberate stripe, pausing to press her lips there like punctuation.

Azzi inhaled sharply, breath catching as Paige’s tongue dragged slowly across her collarbone.

Paige smiled against her skin. “Yup. Definitely a little oat milk in there.”

Azzi laughed—short, breathy, slightly dazed. “You’re disgusting.”

But her fingers slid into Paige’s hair anyway, anchoring her there like maybe she didn’t actually want her to stop.

Paige tilted her head up, lips brushing just under Azzi’s jaw. “Tell that to your pulse.”

And she felt it—wild and reckless beneath her mouth.

Azzi’s breath hitched again.

Paige pulled back just enough to look up at her, smirking. “Caramel. Notes of regret. Bold finish.”

Azzi grinned, eyes dark with want. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Mm,” Paige hummed, licking another line, just below her neck. “Guess I’m lucky you’re into assholes.”

Azzi’s hands were already on her hips, tugging at her jeans. “Help me out of the rest?”

Paige didn’t need to be asked twice.

The clothes came off in slow, deliberate layers—like neither of them wanted to rush, like the undressing itself was its own kind of worship.

Azzi’s long sleeve t-shirt peeled off first, sticky and stubborn, catching at her wrists before Paige tugged it free and tossed it somewhere near the sink. Her sports bra followed, damp from both coffee and heat, and Paige paused—just for a moment—to breathe her in.

Then she started kissing.

The curve of Azzi’s shoulder. The dip just beneath her collarbone. The swell of her breast, soft and warm and rising unevenly with every breath. Paige kissed her there, then lower, dragging her lips down the center of her chest, her stomach, leaving a slow trail of heat in her wake.

Azzi didn’t say anything, just watched with parted lips, her fingers grazing the hem of her own jeans like she wasn’t sure if she should help or wait.

Paige knelt and unbuttoned them herself. Slid the denim down Azzi’s hips, slow and smooth, until they pooled around her ankles. Her socks were peeled off next—gentle, almost laughably tender—until Azzi stood fully bare in front of her, flushed and shining under the bathroom lights.

Paige looked up at her like she’d just been handed something sacred.

The steam from the shower started to fog the mirror, and still, Paige hadn’t looked away.

“You’re really gonna stand there fully dressed while I get in?” Azzi asked, stepping into the tub.

“I’m savoring the view,” Paige said. “And also considering how mad I’d be if you slipped and cracked your head open before I get to kiss you properly.”

Azzi reached back, tugged at her hand. “Then come do something about it.”

Paige was out of her clothes in seconds, tossing them somewhere behind her without looking. The moment she stepped into the shower, steam curled around her like breath, the hot water hitting her spine in sharp, rhythmic bursts—and Azzi was already there. Wet and flushed and waiting.

They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. Their bodies collided like tension finally snapping—urgent, electric, mouths crashing together as hands grabbed, pulled, clutched. Azzi’s fingers slid down Paige’s back, digging in, pulling her impossibly close. Paige groaned into the kiss, opening her mouth to let Azzi in—tongues tangling, breaths coming fast.

Azzi’s thigh pressed up between Paige’s legs, deliberate this time, and Paige gasped, her body arching forward like it had been waiting for that exact pressure. She ground down instinctively, chasing it, hands roaming Azzi’s slick skin—shoulders, spine, hips. Her grip landed on Azzi’s ass, squeezing hard enough to draw a hiss from her throat.

Water beat down around them, but it didn’t matter. Paige kissed along Azzi’s jaw, then lower, teeth scraping over the pulse in her neck, and Azzi whimpered—soft and helpless.

“I’ve wanted this,” Paige rasped, dragging her mouth back up to kiss her, slow and filthy, “so fucking bad.”

Azzi leaned in until their foreheads touched, voice barely audible over the water. “Then take me.”

She wrapped a leg around Paige’s waist, guiding her, breath hot and shaky. Paige pinned her gently against the tile, one hand gripping Azzi’s thigh, the other sliding between them, slipping lower until Azzi’s breath hitched and her whole body jolted.

“You’re already mine,” Paige breathed, fingers finding her heat but skimming just shy of where Azzi needed her most—drawing out the want until it was unbearable.

Azzi nodded, trembling. “Then don’t stop.”

And Paige didn’t stop.

The water poured down around them in steady sheets, soaking their hair, cascading over skin already flushed and trembling. Steam curled around their tangled limbs like silk, cloaking them in heat and want. Paige didn’t rush—she took her time, kissing along Azzi’s jaw with slow intent, letting her lips linger against each pulse point, feeling the way Azzi’s breath stuttered against her cheek.

She trailed lower, tongue sweeping down the graceful line of Azzi’s throat, tasting sweat and water and something sweeter—something undeniably hers. Azzi tilted her head back, offering more, a breathy moan escaping as Paige kissed down the curve of her neck, her collarbone, each dip and hollow mapped out like a secret trail she was hellbent on memorizing.

Paige’s hands skimmed along Azzi’s waist, gripping her just above the hips to anchor her in place as her mouth moved to her chest. She kissed the swell of her breast first—soft and slow—then opened her mouth wider, tongue circling a nipple already peaked from the heat and anticipation.

When her teeth grazed over it—just a little scrape, just enough—Azzi gasped, her knees threatening to buckle. Paige sucked her in, mouth hot and open, letting her lips drag, tongue flicking and teasing in gentle, maddening patterns until Azzi was panting, her fingers curled tight in Paige’s hair.

Then Paige latched on harder, sucking until she felt Azzi shudder, her breath hitching with every pull. She wanted to leave a mark—something tender and bruised and unmistakably hers. A soft bruise blooming under her mouth, proof of this moment. Of how much she wanted her.

She switched sides with a low groan, worshipful in the way she kissed the other breast—twin trails of fire left in her wake, tongue and teeth working until another deep, purpling mark surfaced beneath her lips. Azzi trembled, head falling back against the tile with a thud, thighs tightening around Paige’s hips as the warmth from her mouth melted straight through her.

Every nerve in her body felt raw and awake, like she’d been lit from the inside out—claimed, adored, marked.

Paige looked up, smirking through the wreckage. “You’re so desperate for me, huh?” she murmured, lips brushing warm against her skin. “All that just from taking my time?”

Azzi nodded, dazed, eyes heavy-lidded. “I—yeah. God, yes.”

Paige smirked, lowering her mouth again. “Then hold on, baby. I’m not even close to done.”

She kissed her way down again, slower this time, savoring the way Azzi’s breath hitched with every inch she moved. Her tongue traced along the curve of Azzi’s waist, then lower, teeth grazing the soft skin of her inner thigh until Azzi whimpered and shifted, trying to get her where she needed her most.

Paige didn’t budge.

Instead, she pressed a kiss just beside her center—close enough to tease, not enough to satisfy. Then another. And another. Lazy, open-mouthed kisses that made Azzi writhe, her hands threading tighter in Paige’s hair.

“Paige,” she whispered, voice cracking, “please.”

“Please what?” Paige asked, her tone maddeningly calm, eyes flicking up to meet hers. “You gotta tell me.”

Azzi looked wrecked—flushed, panting, her thighs trembling where they bracketed Paige’s shoulders. “Touch me. Please, I—need you.”

That earned her a groan, low and wrecked, like Paige had been waiting to hear it.

“Good girl,” she whispered, and finally gave in.

She dragged her tongue up once—slow, flat, indulgent—then eased two fingers inside, deep and unhurried. The stretch was instant, perfect, Azzi’s head falling back against the tile with a gasp as Paige filled her.

Her hand moved with confident rhythm, curling just enough to brush that spot that made Azzi jolt, hips twitching involuntarily. Paige kept the pressure steady, her palm grinding against Azzi’s clit in tight, deliberate circles, coaxing out every stuttered gasp and choked moan like it was her favorite song.

Azzi’s back hit the tile again with a hard thud this time, the coolness of it a shocking contrast to the heat building low and fast inside her. But she didn’t flinch. Didn’t care. She was too far gone—too caught in the thick, pulsing wave of sensation to register anything except the way Paige’s fingers filled her, moved inside her, fucked her with a rhythm that felt like possession.

Her breath hitched, hands flying down to tangle in Paige’s hair, gripping tight, like she needed her closer—like she couldn’t take how close she already was. “Fuck,” she gasped, voice cracking. “Paige—”

Paige didn’t stop. She had one hand wrapped firmly around Azzi’s thigh, keeping her steady, while the other slid up to press against her lower stomach, holding her in place as her mouth worked her open—slick, steady, relentless. Azzi clung to her through it, fingers threading deeper into Paige’s soaked hair, her thighs trembling on either side of her head as she tried to ground herself, to survive the slow undoing of her body coming apart, one stroke at a time.

“You gonna come for me just like this?” she murmured, breath brushing sensitive skin. “On my mouth, like you were made for it?”

Azzi whimpered, hips jerking forward. Paige licked her again, slower this time, deliberately messy, before adding, “You taste so fucking good, baby. I could stay down here all night.”

She kissed her clit gently, then sucked—just hard enough to make Azzi cry out again. “Come on,” Paige whispered, voice low and rough. “Give it to me. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

And then her tongue was back—deeper, firmer, devastating—all wicked precision and praise.

Azzi’s head dropped back against the wall with a soft thud, a strangled moan escaping her lips. “Don’t stop,” she begged, the words breaking apart on her tongue.

Paige didn’t answer with words. She just hummed low against her—deep, satisfied, possessive—and the vibration shot straight through Azzi’s core like a lightning strike.

That was it.

Azzi cried out—sharp and breathless—and her whole body arched, legs tightening around Paige’s hips. She was so close, the pressure building too fast, her thighs shaking. Every thrust of Paige’s fingers sent another wave crashing through her, her body rocking between the hard tile and the relentless pleasure of Paige’s touch. Her stomach clenched, breath coming in short, desperate gasps, and her nails raked down Paige’s back, needing something to hold onto—anything to tether her to the moment.

Her vision blurred at the edges, heat coiling tighter with every stroke. “I can’t—Paige, I—” she tried, but the words fell apart as her hips jerked forward again, chasing the inevitable.

Paige gave one last slow lick, then pulled back, her breath hot against Azzi’s inner thigh. She kissed her way upward—soft, lingering trails of heat along her stomach, her ribs, her chest—until they were face to face again, both of them flushed, breathing hard.

She pressed their foreheads together, breath ragged, fingers still deep—but no longer slow. Her pace quickened, thrusts sharper now, more insistent. Each movement hit harder, deeper, sending jolts through Azzi’s entire body. Paige shifted her weight, grounding herself, grinding her palm against Azzi’s clit in tight, deliberate circles that made Azzi gasp and jolt forward.

Her other hand slid around Azzi’s waist, anchoring her against the wall as her fingers curled just right—over and over—relentless now, chasing the tremble in Azzi’s thighs.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Paige whispered, voice low and gutted, her mouth brushing the edge of Azzi’s lips. “Feel how close you are? Don’t fight it.”

Azzi whimpered, breath catching, hips rolling forward into Paige’s hand like she couldn’t help it—like her body had already decided. Paige moved faster, grinding harder, her rhythm precise and punishing in the best way. Their foreheads stayed pressed together, both of them panting, bodies slick and shaking under the spray.

“Just let go for me,” Paige breathed, her thumb flicking against Azzi’s clit with a little more pressure, a little less mercy. “I want to feel you fall apart.”

And Azzi did—hips bucking, mouth falling open as a loud moan tore from her throat, her orgasm crashing through her so hard she nearly slipped. Paige caught her, arm around her waist, holding her upright as she rode it out, crying her name against her mouth. Her entire body shook, legs trembling, nails digging into Paige’s shoulders as wave after wave pulsed through her, blinding and hot and overwhelming. She clung to her like a lifeline, forehead pressed to Paige’s, breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts between broken whimpers.

Paige murmured softly against her skin—nonsense words, tender praise, her voice rough with awe—until Azzi finally went limp in her arms, spent and shivering, completely undone.

Azzi was still shaking when she finally looked up, dazed and flushed, lips swollen from kissing. Her cheeks were flushed with heat, her breath still unsteady, but there was a flicker behind her eyes—something hungry, something certain.

“What about you?” she asked, voice low, fingers drifting down the slick lines of Paige’s stomach, tracing her abs with reverence. She paused just above where Paige was already aching, already soaked for her, her touch featherlight—teasing.

Paige’s breath stuttered. “Azzi—”

“Let me,” Azzi said, voice hoarse, raw, and full of want. “I want to taste you.”

There was no resistance.

Paige let herself be guided gently against the tile, the water cascading over her shoulders and down her back. Azzi dropped to her knees in front of her without hesitation, hands sliding along Paige’s thighs, urging them apart as she leaned in. The sight alone stole Paige’s breath—Azzi, bare and dripping, eyes dark with focus, mouth parted like she was starving.

Azzi kissed up the inside of one thigh, slow and open-mouthed, then the other, letting her tongue drag lightly against damp skin. Paige’s head fell back against the wall, a soft moan escaping her as her legs shifted wider, heart pounding with anticipation.

When Azzi finally licked up the center of her—long and slow—Paige gasped, one hand flying to her hair, gripping tight as her hips jolted forward. Azzi groaned low against her, the vibration sending sparks through her core, and then she was fully there—mouth open, tongue working in slow, devastating circles, savoring every sound Paige made.

“Jesus—Azzi,” Paige choked out, her voice dissolving into a moan as Azzi’s tongue slipped lower, deeper, licking into her with intention.

Azzi didn’t rush. She took her time, alternating between slow, languid strokes and sharper flicks that made Paige tremble. She sucked gently at her clit, then flattened her tongue against it, licking steady and sure until Paige’s thighs began to shake and her grip in Azzi’s hair tightened.

“You taste so good,” Azzi murmured between strokes, her voice thick with need, lips brushing sensitive skin as she spoke. The heat of her breath, the rasp in her voice—it sent a fresh shiver straight through Paige’s core.

Then Azzi dove back in, relentless now—mouth open, tongue dragging firm and slow, savoring her like she couldn’t get enough. She moved with purpose, focused and hungry, alternating between deep strokes and sharp, devastating flicks that made Paige’s knees buckle.

Paige was falling apart.

Her legs trembled violently, muscles locking and unlocking as she fought to stay upright. She tried to brace herself, one hand scrambling against the tile behind her, the other buried in Azzi’s soaked curls, anchoring her there like she was afraid she’d float away. Her hips rolled forward helplessly, chasing the rhythm of Azzi’s mouth, unable to stop herself.

Her moans grew louder, raw and unfiltered, each one tumbling from her lips like it had nowhere else to go. The wet sounds of Azzi’s mouth working between her thighs—slick, greedy, obscene—only pushed her closer to the edge, made her pulse pound harder in her throat.

“Fuck—Azzi—” she gasped, voice breaking, high and breathless. Her whole body was coiled so tight it almost hurt. “I’m gonna—Jesus, I’m—”

Azzi didn’t let up. Her hands slid beneath Paige’s thighs, lifting one leg over her shoulder, opening her even more, giving her tongue better access as she pushed in deeper, licked harder. The pressure was unbearable—in the best way. Paige could barely breathe. Her head fell back against the wall with a dull thud as her vision blurred, stars blooming behind her eyelids.

The sound she made when she finally came wasn’t a word—it was a cry, wrecked and involuntary, ripped from somewhere deep. Her body jolted forward, hips grinding into Azzi’s mouth as the orgasm tore through her like fire—hot, pulsing, wave after wave until she was shaking so hard she had to be held up.

And Azzi did. One arm locked around Paige’s thigh, the other steadying her lower back, keeping her from sliding down the wall. Her mouth softened but didn’t pull away, coaxing her through it with slow, tender strokes until Paige finally gasped, “Too much—fuck, baby—too much.”

Azzi let her go with one last kiss, lips slick and swollen, chin shining. She rose slowly, eyes locked on Paige’s, and that look—God. It nearly unraveled her all over again.

Dark, intense, reverent.

Paige was still panting, chest heaving, hand braced against the wall, the other falling to Azzi’s waist to pull her in. Their foreheads touched first, then noses, breath shared between them.

Neither spoke at first.

Then Paige tipped her chin up, eyes searching Azzi’s face. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” she whispered, voice low, ruined.

Azzi smiled, slow and wicked. “That’s the idea.”

She dragged her fingers lightly down Paige’s spine, stopping just above the curve of her ass, and leaned in again, lips brushing Paige’s ear. “You should’ve heard yourself,” she murmured, voice like smoke. “So fucking pretty when you fall apart for me.”

Paige’s breath hitched. Her eyes fluttered closed for a second, trying to catch herself. “Yeah?” she rasped, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as her body pulsed in aftershock.

Azzi nodded, voice darkening. “The way you begged? The way you rode my mouth like you were made for it?” She kissed just under Paige’s jaw. “You were dripping for me before I even touched you.”

Paige barely managed to open her eyes. “You’re unreal,” she whispered, wrapping shaky arms around her and pulling her close.

Azzi kissed her—slow and deep, like she hadn’t just brought her to her knees. Like she’d do it again.

“I missed you,” Azzi whispered into her mouth.

Paige nodded, breath still catching. “Me too.”

They stood there for a while, wrapped in each other, letting the water cool and the silence settle. Paige pressed a kiss to Azzi’s temple, slow and reverent, then looked down at her wrist.

The bracelet was still there. Pink and purple. A little loose from the water.

“Purpose,” she murmured. Azzi smiled, eyes still closed. “Guess we found it.” Paige nodded, her lips brushing Azzi’s jaw. “And I’m not letting go.”

#pazzi fics #pazzi #paige x azzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd

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megalony · 3 days ago

Text

The Captain's Girl

This is a new Bobby Nash imagine, based on an idea I wrote for a Buddie imagine.

I hope you will all like it, please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05 @creat1venat1onn @devilslittlehelper @darlingcharling-blog @bear8585 @nickie-amore @elliott-calls @person-005 @mbioooo0000 @amara-mars @shypy92 @nikfigueiredo @sabsthedoll @rach2602 @itshamleth @ladespedidas @devilslittlehelper

911 taglist: @teenwolfbitches28 @mandmilovehim @jooniesbears-blog @riywasu @amy2265 @buckandeddiesverison @forestsandgrimoires @peteparkersbug @btskzfav

Bobby Nash Masterlist

Summary: (Y/n) doesn't know what to do when someone at the station begins tormenting her because of her relationship with the Captain. But when he takes things too far, Bobby has to be told.

(Mentions of harassment)

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Y/n) could feel a headache rolling in like mist coming in from the sea and her hand moved to cradle her temple as she climbed the stairs.

Maybe getting a drink would be a good idea, although she wasn't too sure she would be able to stomach one just yet. Whatever she had tried to drink had either been thrown back up with vengeance or she had to take tiny sips to keep fluids down, despite however thirsty she felt.

Everything felt numb as she aimed for the kitchen in the annex. She didn't want to feel like this. (Y/n) didn't want to feel this drained and useless when she was at work. It was bad enough that all of her co-workers would now have to know that she was on light duties, without feeling like this and making herself even more useless to the team.

She was going to be limited on what she could do now and what calls she could go on, (Y/n) didn't want to feel rundown on top of everything else. She wanted to at least be useful and tidy the station or stock the trucks or clean until the floors sparkled. She wanted to do her job, not hang around the station like an ornament or a background tool that was of no use to anyone.

When she traipsed into the kitchen, she made her way towards the fridge to find the juice bottles stacked in there.

Everyone had their own little cupboards or baskets in the kitchen cupboards filled with their preferred foods. Breakfast bars, protein bars, fruit, chocolate, anything they wanted to munch on throughout their shifts. And they all had drinks stacked into the fridge.

(Y/n) had brought juice to try and keep her sugar levels up and give her a boost when she wasn't hungry or able to keep much food down.

She tore one of the bottles from the plastic packaging, but her skin bristled and she tensed up when she felt a hard chest pushing down against her back and an arm curved around hers.

Her eyes blew wide in their sockets and her heart gave out a horrid palpitation as her head snapped to look over her right shoulder and see who thought it was normal to crush up against her like this.

It wasn't as if the bell had gone off, there was no hurry. Surely whoever was behind (Y/n) could have waited a few moments, a few more seconds, for her to grab what she needed. Rather than reaching around her and almost crushing her into the fridge to get something for themselves.

"Morning."

Panic built up in (Y/n)'s stomach and burned up into her chest as she looked up to see Paul. Someone who (Y/n) didn't often interact with. A joker, a tease, someone she would class as a player who liked to push people to their limits with his jokes. (Y/n) knew he had been pulled into Bobby's office on more than a few occasions because people took offense to his mannerisms or thought he was too forward.

And it dawned on (Y/n) that he seemed to be brushing up against her now because he was being forward. That smile on his lips suggested he was testing the limits rather than reaching around her because he was in some kind of hurry. His smile, calm demanour and how he slowly grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge suggested he had all the time in the world.

"Hi," (Y/n) gave a curt nod of her head before she side-stepped to the left to add an air of space between them.

Her arms felt tense and stiff at her sides as she tried to take a deep breath and compose herself. She forced herself to try and smile in his direction as she shuffled back a little more. She wanted to be civil, the last thing she wanted was to start an argument early in the morning or have some kind of confrontation.

"You're (Y/n), right?"

She nodded, trying to stay calm as she placed her juice bottle down on the counter to her left near the sink. She pushed her hip into the cupboard and crossed her arms over her chest. They didn't really work closely together, Paul seemed to be on most of her opposite shifts, they didn't see much of each other. And (Y/n) tried to keep interactions to a minimum with people like him.

(Y/n) wasn't quite sure what she was meant to say now; she didn't want to be rude, but she didn't exactly want to be talking to him either.

Reaching out for her drink, she uncapped it and took a few small sips while she turned a little so she wasn't directly facing him. Although he didn't seem to care as the strange, crooked grin on his face stayed put.

"The Captain's girl."

He gripped the counter while he stuffed his other hand into his pocket and leaned to the left with one leg crossed over the other. There was something about his smile that made (Y/n) feel on edge but she didn't know why.

She couldn't be sure where this conversation was heading, but she knew she didn't want to go along with it.

(Y/n) was used to the teasing, to the new hires making comments or being rude when they found out that she was dating Bobby; that her Captain happened to be her partner. They assumed (Y/n) was terrible at her job and that Bobby let her off lightly. They thought she was with him for brownie points, and (Y/n) could handle all of those comments and remarks and teasing. She could handle it, but that didn't mean she liked enduring it and if that was where Paul was trying to go, then she wasn't being apart of this conversation.

"Yep… well, I'd better go stock the ambulance." (Y/n) knew she didn't sound too convincing or even kind, but she didn't have it within herself to care.

Her hand clenched around the juice bottle in her grip and she cast her eyes down to the floor as she tried to walk around him. Keeping herself busy seemed to be the best course of action and getting out of this conversation was what she wanted and needed to do right now.

Her eyes stayed focused on the floor, but everything within her began to burn like a wildfire when she felt his hand suddenly curl around her upper arm.

"What's the rush?"

The way he said that made (Y/n)'s blood run cold and fizzle down to her toes. She could feel herself becoming lightheaded already. His tone was crude and his smile was sickly, but (Y/n) couldn't work out that look in his eyes. She couldn't work out whether he was trying to start a fight or an argument or whether he was somehow being serious and trying to cosy up to her.

Either option didn't sound or feel appealing to (Y/n) and she would rather just disappear into the shadows and hope that he would ignore her and let her go. He didn't seem likely to do that, though.

(Y/n) had been lucky, she never really worked closely with Paul. Sometimes he would be on the callouts with her, but they were never paired up. (Y/n) usually got to join with Chimney or Buck, Paul wasn't someone she really spoke to at the station either.

So why was he attaching to her and bothering her now?

"I have stuff to do."

There was no way (Y/n) was hanging around Paul when he was looking down at her like that.

She shook her arm out of his hold and tried again to walk around him, but he moved faster. He leant to the left and clamped his hand down on the kitchen island so he was effectively blocking her path like a boulder.

(Y/n) frowned deeply. She didn't like his attitude or what he was trying to do. Her hand clenched into a fist as if she was preparing herself to reach out and whack him, and her other arm coiled her drink to her chest as she turned her shoulder towards him and pushed ahead.

She rammed her arm and shoulder harsh enough into Paul that he stumbled back and had no choice but to let her pass. Her heart pounded furiously in her veins as she stormed past him, not breaking her stride for anything as she headed away from the kitchen. Her eyes going on tunnel vision with only the stairs in her sights. Her escape.

(Y/n) tried to hold her head up high, despite the panic clawing away at her chest like a caged animal desperate to escape. And the pouding of her blood in her ears made her feel deafened and sent shivers crawling down her spine.

Her hand reached out for the railing but she didn't get close enough. Not when a pair of hands clutched at her waist, digging tight enough into her skin to leave imprints and crescent moons where his nails bit into her flesh.

"Hey-"

All the air got clogged in (Y/n)'s throat and she choked on them when her body was forcefully propelled to the left and her back thumped into the wall.

Her boots screeched as they skidded along the floor and her knees quivered, trying their best to lock in place and stop her from colliding with the floor. A horrible ache burned down (Y/n)'s spine and her jaw loosened as her lips parted, desperate to claw at air but she couldn't seem to take in a proper breath due to the shock in her system.

The bottle in her hand clattered to the floor with a dramatic thud and her trembling arms jerked up in front of her as if preparing to fend off a punch to the face that she thought might be incoming.

(Y/n) couldn't help but close her eyes, both from panic and the spots that danced before her eyes at the lack of oxygen in her system. She wanted to slide down to the floor and curl up into a ball, but Paul's hands on her skin prevented her from moving in any direction. And the way he leaned down and pressed up against her made it even harder to try and steal back her breath.

"Move! Get off!" Her words came out breathless and therefore not as demanding and authoritative as she would of liked, but it didn't make much of a difference.

This wasn't an experience she had dealt with before.

Once or twice in a club someone had been a bit handsy or frisky and one guy had tried pushing his luck, but nothing like this had ever occurred. No one had pinned her to the wall and grabbed her or frightened her like this. And especially not at work. No one else here was ever so crude and disrespectful.

He was mad. He had to have a screw loose to be doing this right here at work, out in the open. They were colleagues. They were on shift, it wasn't like they were in a bar or a dark street. Anyone could come up the stairs and see what Paul was doing.

Maybe that was what he wanted. Maybe he wanted to embarrass (Y/n) or have Bobby see so he could pretend she was trying to come onto him. Whatever he was doing, he was certainly going to make an enemy of (Y/n), whether this was a joke or not.

(Y/n)'s pupils blew wide and her heart dropped down to her stomach so fast she felt like she had fallen through the floor when Paul reached his hand up. One hand stayed on her hip but his other hand suddenly pinched (Y/n)'s jaw in his harsh, cold grip.

He squeezed his fingers into her cheeks until it felt like his fingers were going to pierce through her skin and his thumb pressed into her jaw so badly a horrible thumping pain began to beat beneath the skin. He tilted her head up in his direction so he could leer over her with a sickening smirk that made her stomach do summersaults.

