2tae1l

[2tae1l]

Eight Counts Away

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Bonus Scene: Just After the Afterparty

set between Chapter 15 & 16 You were on your way to the bathroom when you passed the hallway leading to the back of the restaurant—where coats and bags had been dumped in a pile earlier. Taeil was there, sitting on a low bench, scrolling through his phone. He looked up, clearly not expecting company. “Lost?” “Nope.” You leaned against the wall. “Just pretending I have something to do.” He smirked. “Smart.” You didn’t speak for a moment. The noise from the dinner was muffled now—just faint music and the distant sound of P.O. singing off-key. “You okay?” you asked. He nodded. “Yeah. Just… full.” You both laughed quietly. Then you said, “You were really quiet tonight” Taeil looked at you, eyes sharper now. “Didn’t feel like talking much.” “Why?” A pause. Then: “Sometimes I just wanna sit with things, y’know?” he said. “Not break them apart or explain them. Just… hold onto them a little longer.” You swallowed. “Like the show?” He nodded. “And you.” You blinked. Once. Twice. He stood then, brushing past you with a casual touch to your arm. “I’ll see you outside,” he said. And you didn’t move for a while.

[2tae1l]

Eight Counts Away

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Chapter 16: Same Spot [Final Chapter]

Dinner unraveled slowly—grills cooling, laughter trailing off, people slumping deeper into their chairs with full bellies and flushed cheeks. You stood near the door, phone in hand, considering the taxi ride home when JM called out from the street. “I'm heading back with Taeil,” he said, jangling his keys. “You’re near Seongjeong, right? I’ll drop you both.” You hesitated. “That’s okay, I can—” “Come on. You’ll get home faster.” Taeil was already by the car, unlocking the backseat. You slipped in beside him without another word.

The city passed in a blur—wet roads, sleepy neon, the low hum of the heater filling the car. JM kept the front seat conversation light, looping through stories about backstage mishaps and group chat chaos. You chimed in where it felt natural, but mostly, you were aware of Taeil beside you. His hoodie brushed your sleeve when the car turned. Your knees knocked once at a stoplight. Neither of you shifted. Somewhere between Mapo and your neighborhood, the conversation died down. The car settled into silence. Taeil leaned slightly closer, shoulder grazing yours. Casual. Steady. You didn’t move away. You weren’t thinking about the show anymore. Or the noise of the restaurant. Just the feel of shared air, and how strange it was that someone could sit so quietly beside you and still make your pulse race. The car slowed in front of your block. “This is the stop?” JM asked, already checking his phone. “Yeah,” you both said—at the same time. Taeil huffed a soft laugh. You got out first. He followed. The street was quiet, the kind of stillness that only shows up after midnight—dim porch lights, the echo of footsteps, a cool breeze cutting across the pavement.He didn’t say goodbye right away. Just stood there, looking at the sky, hands in his pockets. “I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured. “About being glad you were part of this.” You looked up at him, surprised. “Yeah?” “Yeah.” You nodded. “Me too.” And then he smiled—small, crooked, real. Neither of you moved. You almost expected him to say something more. Maybe ask if you wanted to see each other again. Maybe ask if you danced because you had to—or because you loved to.

And for a moment, you almost asked him something, too. Like whether he always watched people like that—quietly, like he was learning their rhythm without ever interrupting it.But neither of you did. You just stood there, two silhouettes under a streetlight, full of things left unsaid. Then he said your name, gently. “Goodnight.” And that was enough.

[2tae1l]

