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writingblackpink · 29 days ago

Text

Heartbeat (pt. 3)

read pt. 1 here, read pt. 2 here

genre: angst, some fluff

word count: 2.5k

pairing: rosé x reader

request: the reader is the new drummer/guitarist/bassist of bp’s band on tour and the girls find her very intriguing

A/N: uhhh....hi......don't hate me! I know this is like years late, but I've been thinking about some of the stories I've left unfinished and have been wanting to revisit them. I have some ideas for another couple chapters for this one, so I'm hoping the next update will be sooner than this one was lol. As always, let me know what you think! And bear with me as I update all my links and stuff lol it's been a while....enjoy! (also I didn't really proofread this so if you see anything that shouldn't be there, dw I'll be going back through in a few days to fully review it!)

As it turns out, there wasn’t ample time to “see where it goes” once the tour started. But not for lack of trying on your part. The beginning of the tour was busy, and while you and Rosé kept in contact, over the last few weeks even that was getting less frequent. You hoped it was just the business of the tour, but you were also beginning to think that whatever was between you, was meant to stay back in Seoul.

You sit behind your kit, twirling a stick between your fingers, not really playing—just running the pad of your thumb over the wood. A dull thump echoes as your heel taps the kick pedal in a slow, unsteady rhythm. The kind you play when your thoughts are too loud. It’s a few dates into the tour, the team just getting its footing. You’re waiting for soundcheck to begin as you check your phone for the thousandth time in the last ten minutes.

No new messages.

The last one you sent to Rosé—”You free after soundcheck?”—was read three hours ago. Still no reply. It’s only been a few weeks since Rosé kissed you goodbye with a request to just “see where it goes”, and your heart was full then, optimistic about the future between you. But now, as you watch Rosé from across the stage, you’re not sure it’s going anywhere at all.

She looks stunning, like she always does—hair curled just enough, eyeliner sharp, half ready for tonight’s performance. Her laugh rings out like a hook in a song, addicting. But she hasn’t looked in your direction all day. You try not to take a it personally, knowing there’s more at stake with all these prying eyes.

You tap out a rhythm on the snare with your fingertips, soft and distracted. You then realize it’s the same pattern Rosé had played during that first lesson. You stop yourself mid-beat.

That same rhythm, but played with Rosé’s hands, her laugh warm in your ear. That night in the practice room. The almost-kiss. The kiss outside your door. Rosé’s hand lingering on yours over a mug of coffee.

You close your eyes, trying to remember exactly how it felt.

Jae, one of the sound techs walks over, dragging a small case behind him.

“Hey,” he grins. “I tightened your snare like you asked. Want me to help test the mic levels again?”

You nod, welcoming the distraction. You stand and step around the kit, brushing past him as he crouches to make an adjustment. He says something funny—about how these venues must have been built for giants based on how far your floor tom slipped last night—and you laugh, maybe louder than necessary.

You miss the way Rosé looks toward the sound, smiling. Her smile falters when she realizes who evoked such a pretty sound from you. Her eyes narrow and she turns back towards Lisa, brushing a nonexistent strand of hair behind her ear in an effort to look nonchalant. You may have missed the look on her face, but you still felt the shift. Taking a seat back at your set, you tap your sticks together absently. You know something’s off, and has been for some time now. And for the first time since the last time you and Rosé kissed, you wonder if maybe this thing—whatever it is—was always supposed to stay unspoken.

You take another glance down at your phone. Still no reply.

It wasn’t like Rosé to leave you on read. Except…lately, it kind of was.

You’d been in the same room, surrounded by crew and chatter just earlier that day, Rosé sitting with Lisa and the dancers, tucked into her oversized hoodie, laughing easily—but never looking at you.

You tried to play it cool. Tried to focus. You tuned your kit, adjusted mics, joked around with Jae as he helped her tweak the overheads. Jae and the rest of the band were some of the only constants right now—always upbeat, always kind.

Rosé hadn’t so much as waved, but she noticed you.

She caught you out of the corner of your eye, gaze locked on you and Jae as you laughed over some dumb joke about mic tape.

Rosé’s eyes darkened. Just slightly. Barely a blink. But you caught it.

And then, nothing. No smile. No text. No sign.

–

You were curled up in your hotel bed, light from the TV flickering on the wall while some random late-night documentary about sea squids droned on. You were on the brink of sleep when your phone buzzed next to your pillow.

1:23 am - Rosé: Are you awake?

