#atz jongho

Park Seonghwa

Honey, Sweetheart, Love

"I don't know," you sighed, looking around at yourself in the mirror. You smoothed down the fabric, making a face at the cut.

"What don't you know Love?" he asked, smiling at you as you twirled around again.

"Doesn't the seam look weird? Or is it the color?" you groaned, clicking your tongue and going for the zipper.

You flailed for a second, fighting to even find it behind you.

"You pull everything off Honey," he laughed, getting up from his spot to graze a hand over your back. You felt his hand stop on the small of your back and the other pinch the zipper.

You rolled your eyes at his smile.

"You're bias is showing. I need Park Seonghwa the model, not mushy boyfriend," you whined, hands dropping to let him unzip you.

"Bias or not, I'm being honest," he kissed your cheek, pulling down on the metal. "Try the blue one next," he smiled against you.

"I already put on the blue one," you smiled at him through the mirror. His smile turned cheeky.

"I know," he moved back to grab the dress off the hook. "But you should put it on again."

"You really don't even try to be sly anymore, do you?" you laughed. He winked at you.

"No, no I don't Sweetheart."

Jeong Yunho

Baby, Honey, Sweetpea

"Hi Honey," Yunho whispered, hand sliding over your back as he leaned down to kiss you. You smiled, looking up from the menu to receive it. "Sorry I'm late, practice ran a bit long."

You waved him off.

"It's ok, I haven't been waiting long," you watched as he shrugged off his coat, glancing over the open menu in front of him.

You couldn't tear your attention off him, seemingly mesmerized as he rolled up the sleeves of his sweater and picked up the book. He hummed as he read, only glancing up after he seemed to find something.

"What do you want to --" he stopped when he caught you staring, smiling at how you tried to play it off. "What's on your mind Baby?"

You smiled, Yunho seeing the way your cheeks flushed that shade of pink that he loved.

"You act so casual like you don't look like some k-drama lead," you shook your head.

He laughed.

"Well technically I am Sweetpea," he laughed harder at the glare you shot at him.

"Smartass," you made a face at him, smiling and going back to your menu.

"So you think I'm handsome?" he smiled teasingly, menu forgotten in his hand. He leaned over the table, candlelight defining his face even more.

"I think you're annoying," you rolled your eyes. "I take it back, you're more like the comedic relief than a lead," he put a hand to his chest, acting offended.

"You know I'm still a fan favorite."

Kang Yeosang

Angel, Honey, Darling

"Darling," Yeosang's voice was low and husk as his whispered in your ear. You let out a quiet hum, turning over on your side without opening your eyes.

He pushed you onto your back again, wrapping himself around you and tucking his face into your neck.

"Honey, we need to get up," he slowly kissed up your neck, pecking behind your ear before moving to your cheek.

You groaned, sliding the covers higher up on yourself.

"No~," you whined, arms wrapping around him as he slid on top of you. "You're warm," you sighed as his kisses slowed to a stop at the corner of your mouth.

"We have things to do today," you felt him smile as he lifted up just a bit.

"It's your vacation, we don't have anything to do," you groaned, eyes barely opening to look at him. His hair was a mess, a lazy smile on his face as he stared at you.

Sunlight streamed in through the window, bouncing off his skin with a halo like glow.

You could stay looking at him like this forever and it wouldn't be long enough. You raised a hand, running it through his hair a bit.

He leaned into the contact as you slid down to his cheek.

"Exactly, vacation means I finally have time to take you on that brunch date," he laughed, moving back down to your lips. You smiled against him, pulling him even closer as he gave you quick pecks.

"Come on Angel, let me take you out today."

Choi San

Baby, Honey, Sweet girl

"Come on Honey," San stepped into the bathroom, adjusting his sleeves. "We're gunna be late if we don't leave soo-"He dragged the word out, slowly turning it to a whistle. You looked at him through the mirror, seeing him slowly smile as his eyes ran over you.

"Pulled out all the stops tonight hm?" he dragged his eyes back to yours and you recognized the look in them.

"Don't even think about it, I've been in this bathroom for too long for you to mess it up," you warned, glaring at him through the mirror as you adjusted your dress.

His face fell into a pout.

"I didn't even say anything yet," he whined. You rolled your eyes with a laugh.

"Don't even try playing innocent I know that look," your eyes went back to your reflection, running a hand through your hair before smiling satisfied. "Now, were gunna be late remember?"

"Do you truly think so little of me Baby?" he put on that innocent face again, like he wasn't just looking at you like you were a slice of his favorite cake.

"Is that an honest question?" you shuffled past him, moving to the closet to find your shoes.

"Meanie," he huffed, motioning for you to sit on the bed as he grabbed your favorite heels. You smiled at him as he slid them on, fastening the strap around your ankles like it was muscle memory.

"You do that faster than I can," you commented, rolling your ankle around to try and slow him down. It didn't work, his hands sliding down to still the movement.

"Because Sweetgirl," he stood and took your hands, pulling you up and into his chest. You splayed a hand to it, the other staying in his as he leaned down a ghosted a kiss over your glossed lips. "I haven't let you put them on yourself in months."

"And why is that exactly," you asked, eyes fluttering as he put his forehead to yours.

"Hopefully you'll forget how eventually, so even when I mess up that pretty make up you can't leave me," he joked, laughing as you slapped his chest. You smiled and moved away, grabbing your purse and heading to the door.

"You're insufferable," you complained with no real annoyance behind it, your voice full of amusement. His eyes trailed down you again as you walked away.

"You know, we don't have to go to this award show," he debated.

"Come on Mr. Choi, don't even start."

Song Mingi

Babe, Cutey, Doll

"Why hello there Doll," he pulled you into him by the waist, kissing your cheek with a crooked smile. "And what is someone looking so good doing here hmm?"

Your brows raised at him, looking at him surprised.

"Well, she might be looking for her boyfriend, but it looks like all she found was some guy that looks like him but with worse lines," you gave him a cheeky smile.

He pouted.

"Oh, come on Babe, my lines are great," he huffed.

"No, she's right. They suck," Wooyoung threw over his shoulder as he walked out of the practice room.

"Yeah, that one was pretty bad," Hongjoong laughed, following him out.

"Honestly horrible," Yunho laughed, stopping to pat your shoulder. "Don't know how you put up with him," he whispered with a smile.

Mingi flicked his head, shooing him out the door with the rest of them.

"Was it really that bad?" Mingi looked back down to you. You put your hands to his chest, patting him with a smile.

"Just a little, it was nice though," you laughed, reaching up to ruffle his hair a bit.

"I knew it," he kissed your cheek again, this time moving down to your mouth. You laughed into it, arms wrapping around his neck. "I knew you would love it."

"Love is a strong word," you rolled your eyes.

"Keep that up and I'll make those pretty eyes roll for another reason Cutey."

Jung Wooyoung

Baby, Babe, Sunshine

There was one thing you were sure of.

There was nothing more attractive than a man walking in with a bouquet of flowers that you knew were meant for you.

Wooyoung pushed up his sunglasses, pushing his hair back with them as he looked around the cafe before spotting you. You saw his face brighten when he found you.

"Babe!" he smiled widely as he came up to the table, planting a heavy kiss on your forehead before sitting down across from you. "You'll never guess what San told me about his manager and a reporter," he set the flowers down, sliding them over to you.

You looked down at them with a smile, laughing a little as you picked them up to smell them. They were your favorites, wrapped in newspaper and a little string.

"What's the occasion?" you looked back up to him, ignoring his prompt for gossip. He looked at you confused.

"I just got of work and have a good gossip story?" you rolled your eyes, shaking the flowers a little.

"Not that dummy, these," you looked back down to the flowers to emphasize them. His brows raised as he nodded.

"Nothing, I just saw them on my way over here and knew you'd like them," he smiled as your cheeks flushed pink. "Plus, I hadn't got you any in a while," he shrugged.

"I do like them," you set them back down, smoothing the paper down a bit. "Thank you."

"Anytime Sunshine," his hand found yours over the table, thumb running gently over your skin at the sweet smile you gave him.

"So, San's manager and a reporter?" you asked, resting your chin in your palm. His face perked up.

"Oh my god Baby it's an insane story so--"

Choi Jongho

Sweetheart, Honey, Bunny

"Sweetheart~," Jongho practically sung the nickname through the apartment, followed by the sound of his steps sliding on the hardwood.

You could hear his happy hum as he found you in the kitchen, turning to see a bright smile on his face.

He came home ready to surprise you with that he got a few days off. Both of you had been on completely opposite schedules lately, so this total stroke of luck was the best news he had gotten in months.

But as he stepped into the kitchen you turned around, hair falling out its tie and his shirt covered in what he hoped was just flour, he forgot everything on his brain.

"Hi Bunny," his voice melted as he leaned into the door frame. You smiled, leaving your dough on the counter and coming up to him. You cupped his face, squishing them until his lips puckered for you to kiss.

You giggled as you backed away, leaving flour handprints against his cheeks.

"Sorry," you laughed, wiping at the flour only making it worse. That goofy smile stayed on his lips as he looked at you, head tilting into your hand.

"Cookies?" he tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. You nodded, turning back to where the cookie dough waited for you.

"I'm worried they'll be too sweet," you sighed, looking at the damn sugar jar you knocked over right into the dough earlier. "We really need to change this jar set up," you grumbled.

He laughed, wiping his cheeks as he came up behind you. His chin rested on your shoulder.

"Nothing you make can be too sweet Honey."

°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ °‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡

I was going to add some more cheesy ones, but secondhand embarrassment kicked in lol

Also why is San's so long compared to everyone elses? I don't know how that happened

Taglist:

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“You’re staring again.” You snapped your head toward Wooyoung, who sat beside you on the couch with an obnoxious grin stretched across his face.

“I am not.”

“You literally look at Jongho like he hung the moon.”

Across the room, Jongho leaned against the kitchen counter nursing a drink while talking to San. Even from here he looked unfairly pretty. Black hoodie pushed up at the sleeves. Hair messy from running his hands through it all night. His laugh rumbled softly through the apartment and your stomach betrayed you immediately.

Wooyoung made a disgusted noise beside you “Oh my god, there it is again.”

You shoved him hard enough to nearly spill his drink. “Shut up.”

“You like him.”

“I don’t.” You answer too fast.

“You do.” He protested beside you, not believing whatever you said.

“I don’t.”

“You so do.”

Before you could argue again, Jongho’s eyes flicked over. Straight to you, like they always did. Suddenly the room felt too warm. His gaze lingered for a second too long before he pushed off the counter and started walking over. Your pulse immediately picked up.

Wooyoung noticed too. “Oh, this is getting good.”

“Leave,” you hissed.

“Not a chance.”

Jongho stopped in front of the couch, looking between the two of you suspiciously. “Why do I feel like I’m being talked about?”

“You are,” Wooyoung answered instantly.

“Wooyoung.” You snapped at him a bit, not having the patience.

“What?” He shrugged innocently. “I’m helping.”

“You’re making it worse.”

Jongho’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “Making what worse?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly.

Wooyoung stood abruptly, patting Jongho on the shoulder as he passed. “Good luck, brother.” Then he disappeared into the kitchen before you could kill him.

Silence settled immediately. Jongho dropped into the now empty seat beside you, one arm stretched across the back of the couch. Close enough that your shoulder brushed his.

“You look nervous,” he murmured.

“I’m not nervous.” Your voice was finally softer with him.

“You’re playing with your rings.”

Your hands immediately stilled. Jongho huffed out a quiet laugh, tilting his head as he looked at you. “Did Wooyoung say something?”

“He says a lot of things.” You shrugged, not wanting to talk about your mutual friend too much.

“Usually true things.”

You rolled your eyes, but it lacked any real bite. Mostly because Jongho was looking at you like that again. Eyes soft, curious even as they moved around you to scan you. It made your chest ache.

“You know,” he said slowly, “for someone who claims not to like me very much, you get flustered around me a lot.”

“I do not.”

“Mhm.”

“You’re insufferable.” You fake whined, trying to be bothered.

“And yet you keep sitting next to me.” Your breath caught when he leaned a little closer. Not enough to touch, but enough to make you aware of every inch between you.

“You know what I think?” he asked quietly.

“What?”

“I think you like me.”

You let out a nervous laugh immediately. “You’re insane.”

“Am I?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“Then look me in the eye and say you don’t.”

That should’ve been easy. Except Jongho was watching you so intently that your brain stopped functioning entirely. Your mouth opened but nothing came out. His lips curved slowly, clearly feeling victorious.

“There it is,” he murmured.

“I hate you.” You mumbled yet your burning cheeks betrayed you.

“No, you don’t.”Jongho shifted closer until your knees brushed. Your entire body went rigid when his hand slid against the couch cushion beside yours, pinky barely touching yours.

“So stubborn,” he said softly.

Your heart was pounding so loudly you were convinced he could hear it.

“You’re annoying,” you whispered weakly.

“But you still like me.” He taunted.

“You’re very confident.”

“I have reasons to be.”

His gaze dropped briefly to your mouth. That tiny movement shattered whatever composure you had left. The room suddenly felt distant, muted, as if everyone else had disappeared. It was just him. Just Jongho  leaning closer and closer until your breathing stalled completely.

“Just admit it,” he whispered, lips barely inches from yours. “You like me.”

You should’ve denied it. Instead, your eyes flicked down to his mouth. Jongho noticed, of course he noticed. His hand moved first, fingers lightly brushing your jaw before he kissed you. Soft, careful. It felt like he’d been wanting to do it for a while. Your brain short-circuited instantly. You grabbed the front of his hoodie without thinking, kissing him back before you could get embarrassed about it later. Jongho made the quietest sound against your lips. Something pleased and surprised all at once and suddenly he was kissing you properly. Warm hands, mouth slow on yours. The entire world melted away. That was until a voice cut off the sweet butterflies in your stomach feeling.

“OH MY GOD FINALLY—” You both jerked apart violently. Wooyoung stood in the kitchen entrance looking ecstatic while San doubled over laughing behind him.

“I TOLD YOU,” Wooyoung shouted to literally everyone in the apartment. “I TOLD YOU THEY WERE IN LOVE.”

You covered your face immediately. Jongho, somehow, looked more annoyed than embarrassed. “Can you shut up?” he deadpanned.

“No actually,” Wooyoung said proudly. “This is the best day of my life.”

San pointed at the two of you, still laughing. “You guys were staring at each other for like six months. It was painful.”

“You interrupted on purpose,” you accused.

Wooyoung gasped dramatically. “And miss the climax of the slow burn? Never.”

Jongho sighed beside you, but when you peeked at him through your fingers, he was smiling. Actually smiling. “So… now can I say I was right?” He mumbled quietly.

You groaned, even though you were smiling too.

Jongho stared at Wooyoung for a long second. Then he laughed. His head tipped back slightly, shoulders shaking while Wooyoung pointed between the two of you like he’d just won the lottery. “I knew it!” Wooyoung shouted. “San owes me twenty bucks.”

“Worth every penny,” San muttered through his laughter. Your entire face burned hot enough to melt through the floor. “Can you guys not—”

“No actually,” Wooyoung interrupted, “this is a monumental occasion. The sexual tension in this apartment was becoming a public health concern.” Jongho groaned, dragging a hand down his face while you hid yours in your palms. “You’re all annoying.”

“But we’re right,” San grinned.

Jongho glanced at you. That softened look returned immediately. His amusement faded into something heavier. Something warmer. Something that made your stomach flip. “Alright,” he said simply, standing up.

Wooyoung blinked. “Alright what?”

“Get out.” The entire room went silent.

San barked out a laugh. “Wait...you’re serious?”

Jongho grabbed a couch pillow and threw it directly at Wooyoung’s face. “Out.”

“WOW.” Wooyoung clutched his chest dramatically. “You kiss one person and suddenly you forget your friends.”

“You interrupted me.”

“And I’d do it again.”

Jongho pointed toward the door. “Leave.”

“You’re insane,” Wooyoung muttered, though he was already dragging San toward the entrance. “This man has been waiting for this moment his entire life.”

“Goodnight!” San yelled.

“Use protection!” Wooyoung added.

“Wooyoung!” You shouted.

The door slammed seconds later followed by loud cackling in the hallway. Silence settled over the apartment again. A very different kind this time. You slowly lowered your hands from your face only to find Jongho already looking at you. Now there was nobody interrupting. Nobody teasing. Just the two of you and the thick tension hanging in the room. Your heart started racing all over again.

Jongho exhaled a quiet laugh through his nose, shaking his head. “Sorry about them.”

“It’s okay.”

The silence filling the room was different now. It felt slightly dangerous all of the sudden. Because now you were noticing everything again. How close he was standing. How pink his lips looked after kissing you. How his chest rose slowly with each breath while his eyes stayed fixed on yours. Neither of you moved and neither of you spoke. Like if either one of you acknowledged what this actually was, it’d ruin it somehow.

Then Jongho took one step closer. Your breath caught instantly. “You know,” he murmured softly, “I had a whole thing planned.”

You blinked. “You did?”

“Mhm.”

“What happened to it?”

His mouth twitched. “Don’t really feel like talking anymore.”

Heat flooded your stomach. The look in his eyes nearly took you out completely.

You swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His hand slid around your waist. His hold on you firm. You were pulled against him so fast you barely had time to gasp before he kissed you again. This one wasn’t careful. It wasn’t hesitant. It was weeks, maybe months of tension finally snapping.

You kissed him back immediately, fingers tangling in the front of his hoodie as Jongho backed you toward the couch without breaking the kiss once. His hands settled at your waist, thumbs brushing under the hem of your shirt just enough to make you shiver. The sound he made against your mouth was low and wrecked. Like he’d been holding himself back for way too long.

“God,” he muttered breathlessly between kisses, forehead falling briefly against yours. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Your face burned hotter. But before embarrassment could settle in, Jongho kissed you again. Slow at first. Then deeper when your fingers slid into his hair. The tension between you dissolved into something warm and dizzying, all stolen breaths and soft laughter when your teeth accidentally bumped. Jongho smiled against your lips before kissing you again like he couldn’t help himself.

