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skyline ⌁ w.jh [m] (part one)

↳ part of the midnight menagerie collab!

– synopsis: injuries are always easy to come by when your job is flying through the air, so you're not surprised when you're set in front of a bunch of out-of-work trapezists looking to take your partner's spot for eight weeks. what isn't easy to come by is certainly the biggest con-artist in the world of trapeze: wen junhui. — genre: coworkers/strangers to ??? ; angst, fluff, eventual smut. – pairing: murderer!trapezist!wen junhui x fem!trapezist!reader ; twiceteen because it's not haologram if there isn't a tzugyu side ship! — word count: 22.8k/?? – rating: 18+. minors do not interact. — warnings: swearing, smoking, food/eating. mentions of injuries, mentions of medical checkups & surgeries; reader is an orphan. junhui is a man scorned by the circus. lots of darker themes peering in. mentions of death and murders that will come into play later. junhui is also unfortunately a flirt, some suggestive themes. nothing explicitly nsfw for this part. – what to listen to: middle of the night - elley duhé ; i'm yours - isabel larosa ; like a prayer - madonna ; iris - the googoo dolls ; hold it against me - britney spears ; psycho - jun ; moth to a flame - swedish house mafia ft. the weeknd. — author's note: hello & happy halloween! before you read, please note that this fic is meant to be vague. things are meant to be confusing, they get cleared up as the fic goes on. as for when the next part will be posted, it will not be for at least another two weeks (as the start of november is typically very busy for me!) thank you to bennie @miniseokminnies & izzy @jakedustry for dealing with me starting and restarting this fic at least three separate times (yikes!!) star & space dividers by @/saradikas-graphics here on tumblr! as always, thank you to @camandemstudios for yet another fun collab. here's to a spooky weekend!

THE SMELL OF LONELINESS IS PRACTICALLY SEEPING OFF YOU AS YOU CLICK YOUR TONGUE.

You stand with a clipboard in your hand; the pen gripped tightly between your fingers as you glance around the gaggle of people in front of him and you. You’re scanning all of them, and he already knows what you’re thinking – hips too tight, shoulders too rigid, jaw too clenched. One by one, you glance at the bright white numbers pasted onto their leotards, drawing your pen across the paper on your clipboard to rule them out.

“16, 19, 23. You can go.” You say callously, not bothering to offer an explanation as you keep pacing in front of the group. They mostly avoid your eyes, a few of them gazing up at you as you nibble on your lip; but he likes looking at the way your brows move across your face, judging them.

They could very well be the best of the best (which, in the New York metropolitan area, was physically impossible: because you were the best.)

You didn’t seem too keen on sharing a stage with any of them, your eyes raking over nimble fingers and carefully shaped nails, bulging biceps and deliciously thick thighs almost bursting through bedazzled tights. You seemingly didn’t feel anything for the people you dismissed with a wave of your pen, leaving behind a trio of men – a trio that includes him.

And he kind of likes the way indifference floats off you. It’s like you’re just like him.

One in blue (27), one in white (82) and one in black, him.

Number 1. The first to arrive, early that Tuesday morning.

“We won’t get an understudy if you’re this picky, sweetheart.”

He can hear the injured trapezist soft laughter from behind you, something rich in it settling into his bones – he thinks his name is Infinite, he’d seen him on a poster on Canal and Mercer. You let a smirk tug at the corner of your lips as a woman next to him clears her throat, before walking backwards towards them; the tassels of your leotard swinging with your every move. You set your clipboard down on the chair you’d been sitting on when all the auditionees had filed in, before folding your hands behind your back and giving them an award-winning smile; all teeth and ruby red lipstick.

“Welcome to the Skyline Soirée.” You speak confidently, your eyes darting to the man in blue rolling his. Your smile drops to a much gentler one, a hint of cynicism in the back of your eyes, “you can go, 27.”

“Are you serious?” “Out.”

“She’s ruthless.” He hears another man speak, joining the pair behind you; the loud, unmistakable crunch of an apple sounding in the ring. You roll your eyes, setting your shoulders back before looking at him and the other man in front of you. You tilt your head at them, and it would’ve been cute if there wasn’t that emptiness filling the back of your eyes.

It makes him a little giddy.

“As I was saying, welcome to the Skyline Soirée. Our circus has been the longest standing trapeze-centered circus in Manhattan since 1902, and been passed down through four generations. Much like there is history to trapeze, there is history to our circus. Our first ringmaster was Park Hyoseop, who built this empire centered around trapeze. He was succeeded by Park Minhyuk, and Park Hyunjin. Finally, we’ve been handed over to our very first female ringmaster, Park Jihyo.”

Jihyo raises her coffee cup with a small smile on her lips, and he gives her a curt nod back before returning his attention to you. You’re pacing in front of them, your hair cascading down your back before you sharply turn to a stop.

“I will preface this audition with the fact that you will not be the star of the show. You are merely an accessory, a background character...”

You point at a poster on one of the circus pillars, your smiling face plastered on it with a sparkly leotard in candy apple red. His eyes scan the poster, taking in the way the color really brought out your eyes – before you point to another across the room. Still you, posed perfectly in your seemingly trusty gold hoop, in a white leotard with angel wings: the face of the Skyline Soirée.

The star of the Skyline Soirée.

Being in your presence made his skin prickle.

“Should you pass this audition, you will become a temporary trapeze artist with the Skyline Soirée for the next eight weeks. After eight weeks, we will revisit your contract with us, as we expect Minghao to be performance ready by then.” You set your shoulders back again, your dark green leotard twinkling in the low light as you point at the injured trapezist. “Should we like you, you could become one of eight trapeze artists and continue within our circus as a permanent member of the team. If you get that opportunity, I recommend you stay in my good graces.”

He feels his teeth ache at your demand for respect.

He hears the wheels that hold the sandbags start turning, and he glances over your shoulder to see the apple-eating man starting to move things around. You smile inwardly, before turning back to the men as he stares at you with wide eyes. There’s a tick in your brow as you make eye contact with him, trailing your gaze down his frame before turning on your heel.

His cheeks feel hot as you walk away.

“I will be performing a basic routine once, so pay attention. You’ll have to recreate this, and it’s really quite simple. Couple spins, couple suspensions...if you know what you’re doing, you’ll get it done.” You shrug, seemingly disinterested in any excuses as you walk backwards. He and No.82 clear the ring out; the sound of the spotlights being clunked on making you visibly excited. You grab the thick rope in one hand, giving it a hard yank as Middle of The Night by Elley Duhé starts to play throughout the arena. You seemingly can’t help the smile that tugs on your lips; likely habit from over a decade of performances as you’re pulled up by the rope.

Of course, he knows you’ve been with the Skyline Soirée for twenty-one years. He knows all about you and your gold hoop. He does his research, what kind of man would he be if he didn’t?

He watches calmly as your body contorts around the rope, wrapping your ankle in the tied noose as you’re swung around the arena. The momentum blows your hair back as you spin in tight circles, your eyes trained for what he assumes is the familiar gleam of your gold hoop as it is swung your way by the quick-footed man tossing it to you. You grab it, twisting your body into the curve of the swing, flipping in and out of it with a grace only mastered by years of dedication. He’s sure you can feel the eyes on you all around the arena, he’s sure you feel at home as you grab yet another rope being swung at you – wrapping it around your thighs with ease and fully flipping yourself upside down. You narrowly miss him, your fingertips just barely grazing the sequins of his leotard as you swing past him.

You seem to feel free, as you grab another hoop being thrown at you, and he can practically feel the sting of the rope burning into your bare thigh as you flip yourself onto the cool metal. You fold your legs around the hoop; the metal tucked behind your knees and the curve of your ribcage almost identical to that of the hoop as you spin in tight circles to the middle of the ring. The song comes to an end as you’re suspended a few feet above the ground, your smile dropping as you position yourself to be pulled off the hoop by the same man; strong hands gingerly pulling you off the hoop.

He’d overheard a few of the other auditionees talk about that. That you were a princess to this circus, that Jihyo once said you were too valuable to jump down from any distance. One wrong move meant metatarsal fractures, sprained ankles, even dislocated knees.

It wasn’t worth the risk.

You thank him softly, the gleam in his eyes making your shoulders soften as his fingers squeeze you gently before he slips away.

He feels his stomach tighten, his body moving before his mind as he brings his hands together in a soft clap; your brows raising as you look over at him, his head nodding curtly. More clapping fills the room from your teammates, and you look flustered as you clear your throat, hearing snickering from Minghao’s general direction before he stops and tucks his hands behind his back.

You turn to face him and the other auditionee.

“Easy, right? Who wants to go first?” You smile brightly, resting your hands on your hips as the man in white winces.

“I think I’ll have to forfeit. I was told this would be flying trapeze, not static. I apologize for wasting your time.” He speaks carefully, and your eyes widen slightly as he picks up his bag and gives a quick bow. You don’t even get a chance to speak before he’s out the double flaps, where a few children peer in to get a glimpse of the auditions. You wave, and they squeal lightly before sprinting away.

“They must really like you around these parts,” he says gently, moving to fold his hands in front of him. You tilt your head, hearing the spin of metal on metal as the rope is thrown to you from behind.

“Let’s see if we like you, huh?” You hold it out to him, and he only smiles softly; taking the rope gingerly before stepping carefully into the ring. He steps to where you started, give or take an inch – and he hears the man who helped you get down rustle around before the music starts again. With a quick thwip of his wrist, he’s in the air – and you move back to watch him glide expertly through the air.

He catches the man’s throws with a finesse that would make anyone’s skin litter with goosebumps, curling through your trusty hoop with poise. He can feel the bated breath surrounded him as he nails each of your twists, your figure moving backwards to follow him around the arena before your thigh bumps Minghao’s arm. His hand grabs it, squeezing the plush flesh as you furrow your brows in concentration.

He swings past you smoothly, his hand gracing your cheek ever so slightly; your eyes averting as he shoots you a wink. He notes the quick scowl in your face, the tick in your jaw as you shift your weight as he splays himself across the second hoop. He feels the heat of your gaze trail the curve of his hip, tonguing your cheek as the scattered sequins of his leotard catch the low light.

He’s suspended above the ground just as you were, but he flips out of the hoop and faces Jihyo, Minghao, an openly impressed unnamed man, and you.

