Chapter Text
I have spent my whole life looking up.
You find that as you walk through the halls, your hands won't stop shaking beside you no matter what you do. No matter how many times you try to steady your breath, shake your fingers out, they remain uncooperative. Trembling.
At each corner, you pause to check the signs on the wall, making sure you’re still headed in the right direction. Somewhere down the corridor, a printer whirs to life. Someone coughs in the distance. Otherwise, this part of the building is silent and empty.
The door to conference room 403 is wide open, and you can see immediately that you’re the first to arrive. Though, you expected this part. You’re always early to things so that you’re never late.
You take a seat at the round wooden table, but your anxiety spikes almost instantly. What if you’re in the wrong room? You checked the email ten times—but what if there are two room 403s? It wouldn’t be the first time something like that has happened to you.
You draw out your notebook and a pen, setting them neatly in front of you like a ward against spiraling. You hope you’re dressed appropriately. You hope your Korean doesn’t fail you.
This opportunity is huge. It’s the kind that could make your name in the industry. And it's the kind that let's you keep paying rent.
And even though you don't get to meet them, you can't imagine hating writing anything for your favourite artists.
You take another deep breath and glance at your phone again, but before you can spiral any further, the door opens wider and someone walks in.
You jolt to your feet, expecting to see a staff member.
But the man who steps inside is Min Yoongi.
The breath you took catches in your chest and refuses to move, as your brain tries to process the surrealism painting unfolding before you.
You have to wonder if it’s really him, your eyes scanning for confirmation.
You register somewhere in your mind that hilariously, absurdly, what convinces you that this is in fact Min Yoongi is that you know not just anyone could wear a hoodie to a corporate meeting.
He's dressed all in black, his signature silver earrings swaying slightly as he moves. His hair matches the black of his outfit, the long strands hanging by his shoulders and brushing the collar of his hoodie.
He doesn’t look like he belongs in a sterile, corporate setting. His presence floods the room, bleeding into the corners until the walls feel blurry.
Maybe he just doesn’t belong in a room with you.
In fact, he doesn't belong in a room with you.
At least not this room.
Did you get it wrong after all?
You’re considering sweeping past him. Running out of here and pretending this encounter never happened, when he glances up from his phone at you.
“Oh,” he says, voice laced with mild surprise. “You’re here early.”
His voice is soft, yet the rasping undertones cut through the space of the room like a struck match.
You nearly fall to your knees. As if you could catch the little wooden stick before it sets the whole room ablaze.
There are words stuck in your throat.
So you bow—
Just as he steps forward to shake your hand.
Shit.
Suddenly, you're stepping back sharply to avoid a very awkward situation, almost tripping in your shoes. You’re still only used to wearing heels for nights out, not in a day-to-day setting.
You look up at him flustered, the words "I'm sorry" are always easy to spill from your mouth. They never get stuck.
For a second there's silence.
Then—Yoongi laughs.
It's a barely there chuckle and you don't know why because he's clearly laughing at you, but it puts you slightly more at ease.
The pounding of your heart actually quiets somewhat.
“You’re fine,” he says, amusement lingering in his voice.
The ember of his smile flickers as he tilts his head. It softens, just slightly, as he studies you with an expression you can’t quite place.
“You must be one of the new songwriters.”
You nod too quickly, still trying to collect yourself. “Ah. Yes. So then… I am in the right room. I—I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”
He doesn’t seem to notice or care about your clumsy sentence, which you’re grateful for.
“Yeah, well.” He shrugs, sliding his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “I wasn’t supposed to be."
You’re still scrambling for a response to that when the door swings open again. Three men enter mid-conversation, their laughter at whatever joke was just told still lingering in the air.
One of them is your supervisor—Seo Jaehwan, the head lyricist for the upcoming album. You haven’t met him in person yet, only exchanged emails, but you remember his photo. He’s taller than you expected, and his suit looks more formal—and more expensive—than the two staff members flanking him.
Everyone's expression shifts immediately when they see Yoongi there.
"Ah, Yoongi-ssi…" one begins, tone carefully neutral. "I wasn't informed you'd be joining us."
Yoongi shrugs and plops down in the chair right next to yours. "I wasn't informed either. It was a last-minute decision.
A brief subtle tension flickers between everyone in the room but you.
"Yoongi-ssi," the same man begins again, but Jaehwan steps forward instead, smiling brightly.