His hands slid fully beneath your shirt now, palms warm and rough against your skin as they traced up your sides with agonizing slowness. The calluses on his fingertips caught slightly on your skin, sending shivers racing up your spine. You arched into the touch instinctively, and Jongho groaned, a deep, desperate sound that went straight through you.

"You're so soft," he murmured against your mouth, hands spanning your ribcage, thumbs brushing just beneath your breasts. "I've wanted to touch you like this for so long."

Your breath hitched. "Jongho—"

He kissed you again before you could finish, one hand sliding up your back while the other stayed at your waist, holding you against him. His touch was reverent, exploratory, like he was mapping out every curve and dip of your body through sheer determination to memorize it all. When his fingers traced along your spine, you shivered hard enough that he pulled back slightly, eyes dark and searching.

"Cold?" he asked, voice rough.

"No," you managed. "The opposite."

Something flickered in his expression. A mixture of heat and satisfaction and barely restrained want. "Good," he breathed, and then his mouth was on your jaw, trailing slow kisses down to your neck.

The first press of his lips against your pulse point made you gasp. Jongho hummed in response, the vibration sending sparks through your nervous system. He kissed there again, then lower, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to make your hips jerk forward involuntarily.

"Fuck," you whispered, fingers tightening in his hair.

Jongho made a sound that was almost a laugh, but too breathless to be anything but desperate. "You have no idea what those sounds do to me," he muttered against your throat, punctuating the words with another kiss. "I've been imagining this imagining— you—"

"Yeah?" Your voice came out shakier than intended.

"Yeah." His hands slid higher beneath your shirt, fingers splaying across your ribs. "Can I—" He paused, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "Can I take this off?"

"Please," you breathed.

Jongho's pupils dilated even further. He moved slowly, deliberately, fingers curling around the hem of your shirt and lifting it inch by inch. His knuckles brushed your skin as the fabric rose, and he paused halfway to press a kiss to your sternum, then another just above your navel.

"You're killing me," you gasped.

"Good," he murmured against your skin, smiling. "You've been killing me for months."

Your shirt finally came off, tossed somewhere behind the couch, and Jongho just looked at you for a long moment. His gaze traveled over your face, your shoulders, down to where you were still wearing your bra, and the expression on his face was so raw it made your chest ache.

"You're so beautiful," he said quietly, almost like he hadn't meant to say it out loud.

Heat flooded your cheeks. "Jongho—"

"I mean it." His hands settled on your waist again, thumbs stroking slow circles against your skin. "I've thought so since the first time I saw you. Drove me crazy that I couldn't tell you."

Before you could respond, he kissed you again. Deep and slow and thorough, like he had all the time in the world. His hands roamed your back, tracing the line of your spine, the curve of your shoulder blades, the dip of your lower back. Every touch felt deliberate, worshipful.

You tugged at his hoodie impatiently. "Your turn," you managed between kisses.

Jongho pulled back just enough to yank the hoodie over his head, and the brief moment of separation felt like too much. The second the fabric cleared his arms, you were pulling him back, hands finally able to touch bare skin. He was warm and solid under your palms, muscles shifting as he moved. You traced the lines of his shoulders, his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath your fingertips.

"God," Jongho breathed, eyes falling shut. "Your hands—"

You kissed his collarbone, then his shoulder, emboldened by the way he shivered. His skin tasted faintly of salt and something uniquely him, and you wanted more.

"You're not the only one who's been thinking about this," you admitted against his skin.

Jongho's hands tightened on your waist. "No?"

"No." You kissed along his collarbone again, feeling his breath catch. "I've wanted you for so long I thought I'd go crazy."

"Fuck," he muttered, and then his mouth was on yours again, kissing you harder now, more desperate. His hands slid up your back to the clasp of your bra, fingers fumbling slightly. "Can I—"

"Yes," you gasped, head nodding quickly. "Yes, please—"

The bra came undone and Jongho eased the straps down your shoulders slowly, pressing kisses to each inch of newly exposed skin. When it finally fell away, he pulled back to look at you again, and the naked want in his expression made heat pool low in your stomach.

"Perfect," he breathed. "You're perfect."

Within seconds his mouth was on your neck again, kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin while his hands came up to cup your breasts. The first brush of his thumbs over your nipples made you gasp and arch into the touch.

"Jongho—"

"I know," he murmured, doing it again, watching your face intently. "I know, baby."

The name made something flutter in your chest. You pulled him closer, needing more contact, more of him. Your hands slid down his chest to the waistband of his jeans, fingers tracing the line of his abs.

Jongho's breath hitched. "You're going to kill me," he muttered, but he didn't stop you when your fingers dipped just beneath the waistband.

"Good," you echoed his earlier words, smiling against his mouth.

He laughed breathlessly and kissed you again, walking you backward until your legs hit the couch. You sank down onto the cushions and Jongho followed immediately, settling between your thighs with a kind of reverence that made your chest ache. His weight pressed you into the couch as he kissed you breathless, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other traced down your side, over your hip, along your thigh. Every touch sending sparks through you.

"You feel so good," he murmured against your lips. "So fucking good."

Your hands slid into his hair, tugging slightly, and Jongho groaned. He kissed down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, taking his time with each spot like he was trying to catalog every place that made you gasp. When his mouth closed around your nipple, you arched off the couch with a broken moan. Jongho hummed  in satisfaction, tongue swirling as his hand came up to palm your other breast.

"Jongho," you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair. "Please—"

"Please what?" he asked, pulling back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and pupils blown wide.

"I need—" You couldn't finish the sentence, too overwhelmed by sensation.

"Tell me," he urged, pressing a kiss to your sternum. "Tell me what you need."

"You," you managed. "I need you."

Something in his expression cracked open at that. He kissed you again, slower this time but no less intense, while his hand slid down your stomach to the button of your jeans.

"Can I?" he asked against your mouth.

"Please," you breathed. "Please, Jongho—"

He worked the button open with shaking fingers, then slowly dragged the zipper down. His knuckles brushed against you through your underwear and you both gasped at the contact.

"Fuck," Jongho muttered. "You're—" He pressed his palm against you more firmly and you whimpered. "So wet already."

Heat flooded your face but you couldn't bring yourself to be embarrassed, not when he was looking at you like that. Like you were something precious and desired and his.

"Only for you," you whispered.

Jongho's eyes darkened impossibly further. He kissed you hard as his hand slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, fingers finding you without hesitation. The first direct touch made you gasp into his mouth, and Jongho swallowed the sound greedily.

"God," he breathed, fingers moving with careful precision, learning what made you gasp and shiver. "You're so perfect. So responsive."

His finger teased your slit as he coated it in your slick. His finger moving and working to circle your clit in painfully slow circles. You couldn't form words anymore, could only hold onto him as he touched you, building the tension higher and higher. He watched the way you moved beneath him carefully, his finger finding your entrance and pushing it in. You gasped at the feeling, his finger pumping in and out of you until he had a second one join. He curled his digits inside of you, making your hips jerk as you could feel him hit the spot that made you see stars. "Jongho—" You moaned out his name in a wrecked whine.

"There?" he asked, voice wrecked by just the sight of you.

"Yes," you gasped. "Yes, right there—"

He kept the pressure steady, watching your face intently like he was memorizing every expression. The intimacy of being touched like this while he looked at you like you hung the moon was almost overwhelming.

"Jongho," you managed, reaching for him, needing to touch him too. Your hand found the bulge in his jeans and palmed him through the denim.

Jongho's hips jerked forward involuntarily and he cursed, forehead dropping to your shoulder. "Wait—wait," he panted, catching your wrist gently even as he thrust into your touch. "I need—if you keep doing that I'm going to—"

"I want you to," you whispered.

He made a sound that was half laugh, half groan. "Not yet," he muttered. "Not until I'm inside you."

The words sent a fresh wave of heat through you. Jongho pulled back just enough to hook his fingers in the waistband of your jeans and underwear to finally rid you of the rest of your clothing.

"Lift up for me?" he asked, voice rough.

You did, and he eased both garments down your legs slowly, pressing kisses to your hip, your thigh, your knee as more skin was revealed. By the time he'd pulled them off completely and tossed them aside, you were trembling.

Jongho sat back on his heels between your legs, just looking at you. His chest was heaving, hands flexing like he was restraining himself from touching.

"You're staring," you whispered, fighting the urge to cover yourself.

"Can't help it," he said roughly. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Before you could respond, he was leaning down to kiss you again. His lips soft, sweet and reverent. His hands stroked up and down your sides, your hips, your thighs, like he couldn't stop touching you now that he was allowed.

"Your turn," you managed, tugging at his jeans.

Jongho pulled back just enough to fumble with his belt, fingers shaking slightly. You helped him, both of you working together to get his jeans and boxers down and off. When he was finally bare, settling back between your legs, you both just looked at each other.

The weight of the moment hung between you. Months of wanting, of waiting, of being afraid to cross this line. And now here you were, nothing between you anymore, and it felt like everything was about to change.

His pupils were blown wide, chest heaving as he looked down at you. His cock was hard and flushed, already leaking, and the sight of him completely undone before you even touched made heat pool low in your belly.

"You're sure?" he asked, voice rough and strained.

"I've never been more sure of anything," you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. "I need you, Jongho. Please."

That was all the permission he needed. Jongho kissed you hard as he settled between your thighs, the weight of him pressing you into the couch. You could feel him hot and hard against you, and when he rocked his hips slightly, the head of his cock dragged through your wetness.

"Fuck," he groaned against your mouth. "You're dripping already. Is this all for me?"

"Yes," you gasped. "All for you. Only you."

His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding you slick and ready. He circled your clit once, twice, making you whimper and buck against him.

"I need to be inside you," he muttered, positioning himself at your entrance. "I can't wait anymore."

"Then don't," you breathed. "Take me. I'm yours."

Jongho lined himself up and began to push inside. He moved slow and careful despite the desperation written all over his face. The stretch was immediate and intense, your body struggling to accommodate him even as wet as you were.

"Oh god," you gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders. The feeling of him entering you, spreading you open inch by inch, was almost overwhelming. "Jongho—"

He paused, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard. "You okay?" he asked roughly, voice strained with the effort of holding still. "You're so tight—fuck—"

"Keep going," you managed, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper. "Don't stop. I need all of you."

Jongho groaned and pushed in further, the thick length of him stretching you wider. You could feel every ridge, every vein as he sank deeper, filling you completely. The burn of the stretch mixed with pleasure until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

"So good," he panted against your neck. "You feel so fucking good. So perfect around me."

He pulled back slightly and thrust forward again, seating himself fully inside you. Both of you cried out at the feeling of him buried to the hilt, your body clenching around him like you never wanted to let go.

"God, you're taking me so well," Jongho groaned, staying still for a moment to let you adjust. "Look at you, stretched around my cock. So beautiful."

The filthy praise made you clench involuntarily, and Jongho cursed, hips jerking forward.

"Move," you finally whispered, nails dragging down his back. "Please, Jongho, I need you to move—"

He pulled back slowly, the drag of his cock against your walls making you both moan, and then thrust forward again. The angle made you see stars, finally feeling him so deep inside of you.

"Like that?" he asked, voice wrecked.

"Yes," you gasped. "Yes, just like that—"

Jongho set a rhythm that was deep and steady, each movement deliberate like he was trying to memorize exactly how you felt around him. Every thrust pushed deeper, hit harder, until you could feel him everywhere. The couch creaked beneath you with every movement. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, obscene and perfect. The sounds eliciting from your pussy making him groan.

"Listen to that," Jongho groaned, picking up the pace. "Listen to how wet you are for me. How perfectly you take my cock."

Your hands slid into his hair, tugging hard, and Jongho moaned your name like a prayer. The sound of it made you clench around him, your walls fluttering and gripping him tighter.

"Fuck," he cursed, hips stuttering. "Don't do that or I'm going to—"

"I want you to lose control," you gasped, pulling him down for a desperate kiss. "Please...stop holding back. I can take it." You begged.

Something in him snapped at that. Jongho's control shattered completely. He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in, the force of it making you cry out. He did it again, and again, setting a punishing rhythm that had you gasping and moaning with every thrust.

"God, you feel—" He couldn't finish the sentence, just buried his face in your neck and fucked into you harder, deeper, like he was trying to crawl inside your skin. "So tight. So perfect. Mine."

"Yours," you agreed breathlessly, nails raking down his back hard enough to leave marks. "All yours, Jongho—"

Your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper. The new angle made him hit that spot inside you that had you seeing stars, and you couldn't stop the broken moan that tore from your throat.

"There?" Jongho panted, adjusting slightly to hit that spot again. "Right there?"

"Yes!" you cried out, back arching off the couch. "Right there, don't stop, please don't stop—"

He didn't. Jongho kept the same angle, the same devastating rhythm, driving into you over and over while you fell apart beneath him. Every thrust sent pleasure sparking through your entire body.

"You're so beautiful like this," he groaned, pulling back to watch your face. "Taking my cock so well. Making such pretty sounds for me."

The praise combined with the relentless pace had you climbing higher and higher. You could feel your orgasm building, tension coiling tight in your core, but you weren't ready for this to end yet.

"More," you gasped, not even sure what you were asking for. "Jongho, please, I need—"

"I know," he murmured, one hand sliding between your bodies. "I've got you."

His fingers found your clit and circled it in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation made you cry out, hips bucking up to meet him desperately.

"That's it," Jongho groaned, watching you writhe beneath him. "Let me see you fall apart. Want to feel you come around my cock."

The tension built higher, tighter, until you were trembling with it. Every nerve ending felt like it was on fire. Jongho's cock filled you perfectly, stretched you wide, hit every spot that made you see stars.

"I'm close," you whimpered, fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to bruise. "So close—"

"Not yet," he panted, slowing his pace slightly even though you could tell it was killing him. "Want to make this last. Want to feel you like this forever."

He rolled his hips in a slow, deep grind that had you gasping. You could feel every inch of him, thick and hard inside you, stretching you open. The slower pace was more intense, more intimate, making you feel everything.

"Jongho," you whimpered, clenching around him. "Please—"

"Please what?" he asked, voice rough. "Tell me what you need."

"Harder," you begged, past the point of shame. "Fuck me harder. I need it. Need you."

Jongho groaned like you'd punched him and immediately complied, snapping his hips forward with renewed intensity. The force of his thrusts pushed you up the couch, and he had to grab your hip to hold you in place.

"Like this?" he panted, driving into you relentlessly. "This what you need?"

"Yes!" you cried out, nails dragging down his back. "Yes, just like that, don't stop—"

The sound of your bodies coming together filled the room mixing with both of you moaning and gasping. It was filthy and perfect and everything you'd been dreaming about for months.

"You're so wet," Jongho groaned, looking down to where you were joined. "God, look at you taking me. Look at how well you take my cock."

You followed his gaze and the sight of him disappearing inside you over and over made you clench hard around him. Jongho cursed and thrust harder, chasing the sensation.

"I'm not gonna last," he panted against your skin, rhythm starting to falter. "You feel too good. Too perfect. I can't—"

"Don't care," you gasped, pulling him closer. "Want to feel you come inside me. Want you to fill me up."

Jongho made a sound that was almost broken, hips snapping forward desperately. His fingers worked your clit faster, more insistent, determined to bring you over the edge with him.

"Come for me," he demanded, voice wrecked. "Want to feel you come around my cock. Please, baby, I need it—" The combination of his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you and his fingers on your clit was too much. The tension that had been building finally snapped.Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, pleasure exploding through every nerve ending. You cried out his name as your body clenched around him rhythmically, walls fluttering and gripping his cock like a vice.

"Fuck, yes," Jongho groaned, feeling you come apart beneath him. "Just like that. So perfect. So good for me."

He fucked you through it, prolonging your pleasure until you were shaking and oversensitive. Your walls were still clenching around him when his rhythm finally broke completely.

"I'm—" he gasped, thrusts becoming erratic. "I'm gonna—"

"Do it," you whimpered, legs tightening around his waist. "Come inside me. Want to feel it."

Jongho buried himself as deep as he could go and came with a guttural moan, his cock pulsing as he spilled inside you. You could feel the warmth of it, feel him throbbing as he emptied himself completely.

"God," he panted, hips still moving in small, involuntary thrusts as he rode out his orgasm. "So good. You feel so fucking good."

He collapsed on top of you, both of you trembling and gasping for breath. You could feel him still inside you, softening slowly, and the intimacy of it made your chest tight. Neither of you moved for a long moment, just stayed tangled together with hearts pounding in sync while you both tried to remember how to breathe.

Jongho shifted slightly, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "Holy shit," he whispered.

You laughed breathlessly. "Yeah."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, and the tenderness in his expression made your chest tight. Like he couldn't quite believe this had actually happened.

"Worth the wait?" you asked softly.

Jongho smiled. His soft smile that belonged only to you now. "So worth it."

Eventually, Jongho pulled out carefully, both of you wincing slightly at the sensitivity. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead before standing, offering you his hand.

"Come on," he murmured, voice still rough. "Let's get you somewhere more comfortable than my couch."

You took his hand and let him pull you up, legs a little unsteady. Yet he steadied you immediately, one arm wrapping around your waist while his thumb traced absent circles against your hip.

"You okay?" he asked softly, searching your face.

"More than okay," you whispered.

Something in his expression softened even further. He grabbed his discarded hoodie from the floor and helped you slip it on, the fabric warm and smelling like him. The gesture was so unexpectedly tender that it made your chest ache.

Jongho laced his fingers through yours and led you down the hallway to his bedroom. You'd been in here before for movie nights and the occasional late conversation but it felt different now. Intimate in a way it hadn't been before. He flicked on the small lamp on his nightstand instead of the overhead light, bathing the room in a soft golden glow. The bed was unmade from this morning, sheets rumpled and inviting.

"Here," Jongho said quietly, grabbing a clean shirt from his dresser and gently wiping away the evidence of what you'd just done. His touch was careful, reverent almost, like you were something precious. When he was done, he tossed the shirt aside and cupped your face, thumbs brushing over your flushed cheeks.

"Hi," he whispered, smiling slightly.

"Hi," you breathed back, unable to stop your own smile.

He kissed you again, slow and sweet this time, without the desperate urgency from before. Just soft and lingering, like he had all the time in the world now. When he finally pulled back, he tugged you toward the bed. You both climbed in, and Jongho immediately pulled you against his chest, arms wrapping around you like he'd been doing this forever. The sheets were cool against your overheated skin, and you could hear his heartbeat still racing beneath your ear.

His fingers traced lazy patterns up and down your spine while you tangled your legs with his. The room was quiet except for your breathing gradually evening out, the distant hum of the city outside, and the rustle of sheets as you both settled into each other.

This felt like coming home. His forehead rested against yours while both of you caught your breath, hands still tangled together like neither of you had realized it yet. Your cheeks hurt faintly from smiling so much, and Jongho looked just as gone as you felt. It made something warm settle deep in your chest. For once, neither of you rushed to fill the silence.

You traced your thumb absently over his knuckles. “So… Wooyoung was right.”

Jongho groaned immediately. “Don’t ever say that again.”

You laughed softly, and the sound seemed to undo him a little. His expression gentled as he looked at you like he was still trying to process that this was real. That you were real.

“You know what the worst part is?” he murmured.

“What?” You barely whispered, voice soft.

“I think I would’ve kept waiting forever.”

Your smile faded slightly at the honesty in his voice. Jongho glanced down at your joined hands before continuing quietly, “I kept thinking if I crossed the line and you didn’t feel the same, I’d lose you completely.”

“You wouldn’t have.”

“I know that now.”

Something tightened painfully in your chest. Because the truth was, you understood exactly what he meant. All those months of almosts, the lingering looks, all the jealousy hidden behind teasing, your hands brushing for half a second too long. Both of you waiting for the other person to break first. Somehow, despite all of it, you still ended up here.

You smiled softly. “Guess we’re both idiots then.”

Jongho huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Probably.”

Then his hand lifted to your face again, thumb brushing your cheek with impossible care.

“But at least we’re idiots together.”

The words should’ve sounded teasing. Instead they landed somewhere deep. Your throat tightened unexpectedly, and Jongho noticed immediately. He always noticed.

His expression softened further before he leaned down to press one slow kiss against your forehead. A quiet promise wrapped inside something simple.

Family dinners were always like this—warm, noisy, familiar… and exhausting.

Her uncle’s laughter boomed across the table as he filled another glass of soju, and her aunt scolded her cousin for chewing with his mouth open. It should have felt comforting. It used to, when she was younger. But now, every smile she forced felt like it cracked something inside her.

“Y/N, eat more meat,” her grandmother said, sliding another piece of galbi into her bowl before she could protest. “You look tired. But—” the old woman’s eyes flicked briefly down her body, quick as a knife, “—you’ve been eating well, haven’t you?”

It wasn’t cruel. It was just… her grandmother. The same tone she used to comment on the weather or the new curtains. And yet, Y/N’s throat tightened as if the words were barbed wire.

Her mother’s chopsticks paused mid-air. “Umma,” she scolded softly, though not strongly enough to stop her. “She’s doing fine.”

But then her aunt chimed in, voice honeyed: “Of course she is! She has such a pretty face, doesn’t she? If you just slimmed down a little, Y/N-ah, you’d be stunning.”

Her cousin snickered under his breath.

Y/N stabbed her rice with her chopsticks, pretending she hadn’t heard, pretending the heat in her face was just from the spicy kimchi jjigae.

She’d lost count of how many times she’d heard those words—such a pretty face if. Always if. Always conditional. As if her face was some fragile treasure buried under all the wrongness of her body.

“Don’t pressure her,” her mother said quickly, though her own eyes avoided Y/N’s.

But the conversation had already moved on. Her uncle was asking her younger cousin about university entrance exams, her grandmother complaining about the price of cabbage this season. For them, the moment was over. For Y/N, it echoed like a siren inside her head.

Later, after dishes were washed and leftovers packed into plastic containers, Y/N finally escaped into the night air. She tugged her coat tighter around her and walked quickly toward the bus stop, heels of her boots clicking against the pavement.

Her phone buzzed.

Mina: survived family dinner?? 👀

Y/N: barely

Y/N: they did the “pretty face if you lost weight” thing again

Mina: UGH

Mina: want me to come fight them??

Y/N: please do. bring a sword

Y/N smiled despite herself. She could always count on Mina to lighten things. A second notification popped up.

Hyejin: don’t listen to them. Want to meet up for coffee tomorrow?

Y/N: yes please. Need to vent before i combust

She slipped her phone back into her bag, sighing. Thank God for her two best friends. Without them, she wasn’t sure how she’d survive these dinners.0

The bus arrived with a squeal of brakes, and she climbed aboard, sinking into a seat by the window. The city rolled past in a blur of neon and headlights. She caught her reflection in the glass: round cheeks flushed, lips pressed tight, eyes a little too shiny.

Pretty face if…

She closed her eyes and willed herself not to cry in front of strangers.

The next afternoon, Y/N sat in the corner of their usual café, cupping her latte like it might keep her whole world from crumbling. Mina arrived first, sliding into the seat across from her, her nails painted neon green, her hair clipped up messily.

“You look like you just went twelve rounds in a boxing ring,” Mina said cheerfully.

“Family dinner,” Y/N muttered.

Mina groaned in sympathy, reaching across the table to pat her hand. “I swear, they’re like broken records. You should just play a recording of them and stay home.”

Hyejin arrived a few minutes later, balancing a tray of pastries. “I brought sugar therapy.” She set down a plate of croissants and cookies, her smile soft but worried. “Tell us everything.”

Y/N did. She told them about the comments, the way her grandmother’s voice slipped under her skin, the way her aunt smiled like she was offering a compliment instead of twisting a knife.

By the end, Mina looked ready to throw a punch, and Hyejin’s eyes were glassy.

“You know they don’t mean it to be cruel,” Hyejin said gently. “They just don’t realize how hurtful it is.”

“I know,” Y/N whispered. “But knowing doesn’t make it easier.”

Mina broke a cookie in half and shoved a piece into her mouth. “Then screw them. You’re gorgeous. And even if you weren’t—which you are—it doesn’t matter. You don’t owe anyone a damn thing.”

Y/N smiled faintly, touched by the fierceness in her friend’s voice.

Still, the words lingered. Always lingered.

That evening, when she got home, Y/N sat cross-legged on her bed with her laptop open. She typed ways to get healthier into the search bar. Then deleted it. Then typed beginner workout ideas. Deleted it again.

Finally, she typed: gyms near me.

The results popped up instantly. Sleek websites with glossy photos of toned bodies and smiling trainers. It all looked so intimidating.

Her heart pounded as she scrolled. She wasn’t sure if this was the right thing. She didn’t want to change just because her family said so. But… she wanted to feel better. Stronger. More in control.

Maybe, she thought, it didn’t have to be about them. Maybe it could be for her.

She hesitated a long time before clicking on one of the websites.

The Monday after family dinner dawned gray and wet, the kind of day that made every step to campus feel like a chore. Y/N balanced her umbrella and tote bag, weaving through the crowded quad until she finally reached the education building.

University was supposed to feel like a new beginning, but lately it felt like another version of the same old routine—studying, commuting, juggling her part-time job at the elementary school down the road. She loved working with kids. Their energy was wild, unpredictable, but real. Children didn’t care about her weight, only whether she could help with their spelling or join their silly games at recess.

Adults, however, were another story.

After class, Y/N stopped by the teachers’ lounge at the school to grab some water before heading into her shift. The room buzzed with chatter, older teachers catching up over coffee and paperwork.

“Y/N-ah!” one of the senior teachers, Mrs. Park, called warmly. “Come sit for a minute, you must be so tired with school and work.”

Y/N smiled politely and obeyed, sinking into the chair beside her.

“You’re such a sweet girl,” Mrs. Park said, giving her a once-over. “And such a pretty face, too. If you just lost a little weight, the boys at your university would be lining up, I swear.”

The other teachers chuckled, one nodding in agreement.

Heat crawled up Y/N’s neck. She laughed weakly, unsure what else to do. Here we go again.

“They don’t mean it badly,” she reminded herself as she gathered her things. But her chest felt heavy all the same, her throat tight.

At recess, when the children begged her to join their game of tag, she ran with them until her lungs burned, smiling as their laughter echoed across the playground. For a moment, she forgot the words. For a moment, she just felt like herself.

But the moment passed.

That evening, she sat slumped at the café again, Mina and Hyejin on either side of her like guard dogs.

“They said it at work this time,” Y/N groaned, stirring her iced Americano until it threatened to spill over the rim. “Not just family. Not just relatives. Teachers I respect. ‘Pretty face if…’ Always if.”

Mina slammed her drink down so hard the ice clinked. “I swear, people think it’s a compliment when it’s just straight-up insulting. Like, are they trying to ruin your day?”

Hyejin reached over and squeezed Y/N’s wrist. “You know it’s not true, right? You’re already beautiful. They just have narrow ideas about what’s acceptable.”

Y/N let out a weak laugh. “It’s hard to believe that when everyone keeps saying the same thing.”

Mina leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Okay, listen. You’ve been talking about wanting to feel stronger, right? Less tired, less stressed? Not for them—for you. Why not try the gym near campus? My cousin went there for a while. Said the trainers were nice.”

Y/N groaned into her hands. “A gym? Mina, I’ll look like an idiot. Everyone there will be toned and confident and I’ll be… me.”

“Excuse me,” Mina said, scandalized. “You’re fabulous. And anyway, you’ll have us cheering you on. Right, Hyejin?”

Hyejin nodded immediately. “Absolutely. And hey, if you don’t like it, you can always stop. But maybe it’ll help you feel better. Stronger.”

Y/N hesitated. She hated how the idea made her stomach twist—half fear, half something like hope.

“Just think about it,” Hyejin added gently. “Do it because you want to feel good in your own skin. Not because of them.”

 Y/N sat at her desk with her laptop open, heart racing like she was about to do something scandalous. The gym’s website blinked back at her, all bright stock photos and peppy slogans.

We’ll help you find your strength.

Everyone starts somewhere.

Her cursor hovered over the Sign Up button for a long time.

Her grandmother’s voice echoed. You’ve been eating well, haven’t you?

Mrs. Park’s voice followed: Such a pretty face if you just lost a little weight.

Her friends’ voices cut through: Do it for you. You deserve to feel good.

Her finger clicked before she could overthink it.

She filled out the form, cheeks burning like she was committing a crime. At the end, a message popped up:

Thank you for registering! Your assigned trainer will contact you soon to set up your first appointment.

Y/N sat back in her chair, exhaling hard.

There was no going back now.

The gym bag sat on her bed like a dare.

Y/N had packed and repacked it three times already: leggings, oversized t-shirt, sneakers that had barely touched pavement since high school P.E. She’d even thrown in a water bottle and a towel, though she wasn’t sure if she’d ever gather the courage to actually use them.

Her stomach fluttered with nerves as she tied her hair back in the bathroom mirror. “It’s just a gym,” she whispered to herself. “Normal people go there all the time. Nobody cares what you look like.”

But she wasn’t convinced.

Every time she imagined stepping inside, she pictured rows of toned bodies lifting weights effortlessly, judgmental stares burning into her the moment she walked through the door. She pictured herself tripping over equipment, or worse—being laughed at.

Still, the confirmation email from the gym had been clear: her first session was today, at 6 p.m. And she was already running late.

By the time she reached the glass doors of the fitness center, her palms were slick with sweat despite the chilly evening air. The place looked even more intimidating in person—bright lights, walls plastered with motivational quotes, the faint thump of bass-heavy music pulsing through the glass.

What am I doing here? She thought, clutching her bag like a lifeline.

But when she stepped inside, she was hit with a blast of cool, clean air and… smiles. The receptionist, a young woman with a ponytail and warm eyes, beamed at her from behind the desk.

“Hi! You must be Y/N, right? Welcome.”

Y/N blinked. “Oh—yes. That’s me.”

The receptionist typed something quickly into her computer, then handed her a keycard. “Here’s your membership card. You’re scheduled with one of our trainers tonight—Choi Jongho. He’ll set you up with a beginner program. He’s really great with new members, so don’t worry.”

Y/N nodded mutely, clutching the card like it might vanish if she let go.

“And don’t stress,” the receptionist added kindly, lowering her voice a little. “Everyone’s here for their own goals. Nobody’s judging.”

The reassurance nearly made Y/N tear up on the spot. She managed a weak smile. “Thank you.”

In the locker room, she changed quickly, tugging at the hem of her oversized shirt, wishing it could swallow her whole. The hum of blow dryers and chatter of women swapping workout tips filled the space. Nobody paid her any mind.

She caught her reflection in the mirror as she tied her shoes—flushed cheeks, wide nervous eyes, shoulders tense. You wanted this, she reminded herself. For you. Just get through one session.

When she stepped back into the main gym floor, her heart thudded in her ears.

Machines lined the walls, weights gleamed on racks, and people moved in rhythm with their routines. But… nobody was staring at her. A group of college boys grunted over deadlifts without glancing her way. A woman twice her age jogged steadily on a treadmill. A teenager in a baggy hoodie was clumsily learning to use a rowing machine.

It wasn’t the picture-perfect magazine spread she’d feared. It was just… people. Sweaty, imperfect, focused people.

Relief loosened something in her chest.

“Y/N?”

She turned at the sound of her name—and froze.

Standing a few feet away was a young man in a fitted black shirt and track pants, a clipboard in hand. His dark hair was slightly mussed, his features sharp yet warm. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with an expression that managed to be both professional and approachable.

For a second, Y/N forgot how to speak. Oh no. He’s handsome. He’s ridiculously handsome.

“Uh—yes. That’s me,” she managed, her voice coming out embarrassingly high.

He smiled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled just slightly. “Hi. I’m Jongho, your trainer. It’s nice to meet you.” He extended a hand.

She shook it quickly, praying he couldn’t feel how clammy her palms were.

“I know the first session can feel intimidating,” he said gently. “But don’t worry—we’ll take it slow. My goal is to help you feel comfortable here, not to push you into anything you’re not ready for.”

Something about the way he said it—calm, steady, no hint of judgment—made her chest loosen again.

“Okay,” she breathed. “That… sounds good.”

“Great.” He glanced down at his clipboard, then back at her. “So, Y/N, why don’t we start by talking about your goals? Not numbers, not scales. Just—you. What do you want to get out of this?”

Her lips parted in surprise. She’d expected him to ask how much weight she wanted to lose, or what size she wanted to fit into. Instead, he was watching her patiently, like her answer genuinely mattered.

For the first time all day, she let herself believe maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

Jongho led her toward a quieter corner of the gym, where a few mats and resistance bands were set up. Away from the thunderous clang of heavy weights, the space felt less intimidating—more like a classroom.

“Okay,” he said, setting his clipboard down. “First things first: don’t worry about what everyone else is doing. We’re just going to see how your body moves today. No pressure, no judgment.”

Y/N nodded, though her stomach still twisted. Easy for him to say. He looks like he was sculpted out of marble.

“Let’s start with some stretches.” He demonstrated a simple arm stretch, pulling one elbow across his chest. “Just copy me. Nice and slow.”

Y/N followed, feeling stiff and awkward. But Jongho nodded approvingly. “Good. See? You’ve got it.”

She almost laughed. It’s literally stretching. A toddler could do this. But something in his tone made her cheeks warm.

They moved through a few more stretches before Jongho set a resistance band on the floor.

“Okay, we’ll try some squats. Don’t panic—it’s just to see your form.”

Her eyes widened. “Squats? Already?”

“Don’t worry,” he said again, smiling a little. “I’ll guide you through it. Watch me first.”

He demonstrated, lowering himself with perfect control, muscles in his legs flexing easily. Y/N tried not to stare, but—well. It was hard not to.

When it was her turn, she hesitated. She hated squats. They made her feel clumsy, unbalanced, like everyone could see how awkward she was.

“Take your time,” Jongho encouraged. “Feet shoulder-width apart. Good. Now, lower slowly—like you’re sitting into a chair.”

She tried, wobbling slightly. Her knees angled inward.

“Not bad,” Jongho said, stepping closer. “But—if you don’t mind—can I adjust your stance?”

Y/N froze. “Oh—um. Sure.”

He crouched slightly, gently nudging her knees outward with the lightest touch. His voice stayed calm, professional. “There. See? That already looks better.”

She exhaled shakily and tried again. This time, the movement felt… steadier.

“Perfect,” Jongho said, a hint of pride in his voice. “That’s it.”

Something in her chest swelled at the word. Perfect. Nobody had ever said that to her about something physical before.

After a few more attempts, Jongho had her switch to light dumbbells.

“We’ll start small,” he explained. “Strength isn’t about the heaviest weight. It’s about consistency. Even two kilos will build up over time.”

Y/N picked them up, grimacing. “They don’t feel small.”

Jongho chuckled softly. “That’s the point.”

Despite herself, she smiled.

They moved on to the treadmill for a light walk. Y/N expected him to crank the speed until she collapsed, but instead he set it to an easy pace.

“Nothing crazy,” he said. “Just get comfortable moving. How does that feel?”

“Like walking,” she said dryly, then winced. “Sorry. That sounded sarcastic.”

But Jongho only laughed, a warm, low sound that sent a flutter through her stomach. “Good. Walking is exactly what it should feel like.”

For a few minutes, silence stretched between them, broken only by the whir of the machine. Y/N found herself sneaking glances at him. Up close, his hands were large but neat, his expression focused yet kind. He didn’t have the fake, exaggerated cheer she’d expected from a trainer. He was calm. Steady. Real.

When the timer beeped, he turned the machine off and offered her a towel. “You did great today.”

Y/N blinked at him. “Really? I barely did anything.”

He tilted his head. “You showed up. You tried. That’s already more than most people do their first day.”

Her throat tightened. She ducked her head, mumbling, “Thanks.”

As they wrapped up, Jongho walked her toward the exit.

“Do you have any questions before next time?” he asked.

Y/N hesitated. “Um… Is it normal to feel like everyone’s watching me? Because I swear every time I moved, I felt eyes burning into me.”

Jongho shook his head, smiling faintly. “It’s normal to feel that way. But the truth? Everyone’s too busy worrying about themselves to notice. Trust me—I’ve seen guys trip over dumbbells because they were so focused on their own reflections.”

Y/N laughed, surprising herself. The tension in her chest eased.

“Next session, we’ll add a little more,” Jongho said as they reached the doors. “But remember—this is about you. Not anyone else.”

She nodded slowly. For the first time, she almost believed it.

Outside, the evening air felt cool against her flushed skin. Y/N clutched her gym bag and let out a long breath.

Maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t going to be as terrifying as she thought.

And maybe—though she’d never admit it out loud—her new trainer’s smile had something to do with that.

Jongho flipped through his clipboard notes as Y/N disappeared through the gym doors, the sound of her sneakers fading into the evening. He’d trained plenty of new members before, but something about her lingered in his mind.

Most beginners were either cocky or terrified. Y/N was clearly nervous, but there had been this quiet determination under it all. She’d shown up. She’d tried. That mattered more than perfect squats or flawless treadmill pace.

And then there was the other problem.

Jongho sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. She was… beautiful. Not just the way her smile had surprised him when she finally relaxed, or the way her cheeks flushed when she laughed. She was pretty in a way that hit him harder than he expected. Her curves, the softness she seemed so self-conscious about—he’d noticed it immediately, and it made his pulse jump before he forced his eyes back to the clipboard.

Professional, he scolded himself. You’re her trainer. Act like one.

But even now, as he jotted down her progress notes, he kept seeing the way her hair had slipped loose when she bent into a squat, or the concentration in her eyes when she held the dumbbells.

“Earth to Jongho.”

Jongho blinked, looking up. San leaned against the front desk a few feet away, smirking knowingly.

“What?”

San tilted his head toward the door Y/N had left through. “Your client. You were staring so hard I thought you were analyzing her soul.”

“I wasn’t,” Jongho said quickly, heat crawling up his neck.

San snorted. “Sure. Totally just staring at her form. For… science.”

“Her squat form needed correction,” Jongho muttered, focusing intently on his notes.

San’s grin widened. “Mm-hm. And her smile, did that need correction too? Because you looked pretty invested in that.”

Jongho snapped his clipboard shut. “Mind your own business.”

But San only laughed, already plotting.

Later that night, the dorm was loud with the usual chaos—Seonghwa scolding Wooyoung for leaving dishes in the sink, Mingi yelling over a video game, Yunho sprawled across the couch like it was his throne.

Jongho dropped his bag by the door and headed for the fridge, but San’s voice cut through the noise.

“Hey, guys,” San called, grinning like a cat about to pounce. “Guess what? Our little maknae has a crush.”

Instant silence. Seven pairs of eyes turned toward Jongho.

He froze, juice carton in hand. “…What?”

San waggled his eyebrows. “The new girl at the gym. He couldn’t stop staring at her. Like, full-on heart eyes.”

“Heart eyes?” Wooyoung practically shrieked. “Jongho? No way.”

Yeosang smirked from his corner. “That would explain why he was smiling at his phone earlier.”

“I wasn’t—” Jongho started, but Seonghwa cut in, calm but clearly entertained.

“So… she’s your client?” Seonghwa asked.

Jongho groaned, covering his face with one hand. “She’s just… new. I’m helping her adjust.”

“Helping her adjust into your arms,” Wooyoung cackled.

Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Our serious, professional Jongho? Crushing on a gym member? This is new.”

“It’s not—” Jongho’s ears burned. “It’s not like that.”

But the way his voice cracked betrayed him, and the room erupted into laughter.

Only San leaned in with a smug grin. “You can lie to them, but you can’t lie to me. I saw the way you looked at her. You’re gone, Jongho-yah.”

Jongho grabbed his juice and fled to his room before his ears combusted, the sound of the others still laughing chasing him down the hall.

The worst part?

San was right.

“Okay—one more rep. You’ve got this.”

Jongho crouched beside the bench as Y/N pressed the dumbbells upward with shaky arms. Her face twisted in concentration, a lock of hair sticking to her damp forehead. She muttered something under her breath—probably a curse at him—and pushed through the final lift before dropping the weights onto the mat with a heavy exhale.

“Done,” she panted.

“Good job,” Jongho said, passing her a towel. “Your form’s already better than last week.”

She shot him a skeptical look, cheeks flushed. “I almost dropped it on my face.”

He bit back a laugh. “Almost. But you didn’t. That’s progress.”

She rolled her eyes, but a reluctant smile tugged at her lips.

And there it was again—that little smile that always seemed to catch him off guard.

He quickly busied himself with his clipboard, jotting down notes before his brain betrayed him any further. Focus. She’s your client. This is work.

But it was hard to ignore the way her shirt clung to her back when she leaned over to grab her water bottle, or how her laughter bubbled out when she told him about one of the kids at her school who had tried to hide crayons in his socks. She was bright in ways she didn’t seem to notice, and it was driving him crazy.

They moved to the treadmill next, Y/N walking briskly while Jongho walked beside her.

“So,” he asked casually, “how’s university? I don’t think I asked what you’re studying.”

She perked up a little. “Education. I want to teach elementary school.”

“That suits you,” he said without thinking.

Her head snapped toward him. “What?”

Jongho cleared his throat, suddenly flustered. “I mean—you seem good with kids. From the stories you tell. Patient. That’s… important for a teacher.”

Her expression softened. “Oh. Thanks. Yeah, I love working with them.”

The treadmill beeped, mercifully interrupting the silence that followed. Jongho adjusted the speed down and told her to cool off, but his pulse was still racing faster than hers.

By the time they finished the session, Y/N looked exhausted but pleased, cheeks glowing. She slung her towel around her neck and gave him a tired grin.

“I survived. Barely.”

“You did more than survive,” Jongho said. “You pushed past where you thought you’d stop. That matters.”

Her eyes lingered on him for a beat too long before she looked away. “Thanks… I guess I’ll see you next time?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Same time.”

She left with a little wave, and Jongho stood frozen, watching her until the glass doors swung shut behind her.

Later, in the staff room, he collapsed into a chair with his water bottle, dragging a hand down his face.

He’d trained dozens of clients before. He’d never had trouble keeping things professional. But with Y/N…

Every time she smiled, his chest did this weird flip. Every time she doubted herself, he wanted to shake her and tell her how wrong she was. And every time she looked at him with those wide, uncertain eyes—like she was bracing for judgment that never came—he wanted to prove, over and over, that she was worth more than she believed.

It was dangerous. Unprofessional. He knew that.

And yet, he couldn’t deny it anymore.

He liked her.

Really liked her.

By Thursday afternoon, Y/N was struggling to keep her eyes open in lecture. Her professor’s voice droned on about curriculum design while she doodled half-hearted flowers in the margins of her notebook.

When class finally ended, she stuffed her things into her tote bag and nearly ran for the door. She was halfway down the hall when someone called her name.

“Y/N!”

She turned to see Junseok, one of the guys from her education course, jogging to catch up. He was tall, with a friendly grin and messy hair that always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed.

“Hey,” she said, trying not to sound surprised. They’d worked on a group project once, but they didn’t usually talk much outside class.

“You looked like you were about to collapse back there,” he teased, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.

She laughed nervously. “It’s been a long week.”

“Well, perfect timing then. There’s a party this weekend—kind of a mix of students from different majors. You should come.”

“A… party?” She blinked.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling wider. “It’ll be fun. Music, drinks, people to complain about classes with. You could use a break, right?”

Y/N hesitated. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to a party that wasn’t some awkward family gathering. And Junseok… was he just being friendly? Or—no. She shook the thought away immediately. Guys like him didn’t flirt with girls like her.

“I’ll think about it,” she said finally, adjusting the strap of her bag.

“Do,” he said with a little grin. “Hope I see you there.”

As he walked away, Y/N felt a strange flutter in her chest. She shoved it down before it could grow.

That evening at the café, Mina leaned across the table, eyes shining. “So. Party this weekend. You’re coming, right?”

Y/N blinked at her, startled. “Wait—how do you know about it?”

“Because Seonghwa told me.” Mina twirled her straw dramatically. “He’s in my education seminar. Said he and his friends are hosting. And he told me to bring whoever I want.”

“Seonghwa?” Y/N repeated. She knew the name—Mina had mentioned her ridiculously polite, ridiculously handsome study partner before.

“Yes,” Mina said with a smirk. “And let me tell you, if his friends are anything like him, this party is going to be worth it.”

Hyejin raised an eyebrow. “So you’re inviting us because…?”

“Because we all deserve a night out,” Mina said firmly. “And Y/N especially. She’s been drowning in classes and work and—” Mina cut herself off, glancing at Y/N’s face. “You need fun. Real fun. Not Netflix-in-bed fun. Actual, wear-something-cute-and-let-boys-buy-you-drinks fun.”

Y/N groaned into her hands. “Why is everyone suddenly obsessed with me going to this party?”

“Because you need it,” Hyejin said simply. “When was the last time you did something just for yourself?”

Y/N opened her mouth, then closed it again. She couldn’t argue.

Mina grinned in triumph. “Then it’s settled. We’re going. All three of us. And we’re going to make you look hot enough to knock the air out of every guy in the room.”

Y/N laughed weakly, already dreading the idea of squeezing into something that didn’t hide her curves. But her friends’ excitement was contagious, and a small, rebellious part of her whispered: maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Saturday evening came too fast. Y/N stood in Mina’s bedroom, surrounded by piles of clothes, while Mina and Hyejin circled her like stylists prepping a celebrity.

“Not that shirt,” Mina said, tossing it onto the bed. “You’re not going to a parent-teacher conference.”

Hyejin handed her a dress instead—soft fabric, not too tight but flattering. “Try this. It’ll make your waist look great.”

“I don’t know…” Y/N fiddled with the hem. “What if I look stupid?”

“You won’t,” Mina said firmly, already attacking Y/N’s hair with a curling iron. “Trust me. If anyone looks stupid, it’ll be the people staring because they won’t know how to handle you.”

Y/N laughed, nervous but touched. Her two best friends really were a force of nature—like they’d decided long ago that if the world tried to tear her down, they’d just build her back up twice as strong.

When she finally looked in the mirror, she barely recognized herself. Soft waves framed her face, her dress hugged her body in a way that felt daring, and a touch of lipstick made her lips stand out.

“Wow,” she whispered.

“Exactly,” Mina said smugly. “You’re going to kill them. Guys won’t know what hit them.”

At that, Y/N’s mind flickered—unbidden—to the image of Jongho’s smile, warm and steady as he handed her a towel after training. She shook her head quickly, heat rushing to her cheeks.

Why am I even thinking about him? she scolded herself. He’s my trainer. He’s gorgeous, disciplined, way out of my league. He’d never look at me like that.

The thought stung more than she expected, and she forced it away, pasting on a smile as Mina adjusted her necklace.

“You’re going to turn heads,” Mina declared.

“Maybe,” Y/N said softly. But in her chest, the memory of Jongho’s smile lingered stubbornly—sweet and impossible all at once.

The bass from the speakers thumped through the walls before they even reached the house. Y/N tugged self-consciously at the hem of her dress, her stomach fluttering as Mina and Hyejin marched ahead with the confidence of seasoned party veterans.

The door swung open to reveal a blur of noise and light—students crammed into the living room, red cups in hand, music pulsing loud enough to rattle the floorboards. The smell of pizza and beer mingled with perfume and sweat.

“Whoa,” Y/N muttered under her breath. “This is… not small.”

“Relax,” Mina said, looping an arm through hers. “You look amazing. Nobody’s going to notice you’re nervous.”

Before she could change her mind and bolt, Mina spotted someone across the room and squealed. “Seonghwa!”

Her study partner turned at the call, his face lighting up. He was tall, sharply dressed even in casual clothes, with the kind of polished charm that made him look like he belonged in a drama. He waved them over, and Mina wasted no time dragging Y/N and Hyejin straight through the crowd.

“Hey,” Seonghwa said warmly, leaning down to hug Mina before greeting the others with a polite smile. “Glad you came. I want you to meet my friends—”

Y/N looked up.

Her heart stuttered.

Because standing right there, holding a drink and laughing at something Wooyoung said, was Jongho.

For a moment, her brain short-circuited. The Jongho she knew wore black track pants and carried a clipboard, his voice calm and professional. The Jongho in front of her now wore a fitted dark shirt and jeans, his hair styled just enough to look effortless, his eyes brighter in the low party lights.

He looked… different. Relaxed. And somehow even more handsome.

Oh no, she thought. Oh, absolutely no.

“—these are my roommates,” Seonghwa was saying, motioning toward the group.

Hongjoong offered a small wave, sharp eyes glinting with friendliness.

San grinned and raised his cup. “Welcome.”

Wooyoung winked shamelessly. “Finally, someone to balance out Seonghwa’s seious vibes.”

Yunho gave a warm, boyish smile and a big wave. “Hi! Drinks are in the kitchen if you need one.”

Mingi, towering and cheerful, added, “And snacks. I made them. Please appreciate my nachos.”

Yeosang inclined his head politely, his expression reserved but kind.

And then Jongho noticed her. His smile faltered for a split second, his eyes widening just slightly, before he recovered with a polite bow of his head.

“Y/N,” Mina whispered, nudging her. “That’s your trainer, right?”

Y/N swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

“Damn,” Mina muttered, smirking. “Now I really get why you’ve been going to the gym.”

Y/N elbowed her sharply, face burning.

Jongho was still looking at her—professional mask in place, but something flickering behind his eyes. She couldn’t read it, and the uncertainty made her throat dry.

“Do you guys want drinks?” Seonghwa offered, oblivious to the silent earthquake happening inside Y/N’s chest.

“Sure,” Mina said easily, pulling Hyejin along.

Y/N trailed behind, trying not to think about how surreal it felt. Of all the people to run into at a party—why did it have to be him? Why did he have to look so… good?

And why, in a room full of strangers, did she suddenly feel like every nerve in her body was aware of his presence?

Jongho hadn’t expected much from tonight. Just another crowded party Seonghwa felt obligated to host, a chance for the older guys to play polite and the younger ones to eat free food. He’d come because San and Wooyoung insisted, promising “bonding time.”

He hadn’t expected her.

The moment Seonghwa’s voice said her name, Jongho looked up—and froze.

Y/N.

In a dress. Hair softly curled. Lips painted with something that made them stand out even more. She looked nothing like the nervous girl in an oversized t-shirt gripping dumbbells at the gym. She looked radiant.

And she looked… out of place. Not because she didn’t belong, but because the second she walked in, the noise of the room dulled. Jongho swore it did.

His chest squeezed tight, heat creeping up the back of his neck.

What is she doing here? He thought, panicked. Does she know Seonghwa?

When her eyes landed on him, wide and startled, Jongho almost forgot to breathe. He gave a quick bow, trying to recover, but he knew his surprise had already shown.

She looked away first, following Mina toward the drinks. Jongho stayed rooted to the spot, heart pounding harder than it had during any workout.

“She looks… different,” he muttered under his breath before he could stop himself.

The girls disappeared into the kitchen with Seonghwa, leaving Jongho standing with the others.

And of course, silence never lasted long around them.

San elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “Well, well, well,” he said, smirk spreading like wildfire. “That was a reaction.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jongho said flatly, reaching for his cup.

“You don’t?” Wooyoung’s grin was wicked. “Because from where I was standing, you looked like someone just punched you in the chest.”

“Yeah,” Yunho added, laughing. “You went pale and red at the same time. Impressive, honestly.”

Mingi leaned against the counter, grinning. “So that’s the famous client San told us about.”

Yeosang, ever calm, just lifted an eyebrow. “The one you ‘weren’t staring at’ last week?”

Hongjoong sipped his drink like he was above the chaos, but the small smile tugging at his lips gave him away. “You should work on your poker face, Jongho-yah.”

Jongho groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re all imagining things.”

“Imagining her walking in like that?” San shot back, eyes gleaming. “Not a chance. You were gone the second you saw her.”

Wooyoung leaned dramatically against Yunho. “Our little maknae, crushing hard. Who knew?”

Jongho set his cup down with a little more force than necessary. “She’s my client. That’s all.”

“Mm,” Yeosang hummed, unconvinced.

Mingi waggled his brows. “Client now, girlfriend later?”

Jongho didn’t even make it three steps toward the hallway before San’s voice called after him.

“Running away won’t hide the blush, maknae!”

The rest of the guys erupted into laughter, and Jongho sighed, dragging himself back toward the kitchen island. If he left now, he’d never hear the end of it.

“Seriously, though,” Wooyoung said, grinning like the devil himself. “That was the most dramatic double-take I’ve ever seen. If this were a drama, there’d have been slow motion and background music.”

Yunho nodded solemnly. “Maybe even flower petals.”

“Or confetti,” Mingi added, snickering. “Lots of confetti.”

Jongho pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re all ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously observant,” San countered, taking a long sip of his drink. “Come on, Jongho. You’ve been sneaking glances at her in the gym for weeks. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Yeosang, perched quietly on a stool, spoke up with that calm, sharp tone that always cut straight through. “It wasn’t subtle.”

“Thank you, Yeosang,” Jongho muttered, not sure if it was worse that even he had noticed.

Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, clearly entertained. “You know, usually you’re the steady one. Serious. Professional. It’s… refreshing to see you rattled.”

“Refreshing for you, maybe,” Jongho grumbled.

“Hey, no complaints here,” Wooyoung chirped. “Watching you squirm is the highlight of my night.”

“Mine too,” San agreed, slinging an arm over Jongho’s shoulder before he could dodge. “So tell us, trainer-nim, what’s the plan? Gonna teach her how to lift… your heart?”

Yunho and Mingi choked on their drinks at the same time, howling with laughter.

Jongho shoved San’s arm off, his ears burning. “There is no plan. She’s my client. That’s all.”

San gave him a look of pure disbelief. “Right. And I’m secretly a physics major.”

Yeosang smirked faintly. “He does protest a lot.”

Jongho tried to glare at all of them, but it was useless. They were too busy enjoying themselves.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Think what you want. I’m going to get more water.”

