Chan, ever the responsible one, made the bet first. “One month. No distractions. We focus on our health, our music, and our discipline.”
And then Y/N walked into the studio wearing his oversized hoodie. His hoodie.
He blinked once. Twice. Then promptly forgot what he was producing.
“You good, Chan?” you ask, sipping your drink, perched on the edge of the couch like temptation wrapped in casual comfort.
“Mhmm,” he hums, eyes fixed on the computer screen that’s not even on anymore.
He convinced himself it was manageable—he could handle this. But the moment you stretched and yawned softly, he nearly lost it. Later, he was found doing push-ups in the hallway.
“Bro... what are you doing?” Changbin asked, surprised.
“Working out the energy,” Chan responded between clenched teeth.
Lee Know
Minho insists he’s unbothered. “It’s easy,” he claims. “Just don’t think about it." But he's clearly lying.
Because Y/N chooses to sit beside him during movie night—and not just beside him, but nestled into his side, fingers playing absentmindedly with the hem of his sweater.
“You’re tense,” you tease with a smile.
"Am I?” he mutters, voice dropping an octave.
He stays perfectly still, not even shifting when you rest your head on his shoulder. His eyes stay fixed on the screen, seemingly reciting the alphabet backwards in his mind just to keep it together.
Hyunjin glances over from across the couch and whispers, “Minho’s gonna combust.”
By day ten, Minho is cleaning everything— not out of hygiene, but to distract himself from thinking about you. Even the cats seem to be judging him.
“You’re so weak,” he mutters to himself in the mirror.
"You lasted two minutes of cuddles," he adds, as if taunting his own resolve.
⸻
Changbin
Changbin was determined to win the bet. “I’m strong,” he boasted, flexing his muscles. "I have willpower." But he never saw Y/N walking into the gym in leggings.
“Spot me?” you ask casually.
“Y-yeah, sure,” he stammers, hurriedly trying to compose himself.
Throughout the set, he avoids eye contact, glancing anywhere but at you. The mirror? Nope. The ceiling? Maybe. By the third rep, his face is flushed, and he's mumbling prayers to every deity he knows.
After finishing, he dashingly heads to the locker room to dunk his head under cold water, desperate to cool off.
Later, Chan greets him with a curious, "How’s the challenge going?"
“I’m… suffering," Changbin admits, exhaustion plain in his voice.
He begins doing late-night runs to “clear his mind,” but it’s no use—especially when he sees your text: “Don’t forget to stretch 😉".
⸻
Hyunjin
Hyunjin was brimming with confidence. “I’ll just channel it into my art,” he declared.
But that turned out to be a bad idea. Every painting he created wound up looking just like Y/N.
One night, you visit his studio out of curiosity about what he’s working on.
“Can I see?" you ask.
“No!” he snaps, hastily shielding his canvas as if it’s top secret.
You tilt your head, smirking. “Is that supposed to be me?”
His ears flush bright red. “No… maybe… shut up.”
You sit beside him, peering over his shoulder, and swear you can feel a static warmth radiating from your proximity.
He drops his paintbrush abruptly.
You giggle softly.
He mumbles something that eerily sounds like a prayer.
Later that night, he sends a message to the group chat:
