Sᴜ-ʙɪɴ Cʜᴏɪ || Hᴇ's ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴍɪsᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴏᴏᴅ! Pᴀʏ ʜɪᴍ ᴀᴛᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ. . . ̊˖𓍢ִ໋🌟

The sterile white walls of the management office had never felt so suffocating. Su-bin trailed behind you, his designer heels clinging softly against the polished floor, a sound that was beginning to grate on your last nerve. He had been doing this all day, following you from the conference room to the break room, and now back to your desk.

"Manager!" He whined, his voice dropping into that familiar, petulant tone that only you and Seokjin were privy to. "Are you still mad? I said I was sorry!"

You didn't look up from the mountain of paperwork on your desk. Public relations statements, apology drafts, media training schedules, all because the 'golden boy' of Heartbeat Symphony decided it was a good idea to get blackout drunk at a high-end club and verbally assault a barista who was just doing their job.

"You told me the barista was 'rude and unprofessional'." You stated flatly, your pen scratching against the paper. "You said they were 'asking for it' by refusing you service. That's not an apology, Su-bin. That's shifting blame."

He huffed, the sound like a disgruntled toddler. He leaned over your shoulder, his cologne, a custom blend that cost more than your monthly rent, was overwhelming your senses. His breath was warm against your ear. "But they were! I'm Su-bin. Everyone is supposed to be happy to serve me. It's good for their business to be seen with me." He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper that was meant to be seductive but just came off as manipulative. "Besides, I only wanted your attention. You've been spending so much time with Seokjin-hyung lately."

Your hand stilled. That was the crux of it. Last night, after the club incident, Seokjin had been the one to calmly help you extract Su-bin from the situation, apologizing profusely to the staff and management while Su-bin continued to throw a tantrum. You had thanked Seokjin, placing a steadying hand on his arm, a gesture of solidarity that Su-bin had witnessed from across the room.

The jealousy was palpable, even if he couldn't name it. Su-bin was the sun, the center of the Heartbeat Symphony universe. Seokjin was the quiet, dependable moon, content to orbit him. But you, the manager, were supposed to be Su-bin's personal planet. Your attention, your praise, your focus, it was all meant for him!

"Seokjin was helping me clean up your mess, Su-bin." You said, finally turning to face him. His face, usually so radiant and camera-ready, was pulled into a pout. His eyes, dark and intense, were fixed on you. "He was being a responsible adult. Something you should try sometime." He flinched, just barely, but you saw it. The mask of the angel slipped for a fraction of a second, revealing the spoiled, insecure boy underneath. He straightened up, his expression hardening.

"I don't need you to take his side." He said, his voice cold, a stark contrast to the whining from moments before. "I'm the leader. I'm the one who sells the albums. I'm the one everyone comes to see. Not him." He took a step closer, invading your personal space, his hand resting on the back of your chair, caging you in. "You're my manager. You're supposed to be on my side. Always."

You held his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. "I'm on the side of what's best for Heartbeat Symphony. And right now, that's not defending your indefensible behavior."

He stared at you, his jaw tight. The whiny brat was gone, replaced by something colder, more calculating. He was used to getting his way, used to everyone bending to his will. Your defiance was a new, unwelcome variable.

Without another word, he turned and stormed out of your office, slamming the door behind him. You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. The silence was a relief, but you knew it was temporary. Su-bin always got what he wanted, one way or another. And right now, what he wanted was you, and your undivided attention, back where he believed it belonged. The real question was, what would he do next to get it?

---

For a blissful ten minutes, there was peace. You managed to draft two different versions of the public apology, each one more groveling than the last, just in case Su-bin's 'sincerity' needed a little extra help. You were just reaching for your coffee cup when your phone buzzed violently on the desk. It was a message from the group's main group chat, 'Heartbeat Boys'.

Seokjin: Manager, did you see Su-bin's Instagram?

Your heart sank. You hadn't. With a sense of impending doom, you opened the app. Su-bin's profile, usually a curated collection of professional shots and artsy selfies, had a new post at the very top. It was a picture of him, taken from a high angle, lying on his couch. He was shirtless, a single tear artfully tracing a path down his cheek, his hair a mess on the plush cushions. The caption was short and devastating.

@SuBin_Heartbeat: Feeling misunderstood. Sometimes the weight of expectations is too heavy to bear alone. I'm sorry I'm not perfect.