As he poured himself a glass, their laughter continued behind him. He tried to block it out, but his mind betrayed him anyway, replaying the moment Y/N had walked in. The way her eyes had widened when she saw him. The way her dress curved at her waist, the faint shine of lipstick on her smile.

He clenched his jaw.

He wasn’t supposed to notice those things. Not about her. Not about someone who trusted him as a trainer.

But damn it, he had noticed. And no amount of teasing from his friends could make him admit just how .

The thrum of music dimmed the moment Y/N stepped outside. The heavy bass still pulsed faintly through the walls, but here on the back patio the air felt different—cooler, tinged with the scent of cigarettes and the faint sweetness of someone’s spilled drink.

A string of fairy lights crisscrossed overhead, throwing a soft glow over the wooden deck. Students lounged around the railing, some talking in tight groups, others laughing loudly at inside jokes. Beyond the patio stretched a small yard, shadows spilling across the grass where a few more people sat in a circle, bottles glinting in their hands.

Y/N tugged her cardigan tighter around herself and hovered in the doorway. Her cheeks were still warm from the crush of bodies inside, and though the cooler air was a relief, she instantly felt exposed out here, as if the soft light made her stand out more.

“Come on,” Mina said, looping her arm through Y/N’s before she could retreat. “The air’s good out here. And look—conversation opportunities.”

Mina tilted her head toward a group of three guys leaning against the railing. Hyejin followed her gaze, then grinned. “They’re cute.”

Y/N groaned under her breath, but her friends were already moving, pulling her along like a reluctant accessory. The guys looked up as they approached, smiling in easy recognition.

“You’re Mina, right?” one of them said, pushing off the railing. “Seonghwa mentioned you.”

Mina’s face lit up like she’d just been cast as the lead in a drama. “That’s me,” she said brightly, introducing herself and Hyejin in one breath. Within seconds, the three of them had slipped into conversation, laughing over shared classes and mutual friends.

Y/N hovered a step behind, her fingers tightening around her plastic cup. She knew this rhythm too well—Mina’s radiant laugh, Hyejin’s soft charm. They made it look effortless, the way people gravitated toward them. Y/N was happy for them. Really. She just… never quite knew how to fit into it.

She was considering sneaking back inside when another voice spoke.

“Y/N, right?”

She turned. One of the taller guys had stepped away from the railing, his broad frame blocking the fairy lights for a moment. He had neatly styled hair and that kind of open, confident smile that belonged to people who never seemed to doubt themselves.

Her heart gave a nervous flutter. “Uh—yeah. That’s me.”

He chuckled. “I knew it. You’re in the education department too, aren’t you? Curriculum Design, last semester?”

Her eyes widened. “Wait—you were in that class?”

“Front row, mostly,” he said easily. “I remembered you from your presentation. On differentiated learning styles, right? You made a pretty dry subject actually interesting.”

Heat crept into Y/N’s cheeks. She laughed, flustered. “That? Honestly, I was rambling half the time. I thought everyone was asleep.”

“Not me,” he said, grinning wider. “I was impressed. Most people just regurgitate the textbook. You actually explained things.”

Y/N blinked. Compliments in academic settings weren’t new—teachers praising her effort, classmates thanking her for group project work—but this felt different. More… personal.

Still, she shook her head quickly. “You’re exaggerating. But… thanks.”

“Not at all.” He shifted a little closer, leaning one arm on the railing. “Anyway, I’m glad you came tonight. Didn’t expect to run into you at a party like this.”

Y/N gave an awkward little shrug, glancing at Mina and Hyejin still chatting animatedly with the other guys. “My friends dragged me along.”

“Lucky me, then.”

Her brows furrowed faintly, but before she could ask what he meant, he continued smoothly: “Can I get you a drink? Something stronger than water?”

“Oh—I’m fine,” Y/N said quickly, lifting her cup. “I don’t really drink much.”

“Fair enough.” He smiled again, teeth flashing under the string lights. “Then maybe I’ll just keep you company out here.”

Y/N nodded politely, grateful that he seemed friendly enough. She didn’t notice the way his eyes lingered on her dress, or how his voice had dropped into that lower, softer register people used when they were interested.

To her, this was just polite conversation.

What Y/N didn’t realize was that she and her tall companion weren’t nearly as invisible as she thought.

A few steps away, clustered near the patio’s far railing, a familiar group of boys had claimed their corner. San leaned against the wood, Wooyoung perched on it like he owned the place, Yunho holding a drink in one hand as he laughed at something Mingi said. Yeosang stood quietly nearby, his expression calm, while Jongho stood slightly behind them all, shoulders straight, cup in hand.

He’d followed them outside to escape the noise. What he hadn’t expected was to see Y/N there.

And now, he couldn’t look away.

The tall guy was standing close. Too close. Talking to her with that easy confidence Jongho recognized all too well. And Y/N—sweet, oblivious, too trusting Y/N—was smiling politely, nodding along as if she didn’t realize half the words were dipped in flirtation.

Jongho’s grip tightened around his water bottle until the plastic creaked.

San noticed first, of course. He followed Jongho’s gaze, then smirked like a cat who’d found cream. “Ohhh,” he drawled under his breath. “What’s this? Competition?”

Jongho shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. “Drop it.”

Wooyoung, never one to waste an opportunity, leaned over Yunho’s shoulder. “Looks like Mr. Education Major’s working fast. Bold move.”

Yunho winced in sympathy. “He’s definitely flirting.”

Mingi snorted, towering beside them. “And she doesn’t even notice. Poor girl’s just nodding like he’s talking about class again.”

Yeosang sipped his drink calmly, eyes flicking between Jongho and the scene at the railing. “You’re going to break that bottle if you keep squeezing it,” he remarked quietly.

Jongho exhaled through his nose, forcing his hands to loosen. But his jaw stayed tight, his eyes locked on the tall stranger leaning closer to Y/N, smiling down at her like he had every right to.

She has no idea, Jongho thought, stomach twisting. She doesn’t see it. But I do.

The tall guy—his name was Hyunwoo, she remembered suddenly, from a group project two semesters ago—rested his elbow on the railing, angled slightly toward her. The way he leaned made it feel like the circle of people on the patio had narrowed to just the two of them.

“So,” he said, voice smooth, “are you seeing anyone right now?”

Y/N blinked. “Me? Oh—no.” She let out a quick laugh, embarrassed. “I’m way too busy with work and classes for that.”

His mouth curved. “That’s a shame.”

She tilted her head, confused. “Why?”

“Because,” Hyunwoo said easily, lowering his voice a little, “a girl like you shouldn’t be single for long.”

Heat rushed up Y/N’s neck, and she fumbled for words. “Uh—I don’t think that’s really—” She laughed nervously, cutting herself off. He was probably just being polite, right? People said things like that all the time without meaning it. Compliments, like sugar dusted on top of a drink. Pretty words that dissolved if you thought too hard about them.

“Seriously,” Hyunwoo continued, leaning a little closer. “You’ve got this energy about you. People notice that. I noticed.”

Y/N stared into her cup, suddenly desperate to change the subject. “Um… how’s your semester going?”

Hyunwoo chuckled. “Busy. But not too busy to notice someone interesting at a party.”

Her ears burned. He’s just being friendly, she told herself quickly. Guys like him don’t flirt with girls like me.

Across the patio, San nearly choked on his drink.

“Did he just say what I think he said?” he muttered, eyes wide with glee.

Wooyoung slapped Yunho’s shoulder. “Oh, this is gold. Look at Jongho’s face.”

Yunho winced. “That guy’s laying it on so thick.”

“Thicker than Mingi’s nacho cheese,” San quipped.

Mingi gasped. “Hey!”

Yeosang, ever calm, sipped his drink before adding, “He’s not wrong, though.”

Jongho said nothing. His jaw was set, shoulders stiff. He looked like a storm waiting to break. His eyes hadn’t left Y/N once, and every word Hyunwoo spoke seemed to land like a blow.

“You should go over there,” Wooyoung whispered mischievously.

“I’m not—” Jongho started.

“Look at him,” San cut in. “He’s practically hovering over her. Are you just going to stand here and let him?”

“It’s not my business,” Jongho snapped quietly, but the words rang hollow even to his own ears.

Meanwhile, Y/N forced a smile at Hyunwoo’s latest question.

“So what about you?” he asked. “Do you like to dance? They’ll clear space inside soon. I bet you’d look amazing on the floor.”

Y/N laughed again, but this time it was high-pitched, nervous. “Me? No, no way. I’m terrible at dancing.”

“I don’t believe that,” Hyunwoo said smoothly. “Bet you’d surprise everyone.”

Her face burned hotter. She tugged her cardigan tighter, wishing she could melt into the railing. He’s just joking. Just being nice. He doesn’t mean it like that.

But still… a small, bewildered part of her wondered what on earth he saw that she didn’t.

Back at the other end of the patio, Mingi leaned down toward Jongho, voice booming in his attempt to whisper. “She doesn’t even realize he’s flirting.”

“Exactly,” Wooyoung hissed, gleeful. “She’s too sweet. He’s gonna think he has a chance.”

San grinned, eyes locked on Jongho. “Unless someone else makes it clear she’s already taken.”

Jongho’s grip tightened on his cup again. He could feel the plastic bending in his hand. His friends’ laughter blurred into the background. All he could hear was Hyunwoo’s voice, low and smooth, coaxing answers from Y/N like he had any right to.

And all he could see was the way Y/N laughed nervously, eyes downcast, oblivious to how close the guy was leaning.

Something twisted deep in Jongho’s chest, sharp and to his surprise a little possessive.

Hyunwoo leaned in, the fairy lights catching on the curve of his smile. “So tell me,” he said smoothly, “how is it possible a girl like you doesn’t already have someone chasing after her?”

Y/N blinked, startled. The words hit her like a foreign language. She laughed nervously, clutching her cup tighter. “Me? That’s… definitely not true.”

“It is,” he insisted, eyes locked on her. “You’re different. Not like everyone else here.”

Her chest tightened. She didn’t know what to say. Compliments like that weren’t meant for her. They never were. Not from tall, handsome guys who could talk to anyone they wanted. Surely this was just him being polite, maybe a little tipsy. That had to be it.

She looked away, searching for Mina or Hyejin, but they were still deep in conversation with their group. A flicker of unease stirred low in her stomach.

“Hey,” Hyunwoo pressed, his tone softer now. “Why don’t we go inside? The music’s good. We could dance. Or at least escape this draft.”

“Oh—I don’t really dance,” Y/N said quickly, shaking her head. “I’d probably trip over my own feet.”

“I doubt that.” He chuckled, stepping closer, close enough that his cologne brushed the edge of her senses. “Come on. Just one song.”

Her throat went dry. She tried to step back, but her shoulder hit the railing. “I—I don’t think—”

“Y/N.”

Her name, spoken in a low, steady voice, cut through the air like a lifeline.

She turned—and froze.

Jongho stood a few feet away, posture straight, eyes fixed on her and Hyunwoo with an intensity that made her breath hitch. He wasn’t smiling. He looked calm, polite even, but something sharp simmered beneath the surface.

“You okay?” he asked, his gaze never leaving hers.

For a moment, Y/N could only stare. “Y-yeah. I’m fine.”

Jongho stepped closer, offering a bottle of water he must have grabbed on the way out. “Here. You’ve been outside a while.”

She took it automatically, their fingers brushing for the briefest second. Warmth shot up her arm. “Thanks,” she mumbled.

Hyunwoo cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “We were just talking.”

Jongho finally looked at him, his expression neutral but unreadable. “Right. I could hear.”

There was nothing overtly threatening in his tone, but something about the way he said it made the air tighten. Hyunwoo blinked, then gave a stiff smile and muttered something about checking on a friend before retreating back into the crowd.

Y/N exhaled, realizing she’d been holding her breath. “That was—um. He was nice.”

Jongho’s jaw flexed. “Nice,” he echoed, voice flat.

She frowned slightly. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

He shook his head quickly, forcing his expression softer. “No. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I was,” she said, though even to her own ears it sounded uncertain.

Behind Jongho, she caught a glimpse of his friends near the railing—San and Wooyoung both smirking like they’d just witnessed a show, Yunho and Mingi grinning not-so-subtly, Yeosang sipping his drink with a knowing look.

Jongho ignored them, his gaze steady on her. “If you ever feel uncomfortable, you don’t have to stay polite. You can just walk away.”

Something in his tone—firm, protective—made her chest tighten strangely. She nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Okay. I’ll… keep that in mind.”

Silence stretched between them, filled with the muffled thump of bass from inside and the faint laughter of partygoers around them. Jongho’s eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

“Good,” he said quietly. “That’s all I wanted.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered in a way she couldn’t explain. She looked away quickly, pretending to sip her water, trying to ignore the warmth pooling low in her stomach.

Why does he always make me feel like this? She wondered. He’s just my trainer. He’s just being nice. That’s all.

But still—when she risked a glance back at him, his eyes were already on her.

The party had stretched on long enough that Y/N’s body felt heavy. The buzz of conversation and the steady thump of bass inside had started to blur into background noise, and the cool night air on the patio wasn’t enough to shake the weariness creeping through her bones.

She stifled a yawn behind her hand.

Mina noticed instantly. “Uh-oh,” she said, leaning in with a grin. “Somebody’s running out of battery.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N insisted, though the word dragged out with all the conviction of wet cardboard.

Hyejin laughed softly, her eyes kind. “You’ve been good tonight. Don’t push yourself if you’re tired.”

Y/N glanced toward the sliding door, where the beat of the music leaked through every time someone went inside or out. She didn’t want to ruin Mina and Hyejin’s night. They were still talking animatedly with the guys they’d met, still glowing in the warm attention of new friends. She didn’t want to tug on their sleeves and say, let’s go home.

As if reading her mind, Mina reached over and squeezed her hand. “We’ll be fine here for a while. You should head back. Get some sleep.”

“I can’t just leave you guys—”

“You can,” Mina cut in firmly. “And you should. You did amazing tonight. You came, you looked hot, you even talked to people. That’s more than enough for your first real party in months.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. Mina always had a way of turning the sharp edge of her nerves into something softer.

“Seriously,” Hyejin added gently. “Go home, Y/N. We’ll be okay.”

Before Y/N could argue again, a low voice spoke from just behind her.

“I can walk her.”

She turned, startled. Jongho had stepped closer at some point, his tall frame haloed by the glow of the string lights. His expression was calm, matter-of-fact, like he’d just offered to take out the trash instead of volunteering to escort her home.

Mina’s grin spread like wildfire. “Ohhh. Look at that. Chivalry lives.”

Y/N’s face heated instantly. “That’s not necessary,” she said quickly, waving her hands. “It’s not even that far—”

“It’s late,” Jongho said simply, meeting her gaze. “I don’t mind.”

Something in his tone—steady, quiet, leaving no room for protest—made her pulse stutter.

Mina and Hyejin exchanged a glance, their smiles widening. “Sounds perfect,” Mina said cheerfully. “We’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

Y/N shot them both a look that promised payback, but they only grinned wider, waving as if they were sending her off on a date instead of a safe walk home.

The street outside was a world apart from the crowded house they left behind. The bass of the music faded quickly, replaced by the hum of distant traffic and the occasional bark of a dog. The night air was cool, almost damp, carrying the faint smell of rain.

They walked side by side, the rhythm of their footsteps steady on the quiet pavement. Jongho’s hands were tucked in his pockets, his posture relaxed, but Y/N noticed how he adjusted his stride to match hers.

For a while, neither spoke. Y/N clutched her small bag against her side, eyes darting anywhere but him. She was hyper-aware of everything—the sound of her own breathing, the whisper of fabric when her cardigan shifted, the warmth radiating from him even with a few inches of space between them.

It wasn’t the first time she’d been alone with him. She’d had one-on-one sessions at the gym, of course. But this felt different. There was no workout plan, no treadmill timer beeping in the background, no clipboard in his hand. Just him, beside her, walking her home like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And she couldn’t stop thinking: Why?

Why had he offered? Why had he noticed she was tired at all? Trainers didn’t do that. Trainers didn’t walk their clients home after parties.

The question tangled in her chest until she finally blurted, “You really didn’t have to. I don’t want to waste your night.”

“You’re not,” he said simply. His voice was steady, calm.

Y/N glanced at him. His expression hadn’t changed—still even, still focused ahead—but she couldn’t help noticing the way the streetlight caught the line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. She forced her eyes away before she could spiral.

She laughed weakly. “You must think I’m pathetic. It’s not even midnight and I’m already crashing.”

“I don’t,” Jongho said, quick and firm. “Not at all.”

Something in his tone made her chest tighten. She bit her lip, eyes fixed on the pavement as they walked.

Why does he have to say things like that? she thought, heart fluttering unevenly. Like he means them.

The steady rhythm of their footsteps filled the quiet street. Every so often, a car rumbled by in the distance or the wind shifted, tugging at the hem of Y/N’s cardigan. Otherwise, the night belonged to them, their silence threaded with something unspoken.

Jongho broke it first.

“How’s university?” he asked, his tone casual, as if they were back in the gym between sets.

Y/N blinked at the question, then gave a small shrug. “Busy. I feel like I’m constantly writing lesson plans or doing practicum hours at the school. Sometimes I wonder if I’m already a burnt-out teacher and I haven’t even started yet.”

He chuckled softly. “You don’t seem burnt out.”

“That’s because you only see me for an hour at a time,” she said dryly.

The corner of his mouth twitched, like he wanted to smile but was holding it back. “Maybe. But you talk about your students a lot. You sound like you care about them.”

Her chest warmed. “I do. Kids are… easier. They don’t filter themselves. When they like you, you know it. When they don’t, you really know it.”

“That honesty is rare,” Jongho said quietly.

Y/N glanced at him, surprised by the weight in his voice. He caught her look, then turned his gaze forward again, his expression unreadable.

To cover the sudden flutter in her chest, she asked, “And you? How’s sport therapy? I never asked why you chose it.”

For the first time that evening, his lips curved into a small smile. “I like the idea of helping people move again. Or move without pain. Strength isn’t just about lifting weights—it’s about living without limits. That matters.”

