#bep1er | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jebewonmorelike · 1 year

Text

Hao You Like That?

wc: 2.6k (guys i can't stop writing 2.6k words pls send help and love) pronouns: none used; n/a (if u find any that i wrote by mistake, pls let me know) warnings: none? a bit angsty, a bit fluffy... a mention of drinking, bullying/jealousy, food... maybe a swear or two? ricky pops up at the end, but that's not a warning it's a very pleasant surprise summary: oh no, you guys. trainee!reader is zhang hao's arch nemesis... i hope they aren't secretly harboring romantic feelings for eachother! ~masterlist~ ♡ ~kofi (no pressure at all)~ Not ready for eliminations guys. I think all of my top picks are safe (I'm getting so worried about Jay though), but I truly love ALL of those boys so much. I can't wait to see what they all do next. Can't believe we'll have Bep1er in like two weeks...

"(Y/N)!"

You chew your cheeks silently as your dance teacher shouts your name, bracing yourself for the inevitable criticism.

He glares at you a moment, before snapping his fingers and pointing to the center of the formation. “Stand there.”

You glance at Zhang Hao, the trainee that is currently standing at center and who also happens to be your arch nemesis. Zhang Hao had always been the darling of your company, an extremely talented dancer, vocalist and notable visual. But the first day you walked through your company’s doors as a fresh-faced trainee with an enviable skillset, Zhang Hao had suddenly found himself faced with real competition for the first time since he started training.

So for the past year it’s been a constant professional battle between the two of you, but on more than one occasion things had felt quite personal. When you were awarded center and main vocalist in your training group’s number for the company showcase in the spring, you woke up the morning of the performance to a large rash around your collarbone and running up both of your arms. Come to find out, Zhang Hao had exploited your well-known allergy to nickel and switched your costume jewelry for the performance with his.

This offense, of course, called for payback of equal or higher severity. When Zhang Hao was selected to perform solo for investors last fall, you spread a rumor around the company that he still wet the bed. The rumor spread so far that when Zhang Hao took center stage, one of the investors asked the CEO loudly, "Oh, this is the bed-wetter boy you were talking about?"

Hao is absolutely fuming right now and you can tell by the lack of expression on his face. No visible reaction from him always meant you'd be paying for whatever you earned later.

He steps aside as you take center, moving to your previous spot as you run the dance this way for your teacher. You give it your all, but you're admittedly a bit surprised to be considered for center for "How You Like That". You had been up all night for a week trying to finish an essay for your Sociology class and you hadn't stayed at the company past nine for the last three days. Practicing this dance had been low on your list of priorities.

As you hit your final pose, your teacher nods thoughtfully. He always looks so angry that you can never tell what he's really thinking until he says it out loud.

"I think we should put it up to a vote," he says decidedly.

Your eyes find Hao's quickly, a look of surprise on his face mirroring yours. "A vote?"

Your teacher claps his hands together. "A vote. You can practice for 24 hours. And tomorrow at this time, you'll both battle it out and the whole company will vote on it."

You swallow hard. "This is a terrible idea."

"What? Afraid you can't beat me?" Hao challenges with a smirk.

You study him for a second: his stupid (perfect) hair, his stupid (fashionable) outfit, his stupid (handsome) face. You know very well that he hates this idea as much as you do, if not more.

Your status as the top two trainees at the company made you both targets of jealousy and bullying, often leaving you feeling ostracized from much of the group. Funnily enough, Zhang Hao was probably the only person who could really understand how you feel most days, so it was both ironic and a real shame that he hated you most of all.

"No. I'm afraid of what will happen to me when I do," you reply, folding your arms as you turn your attention back to the front of the room.

Your teacher sighs in disbelief. "You two are the most annoying students I've ever had. Talented... But so irritating."

Some trainees behind you laugh while your teacher dismisses the group practice and you quickly gather your things and run out the door to an individual practice room.

You practice for a few more hours, not really wanting to lose to Hao now that you'd challenged him in front of your whole group. Crashing into your dorm around midnight, you work on your essay for another four hours before finally falling asleep. By 5:45 A.M., you're up and ready to walk through company doors at 6.

The day moves so slowly as you phone it in for every practice session and spend your lunch and dinner breaks alone in a practice room, thinking only about the choreography for the showcase number. You will never be able to listen to "How You Like That" the same way after this.