"Balling the Captain, now that's one you don't see very often."

His words made bile rise in (Y/n)'s throat and she tried turning her head away but his grip was firm and he pushed until the back of her head hit the wall again. Stars glimmered before her eyes and her shoulders tensed up as she did her best to hold still and think of a way to get Paul off her.

"Fuck off." It was hard to speak with his hand cupping her face and the words came out slurred but coherent enough that his lips twitched.

Her jaw ached and her mouth pulsed when he finally let go of her and she tried to gulp down a few breaths and regulate her system. But her eyes couldn't stray from that sickening expression on Paul's face, or the frightful glimmer in his eyes that made her want to cower down.

"Is that how you get your paycheck?"

(Y/n) didn't realise his hand had moved from hovering near her face until he tried to slide it between her thighs.

Goosebumps rose on her skin and a fire broke out in her system. The sound of her heartbeat thundering in her ears made (Y/n) unsure whether she actually screamed or simply opened her mouth in shock. One hand pushed at Paul's shoulder while the other roughly slapped him across the face, shocking him just enough to stop his hand from travelling any further.

Her knee thrust up into his arm and crashed into his hip at the same time that he reached his other hand out and tried to grab a fistful of her hair, clearly in retaliation to the slap he received.

A broken cough escaped her lips when he yanked her head which rebounded against the wall. (Y/n) coiled her arms to her chest and suddenly let her weight drop down until she was on the floor. The shock and sudden unprediction made Paul lose his grip on her and once he let go, (Y/n) scurried under his arm.

She ran, doubled over with one hand cradling the back of her head and her other arm around her stomach to try and tell herself to breathe and calm down and stop panicking.

"Bastard! Stay- stay away from me!" (Y/n) spat towards him over her shoulder, trying to keep her voice quiet in case anyone was close enough to hear them. She didn't want to cause a scene.

She couldn't tell anyone what he'd done.

How could she go and tell Bobby that someone on the team had tried to touch her up? How could she explain he'd pinned her to the wall? It would spark an internal investigation and Bobby might not be able to stay impartial. It was his girlfriend who would be making the complaint. He might try and have words with Paul about this and if that happened Paul could try and take it further and say the Captain was intimidating him.

And (Y/n) didn't want to cause trouble or more paperwork and have everyone know and look at her.

She tried to straighten up as she stumbled towards the stairs and her feet skidded and slipped causing her to stumble rather than walk down the stairs. If the rails weren't there beside her she would have tumbled down the stairs on her bum. The last thing she needed was an accident or an injury after that commotion.

Each breath she took started to run away without her until (Y/n) felt that she wasn't really breathing at all. Her chest ached, her throat burned and felt tight and scratchy and her skin was clammy as if she were burning a high fever.

Both arms bolted around her waist and her head angled down until her blurred vision was focused on the floor. She aimed past the truck and weaved behind the ambulance, doing her best not to stumble or skid or attract any attention to herself. She didn't want anyone to look at her and see that something was wrong because if they asked her, she might not be able to hide the truth.

She felt a little better once she was down the secluded corridor that led to Bobby's office and (Y/n) didn't think before she yanked open the door and bolted inside.

Her head only lifted once she was in the office, and an overwhelming amount of relief took over her system and made her feel faint when she saw that Bobby wasn't in here.

Without thinking twice, (Y/n) bashed the door closed behind her and hurriedly twisted the lock so she was safely shut inside. Isolated and alone, exactly what she needed to calm down and stay safe.

The station had always been a place of safety, a sign of help and care and sanctuary to anyone and everyone. This was almost a second home to (Y/n) and the team, and she didn't want that to change. But if Paul went around doing rash things like that, then the station wasn't going to feel safe to (Y/n) anymore.

How could it be safe if she was going to have to look over her shoulder every moment to make sure that this event wouldn't repeat itself?

Trembles set in (Y/n)'s system until she was shuddering back and forth and her knees felt like they were going to give way on her. Her arms reached out and as soon as she was within reach of the sofa opposite the desk, (Y/n) let herself slump down. Her head flopped against the pillow and her knees coiled up to her stomach that was churning and mixing and threatening to throw up the little fluids she had managed to intake.

She had to close her eyes to ward off the storm raging through her head, but it didn't stop the tears from trickling down her face.

She was going to be sick. She wanted to disappear. She prayed Bobby didn't come back to his office soon, at least not until she had calmed herself down. If he saw her in this state he would be getting Hen to check her over or taking her down to the emergency room and (Y/n) couldn't have that happening. She couldn't deal with explaining to Bobby what had just happened.

A frown set on Bobby's features when he aimed for his office and reached out for the door.

It was locked. He didn't remember locking the door when he left. It wasn't something Bobby did every time he left as he was constantly in and out of the office. He only locked it when he was leaving shift or going out on a long call. All he had done was head to the inventory room to find Hen and now he was back to finish his paperwork. He must have locked it automatically.

His hand jingled on his waist until he found the keychain and he fumbled around for the right key and opened the door.

He wasn't expecting to find his partner curled up on the sofa when he walked inside.

(Y/n) was the only one who came into his office when he wasn't here. Bobby told (Y/n) she could sit in here if she needed a break or wanted to do some paperwork quietly or if she didn't feel well. Everyone else only came in if they needed to find or ask Bobby something or if they were having supervision meetings.

The speed of Bobby's heartbeat accelerated when he looked down at (Y/n) and took in her features. Her eyes were closed so tightly it looked painful and the way her arms and knees were curled up and wrapped around her torso made it seem like she was in some kind of agony.

"Sweetheart, you okay?"

His keys jingled against his belt as he hastily shut the door and moved to crouch down in front of the sofa. His knees bumped into the cushions while he reached out for her, disheartened to see dried tears on her face.

"I- I felt sick." (Y/n) managed to open her dreary eyes when she felt Bobby's fingers caressing her cheek.

She wasn't sure how long she had been laid here, it couldn't have been too long, no longer than fifteen minutes. But just long enough for her system to settle back down and the panic to subside and die out. She didn't feel on the brink of a panic attack anymore. She didn't feel like she was going to throw up or faint or lose all her oxygen.

And her head stopped aching when she slowly sat herself up. "I think I feel better now."

That wasn't too convincing and Bobby found himself frowning as he pushed up from his knees to sit down beside her. One hand gently curled around her knee while he leaned in to take a closer look at her.

"Are you sure?" He pressed the back of his free hand against her forehead, relieved to find that she wasn't burning up. But he was surprised when (Y/n) audibly sighed and lolled her head forward into his touch and a faint hint of a smile pulled at her lips.

"Do you need to take the rest of the day-"

"No, no I'll be fine. Promise." (Y/n) shook her head against Bobby's palm before she slumped to rest her cheek against his broad shoulder.

Her hands curled around his bicep and she leant into his side, almost wishing they were back at home curling up on the sofa, rather than stuck here at the station for the next few hours. She didn't want to take the day off. As much as the interaction with Paul had shaken her, (Y/n) could still do her job.

She was on light duties anyway, the whole team knew she was pregnant and couldn't go out on all the calls anymore. (Y/n) didn't want to be taking extra time off, not now she had calmed down and felt better. And she certainly didn't want Paul to think that he had gotten to her or give him any satisfaction or ammunition to try and do this again.

"Sweetheart you know I won't let you out on a call if you're not well. I can't put you at risk."

Bobby turned his head to the right and pressed his lips to the top of her head. His thumb began to glide over her knee while he moved his other hand to cup her neck. He breathed in her scent while he closed his eyes for a few seconds.

If she wasn't well Bobby wouldn't let her come out on the calls with them, he would bench her to the station or send her home if she was that bad. It was Bobby's discretion and final say on what calls (Y/n) went out on, if they were too risky then (Y/n) either stayed at the station or remained in or nearby the truck. And Bobby wouldn't put her at risk if she wasn't well or feeling up to it.

All she had to do was say the word and he would draft someone else in and make sure (Y/n) stayed at the station.

"I'm okay, Bobby please." Her words were muffled against his shoulder and she shuffled that little bit closer until her knees were practically laid over Bobby's lap and she felt him sigh into her hair.

"Okay, I'm keeping an eye on you though."

***

(Y/n) waved her hand out and plastered a smile on her face as Hen reversed the ambulance back into the station. She took a step back, motioning for Hen to keep reversing until it was properly in place.

She felt like a valet driver. The call had been an evacuation of a collapsed building and such a high risk call meant (Y/n) couldn't tag along. She hadn't been allowed to sit and wait by the truck, not when debris and crumbling structures were around. Not that (Y/n) would have wanted to go along and just sit in the truck like a useless, spare part.

"All good?"

"Yeah, all good." Hen nodded as she climbed down and patted the truck. She didn't have to ask to know that (Y/n) was going to check and re-stock the ambulance. She wanted to feel like she was helping. She would happily stock and tidy while the team got a drink and had a well-deserved break.

Once the team were filtering around, either aiming for the kitchen or the locker room, (Y/n) opened the ambulance doors and climbed up.

It didn't take her long to do a stock check and see what needed replenishing. She climbed down from the ambulance with a clipboard tucked under her arm and a bag of waste wrappers and equipment that needed disposing of.

A quiet hum left her lips as she headed past the locker room towards the corridor that led tot he inventory supply room. Once she had re-stocked the ambulance and checked the truck, she would find Bobby and ask how the call had been and what she had missed.

"Got your hands full there, need some help?"

Shivers coursed down (Y/n)'s spine and her skin bristled at the sound of that voice. Her head started to shake before she even thought about how to respond and her eyes glanced around as she tried to find the source of that shrill tone.

Paul.

A smug grin was plastered across his face and the way he had his hands clasped behind his back made him look too innocent to be true. His shoulders were raised and pointed out to the sides and he glided down the hall towards her.

If he had been behind her it might have been easier to avoid him, to run into the inventory room or try and aim for Bobby's office and get away from him. But he was ahead of her. She couldn't back track and wander around the station like a headless chicken. She needed to be in the inventory room.

"Not from you I don't." (Y/n) shook her head and tried to step to the right to indicate that she wanted past him, but Paul blocked the corridor with his stature.

His legs spread so he was stood with his feet far apart, making himself more of a boulder in her path.

"Oh, don't be like that."

A deep scowl painted across (Y/n)'s features as she looked up at the man standing before her with such a grin as if he felt that they were old friends catching up.

Her fingers twitched against the clipboard and the bag of waste which she felt like tossing at him to get her point across that she didn't want to be around him. She didn't want to bump into him, work alongside him or even look at him. (Y/n) wanted no interaction with Paul whatsoever and she would do whatever she had to in order to make that happen.

"I told you to leave me alone."

With a grunt, (Y/n) dumped the waste bag down in front of her, dangerously close to landing on Paul's feet and she tossed the clipboard on top of it too. If he wasn't going to get out of her way then she wasn't going to fight to try and get around him. She would walk away and wait for him to stop hounding her, then she would carry on with her jobs.

It had been a week since the incident with Paul and every time (Y/n) looked at him or caught a glimpse of him on shift, she could feel her stomach turning itself in knots.

When she passed the kitchen she couldn't help but look over her shoulder and glance around, checking for Paul or anyone else who might try and torment her like he had. It surprised her that he hadn't gone to Bobby and tried to spin a lie because she had slapped him, but then again he couldn't really say anything without landing himself in some sort of mess.

He seemed to smile at her whenever he was nearby, he was clearly trying to wind her up and (Y/n) was doing everything within her power to ignore and avoid him.

She took a step back but her eyes locked on Paul once again when he motioned towards her stomach.

"That's one way to make sure you stay his favourite little pet."

Great. Just great. Paul was the first person to venture into making a comment about (Y/n) being pregnant. She had worried that people would start to make jibes or little jokes, even though Bobby didn't seem concerned. He knew most of the team- the core team- wouldn't have a problem with the news, and they had all been happy and congratulatory.

But (Y/n) knew that there would be at least one person who thought that this would be a perfect opportunity to make a joke. To say that (Y/n) was doing this on purpose, that she was trying to trap Bobby or make herself the teacher's pet. Only one person so far had said that (Y/n) was with Bobby to further her career or make things easier on herself.

Now here was Paul who seemed to think it was the perfect subject to start joking about and teasing and tormenting. It annoyed (Y/n) that he wouldn't say this in front of Bobby, it showed how weak Paul really was that he was starting arguments and jibes in quiet corners where he knew no one- especially Bobby- would be able to hear him.

He was clearly unsettled at the thought of someone hearing him and going to tell Bobby what he was doing.

(Y/n) folded her arms over her chest and shook her head as her lips quirked into a look of disbelief. She tried to turn around but the feeling of Paul's hand reaching for her wrist made her coil towards the wall as if for safety.

"I thought he was a bit old for you, but I guess now it makes sense."

Of course it did. Of course in Paul's twisted mind, (Y/n) having a baby with her Captain resonated as her trying to further herself and tether Bobby to her.

She tried to shake her wrist out of his grasp and carry on walking, but shockwaves coursed through her and she began to writhe from side to side when Paul pushed her into the wall.

"C'mon, I thought you were easy."

(Y/n) thrust her arm out to slap him but Paul seemed to anticipate the move, especially considering how she slapped him last week. He caught her wrist in his hand once again and she didn't have time to move before his chapped lips were on hers.

The feeling was slimy and forced and harsh enough that (Y/n) could feel her upper lip slicing against her teeth and droplets of blood collected on her tongue.

Something resembling a growl left her lips as she fought to worm her arms between them and push into Paul's chest with as much force as she could muster. Her hand curled and she managed to scratch her nails down his neck and force her temple against his with enough force that his head flopped back and their lips finally parted.

Why do that? Why think that (Y/n) would reciprocate his touch when she had told him to leave her alone? She hadn't done anything to lead him on or make him think that his teasing was somehow fun and joyful.

What impression had she given to make Paul think that she was 'easy' like he suggested?

She had never gotten too close to anyone else, never cosied up to anyone other than Bobby. Never tried to kiss someone or touch them or flirt and joke with anyone that wasn't her partner. And she had never led Paul or anyone else on. He had no reason and no right to be doing this.

"You-" (Y/n) huffed something similar to a laugh as she shoved Paul by the shoulder. "You've done it now. Where's Bobby?" She muttered the last words to herself as she looked towards the corridor behind Paul.

She would have to hurry down that corridor and around the next hall to reach Bobby's office, or go back onto the station floor and go down the other hall to get there quicker. Either way, she didn't care. She wanted to find Bobby and tell him what Paul was doing. She wouldn't let him get away with this, if she did he would only continue and try to keep hurting and messing with her and it wasn't fair.

Thrusting her elbow back, (Y/n) lunged her arm until the point of her elbow whacked into Paul's nose. She heard a sickening grunt leave his lips and a horrible shockwave rattled up her arm and set her nerves on fire.

"Bitch!"

Her feet skidded against the newly mopped floor as she tried to pelt for the end of the corridor. She needed to get back onto the station floor. She needed to be around the team, where people would bear witness and Paul wouldn't be able to try any of his tricks.

And her mind was made up; she was telling Bobby what he had done.

One hand plastered against the wall to try and propell herself ahead, but (Y/n) cowered forward when she heard Paul's utterance of "Don't you dare."

A scream burst past her lips when he slammed her against the wall, but it was his hand that clamped around her throat which made (Y/n) feel like she was about to pass out.

The action made tears automatically well up in (Y/n)'s eyes and her lips parted but no air came in or out of her system. Her lips felt suddenly dry and chapped and her jaw ached as she desperately tried to claw for breath, but none came.

Every part of her body trembled and shook and her nails scratched into Paul's hand and wrist as she tried to get him to relent, to let go. He didn't know what he was doing. He had to be mad to be trying to strangle or in the very least, frighten her like this. How could he assume that strangling and hurting her like this was going to make a difference?

Did Paul think that this would frighten (Y/n) into submission? If she was willing to tell on his bad behaviour for kissing her, then she certainly would be willing to go to Bobby if he strangled her.

(Y/n) tried to slam her shoulders back into the wall and find the momentum to push forward and thrust her weight onto him but he had her pinned like she was glued to the wall. His short nails felt like teeth pinching into her skin and if she could have, (Y/n) would have cried or grunted at the feeling.

Tears slid down her face as her shoulders burned and thrashed and her back slid down when her feet started to skid against the polished floor.

"You gonna go tell the Captain how much you like it?"

His words leered in her ear and made her shiver and (Y/n) closed her eyes as tightly as she could so she wouldn't have to see his face hovering over hers.

He wouldn't let go. He wouldn't let her breathe. Stars were dancing across her eyes and blinkering in her vision. She was going to pass out. Her throat was starting to burn, his fingers were crushing her windpipe like it was a plastic bottle. He was going to damage her throat he he carried on for much longer.

(Y/n) tried again to scratch her nails down his neck and with as much effort as she could muster, she clenched her hand into a fist and rammed it into his neck. The force sent Paul's head to the right and he choked, his body jolting and causing his grip on her throat to loosen just enough for (Y/n) to scrape in a breath.

"Hey- hey that's enough! What the Hell are you doing?!"

The sound of Chimney's raised, panicked voice drifted down the corridor but (Y/n) couldn't hear anything over the sound of her pulse thrumming in her eardrums.

Paul's hands left her body immediately and the shock was so great that (Y/n) began to tremble and slid down the wall until she was slumped on the floor. Her hands moved to her throat, rubbing and patting her aching skin that was throbbing and pulsing like it was expanding and tripling in size. And (Y/n) began to cough and splutter, feeling as if she had been drowned.

Her skin felt raw as if she had been set on fire and her lungs were heaving and aching in her chest, trying to scramble for as much air as she could. It left her sat on the floor, wheezing and spluttering as her chest rose and fell horribly.

And a dreaded thought made her body tremble and jutter against the wall. She hoped the shock and starvation of air hadn't done anything to the baby. She was only four months along, but Paul had just slammed her into the wall, twice, and tried to strangle her. That could have any number of effects and repercussions on her system.

Her watering eyes tried to focus when she heard impending footsteps and she saw the blurred image of Chimney pelting down the hall until he was within reach.

He grabbed Paul by the shoulders, wrenching him back so he wasn't close enough to touch or reach for (Y/n) and cause her any further pain and upset.

Everything seemed to be happening all at once. (Y/n) could barely keep her eyes on Chimney who was at the point of punching Paul, but he was trying his best to refrain himself and hold back. Hen was crouching down in front of (Y/n) but she was using what little energy she had left to pull away from her and shuffle to the side. And the sound of loud footsteps disappearing, caught (Y/n)'s pounding ears but she couldn't make sense of them.

Deep, rasping breaths left Buck's lips as he pelted across the station floor, weaving behind the truck and around one of the pillars until he almost collided with the man himself that he was searching for.

Bobby.

"Buck, you okay?" Confusion laced Bobby's tone and he reached his hands out to hold onto Buck's shoulders, trying to steady him and check whether he was injured or needed some kind of assistance.

The expression on his face was unreadable. His eyes were blown wide, his lips were parted and he was sucking in deep breaths as his chest heaved and he tried to gather his thoughts and compose himself. It made Bobby feel on edge, it alerted him that clearly something wasn't right here.

"Cap! Cap… it- it's (Y/n)." The way Buck frantically pointed behind him toward the corridor where a crowd was starting to gather made him seem like a madman.

But it was all that Bobby needed to hear. His hands left Buck's shoulders in favour of weaving around him and rushing across the gleaming tiles, his boots squeaking and skidding as he tried to hurry. Something was wrong with (Y/n). Had she collapsed? Was she sick, ill? Had she fallen or injured herself? What was wrong with her?

Bobby wasn't expecting the kind of commotion he was faced with when he reached the corridor in question.

Everything seemed to be happening at once, as if an explosion had taken place within his station.

In one corner there was Chimney and Paul, seemingly pushing one another and throwing curse words back and forth. Eddie had appeared with a medic bag in hand which was set down between him and Hen, who happened to be crouching on the floor. And then there was (Y/n). Pushing back into the wall with her hands smothering her face and deep, ragged coughs leaving her lips. Her body was shaking and shuddering against the wall and her legs were splayed out on the floor, tremoring back and forth.

With all their voices intermingling together, Bobby couldn't work out what was happening or who was trying to do what.

"What the Hell is going on?"

His hands found his hips and he looked between his bedraggled team, who all seemed to pause for a brief moment when they heard his voice. All eyes fell upon him and deep breaths were the only kind of response he got. No one seemed to want to explain what was happening or they didn't fully understand the situation they found themselves in. Either way, this wouldn't do.

"Someone explain. Now."

Bobby weaved in between Eddie and Hen so he could crouch down beside (Y/n). He could see she was trying to shy away from them, but he would be the only one she wouldn't try and cower from. His touch would be the one she would allow, that she would desperately want and seek.

He tried to be careful and gently reached out for her hands which he carefully peeled away from her face so that he could finally see her. He didn't want (Y/n) hiding away from him like this.

He reeled her hands towards his lap and his head angled to one side as he looked her up and down. She was shaking, crying, barely able to take in a proper breath.

But Bobby's head snapped to the left and a horrible darkness crossed his face when he heard Paul's rasping voice.

"She came onto me. What, was I meant to say no?"

"She punched you, that isn't an invitation." Buck deadpanned as he pointed towards the blood trickling from Paul's nose.

Anyone could gather that (Y/n) hadn't come onto Paul. She was in shock, she was crying and gasping and curled up on the floor and he had a bloodied nose and vengeance in his eyes. If she came onto him or wanted any of this then a fight wouldn't have broken out between them all.

And a sarcastic kind of laugh bubbled past Chimney's lips as he gave Paul a rough shove in the shoulder.

"Really? Do you pin everyone who comes onto you to the wall by their throats?" The outrage was clear in Chimney's voice. He knew what he saw. He had seen (Y/n) being pinned to the wall, and he saw Paul squeezing her throat and trying to hold her in place.

That hadn't been some lover's interaction in a secluded corner, it had been an attack.

Terror ransacked (Y/n)'s body when Bobby's touch disappeared from her skin. For a dreaded moment she thought that he was upset with her, she thought that he might just agree with Paul's version or think that she had done something wrong in this situation.

But the pure aggression and torment lighting up Bobby's eyes showed he wasn't upset with (Y/n). He was horrified by Paul's actions.

His touch refrained from (Y/n)'s skin and she watched with watering eyes as he shot up and spun around so fast that she barely saw him move. Bobby felt like he was descending into madness. Anger and hatred were all he could think and a fog of red clouded his mind as he aimed for Paul, seeing and hearing no one but him.

His hands latched around the collar of Paul's shirt and within seconds, Bobby had the younger man pinned to the wall so loudly everyone wondered if a dent had been imbedded into the plaster.

"What did you do to her?" Violence surrounded Bobby's words and hatred laced into his tone as he put a bit more effort into his arms, pushing Paul back into he was almost moulded against the wall.

No one wanted to intervene. Bobby was Captain, as far as they were concerned, he was the one in charge. He had sole discretion over incidents like this, although this did involve his partner so priorities were intermingled now. No one wanted to be the one to stop Bobby, to pull him back or tell him to think about what he was doing because they all knew they would do the same in his position.

(Y/n) was the one who broke the tense atmosphere.

Tears continued to pool on her cheeks and ragged breaths left her lips as she scrambled forward and tried to push up onto trembling legs. Her body stumbled forward until her hands latched around Bobby's arm and she let herself fall against his back.

Her lips and nose smothered into his shoulder and she whispered his name over and over.

He couldn't get into trouble for her. (Y/n) couldn't allow that. She couldn't be the reason Bobby got a mark on his file or got himself suspended for fighting with someone under his command. He had to be fair and impartial and he couldn't do that if he was willing to punch or throttle someone, no matter what Paul had done.

"Bobby…"

An utterance of 'please' whispered after her words but (Y/n) could hardly hear herself over the ringing in her ears.

Her fingers tightened around Bobby's arm until she was sure she had to be hurting him by now and she tried to pull him back, but she had no strength and Bobby had become a pillar of stone that no one could move.

Until (Y/n) threw up.

When Bobby felt her hands yanking on his arm and he felt her dip to the right, he managed to tear his eyes away from the man he wanted to bury six feet underground and looked behind him. He watched as (Y/n) doubled over to the side, tossing up whatever she had managed to keep down from lunch.

His balance wavered and he swayed to the side when (Y/n) lost her own balance and Eddie had to step forward to hold onto her and steady her.

It was enough to pull Bobby from his trance and clear the anger that swept over him just enough to let some sense take hold of him. He dropped his hands from Paul's collar which caused the younger man to grunt and slide against the wall, but he didn't get far with Buck grasping onto his arm and yanking him roughly to one side so he was out the way.

"Get him in the office. And call the Chief."

Hen knew Bobby's last statement was uttered at her. She was acting Captain whenever Bobby was on leave and right now, his priority was (Y/n). Bobby couldn't deal with this, he couldn't be the one to question and talk to Paul or he would be liable to lash out and punch him. Hen needed to call the main office and get someone down here to help sort this out and reprimand Paul.

Twisting around, Bobby carefully wrangled his arm out of (Y/n)'s hold so he could weave both arms around her waist. He took her weight from Eddie so he was the one holding her up and his head tilted down so his lips attached to the top of her head. Each deep, ragged breath Bobby took was hushed into (Y/n)'s hair and his hand began to run up and down her back as she leant more and more into him until he was sure he was holding all of her weight up for her.

A rendition of "Come on," left Bobby's lips as he tried to usher (Y/n) out the corridor, with Chimney hovering close by (Y/n)'s other side in case he was needed.

Bobby was still seething as they slowly walked across the station floor, aiming for his office where they could be shut away from everyone else and he could try and calm (Y/n) down. He had a feeling they would have to go to the emergency room, if this became an investigation (Y/n) would needed to be checked out to see if Paul had actually caused any injuries or not. And he knew (Y/n) wasn't going to be happy with that.

"Sweetheart, why did he do that?" Bobby wasn't too sure whether he would get an answer or not and if (Y/n) didn't want to talk yet, that was okay. But he would have to find out sooner or later.

His hand began to glide up and down her arm that was shaking and covered in goosebumps. And his other hand clutched her hip like he was afraid someone was going to come along and take her from him.

"He s- he said I was easy, kissed me… he wouldn't let me go again. He k- keeps trying." (Y/n) kept her eyes tightly closed as if it would somehow erase the memory from her mind. And she turned her face to mesh against Bobby's shirt, hoping his scent and his breathing would calm her down, but his system was just as erratic as hers.

Bobby found himself nodding, but he abruptly stopped walking and his hand let go of (Y/n)'s hand in favour of cupping her chin. His thumb glided over her chin and he aimed her head back onto his shoulder so she was looking up at him with those wide, frightened eyes that made him tremble to his core.

"Again? He's done this before?" The look in Bobby's eyes told (Y/n) not to lie to him or try and play this off as underrated.

The intense look in Bobby's eyes made (Y/n) cower and shiver against him and she pressed back into his chest while her hands clutched at his arm like she was afraid she was going to collapse. Tears pooled in her eyes again which couldn't keep up eye contact.

