Chapter Text
The humidity in St. Jude’s Landing didn't just hang in the air; it hugged you like a wet wool blanket. For Jung Hoseok, it was a welcome change from the sterile, recycled air of dance studios and first-class cabins. Here, tucked into a corner booth of The Salty Anchor, he felt like a ghost in the best way possible. No makeup, no cameras, just a bucket hat pulled low and a glass of lukewarm ginger ale.
He was officially on a healing trip, though the silence of the beach was starting to make his feet twitch. He needed noise. He needed a beat.
He got both, though not in the way he expected.
The local dive bar was a graveyard of nautical decor—nets draped over the ceiling, plastic lobsters, and a karaoke stage that looked like it was held together by prayer and duct tape. The DJ, a man who looked like he’d been cured in salt, tapped the mic.
“Next up, we got Sadie from the bakery! She’s gonna give us some of that K-Pop stuff she’s been obsessed with on the radio.”
Hoseok perked up, his eyebrows disappearing under his hat. K-Pop? Here?
A woman scrambled onto the stage. She was a whirlwind of energy, wearing denim cutoffs and an oversized t-shirt dusted with what looked like powdered sugar or flour. Her hair was pulled into a frizzy, messy bun that was losing the battle against the Florida humidity. She looked bright, sun-kissed, and utterly terrified-yet-excited.
The familiar, glassy texture of the opening notes of Killin’ It Girl blasted through the speakers.
Hoseok nearly choked. His eyes went wide—the "Hobi-shook" expression his fans lived for. He leaned forward, his heart racing. My song? Sadie gripped the mic like a lifeline. When the first verse hit, she didn't just sing; she launched an all-out assault on the melody. Literally an assault.
"Runway ready, gotta get some confetti… *gasp* celebrate like it…*pants* Korea to Miami…You're killin' it, girl, you're killin' it, girl!"
She was at least three keys flat. Maybe four. She was singing every few words with 110% conviction and humming through the rest until she reached the chorus, the only part she really knew, making Hoseok’s nose scrunch involuntarily.
Then came the dance.
Hoseok’s face shifted into what his members called "the Judge." His lips turned down, his head tilted slightly to the left, and his eyes narrowed with the intensity of a man watching a car crash in slow motion. She attempted a hip thrust move, but instead of a sharp, synchronized snap Hoseok had practiced for a thousand hours, she did a sort of wiggly hip-shake that ended in a goofy finger gun toward the bartender.
She was doing everything wrong. Her timing was off, her pitch was nonexistent, and she was currently butchering his lyrics.
And yet... she was glowing.
She threw her head back, laughing as she missed a high note so spectacularly that a dog outside started barking. She wasn't trying to be an idol; she was just having fun. Hoseok realized his judgmental face was slowly melting into a genuine, toothy grin. He hadn't seen someone enjoy his music this purely in a long time.
When the song ended, Sadie took a mock bow, nearly falling off the stage. The small crowd of regulars cheered—not because she was good, but because she was Sadie.
As she hopped down and headed toward the bar, she bumped right into Hoseok’s table.
"Oh! Sorry, sorry," she gasped, fanning herself with her hand. "Whew! That song is a workout. High energy, right?"
Hoseok looked up. Up close, she smelled like vanilla and citrus. He quickly tried to scramble his English brain, his heart doing a weird little hop-skip.
"It is... very energy," Hobi said, his voice a little raspy. He gave her a small, polite clap. "You... singing... very brave."
Sadie let out a peal of laughter, leaning against his table. "Brave? That’s a nice way of saying I sounded like a cat in a blender. I’m Sadie. I haven't seen you around. You a tourist?"
Hoseok blinked, trying to process the "cat in a blender" idiom and failing. He pointed to himself. "I am Hobi. Just... traveling. Vacation."
"Hobi? I like it! Nice to meet you, Hobi." She didn't squint at him. She didn't scream. She didn't pull out a phone to check his Instagram. She just looked at him with big, friendly green eyes. "You like that song? I heard it on the Hot 100 radio last week, and I can't get it out of my head. I haven’t learned all the words yet, but another week or so and I will have it down pat. But he sounds like he’s having a blast, right?"
Hoseok felt a mischievous spark in his chest. "Yes. He is... having blast. I think... He like your dance."
Sadie snorted, waving a hand dismissively. "Please. I move like a lawn sprinkler. Anyway, welcome to St. Jude’s, Hobi. If you want a real blast, come by The Flour Garden tomorrow. I’ll give you a free cinnamon roll since you had to suffer through my singing."
