Scandal

2: Labels

?> Foreword 1 Scandal 2 [M] Labels 3 [M] Free and Fucking Beautifu

It had been two days since I last saw Ji Young.

Not that it was anything out of the ordinary. She worked with the creative team and had little business with our performances and activities unless it was a new release or concept.

She wasn't avoiding me again, was she?

Aniya. I made it clear the rumor was just that—a rumor. I even asked Bang PD-nim to put out a fucking statement. She was probably slaving away in her tiny office again—the same way I did whenever I produce or write music.

Memories from the past 48 hours replayed in my head for the nth time. She looked so hurt, so vulnerable.

I kissed her, and she kissed me back, and then some. We'd never gone all the way, but that night, it took a massive effort not to go beyond grinding against her, tasting her mouth and neck—

God I wanted her so badly. I still did.

I shifted in my seat, cursing the tight pants I was wearing for filming. Taking her to my studio was just so we could have some privacy while I cleared the air about Suran and find out why the hell she had been going out of her way to make herself scarce in my presence. And I was right—it was indeed about Suran.

Kissing her wasn't part of the plan. I'd told myself I needed to think about what was happening between me and Ji Young. I needed to be smart and responsible about things.

Aish, but she looked so lost, so insecure.

I unconsciously traced my lips with my fingers, wanting to recreate the feeling of hers on mine. We've been fooling around (for lack of a better term) for the past two months, and we both knew that our secret had a huge ass price to pay if anybody found out—especially for Ji Young.

I frowned. We were both consenting adults, and there was no coercion whatsoever involved in this...thing. But guilt still nabbed at me from the inside, knowing that if shit truly hit the fan, it wouldn't be me who'd be suffering the harsher consequence. And for what? I few kisses and touching here and there? Little drug-like doses of intimacy?

I wanted so much more, and I knew she did, too.

But.

I sighed, grabbing the nearest water bottle on the table in front of me. I saw a couple of flashes of white and black at the corner of my eye before they scuttled out of my line of vision. I knew the members were avoiding me, especially the younger ones—I haven't exactly been in a jovial mood the past few days. They think it's because of the scandal. It's half the truth, but it was better for them to believe that.

Did I want things to be casual? Maybe, in the beginning. We didn't really talk about relationships or rules. We talked like professionals while we worked, and frankly, I was amazed that she acted just as nonchalantly as I did the day after we first...got together.

My heartbeat started thrumming against my ribcage, remembering. She'd been working with us since Wings, and we never really interacted outside of the meeting room or shoots, or promotions.

But the tension was there. At first, I thought it was just because she was so passionate about her ideas, and so was I. We got into a lot of arguments and debates, so much so that the others started to label us as the creative nemesis. Everyone liked it—there was healthy competition and it could only help BTS come up with bigger and better concepts.

Neither of us knew that it would end up with us making out like teenagers in the dark confines of the IT closet in the meeting room one particular night of overworking and stressed-out arguing.

"Hyung," Namjoon's deep voice sliced through my reverie, yanking me back to reality. I looked up and saw the other rapper regarding me with a curious and mildly wary look.

I casually rested the hand that was holding the water bottle between my legs, hoping I hid my semi-hardness discreetly enough. Damn, I really was acting like a teenager. "What?"

Our leader sat on the coffee table, facing me. "You've been too quiet these days. Gwenchana?" His eyebrows drew together. "Wait, of course you're not okay. Sorry. But chin, up, bro. The scandal wasn't so bad."

Another pang of guilt. I wished to hell I could talk to the members about this. "Gwenchana. Mianhe, Namjoon-ah. I'm being difficult, aren't I." I wasn't really a question.

RM gave me an encouraging slap on the back. "Just a tiny bit more than usual," he laughed, standing up. "It's your turn for make-up. Noona was asking for you."

I hauled myself off the sofa and padded out of the waiting room. I narrowed my eyes at the sound of the ever-familiar screeching and laughing of the other members in the styling area, but willed myself to enter anyway, pulling my phone out. I could just listen to music.

I briefly wondered if I should call Ji Young.

"There's the loverboy!" Hoseok bellowed from across the room.

I snapped my head up, my heartbeat going a million miles a minute. What the fuck did JHope know?

There was a flash of hesitation on his face upon seeing my reaction, then shrugged his shoulders. "Aigoo, we know, we know, you're married to your music and no one else," he backpedaled placatingly, grinning unapologetically.

I didn't know if I should be grateful that Hobi was trying to make the atmosphere lighter, or if I wanted to punch his teeth out for making me nervous. For a hot second I thought he was talking about Ji Young. Of course it was about Suran.

I lowered myself on a chair in front of the mirrors and smiled as genuinely as I could. "Careful, Hoseok-ah. I could make several fake SNS accounts and start a rumor about you dating Jimin. I have several interesting photos," I smirked, earning an uncomfortably loud guffaw from the rapper / dancer.

"Ya, hyung! I didn't even do anything!" Jimin wailed from the other seat, struggling to keep still for the hair stylist. There was a chorus of yaaaaaaaa and ayyyiiieeeee from the others, fueling Hobi to dance lewdly in front of a sputtering Jimin and an exhausted stylist noona.

I closed my eyes, satisfied with my comeback. The members seemed to have been measuring me up, checking if was okay, and they looked relieved that I was back to talking. I should really make more effort to be considerate.

I tapped my fingers on my phone restlessly. I should definitely call her tonight.

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