The wheels began turning in Bobby's mind while (Y/n) stayed silent and he watched her lips quiver like she was going to burst into tears.

"Last week, when you locked yourself in my office… what did he do?" The guttural tone to Bobby's voice caused (Y/n) to mewl.

He knew something had been wrong. He knew it couldn't just have been sickness that made her hide away in his office, and to lock herself in there suggested she had been worried about something. But Bobby didn't want to push the subject, he didn't want to make (Y/n) uncomfortable or talk if she didn't want to. But now she had to. She had to tell him what had happened if it had something to do with Paul bothering her.

The way Bobby dragged his thumb across her lower lip and uttered her name in that stern, compelling voice made (Y/n) shudder down to her core and she knew she had to relent.

"He… he tried t-touching me up…" (Y/n) cringed at the deep growl that she felt rumbling in Bobby's chest and the way his arms tightened around her like he thought she was suddenly unsafe again. But it was the maddening look in his eyes that petrified her the most.

"I'm gonna kill him!"

#911 imagine #imagine #bobby x reader #bobby nash x reader #bobby nash imagine #bobby nash #pregnant! reader #evan buckley

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sunflowerwinds · 2 days ago

Text

girl, so confusing | v.a

summary: your relationships are a jumbled mess all thanks to you. you try to make amends with caitlyn but she isn’t so forgiving. vi makes an appearance that has you questioning if this was all worth it.

prev. part -> lick it, spit it

pairing: fem!cheerleader!reader x soccer player!vi

contains: modern!au, angst and so much of it, rocky friendships, tw: alcohol consumption and intoxication, and useless lesbians.

word count: 3.2K

a/n: i hope y’all don’t kill me this being my first post for pride month. i love you all. HAPPY PRIDE MONTH, ANGELS!! be safe & enjoy <333

Two weeks of absolute silence from Caitlyn is what you received from that incident.

During practice, she would purposefully ignore you and talk to pretty much every member of the squad except you. After the first few days, you figured that you deserved it.

It’s fresh, you told yourself as you watched her turn her back to you to talk to a fellow cheermate while you stared at her back; facing the indignity of your actions.

But nearing week two, you were tired of being iced out from the one girl you wanted to talk to more than anything right now. The problem with all of this was that when something like this would happen you would go to… well, Caitlyn.

Every bothersome event that happened throughout your day, you would bitch about it to Caitlyn. Now, you were stuck with no one to help you fix this.

And Vi.

Fucking Violet.

You couldn’t even start on how Vi has been treating you since the event. She didn’t text you for about a day or two, giving you the space that you had asked of her but by day five, she was spamming your phone with anxious texts.

A mixture of ‘how are you feeling today?’, ‘text me when you can please’, and the most gut-wrenching one; ‘i miss you.’

Like she was blatantly unaware that what you two had ruined everything.

At that two week mark, you had 35 unread texts from Violet and it was killing you to not answer them. Every single time you saw her name, your mind flashed the memory of Caitlyn’s infuriated and betrayed face when she realized what you had been hiding from her.

It’s not like you didn’t want to talk to Vi.

The guilt of it all was what you couldn’t handle; not while Caitlyn was shunning you out of her life.

It was the week before your first big cheerleading routine for the football team and you have had enough of it. The side-eyes when you dared to be inches near her, the huffs of annoyance when she realized you had arrived to practice, the near childish behavior when Caitlyn hadn’t even given you the time of day.

Whispers of the truth amongst your cheermates.

‘I heard she fucked Caitlyn’s ex.’

‘I think she walked in on them, like, oh my god. Talk about traumatizing.’

‘Can you believe she just did that and for so long? I would’ve beat her ass.’

That’s the thing. Even though they were talking shit about you, to your face, you were still another pretty and sweet cheerleader, just like them.

Yeah, fucking right.

So, you decided that the morning before practice, you would approach her and attempt to finally explain yourself.

Coach Medarda dismisses your squad with a not-at-all disencouraging statement: “Ladies remember, this is our first routine of the football season. We cannot mess this up. You are one unit. Without one of you, it does not work. So be present. And complicit.”

You suck in a deep breath as you watch Caitlyn chugging her water bottle on the metal bleachers, alone. Her blue strands are stuck to her forehead as her head tilts up to the cloudy blue sky, eyes shut as she attempts to calm her heart rate from flying.

You’re in a similar position but, exhaustion aside, you’re focused entirely on something else. You take a few seconds to muster up the courage and open your mouth.

You speak softly, going to sit down next to her.

“Cait?”

Her eyes peek open to see you, and they roll like they have been for the past two weeks; a familiar scene. She sits up and attempts to stand and walk away, but you reach for her wrist as a silent beg for her to stay.

Her head whips towards you with an uninterested expression, but her shoulders tense, giving away how irritated she is.

“Please, Cait. Let me explain.”

Caitlyn blinks at you, eyes flickering down to yours, which causes you to release her with a muttered apology. She sucks in a long deep breath before situating herself next to you once again, but staring straight ahead.

“Okay.” She huffs.

“Okay?” You double-check to make sure you aren’t making it up.

Her head turns to you with a sharp glare, but you nod in understanding.

Don’t push it.

You suck in a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for any reaction.

“Cait, I need you to understand I never ever meant to hurt you,” Caitlyn makes a sound similar to a scoff and a chuckle mixed into one. You ignore it for a moment as you continue. “I-I didn’t even know I was into girls until Vi and I got assigned to be partners in English Lit. It happened so quickly and one thing led to another and we were seeing each other every other day. I wanted to tell you that night about everything and come clean. It was killing me keeping that a secret from you.”

The navy haired woman turns her body to you as she questions: “Is that supposed to make me feel better? Knowing that you were doing that behind my back for weeks knowing what she did to me? That you felt guilty?”

“No. No, that’s not–” You shake your head rapidly. “That’s not what I meant–”

Caitlyn presses a palm to her damp forehead with a long sigh.

“Then what do you mean? What is the point of this… explanation?”

Your lips twitch into a frown at that, looking down at your cheer shoes.

“To try to let you know that I never wanted to keep it a secret from you. I thought it was nothing; that she wouldn’t mean anything to me but…” You trail off as you shove your face into your hand, shielding your eyes. “She does. That’s what I was going to tell you that night. That I stupidly caught feelings for her.”

Caitlyn snorts at that. “Yeah. That’s very stupid of you.”

You nod in agreement as you lean forward to look at her.

“Are we… okay?” You test.

Caitlyn sucks in a deep breath. “Why? So that you can feel better about what you did to me? Or so you can talk to me again?”

Your heart sinks at her words, and you shut your eyes, knowing you’re still not in the clear.

And your silence causes Caitlyn to shake her head with a low scoff.

“Cait—”

“I have to go so I’ll-” she stands to her feet, adjusting her ponytail. “I’ll see you around.”

Not a ‘fuck off’ or a ‘never talk to me again’, so you took that as a plus. She’s tolerating you now.

You watch her step down the metal bleachers, with that unsatisfied, hollow feeling still twisting in your chest.

Later that night, you decided to attempt to write your paper for Social Psych class but the only thing clouding your mind was a red haired figment that has been haunting you. You adjust your back, straightening it to release some tension, when you hear your phone vibrate from across the room.

You still haven’t opened your messages from Vi, refraining from giving in. But you know how easy it is for you to fold for her.

Headphones blasting the most depressing music you’ve ever heard, you type away at your keyboard with determination for any sort of distraction. You’re about halfway through when you swear you hear a thump.

Removing one headphone, you pause your movements to search for another sound. And before you put the headphone back in your ear, another thump echoes throughout the dorm.

You think for a moment that it could be Sky, so you remove both headphones and set them on the counter top. You push back on your swivel chair to leave your bedroom and make your way to the front door.

Then it hits you.

Sky’s been home for over an hour now.

You remember as she peeked into your room to ask if you wanted the leftover food from her lunch.

You're standing in front of the door when you hear another louder thump and then a groan. Curious, you lean forward to peer through the peephole.

In the warped view, you see Vi slumped against the door. One of her hands is pinching the bridge of her nose as she releases long and slow breaths.

What the fuck is she doing here?

“Vi?” You call out carefully, as you didn’t want to open the door and have her come in.

Her eyes widen as she pushes herself off of the door with a grunt.

“Hey, uh, can I come in?” Her voice is slow and has a slight slur to it.

You silently curse to yourself as it’s obvious now that Vi is intoxicated.

“How did you get here?” You ask.

Vi sighs as she shakes her head to herself. “I walked here. Got back from a party with the team.”

You blink. “It’s Monday.”

“Yeah, well, what do I have left to lose, y’know?” A weak laugh leaves her lips as she sniffles.

You shut your eyes with a long inhale before unlocking the door. You twist the knob and hesitantly tug the door open, eyes already glazed over threatening tears.

Vi stands upright to appear as sober as possible, but you aren’t blind. She’s sporting a replica of her jersey in a t-shirt form and a pair of baggy jeans.

You both just stare at each other for a moment; neither one of you is brave enough to make a move.

“Can I come in? Please?” Vi’s voice is low and a little raspy, thick with the alcohol she’s been drinking.

A beat passes. Contemplating on whether or not your choice is going to be a good idea or not.

“Yeah.”

You open the door wider and step aside, avoiding her eyes as she steps in. Her movements are lazy and careless as she looks around the space like she hasn’t been here a thousand times. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes glazed over with tears due to her intoxication.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

She points around the room with a soft hum. “Did you do something new with the decor or—”

“Vi, what are you doing here?” You cut off her joking manner.

You shut the door with a soft click and stare at her from a distance. Vi sucks in a sharp breath at your question, rubbing her heavy eyes with her thumb and middle finger.

“We ‘ave a project to do still, you know? You can’t-” she slurs slightly, raising her hand to your body that is keeping distance. “You can’t just ignore me out of nowhere for no reason. Ice me out and shit.”

You shut your eyes as you try to compose yourself, shaking your head.

“You know the reason, Violet.”

Vi takes a few steps forward, her pupils blown so wide you swear there’s only the thinnest ring left of that blue, that shade you would drown yourself willingly. Your arms stay wrapped around yourself, not for warmth, but to keep you from reaching out, from giving in to her touch.

“I wish I met you first.” Her voice is laced with misery, as one of her hands reaches for your face.

Your eyes prick with hot tears as you lean into her palm, giving in for a split second. You retract from her touch as if it's scorching, stepping away and walking around her, holding your hands up in defense. Vi sighs as you do so, turning her body to watch you.

“No. No. You can’t just show up to my place drunk and say that shit to me. I fucked up a friendship because of this, Vi.” You express, out of frustration.

Vi blinks and runs a hand over her face. “Because of this? W-What is this?”

You shake your head. She’s drunk and her knees are wobbling just standing in place, you tell yourself. You need to save this conversation for tomorrow.

“I can’t do this when you’re like this, Vi. Just– C’mon, let’s go to bed. You need to sleep.”

Vi takes a heavy step forward.

“I mean, you don’t miss me? Not even a little?” She questions, voice tight and vulnerable.

Your chest hasn’t felt this heavy in your entire life: facing a contradicting narrative over your life.

You sigh and shake your head. “Vi—“

“Because I do miss you. All the time.” She cuts you off, her voice cracking, exposing herself even more.

A deep cry settles in your throat, itching at the base, but you push it down. You can’t let yourself crumble from a few drunken words.

“Vi.”

She sniffles and breaths out a soft sigh, wiping over her dry mouth with one hand. Her eyes find yours as her bottom lip trembles for a second, before sucking in another deep breath.

You’re not sure what to make of the sight in front of you.

Is it real? Is it pathetic or an act of cowardice?

Maybe it’s both.

“Right. Sleep,” she smacks her lips. “I’ll jus’ sleep on the couch,” she waves you off as she attempts to stumble to the couch.

“Vi, please, just take my bed.”

“But where will you sleep?” She questions, blinking slowly at you.

The only thing you respond with is: “It’s a queen.”

Vi hums at that, before shrugging her shoulders, making her way to your bedroom and mumbling nonsense to herself. You follow behind her as you wipe the fallen tear that escaped from your tired eyes. Your eye catches Sky’s bedroom door slightly open and her head peeking out when Vi accidentally hits her hip on your door frame.

“Is that–” She begins to question.

“Yeah. She’s… drunk. I don’t want her going back home like that.”

Sky’s nods simply, seeming to hold back her true feelings about this situation.

“Okay. Just be careful.” Her curls fall a bit in front of her face as she shakes her head, sucking in a deep breath. “Night.”

You frown but nod back. “Night, Sky.”

Her bedroom door shuts with a soft click, making you sit with a bit of silence before walking over to your own bedroom. Stepping into the room, the first thing you see is Vi laying face first into your mattress.

In her outside scented clothes and shoes. Right in the middle.

You huff as you shut your door and lock it, walking over to Vi’s figure.

“Violet. I need to give you a change of clothes.” You tap her rising and falling back, ignoring the way she groans in frustration.

“Why?” She says into the mattress.

You sigh, rubbing your temple. “Because you’re getting your dirty clothes all over my comforter and I don’t want you sleeping in those.”

Vi rolls over on her back with a long grunt, smacking her lips and looking up at you.

“Like dirtier things haven’t been done on this comforter.” She snorts.

You feel your lips twitch into a smile because yeah, she got you there.

“Even so, come on. Stand up.”

Vi reaches for your arms to sit up and hoist off the bed onto her feet. You stare at her as you adjust your grip on her forearms to keep her upright.

“You okay?” You ask as you stare at her to try.

“Yeah, just… wanna lay back down.”

You blow out a laugh at that and shake your head. “Just give me a second and you can lay back down.”

You let go of her gently, turning toward your dresser to dig through the drawer where she used to leave her clothes, back when your routine was all fucking and studying, one bleeding into the other. You ignore the flashing of memories of you two clawing at each other the second you touch the clothes. You pull out one of her old band tees and a pair of joggers, clear your throat, and hold them out.

Her eyes are lazily blinking at you, in a daze like she’s trapped in her mind.

“I’ll turn around. Tell me if you need any help, okay?” You tell her softly.

Vi nods, eyes never leaving yours.

You tear yourself away from her and stand a few feet away with your back to her, wrapping your arms around yourself. A few seconds pass before the rustle of clothing being removed fills the still silence. That time period felt eerily long, Vi makes grunts of struggle but doesn’t ask for your help.

“‘M good.” Vi tells you after five minutes.

You turn to see her in the changed attire, her shoes now placed under your desk. She yawns and rubs a hand over her face.

“Okay, just give me a second. You can… go ahead and sleep, Vi.” You wave for her to lay back down.

Vi stares at you, eyes flickering over every inch of you. You suck in a deep breath at the intensity.

“You’re always beautiful, y’know?” She mutters before laying down with a grunt.

Jesus.

You refuse to acknowledge it for both of your sakes and watch her shut her eyes, relaxing into the mattress. You leave the bedroom for a second to enter the bathroom, shutting the door with a shuddering breath.

You need to recollect yourself before you face her again. You’re hoping she’ll be dead asleep by the time you come out.

Grabbing painkillers and nausea relievers, you tug the bathroom door open again to go to your bedroom again. Your eyes find Vi’s snuggled up body underneath the comforter now, her eyes shut and soft sighs leaving her lips.

A breath of relief leaves your mouth as you set the bottles on your bedside table, looking at her now relaxed figure.

Careful not to wake her, you shut off your lamp and lift the comforter and sheet to lay down next to her, your back to her. You believe she’s asleep until you hear her whisper in the dark.

“I promise ‘m not gonna throw up on you.”

You release a light chuckle at that.

“Violet, go to sleep.” You hum. “And you better not.”

Another minute of silence.

“Can I tell you somethin’? Before we go to bed?”

You hold back your irritated sigh, needing this sleep for you now.

“Yeah?”

Vi’s silent again, and you think she’s knocked out before she can get other words out. A trembling sigh leaves her lips before she mutters.

“I never liked Caitlyn,” she mutters with a long exhale. “But I like you so much… and I hate that I can’t fuckin’ say it when I’m sober.”

Neither of you move a muscle. A heavy silence falls over the moonlit room.

You open your mouth for a second before shutting it, knowing nothing you could say would make this situation any better. You purse your lips as you hear Vi shift from behind you, eyes prickling with emotional tears.

She’s quiet. She’s asleep.

You fall asleep next to her at last, your pillow damp with quiet tears. Hers is no different. Stained with guilt, softened by the weight of what neither of you can say.

TAGLIST: @korn-dawg @sawaagyapong @unear7hly @leeidk87 @childishname @ferxanda @whisperingcherub @rad-radical2 @strawb4kdior @natscloset @aliendustpee @satorix @rosieeteaa @moodient @mars4hellokitty @klallx @skzvilleshi @drunkenrosesluv @fairexy78 @angelynn-nicole @sevikas-baby @milanyas @jajsnjz @oatmatchalatte @laceyxrenee @kmhbygss @ariariarr @ghostlyvoidydragon @talyaisvalslutsoldier @miajooz @kitty-kei @jivimatcha @orchidprincesss @ilahrawr @morticeras @g4ys0n

#wlw #sapphic #vi arcane #arcane show #vi arcane x reader #arcane violet #arcane vi #vi fanfic #vi #arcane vi x reader #vi x reader

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azzishands · 17 hours ago

Text

Fan of a fan - Chapter six

Paige x Azzi

Word count: 5.4 k

A/N: Hi! I wanted to give you this chapter before I go on vacation and will be gone for some days. I don't really know when the next chapter's gonna be out, but it will probably be sometime at the end of next week or later. Happy summer! Oh, and not to spoil, but it's far from over...

---

April 2025

“You got the whole summer to be with your girl, stop pouting,” KK slaps the lead singer in the head, tired from hearing her complaining about not having been able to see Azzi for the last month.

“You’re literally Facetiming her every single night,” Sarah chimes in.

“Aubrey, you’re with me on this one, right? Long distance is unbearable,” Paige argues.

The German landscapes are swooshing by the windows of the bus that’s driving through the country. It’s an unusually warm April night, and The Huskies are on the tour bus on their way to the next stop on the European tour. They are sitting at the back of the bus in the small living room area with a couch and a TV-screen.

“Yeah I miss Jane a lot,” Aubrey agrees. After the Golden Globes after party, Aubrey had unexpectedly stopped with her hookups for some reason. The girls soon found out that the guitarist had actually started to catch feelings for the girl she met at the party.

“But we don’t talk all night on the phone like you do. Out of respect for the other people sleeping on the bus, you know,” she then adds, making a point.

“TRYING to sleep on the bus,” KK emphasizes, irritated.

“We have to Facetime during nights because of the time difference,” Paige says back. “And I’m trying my best to be quiet, but it’s not that simple when Azzi Fudd just happens to be a comedian as well.”

“Bro, just fly to her,” Sarah sighs, tired of this whole discussion. “We’re tired of hearing you complain about it, and you’re tired of not seeing her, so just go. We have four days off after the next stop. You’re not gonna be able to see her for long, but at least you won’t be here complaining about it.”

All eyes turn to the bassist. Fly to LA for barely four days? It’s not like Paige hadn’t thought about it before. But the time to fly there and be jet lagged, and then fly back and be jetlagged to go straight back into touring seemed like crazy behaviour for Paige to even seriously consider it herself.

Azzi and Paige had been talking about Azzi visiting them on the European tour, but the actress had a packed schedule of press until May. But truth be told, Paige couldn’t wait any longer.

It had been exactly five weeks since they had last seen each other in Minnesota. Paige was afraid that they would drift apart during the tour, but Azzi was very good at upholding contact which eventually made her realize that she didn’t have to worry about it. They quickly returned to the routine of Facetiming each other every time their schedules allowed them. And when they didn’t have time, they still texted.

“Could I really do that?” Paige asks after a moment of silence after Sarah’s passive-aggressive suggestion.

“YES! Okay good, now that’s settled, let’s get back to Fortnite please,” KK says and starts the game that has been on hold for thirty minutes because Paige just had to vent about missing Azzi.

The bandmates were truly tired of having heard the same complaints every day for the last weeks, but at the same time, they were extremely happy for their lead singer. They could do it without the constant whining, but other than that, they wouldn’t trade it for the world. They could see how happy Azzi made Paige, in the way Paige had started to write happy lyrics, or the way she would admire the view on the road more, or the way she was smiling all the time.

“You wanna play?” Aubrey asks when she notices that Paige is zoning out.

“Nah, you guys play, I’m just gonna go to bed and chill a bit. Might come later though,” Paige says and stands up.

“She’s gonna call Azzi,” Sarah murmurs while rolling her eyes.

Paige knows that the girls are happy for her, and doesn’t care about their teasing and their eye rolling. And they know it too. She’s just happy that they have the relationship with each other as sisters would have. They would take a bullet for each other, but not without annoying the fuck out of each other first.

The singer was wondering if she should surprise Azzi, or if it’s even possible. The actress could be working all those four days, and Paige would just sit alone in Azzi’s apartment, waiting for her. Of course she could meet Ice Brady while she’s there too, but it didn’t really feel worth going if Azzi won’t be able to spend time with her.

“Hey there superstar,” Azzi answers the Facetime call with a playful smile.

Paige is lying in her bunk with the curtain closed, trying to have some sort of privacy in the bus.

“Hi there pretty girl,” she responds. “What you doing?”

“I just finished an interview with Variety,” she says. “It was actually very fun, I enjoyed it. How’s Berlin?”

“Berlin was great. We’re driving to Hamburg now, and then we’re playing there in two days.”

Azzi is walking somewhere, one hand holding the phone, the other holding an ice tea. She’s wearing sunglasses to shield her eyes from the sun in sunny LA, with her hair down and a baby blue top.

“You look so good today,” Paige bites her lower lip.

“Thank you,” she lights up at the compliment. “It’s a bit dark in your bunk but of what I can see, you don’t look half bad yourself.”

“It’s all for you,” Paige blows a kiss and gives a wink.

Azzi laughs that laugh that makes Paige's stomach flutter with butterflies.

“I miss you,” Paige says, all serious.

“I miss you too,” Azzi sighs.

“What are you doing on the ninth to the twelfth?” Paige suddenly asks.

“Uh, let me check. Why?” Azzi curiously asks as she opens her calendar app to check.

“Just wondering,” Paige shrugs.

“I have a shoot with Z on the ninth, and then a youtube video with some magazine on the tenth, but then I’m free on the eleventh and twelfth.”

“Is it like a full day shoot kind of thing? And that youtube video?”

Azzi looks at Paige questioning. “The shoot is scheduled from 9 am to 4 pm, and the youtube thing is from 11 am to 3 pm, so not really. You want me to share my calendar with you?”

“I mean, if you want to,” Paige smirks. “But I’m thinking about flying to LA for a quick trip.”

Azzi’s eyes widen behind her sunglasses and she grins surprised.

“Wait, really?” she exclaims. “How come?”

“To see you, you dummy,” she snickers.

“Are you for real?” Azzi asks, astounded.

“Yeah, if you want me to.”

“Of course I want you to,” Azzi says. “The ninth to the twelfth?”

“Yeah. I mean I know we won’t be able to use all four whole days since you got work to do, but we still get to see each other, and that to me is good enough,” Paige nods.

“You’re crazy,” Azzi is smiling from ear to ear in disbelief. “You’re actually gonna come for four days all the way from Europe to LA? The jetlag will be jetlagging.”

“I don’t care. I wanna see you,” Paige simply says.

“Ugh, what did I do to deserve you,” the actress mumbles to herself more than to Paige, but Paige lights up when she picks up what she’s saying.

“So I’ll see you on the ninth?” Paige asks.

“I’ll see you on the ninth,” Azzi nods happily.

—

The days after that went by in a blur. The Huskies played in Hamburg, and immediately after the encore, Paige ran out the venue and took a taxi straight to the airport. She almost missed it when a couple fans recognized her at the airport, wanting to get some pictures, but she got to the gate just in time to board the plane before they would close it.

With a layover in Amsterdam and at least twelve hours spent in the air, Paige finally arrives at LAX at 03:00 in the morning. The time difference making her travel back in time, as if she hasn’t already been through the whole night.

Paige had insisted that Azzi didn’t have to come pick her up, but Azzi had instead insisted that she definitely wants to. So that’s why Azzi’s there, with a bouquet of purple flowers in her hand, 03:00 in the morning to pick her up.

“Oh my God,” Paige breathes out to herself when she spots the actress at the gate with the bouquet. She hurriedly walks over to her and throws her arm around her, hugging her tightly.

“Finally,” she whispers into Azzi’s hair.

“Can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you,” Azzi rubs her back.

Paige reluctantly unwraps her arms from the actress at last.

“These are for you,” Azzi says and hands her the purple flowers.

“Purple flowers!” Paige exclaims excitedly. “They are beautiful, just like you.”

“Aw stop, you should be too tired to say stuff like that,” Azzi gently nudges Paige as they start to exit the airport.

“Yeah, I’m glad it’s still night here because I need to sleep,” Paige states and puts her arm around Azzi’s shoulders as they walk out.

The airport is relatively quiet and calm. People are sleeping on the benches, and the ones who aren’t are watching over the bags to make sure they’re not stolen. Paige appreciates the quiet and still atmosphere, mainly because it makes her feel like a normal person for once. No one recognizes them, no one even looks their way.

They take a cab to Azzi’s apartment, and Paige immediately falls asleep with her head resting on Azzi’s shoulder.

“Hey sleepy head, we’re home,” Azzi wakes her up softly when the cab stops outside her building.

The sun is already starting to rise, and Paige blinks from the bright light. It feels like she’s half asleep the whole way up to Azzi’s apartment. They don’t exchange many words with each other, only comforting touches that never want to let go of each other again.

“Let’s go to bed,” Azzi leads them straight to the bedroom, seeing how Paige’s eyes are barely open.

Azzi was gonna get up in just a couple hours, but she had slept before she had gone to the airport, so she hadn’t lost that many hours of the night's sleep. But that doesn’t stop her from feeling absolutely dead the next morning when her alarm wakes her up at 7 am.

She quickly shuts it off to not wake up Paige who was spooning her from behind, holding her tightly as if she was her teddy bear. Carefully untangling herself from the blonde, she tip toes out the bedroom to get ready for her workday.

Paige doesn’t wake up until two hours later. With hours spent on the plane included, she had slept a total of thirteen hours. She shouldn’t be this tired, but the tour life was draining her energy more than she had realized.

The first thing she does is open her phone to send a text to Azzi, to wish her a good morning. But the actress had beaten her to it.

Azzi Fudd: Good morning beautiful, I made some pancakes for breakfast that I put in the fridge.Tell Ice I say hi! See you at 4 xx

The singer walks out of the bedroom and takes a look around. She has never been in Azzi’s apartment before, but she has seen it a hundred times during their Facetimes. It’s a weird feeling being somewhere that feels so familiar, yet so new.

The living room is a lot bigger than it looks like on the phone screen, and so is the kitchen. Sunlight is streaming into the windows, making the apartment feel bright and open. Paige likes that Azzi's scent is lingering in every room she walks into. She wishes her own apartment had that function.