She gave him a wink and walked towards the door.
Hoseok sat there for a long moment, his hand touching his chest where his heart was still thumping. He looked at the stage, then back towards her.
"Killin' it," he whispered to himself, his English accented and soft. He broke into a wide, dimpled smile. "She is... really... Wow."
Hoseok watched her walk away, his gaze lingering on the flour-smudged hem of her shirt. He was still wearing his judgy face—mouth slightly agape, one eyebrow arched—but the judgment had shifted from her lack of rhythm to his own lack of words.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, the screen glowing with a hundred missed notifications from the label, the guys, and his manager. He ignored them all. Instead, he opened his notes app and typed: American girl. Bakery. Sings "Killin’ It" like a broken radio. Very cute.
He stayed in the booth for another hour, nursing his drink and listening to the locals. In Seoul, he was a sun around which planets orbited. Here, he was just a guy in a bucket hat. The anonymity was like a cool breeze on a sunburn. He found himself replaying her performance in his head. Her "lawn sprinkler" dance moves were technically a disaster, but the way she’d thrown her head back—the sheer, unadulterated joy of it—hit him harder than any professional choreography ever could.
The next morning, the Florida sun was already aggressive by 7:00 AM. Hoseok stepped out of his rental cottage, the air smelling of salt and damp earth. He’d spent half the night tossed between jet lag and the image of Sadie’s grin.
He found The Flour Garden nestled between a bait-and-tackle shop and a shuttered post office. It was a pale yellow building with a porch that groaned under the weight of oversized ferns. As he pushed the door open, a bell chimed, and he was hit by a wall of scent: yeast, cinnamon, and roasting coffee.
"Just a second!" a voice yelled from the back.
Hoseok walked to the counter, his eyes scanning the glass display cases. There were cookies the size of dinner plates and tarts piled high with lime zest. Then, he saw her.
Sadie emerged from the kitchen, a tray of steaming rolls in her hands. She was wearing a flour-dusted apron over a sundress, her face flushed from the heat of the ovens. She looked up, squinting through the steam, and then her eyes widened.
"Hobi! You actually came!"
Hoseok felt his ears turn red. "I... promise. For... cinnamon."
Sadie set the tray down with a heavy clack and wiped her hands on her apron, grinning at him. "A man of his word. I like that. You look a lot less like the mysterious traveler in the daylight, though I think you’re still hiding under that hat."
Hoseok adjusted the brim, feeling shy. "The sun is... very strong here. My skin is... delicate."
Sadie laughed, a bright, bubbly sound that made him want to dance. "Trust me, I get it. I’m basically a ghost without SPF 50 I’d burn to a crisp. So, how’d you sleep? The Salty Anchor isn't exactly a lullaby."
Hoseok struggled to find the words. He wanted to tell her he’d thought about her singing. He wanted to tell her he was a world-class dancer and he could show her how to actually do that hip thrust. Instead, he pointed to the rolls.
"I sleep... okay. But thinking... about sugar."
"Spoken like a true soulmate," Sadie teased, grabbing a wax paper sheet. She picked out the biggest, gooiest roll and slid it onto a plate. "On the house, like I said. For surviving my karaoke."
Hoseok took the plate, his fingers brushing hers for a split second. A jolt of electricity went up his arm, and he immediately made a face—a quick, scrunchy-nosed expression of surprise that Sadie found hilarious.
"What? Is it too hot?" she asked, leaning over the counter.
"No... just..." Hoseok looked at the roll, then at her. He took a bite, and his eyes practically rolled back in his head. It was soft, buttery, and perfect. "Wah! Sadie! This is... killing it!"
She snorted, leaning her chin on her hand. "Hey, look at you! Using my song lyrics. You’re a quick learner, Hobi."
For the next hour, Hoseok sat at a small bistro table by the window. He watched her work. She was a different kind of performer here. She moved through the small kitchen with a frantic, messy grace, greeting every local by name.
“Morning, Mr. Henderson! Extra glaze today?”
“Hey, Jen! How’s the baby’s ear infection?”
She was the heart of this place. Hoseok found himself mesmerized. In his world, everything was rehearsed to the second. Here, Sadie was improvising her way through the day, flour in her hair and a smudge of chocolate on her cheek.
Eventually, the morning rush died down. Sadie grabbed a damp cloth and came out to wipe the tables. When she got to Hoseok’s, she paused.
"So, Hobi. You’re on vacation, right? What’s the plan? You just gonna sit in a bakery and watch a girl clean all day?"