Eight Counts Away

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Chapter 15: Outside Air

The restaurant had settled into the kind of chaos only KBBQ and too much soju could create. Empty plates stacked like towers, grills sputtering with the last pieces of meat, and everyone laughing louder than before. Zico had gone red in the face mid-story. P.O. and Minjae were locked in a bizarre argument about whether watermelons had genders. You weren’t sure how it started, but Daeho was slapping the table like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. You were full—too full. A little warm from the drinks, limbs heavy from the day. Someone suggested a smoke break, and before you knew it, half the crew was drifting out the side door for fresh air. You followed, tugging your jacket tighter around yourself as the night hit your skin. Outside, the city was quieter. Dimmer. Just neon reflections on wet concrete and the low buzz of passing cars. Taeil stood near the edge of the lot, hoodie pulled up, hands tucked into his sleeves. A cloud of vapor curled from his lips as you approached. He didn’t look surprised to see you. “You vape?” he asked, brows raised just a little. You lifted yours in reply. “Bad habit,” you said, taking a slow drag. “Helps after rehearsals.” He nodded approvingly. “Same.” You stood side by side, the smoke between you like a lazy fog. Every now and then, someone laughed or called out from inside, but you both stayed quiet. He held his vape toward you. “Try mine. It’s lychee ice.” You handed yours over at the same time. “Mango.” He smirked. “Nice.”You tried his first. The lychee hit stronger than expected, making your chest buzz a little. Clean, cold, sweet. Not bad. He took a pull from yours and blinked in surprise. “Yours is nicer.” The exchange wasn’t flirtatious—not really. But it felt like something. Quiet. Personal. Like a language only you two were speaking. You glanced over at him, the streetlight catching on the curve of his jaw, the edge of his hoodie. “How did tonight feel?” you asked. He thought about it. Took another drag, watching the smoke drift upward. “Like breathing again,” he said. “I didn’t realize how much I missed it until it was happening.”You nodded. You knew that feeling. He looked over at you, something unreadable in his eyes. “You killed it tonight,” he said. “You didn’t just follow the beat. You belonged on that stage.” Your throat went tight. “You too.” He huffed out a laugh. “I better.” From inside, someone shouted your name. Dessert had arrived. You both lingered a second longer. Then he added, voice softer, “Glad we got to do this together.” You offered him a small smile. “Me too.” Then you both headed inside—vapes back in pockets, smoke fading behind you like it never happened.

[2tae1l]

Eight Counts Away

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Chapter 14: Team Dinner

The restaurant was alive with laughter and the sizzle of meat on hot grills. This KBBQ spot was Block B’s go-to after every show, a tradition that now included the dance crew and staff.

Long tables stretched across the room, the dance crew and Block B seated separately but close enough for conversations to flow between them.

You sat between Minjae and Daeho, already being teased about your earlier photo with Taeil.

Across the room, at the far end of Block B’s table, Taeil sat looking relaxed and at ease beside Ukwon and P.O.

Zico stood up, raising his glass. “Listen up, everyone! We did it. Another show, another memory. Thanks to the staff, the dancers, and everyone who made tonight happen. Cheers!”

Glasses clinked, laughter erupted. You lifted your glass, your eyes drifting toward Block B’s table—and found Taeil looking back at you from the opposite end.

For a moment, your gazes lingered, the noise around you fading into the background. His expression softened, just a little. Your pulse quickened. Before he could look away, you dropped your eyes, focusing on the rim of your glass as heat crept up your neck.

Minjae nudged your arm, grinning. “You’re blushing,” he whispered.

“I am not,” you muttered, but your cheeks felt warm.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

His POV:

Taeil leaned back in his chair, the warmth of the grill and the laughter of his friends wrapping around him like a familiar blanket. He sipped his soju, watching as Zico stood to give his usual toast—words of gratitude and celebration, a ritual after every show.

As the cheers rose, Taeil’s gaze drifted across the room, landing on you at the dance crew’s table. You were looking at him, too, your glass raised, a small smile on your face. For a moment, everything else faded—the noise, the chatter, the clinking glasses.

He felt a warmth in his chest, something light and unexpected, and he let himself hold your gaze, his own expression softening.

Then, just as he was about to smile, you looked away, your eyes dropping to your glass. He caught the way your cheeks turned pink before you turned your head, and he couldn’t help but smile to himself, feeling a strange mix of shyness and pride.

The night continued, stories and jokes flowing, but Taeil found himself glancing your way more than once, wondering if you’d look back again.

[2tae1l]

Eight Counts Away

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Chapter 13: Group Photos

Backstage was a whirlwind of camera flashes and laughter. Staff, dancers, and Block B crowded together for the final group shot—everyone jostling for space, swapping places, and grinning at the cameras. The energy was electric, the air thick with relief and celebration.

You and the dance crew settled on the floor in front of Block B, everyone arranging themselves in casual, playful poses. You found yourself right in the center, just in front of Taeil. His hair was still down, and when you glanced behind you, you caught his eye for a brief second. His smile was warm, effortless, and it made your heart skip.