Finally, you reach your last practice session of the day at 8 P.M. and as you make your way to the studio room, you're surprised when you see Zhang Hao sitting in the hallway with his back against the wall.

Approaching the door, you look over at him. "What are you doing?"

He looks up at you and you can swear his eyes are watery. "Nothing."

"Are you crying?" You ask in a less than caring manner.

He looks away and sniffles. "Allergies."

"Did someone... say something?" You prompt reluctantly, knowing that it was a common occurrence for one or the both of you to end your days in tears from a nasty comment from your peers. "I don't know why you'd listen to them anyway. They're just jealous of you. Why wouldn't they be? You're better than them."

You're not really sure why you're offering even an attempt at words of comfort right now. Maybe it's because of your sleep deprivation. Maybe it's because his handsome face looks extra pathetic right now. Or maybe it's because you can't help but sympathize with him.

His wide eyes meet yours in a way you can't remember having seen before, but he doesn't say anything.

"I'd also be happy to say something even worse to take your mind off it?" You offer facetiously as you take into account his non-response.

He checks his watch suddenly and stands up, dusting himself off a bit as he grabs the door handle and pushes it open. "I think beating you should help just fine, actually."

Hao goes first, performing the center choreography and vocals for "How You Like That" to an audience of about fifty trainees that your teacher could muster up. Hardly the whole company, but you were surprised even that many of your peers wanted to watch either of you.

You can't help but notice that Zhang Hao seems a little distracted. Moves he would normally punch perfectly on an accented beat are lagging slightly and his expression is less than enthused. Nevertheless he does well and after he finishes, you hop up to take your turn. Fighting the exhaustion that is consuming your body, you battle to the best of your ability. Your voice has sounded extra good today, maybe because you hadn't let it cool down for over twenty-four hours. Hitting your final pose, you know you've out-performed Hao by at least a noticeable margin.

And from the look in his eyes, you know he knows it, too.

Your teacher stands up and calls for the vote. The trainees all hand in small slips of paper with either your name or Zhang Hao's on them and your teacher counts them quickly.

"Zhang Hao is the winner with... 43 votes," he says, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "Huh."

You feel your cheeks start to heat up at the embarrassingly large defeat, swallowing the lump in your throat quickly. Your group practice session resumes without fanfare and you work on ironing out your original sub-vocal one and main rapper part for the rest of the hour, scurrying quickly from the practice studio and out company doors as fast as humanly possible.

You hit 'submit' on your essay at 11:37 P.M. exactly, just making the midnight deadline. Rubbing your eyes furiously, you start to get ready for a good night's sleep after a restless week of practice and schoolwork. Your toothbrush is in your mouth when a knock sounds on your door. Your roommates had gone out to drink tonight and said they wouldn't be back until early morning, so you wonder who the mysterious guest could be.

Spitting into the sink and wiping your mouth, you run to the door and open it cautiously to find Ricky, Zhang Hao's roommate, smiling politely back at you.

"Oh, hey (Y/N)... I think this got delivered to our room by mistake. I flipped it open quickly since there was no name on it and it's addressed to you, so I figured it just got mixed in with our mail by accident," Ricky explains, handing you a delicately folded piece of white paper.

"Oh," you say, turning it over in your hands. "Thanks, Ricky."

"No worries," he says with a nod, starting to walk away before adding, "Hey, uh, don't feel too bad about today either. Hao is really good, of course, but he only won by such a big margin because he bought everyone ramen for dinner tonight in exchange for their vote."

You can't help but laugh at the information you should've probably deduced for yourself. "Typical."

"If it makes you feel any better-- I'm upset about it, too. He used my credit card," the tall boy relays with a sigh, turning around and making his way back to his dorm.

You close the door to your room, sitting down on your bed and staring at the strange letter in your hands. You carefully open the folded piece of white paper and read the neat handwriting on the page:

"(Y/N),

Why are you like this? So perfect, I mean. You didn't practice the dance nearly as much as I did, but you were so much better. Why do you have to be a trainee at my company? Wouldn't it be better if we had both signed with different companies? Then maybe you wouldn't hate me so much. Then maybe I wouldn't have to pretend to hate you at all. Then maybe I wouldn't have been staring at you so much during practice today that I had my position as center questioned.