“Thank you for the opportunity.” He speaks softly, demurely, even; bending at the waist carefully as his chest heaves up and down in steady breaths. He catches the way a smile tugs at the corner of Jihyo’s lips, Minghao’s hidden by his hand yielding a lit cigarette. You circle him like a dog does before lunging in for a bite, raking your eyes over him as you observe the elegance in his posture.

“Good shoulders,” you murmur, clicking your tongue three times as you stand in front of him. You splay your hands on your hips, before glimpsing over your shoulder; his eyes following the soft slope of your neck. Minghao gives you a smirk, a shrug of one shoulder as you look back, your eyes catching the sliver of the thin gold chain beneath his leotard. You push his shoulder suddenly, watching his sturdy form as he hardly wobbles.

Your lips curl into an oddly impressed frown, and you circle him again – pushing the center of his back with the tips of your fingers, humming as he doesn’t budge. You gently nudge the back of his knee with your foot, smirking inwardly as he glimpses over his shoulder at you with an amused look playing in his eyes. You shrug, folding your hands behind your back with a sly smile as you carefully slide over to Minghao.

“You like him?” You ask, loud enough for him to hear as you lean against the chair. Minghao takes a quick drag of his cigarette, his arm wrapping loosely around your waist as he blows the smoke away from your face. He watches Minghao’s fingers dig into your hip gently, annoyance settling in the pit of his stomach.

“Good posture, firm shoulders. Sturdy...sexy.” Minghao shrugs, making you nod as you slither over to Jihyo. The ringmaster rolls her eyes with a smile as you wrap your arms around her neck and smush your cheek to hers as he folds his hands in front of himself. The unnamed man from before bumps his hip to yours, planting a quick kiss to your hairline.

“I second the decision.” Jihyo shrugs, “he seems...able. Great physique, we’ll do a physical to make sure he’s in good health.”

“It’s up to you, though, babe. It’s your domain, after all.” Minghao clears his throat. You tilt your head as you meet his eyes across the ring, patting Jihyo’s shoulder as you run your tongue over your teeth.

“You got a name, hotshot?” You ask, leaning your forearms on the back of what was originally your chair – one that now the unnamed man occupies. Your fingers brush his bare shoulders, pinching the skin playfully as he tugs his sleeves over them with a pout.

“Junhui. Wen Junhui.” “Where are you from, Wen Junhui?”

“Boston, Mass.” He states clearly, and he remains stoic as he notices the way you all stiffen, a chill running through your bodies simultaneously.

The Boston Extravaganza had been dismantled from the roots just three weeks prior – the ringleader, Kang Minseok, murdered after his first Sunday in the spot. The investigation is pending, but he’s sure it’ll close.

Just like all the others.

Performers had fled into the depths of Manhattan, seeking refuge from their now broken home. To his knowledge, Jihyo had been gracious enough to take in a few performers, but nothing too major. She’d made calls all over, sending people all around the Northeast with the promise of work – should they arrive safely.

If he was anyone else, he would agree that it is painful – to see fellow performers lose their touch as they navigated the streets of your city in search of work. Performers retired the sparkling leotards for brown aprons, espresso machines and thumbing through tip jars for their share of the feed.

He knew that Jihyo hadn’t intended to take in another trapeze artist, he’d been floating around the circus long enough to know exactly what the weaknesses were – though it seemed Jihyo ran quite a strong ship. Minghao, as if right on Junhui’s schedule, broke his foot last weekend – falling from the hoop at four feet of suspension, and you’d been left to swing through your carefully practiced routine alone. Junhui had watched every performance from the stands, hidden behind cheering families and bored teenagers; chewing on salted caramel taffy and taking notes in his phone.

Jihyo had enough with what she called her Lucky 7...which was pioneered by you.

The brightest star of them all: the final performance to seal the night. The one who led the ending bow and wore hand-bedazzled leotards made by Jihyo. You stood in the middle of the performers; your shoulders set back in confidence as you thanked the city of New York for joining you for yet another glorious performance.

He’d heard Jihyo joke that her ownership of the Skyline Soirée was just for show.

Of course, it wasn’t. He’d heard a lot about her in particular – she was kind, smart, confident. A creative businesswoman who did not let anything get between the success of her and her circus. She saw potential in everything and everyone, never once giving up in the face of adversity – even when one by one, circuses across the country were destroyed from their sturdy foundations.

“I was part of the–” “We know.”

Jihyo nods carefully, and his eyes catch your hand running through your hair as you trill your lips. You nudge the unnamed man, “Mingyu, where’s my clipboard?”

Mingyu.

“Well, welcome to the team. Eight weeks, Wen. Then we’ll see if we keep you on board. Sounds good?” Mingyu raises a brow, pulling the clipboard from under his meaty thigh and flipping the page to the contract that would bound Junhui to the Skyline Soirée for two months.

“We have three days of practice, and four performance nights. No breaks aside from the nine hours of sleep we’ve allotted in the schedule. It’s important that we are well rested.” You say pointedly, before grabbing the clipboard and clicking the sparkly pink pen. You wave him over with a flair of disinterest, your eyes bored as he makes his way over and takes the pen from your fingers. Jihyo stands, taking the clipboard and gesturing around.

“Sign here, and here. Initial here, here, here and here. You’ll have to consent to a physical examination over on Canal and Mercer with Dr. Hong and Dr. Yoon, they're our primary care providers for the Skyline Soirée. They’ll take good care of you.” She nods as Junhui takes the clipboard gingerly, scribbling his life away. “You will also have to meet all the other members of our team, but you report to Y/N and Mingyu every morning. They’re your team directors. Think of it like we’re corporate and they’re your managers.”

Mingyu disappears into the shadows of the arena, and Jihyo talks shop for what feels like an hour – but Junhui’s eyes drift to you and Minghao. You seem relatively close; Minghao’s hand nestled on your upper thigh, fingers kneading the flesh gently as you whisper amongst yourselves. You talk with your hands a lot, gesticulating at the open air and tracing shapes that Minghao understands seamlessly; your brows furrowing as you repeatedly hit the side of your hand to your palm, pointing at something Junhui can’t see at the top of the circus arena.

“...And Y/N will introduce you to everyone. We’ll get you a handbook and a physical appointment before Wednesday.” Jihyo nods, Mingyu walking forward with a thin book; the circus name plastered across the front with a picture of the main cast on the cover. He holds it out to Junhui, and only then does he notice the pink bookmark already sticking out from the middle of it.

“You’ll have to go over this before Wednesday, because you have more documents to sign. Y/N will introduce you to everyone and show you to your trailer. Welcome to the Skyline Soirée, Junhui.” Jihyo holds her hand out, and Junhui smiles brightly, taking her hand gingerly and giving it a firm shake. She smiles in return, bowing slightly before dropping her hand, “now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got things to get back to. Make yourself at home.”

“I will, thank you.”

Mingyu watches Jihyo walk away with his arms crossed, and you and Minghao do the same. There’s a blanket of silence that falls over the four of you, before Minghao taps the ash off his cigarette, taking a final drag before putting it out on the ashtray on his thigh.

“So,” he blows the smoke out, making you scrunch your nose as you wave it away from your face. “You’re from Boston?”

“Not technically, but that’s where I came from.” Junhui shrugs, mindlessly rifling the pages of the handbook. “I was part of that circus the longest, so I guess I just got used to saying that.”

“Where are you from originally?” Mingyu asks next to him, making Junhui’s lip tug up into a lopsided smile that screams pity.

“Washington.”

You stiffen visibly but clear your throat as Minghao glances up at you with a look of concern on his features. You give him a pained smile, before clasping your hands in front of you.

“I think it’s time we introduce Junhui to the rest of our cast, hm? Mingyu, Minghao?” Your eyes and voice are pointed in a way that you don’t want Junhui to understand, but he rolls his eyes as he folds his hands behind his back. “Come, you’ll want to meet everyone before we take you to your trailer.”

“Ah, ah! Jihyo said you have to introduce and take him home. There was no we in that.” Minghao retorts next to you, before flashing a mischievous smile at Junhui, “enjoy your stay, Junhui. I’m glad to see someone as skilled as you taking my place for the time being.”

“I hope you feel better soon, Minghao.” He nods gently, before Mingyu makes his way over and helps the man up, the crutches leaning against one of the pillars being picked up in one hand as he practically throws Minghao over his back. Both men give him a quick wave and a smile, before snickering to themselves as you huff, your hands curling into fists at your side as Junhui takes long, silent strides to settle at your side.

You seem startled as you glance over and see him next to you, your eyes flashing with a veil of disinterest before you tongue your cheek.

“Hi.” He says softly, before holding his hand out. You glance down at it, “I don’t shake hands. You already know who I am.”

“Do I?” He tilts his head, dropping his hand to his side before you press your red lips into a thin line. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure.” You cross your arms on your chest, “first things first, we are not friends.”

“I didn’t assume we would be,” Junhui smiles, “but I get you. Strictly business.”

You let your eyes scan him shamelessly, before turning your nose up and clicking your tongue.

“Minghao is my long-term partner, but I’ve done trapeze with everyone on the Lucky 7. You’ll have to show that you can work well with them before we can even consider you to be a part of the team permanently.” Your voice is level, but you sound bored as you raise a brow at him, “but if you don’t get along with me, it won’t happen for you, anyway. What I say goes.”

You don’t give him a chance to respond, opting to walk away. He follows silently, watching you carefully step over the edge of the ring and duck behind the curtains. He’s met with a mess of people prepping – some people are stretching, others are being laced up into costumes, Jihyo is carefully holding three pins in her lip as she holds a tape measure to a girl’s waist. No one cares to look up as you make your way through – their eyes glued to their own projects as you stop in front of a frosted glass door, your knuckles rapping on the frame in a memorized pattern.

The door opens, a bright-eyed man smiling almost instantly as he sees you.

“Y/N!” His plump cheeks almost hide his eyes entirely as he throws his arms around you, pulling you into an embrace. You’re slightly stiff before your arms wrap around his waist, the man not noticing Junhui standing behind you until you clear your throat.

“Hosh, we’ve got company.” Your voice is muffled against his shirt, and the man’s smile drops before his eyes find Junhui. He waves lightly, the man straightening and letting you go as he tilts his head.

“Minghao’s replacement?” “He has a name, Hoshi.”

You roll your eyes, pushing past the man. Junhui holds his hand out instinctively, the man taking it firmly as a whistle is heard in the room.

“Junhui. From Boston.” “...Hoshi. Jersey City.”

“Nice to meet you, Hoshi. Is that a stage name?” Junhui asks as Hoshi drops his hand gingerly, earning a shrug.