The earnestness in his voice made her throat tighten unexpectedly. She looked away, pretending to focus on a flickering streetlamp ahead.

They walked a few more steps in silence before Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. “You’re really good at making things sound meaningful, you know that?”

Jongho glanced at her. “I meant it.”

Her smile faltered. Something about the way he said it—simple, unwavering—made her stomach twist.

They passed a corner shop, its windows glowing faintly in the night. The hum of a vending machine buzzed against the quiet. Y/N tugged her cardigan tighter, hesitating.

“Can I ask you something?” she said finally.

“Of course.”

Her throat felt tight. “Why did you offer to walk me home? Really.”

Jongho’s stride slowed, just a fraction. “Because you looked tired. And I didn’t want you walking alone this late.”

“That’s it?”

He met her gaze, steady. “That’s enough, isn’t it?”

She looked away quickly, heart stumbling over itself. “I guess.”

A few more minutes passed before the words she’d been biting back all evening finally slipped out.

“Back there,” she began, voice quieter now, “when Hyunwoo was talking to me… you probably thought I was being stupid.”

Jongho’s head turned sharply. “Why would I think that?”

“Because…” She swallowed. “Because I didn’t even notice he was flirting. Not until Mina gave me that look later. I’m so oblivious.” She let out a short, humorless laugh. “Not that it matters. Guys don’t flirt with me. Not really.”

Jongho slowed again, his brows pulling together. “Y/N—”

“It’s true,” she pressed, words tumbling out faster now that they’d started. “You don’t know what it’s like, hearing the same thing over and over. My family—‘pretty face if you just lost some weight.’ Teachers, coworkers—even people at the school where I work say it. Like I’m some project waiting to be fixed. Like everything about me is a problem, except maybe my face.”

Her throat burned, but the words kept spilling. “So when someone like Hyunwoo says something nice, I can’t take it seriously. I just assume he’s being polite, or drunk, or both. Because why else would he mean it?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Y/N’s heart pounded in her ears. She wished she could swallow the words back down, bury them deep where they couldn’t make her sound so pathetic.

But when she finally looked at Jongho, his expression wasn’t pity.

It was anger.

Not at her, she realized with a jolt—but on her behalf. His jaw was tight, his dark eyes burning with something sharp.

“They really say that to you?” His voice was low, rougher than usual.

“All the time,” she admitted, her voice cracking.

He exhaled slowly, visibly trying to steady himself. “That’s… wrong. They’re wrong.”

Her chest ached. She wanted to believe him, but the years of comments clung too tightly. “You don’t have to say that,” she whispered.

“I’m not saying it because I have to,” he said firmly, his eyes locking on hers. “I’m saying it because it’s the truth.”

Her breath caught. The quiet conviction in his tone was like nothing she’d heard before—no half-hearted reassurance, no shallow compliment. Just Jongho, steady and unwavering, like he meant every syllable.

Y/N looked away quickly, blinking hard against the sting in her eyes. She wasn’t ready to cry on the sidewalk in front of him. Not when she didn’t know what to do with the storm in her chest.

She forced a laugh, though it came out shaky. “You always know exactly what to say, don’t you?”

For once, Jongho didn’t answer. He just kept walking beside her, his silence somehow louder than words.

The street stretched quiet and endless before them, lined with shuttered shops and dim apartment windows. Y/N’s heart beat too fast in her chest, like the words she’d already said weren’t finished, like more was still clawing ist way out.

“I know you mean well,” she said finally, her voice low, “but it’s not that simple. People don’t just… say those things and leave. They stay. In your head. Even when you try to laugh them off.”

Jongho was silent beside her, but his shoulders were tense, his jaw tight.

Y/N laughed weakly, the sound brittle. “Like, I’ll be teaching one of my students how to read, and in the back of my mind, I’ll hear my aunt’s voice—‘such a pretty face if you lost weight.’ Or I’ll be grocery shopping and wonder if people are looking at my cart, judging me. It’s… exhausting.”

Her throat burned. She wanted to stop, but once the floodgate opened, she couldn’t.

“And I hate it. I hate that it gets to me. That I let it. Because I know I’m supposed to love myself no matter what, right? That’s what everyone says these days. ‘Confidence is sexy,’ ‘just own it.’ But when it feels like every single person who’s ever looked at you is saying the opposite… it’s hard. Really hard.”

Her voice cracked on the last words. She bit her lip hard, desperate not to cry in the middle of the street.

They walked in silence for a few moments. The only sound was the faint hum of a streetlamp overhead and their footsteps echoing off the pavement.

Then Jongho spoke, his voice quiet but sharp with conviction. “You don’t deserve that.”

Y/N looked at him, startled.

He kept his gaze forward, his expression calm but his voice rougher than she’d ever heard it. “You don’t deserve to carry that weight around because of other people’s words. You don’t deserve to feel small because they can’t see past their own narrow minds.”

Her chest tightened.

“You’re not a project. You’re not ‘almost.’ You’re not an ‘if,’” he went on. “You’re Y/N. You’re strong, and you’re kind, and you care about people in a way most don’t. Anyone who can’t see that is blind.”

The words hit her so hard she had to stop walking. She turned to look at him fully, her breath shaky.

He stopped too, turning to face her. His expression hadn’t changed—calm, steady, almost stoic. But his eyes… his eyes burned.

“Jongho…” she whispered, not sure what she wanted to say.

And then it slipped.

“You’re beautiful.”

The words were quiet but clear, hanging in the cool night air between them.

Y/N’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her chest.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Jongho didn’t look away. His face stayed steady, composed, like he hadn’t just changed the axis of her world with three words. But then she noticed it—the tips of his ears, glowing red against the soft spill of streetlight. The only betrayal of the storm beneath his calm surface.

Her heart lurched. He meant it. He hadn’t said it out of pity, hadn’t said it casually. He’d said it because it slipped past his guard, because it was the truth sitting in his chest too long.

Her hand moved before she thought about it. Slowly, carefully, she reached up, her fingers brushing against the warm curve of his ear.

The touch startled them both. His breath hitched just barely, his eyes widening the faintest fraction.

“You…” she whispered, her fingers lingering just a second too long, “…really mean that, don’t you?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze locked on hers. “Yes.”

Just that. One word. Steady, unflinching, but the red burning across his ears betrayed him anyway.

Y/N pulled her hand back slowly, her fingers tingling, her own pulse roaring in her ears. She’d never touched him like that before, never been this close outside the fluorescent lights of the gym. The intimacy of it left her dizzy.

For a moment, they just stood there, the world hushed around them, suspended in that fragile, dangerous space between friendship and something else.

Neither moved. Neither dared to.

Jongho hadn’t slept much.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her—standing under the dim glow of the streetlight, looking at him like she couldn’t quite believe what she’d heard. Her soft voice asking if he meant it. The feel of her hand brushing against his ear, warm and careful, like he was something delicate.

And his own voice, steady and unguarded, slipping out before he could stop it: You’re beautiful.

She’d rambled after, words spilling out in a nervous rush about how she didn’t know what to say, about how she wasn’t used to compliments like that, about how maybe he was just being nice. He’d let her talk, too stunned by the fact that she’d touched him, too busy memorizing the way her lips trembled when she was flustered, the way her eyes darted everywhere but him.

Even now, hours later, walking through campus, the memory clung to him.

She’s precious, he thought, adjusting the strap of his bag. The word startled him every time it floated up. Not pretty, not cute, not even beautiful—though she was all those things. Precious. Like every nervous laugh, every anxious ramble, every spark of determination at the gym was something he wanted to keep safe.

It was ridiculous. He knew that. She was his client, technically. He wasn’t supposed to think about her like this, wasn’t supposed to look for her in lecture halls when he passed by, wasn’t supposed to scan the crowds of students for her familiar hair, her cardigan, her careful smile.

But he did. Always.

And when he spotted her across the quad, laughing at something Mina said as they hurried toward their building, his chest tightened with something he didn’t want to name.

That afternoon, back at the dorm, the guys had set up camp in the living room. Controllers clattered as Yunho and Wooyoung battled it out on the TV, Mingi shouting instructions like a coach on the sidelines. San lounged on the floor, nursing a soda, while Yeosang sat perched on the arm of the couch, watching quietly.

Jongho had settled into the corner chair, hoping the noise would drown out his thoughts. But it didn’t take long for San to notice his silence.

“You’re awfully quiet,” San said, tilting his head. “Still thinking about last night?”

Jongho didn’t look up from his phone. “No.”

“Uh-huh,” San drawled, eyes gleaming. “Then why were you staring off into space just now like you were composing poetry?”

Wooyoung paused the game instantly. “Wait, what’s this? Jongho’s in love?”

“I didn’t say that,” San cut in, smirking. “I said he’s been acting weird since last night. Guess who he was walking home.”

The room went still for a second. Then Yunho grinned. “Y/N?”

Jongho’s head snapped up. “How do you—”

“You just confirmed it,” Mingi crowed, throwing his arms in the air.

Hongjoong wandered in from the kitchen just in time to catch the commotion. “What are we confirming?”

“That Jongho’s got a crush,” Wooyoung sang, bouncing on the couch. “A big one.”

Jongho groaned, pressing his palms over his face. “You’re all children.”

“Children who are right,” San said smugly. “You’ve been sneaking glances at her for weeks. And last night? You looked ready to fight that guy who was talking to her.”

Yeosang, quiet as ever, added, “You still are, technically. Your jaw’s tight just thinking about it.”

“Yeosang!” Jongho barked, betrayed.

But the others only laughed harder.

Hongjoong crossed his arms, smiling faintly. “So? Are they wrong?”

Jongho’s ears burned. He knew denial wouldn’t work—they’d seen too much already. And maybe, just maybe, holding it in was harder than admitting the truth.

He exhaled, shoulders sinking. “Fine,” he muttered. “Maybe… I have a little crush.”

The room exploded.

“A little crush, he says!” Wooyoung howled.

“Maknae’s growing up!” Yunho cheered.

Mingi clutched his chest. “I’m emotional.”

San just grinned, eyes sparkling with triumph. “Knew it.”

Even Hongjoong’s smile widened, though he shook his head. “Just don’t forget—if you really like her, be careful. She deserves someone serious, not a game.”

Jongho met his leader’s gaze, steady this time. “I know.”

And that was the thing. It didn’t feel like a game at all.

The gym was loud with the usual after-class rush: treadmills humming, weights clanging, music thumping faintly through the speakers. Jongho moved through it all on autopilot, clipboard in hand, but his focus was miles away.

He spotted her instantly.

Y/N stood by the front desk, adjusting the strap of her bag while she spoke to the receptionist. Her cardigan slipped off one shoulder, and she tugged it back up with that same distracted little frown she always wore when she thought no one was watching.

His chest tightened. Precious, the word rose again, unbidden, ridiculous. He gripped the clipboard tighter.

Professional. He had to be professional.

When she noticed him walking over, her face lit up with a small, shy smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said, steadying his voice. “Ready for today?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” She laughed nervously, shifting her weight.

He nodded and led her toward the quieter side of the gym, where mats and free weights were laid out. The others were busy enough that they wouldn’t be overheard.

They started with stretches. He demonstrated slowly, explaining each movement. She followed, her motions careful, hesitant, but he noticed how much smoother she already was compared to her first session.

“Better,” he said quietly. “You’re finding your balance.”

She looked up at him, surprised. “Really?”

“Yes.” He held her gaze a moment too long before looking away, heat rising in his neck.

Focus.

Next, he handed her a set of light dumbbells. “Let’s try a few presses. Remember to keep your core steady.”

She nodded, raising them. Her arms trembled slightly, but she powered through, lips pressed together in determination.

“Good,” he said, his voice softer now. “That’s it.”

Her eyes flicked toward him, searching, as if she wanted to make sure he really meant it. He did. Every word.

Halfway through the session, as she caught her breath on the mat, she glanced up. “You didn’t… tell the others about last night, did you?”

Jongho froze. His mind flashed back to the street, to her hand brushing his ear, to the word he’d let slip before he could stop it.

“No,” he said firmly. “That’s between us.”

Relief softened her face. She smiled faintly, though her cheeks colored. “Good. I probably sounded like an idiot, rambling like that.”

“You didn’t,” he said instantly, sharper than he meant to.

Her brows lifted.

He exhaled, gentling his tone. “You didn’t sound like an idiot. You sounded honest. And that matters.”

She blinked at him, and for a moment, the noise of the gym seemed to fade.

Then she looked away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You really always know what to say.”

The words made his chest ache. If only she knew how much he bit back, how many things he didn’t say out loud. Like how he couldn’t stop thinking about her laugh, or how he scanned every crowd for her face, or how he wanted to burn every cruel comment she’d ever received until nothing of them remained.

Instead, he picked up his clipboard, forcing himself back into routine. “Let’s finish with a cooldown walk. Ten minutes on the treadmill.”

She followed him, stepping onto the machine. As the belt started moving, she glanced at him again. “Do you ever get tired of being in the gym all the time?”

He shrugged lightly. “Sometimes. But it feels different with the right company.”

The words slipped before he could reel them back.

Her head tilted. “What do you mean?”

Jongho’s ears burned. He cleared his throat. “I mean… training people who actually want to be here. Who are willing to try.”

Her lips curved in a small smile. “Oh. Well… thanks, I guess.”

She didn’t press. She didn’t need to. His heart was already betraying him enough.

When the timer beeped, signaling the end of the session, she stepped off the tredmill, flushed but smiling. “I survived again.”

“You did more than survive,” he said, handing her a towel. “You’re stronger than you think.”

Her fingers brushed his as she took it. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true,” he replied softly.

She looked at him for a moment, her expression unreadable, then nodded. “See you next time?”

“Yeah,” he said, watching as she walked toward the lockers.

When the door shut behind her, he sat down heavily on the bench, running a hand through his hair.

He was in trouble. Deep trouble.

Because every time he promised himself he’d stay professional, she smiled at him, or laughed nervously, or touched her hair like she didn’t know she was beautiful—

And he knew.

He knew he was falling.

The late afternoon lull had settled over the gym, most members trickling out as the sun dipped lower outside. Jongho leaned against the counter, scribbling quick notes into Y/N’s file—progress, posture, improvements. His mind kept drifting, though, back to her laugh earlier, the way she’d smiled faintly when he told her she was stronger than she thought.

“Caught you.”

He looked up. Jisoo, one of the other trainers, smirked at him from behind the counter. She was older than him by a year, sharp-eyed and annoyingly observant.

“Caught me what?” he asked flatly.

“Smiling at your clipboard like it just told you a joke,” she teased. “Or maybe like you were writing poetry.”

He frowned. “I was writing notes.”

“Mmhm.” She leaned an elbow on the counter, watching him. “You’re different when you train her, you know. Softer. Almost… sweet.”

His ears burned, but his face stayed stoic. “I’m the same with everyone.”

Jisoo snorted. “Please. I’ve seen you with San’s cousin—grumpy drill sergeant. With Y/N? Mister Encouragement.” She grinned, sing-songing, “You liiike her.”

Jongho exhaled sharply, snapping the file shut. “Don’t you have clients to check on?”

Her laugh followed him as he walked away, but her words clung stubbornly in his chest.

Her hair was still damp from the shower as she stepped out of the locker room, gym bag slung over her shoulder. She felt tired but light, the good kind of tired that came from moving, from pushing through another session without quitting.

She was halfway to the exit when she spotted Jongho by the counter.

And he wasn’t alone.

The female trainer—Jisoo, she thought her name was—stood close, leaning in with a bright smile. Jongho said something she couldn’t hear, and Jisoo laughed, swatting lightly at his arm.

The sight hit Y/N like a splash of cold water.

Of course. Someone like him—handsome, disciplined, kind—would naturally attract women like Jisoo: fit, confident, beautiful in ways Y/N couldn’t imagine being. They looked good together, easy together, like puzzle pieces that belonged side by side.

Her stomach twisted.

What were you thinking? She scolded herself. That he meant it when he called you beautiful? That it wasn’t just encouragement, trainer-to-client? That someone like him could actually—

She shook her head quickly, forcing herself to turn back toward the door. It was stupid to linger, stupid to hope.

But before she could slip away, a voice called her name.

“Y/N.”

She froze, heart lurching, then turned slowly. Jongho was already walking toward her, his expression calm as ever.

“You’re leaving?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She forced a smile. “I was just heading home.”

He nodded, then hesitated for the briefest second. “Wait.”

Her brows lifted. “What?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his composure faltering just slightly. “Can I… get your number?”

For a second, she just stared at him.

“My… number?” she echoed.

“Yes.” His eyes stayed steady on hers, unwavering. “For scheduling. Or if you have questions. It’ll be easier.”

Her heart tripped over itself. He wanted her number. Jongho—her trainer, steady, impossibly handsome Jongho—wanted her number.

But she quickly shoved down the flutter of hope rising in her chest. Friends, she told herself firmly. He just means it as friends. Or trainer-client convenience. That’s all.

Still, her fingers trembled as she handed him her phone. He entered his number quickly, then handed it back, his calm expression betrayed only by the faintest pink at the tips of his ears.

“Text me anytime,” he said simply.

She nodded, clutching the phone like it might vanish. “Okay. Thanks.”

He gave a short nod, then stepped back, letting her pass.

As she walked out into the fading evening light, her thoughts spun.

He had her number now. That was something.

But she told herself not to think too much of it.

Because why would someone like him ever mean it the way she wanted?

Family dinners were always the same.

The same table, polished until it gleamed under the chandelier. The same platters of food passed around like clockwork. The same voices rising and falling over each other, laughter sharp enough to slice.

And for Y/N, the same gnawing tension in her stomach before the first plate was even filled.

She told herself this time would be different. She had been going to the gym, she had new routines, she had… Jongho’s voice echoing in her memory, low and steady, telling her she was beautiful. That thought had carried her through the past few days, had kept her afloat when she might otherwise have drowned in her own overthinking.

But the second she sat down, it began.

“You’ve been busy, haven’t you?” her aunt said as she spooned rice onto Y/N’s plate without asking. “Though I can see you’ve been eating well too.”

Her uncle chuckled. “Still, she’s got that face. Lose a little, and she’d really shine.”

Another voice chimed in, light and casual, “Have you thought about cutting out carbs? It would make such a difference.”

Y/N gripped her fork tighter.

Her mother gave a nervous laugh. “She’s been exercising,” she offered. “She started going to the gym recently.”

“Oh, that’s good!” another relative said brightly. “Keep at it and you’ll drop the weight in no time. You’ll look amazing then.”

The words piled up, heavier and heavier. If. When. Almost. Not yet. Always conditional. Always just short of enough.

Y/N stared down at her plate. For years, she had forced herself to swallow the comments with her food, smiling, nodding, pretending it didn’t hurt. Tonight, the exhaustion pressed against her ribs until she could hardly breathe.

Her fork clattered against the porcelain, louder than she meant. The table fell silent.

“Enough.” Her voice shook, but it carried.

Dozens of eyes turned to her.

Y/N’s heart hammered, but the words poured out anyway. “Do you ever hear yourselves? Every time I come here, it’s the same thing. Lose weight. Change this. Fix that. Do you have any idea what that feels like? To sit here and be told, over and over, that I’m not good enough?”

Her aunt blinked, startled. “We don’t mean it like that—”

“Yes, you do,” Y/N snapped, her voice rising. “You say it’s concern. Or advice. Or just a joke. But it isn’t. It’s cruel. And I’m done smiling through it.”

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Her uncle frowned. “You’re being too sensitive—”

“No,” she said, pushing back her chair. Her legs trembled, but she stood tall. “For once, I’m being honest. And I don’t have to sit here and listen to this anymore.”

Her mother reached for her arm, her eyes wide. “Y/N—”

“I’m leaving.” Her throat burned, but her voice stayed steady. “I can’t do this tonight.”

The scrape of her chair against the floor rang in her ears as she grabbed her bag. No one stopped her. Or maybe they didn’t know how.

She walked out, the heavy front door closing with a final thud that echoed in her chest.

Outside, the cool night air stung her cheeks. She stood on the porch, trembling from head to toe, her breath uneven.

She should have felt relieved. For the first time in her life, she hadn’t swallowed it down. She had snapped back. Spoken up.

But instead, guilt twisted in her stomach.

She had raised her voice at her family. She had walked out in the middle of dinner. She could already imagine the whispers, the sighs, the stories they would tell about her being dramatic, ungrateful.

Her throat tightened.

She couldn’t go home yet. Not like this—not with her thoughts swirling so loud she could hardly hear herself.

Her feet carried her on autopilot, down the street, toward the one place that had started to feel steady.

The gym lights glowed faintly against the dark sky when she reached the building. She hesitated for a moment, bag clutched tight, then pulled the door open.

Inside, the place was nearly empty. The music played low, the machines quiet. Only one figure moved between the mats and the desk, tidying equipment with practiced ease.

Jongho.

Her heart lurched.

He looked up at the sound of the door, surprise flickering across his face before softening into something gentler.

“Y/N?” His voice was low, careful. “What are you doing here this late?”

Her throat closed, and for a second she couldn’t answer. She stood there in the doorway, all the words from dinner still clinging to her, heavy and sharp, until her vision blurred.

And when she finally spoke, her voice cracked. “I… I didn’t know where else to go.”

The gym was quiet, the kind of quiet Jongho secretly liked. With only a few stragglers left, the music turned down low, and the machines finally still, it felt less like a workplace and more like a sanctuary. He was straightening a rack of dumbbells when the door creaked open.

He glanced up.

And stopped.

Y/N stood in the doorway, the same outfit she’d worn mamy times—something casual but neat, clothes that clung a little tighter than she probably realized. Her cardigan was rumpled, her bag slung over one shoulder like she’d grabbed it in a hurry. But it wasn’t the outfit that caught him.

It was her face.

Her eyes looked tired, rimmed with the faintest red. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line, like she was holding herself together by sheer force of will. She wore her heart on her face, raw and unshielded, and Jongho’s chest tightened instantly.

“Y/N?” His voice came out softer than he intended. “What are you doing here this late?”

She blinked at him, like she hadn’t even thought that far ahead. “I… I didn’t know where else to go.”

The words tugged something deep in him. He set the dumbbell down carefully, fighting the urge to cross the room and close the space between them.

Instead, he cleared his throat. “I was just about to close up.”

Something flickered across her face—disappointment, sharp and immediate. Her shoulders dipped, her grip on her bag strap tightening.

The sight made his heart twist. He hated it—hated that she looked like she was about to crumple, right there in front of him.

Before he could stop himself, the words slipped out. “Have you eaten yet?”

Her eyes darted to his, startled. She hesitated, then shook her head.

He let out a slow breath. Of course she hadn’t. He could read it in her posture, in the way she held herself smaller than usual, like she was carrying too much weight on her back.

“Come with me,” he said quietly.

Her brows furrowed. “What?”

“Come with me,” he repeated, already walking toward the counter to grab his keys. “You shouldn’t be alone when you’re like this. And you definitely shouldn’t be skipping dinner.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Jongho, you don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

The words came out firm, leaving no room for her to argue.

He slipped his jacket on, turning back to her. “Let’s go. We’ll find somewhere still open.”

For a moment, she just stood there, like she couldn’t quite believe him. Then, slowly, she nodded.

And when she followed him out into the cool night air, Jongho thought, not for the first time, that she had no idea how much she mattered.

The fluorescent lights of the convenience store hummed softly as Jongho held the door open for Y/N. The little bell above it jingled, and the cool blast of air-conditioning brushed against their skin.

It was nearly empty—just a college kid at the far corner pouring hot water into a cup noodle, and the clerk slouched behind the counter scrolling on his phone.

“Here?” Y/N asked, blinking at him.

Jongho gave a small smile. “Here.”

She looked uncertain, but followed him down the aisles. He moved with the ease of someone who had done this a dozen times before, grabbing a cup of ramyeon, a packet of shredded cheese, and a bottle of strawberry milkshake from the fridge.

When Y/N arched a brow, he added an ice cream bar to the basket. “This is my comfort food kit.”

Her lips parted in surprise. “Ramyeon… with cheese?”

“Don’t knock it until you try it,” he said, amused at her expression. “It’s the best combination after a long day.”

She gave a faint laugh, the first real one he’d heard from her tonight, and something in his chest eased.

They paid quickly and settled at one of the small plastic tables near the window. Jongho prepared the noodles, peeling the lid back carefully, dumping the cheese on top once the hot water had softened them. The scent rose rich and heavy in the air.

“Cheese ramyeon, strawberry milkshake, and ice cream for dessert,” he said, sliding the milkshake across to her. “Perfect balance.”

She huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’ll thank me later.” He broke the disposable chopsticks in half, passed them to her, and opened his own cup. “Here. Eat.”

For a while, they sat in silence, the steam curling between them. Y/N took cautious bites at first, then bigger ones, until her shoulders loosened, the tension in her face softening. She sipped from the milkshake, eyes flicking to him, almost shy.

“It’s good,” she admitted.

He smirked faintly. “Told you.”

When they were halfway through, he set his chopsticks down, leaning back in his chair. His gaze lingered on her—on the way she stared down at her noodles like they might give her answers, on the way her cardigan hung heavy on her shoulders.

“What happened?” he asked quietly.

Her head snapped up. “What?”

“Something did,” he said simply. “I can see it.”

Her lips parted, then pressed into a thin line. She looked down again, poking at the noodles with her chopsticks. For a long moment, the hum of the lights filled the silence.

Then, in a voice so soft he almost missed it, she said, “Family dinner.”

Jongho waited.

“They never stop,” she continued, her words tumbling out slowly. “The comments. The jokes. The little digs that they call ‘advice.’ Tonight it was the same thing—pretty face if you lost weight, you’ve been eating well, cut carbs. Like it’s their favorite song on repeat.”

Her hand tightened around the chopsticks. “And I snapped. For the first time in my life, I actually snapped at them. I told them I was done listening to it. And then I walked out.”

Her voice cracked on the last words. She set the chopsticks down, staring at her lap. “Now I feel like I ruined everything. Like I was ungrateful and dramatic. And I can already hear what they’ll say about me when I’m not there.”

Jongho’s chest burned. He wanted to go back in time, sit at that table with her, and shut every one of them up until she never had to hear those words again.

Instead, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

Her eyes flicked up to his, doubtful.

“You told the truth,” he said firmly. “You defended yourself. That’s not ungrateful—that’s brave.”

She swallowed hard, blinking quickly. “It didn’t feel brave.”

“Because it’s new,” he said gently. “Because you’ve spent years letting them walk over you. But tonight you stopped it. That matters.”

Her throat worked as she looked at him, her eyes glossy.

Jongho wanted to reach across the table, to take her hand, to make her believe the words he could see she couldn’t believe yet. Instead, he nudged the cup of noodles closer to her. “Eat more. You need it.”

She let out a shaky laugh, wiping at her eyes. “Bossy.”

“Always,” he said quietly.

And as she picked her chopsticks back up, his chest ached with the thought that he would never get tired of being bossy if it meant she felt cared for.

The last of the noodles were gone, and the milkshake cup sat empty between them. The convenience store had grown quieter, the clerk yawning loudly behind the counter.

Y/N sighed softly, her chopsticks resting idle. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“For what?” Jongho asked.

“For… this.” She gestured at the table, the food, the quiet corner. “For not letting me sit alone tonight.”

He shook his head. “You don’t need to thank me for that.”

Her lips pressed together. She hesitated, then admitted, “I don’t want to go home yet.”

Jongho studied her face for a moment, then nodded once, decisive. “Then don’t.”

Her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Come on.” He stood, gathering the trash and tossing it into the bin with practiced ease. “There’s somewhere better we can go.”

The Han River stretched wide and silver under the night sky, the reflections of city lights rippling across ist surface. The air was cooler here, touched by the faint scent of water. Joggers passed occasionally, but the paths were mostly empty, quiet enough that their footsteps echoed.

“This is better?” Y/N asked as they walked along the riverside.

“Yes,” Jongho said simply. “Always.”

They strolled in silence for a while, the hush of the water soothing. Then, as they rounded a corner, Y/N spotted a basketball court under the glow of floodlights. The nets sagged a little, the lines faded, but the court was empty.

“You play?” she asked, glancing at him.

Jongho’s lips quirked. “Sometimes.”

Her eyes lit with mischief she hadn’t felt in days. “Bet I could beat you.”

He arched a brow. “Oh?”

She shrugged, trying to look casual, but the grin tugging at her mouth gave her away. “I played a little in high school.”

“Then prove it,” he challenged, already jogging toward the court.

The game started sloppy, with Y/N fumbling the first few dribbles and Jongho deliberately holding back. But soon she found her rhythm, her steps quicker, her throws sharper. She darted past him, sank a shot, and threw her arms up in triumph.

“Two points!” she crowed.

Jongho stared at her, momentarily stunned, then broke into a grin. “Beginner’s luck.”

“Please,” she shot back, laughter bubbling in her chest. “You’re just scared of losing to me.”

That sparked something competitive in him. The next round, he tried harder, blocking her moves, forcing her to pivot quickly. She surprised him again with a sudden spin, the ball swishing clean through the net.

He blinked. “You’re better than I thought.”

“Told you,” she said, sticking her tongue out at him.

It felt… good. The rush of adrenaline, the echo of the ball against the pavement, the way laughter kept breaking free from her chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn’t thinking about her family, about their words, about her insecurities. She was just here, in this moment, playing.

She dribbled fast, Jongho close on her heels. He reached for the ball, but she jerked it away, darting left. He lunged to block her, and their shoulders bumped hard.

The ball slipped, rolling across the court.

And in the scramble that followed, they collided.

Jongho twisted at the last second, instinctively turning his body so that when they hit the ground, it was him who landed flat on the pavement, Y/N sprawled on top of him.

For a heartbeat, the world froze.

Then Y/N burst into laughter—loud, unrestrained, helpless laughter that shook her whole body. Jongho blinked up at her, stunned, then started laughing too, the sound deep and warm.

It was ridiculous. They were a tangle of limbs on the ground, the ball rolling to a stop against the fence, their laughter echoing through the empty court.

Y/N pressed her forehead briefly against his shoulder, still laughing, her cheeks flushed from both the game and the fall. “We look so stupid right now.”

“Very,” Jongho agreed between laughs.

She shifted slightly, realizing suddenly just how close they were. Her hands were braced on his chest, his breath warm against her hair. The laughter died down into softer chuckles, but the closeness lingered, heavy and warm.

For a moment, Y/N froze. She didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe too hard.

Jongho’s eyes met hers, still sparkling from laughter, but something deeper flickered there too—something that made her chest tighten.

Then, slowly, carefully, he smiled.

And she laughed again, softer this time, the sound slipping out like a secret.

Their laughter slowly ebbed, fading into soft breaths and little sighs between them. Y/N’s cheeks ached from smiling, and her chest felt lighter than it had in days.

Still perched on top of Jongho, she realized just how close they were — his chest steady beneath her palms, his eyes still shining from laughter, his breath brushing her skin.

Flustered, she rolled off him quickly, landing on the ground beside him with a thump.

“Ow,” she muttered, though she was still grinning.

Jongho turned his head to look at her, amused. “Dramatic.”

“Shut up,” she said, but the words came out with no bite at all.

They both ended up flat on their backs, side by side, staring up at the wide night sky. The floodlights around the court made it hard to see the stars, but a few glimmered faintly through the haze.

“It’s not much,” Y/N said softly, “but… it’s kind of pretty, isn’t it?”

Jongho hummed. “Yeah.”

For a while, they lay in comfortable silence, the sounds of the river and the distant city filling the space between them. Their shoulders brushed every so often, just barely, and each time, Y/N’s heart fluttered.

They started talking without even realizing it — about little things, random things. Their worst professors. The weirdest food combos they’d tried. Childhood stories that spilled out half-embarrassed, half-proud.

Jongho admitted that when he was a kid, he’d once tried to deadlift a bag of rice to impress his grandmother and nearly fell flat on his face. Y/N confessed she had once snuck out of math class in high school by pretending to faint — but tripped halfway and made it look worse than if she’d just asked to leave.

Their laughter rose again, softer this time, like it belonged only to the two of them.

And as the minutes ticked by, they unconsciously shifted closer. Shoulders brushing turned into arms grazing, until their pinkies nearly touched. The warmth of him seeped into her, grounding her, wrapping around her in a way she didn’t want to lose.

Y/N turned her head slightly, her gaze finding him in the faint glow. He was already looking at her.

The air stilled.

Jongho’s eyes softened, something unreadable flickering there, something that made her breath catch. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leaned closer.

Her heart thundered. The world seemed to narrow, to hold ist breath with her.

And just as the space between them dwindled to nothing—

A cold drop hit her cheek. Then another.

She blinked, startled, and tilted her head upward. The sky, so hazy moments ago, opened up. Rain began to fall, light at first, then heavier, splattering against the pavement around them.

Y/N gasped, laughing suddenly at the absurdity. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Jongho let out a low groan, dragging a hand down his face as the rain darkened his shirt. “Of course.”

They scrambled to their feet, slipping on the wet ground, both laughing helplessly now as the downpour soaked them through. Y/N clutched her cardigan tighter, though it was already damp, and Jongho shook his head, droplets running down his hair.

“Come on,” he said, his deep voice barely audible over the patter of rain. “We need to get under cover.”

But even as they ran off the court together, laughing breathlessly under the sudden storm, Y/N couldn’t shake the memory of how close he had been. How his eyes had looked, inches from hers, like he was about to tell her the most important secret in the world.

The rain came down in sheets, soaking through Y/N’s clothes in seconds. They ducked under the half-roof of a riverside kiosk, but it did little good—the storm was sudden, heavy, and unrelenting. Water pooled at their feet, running in rivulets across the pavement.

Y/N shivered, clutching her cardigan tighter, though it was plastered to her skin by now. Beside her, Jongho pushed wet hair off his forehead, his shirt clinging to the solid lines of his frame.

She tried not to look. Tried.

He glanced at her, and for a second their eyes met. Her stomach flipped.

They hadn’t kissed. But they’d been about to. She knew it. He’d leaned in, his eyes soft, his breath brushing hers. She had wanted it—God, she had wanted it—and that realization left her dizzy.

But what did it mean?

He was her trainer. Her friend. Maybe. Probably. The rain was just a coincidence. Maybe he hadn’t meant to lean in at all. Maybe she was imagining it.

Her thoughts tangled, but the only thing clear was the warmth that still hummed in her chest.

Jongho cleared his throat, glancing at the downpour. “This won’t stop soon.”

“No kidding,” Y/N muttered, brushing wet strands of hair from her face.

He hesitated, then said carefully, “You don’t have to go home like this.”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

“My dorm is closer,” he said, his voice even but quieter than usual. “You can crash there. On the sofa in my room.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Your… dorm?”

His expression stayed steady, but she saw it—the telltale flush creeping up his ears, pink brightening against his damp hair.

Her heart stuttered. He’s serious.

“You’ll be more comfortable there,” he added quickly. “And you won’t get sick walking home.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but the rain poured harder, pelting the roof until it roared. Her clothes were already drenched, her shoes squelching with each shift of her feet. Home felt impossibly far.

And Jongho was looking at her like he wasn’t offering out of pity or obligation. Like he genuinely wanted her there.

She swallowed hard. “…Okay.”

His eyes softened, and he gave the smallest nod. “Come on, then.”

Another crack of thunder split the sky. They exchanged a glance—and then, without a word, broke into a run.