Ugh, this is so stupid. I don't know why my therapist told me to do this. So what if it's not healthy to have an "arch nemesis"? So what if it's even less healthy to have a crush on my so-called arch nemesis? What does she know?

I know I can't ever say any of this to you, but I just feel like you might be the one person who really gets me. How else would we be able to ruin each other's lives so effectively? Is it so wrong to want to turn things around? And it's not like we really have anyone else to talk to. I guess I just don't know how to tell you that I--..."

The letter ends there; a pen mark after the letter 'I' indicating the writer was pulled away from it in a hurry. It isn't signed, of course, but you know there's only one person who could've written it.

Jumping off of your bed, slipping on your shoes and racing down the hall, you knock on the door to his room. Ricky opens the door, smiling at first and then eyes widening in fear as he sees the look on your face.

"Is Hao there?" You ask frantically.

He shakes his head quickly. "No, he's still at the company, why--."

"Thanks," you say, starting down the hall as the blonde boy stares after you. "You should be running too, Ricky!"

"Why?" He asks, brows furrowing in confusion.

Opening the doors of your dorm building, you yell back over your shoulder, "Because Hao is going to kill you!"

Bursting through the company's doors at 12:06 A.M., you drop your phone in the basket in the hallway. A staff member greets you very cautiously.

"(Y/N), are you here to practice? All the individual rooms are currently in use," she says, looking at her watch to see what time it is.

"Great. Where's Zhang Hao?" You quietly demand, walking past her down the corridor to the individual practice rooms.

"Oh, um... Number three," she calls after you've already turned the corner. You're shaking slightly by the time you reach the door to practice room number three, entirely out of breath and sopping wet from running half a mile in the rain to get there in a fit of anxiety and rage.

You spot him now through the small window in the practice room door, perfecting some choreography for the investors' evaluation this weekend. His eyes are closed and his headphones are on as you prepare for a sneak attack, opening the door and stepping inside.

But Hao's eyes suddenly locking on yours through the mirror sends a panic through your system. You're breathing even harder than you were before as he turns around to face you. Taking off his headphones, he gives you a look of concern (or disgust) as he takes in your haggard state.

"What's--... What's wrong? Why are you all wet and gross?" He asks in a very Hao-like way, making it hard to believe he was really the one who wrote you some sort of quasi-love letter.

You stand there for a second, staring back at him as fear temporarily paralyzes you. What in the world are you thinking? What even is the goal of bringing this letter to him? To make fun of him? To break his heart?

... To make a confession of your own?

"Are you okay? Did something happen?" He asks then, his voice noticeably softening slightly. "Did someone... say something?"

You nod slowly, pulling out the folded letter from your hoodie pocket; now dampened from the rain.

"What's that?" Zhang Hao asks, brows furrowed as we walks up to you and snatches the paper out of your hand. He unfolds it quickly, the corner of it tearing off in the process.

You watch his face completely drop as he realizes what it is. If you were questioning it before, you now had no doubt that Hao had in fact written the letter. He stares at it silently, clearly unsure of what to do or say.

"Is it true?" You ask softly.

"Is what true? There's not even a signature on it," he denies half-heartedly, bottom lip finding its way between his teeth.

"Is it true?" You ask again. Did you want it to be true?

His eyes meet yours timidly now, as he seemingly finds himself unable to speak. He shakes his head slowly. Has he always been this cute?

"That's too bad," you concede, stepping backwards. "I might've considered it... All of it."

You raise your eyebrows expectantly, turning towards the door when you feel Zhang Hao's hand close around your wrist. You look at him, his cheeks flushed a perfect rose.

"This is so embarrassing," he squeaks out, looking anywhere but into your eyes.

You nod. "It really is."

"Well, you're the one who ran here in the rain at midnight to see me," he quips.

"Well, you're the one so hung up on me that your therapist made you write a fake letter to address your feelings," you rebuttal.

"Well, you're the one who--," Hao starts to argue, and before you're even fully aware of what you're about to do, you find yourself cutting him off with a kiss. When you pull back, his mouth hangs agape slightly in shock. "… Kissed me."

"Honestly, Hao, you are pretty cute, but you're so annoying when you talk," you explain.

He nods slowly. "And so are you... But you know what I still can't figure out?"

You raise an eyebrow at him curiously. "What?"

"How did you get this letter in the first place? It was in my r--..."

Zhang Hao's eyes narrow menacingly as realization hits him:

"Ricky."