“No one goes by names here, really. It’s all stage presence unless you’re Y/N. She’s who she is in and out of the ring.” He flips a sign next to the door to say In Session before moving to the side to let Junhui into the room. He ducks inside, Hoshi following and closing the door as what seems like a barre dance studio comes into view. The walls are lined with mirrors, with a trio of men scattered across the room. You’re standing at the far-right corner, aggressively moving through a rack of sparkling leotards and skirts. There is a desk covered in first aid supplies, a half-filled kit sprawled open, and a roll of dressing strewn everywhere.

Minghao sits in the desk chair, with Mingyu carefully wrapping his foot as the smell of Tiger Balm fills the room.

Your shoulders are tense as you thumb at the sleeve of an orange leotard, your fingers visible through a torn hole as you scowl. You turn on your heel, clearing your throat and gathering the attention of everyone. The men seemingly scramble to stand in a line; their shoulders taught and backs straight as you step in front of them; Hoshi and Mingyu joining the lineup without a second thought. Junhui watches as you settle against the bar, crossing your arms on your chest.

“Gentlemen, we’ve got a new addition to our team.” You speak clearly, but their eyes don’t avert to Junhui as you click your tongue. “Wen Junhui from Boston. He will be taking Minghao’s place for the next eight weeks, should he pass his physical exam. You are all to remain attentive in your routines, and I will be taking someone on as an understudy should Junhui or I get injured or fail to perform up to the Skyline standards. I expect you all to be on your best behavior, and I know you won’t disappoint me. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The men sound off almost robotically, before your shoulders relax slightly.

“You will all have time to introduce yourselves later, but this is just something quick to get it out of the way. I’m going to show Junhui to his trailer, and I expect you all to have picked out lunch by the time I get back.” You run a hand over your face lightly, before pointing directly at Hoshi, “no more disco fries. You’ll get sick like you did last time and then I can’t have you understudy because Jihyo will make you sit out.”

“You’re such a party pooper.” Hoshi pouts, making you snicker inwardly before you call a break with a clap of your hands. The men huddle together; several phones being pulled out as Junhui watches you push off the barre. You don’t bother looking at him, making your way to the door with a wave of your hand for him to follow you. He does just that, opening the door for you and earning a purse of your lips as you slip out.

“You sure run this team like the Navy.” He comments gently; that gets him a sliver of a smile as you shake your head.

“No, I don’t. They just know what they need to do.” You reply, “they’ll introduce themselves to you during lunch. Or after, or whatever. It’s up to them; they don’t owe you anything.”

Junhui doesn’t respond, keeping his eyes trained on the sway of your leotard tassels. Your body is fluid, no tension carried anywhere but you’ve seemed to have trained yourself to keep it together. Like you’ve got your own demons, several skeletons in your own closet – but none strong enough or big enough to show the effects of them on your face. You carry yourself with your shoulders set back, your chin tilted up; poised, confident, brave.

Strong.

You stop in front of a door, the blaring red sign above it reads EXIT.

“You’ll get a keycard that lets you in and out of the building. Hansol should get it to you before sundown, but since Jihyo stuck you with me for the time being, we’ll use mine. You only get one before Hansol makes you fork over ten bucks, so most of us just leave it hanging here.” You gesture at the wall, keycards hanging from a hook on different colored lanyards. You grab the first one off the hook, flipping it over to see the name Dahyun in blue permanent marker, “if you have any technical problems, you go to Hansol. If you have any wardrobe problems, you go to Hansol.”

“I assume I’ll meet Hansol soon, right?” He watches you nod as you push the door open, and dozens of trailers come into view. They are sectioned off behind chain fences, seemingly in teams – Lucky 7, Clown Alley, Arson Avenue, Staffing Street.

“Arson Avenue?” “It’s for the fire artists. They’re further back because they practice outside, and we can’t let anything catch on fire.”

You push the gate open on the Lucky 7 set, the trailers lining the fence with four on each side, with a bigger one lining the back of the lot. You beeline for it, typing the code into the door before glancing over your shoulder.

“Wait here. I have to get your keys.” “Is this—” “This is my trailer.”

You say nothing else, slipping inside the pink door and disappearing inside. Junhui rocks on his heels, trilling his lips as he looks around. Everyone’s names are plastered on their trailers and decorated accordingly, it seemed; Hoshi, DK, Mingyu, Seungkwan, Infinite, Dino. There is one empty trailer next to yours, stark white and plain as opposed to the plethora of colors around the sector.

“Okay, found them.” You slink back out of your trailer, holding a set of keys in your hand. “You’ll have keys for the next eight weeks, and we’ll get someone out here to give you a keypad if you end up signing on permanently. In the meantime, don’t lose these; Jihyo hates the locksmith, he’s difficult.”

You roll your eyes but make your way over to the empty trailer. His eyes catch the gold foil stars on the sides of your white trapeze boots in the high noon sun, your leotard twinkling in the light as you yank the door to the trailer open. You feel around the side for the light switch, flicking it on before beckoning him forward.

“I know that the Boston Extravaganza had you set up in dorms, but Jihyo really wanted us to be more like a community rather that roommates. Roommates can have tension, which can cause issues in the ring and then we’re all messed up. So, this will be yours for the time being.” You nod curtly, “you’ve got a kitchenette, closet, bathroom, shower. The couch is a futon, but if you’re here longer, you can get a bigger trailer, and we’ll switch it out with a bed. Of course, no one stays all that long, so...good luck.”

You lack a bit of empathy as he steps inside, “we’ll arrange Seungcheol or Jaebeom to give you a lift back to your hotel room so you can get your belongings. We run a strict schedule around here, so lights out by ten. You don’t have to sleep, that’s your prerogative. We’re up by six in the morning, breakfast at seven and arena by seven-thirty. Lunch is at one, dinner is at six-thirty, and we have cast-wide dinners once a week. Any questions?”

You’re apathetic as you blink at him, eyes tired as your arms cross against your chest. He tilts his head at you, before holding his hand out. Your brows furrow, “I don’t shake hands.”

“My keys, sweetheart.”

If you’re embarrassed, you’re good at masking it – shrugging your shoulders before holding his keys out to him by the ring. He takes them gently, spinning them on his fingertip before clasping his hand around them.

“How long have you been with the circus?” “Since I was six.” “Do you like it?”

“It’s everything to me.” You say plainly, “it’s all I know. Do you have any questions about this? Because I’d like to get back for lunch.”

“You’re not very welcoming, are you?” He raises a brow, and you stiffen slightly; tonguing your lower lip before sighing.

“I don’t warm up to newcomers. I know better, and so should you. Now, if you don’t have questions, I’d like to get a move on.” You give him a pointed look, making a show of exiting the trailer as he sets the handbook down on his counter. He watches as you inch away from the trailer, flipping the page to the pink bookmark.

Across the top of the page, in bold Times New Roman is exactly what he thought would be there.

ANTI-FRATERNIZATION POLICY.

“Bingo.” He mutters to himself, running his eyes over the page quickly before tossing the entire book across the trailer onto the futon. He’d look over it later; tucking his keys into his palm before slipping back out. You’re halfway across the lot, and he moves like molasses before smirking at himself when you look over your shoulder with an annoyed expression.

“Junhui! Move it!” “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

Lunch moved fast. The team practically inhales their food, and you perched on the edge of the desk and shared chips with Minghao; shy smiles and his fingers tracing shapes into your bare thighs. He gets introduced to everyone and quickly learns that yes, while stage names were mostly used – he could quickly get used to calling everyone by their real names. DK was Seokmin, Dino was Chan and Hoshi was in fact, Soonyoung.

He also quickly learns that not everyone on the trapeze team is from New York and New Jersey aside from Soonyoung, Minghao from Syracuse and Seungkwan, who is from Hoboken – Seokmin is from Chicago, Mingyu is from Kapolei, and Chan is from Atlanta.

You’re from Manhattan, born and raised. You grew up here with Jihyo, Minghao and Hansol, lost everyone and won everything back almost immediately. He learns just that, no context – in hushed whispers, from Hoshi.

“She’s sweet,” he had said, shoveling the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth. “She just doesn’t trust new people. Let her warm up to you, it’ll happen eventually.”

You made no effort to do so for the remainder of the day.

Junhui was introduced to both Jaebeom and Seungcheol right after lunch, because Jihyo had called them during lunch to inform them that Junhui had been signed on. The pair drove him to his hotel to help him gather his things before letting him know he had an appointment the next day with Dr. Yoon – before driving him back and helping him get settled in the trailer.

“How’d you get on with Y/N? Was she nice?” Seungcheol asked gently, and Jaebeom had a seemingly knowing look in his eyes as he smirked inwardly. When Junhui answered unsurely, they shared a pointed glance before Jaebeom spoke up.

“She’s a bit cold right off the bat, but she’ll get better. She just doesn’t know you yet.”

It seemed as though everyone tried vouching for you to comfort him – like it wasn’t his fault that you were standoffish, but he’d certainly be subjected to your behavior because he had no choice. You were the star, and you were going to stay the star; your behavior was to be tolerated, you were to be respected and you were held in high regard no matter his opinions about your rightfully earned position, his opinions about the cast that enabled your behavior, or his opinions about you.

He would have to tolerate it, to tolerate you – whether he liked it or not.

Junhui can’t imagine a mystery more enticing.

He spent the rest of the night in his trailer. He showered, the water pressure shittier than it had been in Boston but he was no one to complain. He draped himself across the futon, legs covered in black sweatpants and donning his dark green zip-up – and he cracked open the Skyline Soirée Cast Member Handbook right back to the pink bookmark.

“Anti-fraternization policy,” he reads, rolling his eyes with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “What, can’t bang the star of the show?”

Apparently, it’s just that: he literally can’t – it’s right there in black and white.

The Skyline Soirée prohibits the ideation, intention or execution of any romantic advances or relationships between employees. This includes staff members, ringmasters and performers; should employees engage each other in romantic or flirtatious advances, it is heavily recommended that both (if not multiple) parties keep their relationship at work strictly professional. This policy has been implemented since November 19th of 1989, during the second generation of the Skyline Soirée legacy.

Beneath the paragraph is your name.

LUCKY STAR CLAUSE – ANTI-FRATERNIZATION POLICY, SUBSECTION B-2.