She finds the pancakes in the fridge as promised, with a little note on it.

‘For Paige Bueckers only! Back off if you’re not Paige Bueckers. Paige Bueckers, if you’re reading this, enjoy!’

Paige chuckles to herself in amusement. She can’t stop smiling as she reheats the pancakes and eats them. She eats them all, feeling like she has been starved for the last hours just by sleeping.

The second Paige leaves the apartment building to take a taxi to the cafe Ice had sent the address to, she gets approached by a group of teenage girls. It had almost looked like they had been waiting for her, the way they were already gathered right there.

“Oh my God, Paige Bueckers! Can we get a picture?” they all ask in unison.

“Of course,” Paige smiles and gives them what they want. It’s at least eight of them, and she takes a picture with each and every one and then another one with the whole group.

“Do you know that you live in the same building as Azzi Fudd?” one of them suddenly asks.

“Oh, I don’t- um,” Paige tried to think of what to say. How does she explain that she doesn’t live there without exposing their connection to each other?

“Wait a second, I remember that picture of you two together. OH MY GOD, DID YOU JUST COME FROM HER APARTMENT? IS SHE HOME?” another girl exclaims in glee.

The atmosphere quickly becomes stressful for the singer as she tries to navigate through the situation. The group of girls are all staring at her with big hopeful eyes, just waiting for her to answer.

“Uh, yeah no, she’s not here right now,” Paige manages to say.

“Are you guys dating?”

Paige’s eyes widen in surprise from the straight question. She shouldn’t be surprised since these girls clearly have no shame in asking whatever pops up in their minds, yet here she is, wondering how it feels to be so unhinged.

“We’re just friends,” Paige swallows hard. “I have to go, but it was nice to meet you all.”

She quickly exits the scene and starts to walk off to nowhere in particular, just somewhere far away from the group of girls. She picks up her phone, ordering an Uber and opening her messages to Azzi.

Paige Bueckers: I think you might need security, there’s literally people outside your apartment waiting for you

Azzi Fudd: Was it that group of girls?

Paige Bueckers: Yeah, do you know them?

Azzi Fudd: No, but I think they live in a building nearby. They’re harmless, kind of intrusive sometimes, but mostly just sweet. Did they bother you?

Paige Bueckers: No it was fine, they just asked for pictures, and had some hard questions for me. Just got a bit worried that people know where you live like that.

Azzi Fudd: It’s cute that you’re worried. And hard questions?

Paige Bueckers: They had some questions as to why I was coming from Azzi Fudd’s apartment, let’s just say that

Azzi Fudd: Oh

Azzi Fudd: What did you say?

Paige Bueckers: I said we’re just friends

Azzi doesn’t answer immediately to that, so Paige puts her phone down in her pocket to enter the Uber that just arrived in front of her. There was no answer the whole ride to the cafe either.

“Hey Buckers,” Ice gives her friend a tight embrace as the singer finally arrives through the door. “So glad to see you again.”

“You too Ice,” Paige says. “Been too long."

They sit down at a table and order some coffee.

“How’s the tour?” Ice asks.

“It’s tiring, but I love it. Wouldn’t want it any other way anyway, I want to give it my all,” Paige smiles. “But hey, what about you? I heard you have something big going on, that movie that’s in the works that everyone is talking about?”

“Yeah, it’s basically a female version of Call me by your name, and I’ll be making my debut as an executive producer of it, which is so exciting. Which is why I’m so glad I get to see you today, because I might have a job opportunity for you,” Ice tells her.

“A job opportunity? I’m not an actor,” Paige snorts and takes a sip of her coffee.

“No but remember the unreleased album of some acoustic songs you made way back in the day? The one you said no one but-”

“-No one but you have heard, yeah?”

“Well, I kind of took the liberty and showed it to the director and the music supervisor of the movie, and… They loved it. They said they would be thrilled if you wanted to compose the soundtrack of the movie, if you want to.”

Paige just stares at her friend with wide eyes, speechless. A composer? To a whole soundtrack to a movie?

“And I’m sorry I showed your unreleased music,” Ice adds and makes a face to show how apologetic she is, and also because she doesn’t know what to say as Paige is silent.

“That’s fine,” Paige finally mumbles and swallows. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

“I know, it’s okay.”

“I mean wow,” the singer exhales. “But I can’t follow Sufjan Stevens, no way.”

“I said it's basically a female version of it, it’s not literally Call me by your name but with women. It’s a whole ‘nother storyline, whole ‘nother script, it’s not the same age gap, but it is set in Italy in the eighties. And if we would’ve wanted Sufjan Stevens, we would’ve asked him. We want you, Paige,” Ice explains.

Paige nods slowly, taking in the information, feeling overwhelmed and flattered at the same time.

“The filming will be this summer, and then the release is probably gonna be some time next year. I think they said something about winter 2026. It gives you over a year to work on it,” Ice elaborates further.

“Is this just for me, or the band?” Paige asks.

“Whatever you want. They just liked what they heard, and if you think you can deliver it by yourself, then great. If you want the band involved, then also great. It’s up to you.”

“Okay, I want the band involved. We’re in this together,” Paige confirms.

“Is that a yes then?” Ice raises her eyebrows with a smirk.

Paige just snorts. “Let me talk to them first. But I’m definitely interested. But yeah, can we have some time to think about it?”

“Of course,” Ice nods.

The singer discreetly taps on her phone to see if Azzi had answered. She hadn’t.

“So… you and Azzi?” Ice grins at her friend.

“Yeah,” Paige smiles widely. “Or well, we’re not together or anything, but we… Yeah.”

“You’re not? You sure talk about each other as if you were,” Ice states.

“I mean we haven’t talked about it. We’re exclusive I guess, but it was never something we talked about, we just kind of always were. I think.”

“So you’re exclusive but you’re not together, and you haven’t talked about it? Kinda sounds like you’re together,” Ice takes a sip from her coffee.

“I guess we’re more together than not. I guess I just assumed we weren’t since we haven’t really spent that much time together. I mean we Facetime all the time, but we haven’t really been there physically with each other that much yet because of our schedules,” Paige explains.

“I see,” her friend nods. “I mean there’s no rush. But flying from Europe to LA for four days for somebody? We’re not talking about casual, alright.”

“Of course not,” Paige huffs. “She’s amazing and I love- uh, I love being with her.”

“You know, I haven’t seen her this happy with someone ever,” Ice tells her. “I love when she’s single and not being involved with anyone because she always seems to become so passive when she is. But with you, I feel like her lively self just becomes elevated. You make her really happy.”

Paige tilts her head to the side with a questioning look. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“We haven’t really talked about our exes, but I know there were rumours about her and Maya Hawke,” Paige says hesitantly.

“Yeah, that didn’t really end well,” Ice scratches the back of her head. “Azzi was really beaten down after that. But you should probably talk to Azzi about it if you wanna know what happened.”

Paige takes a sip of her coffee with the revelation that there was in fact something between the two actresses in the past and makes a mental note to maybe ask the actress about her past relationship.

—

“Oh my God, it’s Azzi Fudd and Zendaya!” Paige pretends to freak out as the two actresses approach the singer who casually was waiting and holding a taxi for them.

“Shit, you’re Paige Bueckers from The Huskies!” Zendaya jokes back and gives her a hug.

“How was the shoot?” she asks and proceeds to give Azzi a tight hug.

“Kinda boring,” Azzi deadpans and enters the taxi. The two other girls follow her lead and they are soon on their way home. Zendaya lives on the way to Azzi’s apartment, that’s why they’re all riding together. Paige is sitting in the middle with Azzi on her left side and Zendaya by her right.

“You know Paige, you should come to this little party we’re invited to tomorrow,” Zendaya says. “I’m sure you’ll know most of the people there.”

Paige takes a look at Azzi to see her reaction to the invitation. Azzi just smiles at her and nods.

“Sure, as long as Azzi’s there, I’ll be there,” she says and grabs Azzi’s hand.

Zendaya rolls her eyes with a smile and whispers a “oh my God” under her breath.

The taxi stops after a while and lets out Zendaya.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow then,” she bids her farewell to the two in the car and walks away.

At home, Paige plumps down on the couch and motions for Azzi to join her. The actress obliges and takes a seat next to her. Without hesitation, Paige puts her arm around her and pulls her in closer.

“I’m honestly so tired,” Azzi says and snuggles into Paige. “Like, not sleepy, but just so tired from working all the time.”

“You need a break?” Paige asks softly and rubs her back.

“I’d love a break,” she says. “Caroline called me yesterday and told me that a part in a movie I had auditioned for a couple months ago was suddenly free, and they offered me the part because the one they originally casted couldn’t. The filming would start in august, so it would definitely cut my break shorter.”

“Is it a good part?”

“It is, and I really love the script,” Azzi affirms. “So I know it’s gonna be worth it, but yeah, kinda bummed about making my break shorter. Anyway, how was meeting Ice?”

Paige takes a second to think about what to say, before she speaks: “It was good. She offered me a job. To compose the soundtrack to this movie she’s gonna be an executive producer for.”

Azzi moves out of Paige’s arms to look at her with wide eyes and a big smile.

“Oh my God, that’s amazing Paige!” Azzi exclaims all excited for the singer. “Wow!”

“I know, it’s a lot,” Paige feels Azzi’s reaction rubbing off on her and can’t help but actually get excited about it as well.

“You’re gonna do it?”

“I haven’t accepted the offer yet because I need to talk with the girls about it, but I think it would be really fun,” she says.

Azzi gently throws herself on Paige and gives her a warm embrace while smiling like a fool. “I’m so excited for you,” she says, and Paige wonders to herself what she did to deserve Azzi Fudd in her life, and quietly thanks herself for making every decision that led her to this moment.

“You know, my absolute favorite song is from a movie soundtrack,” Azzi tells her as she lets her go from the embrace.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Iris with The Goo Goo Dolls. It was for the movie City of Angels. It’s my all time favorite song,” Azzi reveals.

“Thought your favorite song was one of ours,” Paige fake gasps, and Azzi just rolls her eyes. “I’m kidding. Iris is a classic, but an all time favorite? I don’t know about that.”

Azzi frowns and looks at Paige, offended. “What do you mean? It’s heartbreakingly beautiful. The lyrics? The chords? The guitar solo? I cry every time. Literally can not listen to it just anytime, because I will get emotional.”

“Yeah yeah, drama queen,” Paige teases. “Have you heard Agape from If Beale Street Could Talk? That’s emotional.”

“Yeah but it’s a different type of emotional. It’s heartbreakingly beautiful as well, but it’s more bittersweet. It’s like a beautiful ending, whether it’s sad or happy. It’s what’s being played when rolling the credits to someone’s lifestory. Iris is more raw and desperate,” Azzi argues. “Nicholas Cage literally throws away his immortality for love.“

“Okay, I might not have listened to Iris in that way,” Paige admits. “But I still think nothing can beat Agape.”

“Whatever,” Azzi shakes her head and gives Paige a gentle nudge.

“By the way,” Paige says a bit more quietly. “Ice mentioned something about you and, uh, Maya, today.”

Azzi raises her eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh,” she just says. “What did she say?”

Paige swallows nervously and answers. “Nothing much, just that it didn’t end well. I was just kind of wondering, what happened?”

Azzi takes a deep breath and looks down a bit before she starts talking. “We were just, I don’t know, kind of dating but also not. We were great together, but she just never wanted anything serious with me, which took me a while to realize. And when I confronted her about it, she said she wanted to focus on her career, and she just kind of ended things like it was easy. Like we hadn’t practically been each other’s partner for the last months. I just felt so stupid and pathetic. Like I wasn’t enough.” Azzi sighs.

Paige offers her a sad smile. “You are more than enough, Azzi,” she says softly. “Always.”

She sees the younger woman’s eyes get teary, and so she gently uses her fingers to lift up her chin and plant a soft kiss on her lips.

“I’m fine,” Azzi whispers as tears are starting to fall down her cheeks.

“You don’t have to be,” Paige just says and uses her thumbs to wipe away the tears.

“It was like four years ago, really, I don’t think about it anymore,” Azzi meets Paige’s eyes and tries to look as non-hurting as possible.

Paige just cracks up a kind smile. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt when you do think about it.”

Azzi sighs and falls into Paige’s body, who catches her so easily.

“It’s more about the way I was feeling and thinking about myself than it is about her,” Azzi says in Paige’s arms. “Like, there were days where I just felt so… unworthy. And insignificant. I wanted to mean something to her so bad, so maybe I could stop feeling insignificant.”

Paige’s blue eyes fill with tears as she hears the word from the actress. She closes them and quietly holds her breath to not cry, being grateful that Azzi is in her arms, unable to see how close she is to breaking down.

“I just get sad that there was a time where I felt like that, you know? I’m not crying because I miss her or anything,” Azzi clarifies and gently untangles herself from Paige’s arms to look at her. When she does, she is met by Paige’s quivering lip and watery eyes that are looking at Azzi with sadness, and it feels like she’s looking in the mirror. They just stare at each other for a moment. Azzi’s eyes never leave Paige’s blue ones, and none of them need to say anything to understand what’s being felt.

Paige wants to reach Azzi, wants to make her see what she sees, wants to infiltrate her for a second to share the way she feels for the actress. And so she just looks into those brown eyes, hoping that her blue ones reflect Azzi just the way Paige sees her - just perfect. Little does Paige know that Azzi is thinking the exact same thing about her in that moment.

“How can you be this beautiful,” the actress wonders out loud and gently pokes the blonde woman’s cheek.

“Just wondered the same about you,” Paige swallows and takes Azzi’s hand in hers. “Been wondering that for a couple years actually.”

Azzi cracks a smile at that and looks at her tenderly.

“I think you might be one of my first fans,” she teases. “According to Cathy, you’ve been talking about me for years apparently, you little fangirl.”

Paige just rolls her eyes, trying to act nonchalant, but feeling a little embarrassed that her step-mom had outed her like that last month.

“If I would’ve known I actually had a chance with you, I wouldn’t have opened my mouth about you that much,” she murmurs.

“Why are you so embarrassed, I think it’s cute,” Azzi chuckles. “Oh wait, were you one of those fans who made edits of me? Or like, wrote fanfics? You totally were, weren’t you.”

“No!” Paige immediately protests. “Of course not! Nothing like that, my God.”

“Yeah right,” Azzi leans forward and gives her a kiss on the cheek.

“I just watched your movies and thought you were really talented and pretty,” she defends herself.

“And?”

Paige hesitates before she finally gives in. “And I might have liked one or two edits of you…”

“Uh-huh, and?”

“Nah, that’s it,” she says and shakes her head. “But if you wanna talk about fan behaviour, let’s talk about the fact that you went to one of our concerts years ago. Now that’s stalker behaviour.”

“What?” Azzi laughs. “It was a concert.”

“Or the fact that you came to me at the Golden Globe after party, asking me for a cigarette. You don’t even smoke,” Paige argues. “You wanted this cookie bad. Stalker.”

This time Azzi can’t really argue against it, because she knows it’s partly true.

“You’re blushing,” the singer points out with a big smirk on her face.

“Shut up,” Azzi mumbles.

“Make me.”

And Azzi doesn’t hesitate as she crashes her lips to the blonde’s. Paige falls backwards from the impact and Azzi falls on top of her, perfectly straddling her lap. The way Paige gently caresses Azzi’s back with her hands doesn’t match up with the way Azzi’s kissing her so roughly.

Paige sits back up with Azzi in her lap and suddenly breaks the kiss.

“Thank you for telling me about Maya,” she says sincerely.

Azzi blinks in surprise. “Of course.”

“And I think it’s only fair that I share something with you now as well,” the singer says, visibly nervous.

“Okay,” the actress says slowly with her arms wrapped around Paige’s neck, unsure what’s gonna come next, but gives Paige her undivided attention and looks at her intently in the eyes.

“I love the way you can’t cut onions,” Paige suddenly confesses softly. “And the way you always need to take a photo of the sky. And the way you talk about acting. How you always fall asleep with your mouth open. How you cry to Frozen, every time. How you can’t help but sing any song that’s stuck in your head. How you never can admit that you’re actually shorter than me. How you listen to me when I yap. How you hold me like no one else has. How you take care of your friends and family. How you’re so grounded in this crazy industry. How you’re obsessed with unicorns. How you’re so wonderfully, amazingly, kind, beautiful, patient, funny, smart, open, warm and loving.”

Azzi doesn’t even try to wipe away the tears that are slowly rolling down her cheeks now. She just looks at Paige with the softest eyes, not understanding where this came from.

“Paige,” she says. “What a-”

“-Azzi, I’m so so in love with you.”

Paige doesn’t even wait for Azzi to say anything back, she just grabs her face and kisses her like it’s the air she needs to breathe. Azzi’s lips taste like salt from her tears, and Paige’s lips taste like love.

—

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi #pazzi fics

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xylatox · 8 hours ago

Text

Out of tune [pt1] || cbg

I am finally getting to this. Jesus. I literally have it saved in my drafts to be read exhibits A through Z below

This is insane but I wanted to read this the moment I saw it, but when it was initially published I was literally going through it through the months of March to the end of April and I always told myself I would read it but as you can see that didnt happen. BUT i am so glad Im staying up tonight and I can use that time to get through my readings (for context i have a whipping 600+ draft of fics and other things I never got to its so terrible.

Anyways enough of my yapping. I thought about this fic the other day and I am going to read it all tonight like my life depends on it.

Before I even start again Im actually so giddy to finally read this😭Like its enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, mc and gyu being producers; like my fav things ever.

You finally peeled off your glasses and turned to him with a deadpan expression. “Do I look like I had a peaceful night?”

I already love the mc’s personality. Also from the first lines I know im going to love your writing style.

His lips quirked up slightly, but he didn’t deny it. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. If there was one person in this entire company who got under your skin more than anyone else, it was Choi Beomgyu. Beomgyu, your so-called “rival.” Beomgyu, the golden boy of the production team. Beomgyu, the one person standing between you and total creative dominance.

I giggled. Workplace rivalry always makes me so giddy

Slowly, you turned to him. “I hate this company.”

I love her so much actually, this was literally me in hs and uni.

Your stomach twisted, not with nerves, not with excitement, but with that same frustrating mixture of irritation and awareness that always came with him. Because no matter how much you tried to ignore it, Beomgyu had a presence. The kind that made a room feel smaller when he walked in, like he pulled all the energy toward himself without even trying.

I will always love enemies to lovers because its always so insane how your body can viscerally react to someone’s presence. I also think Beomgyu is such a perfect fit for this entire trope because as loveable as he is, I just know he can easily get under someone’s skin

Because as much as you wanted to believe you could do this on your own, you weren’t stupid. You knew your strengths, you were a producer first, a composer second. Melodies came naturally to you, the kind that could make someone feel something without even needing lyrics. But lyrics weren’t your strong suit. You could write, sure, but not the way Beomgyu could.

I actually appreciate the fact that the mc is very self aware and knows her strengths and weaknesses and even admits that Beomgyu is a good lyricist despite not really wanting to.

Also loving Yeonjun as her roommate and him being aware that Beomgyu pushes her over her limits and the fact that she needs it. I cant wait to see them interact more and the eventual break.

Beomgyu shrugged, stirring his coffee lazily. “Me. Him. This moment of pure camaraderie.”

Me laughing because why does this comment rile me up hello. Men are annoying

Also me giggling over them cooperating like

Beomgyu’s eyes flicker with something—approval, maybe, or just excitement—and he immediately scribbles something in return, adjusting the cadence of the next line to fit. Back and forth, line by line, the song starts to take shape. He throws out a melody, you refine it. You hum a transition, he finds a way to make it sharper.

Oh my god like ??? this is so cute tho

He shifts too, elbows resting on the table, so close now that you can feel the warmth of his arm next to yours. His knee bumps against yours, but neither of you moves away.

Screaming, screaming and more screaming

I love how they naturally work so well with each other ugh. I also love how effortlessly Beomgyu riles her up

You huff, leaning back against the wall. "Taehyun, I barely have time to eat, let alone go make small talk with people I don’t care about."

Did i mention how much i love her personality? Small talk? 👎👎👎Also i just really love her friendship with Taehyun, it makes me so happy

Soobin chuckles, shrugging. "Yeah. Maybe he’s not as much of a jerk as you think." He pauses, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Or maybe he’s just trying to get under your skin."

You know how some boys get extra irritating when they like someone? Thats what it feels like seeing Beomgyu interact with the mc and its kinda sweet

I did not expect Enha to clock her like that oh my god 😭thats just fowl

You sighed, stretching your arms above your head before rolling your chair back slightly. The worst part? You knew exactly what was missing.

Giggling oh my god. Also the fact that Gyu is never there on Thursday’s peaks my interest hmm

You hesitated, glancing at Taehyun, who only gave you a small shrug like it wasn’t that big of a deal. Maybe it wasn’t. And maybe… just maybe… you were a little tired of feeling like a ghost in this industry.

This makes me so sad actually :(( shes just an antisocial bean

Beomgyu’s jaw clenched, eyes flickering back to where you stood with Yunjin and Taehyun. You looked good tonight. Too good. And it was pissing him off. Because ever since that stupid studio session where you accidentally made magic together, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you.

I love getting his POV it makes me even more giddy. Hes so down bad for her in such way that I cant explain. Also loving that Soobin and Taehyun and basically one in the same when it comes to teasing Beomgyu and mc respectively.

Theyre sharing a cigarette holy fuck, thats actually p intimate in my eyes

"Careful," he said, handing it back to you with a smirk. "If you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna start thinking you actually like me."

Screaming oh my god

"He called you talented and touched your arm twice," Beomgyu deadpanned. "That's textbook flirting."

You let out a sharp laugh. "Why do you even care?"

Beomgyu hesitated. "I don’t care," he said, a beat too late.

I will pass out I swear

"You were faking interest," he replied without hesitation. "You do that thing where you tilt your head slightly and nod, but your eyes are already somewhere else."

Fuck hes so into her

"She’s been sick for a while," he added, almost like he was saying it more to himself than to you. "Autoimmune thing. Thursdays are… her day."

I didnt expect us to get why he isnt there oh my god :((( Gyu

Also love hoe Beomgyu looks out for her in the industry since its p much a dog-eat-dog kind of environment

Beomgyu’s jaw tensed almost instantly. He felt the muscle in his cheek twitch as he forced himself to keep his expression neutral. "How the hell would I know?" he muttered, too quickly. "It’s not like I’m friends with her."

Im loving jealous Beomgyu

Yeonjun raised a brow. "You forget I’ve known you since forever. I know how your brain works. You groaned, pushing the door open "Y/N." You paused, turning back to him. Yeonjun leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Go make history."

Their relationship is also so sweet too :(

Also Beomgyu using producing lingo is oddly attractive. And also loving how he so casually mention Yeonjun being her boyfriend and I just know hes relieved when he realizes it isnt true

Why the hell did I even ask that? He scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

Im enjoying this fic so much I swear its so funny but also has moments of seriousness to it

I am soooooooooooooo suspicious of Seungcheol oh my god

Beomgyu's gaze flickered briefly down the hallway where Seungcheol had disappeared. Then, finally, he looked back at you. "You should be careful with him," he said, voice flat.

Hes so right, i can feel it

You weren’t sure what you expected, maybe another cocky remark, another teasing jab, but instead, his eyes moved over your outfit in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness. "You always wear black," he murmured, almost to himself, but his voice was just loud enough for you to catch.

The way that he notices this. The more I read the more I realize hes so in love with her. I also love how him and Yeonjun instantly click god. And I also love just Beomgyu’s personality in this context.

I DID NOT EXPECT TO SEE YUNHO HERE ??? Also Beomgyu needs to learn to hide his jealously

He smirked. Just a flash of teeth, just enough to make your stomach twist. Then he turned on his heel and walked off, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, head spinning, caught between wanting to kill him and—

Heheh oh my god. Part 1 was so good😭it sso satisfying to finally read it!! Unto part 2 hehe

out of tune ˖ ୨ 🎙◞⋆ ☆

pairing: producer!beomgyu x producer!femreader part 1 // part 2 // part 3

summary: you and beomgyu have been at each other’s throats since day one at HYBE. both of you are producers, both of you are talented, and both of you absolutely refuse to lose to the other. whether it’s competing for the best demo, fighting over studio time, or bickering in team meetings, everyone knows one thing: you and beomgyu cannot stand each other so, of course, your boss decides to put you two on the same project—producing ENHYPEN’s next album. together. as in, sharing a studio, making creative decisions, and not murdering each other in the process. and suddenly, the tension isn’t just about work.

genre: enemies to lovers, coworkers to lovers, slow burn, angst with a good payoff // w/c: 27k // warnings: not entirely proofread, smoking (reader and beomgyu smoke), drinking, angst, jealously, overworking characters, classic enemies to lovers type of plot

author's note: GUYS. i’m finally releasing this prisoner that’s been rotting in my drafts for a million years this one’s a longer fic, so i’m splitting it into part 1 and part 2! it’s definitely a slowburn, and also my first time writing a full-length fic like this. read part 2 here!!

out of tune's playlist <3

The HYBE cafeteria was unusually bright today. Or maybe that was just your headache talking.

You sat slumped at one of the corner tables, your laptop was open in front of you, but the words on the screen blurred together every time you tried to focus. Your body was in the office, but your soul was still somewhere on the dance floor from last night.

You were never drinking again.

A cup of coffee slid into your line of vision. You blinked, slowly lifting your head to see the familiar figure dropping into the seat beside you.

“Rough night?” Taehyun asked, amusement laced in his voice.

You didn’t answer, just wrapped both hands around the coffee like it was a lifeline and nodded your thanks. You took a sip, the bitter warmth cutting through the fog in your brain, and exhaled through your nose.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he pressed.

You finally peeled off your glasses and turned to him with a deadpan expression. “Do I look like I had a peaceful night?”

Taehyun let out a soft laugh. “No. You look like someone who made a lot of bad decisions and is currently regretting all of them.”

You sighed. “That’s exactly what happened.”

Taehyun was one of the few people in this building you actually liked. As a manager for a junior HYBE group, he wasn’t directly involved in your work, but somehow, over shared coffee breaks and snarky side comments during meetings, you had become friends. He was calm, observant, and, most importantly, he never judged you when you showed up like this.

“Who dragged you out last night?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Yunjin,” you mumbled, rubbing your temple.

Taehyun whistled. “That explains it. She doesn’t just go out—she goes out.”

“Tell me about it.” You shook your head. For a few moments, you just sat there, sipping your coffee in comfortable silence. The caffeine was starting to work, clearing the fog in your brain just enough for you to remember why you had dragged yourself out of bed in the first place.

“Anyway,” Taehyun said, as if reading your mind, “you think you got it?”

You glanced at him. “Got what?”

“The ENHYPEN album. You think you landed the producer role?”

You exhaled slowly, fingers tapping against your coffee cup. “Yeah. I mean, I should. I have the best pitch. It’s mine to lose.”

Taehyun hummed, watching you carefully. “Unless…”

You groaned, already knowing where this was going. “Unless the company decides to give it to Beomgyu.”