You: Yeah

There was a pause. A typing bubble, then no bubble, then typing again.

Rosé: Sorry I’ve been weird lately.

You: Yeah, you kind of have been…

Rosé: I know. I just…the beginning of the tour has been hectic.

Another pause. She was still typing so you waited her next message.

Rosé: I also don’t like that guy.

You: Who? Jae?

Rosé: Yeah. I don’t know. The way he’s always around you. The way you laugh with him.

You blinked in the glow of the TV, almost letting out a laugh.

You: He’s just a friend. He’s my tech. It’s literally his job to be around me.

Another pause. Typing bubbles appearing and disappearing several times before her next message.

Rosé: I just hate that it makes me feel like this. It’s not fair to you. But I feel like…I already don’t get to have you in public. And now I don’t even really get you in private either.

You: You do have me. You just haven’t wanted me lately.

You bit your lip after sending the last message, nervous to see how she would take the insinuation that she’s left you out to dry. Ghosting you while still being in your presence. You’re just so confused.

Rosé: That’s not true. I’ve just been worried. Of people seeing. Of messing this up. Of feeling too much.

You: And how do you feel now?

A longer pause this time. You waited so long for a response you thought she may have fallen asleep before she could hit send.

Rosé: Jealous.

You gaped at your phone. How could someone who’s been slowly distancing herself from you for weeks be jealous? What she was saying didn’t make any sense to you.

Rosé: And sad. And a little stupid.

You: I feel sad too. Mostly confused. You told me we’d see where this goes but I don’t know where that is anymore.

You hoped that your honesty wouldn’t scare her away, but you could tell she was being genuine so it was the least you could do to be vulnerable too. And here, in different rooms on opposite sides of the hallway in the blue light of your cell phone, you finally felt like you were getting answers.

Rosé: Me either. Can we talk soon? In person?

You stared at the blinking cursor in the message box. You felt a mix of relief that Rosé was finally ready to talk, but as you glanced at the clock on the nightstand, you knew this wasn’t a conversation to be had that night.

You: Maybe, but not tonight.

Rosé: Okay. Goodnight.

You: Night.

You set the phone down and sank back into the pillows in the center of the bed, staring up at the hotel ceiling. You were beginning to think this was turning out to be less something secret and sacred, and more complicated and fragile. And maybe even…temporary.

But your heart still fluttered a little when you saw Rosé’s name finally light up your screen.

–

It had been twelve days.

Not that you were counting.

Twelve days since Rosé confessed to feeling jealous, and scared. Twelve days of seeing Rosé across dressing rooms and hallways. Twelve days of barely-there nods, passing glances, a soft “hey” exchanged like strangers being polite. Twelve days of pretending everything was fine in front of everything else, even though it absolutely wasn’t.

You missed her, even though she was still within reach. You missed her more than you were willing to admit. You thought about reaching out, but something about Rosé’s silence after that night had made you lock up. If Rosé wanted to talk, really talk, she’d find you. Except she hadn’t. Until tonight.

You were heading down a hallway behind the stage after a show in Bangkok, towel slung over your shoulders, in-ears still hanging loosely around your neck. The adrenaline from the show was still fading when you turned a corner and nearly collided with Rosé.

You froze. So did she. You stood just a foot apart, stunned into the kind of stillness that had its own kind of sound. You stepped aside instinctively, but she was already moving—just slightly, like she was going to pass you without a word, like you were nothing more than coworkers. Something in you snapped.

You reached out and grabbed Rosé’s wrist.

“Wait.”

Rosé stilled, eyes flicking down to where your skin touched. Your grip wasn’t tight, just enough to stop her from slipping away again. The hallway was dim and quiet, buzzing only faintly with the muffled chaos of post-show breakdown. You glanced around, then pulled Rosé gently behind a stack of road cases and cables out of sight. You were close now, almost too close, the tension sitting between you thick like smoke.

“I can’t let you walk past me again,” you said, voice low. “Not tonight.”

Rosé leaned back slightly against the wall, arms crossed like armor. But her eyes were soft, blinking fast like she didn’t trust herself to look too long.

“I didn’t know what to say,” she said.

“You could’ve said anything.”

Rosé’s mouth tightened, then relaxed. “I thought if I stayed quiet, if I didn’t let myself want it anymore, maybe it’d go away.”

Curious, you asked, “Did it?”

“No,” she whispered.

The silence stretched as you searched her face, her own eyes darting around yours.

“I miss you,” Rosé said finally, like she was admitting something shameful. And for her, she did feel some responsibility for putting the distance between you in the first place.