"Min Yoongi! It's an honour to have you with us. I wasn't aware we'd be working with you so closely—especially right away." His voice is bright and smooth, as if trying to fill the room with something other than Min Yoongi's choking presence.
He turns slightly toward you. "I see you've already met my junior before I did."
Jaehwan's eyes flick over you, but then return in a barely-there double take. His smile renews with a shift you don't quite understand.
Jaehwan offers his hand for you to shake, and internally, you cringe a little.
If they don't notice right away, everyone seems to clock you as a foreigner here all too quickly. And then they try to make accommodations like this.
You know they’re just being polite, but do they really think you accepted this job without at least knowing the basics of the culture here? Maybe they're trying to make you feel more welcome, but you can't help but selfishly wish to be treated normally, so you don't have the potential to rack-up another Yoongi-style incident.
Still, you take your supervisor's hand anyway, offering a bright smile in return.
"Ah, thank you. Please take care of me."
Something flickers in Jaehwan's gaze, but it's gone in an instant.
The rest of the room follows suit, and you all go around making brief introductions before settling into your seats.
One of the staff pulls out a laptop, when the sound of heavy footsteps cuts down the hall. The door practically slams open this time.
"Sorry I'm late!"
A man you recognize as Choi Minsoo bows deeply before stumbling over to take the seat on your right.
Minsoo was the other junior songwriter for the album. You actually had met him in person before all this. He picked you up from the airport when you landed in Korea two weeks ago.
He had sent you an email with the incredibly kind offer, explaining that he saw from your LinkedIn profile that you'd be moving locations.
Minsoo had a very round face and, today, wore an equally round pair of glasses that he didn't have the previous time you saw him.
His brow is slightly damp with sweat as he mumbles more apologies, digging through his shoulder bag for a notepad to match yours.
The staff with the laptop is still trying to explain that it's okay, that Minsoo wasn't actually late, when he freezes completely.
His mouth comes open to stare across you at Yoongi in shock.
You were surprised it took him this long to notice.
You thought that no matter what the situation or how crowded the room was, Yoongi would be impossible not to notice. That even Narcissus would look up from his pond to catch a glimpse.
Still, you were glad that at least someone was able to express something closer to how you were feeling on the inside.
“Ah, Minsoo-ssi…” the staff member trails off awkwardly.
That is, until you realize, that his moment of shock isn't just a moment.
"Minsoo-ssi," you hiss softly, bumping his elbow discreetly with yours.
"Cut it out" you whisper in English—using slang so that hopefully the others don't understand what you mean even if they know some English like you know Yoongi does.
The physical touch seems to jolt him out of his shock as he bows once more in apology to everyone at the table, nearly smacking his forehead on the wooden surface.
Yoongi doesn't even react to any of this. Doesn’t even blink. Doesn't laugh like how he had at you earlier.
“Right, well,” the second staff member clears his throat, trying to redirect the room.
“Since everyone’s here, let’s please get started.”
You exhale.
You're nervous about your Korean—you think you forever will be—but formal speak is actually where you feel most comfortable.
That’s what happens when you learn a language mainly in a classroom—structured grammar, polite vocabulary, slow and monotone voices—it all matches corporate-speak perfectly.
Still, you’re relieved when Jaehwan takes the lead, launching into logistics for the upcoming album—timelines, workspace protocols, expectations.
You do your best to focus. Really, you do. You're even jotting down notes.
But Yoongi's presence feels something like sitting next to the sun.
Your whole left side burns hot and it's hard not to just turn and stare at him like Minsoo had.
Yoongi doesn't speak through the entire exchange. His eyes just flick lazily to whoever's speaking, but you get the feeling he's paying very close attention, and to more than just the words being said.
You’re maybe halfway through the meeting when the energy in the room shifts again.
The door opens without warning, and Kim Namjoon walks in.
You glance at Minsoo, who in turn looks at you with wide eyes.
Namjoon scans the room with a bit of a sheepish smile before his gaze locks onto Yoongi.
“Hyung,” Namjoon says, voice full of exasperated leader energy. “I was wondering where you disappeared to.”
“I’m in a meeting,” Yoongi deadpans.
“You weren’t supposed to be in this meeting.”
“Now I am.”
Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose briefly. His jaw works for a moment, biting back whatever words he wants to say on instinct. Instead, he schools his face into a sweet smile before addressing the room.
“I’m sorry, everyone,” he says with a quick bow. “I’ll be taking him now.”