Masterlist

you and jongho had met late into university, meeting through mutual friends. neither of you could deny how quickly the two of you clicked with each other, or how charged the air felt after a few drinks. it was no surprise when jongho ended up in your dorm room, lightly teasing you as he fucked you until you could no longer form coherent sentences. at some point, you had lost count of the amount of bruises he left on you, and the amount of times you had cummed for each other.

the morning after the hook up, and a small discussion later— neither of you felt ready, or compelled really, to jump right into a relationship. the commitment of it all appealed to neither of you. instead, you proposed that you’d remain friends with benefits. jongho couldn’t argue with that, especially if that meant seeing you more than most people.

there were only two rules for your arrangement; no cuddling, and to have fun. other than that, anything else was fair game, even people knowing about it was on the table.

the last couple years have been filled with raunchy, and downright sinful texts, many late night escapades, and the two of you knowing the layout of each other’s home as if it was your own.

now, jongho was breaking the very first rule… you rest your head on top of his as he lays soft kisses along your collarbone.

this wasn’t the first time he’s broken the rule. it was slow, but steadily over the last year, he would stay a little longer, his friendly touches would linger, and he would look at you kind of… weirdly. almost as if you were something he couldn’t have.

which wasn’t entirely wrong. you were friends first, fuck buddies second. you enjoyed the friendship you shared— the hours you’d ramble on about a new interest, him playing league of legends and forcing you to watch, (he wanted you to feel included), and the karaoke nights you felt he was made for. it’s rare for you to jell so well with someone, and you’re afraid to lose that if you were to ever cross a line.

there were nights where he would jokingly ask if you had a partner yet, knowing that you’d still see other people from time to time. and when you’d say no, he’d look away for a moment before saying, “well, that needs to change. it’s a good thing you and i are both single..”

you push his arm playfully, laughing lightly in your tired state. he laughed, too, wearing a blush of his own. he was joking, of course, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that a part of him was being sincere.

sometimes you played with the idea, though: imagining the two of you on dates together, going to couples only events, whispering sweet nothings to each other.

you stop your daydreaming when imaginary you says i love you for the first time.

you would shake your head at yourself, a little frustrated with how easily you let yourself get carried away.

even now, you shake a mental fist to yourself, as if telling yourself to get a grip. jongho makes you feel good in more ways than one, sure. but loving him… like that…? that felt almost too much for you to bare.

what a lively night tonight was: you had only been at the local bar for a few hours, and everyone seemed hammered. the music was loud, the drinks were constant, and the people were rowdy— it definitely felt like a saturday night.

you had came with your friends to let off some steam from an especially tiring work week. it seemed like each and every one of you were put through the ringer at your respective jobs. but it was finally the weekend! and you all planned to drink and dance to forget what’s to come monday morning (work! again!). you had been using the buddy system up until now, your buddy being spurred off by a beautiful stranger some time ago. you made sure to keep an eye on them, though, even in your buzzed state.

you were waiting for your drink of choice to be made, choosing to stay close to the bar. you drew little circles onto the wooden surface as you waited, your mind seeming to forget you had your phone to occupy you.

in this moment with yourself, you reflect on the last three hours; there were a few people you had recognized that came out tonight, none that you felt especially close to. there was a group of men that had came in sometime after you that had caught your attention. all of them were stupidly attractive— there wasn’t a single one of them that had you thinking otherwise. it felt impossible to witness, but you were suddenly grounded in reality when you recognized a few of them, especially jongho.

you had seen pictures of him with his friends, but seeing them in person? it had you staring when they first came in. when you still had a buddy, you had gone up to jongho to say hello, even chatting a little bit before parting ways. you had said polite hellos to his friends, although not staying long to chat. your focus had been on jongho, who seemed to fit in perfectly with such a beautiful group of men. sometimes you would try to find him in the crowd, finding him downing shot after shot with enthusiastic vigor. he was definitely in his element.

the bartender slides you your drink with a smile before moving on to the next patron. you just barely touch the glass before you feel a hand graze the small of your back. you whip around, an insult on the tip of your tongue before sighing and relaxing fully.

“god, jongho!” you punch his shoulder lightly before grabbing your drink, “if you were anyone else, i would’ve cussed you out!!” you laugh a little, still trying to shake off the spike of adrenaline that shot through you.

jongho holds up his hands defensively, laughing lightly with you, apologizing, “i thought you would! you looked like you wanted to slap me, actually.” he’s never seen you look like that before… he makes note never to do it again.. lest he be slapped.

he stands next to you instead, almost shoulder to shoulder with you, “did your friends abandon you, too?”

you scoff a little, yet unable to hide your smile, taking a small sip from your drink. yummy!

“no, they’re just… preoccupied, is all.” you say with a wave of your hand, now looking out into the sea of strangers. jongho follows it, elbows propping him onto the bar, “it looks like they’re with my friends…”

you chuckle softly, back resting against the bar. he was right— each one seemed to have found their handsome stranger. you chance a glance at jongho: even in the dark, you could see the rosey hue his neck and face have taken. you’re a bit surprised with how sober he seemed, but he’s always been able to take his alcohol well.

“what brought you over here, though?” you ask with a slight tilt of your head.

he shrugs a little, “i wanted to dance with you.”

you feel your face flush a bit, instantly deciding to blame the alcohol. “and you didn’t think to ask me like a normal person?”

jongho laughs heartily, as if that’s the funniest thing you’ve told him, “no, i actually thought of dropping down on one knee, taking your hand and asking ‘would you do me the absolute pleasure of entertaining me this fine evening?’” he muses mockingly, his voice twinging into a posh accent. you giggle with him, rolling your eyes a little, “if you did that, i’d definitely say yes.” you joke as you sip some of your drink.

jongho’s gaze on you narrows a little, then looks away with an almost devilish smile.

he swiftly plucks your drink from you, almost spilling it. before you protest, he takes a couple gulps from it before setting it back down on the bar, taking your colder hand in his and leaning in closer. “would you do me the absolute pleasure of dancing with me, ______?” even with the music blasting, you could hear the faint rasp in his voice. his eyes were eager, pupils blown wide. you almost crumple under his gaze— his intensity sending a shiver down your spine. you nod almost too fast, forgetting you had a drink in the first place.

jongho’s smile inches wider, now pulling you towards the dance floor.

once on the dance floor, a sensual, but upbeat song starts to play, instantly making you sway your hips to the music. you feel entranced into the beat as jongho stands across from you, his hand barely grazing your waist. your body moves on its own— sensually dragging your hands across your body with a newfound confidence. your eyes lock on jongho’s as he dances with you, matching your energy.

you knew he had moves, but it seemed like he was enticing you with how his body moved, inviting you to get closer to him…

by the end of the song, you were on each other— your back pressed to his chest as he stood behind you, hands running along your sides and the front of your legs with your hands settling on top of his forearms. you felt sexy— desirable with jongho. he was the only one who could bring this side out of you so easily. the alcohol definitely helped, though.

your dirty dancing continues for a few more songs before you finally grip the collar of jongho’s shirt, crashing your lips with his. you pull away, letting his bottom lip go from your teeth. your lips graze his ear when you lean in, rasping softly, “let’s go and take care of this,” you grind your thigh against his hard on, earning a low, surprised groan from him, “my place or yours?”

“mine.” he mutters back with a giddy grin you couldn’t quite see. you link your hand with his as he takes you off the dance floor, hooking your arm in his once you’re out the door of the bar.

his bedroom door slams open, the tangled mess of you two landing harshly on the bed with a bounce. jongho detaches from you to quickly shut the door while you readjust yourself on the bed. you were about to take off your outer layer of clothing until you were stopped, strong hands on your wrists.

“let me do it.” he says, but it comes out as a command. your hands settle on the bed as jongho starts peeling off your clothing. he was slow, and deliberate with each article, running his hands along newly revealed skin as if it’s a blessing that he’s seeing it.

you snort a little at his silent praise, “you’ve seen me hundreds of times jjong.. what’s so different now?”

he looks up at you with an unreadable expression. he almost looked.. serious.

“am i not allowed to appreciate your body?” answering a question with a question.. classic. his hand runs over a bruise he had left from a previous session, kissing it, “every part of you deserves to be worshipped. otherwise i shouldn’t be here.”

you blush, feeling the sincerity of his actions and words. your gut feeling was telling you that today would be different than the other times you two had sex.

once he had you down to your undergarments, he pauses, admiring your physique. you squirm, somewhat restless. jongho notices, humming out a chuckle as he gets off the bed to get on his knees, grabbing you by the hips and making you yelp a bit when he pulls you to the edge of the bed. “alright, alright, i’ll stop admiring your perfect self and just go straight into fucking you.”

your eyebrows furrow in confusion, his demeanor change throwing you for a loop. when he pulls down your underwear, you wonder what exactly has gotten into him. usually, he was meaner, and rougher with you. he’d call you all sorts of names and make you beg for his dick. even with the cold air causing you to shiver, you wonder what else jongho was hiding.

jongho’s tongue darts out, licking his lips at the sight of you. he squeezes your thighs before spreading them open to fit comfortably in between them. he hikes one over his shoulder as he spreads your lips open. he couldn’t help the groan that left him, sounding as if he was dying of thirst.

“goddamn, i missed your pussy.”

your thighs twitch, wanting to close but can’t. “you just saw it a few days ago.” you quip instead.

with his thumb, he swipes a stripe up your slit, “don’t care. i would eat it every day if you’d let me.”

your teeth catches your bottom lip as he seeps his thumb into your folds, making wide circles around your clit. you finally lay down, your hands tangling into his hair as his circles become more precise.

he knew just how to get you going— you moan softly, unintentionally bringing jongho’s head a little more forward towards your cunt. he lets out a warm laugh before teasing your entrance with his middle finger.

“you’re already so wet for me, ______. i could slip into you so easily.” was he talking about his fingers or dick..?

“then why don’t you?” you look down at him, trying to act nonchalant, but clearly trying to steady your breathing.

jongho smiles that gummy smile you’ve come to adore, although this one felt menacing.

“i like to take my time, baby.” the circles on your clit become faster, your back starting to arch off the bed. “but it’s also fun to watch you squirm.” he adds before sliding two of his thick fingers inside you, the base of his fingers hitting against you with a small bump.

“fuck— finally!” you’re almost relieved with the somewhat sudden change of pace. he fucked you with a strength you were familiar with, but never got tired of. you cry out and moan out his name as you grew closer to your climax, your legs starting to squeeze around him.

jongho leans in and flicks his tongue over your clit, giving it quick kitten licks as he drove his finger into you. it didn’t take much longer for you to unravel, feeling that familiar snap has you cum on his fingers. jongho laps up what he could, but continues to thrust his fingers into you.

you reach down, trying to push him away with a soft whimper, “that’s— it’s too much!”

unfortunately for you, he’s sturdy, and has no plans of stopping. in fact, he seems to be going harder, sucking on your swollen bud to entice another orgasm out of you.

the grip you had on his hair was sure to give him a headache later, gripping it as if it was a life line. he groans and grunts against your pussy, the vibrations from it bringing you closer and closer to your second orgasm.

“c’mon, cum. i know my pretty baby wants to.” jongho briefly pops up to say before stooping back down, curling and pounding his fingers with a ferocity you hadn’t felt for a while. his pet names didn’t go unnoticed, either. it made your heart swell— it felt like you belonged to him, in someway. his kind praises almost felt better than his degrading ones.

almost.

“jongho, i’m gonna—!” you see stars as yet another orgasm is ripped from you so quickly. they dance in front of your eyes for a bit before fading away.

jongho takes the opportunity to finally pull out his fingers, licking his very well coated fingers. he unbuckles and unbuttons his pants, kicking them off with his boxers as he goes over to his night stand.

“no..” you call out weakly, shakily propping yourself up on your elbows.

he looks at you, almost concerned, “no?”

“it’s fine..” you mumble. it wasn’t like you to go without a condom, but tonight, you felt a little adventurous. you crawl over to him and tug at the hem of his shirt, “you forgot something…”

his worried look fades, returning to a more lighthearted one, “i was going to take it off,” he slips onto the bed, straddling your waist, “but someone stopped me.”

“i did not,” you huff up at him, the buzz of the alcohol and overall tiredness creeping into you, “i’m actually reminding you to take it off.”

jongho scoffs a little with a chuckle, “shut up and flip on your stomach.”

you let him shuffle down some before you flip over, ass up. jongho grins to himself— you weren’t even his, yet he’s trained you so well.

he gives your ass a resounding smack, a cry comes from you that immediately melts into a moan. this was the jongho you were used to seeing. he firmly grabs both cheeks, slapping the other with just as much force as the first. you couldn’t help the soft whimper that escapes you, now gripping at the bed sheets.

jongho smooths his hands over your ass, squeezing a few times before kissing its curve. he peppers kisses down your back and at the base of your neck, squeezing your ass still. he nips at your ear before muttering into it, “do you like it when i’m nice to you? when i treat you like royalty?”

his hand finds your folds once again, gripping your hip with the other, “or should i just use you as my cock sleeve? ‘nd make you beg for my cock?”

you shiver under him, despite the immense warmth you also feel. both sides of jongho were doing numbers on you. plus, it didn’t help that you were still buzzed, it being hard to make a sound decision. as your mind scrambles for an answer, jongho bites at the base of your neck, making you moan softly.

“..both,” you finally say, “i like both sides of you.”

he licks over the bite with a soft chuckle, “mm, my, aren’t you a greedy little thing.” he sits up, grabbing his dick and rubbing its tip along your slit, “if i didn’t know any better,” he presses the tip inside you, without warning, “i would think that you wanted all of me..”

you bite your lip, trying to suppress some of the moan that bubbled out of you. it felt like it took forever, but you were finally getting what you so desperately wanted.

“please.. jongho.” you beg, almost pathetically. “i need you— more of you.”

he lets out a soft groan, feeling you tighten around what little was in you. all he really wanted to do was pound into you until you couldn’t speak anymore— where the only thoughts you had were of him and how good you were making him feel. and, secretly, that you and him were meant to be together.

he grabs one of your cheeks as he pumps his tip in and out of you. “the ______ i know can beg a hell of a lot better than that.” he squeezes the cheek he’s holding, “beg like you mean it, ______.”

you couldn’t help but groan frustratedly, “god— jongho, you’re right there!!” you try and shimmy your hips down on him, but receive a smack in reply, making you wince. you feel tears pricking your eyes, your selfish need to be fucked senseless was overwhelming.

“please, please, jjong. i need your cock— your dick— you, i need you so, so bad! i’ve been so good, fuck—” you feel a sharp pain shoot through you before it fades into pleasure, nearly lurching forward into jongho’s headboard.

he bottomed out immediately, face absolutely flushed, but wore a proud smirk. there was no way anyone else was making you feel this good.

he lets out a satisfied sigh as you clench around him, adjusting to him. without a condom, he could feel how deliciously you kept him inside you, and the slickness of your walls.

jongho pounds into you at an ungodly pace, messily, but with power you felt you haven’t experienced in a while. you cling helplessly to the bedding as he uses you, consistently brushing up against your g-spot. your lewd sounds mixed with his, creating a synchronized harmony that neither of you had anticipated.

you force yourself on your elbows, looking over your shoulder— the sight of him has you clenching around him impossibly more: his typically well kept hair was jostled—messy beyond recognition, his skin glistening in a thin sheet of sweat, his right hand adorned with a watch grips your hip, while the other stays on your ass. you feel yourself arch your back more, your orgasm already building up to its peak.

before you could even announce that you were coming, jongho pulls out and flips you on your back. grabbing the back of your knees, he picks them up, and bends you into a mating press.

“hold them.”

you follow his command instantly, holding your legs slightly wider as well.

he settles his arms in between you, them being at both sides of your torso, then slips into you once again with practiced ease. your eyes roll back from the depth, at how delicious it was. his hips slammed into yours with such intensity that you were almost scared that he’d snap his bed in two. or, more importantly, you.

your grip on your legs tighten, moaning out jongho’s nickname loud enough for his neighbors to hear. he leans down, kissing your collarbone before going ‘fuck it’ and crashing his lips into yours. the two of you making out was messy and uncoordinated, but passionate without a doubt. it spurs him to go impossibly faster, exploring your mouth as he reaches down, pressing hurried circles on your clit.

this was so much— you almost can’t take it.

“jjong, i—“

“do it.” his voice sounding hoarse. “cum for me, baby.”

on cue, you cum, nearly screaming his name. jongho hastily pulls out, your name on his tongue as he cums all over your chest and stomach.

you go limp, and jongho wants to join you. instead, he rolls off of you, grabbing his boxers, “i’ll be right back, ______.” he reassures you with a smile before leaving the room.

you lay there, exhausted and somewhat dizzy. you weren’t sure why you didn’t want to use a condom, or why jongho was acting different, but you were glad that it happened.

jongho comes back a few minutes later, giggling softly at you.

“you look like a starfish..”

you turn your head to look at him, eyes narrowing but held no malice, “yeah, because someone shot their load on my chest! i didn’t want any of it to get on the bed.” you had tried to swipe up any droplets while he was away.

his smile softens, turning into an appreciative one, “how considerate of you..”

you huff, returning your gaze to the ceiling, “remind me never to be nice to you ever again.”

jongho pouts, coming over to you with water, snacks, and a warm, but damp hand towel in hand, “but, you were so nice for me earlier!”

you blush a bit, averting his gaze, “you shoulda thought about that before you called me a fish..”

he chuckles warmly, setting the snacks and water on the nightstand, starting to wipe you down with the towel, “you would be the best, most attractive starfish there ever was.”

you roll your eyes, pushing jongho’s shoulder playfully, “you play too much.”

“your reactions make it worth it.” he smiles, almost proudly to himself. you couldn’t help but scoff, grabbing the water from the nightstand.

it didn’t take long for the two of you to clean up and get cozied up into each other. you ate and drank all the snacks jongho brought, now cuddling, much to your dismay. jongho was persuasive, as always.

you got to be little spoon today, curling yourself up impossibly close to him. his arms wrapped around you: one wrapped around your waist, and the other under your head. he nuzzles himself into the back of your neck, sighing softly to himself.

“you okay?” you ask gently, the exhaustion finally settling in.

“yeah..” he mumbles into you, pressing a light kiss on the back of your neck

a moment or two passes by before he speaks up again, “hey, ______?”

“yeah, jjong?”

another moment passes before he whispers, “i love you.”

your eyes shoot open, sitting up and turning over to see a passed out jongho.

please do not attempt to edit, repost, copy, or feed my work (in)to ai. translating can be negotiated, permission is needed. if there’s a way to make my work more accessible, lmk!