An edit has been made to the original 1989 anti-fraternization policy following the Midnight Menagerie murders. Whoever is considered the star of the show (‘Lucky Star’) is not to be romantically linked with anyone involved in the cast, staff or outsourced providers. If said relationships are established, Lucky Star contracts with the Skyline Soirée are to be ceased immediately. This clause has been implemented since May 26th, 2015, in order to protect the Lucky Stars of the Skyline Soirée – of whom since have only been Sidney Kim (1997-2013, b. 1982) and Y/N Lee (2013-present, b. 1997.) This clause to be updated every time a ‘Lucky Star’ is voted into rotation.

“Midnight Menagerie murders...” he murmurs to himself, running a hand through his damp hair. “What does a romantic relationship have to do with any of that?”

He scoffs, turning the page with a tick in his jaw – only to see an introductory journal-like page. There is a smiling portrait of you in the top right corner that looks recent; your eyes bright and your red-lipped smile wide as you looked into the camera like you were absolutely enamored. There are more photos – you in 2002, holding onto a little girl that looks a lot like Jihyo. You in 2009, sat in front of a birthday cake. You, in 2015 – your high school senior photos taken inside the circus arena, wearing your graduation cap and gown while perched on your hoop and dressed in a pink mock neck leotard with matching aerial boots that had gold glitter stars on either side.

You in 2019, holding three silver trophies and a lopsided crown atop your mussed hair – captioned Jules Léotard Trapeze ‘19 Champion, Y/N Lee.

LUCKY STAR – Y/N LEE.

"If you’re reading this, you’ve joined the Skyline Soiree. I hope you’ve received a warm welcome,” Junhui reads aloud, before blowing air out of the corner of his mouth. “I wouldn’t say warm, but it was certainly something.”

He trills his lips lightly, resting his cheek on his knuckles as he reads across the page. You joined the circus at six years old, with Jihyo’s family taking you in after your parents were murdered on Christmas Day in 2001; your mother a reporter for the Garden City News, your father a detective for the NYPD. You’d long loved the circus, hence probably why you got the starring role – and something about it made Junhui’s chest hurt.

He felt a few tears sting his eyes as he kept reading your story; how you dedicated your entire life to the circus and skipped out on graduation because it was a Saturday evening, and you were set to perform with Minghao. You talked about how you learned to drive in a 1975 Vista Cruiser in Rochester one summer, and how Halloween being your favorite holiday. Summer is your favorite season, your favorite color is green, and you talk about how much Jihyo loved celebrating your birthday.

And you never mentioned Christmas again.

“I hope you love the Skyline Soirée as much as I do. Maybe we’ll perform together! This is from 2019 Y/N, so if you’re reading this again: maybe you’ll win another JLT! Skyline Stars, we're brighter together!”

Junhui sighs, clicking his tongue before turning the page once more. A page full of Jihyo, followed by pages full of the rest of the cast and crew: Hoshi, Tzuyu, Mingyu...

Minghao.

“Boyfriend. Against the Lucky Star Clause...that’s a Lucky Star boyfriend. Cute.” He mutters, sucking his teeth before reading across the page. Nothing catches his eye much – trapeze artist since the age of sixteen and joined Skyline a year before you became the star of the show. He spent his childhood split between Syracuse and Manhattan, spending the summers in upstate. He mentions you twice – how you helped him learn, and how honored he was to be your right hand.

The yearbook of sorts ends with Jihyo. She talks about the legacy of the Skyline Soirée and how much pressure it is to be the head of it all – but she mentions you, and how easy you make being the star look. How easily you soar through the air and how much hope it gives her – how much hope you give the entire cast.

Junhui wonders if Jihyo really is the Ringmaster she says she is.

He tosses the handbook to the side, his eyes catching the clock hanging above the kitchenette. 8:45 PM.

“Lights out by ten...I have time.” He pushes himself off the futon, grabbing his cap off the dinner table – trading it for his phone, which he powers off and slides onto the hardwood. He tucks his hair under the cap, taking his keys and flicking all the lights off with the switch by the door. He cracks it open, hearing a laugh ring through the air as he slips out and locks it behind him. He sees the twinkle of your leotard in the moonlight, your face lit by Minghao holding a lighter to the end of a cigarette between your lips. Your hair is tied up, the slope of your neck speckled with glitter from your outfit.

You’re sitting on the steps of Minghao’s trailer, and you’re both seemingly trying to ignore the ruckus coming from Mingyu’s trailer – until you glance up, your eyes bright even in the dark lot.

“Where’re you going, hotshot?” You don’t sound very interested, but there’s a look on your face that says you’re suspicious. Minghao is sat on a folding chair, his injured leg rested across your knees with your hand holding his shin.

“Out.” He replies, shrugging his shoulders as your brows furrow.

“It’s almost lights out.” “Key word, almost. Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.”

He gives you a quick smile, before shoving his hands into his pockets and making his way out of the lot. He skirts out of the back gate, spotting a neon bar sign a block away.

“Perfect.”

IT’S SIX IN THE MORNING WHEN YOU HEAR RUSTLING OUTSIDE.

You’re lying in Minghao’s bed, your eyes burning as you peel them open. Minghao’s face is buried in your neck, his hand tucked under your sleep shirt as you tilt your head back to peer out his window. The sun is bleeding in as your fingers fumble with the blinds, making Minghao stir before feeling him bury his face deeper into the slope of your neck.

You can barely make out who you assume to be Junhui – wearing a zip-up hoodie and the cap he wore last night was now backwards on his head. You squint slightly, as if it’d make it better – only to watch him flick the lights of his trailer on and slip inside.

You tongue your cheek, dropping your hand from the blinds and wrapping your arm around Minghao’s shoulders. He presses a chaste kiss to your skin, before his voice fills your ears.

“You worry too much.”

You roll your eyes, feeling his hand slide higher up your back as he drums his fingers against your skin.

“I do not worry.” “I can practically hear the gears turning in your head. He’s new, he’s not a psycho killer.”

“You don’t know that.” You mutter, draping your leg over Minghao’s hip and feeling his lips curve into a smile. “He could be. We don’t know anything about him. He could be a Scorpio.”

“I’m a Scorpio.” “Yeah, and you’re evil.” “Not psycho killer evil. And don’t forget you asked to be edged, I didn’t do that on my own.”

“God forbid a girl try new things with her boyfriend. And shut up, we said we wouldn’t talk about that after we broke up. Keep the boundaries, man.” You roll your eyes, but your smirk gives you away as he snickers against you.

Your relationship with Minghao was...intriguing, to say the least.

Sure, you’d known better than to ever let anyone outside of Mingyu know that the two of you were more than friends – and he only knew because he caught the two of you at an ice cream parlor when you were eighteen. The two of you had been dating for a year at that point, and there was no point in denying it when you were very much holding hands under the table.

Forced proximity is bound to stir up some feelings.

You broke up after four years. Neither of you were too sure as to why, but something between you changed. You mutually ended things three months after the JLT Awards, but the two of you remained close – the best of friends, almost.

With some benefits sprinkled in.

Neither of you had to mourn the loss of the relationship all that much, and Minghao didn’t really extend his affections to anyone else. The casual touching, sharing a bed, comforting you when you were (rarely) feeling out of your element – it was all reserved for you, but Minghao certainly slept with other people, as did you.

Minghao and Jihyo were truly the only ones that saw you out of work-mode. Jihyo had known you your entire lives, and they were also the only two that truly knew what happened to your parents.

You weren’t there when it happened. You were much too young to know any of it, really – but you learned as you got older that your parents had made too many enemies and too quickly. Jihyo’s mother was your father’s partner on the force, and they both worked for the 9th Precinct. Your parents were close to the Parks, and you’d been put into her care for the night so your parents could make the trip up to your aunt’s house in Syracuse and bring her and your cousin down for the New Year.

They never made it – your father took a wrong turn in Washington Heights and subsequently sent the 34th Precinct into a frenzy. You found out through the nightly news that your parents were stopped at a red light on W. 170th Street after having missed their turn on W. 165th Street on their way to the NY-9A. Pitch black at 11pm on a Tuesday was perfect for an ambush – and you try not to think about the holidays all that much anymore.

Truth be told, you found solace in the Park family. You felt good knowing that Jihyo was your best friend, to know that her family legacy continued through her for being the first-born niece and that she considered you, at this point, her sister. You felt good finding a sense of belonging, and you ignored the sinking feeling in your chest every time Christmas fell on a Tuesday – 2007, 2012, 2018...

It would be a while before another in 2029.

It wasn’t like the holidays were all that easy for you, anyway. You hated the way that everyone walked on eggshells around you, as if you were going to snap at any moment. As if it wasn’t already twenty-two years ago, and you were fine. Everything was fine, and you were moving on. You had to move on.

“Do you think he’ll be good? Actually?” You murmur as Minghao rests his forehead against your clavicle. He hums, before leaning back slightly, “why? You don’t?”

You purse your lips, letting out a defeated sigh.

“I’m just worried about the entire ordeal of onboarding someone new. Jihyo wants a chemistry run before the end of the day, but he has to get his physical with Jeonghan this morning. I need to get Hansol to call Orbit Studio so they can get his headshots so we can print him onto the weekend posters, there’s just so much to do that I can’t worry about whether he’s good.” You bury your nose in his soft hair, “and then you’ve got that checkup today, right? To see if you need surgery?”

“Will you stop worrying? Everything will be okay. Jeonghan and Joshua have Junhui at nine, so we’ll run a routine with Soonyoung until he gets back at eleven. We’ll run the routine with him until lunch, then I’ll be out from two-thirty onward. I’ll keep you updated, and we both know that if I get surgery, I’m going to be just down at the clinic for rehabilitation. I’m not going to disappear, and you can’t let this situation get you out of sorts.”

Minghao’s voice is stern as he speaks, and you jut your lip out as he rolls his eyes.

“Don’t pout at me.” “I can do whatever I want.”

He mimics you, his hand beneath your shirt squeezing your hip as he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek.

“What time is it?” He sighs, rolling onto his back with a pained groan that makes you scramble up. You fix the pillow that goes under his ankle, feeling his hand trailing your thigh soothingly before his fingers squeeze the back of your knee. “Babe.”

“Uh...six-fifteen. I’ve gotta get ready,” you mutter, swinging your leg over his hips and pressing a quick kiss to his nose. “I’ll see you out there, right? Mingyu should be barging in here soon.”

He peers up at you through tired eyes, his hands sliding up your thighs before his fingers dig into the soft flesh.