Since the moment you started working at HYBE, the two of you had been locked in a never-ending competition. You were both young, both talented, and both desperate to prove you were the best. Every project turned into a silent battle. Every meeting became a chance to outshine each other. Every time you thought you had the upper hand, he came back swinging with something better.

And, worst of all, he was good. As much as you hated to admit it, Beomgyu was one of the most talented producers in the company. His compositions were sharp, his sound design was clean, and when he wasn’t being an arrogant pain in your ass, he actually had an ear for what made a song great. But that didn’t make him any less infuriating.

“He’s been talking about it a lot,” Taehyun said, watching your reaction.

“Of course, he has,” you muttered. “He loves the sound of his own voice.”

Before Taehyun could press you, your phone buzzed with a notification. Your stomach flipped when you saw the email preview on your screen.

[HYBE Entertainment] Producer Assignment for ENHYPEN’s Next Album

Taehyun caught the way your shoulders tensed. “Well?”

You swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and opened it. And then, in bold letters, you saw it:

Lead Producers: Y/N & Choi Beomgyu.

You stared at the screen, unblinking.

Taehyun leaned over. “So?”

Slowly, you turned to him. “I hate this company.”

You barely had time to process your misery before you were ushered into one of the production meeting rooms. The headache was still lingering, but the coffee had helped enough that you could at least pretend to be functioning.

Across the table sat Baekhyun, ENHYPEN’s main A&R manager, flipping through a thick binder filled with concepts, references, and scribbled notes. He was in his mid-thirties, sharp-eyed and always impossibly put-together, the kind of guy who could walk into any room and immediately command attention.

“You look like hell,” he said, not even bothering with a greeting.

“Good morning to you too,” you muttered, dropping into your chair.

Baekhyun smirked, but didn’t push further. Instead, he slid the binder toward you. “Alright, let’s get to it. This is going to be ENHYPEN’s biggest album yet. They’re growing like crazy, and we need something that reflects that—something bold, mature, but still fresh.”

You nodded, flipping through the pages. There were mood boards, keywords, visual concepts—deep reds, blacks, a contrast of sharp and soft. “So, a sexy vibe,” you noted.

“Sexy, but not just for the sake of being sexy,” Baekhyun clarified. “It’s not about being provocative, it’s about confidence, about knowing your worth and expressing it. It needs to feel natural, not forced.”

“Got it,” you said, scanning a page filled with song references—everything from dark R&B to stripped-back acoustic ballads. “And the sound?”

“We want duality,” Baekhyun said, leaning forward. “Something sleek, something intense, but balanced with softer, more emotional tracks. Like… a contrast between the chase and the catch.”

You smirked. “So basically, heartbreak wrapped in temptation.”

Baekhyun snapped his fingers. “Exactly.”

You nodded, your mind already racing with ideas. This was the kind of project you thrived on, creating an album that told a story, something cohesive but layered, something that felt alive.

“I can already hear it,” you murmured, flipping to a blank page and jotting down rough ideas. “We need instrumentals that hit deep, a mix of live elements and modern production. R&B basslines, warm analog synths, breathy vocals in the right places…”

Baekhyun grinned. “See? This is why I knew you were the right person for this.” Your ego swelled, but before you could respond, he casually added— “And why Beomgyu is the perfect person to work on this with you.”

Just like that, your mood soured. You shut the binder and looked up at him, unimpressed. “Really?”

Baekhyun laughed. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying—”

“You’re just saying that you don’t like him. Which, frankly, is why this is going to be so interesting.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “We have completely different styles.”

“Which is exactly why this works. You bring structure, he brings unpredictability. You focus on energy, he focuses on emotion. You push each other, even when you don’t realize it.” You groaned, but you knew he wasn’t wrong. Baekhyun leaned back, watching you with an amused glint in his eyes. “You know, if you two weren’t so busy trying to one-up each other all the time, you might actually make a great team.”

You scoffed. “Doubtful.” Baekhyun only shrugged, a knowing smile on his face. You sighed, standing up and gathering your notes. “Fine. If this album flops, I’m blaming you.”

He smirked. “Noted.”

You turned toward the door, bracing yourself for the inevitable headache that would come from working directly with Beomgyu for the next few months. But as soon as you pulled it open, you nearly walked straight into someone.

Someone tall, with long black hair falling messily over sharp eyes that gleamed with something infuriatingly smug. His features were all sharp angles and effortless confidence, full lips curled into a smirk, the kind that made your blood pressure spike before he even said a word.

Choi Beomgyu.

Dressed in an oversized black hoodie layered under a leather jacket, silver chains peeking out from the neckline, and ripped jeans that looked both expensive and carelessly thrown on, he looked every bit like the type of person who thrived in controlled chaos. Like someone who knew exactly how to get under your skin and enjoyed every second of it. And he always made it look easy.

He was leaning casually against the doorframe, like he had been waiting for you to walk straight into him. His dark eyes flickered down at you, amused. He chuckled, stepping aside just enough for you to pass. But before you could make your escape, Baekhyun called from inside the room—

“Beomgyu, perfect timing. Y/N and I were just talking about how great you two are going to be working together.”

You clenched your jaw. Beomgyu turned to you, raising an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“No,” you deadpanned. “We weren’t.”

Beomgyu grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Too bad, cause I think we’re going to have so much fun.”

You took a slow breath, reminding yourself that murder was illegal. Then, without another word, you pushed past him and walked out of the room. Behind you, you could hear him laugh under his breath.

This was going to be hell.

By the time you finally stepped out of the HYBE building, the sky had already melted into deep shades of indigo. The day had been long, hours spent inside the studio, fine-tuning beats, layering harmonies, trying to shape the skeleton of a project that didn’t even exist yet. Your brain felt like mush, the melodies still buzzing in your head like an overplayed song on repeat.

You shoved your hands into your jacket pockets, letting the cool night air wake you up a little as you made your way toward the subway. Your body ached, exhaustion settling into your bones, but your mind wouldn’t shut up.

It was annoying how easy it was to think about the project, how ideas kept forming without you even trying. Even more annoying? The realization that, in some twisted way, Beomgyu was actually a good fit for this album. You hated that it made sense.

That was the problem. He was good. And he knew he was good.

His songwriting had this effortless quality, like he wasn’t just writing songs, he was telling stories. He knew how to take a concept and turn it into something that felt real. And if this album was supposed to be all about desire, longing, and the push-and-pull of emotions, then yeah, maybe he was the right person for this. But you’d rather die than admit that out loud.

With a tired sigh, you pushed the thought away as your train pulled up to the station. You just needed to go home, take a hot shower, and vent to the one person who wouldn’t hesitate to call you out on your bullshit.

By the time you unlocked the door to your apartment, you could already hear the faint sound of music playing from the living room.

Yeonjun was sprawled across the couch, laptop balanced on his stomach, probably tweaking some mix for one of his own projects. He worked at SM, but somehow, despite the constant rivalry between companies, the two of you had ended up as roommates.

Not that it was surprising. You had known each other for years, long before either of you had started working in the industry. Your friendship had survived everything: late-night study sessions in college, chaotic moving days, and now, the shared struggle of being overworked producers.

When you enter your place, the smell of something warm and familiar wrapped around you instantly. “You cooked?” Your voice came out halfway between shock and suspicion.

Yeonjun, who was also eating his ramen, looked up to give you an unimpressed look. “First of all, rude.”

You let out a breathy laugh, kicking off your shoes. “I mean, last time you ‘cooked,’ we almost set off the fire alarm, so forgive me for being a little traumatized.”

Yeonjun rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he gestured toward the table, where two bowls were already set out. “Sit. Eat. You look like you just survived a war.”

You groaned, dragging yourself to a chair. “I feel like I just survived a war.”

He lifted up, and sat across from you, resting his chin in his hand as he watched you take the first bite. The warmth of the broth was immediate, soothing the tightness in your chest that you hadn’t even realized was there. Yeonjun waited until you had eaten a little before speaking again, voice softer now. “Long day?”

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders. “Yeah. But…” You paused, picking at your noodles with your chopsticks. “I got it.”

Yeonjun blinked. “Got what?”

“The Enhypen album,” you said, finally looking at him. “Baekhyun gave me the project.”

For a second, he just stared at you. Then, his face lit up. “Oh, shit!” He practically lunged over the table to shake your shoulders. “Y/N, that’s huge! Why didn’t you say that first?”

You laughed, swatting his hands away. “I was getting there!”

“You deserve this,” he said, grinning as he leaned back again. “Seriously, they couldn’t have picked anyone better. I knew this was yours.”

His words sent a strange warmth through your chest, one that had nothing to do with the ramen. “Thanks,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I really wanted it.”

Yeonjun’s smile softened. “And now you have it.” Then, after a beat—“Wait, this means you’ll be locked in the studio for months. I’m never gonna see you.”

You snorted. “Please. You’ll be begging me to stop ranting about synth layers by the end of next week.”

“Okay, yeah, probably.” He smirked. “So, what’s the concept?”

You sat back, letting your head rest against the chair as you thought about it. “Sexy, but in a romantic way. Like… polished, expensive. Desire, but not in a loud way. It’s supposed to be smooth. Mature. A little dangerous, but still aching for something real.”

Yeonjun let out a low whistle. “Damn. Sounds like a dream album.”

You nodded, your fingers drumming absentmindedly against the table. “I spent all day trying to build a soundscape that fits that vibe. The melodies are coming together, but…” You hesitated. “It’s missing something.”

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow. “What?”

You exhaled, tapping your chopsticks against your bowl. “Lyrics.”

He didn’t say anything, just tilted his head, waiting. You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Baekhyun thinks it’s the kind of album that needs a really strong lyrical identity. It has to feel intentional. Like every word matters. And… I get it. But that’s not really my strong suit, you know?”

Yeonjun nodded, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “So… you need a songwriter.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. And that’s the problem. Because Baekhyun already assigned me one.”

Yeonjun’s lips curled at the edges. “Lemme guess.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Yep.”

His grin stretched wider. “Beomgyu.”

You pointed your chopsticks at him. “Don’t start.”

He just laughed, leaning back against his chair. “I mean, I get it. He’s good. And if the concept is all about longing, I hate to admit it, but that’s his thing.”

You exhaled sharply. “I know. That’s what’s pissing me off.”

Yeonjun chuckled. “So what, you guys are just gonna be stuck in a studio together for the next few months?”

You poked at your ramen. “Pretty much.”

“You gonna survive that?”

You scoffed. “I’ll manage.”

Yeonjun gave you a knowing look. “You say that now, but I know you. You’re gonna drive yourself insane over this.”

You groaned. “Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

He nudged your foot under the table. “Hey. For what it’s worth, I think this is gonna be good for you.”

You frowned. “How?”

“Because,” he said simply, “Beomgyu pushes you. You hate it, but you need it. And whether you want to admit it or not, the two of you working together? It’s gonna make something insane.”

You stared at him for a long moment, then sighed, dropping your head onto the table dramatically. “Why do you have to be so right all the time?”

He laughed, reaching over to ruffle your hair. “It’s a curse.”

You swatted his hand away, but the heaviness in your chest felt a little lighter. Maybe Yeonjun was right. Maybe this was exactly what you needed. But still, if Beomgyu so much as breathed wrong, you were going to kill him.

The sound of your alarm was the first thing you registered. Sharp, insistent, and entirely too aggressive for this early in the morning You groaned, rolling onto your side to slap at your phone blindly. A soft knock came from your door.

“You alive in there?” Yeonjun’s voice was muffled but amused.

“Barely,” you grumbled.

The door creaked open slightly. “You’ve got ten minutes before I leave. If you’re not ready, I’m not waiting.”

Liar. He always waited. Still, you forced yourself up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You barely had time to throw on some semi-presentable clothes before you were slipping into Yeonjun’s car.

The drive was comfortable, filled with sleepy silence and whatever playlist Yeonjun had on shuffle. Every now and then, he’d hum along to a song or tap his fingers against the steering wheel, the familiarity of it making your exhaustion a little easier to bear.

“Big day?” he asked eventually.

You sighed. “Yeah.”

Yeonjun glanced at you. “You nervous?”

You shook your head. “No. Just… mentally preparing myself.”

He smirked. “For the album or for Beomgyu?”

You shot him a glare. “Drop me off right here. I’ll walk.”

He snorted, pulling up in front of the HYBE building. “Good luck,” he said as you unbuckled your seatbelt. “Try not to freak out.”

“No promises,” you muttered, stepping out.

As you made your way inside, the familiar hum of the building’s early morning routine surrounded you, employees shuffling in, conversations murmuring in the background, the faint notes of music drifting from a nearby studio. Your first stop, as always, was the company café. You needed caffeine. But as you approached the counter, your mood soured instantly.

Because standing there—already engaged in conversation—was none other than Beomgyu.

And he wasn’t alone. Taehyun, of all people, was with him, the two of them deep in discussion. The sight made your stomach twist weirdly. You had always found it strange how someone as levelheaded as Taehyun could willingly spend so much time with him.

You weren’t sure what they were talking about, but the second Taehyun spotted you, his face lit up. “Morning, Y/N,” he greeted, completely oblivious to the way your eyes immediately locked onto Beomgyu.

“Morning,” you replied, forcing yourself to focus on Taehyun instead. “Didn’t know you two were having a little coffee date.”

Taehyun rolled his eyes, but Beomgyu, ever the opportunist, smirked. “Jealous?” he asked.

You scoffed. “Of what, exactly?”

Beomgyu shrugged, stirring his coffee lazily. “Me. Him. This moment of pure camaraderie.”

You gave him a deadpan look. Taehyun sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know why I even try.”

Before you could respond, Beomgyu leaned against the counter, regarding you with that ever-present smugness. “Baekhyun told you about the meeting, right?”

You narrowed your eyes. “What meeting?”

Beomgyu’s smirk widened. “Figures.”

You groaned. “Beomgyu.”

The songwriter just lifted his cup to his lips, clearly enjoying this. He swallowed his sip of coffee, dragging out the silence before finally saying, “Baekhyun scheduled a meeting for us. With Heeseung.”

Your brows furrowed. “Heeseung?”

“He’s co-producing some of the album,” Taehyun explained. “He’s been really hands-on with this comeback.”

You nodded slowly. You had known Heeseung was involved, but this was the first you were hearing about an actual meeting. “So when is this happening?” you asked.

Beomgyu glanced at his watch. “In about… twenty minutes.”

You inhaled sharply. “Are you serious?”

Beomgyu grinned. “What? You need more time to prepare?”

You opened your mouth, probably to say something regrettable, but Taehyun quickly stepped in. “Okay, let’s not start this before a meeting.” He shot you both a pointed look. “Try to behave, yeah?”

You exhaled sharply, turning back to the counter to grab your coffee. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.” You turned on your heel, shooting him one last glare before heading for the conference room. This was going to be a long day.

The conference room is sleek, all clean lines and soundproofed walls, but the air inside feels thick with expectation. You lean against the table, arms crossed, trying not to let the weight of the situation sink in too much. Across from you, Beomgyu sits with his usual careless ease, twirling a pen between his fingers like he’s got all the time in the world.

Baekhyun flips through the binder of notes, while Heeseung sits beside him, watching everything with that sharp, unreadable gaze of his. Heeseung is a lot of things, an incredible performer, a perfectionist, and most of all, observant. Even now, you can feel him studying you and Beomgyu, picking up on things you aren’t even saying out loud.

"Alright," Baekhyun says, snapping the binder shut. "This album is going to be big, but we need it to feel cohesive. That’s why I brought you three together." He nods toward Heeseung. "Heeseung's been working on the overall creative direction with the group, so he’s got a vision for the sound. But you two—" he looks between you and Beomgyu, "—need to bring that vision to life."

Heeseung leans forward, clasping his hands together. "I have some ideas for the emotional beats of the album. I think it should feel… layered. Not just desire for the sake of desire, but something deeper. Craving, frustration, vulnerability. The kind of push-and-pull that makes people feel something."

You nod, already picturing melodies in your head. "I get that. It can’t just be surface-level. The production has to carry that duality too, something sleek but aching underneath."

Beomgyu hums beside you, finally paying attention. "I like that. But we can’t overcomplicate it. It still has to hit immediately, you know? If the production is too… pretty, it won’t land."

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. "I wasn’t planning on making it ‘pretty.’"

His lips curve into a smirk. "You say that, but your demos always start out all delicate before you drown them in atmosphere."

You scoff, but before you can fire back, you remember something. You pull out your phone, scrolling through your files. "Actually, I have something. It’s just an idea, but…" You trail off as you connect to the speaker and press play.

The room fills with the soft hum of synths, a deep bassline kicking in a second later. The melody is restrained, almost hesitant, but there’s tension in it, a slow build that promises something bigger. Baekhyun leans back in his chair, nodding along, his fingers drumming lightly against his knee. Heeseung listens with his head tilted slightly, his brows furrowed in thought.

But it’s Beomgyu you’re watching.

His usual air of disinterest is gone. He’s listening—actually listening—his fingers absentmindedly tapping a rhythm against the table. His lips part slightly, his head tilts, and then, without saying a word, he grabs his notebook, flips to a blank page, and starts writing.

You should be annoyed. Maybe you are. But more than that, you’re intrigued. Because you recognize this version of him, the one who isn’t just all cocky smirks and sharp remarks, but the one who gets lost in the music the same way you do. The one who doesn’t just hear songs, he feels them.

And maybe it’s because you recognize it, or maybe it’s because you can already hear something forming in your own mind, but before you even realize it, you’re reaching for a pen.

The two of you don’t speak at first. You don’t need to. Beomgyu jots something down in a messy scrawl, then taps the edge of his notebook twice before turning it toward you.

Won't you give it to me? Our secret

You stare at it for a second, then shake your head. "Too direct," you murmur, crossing out a word with your pen. You rewrite it underneath—

Won't you let me in? Our secret

At some point, you pull your chair closer without thinking, angling yourself toward him as you lean over his notebook. He shifts too, elbows resting on the table, so close now that you can feel the warmth of his arm next to yours. His knee bumps against yours, but neither of you moves away.

Your phone is still connected to the speaker, and every now and then, you pause to tweak the demo, adjusting a chord, adding a reverb effect, testing how the lyrics sit against the melody. The more you work, the more the energy builds.

It’s like a high. The thrill of chasing an idea, of catching it just before it slips away. Baekhyun exhales a quiet laugh, finally breaking the silence. "Well, damn," he mutters, amused.

You glance up, only now remembering that he and Heeseung are still in the room.Heeseung is watching the two of you with his arms crossed, one brow raised like he’s witnessing something he wasn’t expecting. "Is this how you two always work?"

Beomgyu leans back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head like he didn’t just spend the last twenty minutes hyper-focused beside you. "We've never worked together"

Baekhyun smirks. "That's a shame."

You open your mouth to argue, but then you stop. Because the truth is, you don’t actually know how to explain it. You and Beomgyu have spent so much time trying to one-up each other that you’ve never really thought about what it feels like when you work together.

And maybe you don’t want to think about it too much now, either.

Beomgyu is watching you, his expression unreadable, like he’s waiting to see what you’ll say. You hesitate for half a second, then roll your eyes, reaching over to shut your notebook.

And maybe it’s just the adrenaline from the session, or maybe it’s something else entirely, but as you gather your things, you can’t shake the feeling that this—whatever just happened between you and Beomgyu—is something you’re going to be chasing again.

The moment you step into the hallway, you exhale, feeling the lingering buzz of the brainstorming session still thrumming under your skin. Your mind is moving too fast, melodies and lyrics weaving together even as you try to shake them off.

Before you get too far, Heeseung catches up to you, matching your pace effortlessly. "That was impressive," he says, hands tucked into his pockets.

You glance at him, eyebrows raised. "What was?"

He smiles knowingly. "Don’t play dumb. The way you and Beomgyu just… locked in like that. You guys have a really strong creative dynamic."

You scoff. "Please. It was a one-time thing."

Heeseung just hums in amusement. "Sure," he says, voice dripping with skepticism. "But seriously, I really liked what you did with the demo. That shift in the pre-chorus? That was smart."

The unexpected praise makes your steps falter slightly. You work with a lot of talented people, but compliments from someone like Heeseung, who has an ear for every small detail, actually mean something. "Thanks," you mutter. "Still needs work, though."

Heeseung nods. "Yeah, but that’s what makes it exciting. You and Beomgyu had some really solid ideas in there. I can already tell this album is gonna be something special."

There’s something in his voice, genuine, excited. It’s the same kind of excitement you feel when a song starts coming together, when you can hear the final product before it even exists.

And maybe—just maybe—that feeling is stronger now because of how easily you and Beomgyu fell into rhythm together. Not that you’re going to admit that.

Before you can respond, you hear footsteps approaching. Beomgyu slows as he reaches the two of you, glancing between you and Heeseung with mild curiosity. "What’s this? A secret meeting?"

You roll your eyes. Heeseung chuckles, shaking his head. "Relax, man. I was just telling Y/N how good that session was. You guys really work well together."

Beomgyu gives you a look, something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he tilts his head toward Heeseung. "You heading out?"

"Yeah," Heeseung nods. "But I’ll catch up with you guys later."

With that, he gives you one last easy smile before walking off, leaving you alone with Beomgyu. Big mistake. The second Heeseung disappears down the hall, Beomgyu turns to you with a lazy grin. "So," he drawls, "what did he say about me?"

You narrow your eyes. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he says, shifting his weight against the wall. "Did he say I was a genius? A lyrical mastermind? The only reason this album is gonna be good?"

You glare. "Wow, and here I was thinking you couldn’t possibly get more unbearable."

Beomgyu just laughs, completely unfazed. "I’m serious, though. You should really start getting used to working with me. I mean, if this first session was any proof, we make a great team."

You cross your arms. "Yeah, alright"

Beomgyu tilts his head. "Anyway, I’m gonna be in my studio for a bit—working on some ideas. You know, since I’m so dedicated."

You raise an eyebrow. "And this concerns me how?"

His smirk is instant, sharp. "Because, genius, that demo we worked on still isn’t finished. And if I remember correctly, you’re kind of obsessed with making things perfect."

You exhale through your nose, already feeling the trap he’s setting. "I’ll work on it on my own."

"Sure, sure," he muses, rocking back on his heels. "Except… we both know it’s better when we do it together."

You roll your eyes. "I don’t ‘do things together’ with you, Beomgyu."

He grins, leaning in slightly. "You did today." Your fingers twitch at your sides. You hate that he’s right. You hate that, for a moment, working with him didn’t feel like a battle, it felt electric.

Beomgyu seems to know exactly what you’re thinking, because he shrugs, all casual confidence. "I mean, if you wanna waste time trying to fix it alone, be my guest. But you saw how fast we worked together. We could probably finish a whole verse in an hour—less, if you don’t get distracted staring at me."

You scoff. "Oh my god. You're unbelievable."

"You keep saying that, but you still haven’t said no."

You open your mouth to argue, but then, against all logic, you hesitate. Because he’s right. Again. For as much as you can’t stand him, the truth is undeniable: when you and Beomgyu get into that creative zone, things happen. He watches you carefully, amusement flickering in his dark eyes as you consider it. Finally, with a heavy sigh, you relent. "Fine. Maybe I’ll stop by later."

Beomgyu beams, clearly way too pleased with himself. "Knew you would."

"Don’t get cocky."

"Too late," he says, already turning to leave. But just as he starts walking away, he throws one last remark over his shoulder— "Can’t wait to see how long you last before you come running to my studio."

You swear under your breath, clenching your fists. That smug little—No. You’re not letting him get to you. You pull out your phone, ignoring the way your heartbeat is still uneven, and type out a quick text.

[you]: are you at the company?

Taehyun responds almost instantly.

[taehyun]: Just finished up. Why? [you]: meet me outside [taehyun]: …Are you about to fight someone? [you]: just fucking get there jesus

Shoving your phone back into your pocket, you reach for the crumpled pack of cigarettes in your jacket. It’s a bad habit—one you don’t let yourself fall into often—but it’s always been your go-to when you feel like you might actually explode.

You light up, inhaling deeply, letting the nicotine settle in your lungs as you lean against the wall. The city hums around you, cars passing, distant chatter from people walking by, but your head is still full of Beomgyu. His smirk, his voice, the way he gets under your skin so damn easily.

You take another slow drag. A few minutes later, footsteps approach, and then—

"You really need to quit that," Taehyun says, stepping up beside you.

You exhale, watching the smoke dissipate into the night air. "Yeah, yeah."

He looks at you for a moment, then sighs. "Beomgyu?"

You shoot him a glare. "I hate how predictable that was."

Taehyun just laughs, shaking his head as he leans against the wall next to you. "Alright. Tell me what happened."

And you do. Between slow drags of your cigarette and exasperated hand gestures, you let it all out. Beomgyu’s arrogance, his teasing, the way he makes you want to strangle him and throw yourself into another session with him at the same time. Taehyun listens, nodding along, his expression somewhere between amused and exasperated.

When you finally finish, he exhales, running a hand through his hair. "You know," he says, "for someone who ‘hates’ working with him, you sure as hell can’t stop talking about him."

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. "I swear to god, if you say one more thing—"

"Relax," he grins, bumping his shoulder against yours. "I’m just saying. If this keeps up, this album’s gonna be fun to watch."

"Fun," you mutter, taking one last drag of your cigarette before flicking it away. "Yeah, sure. If Beomgyu doesn’t kill me first."

Taehyun snorts. "I dunno. You’re the one smoking like you’ve just seen your life flash before your eyes." You shoot him a glare, but he just grins. Taehyun shifts beside you. "So, you’re going this weekend, right?"

You frown. "Going where?"

"The HYBE party," he says, like it should be obvious. "Producers, execs, big names—basically a ‘who’s who’ of the industry."

You make a face. "Oh. That thing."

"Yes, that thing," he deadpans. "Don’t tell me you weren’t invited."

"I was."

"And?"

"And I ignored it."

Taehyun groans. "Of course you did."

You roll your eyes. "Why would I waste my time going to that? It's just a bunch of industry people getting drunk and kissing each other’s asses."

"Yeah," he says, "and that’s exactly why you should be there."

You huff, leaning back against the wall. "Taehyun, I barely have time to eat, let alone go make small talk with people I don’t care about."

He gives you a pointed look. "If you want more people to care about you, you need to start showing up to these things."

You open your mouth to argue—but then his words hit you in a way you weren’t expecting. Because you’ve heard them before. Not from him. You’re good, but no one’s ever gonna notice if you never leave this cave.

Beomgyu’s voice, unshakable, rings through your head.

It was late—too late, really, for either of you to still be in the studio—but you had been working, tweaking a demo, lost in your own world. And then he had walked in, leaning against the doorframe with that lazy smirk, watching you like he had you all figured out.

At the time, you had rolled your eyes and told him to fuck off. Now, standing here, you hate that his words come back so easily.

Taehyun must notice the shift in your expression because he nudges your shoulder. "Hey. You okay?"

You blink, shaking the thought off. "Yeah. Fine."

"Uh-huh," he says, unconvinced. "So, you’re going?"

You sigh, kicking at the pavement. "I’ll think about it."

He smirks. "That means yes."

You groan, "I hate you."

"You hate a lot of people," Taehyun teases, already stepping away. "But I’ll see you at the party, yeah?"

You don’t answer. But the thought lingers, anyway.

The walk back inside feels heavier than before. Maybe it’s the cold finally settling into your skin, or maybe it’s the fact that Taehyun’s words—and Beomgyu’s, fucking Beomgyu’s—are still bouncing around in your head.

You push the thoughts away as you step into your studio, shutting the door behind you. This is what you need. Work. Something to focus on. Something that doesn’t smirk at you like it knows you better than you know yourself.

Sitting down in front of your computer, you slip your headphones on and pull up a track you’ve been building. The beat kicks in, a deep, pulsing rhythm, crisp percussion layered underneath. You tweak a synth, adjusting the filters until it hums just right. The bass needs more weight. You push it up, listening as the sound thickens, your fingers moving without thinking.

The door swings open. You pull your headphones off, already prepared to tell whoever just barged in to knock first, but the words die on your tongue when you see who it is. Soobin.

He pauses in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, blinking at you like he wasn’t expecting to see you here either. His eyes, soft, dark, perpetually kind, widen slightly before he lets out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh—shit. Sorry," he says. "I thought this room was empty."

You shake your head, waving a dismissive hand. "It’s fine. You’re not bothering me."

He hesitates for a second, shifting on his feet like he’s not sure if he should stay or leave. You take him in properly, his hoodie slightly oversized, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal his wrists, his hair slightly tousled like he’s been running his hands through it all day. Soobin has always had this way about him, gentle, easygoing, warm in a way that makes people feel safe without even trying.

Soobin steps further into the room, leaning against the doorframe with that easy, almost shy smile of his. "So," he starts, his voice warm and easy, "how’s the project going?"

You lean back in your chair, giving a small shrug, trying to look casual despite the knot in your stomach. "Yeah, it’s going… well. I’m happy with how the beat is shaping up. Just need to refine a few things."

Soobin smiles, his gaze drifting to the computer screen, clearly not just focused on the music. There’s a softness in his expression, like he knows when you’re holding back, but he doesn’t push. "Beomgyu said you two were going to be working together on the new album," he says casually, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, still lingering by the door.

The mention of Beomgyu makes you stiffen for a split second, but you force yourself to remain composed. You try to play it cool, even though the words "working together" feel like they’ve got a much sharper edge to them.

"Yeah," you say, keeping your voice neutral. "Baekhyun put us both on the project. Not really my first choice, but… it is what it is."

Soobin tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing just a touch. "Hmm."

You raise an eyebrow, sensing that there’s something more to his reaction than he’s letting on. "What? What’s up?"

Soobin shrugs, his smile returning, but it’s a little softer now, like there’s something he wants to say but he’s not sure if he should. "I’m just surprised. Beomgyu never really talks much about the people he works with, you know?"

Your heart skips a beat. "What do you mean?"

He looks at you thoughtfully for a moment, his eyes flicking to the screen again before meeting yours. "I mean… he mentioned you, actually. Said your work was 'solid.' Which, for him, is practically a compliment."

You blink. Beomgyu? Complimenting you? It takes a moment for the words to fully sink in. "Wait, seriously?"

Soobin chuckles, shrugging. "Yeah. Maybe he’s not as much of a jerk as you think." He pauses, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Or maybe he’s just trying to get under your skin."

You roll your eyes, though there’s a small smile playing at the corner of your lips despite yourself. "I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the second option."

Soobin seems to think about that for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "But hey, maybe working together will surprise you."

You shoot him a skeptical look, but there’s something in Soobin’s voice, something sincere, that makes you pause. "Maybe," you say, your tone softer. "I just don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of surprise."

Soobin chuckles, stepping back toward the door. "Well, if anyone can handle Beomgyu’s ego, it’s you."

You watch him leave, his figure disappearing behind the door with that usual, casual air he carries, but his words stay with you. If anyone can handle Beomgyu’s ego, it’s you.

You take a deep breath, leaning back in your chair, eyes fixed on the blinking cursor on your screen. The beat you’ve been working on earlier suddenly feels distant, like it’s just background noise to the thoughts swirling in your mind.

You didn’t expect Soobin to say that. In fact, you didn’t expect him to even mention Beomgyu.

Beomgyu's ego. The words replay in your head, and you can't help but feel that familiar bitterness rise in your chest. He was arrogant, always so sure of himself, as if he thought he could charm his way into every room he walked into—every meeting, every collaboration, every conversation. But that wasn't the worst part. No, the worst part was how effective it was. He was good at what he did. So good, it made you sick to admit it.

Your fingers hover over your keyboard, but you don't type anything. Instead, you let your mind wander back to the countless times you’d crossed paths with Beomgyu. From the first time you’d met him, there had always been this unspoken tension between you two. You could never quite pinpoint why, but it was always there, like a challenge, an unspoken game.

Beomgyu was never afraid to speak his mind. Never afraid to push you, challenge you, throw something in your face to see how you'd react. He wasn’t the type to back down, especially not in a field like this, where every day felt like a battle for the top spot.

And yet, in all the years you’d worked alongside him, you’d never been able to figure him out. You hated how unpredictable he was. How he’d come in with that cocky grin, take control of a room with nothing more than his presence, and leave you second-guessing everything about the project you’d just finished.

It wasn’t just his confidence that grated on you. It was the way it worked. How easy it was for him to charm clients, co-workers, everyone. You’d always been the opposite, quiet, focused, just a little too serious for the industry’s taste. But Beomgyu? He could weave his way through conversations, make jokes, make everyone like him.

You weren’t so good at that. You weren’t good at pretending things were okay when they weren’t, and you definitely weren’t good at ignoring the way Beomgyu’s presence made your heart race just a little too fast.

You pull your headphones back on, the sound of the track filling your ears, but it doesn’t help. You can’t stop thinking about him. About his stupid smile, the way he’d always act like he knew more than you, the way you’d find yourself questioning every decision you’d made just because he disagreed with it.

You stare at the screen, tapping your fingers absentmindedly on the desk. The ping of a new message from the company chat pulls you out of your thoughts. You glance at the screen, already knowing who it is before you even look. Beomgyu.

You almost groan, but instead, you open the chat without thinking too much about it. His message is short—typical Beomgyu. And, of course, he has to type in all lowercase letters, just like you do.

[beomgyu]: you coming to work with me today or nah?

You lean back in your chair, staring at the message for a second. He always had to throw in that annoying casual tone, like you were just some kind of colleague he could poke fun at. Not that you were going to let him get to you.

[you]: maybe

The typing bubble shows up immediately, and you can already tell he’s typing a response. Of course, he wouldn’t leave you hanging.

[beomgyu]: alright, i’m coming over. don’t run away this time.

You lean back in your chair, exhaling deeply. As much as you’d like to ignore him, you know that when Beomgyu’s around, the work somehow gets done. Annoying as he is, he’s good.

A few minutes later, you hear the soft sound of the door to your studio creaking open. You don’t even look up from your computer at first, but you can feel his presence in the room. It’s hard to miss, he’s got this way of filling up space with his confidence, as if he belongs in every room he enters. "That was fast," you say, still clicking through your files.

"I was already on my way," Beomgyu replies smoothly. His voice is light, teasing, but you can hear the subtle scratch of his hoodie against his skin as he moves, stepping closer.

Only then do you finally glance up. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, head tilted slightly as he watches you like he’s already won something. "Thought you’d be hiding from me again," he muses.

You huff a quiet laugh, rolling your eyes. "I wasn’t hiding. Just… working. Something you should try sometime."

Beomgyu pushes off the frame, walking toward you with that effortless, too-cool confidence that somehow never looks forced. He doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he nods toward your screen. "What have you been working on, then?"

You hesitate for a beat. It’s not like you don’t want to show him, it’s just that you know how this goes. He’ll have something to say, and you’re not sure if you’re in the mood to let him have an opinion today. Still, your fingers move on their own, pulling up the track. "A beat," you say, pressing play. "Something I was messing with earlier."

The studio fills with the low pulse of a kick drum, steady and clean. A deep bassline follows, smooth but weighty, the kind that makes your chest vibrate. You keep your eyes on the screen, tweaking the volume slightly, but you can feel Beomgyu’s gaze shift. He’s listening. Really listening.

When the beat fades out, you finally glance at him. His usual smirk is gone, replaced by something unreadable. He stays quiet for a moment, and just when you think he might actually be serious for once, he speaks.

"It’s… not bad," he says, dragging out the words just to be annoying.

You scoff. "Not bad?"

He shrugs, fighting a grin. "I mean, I expected worse. But yeah. It’s solid." You stare at him for a second before shaking your head. Beomgyu finally laughs, a soft, genuine sound, before nudging your chair lightly with his knee. "Come on. Let’s make it better."

You side-eye him. "Since when are you this eager to work?"

He gives you a slow smirk. "Since I found out I have to prove I’m better than you."

You scoff but don’t argue. Instead, you press play again, letting the track fill the studio once more. The beat hums through the speakers, crisp and layered, but something still feels… incomplete. It’s a skeleton, a strong foundation, but it needs something to make it breathe.

Beomgyu’s fingers drum lightly against the desk, following the rhythm. "The bass is solid, but it needs more texture," he muses, his voice slipping into something more thoughtful. "Maybe a reverb on the snare? Just enough to make it feel bigger."

You hum, considering. "That could work." Your hands move quickly, adjusting a few settings, adding the effect he suggested. When you play it back, the subtle change makes a difference. The beat hits deeper, lingers in the air.

Beomgyu tilts his head, listening. "Yeah… that’s better," he mutters, almost to himself. Then he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Alright, now lyrics. What’s the vibe?"

You purse your lips, thinking. "Baekhyun wanted something sexy but with emotional weight. Not just a throwaway club song—something that actually sticks with people."

Beomgyu hums, tilting his head. "So, like… temptation?" You glance at him, curious. He gestures vaguely with his hands. "Something that feels like you shouldn’t be doing it, but you want to anyway. You know, that whole ‘I’m trying to stay away, but I keep coming back’ thing."

You hesitate, but that actually makes sense. Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you type a few rough phrases, trying to capture that idea. "Something like…" you murmur to yourself, voice trailing off as you think.

Beomgyu shifts closer, his shoulder almost brushing yours as he watches your screen. "Try flipping it," he suggests. "Instead of ‘I can’t stay away,’ what if it’s more like ‘I know you don’t want me to stay away’?"

Your fingers pause. You glance at him. His eyes flicker with something unreadable, like he knows exactly what he just did. You scoff lightly, shaking your head. "You would think of it that way."

Beomgyu grins. "What can I say? I like a little push and pull."

Rolling your eyes, you type out the line anyway. And to your annoyance, it works.

From there, the writing flows easier. He throws out ideas, some ridiculous, some brilliant. You counter them, sharpen them, adjust the phrasing. He tests melodies under his breath while you tweak the instrumental to match. The push-and-pull dynamic you usually hate about him actually fuels the process, and before you know it, the bones of the song are coming together.

At some point, Beomgyu gets up and paces the room as he mumbles lyrics under his breath, testing cadences. You watch as he stops, rewinds, repeats lines to himself like he’s working out a puzzle. It’s the most serious you’ve seen him look all day.

And, annoyingly, you find yourself thinking, not for the first time, that Beomgyu is actually really good at this. You shake the thought away. No need to inflate his already massive ego.

Eventually, you both get so lost in the work that time stops mattering.

As Beomgyu stretches, his arms extending above his head, the hem of his hoodie lifts just slightly, revealing a sliver of skin. He lets out a low groan as his back pops, shaking off the hours spent hunched over the desk. You barely register it, too lost in the sound of the track looping softly in the background, but then you catch the way he suddenly stills.

His gaze flickers to the clock on the wall, and his expression shifts. "Holy shit," he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. "It’s past midnight."

The words barely register at first. Your brain is still swimming in melodies, unfinished lyrics, and the lingering energy of collaboration. But then the weight of time settles in, and you finally blink, pulling yourself back into reality.

You sit up straighter, stretching out your fingers before glancing at the studio door. The hallway beyond is silent. The once-busy building has gone eerily still, the distant hum of conversations and footsteps long gone.

"Shit," you murmur, running a hand through your hair. "Didn’t even notice."

It’s not surprising. This happens sometimes, getting so lost in the process that hours slip by unnoticed. But something about tonight feels different. Maybe it’s the fact that you didn’t just work alone. That, for once, Beomgyu wasn’t just a distraction or an annoyance, but someone who helped.

Beomgyu, meanwhile, is watching you with something unreadable in his eyes. Then, as if snapping back into his usual self, he lets out a small breath and leans against the edge of the desk. His smirk creeps in, lazy and familiar.

"Wanna grab a beer?"

The words are so casual, so effortless, that it takes you a second to process them. You snort, already shaking your head before he can even try to convince you. "Not even if you paid me."

Beomgyu clicks his tongue, feigning deep disappointment, like you just shattered his fragile dreams. "Tsk. Alright, alright. I get it. You’re all work, no fun."

You roll your eyes, but before you can fire back, he leans in slightly. Not close enough to invade your space, but just enough that his voice drops a fraction, almost like he’s sharing a secret.

"I’ve got until the album drops to change your mind."

There’s something about the way he says it. Not teasing, not pushy, just confident, like it’s already a done deal. Like he knows you’ll give in eventually.

You scoff, but the corner of your mouth betrays you, just the tiniest flicker of a smile before you school your expression back into indifference. "Good luck with that," you mutter, standing up and stretching your arms.

Beomgyu watches you for a beat longer before pushing off the desk, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. He doesn’t say anything else, just hums in amusement as he heads for the door, his posture loose and easy.

And somehow, you already know. He won’t drop it.

The dream was still vivid when you woke up. The melody, the lyrics, everything had felt so real, like the song had already existed somewhere in your mind, just waiting to be found.

You barely remembered throwing on your clothes and rushing out the door, but now you were here, practically jogging through the HYBE hallways, desperate to get the words down before they slipped away.

Your mind was a mess of half-formed ideas and lingering dream logic, but the one thing you knew for certain was that this had to be written today. The only problem? Beomgyu was nowhere to be found.

You’d expected to see him the second you walked into the studio, already lounging in his usual spot, feet up on the desk like he owned the place. But the room was empty. No bags, no coffee cups, no signs of life.

You frowned, pulling out your phone on instinct, but there were no messages. No snarky texts from him, no last-minute updates about being late. Nothing. You tried not to dwell on the fact that it unsettled you. That you were even looking for him in the first place.

Instead, you headed back into the hallway, hoping to run into someone who knew something. That someone turned out to be Taehyun, who was standing near the vending machines, scrolling on his phone. "Hey," you called, walking up to him. "Have you seen Beomgyu?"

Taehyun barely looked up, but the slight smirk on his face told you he’d heard you just fine. "You’re looking for him?"

You folded your arms. "I just need to talk to him about the album."

He hummed, finally glancing up from his phone. "Sure. About the album."

You sighed. "Taehyun—"

"I haven't seen him," he cut in, clearly enjoying this way too much. "And even if I had, I don’t think I’d tell you. This is way too entertaining."

You rolled your eyes. "Unbelievable."

"You could just text him, you know," Taehyun pointed out.

"I could," you admitted, "but I shouldn’t have to."

Taehyun just shrugged, biting back a grin. "Well, if you’re that desperate, good luck."

You groaned, turning on your heel and heading down the hall. Desperate. Right. Beomgyu wasn’t the only person you could talk to about music.

So, instead of wasting time looking for him, you made your way to a different part of the building, where you knew you’d find people who actually showed up to work. Enhypen's break room was surprisingly lively when you walked in.

Heeseung was sitting at the center table, scrolling through his laptop, while Jake and Jungwon were arguing about something (probably a game) on the couch nearby. Sunghoon and Sunoo were by the fridge, debating which energy drink was less likely to kill them, while Jay and Niki were huddled over Jay’s phone, watching a video of some kind.

The moment you stepped inside, seven pairs of eyes turned toward you. "Whoa," Jake said, blinking. "You actually left your studio?"

"She exists outside of work?" Sunoo added, looking genuinely fascinated.

"Crazy, right?" Jay smirked. "I thought she was just a myth."

You sighed, dropping into the chair across from Heeseung. "Hilarious. All of you."

Heeseung closed his laptop, leaning forward with an amused grin. "So, what brings you here?"

The others perked up, too, the room’s energy shifting as they all turned their attention to you. You hesitated for only a second before reaching for your phone, pulling up the rough voice memo you’d recorded half-asleep that morning.

"I had this dream last night," you explained. "It was kind of abstract, but there was this melody, and I woke up with the start of a lyric in my head. It’s not much yet, but—"

"Play it," Jungwon interrupted.

You did. The room fell silent as the low, dreamy hum of your voice filled the space. It was raw, just a melody over soft chords, the words barely formed, but you could already hear the potential in it.

When it ended, there was a beat of silence. "That’s sick," Niki said immediately.

"It sounds kind of nostalgic," Jake added. "Like something that pulls you back to a specific memory, even if you don’t know what memory it is."

Heeseung nodded, thoughtful. "The vocal layering could be really cool if you lean into that hazy, dreamlike feel."

You took mental notes as they spoke, their excitement feeding into your own. Collaborating like this, bouncing ideas off of people who genuinely loved music as much as you did, was one of your favorite things. For the first time that morning, you forgot about Beomgyu entirely. Almost.

Because as the conversation started winding down, you found yourself asking, "By the way… has anyone seen Beomgyu today?"

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. "He’s never here on Thursdays."

That made you pause. "What do you mean?"

"I don’t know the details," he admitted, "but every Thursday, he just… doesn’t show up. It’s like his unofficial off day or something."

You frowned. "And no one questions that?"

Jay shrugged. "He’s Beomgyu. He gets away with a lot."

That was true, but it still felt odd. Beomgyu was everywhere, all the time. It was part of his personality, the way he always had to make himself known, make his presence felt. So, why did he suddenly disappear once a week? And more importantly… Why did you care?

The glow of the computer screen was the only thing illuminating the studio now. You leaned back in your chair, rubbing at your eyes as the melody you’d been playing on loop for the past twenty minutes continued to hum faintly through the speakers.

The demo was coming together, slowly but surely. You had the skeleton of the track—the instrumental was rich, the atmosphere was there, but the lyrics still felt incomplete. No matter how much you tried, you couldn’t quite find the missing piece.

You sighed, stretching your arms above your head before rolling your chair back slightly. The worst part? You knew exactly what was missing.

Beomgyu. You hated that realization.

As much as you wanted to deny it, things just worked when he was around. Ideas flowed easier, the process felt smoother—hell, even when you were annoyed at him, it still fueled the energy in the room. The back-and-forth, the push and pull, it all somehow led to better music.

And today, without him, it felt like dragging a boulder up a hill. You shook your head, refusing to dwell on it. It wasn’t like you needed him. You’d been making music for years before he ever stepped into your life.

Still, as you saved the latest version of the demo and shut your laptop, you couldn't shake the irritation bubbling in your chest. What the hell does he even do on Thursdays?

Pushing the thought away, you grabbed your jacket and slung your bag over your shoulder. You’d been here too long already, and at this point, you weren’t getting anything else done tonight. Just as you stepped out into the hallway, your phone buzzed in your pocket.

[yunjin]: we’re at hyehwa. bring your tired workaholic ass over here [yunjin]: before you ask, yes, yeonjun is here. yes, taehyun is here. and yes, hueningkai is here. no excuses

You exhaled through your nose, the corners of your lips twitching upward despite your exhaustion. Of course they were at Hyehwa, the bar that had somehow become your unofficial meeting spot over the years.

For a moment, you debated going straight home. But then you thought about how much time you’d already spent alone in the studio tonight, trapped in your own head. Maybe you needed a break after all.

The second you stepped inside, the familiar warmth of the bar wrapped around you like a worn-out leather jacket. The dim lighting, the low hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, it was the kind of place that always felt easy, no matter how long the day had been.

And, as expected, your friends were easy to find. Yeonjun was the first one you spotted, lounging in the booth like he had no bones in his body, one arm draped over the back of the seat. Taehyun was sitting next to him, scrolling through his phone, while Hueningkai was across from them, laughing at something Yunjin was saying. There were already a few empty beer bottles on the table, condensation still dripping from them.

You rolled your eyes as you walked over. "You guys started without me."

Hueningkai beamed. "Of course we did. You’re late."

You slid into the seat next to Yunjin, ignoring the way they were all looking at you like you were some rare specimen that had just wandered into the wild. "Yeah, yeah," you muttered, flagging down the bartender for a drink. "I was working."

"We know," Taehyun said, side-eyeing you. "You’ve been working non-stop."

Yunjin leaned in, resting her chin on her hand. "So? How’s the album going?"

You hesitated, drumming your fingers lightly against the table. "It’s… coming together."

Yeonjun squinted at you. "That doesn’t sound convincing."

You sighed. "It’s fine. Just a long day."

Taehyun raised an eyebrow. "A long day or a long day without Beomgyu?"

You froze mid-sip, the beer bottle barely touching your lips before you slowly lowered it back down to the table. "I’m not talking about him right now," you said flatly, setting the bottle down with a quiet clink against the wood. "I’m here to have a drink with my friends, not to analyze my work situation."

Taehyun smirked like he knew exactly what you were doing. Yeonjun raised his hands in surrender, but the knowing look in his eyes was still irritating. Hueningkai, ever the agent of chaos, just grinned.

"Alright, alright," Yunjin said, leaning back. "No Beomgyu talk. But, speaking of things you do need to talk about—" She fixed you with a pointed look. "You’re coming to the HYBE party, right?"

"I'm thinking about it," you corrected, crossing your arms. "I have work to do. I don’t have time to stand around making awkward small talk with industry people who don’t even know my name."

Yunjin groaned, dramatically letting her head fall against the table before snapping back up with renewed determination. "Listen. You spend every waking moment working on this album. You need to breathe. Plus, I’m going."

"And?"

"And that means you have no excuse not to."

You snorted. "That logic is flawed."

"It’s actually foolproof," she argued. "And you know who else is going? Taehyun."

"…Fine," you muttered.

Yunjin’s face lit up. "Yes!"

"I’m going with you and Taehyun," you clarified. "And if it sucks, I’m leaving early."

"Deal," she grinned, clinking her beer against yours.

As the conversation moved on, you took another sip of your drink, pushing away the nagging thought that had been lingering at the back of your mind. Because you knew exactly who was going to be at that party. And whether you admitted it or not, part of you was already wondering if you'd run into him.

When you woke up, sunlight was already spilling through the curtains, the golden hue casting soft shadows across your room. For a few blissful moments, you lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting yourself exist in the quiet. But the minute your mind fully registered what day it was, that peace shattered. The HYBE party.

You groaned, rubbing a hand over your face. Part of you still wanted to back out. It wasn’t like anyone would really care if you didn’t show up. You weren’t the kind of person people noticed at these events. And yet… you’d already agreed to go.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you padded into the kitchen, still in your oversized sleep shirt, your hair a mess from sleep. To your surprise, Yeonjun was already up, standing by the coffee machine, scrolling through his phone. "You’re awake early," you mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.

He glanced up, smiling lazily. "And you look like you got hit by a truck."

You scowled, reaching for a mug. "Thanks."

Yeonjun chuckled and, before you could react, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a warm embrace. "You looked like you needed it," he murmured against your hair.

For a second, you stiffened, but then you exhaled, letting yourself melt into him, pressing your face against his chest. He was warm, solid, and familiar. The kind of comfort that didn’t need words. "…I don’t know why I feel weird about tonight," you admitted quietly.

Yeonjun didn’t let go, just rubbed small, soothing circles against your back. "You don’t have to go if you don’t want to."

You sighed. "I know. But… maybe I should go. Maybe I need to stop avoiding these things."

He hummed in agreement, waiting a beat before asking, "Beomgyu’s gonna be there, huh?"

You groaned into his shirt. "Why are you like this?"

He laughed, finally pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "Because I know you. And I know that’s part of what’s making you overthink this."

You didn’t deny it. Because as much as you hated to admit it, a small part of you was wondering—if you went, would you run into him? And if you did… then what?

The day dragged on slower than usual, each hour stretching endlessly as you fought to keep your mind occupied. You had promised Yunjin you’d go to her apartment to get ready together. As much as you had hoped the day would pass without the need to confront your nerves, the time had come. The tension in your chest flared up again, and for a split second, you wished you could back out. But you couldn’t.

When you arrived at her apartment, Yunjin was perched at her vanity, still in a robe, mascara wand frozen mid-air as she turned to look at you. "Took you long enough," she teased, a grin pulling at her lips.

On the bed, Taehyun was sprawled out, scrolling through his phone with that signature, mildly unimpressed expression he always wore. "I’ve been trapped here for thirty minutes," he deadpanned. "Save me."

You snorted, already feeling more at ease. This was exactly what you needed, the mindless chatter, the shared chaos of getting ready, and the reminder that not everything in your life had to revolve around late-night studio sessions and a certain annoying producer who lived rent-free in your head.

By the time you were all dressed and out the door, the city lights stretched out in front of you, buzzing with life. The party was already in full swing when you arrived, the familiar pulse of bass-heavy music vibrating through the ground, bodies moving under dim lights, and the haze of cigarette smoke lingering in the air.

Yunjin led the way, slipping effortlessly into the crowd. Taehyun trailed behind with his usual nonchalant vibe, and you… well, you were busy doing exactly what you promised yourself you wouldn’t do: scanning the room for him.

And then, you saw him.

Beomgyu stood near the corner of the room, deep in conversation with Soobin. It was the kind of effortless, laid-back energy that somehow made him stand out in a room full of people trying too hard.

He wasn’t drowning in one of those oversized hoodies he always wore in the studio. No, tonight was different. He had on a simple black button-up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing just enough of his wrists to make you irrationally annoyed. The fabric clung to him in all the right places, and paired with black jeans and silver rings on his fingers, he looked…

You blinked, irritated at yourself. No. Absolutely not.

But your eyes betrayed you, tracing the way he casually ran a hand through his hair as he laughed at something Soobin said. He looked relaxed, like he belonged in this kind of environment, like he wasn’t the same Beomgyu who spent hours annoying the life out of you in the studio. And worse, he looked… good. But you would literally rather die than admit that out loud.

What you didn’t know was that, from across the room, Beomgyu was watching you just as intently.

He leaned against the wall, drink in hand, nodding absentmindedly as Soobin spoke, but his attention kept slipping, drawn back to the way you moved through the crowd. The way your eyes flickered around the room, pretending not to be looking for him. The way you laughed at something Yunjin said, even though you were clearly trying to hide how uncomfortable you felt being here.

It was unfair, really. How easily you occupied space in his head without even trying.

"Are you even listening to me?" Soobin’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Beomgyu blinked, tearing his gaze away from you. "Huh?"

Soobin sighed, already used to this. "I said, how’s the album coming along? Baekhyun’s been hyping your demos, but you’ve been suspiciously quiet about working with Y/N."