“Group shot!” the photographer called, and you all leaned in, fingers pointing, tongues out, hands making hearts. The flash went off, capturing the moment—your team, Block B, and you right in front of Taeil.

After the group photo, Minjae appeared at your side. He didn’t say a word, but his smirk told you everything—he knew exactly how much you admired Taeil. Without any teasing, he took your phone and nudged you toward Taeil.

“Go on,” he mouthed, already lifting the camera. Taeil, noticing your approach, gave you a small, knowing smile. “Good job tonight,” he said again, his voice low and sincere.

You grinned back, your cheeks warming. “You too.”

Minjae snapped a few quick photos, capturing the two of you together—Taeil’s hair down, your smile bright, the night’s magic still lingering between you.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ His POV:

Taeil felt a little awkward posing for a photo with just her, but her presence was so natural, so easy, that he quickly relaxed. He leaned in slightly, letting Minjae take the shot, and caught the way her eyes sparkled as she smiled at him. The moment felt private, even in the crowded backstage, and he found himself wishing it could last a little longer.

Just as Minjae handed her back her phone, Ukwon sidled up beside him, nudging his shoulder.

“Yah, Taeil,” Ukwon teased, his grin wide. “You’re looking extra friendly tonight. What’s going on here?”

Taeil rolled his eyes, but his cheeks felt warm. “Nothing, just a photo.”

“Sure, sure,” Ukwon laughed, winking at you both. “Just a photo, huh?”

She laughed, shaking her head, and Taeil couldn’t help but smile, too. The teasing was all in good fun, but there was something about her—and about this night—that he’d remember for a long time.

[2tae1l]

Eight Counts Away

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Chapter 12: Curtains Close

The music faded, the last note swallowed by a roar from the crowd. The stage lights burned, then dimmed, and for a moment, everything was just a blur of noise and flashing colors.

Backstage, the air was thick with adrenaline and relief. Dancers high-fived, hugged, laughed in giddy disbelief—it was over, and you’d done it. You found yourself grinning as Minjae pulled you into a sweaty side-hug, Daeho clapping you on the back. JM gave you a thumbs-up, eyes shining with pride.

You wiped your face with your towel, still catching your breath. The hallway was alive with movement—crew calling out, mics being unclipped, Block B’s members emerging from the other side, their energy electric.

Taeil stepped into the chaos, his hair down, soft and a little tousled. You couldn’t help but smile. Throughout his career, he’d always worn a hat or beanie, hiding his face and his expressions. Tonight, seeing him like this—open, relaxed, his features clear—felt special, almost like a gift.

He caught your eye for a split second, his smile small but real, before he was swept up by his members. P.O was already cracking jokes, Zico giving a quiet word to the staff.

You lingered by the wall, watching them, letting the moment settle. The ache in your legs, the lingering buzz in your chest—it all felt worth it. You’d danced your last routine with this team, on this stage, and nothing could take that away.

As the crew started to clear the space, you realized you weren’t just another dancer in the crowd. You’d been part of something bigger, and you’d remember every second of it.

The night wasn’t over yet—there were still goodbyes to say, photos to take, and maybe, if you were lucky, a quiet word with Taeil before the lights went down for good.

But for now, you let yourself bask in the glow of a performance well done, the echo of the crowd still ringing in your ears.

[2tae1l]

Eight Counts Away

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Chapter 11: Four Counts Out

You sat cross-legged on the cold floor, back against a flight case, towel over your shoulders and your body still humming from the first set. One more. That was all that was left. One final performance. Nilili Mambo & Very Good. And then it was over. Around you, the backstage hallway buzzed softly—crew checking headsets, another dancer tapping their feet to keep warm. But no one spoke much. The tension had thinned into something quieter. Final. Your eyes were fixed on the TV monitor mounted to the corner wall. Taeil sat with the rest of Block B on a low couch, holding their mics, answering questions with practiced ease. Zico hosted as it was the last episode for The Seasons: Artist with ZICO. P.O cracked a joke. The others chimed in with the kind of rhythm that only comes from years together. His hands were folded in his lap, eyes flicking occasionally toward his members as they talked. You pulled your knees tighter to your chest and watched the screen, trying to feel grounded. But your thoughts were a mess of muscle memory and what-ifs. You knew the choreography. You’d practiced until it settled into your bones. But there was something about a final performance that made everything feel fragile. Like one misplaced breath could shatter the whole thing.Maybe no one would remember your name. Maybe no one even noticed you were part of this. But you’d remember. This moment. This night. The press of sweat at your temples, the ache in your legs, the hum of music you hadn’t even heard yet. Taeil looked up on the monitor—just a little, just briefly—as if something off-camera caught his attention. You wondered if he knew you were watching. If he could feel you from back here, sitting in the dark while the world looked at him in bright, blinding light.The monitor flashed to black. A crew member called for standby. You stood slowly, rolling your neck out, shaking your limbs loose. Four counts. One last time. You didn’t look back. “Let's tear the house down Block B!”

[2tae1l]

Eight Counts Away

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Chapter 10: In The Wings

The backstage hallway pulsed with tension. Staff zipped past with comms and checklists, their voices clipped and urgent. Dancers carved out corners to stretch, adjust earpieces, rehearse footwork in tense silence. You were used to this kind of energy—chaotic, charged, familiar. But today, it felt different. Bigger. Across the way, Taeil stood under a soft light, half-shadowed by a partition wall. His stylist adjusted the folds of his oversized jacket while someone else powdered his face. A third staff member checked his mic pack, speaking in hushed tones. Taeil didn’t say much—just nodded occasionally, blinking slowly like he’d done this a hundred times. Because he had.

You watched him, and for a moment, it felt like you were looking at someone on a screen.

You checked your reflection in a backstage mirror, smoothing a thumb over the outer corner of your eye. You’d kept the makeup simple: matte base, a touch of bronzer, soft brown shadow on your lids, and a dab of gloss on your lips. Barely enough for the cameras. Just enough for the lights. You didn’t need to be invisible. Just… not memorable. “Five minutes to standby,” someone called. Your stomach turned slightly. Not from nerves—those had passed hours ago. It was the awareness. Of what this stage meant. For you, it was another job. A dream job, sure—but still a job. For them, it was something else entirely. You glanced back across the room. Taeil hadn’t moved. He didn’t look nervous. Just… present. You pulled your shoulders back, twisted your earpiece into place, and walked toward your mark. Not beside him. Just close enough to feel the heat of the same spotlight.

The lights hit like a punch—bright and unrelenting. You barely blinked, muscle memory snapping your limbs into place. They were performing Her. Taeil’s voice cut through the mix, smooth and controlled. The crowd roared behind it. Your body moved with the beat, breath steady, expression neutral. You didn’t look out at the audience. Didn’t look at the camera. You didn’t need to. He moved just ahead of you, fitted sleeves gliding over each motion, denim grounding his footwork. You caught the glint of sweat at his jawline, the way his neck tensed as he hit a note and moved into the next eight count without missing a beat. He wasn’t performing for attention. He was performing because he had to. Like it was the only thing holding him together. It wasn’t until the last chorus, during the part where the dancers circle the members. You were standing right in front of him and that was when you two made eye contact.

And you smiled. Small. Barely there. But real. He caught it. Held it for half a beat. And then you were gone again. The final pose hit. The lights cut. The crowd roared. You stepped into the shadows before anyone noticed you were ever part of the picture.

[2tae1l]

Eight Counts Away

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Chapter 9: Mirror Moves

The stage was bigger than you remembered—wider, colder, humming with the kind of anticipation you only felt right before a show. You tied your hair into a ponytail, feeling the familiar tug at your scalp, and tried to steady your breathing as you stepped out from the wings.

You almost laughed when you spotted Taeil weaving through the crowd of dancers and staff. Flare denim jeans, grey tank top, brown beanie pulled low over his hair. You glanced down at your own flare jeans and grey crop top. Of course.

You didn’t even have time to brace yourself before the teasing started.

Daeho’s eyes widened. “Look at you two, matching like some kind of power duo!”

Minjae was already grinning, elbowing Taeil and then you. “Seriously, who planned this? You guys trying to confuse the fans or something?”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warming, but the laughter made it easier to breathe. Taeil glanced your way, his mouth twitching as if he was fighting a smile. For a second, you wondered if he was embarrassed too, but he just shrugged, unbothered.

The choreographer clapped for attention. “Alright, let’s focus. Stage run-through, full energy!”

You took your spot, nerves buzzing. The lights felt harsher than the studio, the floor almost too clean. Taeil slid into place beside you, just close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his arm.