“I miss you.” “I’m right here, Hao.” “That’s not what I mean, and you know that.”

You sigh, “I’ve just been busy. Things are so crazy right now, and you know I have to help plan the Horror Nights with Jihyo and Hansol. I’m still here.”

“It’s like I can still hear her...” Minghao feigns distress, snickering to himself as you scoff, shoving his shoulder lightly. He sticks his tongue out at you, his fingers toying with the hem of your underwear as you lean down slightly.

“What if the new guy—” “We’re not playing this game. You won’t like it.”

His tone is warning, making your skin prickle under his hands as you smirk. You press a kiss to his lips, nipping at his lower lip before patting his shoulder.

“We’ll see. I’ll leave the door unlocked for Mingyu, and I’ll make your plate if I get there first.” You say softly, earning another kiss from your ex-boyfriend as you slide off his lap and slip your house shoes. You don’t bother grabbing the robe that you left on his couch last night, simply pulling his door open and sliding out with a mischievous grin.

You cross your arms on your chest, shivering slightly at the cool autumn air as you hop off the trailer steps. Mingyu is stretching in front of his trailer as you make your way to yours, only to hear a wolf whistle from the direction of Soonyoung’s trailer, the unsoiled hinges of his door making you scowl.

“Shut up!” You yell, hearing a giggle as you climb the steps to your trailer. You punch in your code, stretching an arm over your head as you pull the door open and step inside. Your rack of leotards comes into view, and you make your way over.

It doesn’t take you long to get ready – and you can hear the ruckus of the boys horsing around in the lot as you swipe on your second layer of lipstick. You chose your candy apple red leotard, the matching aerial boots laying unlaced across the foot of your bed – your stomach churning slightly as hunger begins to set in, mixed with an unsettling feeling.

You hated this feeling.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” You mutter to yourself, pushing yourself away from the vanity and grabbing your boots and keycard off your bed, beelining for the door. You push it open, sitting on the edge of the steps as Mingyu manages to pin Soonyoung to the concrete.

“I said I fucking yield!” Soonyoung’s voice is slightly choked as you smile inwardly, tucking your chin to your chest as Mingyu lets go of Soonyoung’s arm that he was holding against his back. “God, you’re such a fucking tool! It’s not like Tzuyu’s ever gonna look your way.”

“She did once, and she’ll do it again. Ye of little faith, my man.” Mingyu huffs, nudging Soonyoung’s rib with his foot and earning a scowl. “Plus, it’s not like she’d look at you instead of me. She loved me once.”

“Key word, loved. Past tense, dipshit.” Chan calls from the door of his trailer, stretching his arms over his head. You tongue your cheek to stop yourself from laughing, lacing the back of your boot up before Seokmin and Seungkwan duck out of their trailers with sweatpants low on their hips and mussed hair. They don’t bother greeting each other as they meet in the middle of the lot, linking pinkies and making their way out of the lot to the tent for breakfast.

Mingyu flashes you a quick smile as he makes his way to Minghao’s trailer, punching the code into the keypad as you give him one back. You stand up, instinctively wiping your backside of any dust or rubble before Chan and Soonyoung start making their way to the tent with their arms linked.

“You go ahead, superstar. I’ll get him there.” Mingyu calls over his shoulder, likely feeling the tension radiating off your muscles. “Don’t forget to check in with Jihyo.”

“Yes, Dad. I got it, Dad. Anything else, Dad?” You scoff, smiling as he sticks his tongue out at you. You clasp your hands behind your back, forcing a skip in your step as your bare toes touch the cool concrete. You make it halfway across the lot before hearing the creak of Junhui’s trailer door opening, making your body come to an abrupt halt as you spin on your heel.

He’s dressed in a black long sleeve, scrunched where the hem meets the waistband of his sweatpants. He’s wrapping his wrists in oxide tape, catching your eye as he tears the edge of the tape off with his teeth and smooths it over. He raises a brow, maintaining eye contact as he rolls out another piece.

“Good morning.”

His voice is gravelly, and you purse your lips as he stops next to you. You glance at his hands as he wraps his other wrist, before you clear your throat. He smiles softly as you tilt your head, clicking your tongue with feigned disinterest as you turn back to face the lot.

“Good morning, Junhui.”

He chuckles as you start moving forward again, following behind you in silence. Your shoulders grow rigid as you feel the heat of his gaze settle on them, and you clasp your hands behind your back to have an excuse to roll them back. You hear the sharp tear of the tape as he finishes the wrap, and you merely glance over your shoulder as you reach the gate.

“How was your first night?”

He smiles inwardly, tucking the tape into his pocket as he unlocks the gate and holds it open for you.

“You and I both know I got back an hour ago, don’t play coy.”

You feel a heat grow in your chest, the skin of your arms prickling as you raise a brow, “where were you?”

“Are you my keeper, Y/N?” “In a sense.” “Cute. I went out. Easy.”

You crinkle your nose at him, crossing your arms on your chest, “first of all, don’t call me cute.”

“I’m not calling you cute,” he says pointedly, shrugging. “I’m calling the fact that you think you can boss me around cute. You might run this show, but I’m just visiting. Act like it.”

Your eyes widen slightly, his eyes running over you as he gives another shrug of his shoulders. He slides past you, a scoff falling from your lips as he waits for you to step out of the lot. He shoves his hands into his pockets as you fall into lockstep with him, before turning to you just as you both reach the back door of the arena.

“I won’t be here from nine to eleven. I’ve got my physical, and Jihyo told me to let you know?” His voice holds curiosity as you roll your eyes, nodding as you hold your keycard in between your fingers.

“We’ll be running a chemistry read when you get back. Do you know if you’re getting blood drawn? We’ll have to run it tomorrow if you are, and that could set us back for the Thursday show.”

“I figured I was, so I was wondering if you’d run a routine with me now instead?” He asks gently, your shoulders stiff as you look up at him, “just before I leave. It’ll probably only get two runs, because I have to leave by eight-thirty.”

You trill your lips, “I think we’d have to get Hoshi in on it, he’s usually the one who choreographs our routines. Unless you have something prepared, you’ll have to wait until after breakfast. Is that cool?”

He nods, and you press your lips into a thin line as you nod; your hand holding the keycard to the door and hearing the buzz of it unlocking. He pulls it open, letting you walk inside first. The gaggle of cast members comes into view – and everyone is comfortably serving themselves breakfast off the table, their hair in all sorts of disarray and half of them still in their pajamas. You look across the fruit tray to see Nayeon chewing with her eyes closed as Dahyun limply gels her hair back, making you smile inwardly as you see Soonyoung and Chan sitting on one of the bigger beanbags with their backs pressed to one another.

“You guys really are like a family.” You hear Junhui murmur behind you, and you glance over your shoulder to see him trailing everyone around the room. His eyes stop at Tzuyu, watching the way she’s taping her ankles as Seungkwan holds a piece of melon to her lips. “You even feed each other.”

“If you consider that family,” you shrug, grabbing three plates to serve yourself, Mingyu and Minghao. You let Junhui look around, feeling the heat of the cast members’ gazes on your back. You quickly shovel food across plates and balance the three of them on your arms before beelining for the usual table you occupied with your ex-boyfriend and your second longest friend. Junhui gets waved over by Soonyoung, so you part ways without feeling any sort of guilt.

Breakfast goes by rather quickly. Mingyu and Minghao are the last ones to trail in after Jackson and Jinyoung, apologetic looks on their faces as they near your table. The three of you eat in mumbled whispers, with Minghao asking what Junhui stopped you about. You don’t bother responding, gesticulating to the air as you chewed around a piece of bread.

The show gets on the road soon after breakfast – you offer to help clean up, gathering plates and cups when Hansol gives you a deadpan look. He takes the items from your hands, pointing to the arena behind you as you huff.

“I was just trying to help.” “I know, doll. But this isn’t your job. Go be our neighborhood friendly Spider-Man.”

Junhui is already talking shop with Soonyoung by the time you, Minghao and Mingyu make it to the ring. Everyone else has scattered to their respective practice areas, and Junhui is spinning one of Nayeon’s balls on his fingertip as he gestures at the air. He’s saying things you can’t quite make out, but his eyes are bright and cheery as you set out a chair for Minghao to sit in.

“Wipe that look off your face. Everyone is going to think you don’t want to be here, and you’re the one who sets the mood. Lighten up.” Minghao’s voice is warning as Mingyu helps him into the seat, making you scowl as you cross your arms on your chest. You lean against the side of Minghao’s chair, watching the way Soonyoung and Junhui get on.

“They’re friendly for having just met.” You mutter, only to hear Mingyu snort next to you before he talks over his shoulder as he makes his way up the steps.

“You’re the only one who doesn’t warm up to strangers. We’re running a business here; we have to be nice to each other.”

“Nice to each other doesn’t mean being buddy-buddy.” Your nose is scrunched as Minghao gently pinches your thigh, your hand moving back to swat at it. “Stop it.”

“You look nice.” He murmurs, “I like the red.”

“I know you like the red, Hao.” “You’re a tease.” “You know it, babe.”

“Y/N, can you get over here? I think we’ve figured something out!” Soonyoung calls, and you quickly plaster a smile on your face before turning to walk backwards. You point at Minghao, “don’t leave for your check-up without telling me, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Go be a superstar without me.” He fakes a pout, making you shake your head as you step into the ring. Junhui tosses the ball towards the bleachers set up around the sides, stretching his arms over his head.

“I thought of this with Chan last night, so we’re going to have to work out the tweaks as we go. Mingyu already knows most of it, so don’t worry about hoop cues. Cool?” Soonyoung looks eager to get started as Chan fiddles around with the stereo, his fingers typing rapidly into his phone before calling over his shoulder.

“You want Iris or No Ordinary Love?”

Your eyes widen, and you turn to look at Soonyoung, “Hosh, those are love songs.”

“Hardly,” he brushes you off, but you see Junhui’s eyes as wide as yours as he opens his mouth to speak – only to get cut off by Soonyoung replying to Chan with Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls. He calls out to Mingyu to toss one of the ropes, before looking at you and Junhui with a smile as wide as the Cheshire cat, “you ready? Let’s go.”

“Time check, seven-fifty!” Minghao announces from his seat, crossing his legs at the knee as he clicks his pen. Junhui nods, grabbing the rope as Mingyu throws it and holding it out to Soonyoung, who glances at the phone Minghao holds up.

"Okay, we have to move fast.”