Beomgyu scoffed, taking a sip of his drink. "It’s… fine."

Soobin raised an eyebrow. "Fine?"

Beomgyu hesitated, rolling the glass between his fingers. "She’s annoying," he muttered. "Thinks she knows everything. Always overcomplicates the production and acts like she’s too good to work with me."

Soobin let out a quiet laugh. "Right. And that’s why you’ve been writing the best shit of your career since you two started working together."

Beomgyu shot him a look. "Shut up."

"You like working with her," Soobin said, deadpan.

"I do not," Beomgyu snapped, a little too quickly.

Soobin’s grin only widened. "No? Then why do you keep staring at her like that?"

The way your mind worked. The way your fingers moved across the keyboard, tweaking melodies until they hit just right. The way you bit your lip when you were focused, completely lost in the sound.

You made him crazy. And maybe that’s exactly why the album was turning out the way it was, raw, sharp, full of tension. It wasn’t just music. It was you. Beomgyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. "She drives me insane."

Soobin smirked. "And here you are saying that you don't like working with her."

Beomgyu glared at him. "I swear to god, Soobin—"

"Come on," Soobin grinned. "You’re just not ready to admit that this whole ‘hating each other’ thing is actually… kind of your thing."

Beomgyu didn’t respond. Because deep down, he knew Soobin was right. And that terrified him.

You weren’t exactly expecting Baekhyun to pull you aside at this party, but here you were, following him through the crowded room as he weaved between people with practiced ease. "Y/N," he started, glancing back at you with a smirk, "I’ve been meaning to introduce you to someone."

You barely had time to ask who before you found yourself face to face with Choi Seungcheol, one of HYBE’s creative directors. He was taller than you expected, dressed in a sleek black suit that somehow made him look more approachable than intimidating.

"Y/N’s producing the new Enhypen album," Baekhyun introduced casually.

Seungcheol’s eyes lit up with recognition as he extended his hand toward you. "Ah, I’ve heard about you. Your demos are impressive."

You shook his hand, hiding the way your stomach flipped at the compliment. "Thank you. I’m… still figuring things out."

"You and everyone else in this company," Seungcheol chuckled. His tone was light, polite, the kind of effortless charm that only someone who’s been in the industry for years could pull off.

The conversation flowed easily from there. Seungcheol asked about your creative process, subtly throwing in references to producers you admired, showing he actually understood what you did. It felt… good. Like for once, someone saw you as more than just “the girl working with Beomgyu.”

Which was exactly when Beomgyu appeared. You didn’t notice him at first, too caught up in whatever Seungcheol was saying, but you felt it. That weird shift in the air when someone’s eyes are on you.

Beomgyu stood just a few feet away. You forced yourself to ignore him, focusing back on Seungcheol, who was mid-sentence about the new creative direction HYBE was taking. But from the corner of your eye, you saw Beomgyu lingering, not quite joining the conversation, but not leaving either.

It was annoying. Typical, actually. You knew exactly what he was doing, standing there, listening, watching. Almost as if he was waiting for the right moment to insert himself. And, of course, he did.

"Y/N," Beomgyu’s voice cut in smoothly, "Baekhyun’s been looking for you."

Your eyes narrowed as you turned to face him. "Funny. I’ve been with Baekhyun for the past ten minutes."

Beomgyu’s lips twitched, but his gaze flickered, just for a second, toward Seungcheol. "Guess he forgot to mention it." There it was. That subtle edge in his voice. Not enough for anyone else to catch, but you knew him too well by now.

Seungcheol seemed unfazed, stepping back slightly as if sensing whatever weird energy was happening between you two. "I’ll let you handle that," he said, offering you a polite smile. "It was great meeting you, Y/N. I’ll keep an eye out for your work."

"Likewise," you replied, hoping your voice didn’t sound as awkward as you felt. Seungcheol disappeared into the crowd, leaving you and Beomgyu standing there in uncomfortable silence. You turned to him, arms crossed. "Really? What was that?"

"What was what?" Beomgyu replied, all fake innocence.

"You’re ridiculous," you muttered, already moving past him.

But before you could disappear into the crowd, you heard him mumble under his breath, just loud enough for you to catch:

"I bet he doesn’t even know what a compressor does."

You stopped dead in your tracks, spinning around to face him. "Oh my god, you’re actually jealous."

Beomgyu blinked. "What? No."

"You totally are."

"I just think," he said, with that infuriating smirk, "that some people like to talk more than they actually create."

You stared at him, half in disbelief, half wanting to strangle him. "Unbelievable," you muttered, turning away again.

"Where are you going?"

"Away from you," you shot back over your shoulder.

But as you pushed through the crowd, your heart was pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the music. And somewhere behind you, Beomgyu stood there, running a hand through his hair, wondering what the hell you’d done to him.

The night pressed on, and you let yourself slip into the chaos of the party.

Yunjin dragged you to the dance floor, her hand wrapped around yours as the bass vibrated through your chest. Taehyun hovered nearby, doing his signature head-bop move with a drink in hand, pretending he was too cool to enjoy himself when, in reality, he was having the time of his life.

You allowed yourself to let go for a bit, letting the music drown out the noise in your head, the pressure of the album, and, most importantly, the fact that Beomgyu was somewhere in this room, probably still brooding after whatever weird stunt he pulled earlier.

But even as you danced, laughed with Yunjin, and stole sips from Taehyun’s drink, you felt it. That annoying awareness of him.

You caught glimpses of him through the crowd, leaning against a wall, talking to Soobin, occasionally scanning the room. And somehow, every time your eyes accidentally met, he’d hold your gaze for just a second too long before looking away, leaving something heavy and unspoken lingering in the air. It was messing with your head.

You slipped out to the smoking area, grateful for the cool night air against your skin. There were a few other people scattered around, some making out against the wall, others huddled in quiet conversations, but you found a spot in the corner, leaning against the railing as you lit a cigarette.

It was a bad habit, one you only fell back into when you were stressed. But tonight, it felt… necessary.

The first inhale burned your lungs in that oddly comforting way, and you let your head fall back, eyes closing for a moment as you exhaled. You barely heard the door creak open behind you, but the familiar voice made you tense instantly.

"Wow. Didn’t peg you as a smoker."

You opened your eyes, already irritated. "Of course, it’s you."

Beomgyu stood a few feet away, hands shoved in his pockets, watching you with that same infuriating expression he always wore, somewhere between amused and way too pleased with himself. He huffed a quiet laugh, stepping closer until he was leaning against the railing beside you.

"I’m not stalking you," he muttered, eyes flickering to your cigarette. "I just needed air."

"Right," you replied, taking another drag. The silence between you stretched for a moment, surprisingly comfortable. The muffled music from inside bled through the walls, mixed with the distant sounds of traffic from the streets below.

"I didn’t know you smoked," Beomgyu said quietly.

"I don’t," you replied. "Only when I’m overthinking."

He glanced at you. "What are you overthinking about?"

You hesitated, unsure why you were even entertaining this conversation. "The album," you finally said. "And… other things."

Beomgyu hummed, eyes fixed ahead. "Same."

That surprised you. For some reason, you always assumed Beomgyu was immune to self-doubt, that everything came easy to him. But now, standing here under the dim light, he looked tired. Almost like he was carrying the same weight you were.

He grinned, and for a moment, the tension between you softened into something else. Something unfamiliar. You took another drag of your cigarette before handing it to him without a word.

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You’re sharing with the enemy now?"

"Take it or leave it," you muttered.

He hesitated for half a second before accepting it, bringing it to his lips and inhaling slowly. You hated how attractive that looked. And of course, Beomgyu caught you staring.

"Careful," he said, handing it back to you with a smirk. "If you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna start thinking you actually like me."

"God, I regret this already," you groaned, turning away.

But Beomgyu just chuckled, leaning closer until his shoulder brushed against yours. "Too late," he murmured. "You let me in."

You took the cigarette back from Beomgyu, bringing it to your lips again as the cold air pressed against your skin. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The music from inside thumped faintly in the background, but out here, it felt like you were in a completely different world, one that was quieter, slower.

"So," Beomgyu started, breaking the silence, "have you thought more about track five?"

You nearly choked on the smoke. "Are you seriously talking about the album right now?" You turned to him, disbelief written all over your face. "We're at a party."

Beomgyu shrugged. "What, you think I know how to do small talk?" You huffed, half amused, half annoyed. "You were literally talking about work with Seungcheol earlier," he quipped, stealing it from your hand again.

You let him, watching as he took another slow drag before handing it back. You groaned, already regretting letting him stay out here. "Oh my God. Don’t."

"I’m just saying," Beomgyu muttered, gaze fixed on the ground. "He was totally flirting with you."

You rolled your eyes. "He was being polite."

"He called you talented and touched your arm twice," Beomgyu deadpanned. "That's textbook flirting."

You let out a sharp laugh. "Why do you even care?"

Beomgyu hesitated. "I don’t care," he said, a beat too late.

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Sure." Your breath hitched slightly, but you masked it by taking another drag of the cigarette. Beomgyu shifted beside you, leaning his weight against the railing. "You know," you started, voice low, "for someone who allegedly doesn't care, you spend an awful lot of time ruining my conversations."

Beomgyu let out a soft scoff, eyes fixed somewhere ahead. "You looked bored."

"I wasn’t bored."

"You were faking interest," he replied without hesitation. "You do that thing where you tilt your head slightly and nod, but your eyes are already somewhere else."

You blinked, caught off guard. "Didn’t know you analyzed me that much," you muttered.

"I don’t," Beomgyu replied too quickly.

You just hummed in response, taking another slow drag. The distant hum of the party buzzed faintly behind you, but out here, it felt like you’d slipped into some strange, quieter version of reality.

Your eyes flickered to him again, noticing the subtle tension in his posture, the way his fingers tapped against his rings, the same nervous habit you’d seen in the studio when he thought no one was looking.

You hesitated before speaking again. "Why don’t you work on Thursdays?"

Beomgyu stilled. You almost regretted asking, but he didn’t look at you, didn’t deflect like you expected him to. Instead, he let out a slow breath through his nose.

"I visit my mom," he said quietly.

Your breath caught in your throat. "What do you mean?"

"She’s been sick for a while," he added, almost like he was saying it more to himself than to you. "Autoimmune thing. Thursdays are… her day."

Your grip on the cigarette faltered slightly. You hadn’t expected honesty. You turned to him, but his gaze remained fixed ahead, like saying it out loud would make it heavier. "I didn’t know," you said softly.

"Yeah," he replied, almost like he was amused by your reaction. "Why would you?"

You wanted to say something, but words felt too fragile for whatever this was. So you didn’t. You just stood there, feeling that strange shift in the air, the one where he felt less like your annoying rival and more like… You weren’t sure what.

Beomgyu glanced at you then, catching the way you were looking at him. "What?" he asked, almost defensive.

"Nothing," you replied, turning away.

But it wasn’t nothing. It was everything you’d never noticed about him until now. You pressed the cigarette against the railing, watching the ember die out. The air outside felt heavier than usual, but maybe that was just the way Beomgyu’s presence filled every empty space.

"I should head back," you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Beomgyu didn’t look at you. He stayed leaning against the railing, gaze fixed on some distant point in the city, jaw tight like he was holding something back.

"Do yourself a favor," he said suddenly, voice low. "Be careful with who you let think they know you."

You frowned, turning to him. "What?"

Beomgyu exhaled slowly, like he already regretted speaking. "These people," he gestured vaguely toward the noise inside. "They’ll act like they want you around. Like they see potential in you. But they don’t actually care. They just want something to say they discovered first."

You blinked, caught off guard. "You think that’s what Seungcheol was doing?"

Beomgyu scoffed, eyes flickering to yours. "I think you’re too naive to notice when people are looking at you for the wrong reasons."

You stared at him, searching for whatever this was, this strange tension that always seemed to surface when the two of you were left alone. But before you could step inside, Beomgyu spoke again.

"I’m serious, Y/N." His voice softened slightly. "You're new to this. You think people in this industry want you to win, but they don't. They want you to be grateful. They want you to be quiet. And the second you stop being useful to them, they’ll move on."

You hesitated, hand hovering over the door handle. "And you?" you asked quietly. "What do you want from me, Beomgyu?"

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, barely above a whisper:

"Nothing."

You turned back, but he was already looking away, like he hadn’t just said something that would stay stuck in your head for weeks. You lingered for half a second before slipping back inside, the noise of the party swallowing you whole.

But somehow, you could still feel him. And that scared you more than anything.

The party felt louder when you stepped back inside, but maybe that was just the ringing in your ears from whatever the hell that conversation with Beomgyu was. You pushed through the crowd, head spinning, eyes searching for familiar faces. Yunjin and Taehyun were by the bar, Yunjin holding a half-finished drink and Taehyun looking like he was ready to disappear from this place an hour ago.

"I’m heading out," you told them.

Yunjin pouted. "Already?"

"I’m… tired." You offered her a weak smile, not really in the mood to explain why your chest felt weird or why Beomgyu’s words kept looping in your head.

Taehyun raised a brow but didn’t question it. "Get home safe."

You nodded, squeezing Yunjin’s arm lightly before slipping away. As you stepped outside, the night air hit you harder than you expected. You pulled out your phone and hesitated for a moment before typing:

[you]: where r u?

It didn’t take Yeonjun long to reply.

[yeonjun]: me and kai just found a sketchy fried chicken place that’s probably violating health codes. u want in?

You smiled.

[you]: can u come pick me up? [yeonjun]: omw.

You waited by the curb, the distant hum of the city filling the silence Beomgyu had left in your head.

When Yeonjun’s car pulled up a few minutes later, you moved toward it, already feeling the tension ease at the thought of greasy food and whatever chaos he and Kai were on tonight. But as you reached for the door handle, your eyes flickered to the side.

There, a few feet away, Beomgyu stood near the entrance, Soobin beside him, waiting for their own ride. You weren’t sure if he saw you first or if he was already looking, but when your eyes met, something heavy passed between you.

His gaze shifted to Yeonjun in the driver’s seat. Then back to you. You stepped into the car, shutting the door behind you.

"Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?" Yeonjun asked as you buckled your seatbelt.

"Nothing," you muttered.

Through the glass, you caught one last glimpse of Beomgyu, standing there with Soobin, hands shoved into his pockets, his gaze still following you as the car pulled away. Something about the way he looked at you sat uncomfortably in your stomach, like he was trying to figure something out but refused to admit he cared enough to.

You turned away, resting your head against the seat.

Beomgyu watched the car disappear down the street, jaw tightening.

Soobin, who’d been standing quietly next to him this whole time, finally spoke, breaking whatever strange daze Beomgyu had fallen into. "So… that guy in the car," he nodded toward the street where Yeonjun’s car had disappeared, "is that her boyfriend?"

Soobin let out a short laugh, "Yeah," he said, nodding slowly. "That’s definitely something someone who doesn’t care would say."

Beomgyu didn’t respond. Mostly because he couldn’t. Because Soobin was right. And that fact made something burn in his chest in a way he didn’t know how to handle.

It wasn’t like he cared who you left with. So instead of acknowledging whatever the hell this feeling was, Beomgyu just scoffed, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his jeans. "Whatever," he muttered. "She’s not that interesting anyway."

Soobin snorted. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that."

Beomgyu shot him a glare, but Soobin just grinned, already knowing exactly what was happening. Because it was obvious to everyone but Beomgyu. He wasn’t just annoyed with you. He was already losing. And worse, he didn’t even realize he was playing.

The weekend passed in a blur of chaotic laughter and burnt virtual pizzas. You'd spent most of it holed up in your apartment, playing Overcooked with Yeonjun and Kai. Between screaming at each other in the kitchen and ordering way too much takeout, you actually felt… okay.

It was easy to forget about Beomgyu when you were surrounded by Yeonjun’s easy energy and Kai’s ridiculous commentary. Easy to forget how weird you’d felt after that conversation outside the party. How something about the way Beomgyu looked at you that night had stuck to your skin, refusing to leave.

But now, Monday morning had arrived, dragging you back to reality.

Yeonjun’s car rolled through the streets of Seoul, the city still half-asleep as the sun painted soft light across the buildings. You stared out the window, anxiety already bubbling in your chest at the thought of stepping into that studio again.

"You’re spiraling," Yeonjun said, breaking the silence.

You turned to him with a frown. "I’m not spiraling."

"You are," he replied easily, eyes still on the road. "You always do this before big projects. You convince yourself you're not good enough, overwork yourself to the point of insanity, and then act surprised when you have a breakdown in the bathroom."

"That happened one time," you muttered. Yeonjun shot you a look "Okay, twice," you admitted.

He sighed, softening. "You’re too hard on yourself, Y/N. You’re one of the most talented people I know. You just… need to stop letting other people’s opinions get in your head." You chewed on the inside of your cheek, not fully convinced but too tired to argue. When Yeonjun pulled up in front of the HYBE building, he shifted in his seat to face you. "Don’t let him get to you," he said, like he could read your mind.

Your stomach twisted. "Who said this is about him?"

You smiled despite yourself. "You’re so cringe."

"And you love it."

You rolled your eyes and stepped out of the car, shutting the door behind you.

As Yeonjun drove off, you turned toward the entrance, and immediately froze. Beomgyu stood a few feet away, leaning against the building’s brick wall, cigarette balanced between his fingers. He was watching you, eyes slightly narrowed, hair messy like he’d been here for a while.

You blinked, caught off guard. "Since when do you smoke?" you asked, voice laced with confusion.

Beomgyu brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaling slowly before replying, "Felt like it."

His voice was flat, uninterested, but his eyes lingered on you a second too long. You didn’t know what you were expecting, maybe some cocky remark, some teasing jab about how you were already looking for him first thing in the morning, but this wasn’t that.

Your eyes flickered over him. Messy hair, dark hoodie slightly wrinkled, the usual sharpness in his gaze dulled by something you couldn’t quite place. You weren’t sure if it was exhaustion or irritation or something else entirely, but the longer you looked at him, the more uneasy you felt.

You glanced at the cigarette between his fingers, then back at him. "You know," you started carefully, "when I offered you one at the party, it wasn’t supposed to be, like, an invitation to pick up a habit."

Beomgyu finally looked back at you then, eyes dark, unreadable. "And yet," he said, taking another drag, "here we are."

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. "Beomgyu."

"What?" he muttered, flicking ash onto the pavement.

You hesitated. You didn’t know what you wanted to say, really. That he looked like shit? That something about him felt off, wrong, like a version of him you weren’t used to seeing? That, for some reason, it actually bothered you?

Instead, what came out was: "You shouldn’t."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "You shouldn’t either." You opened your mouth, then shut it. He wasn’t wrong.

A heavy silence settled between you. You weren’t sure how long you stood there, watching the embers at the tip of his cigarette burn down, before he finally crushed it under his shoe.

"You’re gonna be late," he muttered, nodding toward the entrance.

You studied him for a beat longer, but whatever was going on with him, he clearly wasn’t going to tell you. And you weren’t about to push. So, you simply nodded and stepped past him, heading toward the doors.

Beomgyu watched as you stepped inside without another word, your expression unreadable. Something about it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He clicked his lighter open and closed absentmindedly, the metallic snick breaking the early morning quiet. His fingers itched to pull out another cigarette, but he hesitated, staring at the crushed remains of the last one under his shoe.

This wasn’t supposed to bother him. None of this was supposed to bother him.

His eyes drifted toward the spot where Yeonjun’s car had been parked just minutes ago.

He knew who Yeonjun was—everyone did. One of the youngest producers at SM, annoyingly talented, the kind of guy whose name always came up in conversations about industry golden boys. Beomgyu had seen his work before, even respected it in a distant, objective way. But what he hadn’t known was that you and Yeonjun were close.

Beomgyu had never cared to pay attention to your life outside of work. As far as he was concerned, you existed within the walls of HYBE, always one step ahead of him, always in his way. That was just how things were. But now, his brain kept circling back to the sight of you stepping out of Yeonjun’s car, back to the way Yeonjun had leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead like it was second nature.

His grip on the lighter tightened. He didn’t understand it.

It wasn’t like you didn’t have a life outside of the studio. It wasn’t like he expected you to just… exist in the same orbit as him, only crossing paths when necessary. It wasn’t like it bothered him.

Beomgyu scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. What does it matter? It doesn’t. It’s none of my business.

He reached for another cigarette, but before he could light it, his fingers hesitated over the lighter. Instead, with a sharp exhale, he shoved both back into his pocket and pushed himself off the wall. There was work to do.

The pre-chorus had been frustrating you for days, and as much as you hated to admit it, Beomgyu had an ear for this kind of thing, he always knew how to make a build-up feel effortless, how to land the right emotional weight in just a few bars. You could spend another three hours trying to figure it out yourself, or you could go straight to the person who could fix it in ten minutes.

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. The last thing you wanted to do was go to his studio. But you weren’t about to let your own stubbornness slow this project down. So, before you could second-guess yourself, you grabbed your notebook and pushed yourself up from your chair.

When you knocked on the door, there was no immediate response. You hesitated before pushing it open anyway, Beomgyu never cared about formalities, and you weren’t in the mood to wait around.

The room was dimly lit, monitors casting a faint glow against the walls, soundproofing panels muting the outside world. Beomgyu was at his desk, hoodie draped loosely over his frame, fingers tapping absentmindedly against the surface as he stared at his screen.

He didn’t look up when you walked in. "You busy?" you asked.

There was a pause before he finally sighed, dragging his gaze away from the monitor. "What do you want?"

You frowned at his tone, disinterested, distant. "I need a second opinion on the pre-chorus," you said simply. "Something’s off, but I can’t figure out what."

He nodded once, pushing his chair back and gesturing lazily at the extra seat beside him. "Fine. Play it."

You sat down, plugging in your USB and pulling up the track. The moment the instrumental filled the room, you forgot about everything else. Your frustration, his mood, it all faded into the background as you focused on the music.

Beomgyu listened in silence, his expression blank as the pre-chorus built up, then crashed into the chorus. When it ended, he rolled his chair slightly forward, resting his elbow on the desk.

"The chord progression in the build-up is too predictable," he muttered. "You need more tension before the drop, otherwise it just falls flat."

You nodded, adjusting some of the notes. "Like this?"

Beomgyu leaned in slightly, watching the screen. "Move that second chord up a half step. And stretch the last measure—make it drag just a little longer before the hit."

You followed his instructions, layering in the adjustments before playing it back. This time, the build-up carried more weight, pulling in a tension that hadn’t been there before.

You turned to him, and for the first time since you walked in, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes, satisfaction, maybe. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. "Better," he said simply.

You studied him for a beat, something about his demeanor still nagging at you. Normally, Beomgyu would’ve had more to say—some kind of sarcastic comment about how he had to fix your mess again, or at least a self-satisfied smirk. But instead, he just leaned back in his chair, looking tired.

You debated saying something, asking something, but before you could, he spoke again. "That all?"

It wasn’t sharp, but it wasn’t warm either. Just neutral. And for some reason, that made your stomach twist. "…Yeah," you muttered. "That’s all."

You unplugged your USB, pushing your chair back. Beomgyu didn’t say anything else, just turned toward his screen like you had never been there in the first place.

Then, without another word, you turned and walked out. The door shut behind you with a quiet click, leaving Beomgyu alone in the dim glow of his studio, the silence stretching longer than it should have.

You had been in the studio for hours.

The kind of hours that made your back ache from sitting too long, that made the glow of the screen start to blur, that made every melody sound wrong no matter how many times you tweaked it. It just wasn’t clicking today.

You had gone through four different versions of the same verse, rearranged the chord progression twice, even scrapped an entire section just to start over, only to end up in the same place, frustrated and stuck.

You hated this feeling. It wasn’t the kind of creative block where nothing came to you. It was worse. The kind where everything came to you, but nothing sounded right. Nothing felt like it was enough.

By the time you checked the clock, it was already late. Later than you realized. With a heavy sigh, you shut your laptop and rubbed at your temples, willing the tension headache forming behind your eyes to go away. You weren’t going to get anything done like this.

So, you grabbed your bag, checked your phone, and sent Yeonjun a quick text.

[you]: can you pick me up? i’m done for today. [yeonjun]: omw. 10 min.

You exhaled, pocketing your phone before stepping out of the building.

The night air hit you immediately, crisp and cool against your skin. The city was quieter at this hour, the usual rush of people and traffic subdued into a low hum. You stood near the curb, crossing your arms as you waited, letting yourself breathe for what felt like the first time today.

And then, of course, you spotted Beomgyu. You hesitated before walking over, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your jacket. The familiar scent of cigarette smoke hung in the air, curling around the dim glow of the streetlights.

You stared at him, momentarily taken aback. "You shouldn't keep smoking," you said, your tone quieter now.

His fingers twitched slightly around the cigarette, but he didn’t respond right away. Instead, he brought it back to his lips, inhaling like he was trying to make a point, though you weren’t sure if it was to you or to himself. "Look who's talking" he muttered.

You watched him carefully, the way his jaw tensed, the way his shoulders sat just a little heavier than usual. This wasn’t the same Beomgyu who spent half his time annoying you, smirking like he had the whole world figured out.

You hesitated before speaking again. "It wasn’t a good day."

Beomgyu let out a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You exhaled. "I couldn’t get anything to sound right. I swear, the harder I tried, the worse it got."

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, the faint glow of the cigarette flickering between his fingers. "You’re too hard on yourself."

You blinked, turning to him. "What?"

Beomgyu flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette, his expression unreadable. "You think too much. You want everything to be perfect on the first try."

Your brows furrowed slightly. "That’s how it works, though. If it’s not good enough, then I have to keep going until it is."

His lips curled slightly, not a smirk, not a frown. Something in between. "And what if you’re the only one who thinks it’s not good enough?"

You didn’t have an answer to that. Beomgyu didn’t wait for one. He took another slow drag, then exhaled, watching the smoke disappear into the air. You glanced down at your phone, checking the time. Yeonjun would be here soon. Beomgyu, ever observant, noticed.

His voice was colder when he spoke next. "Waiting for your boyfriend to pick you up?"

You blinked, caught completely off guard. "What?"

Beomgyu gestured lazily with his cigarette, his expression unreadable. "That guy. The one who dropped you off this morning."

You stared at him for a second, processing. And then, a laugh bubbled out of you, unexpected and breathy. "Yeonjun?" Beomgyu didn’t react. Just stared at you, like he was waiting for an answer. You shook your head, still half-amused. "He’s not my boyfriend."

Something flickered in his expression, too quick for you to catch. But before you could think too hard about it, a familiar car pulled up to the curb.

Yeonjun honked the horn once, rolling down the window. "Let’s go, loser."

You pushed off the railing, turning back to Beomgyu. "See you tomorrow."

He only nodded, taking another slow drag of his cigarette. And as you walked toward the car, you didn’t notice the way his gaze lingered on you a second too long.

Beomgyu's drive home felt longer than usual. Maybe it was because the city was too quiet at this hour, the usual rush of people and traffic reduced to distant hums. Maybe it was because his thoughts had been too loud all day, refusing to settle even now.