“I’m fine,” Yoongi insists. “I want to be here.”
"Yoongi" Namjoon hisses now, face shifting into something more serious.
When it's clear Yoongi isn't going to move, Namjoon's eyes flick toward the two staff members at the table. There’s a silent conversation happening between them. You can feel it, even if you don’t know what’s being said
"Yoongi-ssi," one of them pipes up, clearing his throat. "We did discuss this before. And we decided."
"No, you decided." Yoongi interrupts, voice still calm but sharper now. "You decided. I don’t want to work that way anymore."
Silence spreads like ice across the table.
You sit frozen in your seat, trying not to breathe too loudly as you wonder what all of this drama is about.
Is Yoongi actually some sort of stereotypical demanding artist?
You know everything on the internet can be fake—carefully curated and controlled. And you know that as a fan you're biased, but you still just can't seem to believe Min Yoongi of all people would really be someone like that.
You swear that if you actually do manage to meet your heroes only to be let down, well…
"Yoongi-ssi," the second man speaks up now, shifting in his seat. "How about we talk about this again later. You're making our new staff uncomfortable," he tries to reason.
Yoongi's eyes flick towards you.
His dark eyes feel like they're absolutely searing into you. For a moment you can't breathe, choking on smoke that isn't there.
You might think you're in Hell, if you weren't in the same room as Min Yoongi.
Then—he blinks.
And the spell breaks.
"Yoongi," Namjoon's voice cuts cleanly through the air. "He's right. We'll talk about this later." Namjoon's face is more strained now, tired, but not surprised. Like he's had to do this before.
Yoongi exhales. You watch the tension pulse through his shoulders as he resists, just for a second longer.
But then, quietly, he stands.
His chair scrapes against the floor as he pushes it back, his movements calm, and controlled. And then without another word, he leaves.
Namjoon rushes after him, only stopping to offer the room one more quick bow. "Sorry for the interruption."
Nobody says anything for a long moment.
“Well,” Jaehwan says, the first to break the silence. He laughs under his breath, a practiced shake of the head like it’s no more than a strange gust of wind. “That was interesting.”
The two staff members chuckle awkwardly, exchanging uncertain glances you're not meant to see.
The one with the laptop clears his throat and smooths his expression back into something politely neutral. "Anyway, let’s continue please."
Just like that, the meeting moves on. Yoongi forgotten to everyone except you. You’re still burning.
Your face, your neck, your whole body.
You glance down at your notes, at the scattered words you’d managed to scribble down. Both your native language and Korean looks like hieroglyphics right now.
For the rest of the meeting, you don’t hear a single word.
Until—
"You'll be working on the one for Yoongi-ssi."
Your head snaps up from your notepad to see Jaehwan looking directly at you.
What?
You see him breathe in as if to sigh.
You scramble to react, your mouth dry.
"I— I mean, sorry, could you repeat that? I just want to make sure I understood correctly."
You try to use the excuse that you don't understand the language as well to cover up the fact that you weren't paying attention at all.
Jaehwan narrows his eyes at you just slightly. "Are you sure your Korean is going to be okay for this position?"
Your stomach drops.
Okay, maybe that was the wrong move.
You barely register the rush of words leaving your mouth. “Of course, sir. Please forgive me. I believe I just misheard—that can happen in any language.”
And because you didn't grow up in South Korea—didn't learn through repeated context and nuance in your own body how deeply you should bow in every situation—you bow to him far deeper than necessary. It's what you've been doing, just to be safe.
And it has the added benefit of sometimes making people who scold you look like assholes.
One of the staff members clears his throat awkwardly.
"Seo Jaehwan-nim was just explaining that as an opportunity for our new junior lyricists, we're offering a full song credit on this first half of the album we'll be working on. This is opposed to the alternative of just having you assist the senior lyricist with all six songs."
He glances between you and Minsoo, his smile easy, warm.
“To keep coordination simpler, we’ve assigned each of you to a solo track. Minsoo will work with Seokjin-ssi, and you’ll be working with Yoongi-ssi.”
The words seem to smash into you.
A full songwriting credit, on a BTS album?
Before your brain can fully process what you're doing, you're standing up to bow deeply to everyone again.
You know this is an unorthodox approach that they're taking.
“Thank you,” you say, voice tight with sincerity. “That’s incredibly generous of you.”
Minsoo has joined you in bowing, stuttering out his own thanks, looking just as breathless as you feel.
The staff member chuckles. "Of course. Please do your best."
“With that, however,” he adds, glancing down at his watch, “we’ll conclude for today. Please get home safely—we’ll reconvene next week. All details will come to you by email."
Everyone begins to rise, the room shifting into farewells and polite goodbyes.
Thankfully, no one tries to shake your hand again.
As you and Minsoo step into the hallway, you hear one of the staff ask Jaehwan to stay behind to "discuss the earlier situation".
The door shuts quietly behind you before you can hear anything else.
"Holy shit" Minsoo breathes out.
You turn to him, startled. For a second, you’d honestly forgotten he was even there. His eyes are wide again and you almost laugh, you hadn't expected him to swear.
He looks at you. Then at the door. Then back at you again.
"Holy shit," you echo him, cracking a smile.
Minsoo exhales hard, sagging against the wall. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, still catching up with what just happened. Then he straightens a little and glances over at you.
"…Do you want to go grab coffee, or something? We should—we're going to be working closely, so we should become friendly."
You smile at him, he had used your full name.
"Minsoo-ssi, you were born in ninety-nine, right?"
The man shifts his weight, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Eh? Yes?"
Your smile stays the same on your face. Gentle and warm.
“Then, you can call me noona if you'd like,” you say, keeping your tone soft. “If we’re going to be working closely together, let’s speak comfortably with each other.”
Minsoo returns your smile, face softening like a mirror image of yours.
“Ah… then noona, do you want to go get coffee? I feel like if I don't sit down and talk about that with someone I'm going to…" he pauses, thinking, "to dissociate so hard I become a ceiling tile!"
You nod at him seriously even though a smile plays on your lips at the analogy. You're thinking back to the earlier fire still smoldering in your chest.
Fifteen minutes later, you're sitting across from him at a semi-busy café just across the street. Two coffees between you, and two brains still struggling to comprehend reality.
Minsoo lets out a deep sigh, rubbing his forehead. "Okay. Let's break this down."
You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. "You already said that earlier. Has it helped?"
He frowns. "Not at all."
You chuckle, taking a sip of your coffee. The first taste burns your tongue, but you welcome it. The heat against your throat, the sensations of your body are just constant reminders that you're not stuck in a dream.
Minsoo sets his cup down and adjusts his glasses again, his face somewhere between panic and reverence. “Alright. First of all, we were just in the same room as Min Yoongi and Kim Namjoon.”
You blush at the memory, "I know."
You feel like you should be freaking out more. But it's strange—coming across them here. You always thought you'd be meeting your idols at a concert. A stage and a sea of fans separating you. It's like you never envisioned this scenario, and now your nervous system doesn't know what to do with you.
"What even happened?" Minsoo asks, voice somewhat shrill. "You were there before me—what was all that about 'we've already had this discussion'?"
You cringe inwardly at the memory of your botched greeting with Yoongi.
"Ugh… honestly, you really didn't get there much later than everyone else," you explain. "But Yoongi showed up and the staff said they weren't informed he was going to be there. And he just… said he wasn't informed either."
Minsoo perks up even more, "Wow, that's what he said?"
You nod, but honestly your mind is more stuck on the other news of the day. The full songwriting credit.
Sure, Min Yoongi was there, but you'd probably never see him again. But this? Something real could come out of this. Something actually within logical expectations.
"But Minsoo," you say, leaning forward, "what about the song credit!"
Minsoo's excitement immediately shutters. He gives you a look, utterly deadpan, peering over the rim of his glasses.
“Noona,” he says flatly, “aren’t you a fan?”
You flush slightly, taking another sip of your coffee.
“When the company did my background check, I told them I was a fan of their work…” You pause, then sigh. “But yes. I’m a fan. Probably not as much as some other people though. I’ve never been to a concert and I don’t have a lot of things memorized. Like what everyone's hair colour was in a given year.”
You feel the need to defend yourself, afraid you'll get called out for not being a "true" fan, but Minsoo just compliments your earlier revelation.
"Oh wow," he drags out, genuinely impressed. "That's smart noona. I basically just told them I was a fan when they asked me."
He sighs like he’s just now realizing the tactical error.
"Yes, well," you exhale. "It probably doesn't matter as much for you because you're not a… female fan. So please do me a favour and don't tell anyone okay? I was trying really hard to be professional."
Minsoo laughs, eyes bright. “Good luck with that. You’re writing his song.”
The man sips his coffee, looking like he's enjoying it far too much.
“Just saying,” he adds with a light grin, “if I were the one sitting beside him, I would have spontaneously combusted on the spot.”
You inwardly cringe again at your failure of a handshake with Yoongi. That moment was unfortunately going to be the one to live in your dreams forever. But you push through your thoughts and put on a smile to engage back with Minsoo.
"Ah… is he your bias?"
Minsoo shakes his head. “I like Taehyung.”
He says it like a warm, magical, secret, but then his eyes go wide with realization.
"If I had to sit beside him, I wouldn't even have time to be on fire. I would just explode."
That’s what finally makes you laugh.
Your eyes drift to Minsoo’s coffee cup, where his fingers have squeezed it in his enthusiasm. This is the first time you’ve sat down with someone like this in Korea. Besides going out for groceries, you hadn't left the apartment unit you were renting. You hadn't made any friends here.
This was the first time you’ve felt a real sense of familiarity in a place that still feels too big, too foreign, too much.
The warmth of the realization spreads through your chest. Of course BTS, larger than life itself, would be how you became a little less lonely.
Minsoo leans forward, pushing his glasses up. “You know, my mom still doesn’t believe I work here. She keeps asking when I’ll get a ‘real job.’”
You snort. “What, writing for the biggest group in the world isn’t real enough?”
He sighs dramatically. “Apparently not. She keeps sending me job postings for office positions. ‘Something stable.’”
You shake your head, laughing. “Sounds a little like my dad.”
He glances up at you. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You turn your coffee cup between your palms. “I think he still believes this is just another phase of mine. Like one day, I’ll wake up and magically decide to go back to law school instead.”
Minsoo smiles thinly. “Parents.”
“Parents,” you echo at him.
A moment of comfortable silence settles between you.
Then—
"Noona?"
Your eyes flick back up to Minsoo. The two of you had already fallen into a comfortable rhythm, the conversation bouncing easily between topics, but this time the word hangs a little heavier paired with your earlier realization.
You’ve never had anyone to call you that before.
It's a word that seems to carry only affection in its two syllables. A built-in closeness. And you can't help but think that it was beautiful how a language could have something like that.
Minsoo looks more serious now, however, more shy. Reminiscent of when you first met him at the airport.
"The song credit," he says simply.
Okay, so maybe some things about people were the same no matter where you were.
"Minsoo, I was trying to freak out about that earlier."
"No, noona," Minsoo's no longer looking at you but through you as he continues rubbing the lid of his coffee cup.
"I just remembered when I was researching the background of this company," he starts quietly, "I saw that several junior lyricists were fired during the last album cycle… which makes me wonder why they're going in the opposite direction now. Giving us more responsibility instead of being more careful with us".
Minsoo's words hang in the air between the two of you.
You straighten a little, "What? I never saw anything like that."
Minsoo nods, eyes flicking toward the café window.
Minsoo nods slowly, gaze flicking to the café window. “Yeah. It was never reported in an article or anything. But it came up during a press conference once. Some junior lyricists were let go after contributing on the last album. No official reason, just… gone."
Your stomach twists.
You knew the industry was ruthless. You knew contracts were fragile. That for every songwriter who made it onto an album, there were dozens who got cut before their name ever saw a credit list.
But hiring juniors, firing them, and now suddenly giving you both full song credits? That didn’t make sense.
You press your coffee cup tighter between your palms, trying to soak up the last bits of warmth.
“You don’t think…?” Your voice trails off as your mind flashes back—Yoongi’s surprise appearance, his cryptic words from earlier.
Minsoo adjusts his glasses again. "Maybe BTS doesn't want to work with junior artists anymore? I mean, it makes sense. They're famous enough, why would they need to?"
"And then the company's trying to give people like us a chance still?" you finish for him.
Minsoo exhales and leans back in his chair, stretching his arms out in front of him. “I mean, maybe it’s nothing.” He glances over at you. “Maybe those people got fired for something completely unrelated.”
You hum in response, though your gaze has already drifted out toward the window. Outside, the cars crawl past, headlights streaking into the café’s glass like slow-moving stars. The city feels distant again. Or maybe you do.
“Maybe,” you murmur, and try to smile. You’re not sure it quite reaches your eyes.
You go to take another sip of your coffee, but it's gone cold.