The music started. For a moment, the world shrank to just the two of you. You caught his eye during a transition, the tiniest flicker of a grin passing between you before you both snapped back into the routine. The matching clothes faded into the background, replaced by the flow of movement and the silent conversation you’d learned to have through dance.

When the last beat hit, the team erupted in cheers and mock applause. Minjae flopped dramatically onto the floor, groaning about his back. Daeho fanned himself with his shirt.

You grabbed your water and slumped against the wall, towel over your neck, still catching your breath. Across the stage, Taeil leaned against a speaker, one arm draped over his head, brown beanie almost covering his brows.

When you looked up, his eyes were already on you. This time, he let himself smile—a small, quick thing that felt like a secret. You smiled back, just as subtle.

For a second, it felt like they were the only two people in the room. And that was enough.

[2tae1l]

Eight Counts Away

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Chapter 8: Just A Step

The studio looked the same, but it felt different. Same scuffed mirrors. Same beat-up floor. Same overpriced bottled water stacked in the corner. But your stomach flipped the moment you walked in. “Look who finally decided to show up,” Minjae called from across the room, grinning. “Hope you didn’t forget how to dance in a week.” You gave him a dry look. “You should worry about yourself.

” “Still feisty,” Daeho added, already stretching with a band looped around his foot. “She’s back, alright.” The teasing felt good—normal. They always made it easy to fall back into rhythm. But even while you were bantering, part of you was scanning the room.And then— You saw him. Taeil.Leaning against the back wall near the speaker, sipping from a paper cup like he had all the time in the world. Baggy striped jorts, white tank loose enough to hang off one shoulder, Clarks that had no business looking that clean, and that neon green beanie that somehow made his whole face look softer. Your eyes darted away before they could meet his. He didn’t say anything. Neither did you.

You moved through warm-ups like usual, pushing your body back into the familiar. The team ran through formations, updated a few counts, and the choreographer finally clapped his hands. “Back half—run it again. Tight this time.” Everyone shuffled into place. That’s when you caught it. Taeil was off-formation. Barely. Just a little too far to the left. No one else seemed to notice. But you did .And—without overthinking it—you crossed the floor during set-up, casual, quick, as if checking your own spacing. You brushed lightly past Daeho, then paused next to Taeil, two fingers reaching out just enough to tap his forearm. A tiny gesture. Then a small tilt of your head toward where he should be. He moved. No resistance. No confusion. Just a smooth step into place. But right before the music started, you felt it—his eyes on you. Just for a second. You didn’t look back.

The song ran through clean. Everyone hit their marks. When the final beat hit, a couple of the guys dropped dramatically onto the floor. “Bro,” Minjae wheezed. “Why is this performance trying to kill us.” “Its their comeback after 7 years, we gotta show everyone that they're back” someone muttered. You grabbed your water and sank against the wall, towel over your neck. Across the room, Taeil stood near the mirror again, one arm resting over his head, breathing steady. That neon green beanie still sat low, nearly covering his brows. When your eyes lifted, his were already on you. And this time, he smiled. Small. Quick. Barely there. But it felt intentional. You smiled back. Just a flicker—subtle, easy, like it didn’t mean anything. But it did. Because this time, neither of you looked away.

[2tae1l]

Eight Counts Away

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Chapter 7: One Week

The week dragged. No rehearsals. No check-ins. Just solo practice clips sent in the group chat and a couple of messages from the team asking about blocking. You went to the studio on your own a few times—mostly to stay sharp, partly because you hated how still your apartment felt. Practicing helped. You lost yourself in the choreography, looping sections of Nilili Mambo, Very Good, and Her until your legs burned and your hair clung to your neck. Still, something felt off. You didn’t know what. Maybe it was the lack of teasing. Maybe it was that your body still remembered the way Taeil had said “Good job today,” and how his voice had landed somewhere softer than it should’ve. You didn’t think about him. You just… noticed when you were thinking about him. Like when you passed the convenience store again and your eyes flicked inside before you could stop them. Or when your friends asked about the team again and his name sat quietly at the edge of your tongue but never made it out. You weren’t sure what he thought of you—if anything. But the stillness of the week made it too easy to wonder. ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ His POV: He noticed the gap. Not on purpose. But every day that passed without rehearsal hit differently. He spent most of it writing. Recording. Sleeping too late and waking up too early. He responded to exactly one message in the group chat with a thumbs up, then muted it. He didn’t go near the dance studio. But his mind did. It kept replaying that glimpse of her through the restaurant window—laughing, natural, untouched by the version of him she’d met. He didn’t even know what it was that had stuck with him. Maybe it was the fact that she hadn’t seen him. Maybe it was how free she’d looked. He caught himself thinking about the way she danced to his group's songs, the control in her movements, the way she didn’t fight for space but naturally took it. He didn’t tell anyone he’d seen her that night. Why would he? It wasn’t a moment. It wasn’t anything. But for some reason, her laugh had made his apartment feel a little quieter when he got home.