You felt your throat tighten. “Yeah. Me too.”

You let the words hang there. Then stepped in just a little closer.

“I didn’t want to be just a secret,” you said. “But I’d rather be that than nothing.”

Rosé looked up, surprised.

“I don’t want you to be a secret,” she said. “But I don’t know how to do this and not be scared. I thought if I put distance between us, eventually this would fade, but I feel it even stronger now.”

“I’m scared too, but aren’t we worth a shot?” You said. And you both smiled, sad and honest. For a moment, the noise of the tour, the world, all of it—faded. You reached out and gently touched Rosé’s hand where she dropped it at her side. She didn’t pull away. In this tiny, shadowed, corner of the world, you let yourself really feel it again. And this time, neither of you ran.

–

The tour moved like a train with no brakes—city after city, show after show. The chaos of performing, traveling, and rehearsing could have swallowed you whole, but you and Rosé found each other in the quiet moments.

A shared look at the dressing room emptied.

Fingers brushing as you passed each other in hallways.

Rosé handing you a water bottle mid-soundcheck with a wink only you could see.

Red-eye flights with Rosé curled next to you, sharing one AirPod between you while a soft playlist crackled through. Your knees touching. Hands barely resting together under a shared blanket. It wasn't much, but for now, it was enought.

You kept things quiet, intentionally so. When the others were around, Rosé would keep a bit more distance—enough that no one would question anything. But there was a shift, a magnetic pull.

People would only notice if they looked closely. And no one was really looking. Not yet.

–

Tokyo. One of the last stops in Asia before heading to Europe.

The group had decided to split for the night after a long post-show dinner. Jennie, Lisa, and Jisoo went out for drinks. Rosé had a “headache” and you said you were going back to edit some stems. Neither was true, but you were practically vibrating at the thought of alone time with Rosé again after all this time.

You found yourself in Rosé’s hotel room for the first time on this tour. You’d been watching something dumb on TV, but barely five minutes in, you hadn’t looked at the screen once. You were on the couch in her expansive suite, legs tangled, whispering jokes, soft laughter exchanged like secrets.

Rosé leaned forward slowly, brushing her knuckles along your jaw before guiding you into a kiss that melted like honey. Slow, familiar. You sighed into it, nearly a month of back and forth culminating in this moment, finally. Your hand curled gently around the back of her neck as Rosé deepened the kiss, just enough to make you forget what city you were even in.

Then—click.

The door swung open.

“Oh my god.”

You sprang apart like magnets being yanked the wrong direction. Lisa stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide—not scandalized, but definitely amused.

“I KNEW something was up!” she said, eye flitting between you with a grin that was way too smug.

Rosé buried her face in her hands. “Lisa…”

“Okay, okay!” Lisa held her hands up and backed out slowly, a teasing smirk on her face. “I didn’t see anything. Just a…very close couch huddle. Definitely normal. Carry on, lovers.”

She was gone almost as fast as she entered, pulling the door shut with her.

The room was silent for a beat before you and Rosé shared a laugh that was part nerves, part embarrassment, part pure disbelief.

“She’s never gonna let us live that down,” you said through a laugh.

The laughter died down as Rosé settled back into your side, sighing. “Probably not.”

She rested her head on your shoulder, her fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles on your wrist. Rosé’s phone lit up on the coffee table, and you noticed her tense before she even looked at the screen. It was a message from her manager.

“Where were you tonight after dinner?”

She didn’t answer it, she didn’t even move to pick up her phone. She just blinked at the screen until it dimmed again. You didn’t ask about it, but her grip on you tightened slightly. After a long silence, she spoke up.

“I can’t get caught,” Rosé whispered, barely audible. “If someone saw us—if the company thinks I’m distracted…it won’t just be me.”

You turned to her. “You mean–?”

Rosé nodded slowly, her eyes still fixed on the TV. “They’d shut it down. All of it. Not just us.”

There it was, the thing they hadn’t said. If this ever got out—not only the fact she was seeing someone, but also that it was another woman—it could mean the end of her career, or worse, the end of the group, years of hard work undone in a heartbeat.

They didn’t talk about it anymore that night, but when you left you checked the hallway three times, slipping out with your hood up. Like a secret.

And Rosé, alone in the dime hotel room, finally typed a reply: “Wasn’t feeling well. Went straight to bed.”

She stared at the blinking cursor after sending the message, powered off her phone, and got into bed.

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