Work Text:
The rain started right when you stepped out of the subway station.
Typical.
You pulled your coat tighter around yourself as you hurried down the street, your portfolio bag clutched carefully against your side to keep it dry. The building loomed ahead of you, tall and sleek with glass walls that reflected the gray sky. Even from outside, it looked intimidating.
Hybe.
Your stomach twisted.
You had already passed two rounds of interviews. That fact kept replaying in your mind as you pushed through the front doors and approached the reception desk. Portfolio review. Technical evaluation. Each round had taken weeks. Each email from the company had made your heart jump.
The final round was today.
You bowed politely to the receptionist, gave your name, and sat down in the waiting area.
Four other candidates were already there.
They looked calm.
One of them was scrolling through her tablet. Another was quietly organizing her makeup kit. A guy in a tailored blazer was reviewing a styling reference book.
Everyone looked like they belonged.
You stared down at your own hands.
You had spent years studying hair and makeup artistry. Late nights practicing cuts on mannequin heads. Early mornings assisting at small studio shoots. The chance to work as part of a professional idol styling team felt like the kind of opportunity people waited their entire careers for.
And somehow you had made it this far.
Your phone buzzed. Your best friend had texted.
Don’t throw up.
You typed back.
Very helpful.
If you faint in front of TXT I will personally disown you.
You snorted quietly and shoved your phone back into your bag.
A staff member appeared a few minutes later.
“Thank you for waiting. We’ll begin shortly.”
The five of you were guided down a hallway that smelled faintly of hair products and fabric softener. The studio space they brought you into was bright and spacious. Cameras were set up on one side. Racks of clothing and styling stations lined the other.
This was the practical evaluation.
Your heart thumped faster.
“You’ll each be assigned a member for a mock photoshoot preparation. We’ll evaluate styling decisions, communication, and technical execution.”
You nodded along with the others.
Then the door opened. Five people walked in.
You recognized them instantly.
TXT.
Your brain stopped working for half a second.
The members greeted the room politely, bowing slightly.
“Hello.”
The candidates returned the greeting in unison.
Your pulse was now dangerously loud in your ears. Assignments were announced.
Your name was third.
“And you’ll be working with Beomgyu.”
You blinked.
He stepped forward with a small wave.
“Hi.”
Your body reacted before your brain did.
You bowed.
“H-hello.”
He laughed softly.
It was a warm, slightly mischievous sound.
“You look more nervous than I am.”
You tried to gather yourself while he sat in the styling chair in front of you. Up close, his hair color looked slightly different than in videos. The stage lighting that usually surrounded idols wasn’t here, so every detail stood out clearly.
You pulled on a pair of gloves and gently lifted a section of his hair to examine the ends.
The thought slipped out before you could stop it.
“Your hair’s really dry.”
Silence.
Beomgyu blinked at you in the mirror.
Then he started laughing.
Not mockingly. More like he had just heard something unexpected and funny.
“That’s the first thing you say to me?”
Your ears burned.
“I’m sorry,” you said quickly. “I just meant that it might affect the styling texture if we use heat.”
He leaned back slightly in the chair.
“I like it,” he said.
“…You like it?”
“Yeah.” His grin widened. “Everyone else keeps telling me I look handsome.”
You looked up.
“You are handsome.”
He chuckled.
“Then why didn’t you say that first?”
You shrugged a little awkwardly.
“I thought you’d rather hear something useful.”
The grin that spread across his face lingered in the mirror.
You started working.
Your hands moved automatically, sectioning his hair, evaluating the natural fall, considering the photoshoot concept the staff had shown you earlier. The lighting setup meant certain tones would appear flatter on camera.
Volume alone wouldn’t solve that.
You reached for a lightweight shine serum.
“May I?” you asked.
“Go ahead.”
A tiny amount worked through the top layers created subtle depth when the studio lights hit. You adjusted the front part slightly and shaped the framing around his face.
The photographer tested the camera feed.
One of the staff members leaned closer to the monitor.
“That’s better.”
You let out a quiet breath.
Beomgyu caught your eye through the mirror again.
He smiled.
The photoshoot simulation began.
Between shots, you stepped forward to make adjustments.
At one point you asked quietly, “Do you have a preferred style for performing?”
He seemed surprised by the question.
“You mean for choreography?”
“Yes.”
He thought for a second.
“I like when it stays out of my eyes but doesn’t show my full forehead, you get what I mean?
You nodded.
The original parting would fall forward once he started moving. You shifted it slightly and added a touch of hold spray.
During the movement test that followed, his hair stayed clear of his face.
He stopped afterward and looked at you.
“Wow,” he said. “I can actually see.”
You smiled.
“That’s helpful when dancing.”
He laughed again.
After the session ended, he stretched his arms over his head and turned toward you.
“You’re really good,” he said.
Your brain immediately short-circuited.