Within seconds, the comments were flooding in. A mix of panicked fans, angry stans, and people simply enjoying the drama. But the most damaging were the ones from his most dedicated followers, who had already spun a narrative.

'Our angel is hurting! Who did this to him?!'

'He's apologizing for being human?! The world is too cruel for a soul like Su-bin's!'

'I bet this is about that barista! They probably provoked him and now he's blaming himself! Protect Su-bin at all costs!'

He hadn't just deflected the blame, he had weaponized his perfection against you. He had made himself the victim and, by extension, painted the barista a villain. But mostly you who had failed to protect the "angel." Your phone buzzed again. This time, it was a direct call from the CEO. The storm was here.

You spent the next two hours in a crisis meeting, your carefully drafted apologies thrown out the window. The new plan was damage control, but of a different kind. They were going to lean into the 'misunderstood artist' angle. It was a PR nightmare, but it was what Su-bin had created. You felt a headache forming behind your eyes, a dull, persistent throb of exhaustion and anger.

It was nearly midnight, but you had to stay in your office longer to sort out this mess. What felt like hours, now being 2:47am, you were finally done with work. You stood up, grabbing your stuff as you headed towards the door. But upon opening it, you were met with... a surprise.

Su-bin fell backwards from where he was leaning on your door on the floor, now laying down with you looking down at him. His eyes were puffy, his lips were glistening with alcohol and his breath was... far from pleasant with how much he had drunk.

The bottle he was holding of expensive whiskey had dropped to the ground, the bottle slightly creaking but thankfully not breaking. You tried to throw it away, but Su-bin hugged it close to his chest like a stuffed animal he needed to sleep with.

For a moment, you just stared down at him. This was it. The peak of his manipulative theater. Showing up drunk, playing the victim, expecting you to swoon and comfort him. You were too tired. Too bone-deep, soul-crushingly exhausted to play your part in his drama.

You could not for the love of god busy yourself with this act again. Your body was screaming for sleep. So you prioritized yourself instead of hearing his bullshit excuses.

You stepped over him, when he suddenly started sobbing and clung on your legs, refusing to let go. "No..." His voice was a ragged, desperate rasp. Before you could take another step, his other hand shot out and wrapped around your ankle. You stumbled, catching yourself against the wall as you looked at him in shock. His grip was surprisingly tight.

"Don't go!" He pleaded, his face was pressed against the back of your calf. His eyes, usually so sharp and confident, were bloodshot and glassy with unshed tears and alcohol. "Please, Manager... don't leave me here."

"I'm too tired for this, Su-bin." You said, your voice flat and devoid of emotion. "Let go of my ankle. Go sleep it off."

"I can't!" He whined, the sound thick with intoxication. He used his grip on your ankle to pull himself up slightly, his face still buried against your calf, taking in the scent of you, as much as he could in his state. "I can't sleep. I can't think. All I can think about is you being mad at me and you being close to Seokjin. You looked at me like I was a stranger today."

You tried to shake him off, but he clung on like a limpet. "You're drunk, and you're making a scene."

"I don't care!" He cried out, his voice echoing in the empty corridor. He looked up at you again, his expression a devastating cocktail of genuine pain and calculated manipulation. "You sided with Seokjin. You touched his arm. You looked at him like he was the one who mattered. But it's supposed to be me. It's always been me. The light, the center, the one you look at first."

His words were slurred, but the possessive intent was crystal clear. This wasn't about the barista or the scandal. This was about Seokjin and about you.

"Please..." He whispered, his voice breaking. He pressed his cheek against the fabric of your clothes, his body trembling. "Just... touch me. Not like you're moving me out of the way. Just touch my hair or my face. Tell me you forgive me. Tell me I'm not... alone in this."

He looked so utterly broken, so pathetic on the floor, clinging to you like you were his only lifeline. The logical part of your brain screamed that this was another act, another ploy to regain control. But the alcohol on his breath, the tremor in his hands, the raw, naked desperation in his eyes... it felt uncomfortably real. This wasn't the golden boy of the famous idol group. This was the spoiled, insecure child who had never been told no, now facing the possibility of losing the one thing he couldn't buy or bully, your attention.

He was at your feet, completely at your mercy. And as you stood there in the dead of night, his tear-streaked face tilted up to yours, you realized you had a choice. You could walk away and prove him right, that you only cared when he was perfect. Or you could stay, and risk being pulled back into his chaotic, consuming orbit. You did not sign up for this.