“We can just learn it tomorrow,” you try, and Soonyoung gives you an odd look.

“No,” he shakes his head slowly, “if you learn it tomorrow, he won’t be in the Thursday show. We’ve already started advertising a new face, Y/N.”

“I’m worried about the time crunch.” You’re making excuses, and Soonyoung can tell as he scoffs, “Y/N, it’s one run. You’ll never get comfortable if you dig your heels in every time we have a new cast member.”

You feel your cheeks hot as Junhui gives you a pitying look, but he clears his throat and taps Soonyoung’s shoulder.

“If she wants to run it alone first, we can do that. I learn fast, it’s not a big deal.” “No, Junhui. This is a duo routine, not a single. I’m going to run it with Chan once, and then you’ll get as far into it as you can before you have to leave.”

You feel a bit of annoyance settle in the back of your throat as Soonyoung shakes his head at you. He takes the rope from Junhui, tugging at it with a quick flick of his wrist as Chan runs into the arena, handing his phone to Minghao before stepping into the ring. He flashes you an understanding smile as a hoop is tossed down from Mingyu, and he grabs it gingerly.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. It’s not super romantic or anything, but we’ll have to run it by Jihyo tomorrow so she can give her input. You have to focus on me, though, because I’m doing the part you would take over. Soonyoung is doing Junhui’s.” He nods, before perching into the metal of the hoop as Soonyoung yells a start cue.

You and Junhui share a quick glance before grimacing, and you cross your arms on your chest as you back out of the ring and sit on one of the bleachers. Junhui follows, albeit standing off to the side of you instead of sitting. Iris starts pouring through the arena, and you fix your eyes on Chan as he’s swung around the arena.

The men are fluid as they spin around in tune with one another, curling their bodies around the metal of the hoops Mingyu is expertly gliding into their hands. Soonyoung is holding onto Chan tightly with every twist of their bodies – Chan is flipping through hoops and Soonyoung is catching him by the hips, at one point, his ankle as Chan glides through the air. It’s almost like a dance of will they, won’t they; the routine ending with Chan’s back curved around the inside edge of the hoop, his legs crossed at the knee as he suspends Soonyoung with one hand. The older man lets go of Chan’s hand and falling to his knees into the sand-filled ring with a soft thud as the song ends.

“And we’d cut the lights all dramatic like the moment Junhui lets go of your hand!” Chan calls from the swinging hoop, making you press your lips into a thin line at his bright smile. He flips out of the hoop the way Jihyo always scolds you for, dusting his hands of sand as he helps Soonyoung up. “What do you think? Anything you want to tweak?”

“You want me to perform a love lost with a man I just met?” You raise a brow, a scoff bubbling past your lips as you shake your head. “Sure. Why not?”

“Don’t make me hurt your feelings.” Soonyoung rolls his eyes, “be what you are. A star, but above all, professional. Knock it off.”

Something you’ve never liked about Soonyoung is how little wiggle room he gives you to be a brat. He’s stern and serious, hardworking even when the situation begets a bit of silliness – but you can’t say it hasn’t kept you in line. He’s been witness to many breakdowns, snot-faced sobbing, and his is the loving hand that swipes arnica on your bruises before making you run the routine again.

No star without the sky, they say.

“Tape your wrists, let’s get this show on the road.” Junhui gently tosses a roll of tape at you, and you barely catch it as he moves to talk to Soonyoung. Chan gives you a soft frown, resting his chin on your shoulder as you grit your teeth.

“You won’t always be able to work with people you know,” Chan’s voice is soft, and you feel a squeeze of his fingers on your shoulder as you turn slightly to look at him. You sigh as he bores his eyes into your face, “you look pretty, by the way.”

“Thanks.” You close your eyes, pressing a quick kiss to his sweaty forehead. “You’ll spot us, right? Mingyu didn’t put the net out this morning.”

“Junhui is good, he won’t drop you or anything. He was in here this morning, Jihyo told us.”

Your brow furrows – you were sure Junhui arrived at the lot right as the sun rose. Tonguing your cheek, you nod anyway; quickly wrapping your wrists and handing the tape to Chan gingerly.

“Well, let’s get it started.”

Chan had been right about Junhui.

He didn’t drop you, not once – much less did you have a moment where he wasn’t touching you. Professionally, of course, but something about the way his fingers were warm around your hips made your face hot. He moved you gracefully – catching you with every flip, every twist, maintaining a searing eye contact that makes your skin prickle. He glanced once at your lips – even leaning forward slightly in a way that made your stomach flutter, but you knew it was all for show. You caught glimpses of Minghao filming the routine before Jihyo came to collect Junhui after the third time you ran through it – and you didn’t bother thanking him before moving out of his way.

He didn’t seem peeved in the slightest.

And you don’t like how it bothers you.

Minghao left shortly after lunchtime, giving the back of your head a quick kiss when Jaebeom came to get him. You swallowed your worry, along with the lunch that was threatening to come back up – but you told yourself you were worrying over nothing. Minghao would be back in his trailer tonight and you’d be nestled into his side just like old times.

You don’t explain to Chan why your hands are shaking as you retape them for the second time, and you don’t say anything when Junhui makes his return from the clinic with his arm bandaged and a sucker in his mouth. You simply grab the rope as Mingyu throws it to you, chewing on your cheek before letting an annoyed breath out and tugging on the rope.

Soonyoung’s voice is like the buzz of a dying fly in your ear – and you actively ignore it by swinging around with Chan like he’s not even there. You feel Chan’s fingers dig into your waist, into your legs as usual, but nothing out of the ordinary happens until you miss a hoop cue – and you meet the ground faster than a New York Minute.

You don’t hear anything for a moment, your ears ringing – your body limp against the sand in the ring. You’re crowded almost immediately, your cheeks burning in embarrassment as you push yourself to your feet quickly. Your eyes meet Mingyu’s concerned ones, but you can’t hear what he’s saying as you wipe yourself of the sand sticking to your skin.

“Y/N.” Seungkwan's hands grab your shoulders, and you feel your nose burn as humiliated tears fill your eyes. His face immediately softens, “does anything hurt?”

“No.” Your voice is thick as you push his hands off your shoulders, holding them to his chest. You take a wobbly step back from the group of men huddled around you, Seokmin’s face full of misplaced guilt as you clear your throat. “I’m good. Really. Just...missed the hoop.”

“Y/N, are you –”

You cut Mingyu off with a wave of your hand, “let’s run it again. I’m just going to get a drink of water. Uh, break.”

You give them a thumbs up, pushing past them as the first tears trickle down your face. You hear them talking within themselves as you make your way out of the tent, grateful to be met with an empty room backstage as you run a hand over your face. Your shoulders hurt from the impact, but you’d know if something was wrong. You always know.

“So fucking embarrassing.” You mutter inwardly, running your hands over your bare arms in an attempt to self-soothe. Your hip hurts as you pace like a caged animal, before you force yourself to stand in front of the fountain and hold the push bars to let the water come out of the spout. You can hardly bring yourself to drink any more than to soothe the burn of humiliation in your throat, your fingers gripping the sides of the basin to ground yourself.

You’ve fallen before. It’s not a big deal.

“She’s just distracted. So many things are happening around her, I’d be distracted too. Give her a minute, she’ll get back on her feet. Y/N always gets back up; there’s a reason she’s the star.” You can hear Seokmin's voice from your spot in the backroom, your eyes squeezing shut at the sound of your name.

Y/N always gets back up; there’s a reason she’s the star.

You’ve always loved the spotlight. You worked hard for it; you’d rightfully earned it.

But it feels like a burden at times.

Shaking yourself off, you nibble on your lip as you pull the tape off and reach for a new roll off one of the carts. You wrap your wrists carefully, tearing the end of the tape off with your teeth before tossing the roll back onto the cart. You wipe at your eyes carefully, sniffling inwardly before rolling your shoulders back and making your way back into the tent. Soonyoung looks at you first, rushing out of the ring towards you but you just give him a pointed look as you move past him.

“Don’t baby me,” you call over your shoulder, stretching your arms over your head as the rest of the men disperse to the bleachers. Junhui gives you a soft glance that makes your brow furrow, but you keep walking as Mingyu makes his way back up the stairs and Chan timidly stands in the middle of the ring.

“Any updates from Minghao?” You say in Seungkwan’s direction, only to be met with a thumbs down as he picks up the hoops he’s polishing. You nod grimly, your eyes catching a bruise forming on the skin of your left arm where you’d landed. “Thanks.”

The rest of your allotted practice goes horribly – everyone is walking on eggshells as they correct your moves, as Chan makes it a point to hold you even tighter than necessary, so you don’t have another slip. It bothers you down to the bones, even if you know they’re doing the best they can with what you’d allow.

You don’t get hurt. You’re the star. It’s not allowed.

You run the routine so many times you’ve lost count and you’re almost certain you could do it in your sleep – but Soonyoung still looks dissatisfied as Chan helps you off the hoop. He opens his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by Mingyu’s hand covering his face as the taller man smiles brightly.

“It’s dinner time, and I think we should call it a night. I’ll see you and Junhui here tomorrow morning, before breakfast. Think you can stomach that?” Mingyu uncaps his pen with his teeth, scribbling across Soonyoung’s clipboard as the lot of you huddle around them. You pat Chan’s back gently as he pants, sweat dripping off his face as he crouches. “Y/N, ice that shoulder, will you? I don’t want to hear any complaints.”

“My shoulder is fine, Gyu,” you roll your eyes, only to feel Soonyoung’s fingers tug at the sleeve of your leotard to show the bruise bloomed across your skin. You swat his hand away, sticking your tongue out as you reach for a water bottle off the cart Seokmin had wheeled in after your fall. “That’s a wrap, team. Eat up, we’ve got a busy weekend ahead of us.”

You excuse yourself without another word, beelining for your trailer. You avoid interactions with anyone else, grabbing a random keycard off the hook by the door and feeling your skin prickle at the cold air. You grimace, crossing your arms on your chest as you jog into the lot and punch your code into the trailer door.

You tug your clothes off without much thought, fiddling with the showerhead annoyedly. The water is scalding against your back but soothing to your muscles. Your hair feels heavy on your head as the water soaks it, and you wrap your arms around yourself to feel a warmth that not even the hottest of water could bring.

You feel your chest fill with worry as you think of Minghao. He would’ve called by now or come back if it was nothing. He would’ve at least sent a text, but you’d left your phone in the trailer so you wouldn’t be distracted by the incessant need to check on him.

