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Pairing: Choi Jongho × f!reader

Genre: Slow burn → romance, fluff, angst, smut (college!AU / gym!AU)

Tropes: Gym trainer × student, found family, slow burn, jealous!Jongho, protective boyfriend, friends-to-lovers, soft domestic moments

Featuring: Ateez OT8 + Mina & Hyejin (reader’s best friends)

Y/N has always been told she’s “pretty for her size,” never quite enough in the eyes of others. But when she decides to step into a gym for the first time, she doesn’t expect to meet Jongho — the quiet, steady trainer who sees her differently from the start. Between awkward first sessions, lingering smiles, a jealous outburst at a party, and the slow realization that nothing between them is casual… she begins to learn what it feels like to finally belong.

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

The smell of roasted meat and soy sauce clung to the dining room, mixing with the faint trace of her grandmother’s perfume and the constant clinking of chopsticks against porcelain bowls. Y/N sat wedged between her younger cousin and her mother, shoulders tight, every muscle aching with the effort of pretending to relax.

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

Part 1 | Part 2