Hoseok felt a bold streak hit him. "Maybe. It is... good view."
Sadie paused, her cheeks turning a shade of pink that matched the strawberry tarts. "Oh, you’re a flirt. I see how it is. Well, Hobi-the-Flirt, if you’re bored, I’m closing early today. The humidity is too high for the sourdough to rise properly, and I was gonna go down to the hidden cove to jump in the water. You want to see a part of Florida that isn't a dive bar?"
Hoseok’s brain went into overdrive. Beach? With her? Alone? His English was failing him, his thoughts spinning in Korean. Is this a date? Should I bring a towel? Do I look okay? He settled for a wide, bright smile—the one that usually earned him screams from thousands of fans.
"I like... water," he said simply.
"Great! Meet me back here at two. And bring some of that 'delicate skin' sunscreen. You’re gonna need it."
As she walked back into the kitchen, Hoseok let out a long, shaky breath. He pulled out his phone and opened a translation app.
How to say ‘you are the most charming person I have ever met’ in English?
He looked at the translation and frowned. Too fast. Too much. He deleted it and typed a message to the BTS group chat instead.
Hobi: I met a baker. She sings my songs very bad. I think I am in trouble.
Jimin: ??? Hyung? Did you get heatstroke?
Jin: Is she pretty? Send bread.
Hoseok: She is... like sunshine. And yes, the bread is very good.
At 2:00 PM sharp, Hoseok was back at the bakery. He’d changed into a loose linen shirt and swim trunks, his heart hammering against his ribs. Sadie emerged from the side door, her hair now in two braids, carrying a cooler and a worn-out beach towel.
"Ready, tourist?" she asked, tossing him a bottle of water.
"Ready," he said, his confidence growing.
They walked down a narrow path overgrown with sea grapes and palms. The sound of the waves grew louder until the trees opened up to a secluded strip of white sand. The water was emerald green, sparkling under the heavy afternoon sun.
"Welcome to my office," Sadie said, dropping her gear. She kicked off her sandals and ran toward the water, looking back at him. "Last one in is a rotten egg!"
Hoseok watched her run, his judge face returning for a moment. Her running form was just as chaotic as her dancing—all flailing limbs and laughter. He shook his head, a chuckle bubbling up in his chest. He pulled off his shirt, revealing the lean, toned muscles of a man who had spent his life dancing.
He heard a small, sharp intake of breath from the water's edge.
Sadie was standing waist-deep, her eyes wide as she looked at him. She hadn't expected the cute traveler to have such a lithe, athletic build.
"Hobi..." she called out, her voice a little higher than usual. "You... you work out a lot?"
Hoseok smirked, feeling a surge of playful energy. He jogged toward her, the sand hot beneath his feet. "I... dance. A little."
"A little? Yeah, okay," she muttered, turning back to the water to hide her blushing face. "Just don't expect me to keep up. I’m more of a float like a cork kind of girl."
They spent the afternoon in the water, the language barrier feeling smaller with every passing hour. When words failed, they used splashes. When Hobi struggled to explain a Korean word, Sadie would act it out until they were both doubled over with laughter.
As the sun began to dip, painting the sky in bruises of orange and purple, they sat on the sand, shoulders nearly touching.
"Hobi?" Sadie asked softly, looking out at the horizon.
"Yes, Sadie?"
"Why Florida? Why here?"
Hoseok looked at her. The light was hitting her eyes, making them look like amber. For the first time, he didn't feel like an idol. He didn't feel the weight of the "Hope" he had to provide for millions. He just felt... Hobi.
"I want... to find..." he struggled, searching for the word. "Find myself. No... work. Just... Hobi."
Sadie reached out, her hand resting over his on the sand. Her skin was warm and salty. "Well, Hobi. I think you’re doing a pretty good job. And for the record? You’re a way better listener than that guy on the radio."
Hoseok smiled, a secret, mischievous glint in his eyes. "The guy on the radio... he is... okay. But I am... here."
"Exactly," Sadie whispered.
Hoseok felt the pull of her then—the magnetic, energetic romance you only read about in books. He knew he was lying by omission. He knew that eventually, the world would find him. But as the tide crept up to their toes, he decided that "Hobi the Baker’s Assistant" was a role he wanted to play for as long as possible.
He was going to woo her. He was going to use every ounce of charm, every dance move, and every bite of cinnamon roll to make sure that when she finally found out who he was, she wouldn't want the idol.
She’d want the man who sat with her on a quiet beach, struggling to find the English words for beautiful.