“Thank you.”
“You got way more nervous after the shoot than during it.”
“Cutting hair is easier than talking to idols.”
“That makes sense.”
The interview ended shortly afterward.
You bowed to the staff and the members before leaving the building.
Your heart stayed full of nervous adrenaline the entire subway ride home.
Two weeks passed.
You already knew the moment the email arrived.
There was a strange, quiet kind of certainty that settled in your chest when you saw the subject line sitting in your inbox, and although your fingers hovered above the trackpad for several seconds while your heart beat a little faster than usual, the outcome itself did not surprise you when you finally opened it.
You read the message once, then again, and the polite sentences about appreciation and consideration looked exactly like every other rejection letter that existed in the professional world.
They thanked you for your time.
They acknowledged your skills.
They informed you that another candidate had been selected for the position.
Your laptop screen glowed faintly in the dim afternoon light of your apartment, and you leaned back against the couch with a slow breath that carried more disappointment than you wanted to admit.
You had made it to the final round of interviews to become one of Tomorrow X Together’s stylists.
The final round.
For weeks you had imagined the possibility of walking into the building every morning with an employee badge clipped to your bag, carrying trays of hair tools and palettes of carefully organized makeup products while the members prepared for performances, photoshoots, and world tours that moved from one city to another faster than most people could follow.
That version of the future had disappeared with a few gentle sentences.
The front door opened a moment later.
“Are you home?”
The familiar voice drifted into the living room, accompanied by the quiet sound of sneakers being slipped off near the entrance.
You shut your laptop.
“In here.”
Footsteps approached.
Choi Beomgyu appeared around the corner of the hallway, wearing a black hoodie and a baseball cap pulled low over his hair, although he pushed it back slightly when he saw your face.
“You look like someone just told you that pineapple belongs on pizza,” he said as he walked over, dropping his bag onto the chair beside the couch before sitting down next to you.
You hesitated.
Then you turned the laptop toward him.
He read the email quickly.
The cheerful lightness that usually lived in his expression faded, and his eyebrows pulled together slightly while he reached the end of the message.
“They didn’t hire you?”
You shook your head.
“They chose someone else.”
For a few seconds he said nothing, and the quiet between you felt heavier than usual.
“That’s ridiculous,” he finally muttered.
You leaned your head against the back of the couch.
“It’s not ridiculous,” you said gently. “There were a lot of strong candidates.”
“You were the strongest one.”
“You’re biased.”
“Of course I’m biased,” he replied immediately. “I’m dating you.”
The words still made something warm flicker in your chest every time he said them out loud, even though the relationship itself had been quietly unfolding for nearly eight months.
No one outside the five members of Tomorrow X Together knew about it.
The company did not know.
The staff did not know.
The fans definitely did not know.
The secrecy had begun unintentionally at first, when you met him during a freelance styling job for a small magazine photoshoot several months before the interviews started, and the two of you discovered that conversations flowed between you with surprising ease whenever he sat in your chair while you adjusted the layers of his hair or brushed soft powder across the bridge of his nose under bright studio lights.
Somewhere between late night text messages about terrible ramen flavors and occasional coffee meetups that happened during rare breaks in his schedule, the friendship shifted into something quieter and deeper.
The members had figured it out long before either of you admitted it.
Soobin had noticed the way Beomgyu smiled at his phone whenever your name appeared on the screen.
Yeonjun had walked into the dorm kitchen one night and caught Beomgyu leaning against the counter with a dreamy expression while listening to a voice message that ended with your laughter.
Taehyun had simply raised an eyebrow and said, “You should probably tell her before you start acting even weirder than usual.”
Huening Kai had clapped enthusiastically when Beomgyu confessed the truth.
Since then, the secret lived safely within the small circle of the five of them.
Now Beomgyu closed your laptop and set it aside before leaning back against the couch with a frustrated sigh.
“You were literally perfect for that job.”
You turned your head toward him.
“You only saw one interview.”
“That one interview was enough.”
“Gyu.”
He glanced at you.
“You know the final decision probably involved things like years of industry experience and existing contracts with the company’s styling teams,” you said calmly. “I’ve only been freelancing for a short time.”
He crossed his arms.
“They still made the wrong choice.”
You laughed softly.
“Your loyalty is very flattering.”
“It’s also correct.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth despite the lingering disappointment sitting in your chest.
He studied your face for a moment.
“You’re sad.”
“I’m a little sad,” you admitted.
He shifted closer on the couch until his shoulder pressed lightly against yours, and his voice softened.
“You worked really hard to reach the final round.”
You nodded.
“I did.”
“And you were excited.”
“I was.”
His fingers found yours where your hand rested on the cushion between you.
“You still did something amazing,” he said quietly. “Most people don’t even get the chance to interview for something like that.”
You squeezed his hand gently.
“I know.”