[2tae1l]

Eight Counts Away

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Chapter 6: From The Sidewalk - Taeil's POV

The takeout bag was warm in his hand, swinging lightly against his thigh as he walked. He liked this street—quiet, tucked behind the busier corners of Hongdae. Less people. Fewer eyes.

He hadn’t expected to pass the restaurant.

And he definitely hadn’t expected to see her.

Through the fogged-up glass, lit by overhead bulbs that made everything look slightly yellow and too honest, she sat surrounded by a small group of friends. Denim shorts, oversized tee, hair tied up loosely beneath a cap.

She was laughing.

Not fake-idol-practice-laughing. Not dancer-crowd-chuckles.

Real. Unfiltered. The kind of laugh that pushed her shoulders up and made her hide her smile behind her drink.

No one else on the sidewalk noticed her. Of course they didn’t. They weren’t looking.

But Taeil saw her.

Noticed the way she leaned into the conversation just a little more than necessary—like she wanted to disappear and be heard at the same time. Noticed how her fingers tapped the side of her glass in a rhythm he didn’t recognize. Noticed how her hat was tilted just slightly off-center, like she’d thrown it on in a rush.

She didn’t see him.

She didn’t even glance up.

And somehow, that made it worse.

There was no moment. No eye contact. No acknowledgement. Just her, in her element, untouched by the world they shared behind studio doors.

He stood there a little too long. Long enough to feel ridiculous for stopping in the first place.

Then he walked on.

Didn’t look back. Didn’t want to be the guy who lingered.

But he’d remember the image—her, surrounded by warmth and laughter and not looking for him—far longer than he’d admit

[2tae1l]

Eight Counts Away

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Chapter 5: The Last Take

The camera was set up for one final run-through, its red light blinking at the front of the studio. Someone cranked the music louder than usual.

You and the rest of the team shuffled into formation, fixing shirts, stretching wrists, exchanging last-minute grins and inside jokes.

During one of the earlier takes, the mood broke when Taeil missed a step and threw in an exaggerated move, making everyone crack up—Block B and the dancers alike doubling over with laughter as he grinned sheepishly, hands in the air as if to say, “What can you do?” The room felt lighter after that, everyone a little less tense, the energy warmer and more playful.

Block B hung out along the back wall, half watching, half hyping the energy. You caught a glimpse of them in the mirror—just hanging out, laughing with each other—and for a second, it hit you how lucky you were to be here, sharing a room and a routine with people you’d grown up watching on screen.

The music dropped. For three minutes, nothing else existed but the beat and the blur of bodies moving in sync. You didn’t overthink it—just let the muscle memory and adrenaline take over, letting yourself have fun with it. When the last pose hit, everyone burst out laughing, a couple people collapsing to the floor in over-the-top exhaustion.

“Alright, that’s a wrap!” JM called, checking the camera.

You ducked into the changing room, peeling off your sweat-soaked rehearsal gear. It felt good to swap into your denim jorts, a Supreme tee & cap—something casual and cool enough for the heat outside.

Your phone buzzed with messages from friends, already asking where you were.

Back in the studio, you tossed your bag over your shoulder—and immediately, the teasing started.

Daeho grinned, “Whoa, look at you! Who you meeting after this?”

Minjae nudged you, “Yeah, you’re looking suspiciously fresh. Got a date or something?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Just meeting friends. You guys are too much.”

Minjae shrugged, still smiling. “We just like giving you a hard time.”

Taeil, by the door packing up his things, clearly heard the exchange—his eyes flicked over for a split second, but he kept his expression carefully neutral, pretending to focus on his bag.

