you’ve lost track of how long you’ve been in the studio with heeseung. his attention’s on the computer screen, watching the waveform as your voice fills the room, that same verse looping as he makes minuscule adjustments. you’re watching him, studying the way his eyes narrow in focus, how his bottom lip catches between his teeth when he finds something he wants to change.

“can we… go over that line again?” he finally says, his voice low, almost too soft.

you don’t answer. instead, you step into the booth and start singing, your eyes never leaving his through the glass. the way he watches you—it's a different kind of focus, and you feel it; it’s intense, searing, and there’s no mistaking it.

when you finish, he waves you out, his expression unreadable. “that take was…” he pauses, catching his breath before he says, “perfect.”

you walk toward him, stopping just close enough to feel the charge in the air. “so no more adjustments?”

“not for that,” he says, and his voice drops, barely a whisper as he looks down, lingering on the space between you. he reaches out, his fingers grazing your wrist, like he's asking for permission. “but there’s something else i’ve been wanting to work on.”

“oh?” you murmur, letting your fingers graze his, daring to close the gap. his eyes lock onto yours, dark and intense, as if he’s weighing his next move, wondering if he can cross the line he’s been dancing on.

you feel his breath against your cheek, warm and shallow. “yeah,” he murmurs, the word just barely brushing your skin. “but maybe that can wait until… after hours.”