A comfortable silence settled between you for a moment while the late afternoon sunlight slowly shifted across the living room floor.
Then Beomgyu suddenly straightened.
“Wait.”
You blinked.
“What?”
“You can still do my hair.”
You stared at him.
“That’s your solution to my career disappointment?”
“Yes.”
“You already have stylists.”
“They’re great,” he said quickly, “but none of them tell me my hair is dry within the first ten seconds of meeting me.”
You covered your face with one hand.
“That was professional feedback.”
“That was brutal honesty.”
“It was necessary honesty.”
He laughed quietly.
“You should have seen the stylist’s face when I asked for conditioner treatments three times a week after that interview.”
Your hand dropped.
“You actually did that?”
“Of course.”
“Did they ask why?”
“I said I received expert advice.”
You stared at him in disbelief.
Then you started laughing.
The sound seemed to brighten the room instantly, and Beomgyu watched you with a satisfied smile that appeared whenever he managed to pull you out of a bad mood.
“There it is,” he said.
“What?”
“That laugh.”
You tilted your head.
“What about it?”
“I like it.”
Your cheeks warmed slightly.
“You’re very cheesy today.”
“I’m comforting my girlfriend.”
“That doesn’t require cheese.”
“I think it does.”
You shook your head, although the smile lingering on your lips refused to disappear.
After a moment, Beomgyu stood up and stretched his arms over his head before walking toward the kitchen.
“Do you want dinner?”
“Did you come here planning to cook for me?”
“I came here planning to see you,” he replied, opening the refrigerator while scanning the shelves. “Cooking just happens naturally afterward.”
You watched him from the couch while he pulled out ingredients and started moving around the small kitchen with surprising confidence, considering that his members frequently complained about his cooking habits in interviews.
“You’re using my vegetables,” you pointed out.
“I’m making you food.”
“That doesn’t make them yours.”
“It makes them shared resources.”
You laughed again.
While he cooked, your phone buzzed on the coffee table.
A group chat notification appeared.
The name of the chat was simple.
tubatu (coed group version)
You opened it.
Soobin: Did she get the results today?
Yeonjun: Is she crying
Taehyun: Beomgyu better not be handling emotional support alone
Huening Kai: Should we send snacks
You typed a reply.
You: I’m okay
Three dots appeared immediately.
Soobin: Are you sure
You: Yes
Yeonjun: If he says anything stupid tell me and I’ll scold him
You glanced toward the kitchen.
Beomgyu was humming quietly while stirring something in a pan.
You: He’s cooking dinner
The typing bubble appeared again.
Huening Kai: Oh she’s safe then
You smiled at the screen.
When you set the phone down again, Beomgyu carried two plates over to the coffee table and sat cross-legged on the floor.
“Eat.”
You joined him.
The food was simple but warm and comforting, and the two of you talked about smaller things while you ate, including the upcoming comeback preparations that were already beginning to occupy most of his schedule.
Eventually he leaned back against the couch with a thoughtful expression.
“You know something.”
“What?”
“If you had gotten that job, we would have had to pretend we barely knew each other every day.”
“That’s true.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
You laughed.
“Dating an idol in secret is already exhausting.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“Is it?”
“Sometimes.”
“Why?”
You reached forward and adjusted a strand of his hair that had fallen over his eyes.
“Because I have to pretend you’re just a friend whenever we’re around other people.”
His lips curved into a small smile.
“You’re doing a good job.”
“You’re not.”
“What do you mean?”
“You look at me like a golden retriever.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
He considered this for a moment.
“Golden retrievers are loyal.”
You sighed.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
The soft amusement in his voice made your chest feel lighter than it had all afternoon.
A few minutes later he gently nudged your shoulder.
“You’re going to become an incredible stylist someday,” he said quietly.
“You sound very confident about that.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
He thought about the question before answering.
“Because you care about the details that other people miss.”
You watched him curiously.
“Like dry hair?”
“Exactly like dry hair.”
You laughed again.
The rejection email still existed, and the job still belonged to someone else, but the heavy disappointment that had filled your chest earlier felt smaller now, softened by the quiet presence of the person sitting beside you.
Beomgyu rested his head against your shoulder.
“Also,” he added, “I’m still going to send you pictures of my hair whenever it looks terrible.”
You groaned.
“That’s not part of my job description.”
“It’s part of being my girlfriend.”
“That sounds suspiciously like free labor.”
“It’s emotional support.”
You nudged him lightly with your elbow.
“I should charge consultation fees.”
“I’ll pay you in ramen.”
“That’s a terrible payment system.”
“Fine,” he said with a grin. “I’ll pay you in kisses.”
Your face warmed immediately.
“Beomgyu.”
“Yes?”
“You’re still cheesy.”
“I know.”
And somehow, even with a rejection email sitting quietly in your inbox, the future felt wide open again.