As you passed, he finally looked up. “Good job today,” you said, the words simple but warm.

He returned the nod, matching your tone. “You too. See you next time.”

The studio felt lighter as you stepped out, music still echoing behind you, your nerves replaced by something steadier. You pulled your cap a little lower, ready to meet your friends, and headed out into the city—already looking forward to coming back

[2tae1l]

Eight Counts Away

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Chapter 4: Break The Ice

Breaks at rehearsal were a strange middle ground—half recovery, half chaos. The team scattered around the studio, some sprawled on the floor, others perched on chairs or stretching out sore muscles. You sat cross-legged by the wall, sipping water and trying to slow your racing heart.

Minjae stretched out his legs and glanced at you. “Wanna run the chorus section again? See who’s got more energy?”

Daeho grinned, already getting to his feet. “You’re on. Loser buys snacks.”

Someone queued up the track, and the mood shifted—everyone suddenly alert, a little competitive.

They took turns running through the sharpest part of the choreography, each adding their own touch: a cleaner pop, a smoother slide, a bit of attitude thrown in for fun.

You noticed, just beyond the mirrors, a few Block B members had wandered in from the hallway, curiosity piqued by the music and laughter. They leaned against the wall, arms crossed, quietly watching the challenge unfold.

When it was your turn, you felt the nerves but pushed through. The beat dropped, and you hit every move with focus, letting your style show just enough. The others watched, quietly impressed.

You caught a glimpse of a Block B member exchanging a look with the choreographer, JM, a silent nod of approval passing between them.

Minjae shook his head, smiling. “Alright, that was clean.”

Daeho tossed you a nod. “Not bad at all.”

You grinned, catching your breath as you settled back against the wall. The tension in the room faded, replaced by easy laughter and a sense of belonging.

For the first time, you felt like you were really part of the team—and maybe even on Block B’s radar, too.

[2tae1l]

Eight Counts Away

prev ✮ next Chapter 3: Centre of Gravity Warm-ups had bled into spacing. Spacing turned into full-out run-throughs. The usual rhythm of rehearsal. Everyone moved like they’d done this a hundred times. Most of them had.

You hadn’t. Not with the OG Block B dance team.

When you first joined the crew, they had been surprisingly gentle with you—something in between teasing and protective, like you were the team’s honorary little sister they didn’t want the world chewing up just yet. You were the only girl in the crew, the rose among the thorns, and you held that title with pride. This crew was not to be messed with as they had tons of experience with different idols. However, Block B was and is always their main priority.

“You good back there?” Minjae called across the mirrors.

You nodded. “All good.”

“She’s new,” Daeho, another senior of yours, added, stretching his wrist, “but she’s not a beginner. If you ask her to go low, she'll touch the floor.”

The others snorted. You rolled your eyes and chuckled.

But then the track switched—and you froze.

Nilili Mambo.

The intro beat echoed through the room like muscle memory. Your body tightened just hearing it.

It wasn’t just one of your favorites—it was the song that made you fall in love with Block B in the first place. You remembered watching the performance video on a cracked phone screen in the back of your high school auditorium. Rewinding. Rewatching. Practicing that bounce and groove until your knees gave out.

And now… here you were. Lacing up next to the actual team. Dancing it.

The beat dropped. Everyone moved into position.

Your spot was mid-left—just behind Taeil, who barely glanced back before the first cue. His focus was locked in. The room settled.

Then the chorus hit—and your body responded without thinking. Years of muscle memory kicked in, but sharper now, more grounded. You knew this song in your bones. Not just the moves, but the attitude. The heartbeat of it.

When you jumped and hit the accent during the second chorus, one of the dancers behind you muttered “damn” under his breath—not loud enough for the whole room, but you caught it.

Taeil caught something too.

He’d shifted to the side during a formation change, and when you passed him, he glanced. Not like he was checking your steps. Not like he was judging. Just noticing.

After the music cut, you peeled off your hoodie—because honestly, dancing in that thing was like trying to bust moves inside a sauna. Underneath, you wore a striped black-and-white jersey.

Minjae gave you a low whistle. “Can't you bounce anymore deeper?”

You shrugged, pretending your lungs weren’t burning. “You gotta keep up then”

Daeho was immediately in your space, tossing a towel at you like an older brother who didn’t know how to say “good job” without being annoying. You caught the towel with a grin, still catching your breath.