You finish in the shower quickly; haphazardly drying your hair before grabbing your phone off the dresser while still in your towel. You scroll through the notifications before seeing three missed calls from Minghao — timestamped four hours ago each.

You immediately press the button to call him back. The line rings once, twice – before Jihyo picks up.

“Hey, Y/N.” She sighs on the other side, and your chest tightens as you sit up quickly.

“Hey, Jihyo. Is he –” “He’s in surgery. They said they had to do it today or he’d risk permanent damage. Though, I don’t know how this isn’t medically permanent damage, too.”

“Fuck,” you squeeze your eyes shut, running your hand over your face as they prick with tears. “Is he almost out? Can I go see him? Have you eaten anything?”

“He just went under twenty minutes ago. He’ll be out soon, they said it only takes two hours. You can come see him tomorrow, because he’s gonna have to stay in the recovery ward for the next six weeks. And yes, I’ve eaten, so you can’t use that as an excuse to come up here. I’ll tell them not to let you in, so don’t try it.” Jihyo says sternly, your eyes rolling as tears spill out. You sniffle lightly, hearing her sigh on the other end.

“He’ll be alright. You know Hao, he’s a trooper.” She shifts, likely uncomfortable in the hard plastic chairs at the hospital. “How was practice? Junhui got blood drawn, so I hope you guys didn’t tag him in.”

“I fell,” you admit quietly, tears rolling down the side of your face as you lean your head back, “missed a hoop cue.”

“Level one to ten?” Jihyo is tired, and you let out a limp chuckle, “just a few bruises. My ego took the brunt of it; I was so embarrassed.”

“Y/N, people fall all the time.” “Not me, Jihyo. I don’t fall, ever.” “Bullshit, you fell three times last year.”

“You get what I mean,” you mutter. You pick at your nails, “Soonyoung’s been hard on me today. Says I need to be professional and not treat Junhui like a stranger.”

“He’s right, babe.” Jihyo laughs, clicking her tongue. “Junhui’s nice. He and I chatted a bit on the way to his physical, he’s very sweet. It’d do you well to get to know him.”

You scoff, “no way. Who’s to say that he even stays with Skyline? I know better than to get attached.”

Jihyo snorts on the other end of the line, “eat dinner, crazy girl. Get an ice cream cone, if you want. You need one for that bruised ego.”

“You’re supposed to comfort me! My best friend is in surgery, I fell during practice and you’re laughing at me!” You whine like a child, only to hear her laugh slightly harder.

“Babe, you’ll be alright. Go get some ice cream with the guys, take the card. It’s in your wallet. I’ve gotta go, I’m halfway through the episode where Ted gets dumped at the altar. Be good.”

Jihyo hangs up before you get a chance to say anything else, and you let out a frustrated sigh as you get a glimpse of yourself in the vanity mirror. The bruise spanning your shoulder isn’t very big but it’s painful to look at as you reach for your moisturizer. You run through your night routine, slathering cream down the slope of your neck and rubbing deodorant on before tugging on a sweatshirt and sleep shorts. You pull on a pair of thick socks, shoving your phone and wallet into the pocket of your sweatshirt before tugging on a pair of sneakers.

You don’t bother entertaining the prickle of your skin in the cold air as you step outside of your trailer – only to see Junhui ducking out of his with his cap pulled over his head.

You don’t say anything as he clambers down his steps, pulling the bill of his cap lower before he glances up and locks eyes with you. He stops, making you raise a brow as you trail your eyes over his attire. Sweatpants and the same sweatshirt he was wearing the night before.

“Going somewhere, hotshot?” “Out.”

He shrugs casually, tucking his hands into his pockets as he tilts his head at you. You slowly take the steps down, “where?”

“What’s it to you, princess?” “Maybe I wanna tag along.” “Not an invitation.”

You tilt your head at him before shrugging your shoulders, “well, I’m looking for company, anyway. What says you ditch your plans and join me?”

He tongues his cheek, clearly fighting back a smile as he pulls his hand from his pocket, swinging his keys around his finger.

“Depends on what you’re doing.” “Going out, hotshot.” “You’re cute.”

“I know,” you roll your eyes, before turning on your heel. “Feel free to follow along or go about your own plans. Just know you’re missing out on a sick ice cream run if it’s the latter.”

You get a few feet ahead before hearing him chuckle lightly, almost in defeat as he moves forward. He falls into lockstep with you, reaching up to flip his cap backwards as he opens the lot gate for you to slide through. You shake your head as you do so, walking through the darker alley that leads to the trailers, sealed off by yet another gate. You push it open, holding it wider for him as he tucks his hands into his pockets.

“How’s Minghao?” He asks gently, and you sigh.

“He’s in surgery.” You nod slowly, pursing your lips as you feel him move you to the inner part of the sidewalk as he takes the street-facing side. Your hips bump with every step, “he’ll be out for the next six weeks. I’m going to go see him tomorrow during breakfast.”

He hums in response, “and ice cream makes you feel better?”

“I always get ice cream when I have a weird day.” You admit, and it feels like driving a knife into your chest as you do so. “Things just feel weird. I’ll get over it.”

“Being vulnerable isn’t supposed to be scary, you know. I’m not going to hurt you.” “I don’t know that.”

Your response is quick and quipped, earning a raise of his brow as he presses the button to cross the street. You stuff your hands in your pocket, the wind biting at your legs keeping you grounded.

“Sorry.” “No, don’t be. I get it.” “Do you?”

“You’re not the only one who’s been hurt by the things they love.” His voice is gentle, and he instinctively takes your elbow in his hand as you both cross the street. “In this case, by those you’re supposed to trust. I don’t blame you, because we’re just coworkers. But if you knew me, even a little bit...you’d know I’m just as loyal as everyone else on your team. I just won’t let you treat me like an option, especially when I was onboarded specifically for you.”

You don’t respond, opting to glance at his hand on your elbow as you reach the other side of the street. He drops his hand, tucking it into the pocket of his sweatpants as you keep your gaze on the ground. You don’t say anything for the next two blocks, silently kicking gravel and giving strangers a curt nod – and Junhui keeps his hands tucked in his pockets unless he’s pressing the crosswalk buttons.

“You said you’re from Washington, right?” You mumble as you spot the ice cream parlor a block and a half away, the pink neon light that says Momo’s flickering in your line of vision. He hums, nodding before looking at you with a raised brow.

“What of it?” “What made you move to Boston?”

He sighs, clicking his tongue as he shrugs, “just like you have your secrets, I have mine.”

“Oh, come on.”

He chuckles inwardly as you both stop in front of the parlor, and he reaches for the door handle with a one-shouldered shrug, “eye for an eye.”

You roll your eyes as you duck inside the warm shop, your eyes meeting the owner’s as she aggressively wipes at the counter with a damp rag. She smiles brightly, dropping the rag and wiping her hands on her pink apron before shoving open the ice cream case.

“Y/N! Chocolate almond, yes?” She grabs the scoop out of the warm water, her eyes sparkling as she glances over your shoulder at Junhui. Her smile turns into a smirk, and she expertly flips the scoop in her hand before glancing back at you, “you brought company. He’s cute.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t gas him up about it, it’ll get to his head.” You wave her off teasingly, before pointing your thumb at him, “Junhui, this is Momo. Momo, this is Junhui. He’s my partner while Hao’s out.”

“Nice to meet you,” Momo reaches her hand over the ice cream case, “Momo Hirai. I own this parlor and another in Newark, if you’re ever in the area.”

“Wen Junhui, it’s a pleasure. I’ve been to your place in Newark; I was part of a circus there before I moved to Boston. And then, well, here.” He shakes her hand politely, and her eyes flash with something you don’t quite recognize before she smiles again.

“Boston, you say? Were you part of the Extravaganza?” She asks, grabbing a cup from the stack to her left and dipping her scoop in the warm water again before she pushes the case open. Her hand dips into the chocolate almond tub as Junhui nods, “yeah. I can’t believe that things got so insane. I lost a few friends to the...incident.”

Junhui’s voice turns a bit bitter as he glances at his shoes, and Momo frowns as she drops the perfect scoop of ice cream into the cup for you. She slides it over the case and sticks a spoon into the cup, “I’m sorry to hear that. Have they got any updates?”

“Nothing that I’ve heard of, but the detectives made it a point to keep us out of the loop. They questioned us for a few weeks and now it seems like they’ve just dropped the case. It feels like a load of bullshit, pardon my French.” Junhui rolls his eyes, digging the toe of his sneakers into the brilliant white tile. Momo’s eyes soften, “I hope you hear something soon, Junhui. Can I interest you in a scoop? On the house.”

“Nah, I’m alright.” He shakes his head, and you clear your throat softly, digging in your pocket and pulling out your wallet. You take out a ticket that you keep for emergencies, holding it out to Momo.

“You should come see us tomorrow. It’ll be his first performance with Skyline; I’m sure some support would be great.” You smile softly as she takes the ticket between her fingers and pins it on the corkboard next to her register.

“I’ll do my best to get out there. Shop’s been slow anyway, what with the weather. You’re the only one crazy enough to get here and in those shorts, Y/N. God, what have I told you about wearing shorts when it’s cold!?” She scolds you, only for you to elbow Junhui lightly as you spin on your heel.

“I’ll listen about my shorts when you listen about your skirts. And your tops, and your shoes—” “I’m a business owner, I have to match the aesthetic of my shop. Even if it means a pink miniskirt in October!”

“Love you, Momo.” There’s a lilt to your voice as you wink at her, pushing the door open with your body as she rolls her eyes and waves. Junhui mirrors her with an amused smile as you skip out, holding the spoon with a nibble of ice cream flat against your tongue. He chuckles as he falls into lockstep with you, fixing his cap before pressing the crosswalk button.

“It’s nice to see you relaxed.” He hints, “you’re so...professional.”

“Consider that Momo is my friend of many years.” “Consider that maybe I need a friend, have mercy. I’ve lost mine along the way.”

You can tell the joke feels cynical to him as he scrunches his nose, and you look over your shoulder at him, “did you, actually?”

“Of course, I did. I was there for a year. You’re bound to make some friends.” He shrugs, leaning against the pole as he looks at you with a pointed look. “I’m not saying we have to be friends. We don’t. I’m just saying that you don’t have to warm up to me, because it’s unlikely I’ll warm up to you. I’m a man scorned, and too many times at that.”

