No Strings Attached | Min Yoongi x OC

6 ♡

We start working on the bridge again. She cues the track, the melody spilling through the speakers. Her hand moves to the fader, mine to the keyboard, the kind of synchronized movement that comes from muscle memory. Our elbows almost brush. The air between us hums.

"Levels are cleaner now," she says. Her tone is all business, but her eyes are bright, alive in a way I haven't seen in weeks.

"Your call was right," I answer. "The new EQ fixed it."

"Guess we both did something right today." Her words are neutral enough for the room, but there's a warmth underneath that no one else would catch.

When the lead producer steps out to take a phone call, the hum of the equipment fills the space. She doesn't look up from the screen when she says quietly, "Thanks for paying."

I grin behind my mask. "Of course."

"Next time's mine."

"So...same time tomorrow?" I ask, pretending to adjust the gain.

"Depends," she says, hiding her smile behind a sip of coffee. "Don't make me regret it."

I don't answer. I just nod toward the monitor, pretending to focus on the waveform that's scrolling across the screen. But my mind is somewhere else; on her voice, the way she said next time, the small domestic familiarity wrapped around it.

When the producer comes back in, we slip seamlessly into our rhythm again. The rest of the afternoon passes in work and laughter and the kind of easy conversation that makes everyone else in the room relax without knowing why.

But between every line, every glance, that shared secret hums quietly:
the promise of another lunch, another morning, another start.

By the time the mix hits its final save, the light outside has turned amber. The hum of the monitors dies down, leaving only the soft click of keys and the faint static of the speakers cooling. The producer stretches, murmurs something about traffic, and gathers his things. One by one, the others follow, until the room is left with only the two of us and the thin buzz of the equipment still plugged in.

Eunah shuts her laptop with a small, satisfied sound.
"That's it for today."

"Good work," I say, voice steady, the same thing I'd tell anyone else here.

She looks up, eyes narrowing with faint amusement. "You sound like you're writing an email."

I can't help the small laugh. "Force of habit."

We stand at the same time, collecting stray notes and empty cups.
She pulls the elastic from her hair, running her fingers through it absently; it falls around her shoulders, and the movement catches me off guard. For a second, the world goes quiet again; the memory of her laughter, her lips, the smell of her shampoo threading through my mind like a refrain.

She catches me looking and arches a brow. "What?"

"Nothing," I say, shaking my head quickly, but my mouth is already curving.

She hums, clearly unconvinced. "You'll send the session file tonight?"

"I will."
"Good. Then I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

The words land softer than they should. There's no wink, no lingering look; just that small, genuine smile again, the one that unravels me every time.

As she gathers her things, I reach the door first and hold it open.
It's a small, automatic gesture, but it earns a quiet "thanks" from her as she passes by.
Her sleeve brushes mine; barely a touch, but it's enough to make my chest tighten.

In the hallway, the fluorescent lights hum overhead. Other employees pass, nodding polite goodbyes. To them, we're just two professionals leaving work. To us, every step is threaded with the afterglow of an unspoken promise.

At the elevator, she turns slightly, still facing forward. "Don't be late."

"I won't."

The doors open with a soft chime. She steps in, presses the lobby button.
I stay where I am, watching the metal close between us.
Just before it does, she glances back; quick, subtle, and that small, knowing smile flickers again.

When the elevator disappears from view, I exhale, realizing I've been holding my breath.
The studio feels different now, emptied of everyone else but still carrying her.
It's not loneliness anymore; it's anticipation.

Tomorrow can't come fast enough.

[Eunah's POV]

The elevator hums around me, soft and mechanical, the kind of sound that usually empties my head.

Not today.

All day, the hours have played back like a film reel that won't stop spinning.
Waking to find him asleep on the other end of my couch; his shoulder half covered by the same blanket, hair a tangle of sleep and sunlight. The stillness of it had felt unreal, like the world had decided to give me a quiet morning just to prove it could.

Then him in the hallway, catching me half-dressed, the open doorway, that half-smile he tried to hide. I can still hear his laugh when I called him a peeping tom. The way he said you remember that night you stayed; the way he looked when he said it. The small kiss before work, quick and reckless and so completely him.

Something to hold me till the end of the day.
I should've scolded him. Instead I'm the one who keeps replaying it.

The elevator stops, doors opening to the lobby. I step out automatically, nodding to the security guard. My body goes through the motions of leaving work; bag over shoulder, phone in hand, but my head's still caught between everything we were and whatever this is becoming.

Lunch felt like the strangest normal: two people talking about coffee machines and stray cats, pretending that the world around them wasn't noticing the way their eyes kept catching. His voice had been lighter, the way it used to sound before all the distance. He'd even teased me about paying the bill. I didn't realize how much I'd missed that until it happened.

And then the studio after. Working beside him without the wall between us. Sharing glances that lasted half a second too long. Feeling the hum in the room and knowing exactly what it was.

I should be nervous. I'm not. I just feel... calm. Like we both finally stopped holding our breath.

By the time I reach the parking garage, from what I can see the sky has gone pale gold. I pull my jacket tighter and start toward my car. As I drive with the windows down, the city noise wraps around me – and for once, it doesn't drown me out.

He said he'd try. Not promise, not pretend—try.
It's a small word, but maybe that's enough for now.

I catch my reflection in the rearview mirror—hair a little messy, lips curved without realizing.
The smile that started in the elevator hasn't faded yet.
I let it stay. Just for the drive home.