On the other side of the studio, Taeil was stunned. You looked like you couldn't match the boys' energy but you did and gave even more than some of them. You blended in seamlessly with the team and Block B, and he was in awe at your artistry.

[2tae1l]

Eight Counts Away

prev ✮ next Chapter 2: Things Only He Notices The studio was louder than expected—music bouncing off every wall, dancers in warm-up mode, stretching, chatting, reviewing angles in the mirror. You kept to yourself, slipping your shoes off and tucking your bag neatly by the wall.

You scanned the room, trying to ground yourself, and there he was again.

Same red Adidas shirt, camo pants bunched at the ankle, beanie still hugging his head. He was seated near the speakers, legs stretched out, casually nursing that same coffee from earlier.

His tattoos were clearer now. Ink curled down the length of both arms—sharp black lines and soft shading, like his skin had been sketched by someone who knew how to draw emotion.

He looked… focused. But relaxed. The kind of energy that said he was paying attention even when he wasn’t looking directly at you.

You settled in, tying your hair back quickly.

Just as you finished stretching, Minjae, one of your seniors, appeared beside you, his grin sly and knowing. He leaned in close, voice low so only you could hear. “You’re staring at him again,” he teased, nudging your shoulder with his.

“Taeil, right? Your bias?” You felt your cheeks warm.

“I wasn’t staring,” you muttered, but Minjae just laughed.

“Sure, sure,” he said, winking.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Unless you want me to.” You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help smiling.

Minjae always noticed the little things, always knew how to lighten the mood, even if it meant embarrassing you a little.

A few minutes before everyone gathered to start the rehearsal, you heard footsteps. Soft but deliberate. You looked up just as someone stepped into your periphery.

Taeil.

He didn’t say anything—just held something out to you between two fingers.

A hair tie. Yours. It must’ve fallen when you set your bag down.

You blinked. “Oh. Thank you.”

His eyes flicked over your face for half a second, then down to the bottle in your hand—the same one you had in the convenience store.

Recognition sparked. He knew. He’d seen you earlier. Still, he said nothing.

Just gave a small nod and walked back to his corner, the hem of his shirt brushing against the back of his hand as he tucked it casually in his pocket.

You turned the hair tie over in your palm. Warm.

He noticed. Not just the hair tie. You.

[2tae1l]

Eight Counts Away

prev ✮ next Chapter 1: First Step The rain wasn’t strong enough for an umbrella, but you pulled your hoodie up anyway—part nerves, part habit. Rehearsal wasn’t for another half hour, and the idea of being the first dancer to walk in alone made your stomach knot.

So, you ducked into the corner convenience store near the studio. Not to buy anything. Just to ground yourself in something familiar—bright lights, quiet music, the soft hum of fridges. You were crouched near the drink section, debating between energy drinks you didn’t really want, when someone brushed past behind you—carefully, without a sound.

He stood a few feet away now. Digging through the iced coffee shelf like he had all the time in the world. You didn’t mean to stare.

Baggy camo pants. Red shirt.

And then you saw it—the bat wing on his neck peeking above his collar.

It was him. Taeil.

Not the version in perfectly styled photoshoots or center-stage spotlights. This was the quiet in-between. The version who looked like he’d just rolled out of bed and still somehow made it a concept. The kind of guy who probably had three unread texts from Zico and ignored them all.

You were twenty-six now, but the flutter in your chest felt the same as it did when you were a teenager watching Block B’s videos for the first time. Taeil had always been your bias, ever since you saw him perform, ever since you realized you loved his voice. Even years later, after countless performances and the military hiatus, he was still the one you looked for first in every group photo and every live stream.

He didn’t glance at you. Didn’t need to.

You blinked fast and looked down at your bottle like it had secrets. A few seconds passed. The beep of the register. The sound of a receipt printing. Then the soft drag of his shoes against the tile as he walked out. The door shut gently behind him. Only once you were alone again did you let out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

Fifteen minutes later, standing at the studio entrance, your hoodie clinging damp to your sleeves, you caught a glimpse of red and camo disappearing down the hall. He was already inside. And you were about to dance in the same room as your bias, the one you’d admired for nearly a decade, the one who still made your heart skip a beat.