Or maybe it was because of you.

Beomgyu clenched his jaw, fingers tightening slightly around the steering wheel. He didn’t like that. Didn’t like the way you lingered in his mind long after you had already left. The way your voice still echoed in his ears, the way your laugh, short, breathy, surprised, had caught him off guard when you realized he thought Yeonjun was your boyfriend.

Why the hell did I even ask that? He scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

In the week that followed, something had shifted.

It wasn’t obvious at first, just small things. A missed comment here, a glance avoided there. But as the days passed, it became impossible to ignore. Beomgyu was different.

You had spent so much time fighting him for space, rolling your eyes at his smug remarks, bracing yourself for whatever new way he’d find to get under your skin. And now, suddenly, there was nothing.

No teasing. No playful jabs. No sarcastic smirks across the studio. It wasn’t that he was rude. If anything, he was polite, too polite. The kind of detached professionalism that you had never associated with Beomgyu before. It was driving you insane.

You barely saw him on Tuesday. Which wasn’t uncommon, sometimes, you worked separately, each focused on different aspects of the album. But usually, even on those days, you’d cross paths in the break room, or he’d pop into your studio just to complain about how much better his demos were than yours.

Beomgyu was already in the studio when you arrived on Wednesday morning, sitting at the mixing console with his headphones on, completely absorbed in whatever track he was working on.

You hesitated in the doorway for a second, waiting for him to acknowledge you. He didn’t. Not until you cleared your throat and said, "Morning."

Only then did he glance up, giving you a small nod. "Morning."

That was it. No comment about how tired you looked, no sarcastic Wow, you actually showed up on time?—just morning. You forced yourself to ignore the weird weight in your chest as you sat down and pulled up your own files.

On Thursday, when you arrived at the HYBE building that morning, something about the usual rhythm of your day felt… off.

And then it hit you. Beomgyu wasn’t here. Beomgyu never worked on Thursdays.

The hours passed, your progress slower than usual. By lunchtime, you gave up and went to the break room, hoping food would help clear your head.

Enhypen was already there, sprawled across the couches and chairs like they lived in this building. You slid into a seat next to Jake, barely registering the conversation around you as you scrolled through your phone.

"You good?" Jungwon asked, eyeing you over his drink.

You blinked. "What?"

"You just seem distracted," he said. "More than usual."

You shrugged. "Just a slow day."

Jake nudged your arm. "Maybe you just need to get out of the studio for a bit. Reset your brain."

"Maybe," you muttered.

A pause. Then, before you could stop yourself— "Did Beomgyu eat before he left yesterday?"

The words left your mouth before you even thought about them, and immediately, you regretted it. Heeseung raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"No reason," you said quickly, looking down at your phone. "I just… I know he forgets to eat when he’s working."

Heeseung hummed. "Honestly? I have no idea."

Sunghoon glanced up from his drink. "You could just text him and ask, you know."

You scoffed. "Like I care that much."

Jungwon smirked. "Uh-huh." You ignored them, tapping your fingers against your cup. It wasn’t a big deal. Beomgyu could take care of himself. That’s why, on Friday, you gave up.

If Beomgyu wanted to be distant, then fine. Let him be distant. You weren’t going to sit here and try to figure out why he had suddenly decided to act like you were nothing more than a coworker.

At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. But when you walked into the studio that morning, the first thing you noticed was that his bag was already there. You weren’t sure why that made your shoulders relax slightly.

You ignored the thought as you set your things down, pulling up the demo you had been struggling with all week. Your goal was simple: work, focus, and not let whatever this was with Beomgyu get in your head.

But apparently, he had other plans. Because suddenly, after an entire week of acting like you barely existed, he was everywhere.

The first time he appeared in your studio, you barely reacted. "Hey," he said casually, leaning against the doorframe, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. "Can you listen to something real quick?"

You gave a short nod, sliding your headphones down to your neck as he walked in. He played a section of the track he had been working on, something stripped down, mostly just melody and chords. "It feels empty," he muttered, frowning slightly. "I don’t know if it needs more layering or if I should just change the chord progression entirely."

You listened, trying to focus on the music instead of the fact that this was the most he had spoken to you all week. "It’s fine," you said, keeping your tone neutral. "Just needs a little more texture."

Beomgyu nodded, thoughtful. "You wanna add something?"

You hesitated, fingers hovering over your keyboard. "You don’t need my help."

He shrugged, tilting his head slightly. "Yeah, but you’re good at this part."

You blinked, caught off guard by the compliment. But instead of responding, you just reached for your mouse and started tweaking the mix, ignoring the way he stood behind you, watching.

By lunchtime, you had stopped keeping track of how many times he had walked into your studio.

"Hey, quick question—" "Hey, do you have the latest version of—" "Hey, can I borrow—"

It was endless. At first, you had answered him normally, keeping things short, professional. But the more he did it, the more irritated you became. Not because he was being annoying. But because why now? Why spend an entire week pretending you didn’t exist only to suddenly act like everything was normal? You weren’t going to play along.

So, by the fourth time he showed up at your door, you barely even looked up. "I’m busy," you muttered, clicking through your project files.

Beomgyu blinked. "I didn’t even say anything yet."

"You were going to."

He hesitated, then let out a small chuckle. "Damn. Am I that predictable?"

You didn’t answer, just continued working. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shift slightly, like he was about to say something.

But instead, he just exhaled and muttered, "Never mind," before walking away. You ignored the strange twist in your stomach and forced yourself to focus on the screen.

You had just finished saving your project when you decided to take a break, stretching your sore muscles before stepping out into the hallway. You weren’t planning on running into anyone, but as soon as you turned the corner, you nearly walked straight into Seungcheol.

"Oh," you said, stepping back slightly. "Sorry."

He smiled, easy and confident. "No need to apologize."

You already knew him, Baekhyun had introduced you two at the HYBE party last week. And while your first meeting had been brief (and rudely interrupted by Beomgyu), you remembered how intently he had listened when you talked about your work.

"You’ve been keeping busy," he mused, crossing his arms. "Baekhyun showed me some of the demos from your sessions. I was impressed."

Something warm settled in your chest. "Really?"

Seungcheol nodded. "You have a good ear. I meant to follow up after the party, but you disappeared before I could."

You huffed a small laugh. "Yeah, sorry about that."

Seungcheol’s gaze stayed steady. "If you ever want to share more of your work, my office is always open. I’d like to hear what else you’re capable of."

It wasn’t an empty offer, you could tell. This was an opportunity. And you weren’t about to waste it. "I’d love that," you said sincerely.

Seungcheol smiled, lingering for just a second longer than necessary before nodding. "I’ll be waiting, then."

And with that, he walked past you, disappearing down the hall.

You barely had a second to process before you felt it, that shift in the air. A presence behind you. You turned slightly, and there he was. Beomgyu was standing just a few feet away, hands shoved deep in his pockets, expression unreadable. Your breath hitched slightly, but you forced yourself to act normal.

Beomgyu's gaze flickered briefly down the hallway where Seungcheol had disappeared. Then, finally, he looked back at you. "You should be careful with him," he said, voice flat.

You frowned. "What?"

Beomgyu tilted his head slightly. "Seungcheol. He doesn’t offer that kind of thing just to anyone."

There was something in his tone, something that wasn’t quite neutral. You crossed your arms. "I know that. He’s creative director. It’s literally his job to look for talent."

Beomgyu scoffed, gaze dark. "Right. Sure."

Your frown deepened. "What’s your problem?"

"Nothing," he muttered, already turning away. "Forget it."

And just like that, he walked past you, heading back to his studio without another word. You stood there, confusion and irritation swirling in your chest. What the hell was that?

So, after that, you had spent the entire day locked in your studio.

It wasn’t intentional at first, you had just wanted to get some uninterrupted work done, to make up for how frustrating this week had been. But one track turned into another, one minor adjustment turned into an hour of tweaking, and before you knew it, the sun had set and most of the building had emptied out.

You barely noticed. At some point, Taehyun had texted asking if you wanted to grab dinner, and you had ignored it, too caught up in your work to even think about food.

It was only when your screen blurred in front of you, exhaustion pressing against your temples, that you finally admitted defeat. You packed up slowly, rubbing at your tired eyes as you stood. The quiet hum of the studio, once comforting, now felt suffocating after being inside for so long. You needed air.

When you opened the door, ready to leave, you nearly tripped over something. A cup. An iced americano, sitting neatly in front of your studio, condensation beading against the plastic.

You stared at it, confused, before noticing the small note taped to the lid. Your brows furrowed as you peeled it off, unfolding the paper between your fingers. The handwriting was messy, slanted, but familiar.

don’t pass out in there

Your lips parted slightly. There was no signature, no indication of who it was from. But you knew. Of course you knew, it was Beomgyu's handwriting.

Your fingers tightened around the note as your heart did something stupid in your chest, something warm, something soft, something you did not want to acknowledge.

Because what the hell was he doing? He had spent the entire week keeping his distance, barely speaking to you, only to suddenly spend the whole day in your space asking for your help. And now this?

You exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the strange feeling settling in your stomach. Maybe this was just some weird attempt at making up for how weird he had been all week. Or maybe he was just screwing with you again, playing some long game you didn’t understand. Or maybe… maybe he just noticed.

Noticed how hard you were working. Noticed that you hadn’t taken a break all day. Noticed you.

You clenched the note tightly before shoving it into your pocket. Your confusion hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had gotten worse. But as you picked up the coffee, taking a slow sip, you realized something else. For the first time all week, Beomgyu had made you smile.

When Saturday morning arrived, you forced yourself to push work aside. No checking mixes, no tweaking arrangements, no thinking about deadlines. Instead, you spent most of the day in the apartment, lounging on the couch while Yeonjun flopped down beside you, mindlessly flipping through TV channels.

"Are you actually not working today?" he asked, stretching his arms above his head.

"I told you I’d take a break," you muttered, though even as you said it, your fingers twitched with the urge to check your email.

Yeonjun narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, but you suck at taking breaks."

You rolled your eyes. "I’m trying."

"You better be," he said, nudging your leg with his foot. "We have a big night ahead."

Ah. Right. The party. You had promised Yunjin and the others that you’d actually go out tonight, no bailing at the last minute, no pretending you were too busy with work.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like going out. It was just that sometimes, after spending all week drained from work, the last thing you wanted was to force yourself to be social.

But tonight, you needed it. So when evening rolled around, you found yourself in front of your closet, sifting through outfits while Yeonjun lounged on your bed, watching with an amused expression.

When you were finally ready, Yeonjun whistled. "Damn. If I didn’t know you, I’d think you actually wanted to impress someone tonight."

You scoffed. "I just want to have fun."

Yeonjun smirked, but thankfully, he didn’t push it. Instead, he just slung an arm around your shoulders as you both headed out.

The place was already packed when you arrived, the bass from the music thrumming through the floors as bodies filled the space. You spotted Yunjin first, standing near the bar with Hueningkai, Taehyun, and a few other familiar faces. She waved excitedly when she saw you, immediately pulling you into a hug.

Yeonjun handed you a drink, and you gladly took it, letting the warmth of alcohol relax your shoulders as you settled into the atmosphere. For the first hour, it was easy. You danced with Yunjin, laughed at Taehyun’s terrible attempts at flirting with someone near the bar, took ridiculous selfies with Hueningkai.

It felt normal. And then, as you were making your way back from the bar with a fresh drink in hand, you saw him.

Beomgyu.

Your steps faltered for half a second before you recovered, eyes flickering over the scene in front of you. He wasn’t alone, he was with Soobin, Heeseung, and Jungwon, all of them gathered near a booth in the corner.

But what caught your attention wasn’t the fact that he was here. It was the fact that he was already drunk. You could tell immediately, the way his smile was looser than usual, the way he leaned slightly against Soobin as he talked, the way his gaze was just a little too unfocused.

And then, as if he could feel you looking, his eyes found yours. For a second, neither of you moved. Then—

A slow, lazy grin spread across his lips. You barely had time to process before he was pushing off the booth, making his way toward you. You braced yourself.

"Look who it is," he drawled, stopping in front of you. His voice was warm, teasing, the opposite of how he had been all week. "Didn’t think I’d see you here."

You raised an eyebrow. "Didn’t think I’d see you here either."

Beomgyu let out a breathy laugh, tilting his head slightly. "Why? You think I just sit in the studio all day?"

You crossed your arms. "You literally do."

"Fair point." He took a sip of whatever drink he was holding before glancing over your shoulder, his gaze flickering toward the group of people you had been with. "You come with Yeonjun?"

You blinked at the question, caught off guard. "Yeah?"

He hummed, expression unreadable. Before you could say anything else, Soobin and Heeseung appeared beside him, greeting you easily. "Hey," Heeseung said, flashing his usual friendly smile. "Didn’t expect to run into you tonight."

You shrugged. "Trying to be social for once."

Soobin chuckled. "That’s new."

Jungwon, who had been hanging back slightly, smirked. "Are you guys gonna fight here, too, or do you save that for work?"

You rolled your eyes. "We don’t fight."

Beomgyu snorted. "Oh, we definitely fight."

The group laughed, and despite yourself, you felt your shoulders relax slightly. This was weird. You weren’t used to seeing Beomgyu like this, loose, relaxed, actually enjoying himself instead of glaring at a screen for hours. For a second, you let yourself take him in.

Beomgyu looked… different. Not in a drastic way, but enough for you to notice. He wasn’t in his usual oversized hoodie or the comfortable, slightly-wrinkled clothes he practically lived in at the studio. Instead, he was wearing a black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the fabric slightly unbuttoned at the top, showing just enough skin to be annoying. His silver jewelry caught the dim lighting of the room, glinting slightly as he shifted his drink from one hand to the other.

It suited him way too well. You hated that you noticed that. And then, just as you were about to shake the thought away, his gaze flickered over you.

You raised an eyebrow. "What?"

He took another sip of his drink, tilting his head slightly. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear color."

It wasn’t true, not entirely, but the fact that he had even noticed made something twist in your stomach. "You don’t exactly pay attention to what I wear, Beomgyu," you shot back, crossing your arms.

Beomgyu hummed, his eyes still on you, dark and unreadable. "You think I don’t?"

There was something about the way he said it, something that made your throat go dry. You refused to acknowledge it. Instead, you forced a scoff, shaking your head. "You’re drunk."

"So?" He took another sip, then smirked. "Still got eyes, don’t I?"

And then, just as quickly as it appeared, Beomgyu leaned back, shifting the energy entirely. "Anyway," he drawled, glancing over at the people you had been with earlier, "are you gonna introduce me to your little friend group, or are you scared they’ll like me more than you?"

You blinked, thrown off by the sudden change. "What?"

He gestured vaguely with his drink. "I don’t know half the people you hang out with. Thought I’d be polite and say hi."

You narrowed your eyes. "Since when are you polite?"

Beomgyu tilted his head, studying you like he was trying to figure something out. His smirk wasn’t as sharp now, still there, still insufferable, but softer around the edges, like he was letting himself enjoy this. "Come on," he murmured, leaning in slightly. "Introduce me."

You scoffed. "Why do you even care?"

"Maybe I just wanna see how you talk about me when I’m not around." He grinned, slow and teasing. "Bet you make me sound like a villain."

"You are a villain," you shot back.

"And yet," he mused, taking another sip of his drink, "here you are, still standing here with me instead of running back to your actual friends."

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, a voice cut in.

"So," Yeonjun mused, stepping up beside you, eyes flickering toward Beomgyu. "You’re the Beomgyu, huh?"

Beomgyu didn’t miss a beat. "And you’re the Yeonjun."

Your stomach dropped. This was not happening.

They stared at each other for a moment, taking the other in. Yeonjun looked relaxed, but his sharp gaze held a flicker of curiosity, like he was trying to decide if Beomgyu was worth his time. Beomgyu, for his part, seemed perfectly at ease, his usual smirk still playing at his lips, shoulders loose, like he found this whole thing amusing.

And then, to your horror, they both grinned. "I’ve heard a lot about you," Yeonjun said, crossing his arms.

"Same," Beomgyu replied. "Didn’t think we’d actually meet like this."

You narrowed your eyes. "You two know each other?"

"Not personally," Yeonjun said, shrugging. "But come on. We work in the same industry. I know his work. He’s good."

Beomgyu smiled, tilting his head. "I know your work too, by the way. Not bad."

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow. "Not bad?"

Beomgyu grinned. "I’d say pretty good, but I don’t wanna inflate your ego this early in the conversation."

Yeonjun laughed. "Fair enough."

You looked between them, deeply suspicious. "Why does it feel like you two are getting along?"

Beomgyu glanced at you. "Why? You want us to fight?"

Yeonjun rolled his eyes. "Relax, Y/N. Not everything has to be a battle."

You huffed, taking another sip of your drink. "So," Beomgyu mused, eyes flickering between you and Yeonjun, "how do you two know each other anyway?"

Yeonjun barely hesitated before answering. "College," he said with a small grin. "We met during our first year and just… clicked. Ended up being inseparable after that. And now, we live together."

Beomgyu’s brows lifted slightly, his expression shifting, not in surprise, not in jealousy, but something closer to genuine interest. "Oh, that’s cool," he said, nodding. "Didn’t expect that, but it makes sense."

You glanced at him, skeptical. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Beomgyu shrugged, looking at you. "I don’t know, I just didn’t really picture you as the roommate type. I figured you’d be one of those people who hates sharing a space with someone."

Yeonjun snorted. "Oh, she definitely does."

You shot him a glare. "I do not."

"Sure," Yeonjun said, amused. "That’s why you leave your headphones on all the time and act like I don’t exist when you’re in work mode."

Beomgyu laughed. "Yeah, that checks out."

You rolled your eyes. "Are you two bonding over making fun of me?"

"Absolutely," Beomgyu said easily.

Yeonjun grinned. "It’s kind of fun."

You groaned, rubbing your temples. Beomgyu ignored you, still focused on Yeonjun. "So what’s it like living with her?"

Yeonjun hummed, considering. "Honestly? Not bad. We’ve got our system. We both get busy with work, so we give each other space, but it’s nice having someone around who actually gets it, you know? Plus, she’s a decent cook."

You scoffed. "Now that is a lie."

"It’s not!" Yeonjun defended. "She has, like, three solid recipes."

Beomgyu laughed. "Okay, now I really need to know what these are."

Yeonjun counted on his fingers. "Kimchi fried rice, pasta, and… something that she refuses to name, but it’s actually good."

Beomgyu turned to you, intrigued. "What’s the mystery dish?"

You crossed your arms. "I’m not telling you."

Yeonjun smirked. "She’s embarrassed because it started as a ‘let’s throw random shit together and see what happens’ meal, but it accidentally turned out good."

Beomgyu grinned. "That’s kind of impressive."

You sighed, shaking your head. "Why are we even talking about this?"

"Because I’m curious," Beomgyu said simply.

You didn’t really have a response to that.

Something about the way he said it, not teasing, not smug, just genuinely interested, made you feel a little off balance. You were used to bickering with him, used to sharp words and playful jabs. But this? Him actually wanting to know about your life? That was new.

And for some reason, it made your stomach flip.

Yeonjun glanced over his shoulder toward the bar, then let out an exaggerated sigh. "Well, as fun as this has been, I gotta go. Yunjin’s waiting on her drink, and if I take too long, she’s gonna start a manhunt."

With a final chuckle, Yeonjun clapped a hand on Beomgyu’s shoulder, shot you a look that was somewhere between good luck and I’m enjoying this way too much, and disappeared into the crowd.

You exhaled, already bracing yourself for whatever Beomgyu was about to say now that you were alone. But instead, "So," he said, turning to you, eyes practically shining. "Did you like the coffee?"

You stilled. You had known it was him the second you saw it, left outside your studio door Friday night, your exact order scribbled on the side of the cup in handwriting you recognized immediately. He hadn’t signed his name, hadn’t said anything, just left it there like some anonymous act of kindness.

You sighed. "It was fine."

"Fine?" he repeated, looking personally offended. "That was good coffee."

You narrowed your eyes. "Why did you even do that?"

He blinked. "Huh?"

"The coffee," you said, crossing your arms. "Why’d you leave it?"

He scoffed, like the answer was obvious. "You were working too much."

You frowned. "And?"

"And," he said, dragging the word out, "I saw you in there, looking half-dead, and figured you needed it." Your lips parted slightly. It was such a simple explanation. No teasing, no ulterior motive, just that. Beomgyu, meanwhile, seemed completely unbothered by your confusion. "I mean, I could’ve let you pass out on your keyboard, but I’m a good person," he said, grinning.

You scoffed. "Sure. That’s why you did it."

"Obviously," he said. Then, with zero hesitation—"Hey, you smoke, right?"

You blinked at the sudden shift. "What?"

"If you wanna go outside for a bit, I’ll come with."

Your brows furrowed. "Why?"

He shrugged, still smiling. "Why not?"

You stared at him, trying to figure out what the hell his angle was here. This was strange. All of this was strange. Beomgyu wasn’t being mean. He wasn’t teasing you just to get under your skin. He wasn’t smirking like he had some grand plan to annoy you. He was just… talking. Open. Chatty. And worst of all, nice. You didn’t trust it one bit. But still, for some reason, you found yourself nodding.

"Fine," you said, already turning toward the exit.

And as the two of you stepped outside, you couldn’t help but feel like you had just agreed to something far more complicated than a smoke break.

The night air was crisp as you stepped outside, the cool breeze biting at your skin. The distant hum of the city filled the silence, car headlights flashing by, conversations drifting from people walking past. Beomgyu fell into step beside you, hands shoved into his pockets, his presence oddly easy despite how complicated he made everything feel.

The two of you had been in sync somehow. You weren’t used to that. With Beomgyu, everything was usually sharp edges and competition, but tonight had been… easy. And now, out here, with no studio walls between you, no music to drown out the noise in your head, you felt like you should say something.

You were still trying to figure out what the hell was up with him tonight when a voice called your name.

“Y/N?”

You turned toward the sound, and your stomach immediately flipped.

Yunho.

The last person you expected to run into tonight.

He was leaning against the railing near the edge of the building, dressed in a fitted black turtleneck and an open wool coat, the kind of outfit that made it impossible to forget just how unfairly good-looking he was.

You two used to hook up a while ago, and you hadn’t seen him in months. Hadn’t spoken since things had fizzled out, no big falling out, no dramatic ending, just… a slow, mutual silence.

You barely had time to react before he was stepping closer, wrapping his arms around you in an easy, confident embrace.

“Been a while,” he murmured, voice warm against your ear.

The hug lingered. A little longer than it should have. Beomgyu hadn’t said a word, but you could feel him there. Standing just a few feet away, watching.

When Yunho finally pulled back, his hands slid down your arms before he let go completely. His gaze flicked past you, landing on Beomgyu, curiosity sparking behind his eyes. He waited, expectant.

You hesitated. Just for a second. “This is Beomgyu,” you said, forcing your voice to stay even. “He's my… coworker.”

The second the word left your mouth, you knew it was the wrong one. You didn’t have to look at Beomgyu to know he heard it loud and clear.

Yunho’s expression didn’t change, if anything, his amusement deepened as he extended a hand toward Beomgyu. “Nice to meet you, man.”

Beomgyu took it, but the shake was brief, impersonal. “Yeah,” he said flatly.

The energy shifted, thickening with something unreadable. You could feel it brewing, creeping into the air like a storm about to break, but Yunho didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care. Instead, he turned back to you, eyes glinting with something playful. “I was actually heading out, but if I’d known you were here, I would’ve stuck around longer,” he mused, tilting his head. “Maybe next time.”

The words were casual, but the way he said them? Not so much. And Beomgyu caught it. You saw it in the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers curled slightly in his pocket, the way his shoulders squared just a fraction.

Yunho shot you one last lingering glance before stepping away. “See you around, Y/N.” He turned around, and silence settled between you and Beomgyu, thick and suffocating.

You let out a slow breath, bracing yourself for—what? A sarcastic comment? A joke? Some passive-aggressive remark about your taste in men? Something. Anything.

But Beomgyu just pulled out a cigarette, placed it between his lips, and lit it, his expression unreadable. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t say a thing. You frowned, watching as he took a slow drag, exhaling a stream of smoke into the cold air.

“Hey,” you said finally, tilting your head at him. “You okay?”

Beomgyu exhaled another lazy puff of smoke, gaze still fixed somewhere off in the distance. “What do you mean?”

Your frown deepened. “You’re suddenly being quiet.”

He let out a humorless chuckle. “And?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Seriously, what’s your problem?”

“No problem,” he murmured. “Just enjoying my smoke break.”

Something inside you twisted. You took a deep breath, trying to keep your patience. “Beomgyu—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, you know.” He finally glanced at you then, dark eyes half-lidded, his expression unreadable. “That guy,” he said simply. “You don’t have to explain anything about him.”

The words shouldn’t have bothered you. But they did. “Jesus Christ,” you muttered, shaking your head. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good,” he said. And just like that, he looked away again, as if that was the end of the conversation. As if he didn’t care.

And that—finally, finally—pushed you over the edge.

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “You’re fucking unbelievable.” Beomgyu didn’t react. Just took another slow drag of his cigarette. That only pissed you off more. “You keep doing this shit,” you snapped, voice rising. “One second you’re nice to me, then you’re cold again. Then you’re pushing my buttons just to get a reaction—what the fuck do you want from me?”

Silence. Beomgyu’s expression didn’t change, but his grip on the cigarette tightened just slightly.

You shook your head, letting out a sharp breath. “I swear, I don’t get you. You act like you hate me, but then you do shit like leave me coffee. You act like you don’t care, and then you get all weird and broody all of the sudden. You make no fucking sense.”

Beomgyu took one last drag before flicking the cigarette onto the ground, grinding it out with his shoe. “I never said I hated you.”

Your breath hitched. It was quiet. Just five words. But something about the way he said them, low and deliberate, made your pulse stutter. His gaze was steady, fixed on you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. And suddenly, you realized, this was the first time either of you had ever really talked about it. About whatever this was.

Beomgyu shifted, hands slipping back into his pockets. His voice dropped just slightly, almost like he didn’t want you to hear it. “But you’re right about one thing.”

You swallowed hard. “What?”

He took a step closer. Not much, but enough that you could smell the faint trace of smoke on his clothes, feel the warmth of him even in the cold. “I do like pushing your buttons.” His lips twitched—just barely, just enough to let you know he wasn’t done. He tilted his head slightly, dark eyes flickering with something unreadable. “It’s fun watching you try so hard to pretend you don’t like it.”

And just when you thought that was it, that he was done messing with your head for the night, he added: “But don’t worry.” His voice was light, almost casual. “I don’t care either way. After all, like you said… I’m just your coworker.”

No.

You weren’t even gonna finish that thought.

my masterlist | previous fic | READ PART 2 HERE

author's note: ok so i KNOW this fic got way longer than i originally planned but here we are lmaoo. part 2 is out and really hope you like it!! also, i wanted to have this done in time for beomgyu’s birthday but yeah… that didn’t happen lol. anyway, hope y’all enjoy <3

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