#hdhanie

FT. @hdhanie

riyan nearly collides with him by accident — shoulder to shoulder in the hallway of the practice rooms, the kind of almost-crash that makes his iced water slosh dangerously close to spilling. he steadies it with an easy reflex, eyes flicking up just in time to catch hanbin mid-apology, phone already half-raised like muscle memory.

he clocks the dimples first. then the grin. then the fact that this boy looks way too put-together for someone who just walked straight into him.

"—whoa," riyan laughs, light and unbothered, stepping back a half pace instead of forward. "my bad. hallways be dangerous around this hour."

he notices the camera app still open on hanbin's screen, the soft glow of it reflected in his eyes. very gen z. very cute. riyan doesn't comment on it — just tips his bottle in a small, lazy salute.

"you filming content," he asks, tone easy, curious without prying, "or collecting evidence for when hydra finally blames us for structural damage?"

a  copy  of  his  freshly  signed  executive  contract  lay  forgotten  somewhere  in  a  drawer  at  his  penthouse,  yet  that  did  little  to  dilute  the  proprietary  ease  of  a  predator  surveying  hunting  grounds  yet  unchartered,  as  sena  walked  the  pristine  and  fluorescent-lit  halls  of  the  agency  building.  he  was  here  to  assess  the  'inventory',  to  separate  the  diamonds  from  the  dull  glass,  the  stars  from  common  space  dust.  he  expected  some  level  of  polish,  he  expected  desperation  and  even  the  stifling  rigidity  of  perfectionism  that  he  could  already  pinpoint  in  some  of  the  trainees  he  had  seen  on  first  impression  alone.

he  certainly  did  not  expect...  this.

the  sound  drifted  to  his  ears  through  the  crack  of  a  slightly  ajar  door  down  the  corridor:  a  vocal  performance  that  contained  unbridled  confidence,  in  the  face  of  skills  that  left  much  to  be  desired.

curiosity  was  an  insatiable  beast  that  ruled  sena's  impulses  more  than  it  should,  and  it  nudged  him  closer.

with  a  fluid  grace  that  barely  stirred  the  air,  sena  pushed  the  door  further  open,  enough  to  accommodate  his  slender  form  leaning  against  its  frame.  he  crossed  his  arms  over  his  chest  draped  in  fine  silk—exposing  no  more  than  his  pale  collarbones,  a  moment  of  modesty  for  him—and  watched  the  young  boy,  nameless  and  no  more  than  a  face  in  a  sea  of  many  others,  pour  his  heart  out  into  a  song  that  did  not  seem  to  agree  well  with  his  present  vocal  capabilities.