“Then why are you so nice?” “Why would I be mean to you, when the entire point of our relationship is to build trust? We can’t work together if you don’t trust me, it’ll affect the performance and the chemistry we have in the ring. It’d be a slap in the face to Skyline for me to be a douche to you after you’ve all given me a chance to start anew, even if my heart isn’t ready to be here.”

Your mouth opens to say something, but you’re cut off by the light changing. He gives you a quick smile before pushing off the pole and beckoning you forward as he starts to cross the street. You follow along, your hip bumping his before his hand on your shoulder moves you in front of him just as the light turns green again.

“Gotta move faster, princess. Can’t replace the star of the show that quickly.” “You’re sick and twisted.”

He snickers as you gape, “if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry and then I’m really fucked. Perspective.”

You’re both silent for the next block, Junhui’s eyes roaming the buildings and shops lining the neighborhood around you.

“You grew up here?” He asks, and you nod as you spoon your ice cream into your mouth. “Your whole life?”

“Yep. Born in Kips Bay and moved to East Harlem when I was six. Been in the circus ever since.” You nod slowly, before glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “You read the handbook, right? You know why.”

“Knowing why versus wanting to get to know you outside of that are two different things. I’m sure you’re tired of people walking on eggshells around you because of that. You won’t get that with me.” He shrugs, clicking his tongue. “Not that I don’t care, I do. I just...don’t want to be babied about my loss, so I assume you don’t, either.”

“Agreed.” You mumble, running your teeth over your tongue before tossing the rest of the ice cream in a nearby trashcan.

You pull your hood over your head, shoving your hands in your pockets before sighing, “can I ask what your plans were for tonight?”

“Same thing they were yesterday.” “Which was?”

He smiles inwardly, tonguing his cheek, “I mustn't say, it’s not appropriate to share my moonlight activities with a lady of your...stature.”

“Oh, come on! You act like you’re so mysterious, but I know, deep down, you wanna tell me.” You turn your nose up at him as he laughs inwardly, shaking his head as you huff. “Junhui!”

“I’m doing what any guy does when he’s single and coping,” he sucks his teeth, “I get a drink and take a cute girl back to her apartment, maybe freak it. Maybe not.”

“You get laid?” Your voice is incredulous, and it makes his brows raise in surprise, a laugh of disbelief falling from his lips as he looks at you.

“Why is that so surprising? You think you’re the only person I have chemistry with?” “This is not about me.” “Trust me, one of us gets laid enough and it’s certainly not you.”

“How presumptuous of you, Mr. Wen.” You scoff, your cheeks hot as he bumps your arm. “And how inappropriate! I am your coworker! One could even say I’m your boss!”

“Mmh, I love a woman in power.” “Ew!”

He bites back his smile as you scrunch your nose, “don’t flirt with me.”

“You think that’s flirting?” He raises a brow, but you’ve both reached the alley gate as you put your hands on your hips. He punches the code into the pad, giving you a quick glance as he speaks, “you’ve never lived if you think that’s flirting.”

“Okay, virgin.” “We both know that’s not true.”

You make a face of disgust, only earning another laugh from him as he opens the gate to let you in. He doesn’t follow, instead leaning against it and tilting his head at you. You raise a brow at him, crossing your arms on your chest as he sighs.

“Earlier, when you fell,” he starts, your shoulders going rigid as he clicks his tongue, “you’re not hurt, are you? Genuinely?”

“No. I’m fine.” You mutter, “plus, I don’t get hurt. That doesn’t happen to me.”

“You’re not indestructible.” “And you’re not my dad, so don’t act like you care.”

You swallow the immediate regret that lays flat on your tongue as he looks slightly taken aback. He brushes it off quickly with a nod, sucking his teeth as he pushes off the gate.

“Well,” his voice is level, “just thought I’d check. Forgive me for caring, princess.”

“Stop calling me that.” “I will, when you stop acting like the world revolves around you.”

He smiles gently, drumming against the gate with his fingers, “now, if you’ll excuse me. I’ve got somewhere to be.”

The gate shuts in your face before you can reply, and you can hear his shoes against the graveled pavement walking away. You scoff, tonguing your cheek as you turn on your heel and make your way back to the lot.

You ignore the twist in your stomach, focusing instead on the warm glow of the fire artists still practicing in their section. You follow it to your own lot, seeing the majority of your team filing into it for the night. A sigh falls from your lips as you tuck your hands into your pockets, calling out to them.

“Guys! Wait up!”

JUNHUI NOTICES THE ROCKING OF YOUR TRAILER AS HE STOPS AT THE LOT GATE.

It’s been two weeks since he arrived at the circus. Your practices together have been rigid, but the chemistry is still there and Jihyo commends it. Soonyoung has repeatedly told you to let loose, to relax, but you’re stiff in Junhui’s presence and you blame it on Minghao’s absence – but Junhui sees right through you.

And something about the way you act around him – distant but like you’re searching for something...it makes his chest warm. Not in a way he’d ever expected, either – and it’s distracting him from the whole reason he even joined Skyline.

Your first performance together, however, was a huge success. You hid your insecurities behind the bright smile you wore, the sparkle of your custom leotards, the bounce of your hair. You touched him enough to sell it, enough to make everyone believe there was something there – but only he felt the tremble of your fingers and the way your breath hitched with every movement against one another.

You were the star everyone talked about, and the star everyone loved. You spoke loud and clear, your voice never wavering even as your hands trembled behind you. You entertained families who wanted pictures, posing cutely and answering questions about Minghao’s absence vaguely. Your body was rigid at the mention of him, but you quickly played it off and invited the families to return next week for more performances and whatever special treat the concessions stand would have that weekend. You spent your time smiling until your cheeks hurt and Junhui saw the way Jihyo massaged the back of your neck after every performance despite you telling her you didn’t need it.

Junhui, on the other hand – spent his time studying you and the way you acted around everyone, sans Lucky Star Boyfriend (formerly known as Xu Minghao.) You were more reserved with the fire artists, but you got along swell with the clowns. Tzuyu, the tightrope walker, often enjoyed conversations with you – only for her eyes to travel to Mingyu, who would already be looking at her.

That was another person of interest for Junhui – Kim Mingyu. Tall, smart, sweet. Flirty.

Too close to you for his comfort. There was an undeniable chemistry between the two of you, but not of coworkers – one of past lovers. One of people who have seen each other bare it all, one of people who have smelled the sweat off each other’s bodies and instead of turning away, licked it off.

One of people who have sealed wounds with their tongues, instead of leaving the other to die.

Despite that very visible chemistry, you had no interest in Mingyu, and he had none in you. You worked together well; you egged him on when you caught him watching Tzuyu practice her routine. He teased you back, he talked about her excitedly and you were just as excited to entertain his rants about her. The two of you were glued at the hip, and it was clearly something that happened once – perhaps to get it out of your systems, or just to get the curiosity of it out.

However, your chemistry with Soonyoung was palpable. The two of you bickered and bitched at each other like lovers in a quarrel only for Soonyoung to pull you into a hug at the end of practice and kiss your cheek. He’d ask if you’re alright, if you need anything; he’d sweep your hair off your sweaty face while holding you close to him with an arm around your waist. He’d squeeze your hip, your lips planting on his cheek before swatting him away.

Almost like the moment Minghao turns his back, you’ve got someone to take care of you.

None of the other men have this chemistry with you. Seokmin and Seungkwan are very respectful, but in the same way best friends are. They tease you and make fun of you, but they take their role in your life and on your team very seriously. They practice with you diligently and prove time and time again (over the last weeks, at least) that they are not replaceable.

Chan...has a bit of yearn to him. He watches you with puppy eyes that say he’s absolutely enamored with you, that say he’s waiting for his turn in your arms, in your mind...

In your bed.

Chan looks at you like you’re the most beautiful girl in the world, like he’ll never know anything better. He does trapeze with you like he’s trying to prove something, like he wants you to know he should be the next person that wins your heart. He holds you tenderly, and Junhui notices the way he blushes beet red every time a routine has his face close to yours and the way he can’t even hold eye contact when you smile.

Junhui notices the way that no one else has managed to spot this. The way that Chan immediately looks away if Junhui catches him staring at you, or how he rubs his neck awkwardly when you’re stretching in the barre room. Junhui notices the way Chan saves the blueberry yoghurt cups in case they’re running low because they’re your favorite and the way that Chan cannot stand his spot next to you at the trapeze table being taken by Soonyoung.

He’s a tortured soul, Lee Chan.

A part of Junhui hopes that the reason behind your trailer rocking is that you’ve finally given the poor guy a chance – but instead, the door slams open to you kicking Soonyoung, Seungkwan and Seokmin out with drenched hair and pajamas.

“Don’t you ever wake me up like that again! I was just starting to fall asleep!” You throw a grey bucket out with them, the plastic thunking against the back of Soonyoung’s head as he scowls. You’re fuming on the steps, looking at your soaked pajamas that are clinging to your body as Seungkwan and Seokmin bolt for the lot gate. Junhui barely manages to move out of the way before they skirt past him, and you’re still yelling at Soonyoung – who is yelling back that he wasn’t even there when they dumped the bucket on you.

“What’re they yelling about?” Mingyu’s voice makes Junhui jump, the younger man’s canines peeking through his bitten smile. Junhui scowls, holding a hand to his chest as Mingyu brings a cup to his lips, World’s Best Dad worn across the ceramic.

“Someone threw water on Y/N while she was asleep. She threw the bucket at Hoshi’s head.” Junhui’s voice is almost bored as he explains, crossing his arms on his chest as Mingyu snickers.

“Yeah, that sounds about right. We saw Minghao last night and he said he wants us to keep her on her toes, but I don’t think he meant like this. Especially when Y/N has trouble sleeping at night.” Mingyu shrugs, and Junhui peers over his shoulder at him. “What?”

“Since when?” “Since when, what?” “Since when does Y/N have issues sleeping?”

“Oh, pft. As long as I’ve known her.” He shrugs, “even longer, most likely. She’s always shared a bed with Jihyo or Minghao, so I just assume it was a difficult transition. We shared a bed once when we went up to Rochester two summers ago, she went to bed early and tossed and turned for ages until I turned in. Fell asleep the moment I got under the covers.”

“Huh,” Junhui clicks his tongue, and Mingyu only shrugs again as you and Soonyoung keep yelling at each other. You’re in his face now, and Soonyoung is eagerly feeding the fire when Junhui looks at Mingyu, “should we stop them?”

“We could, or we could let Y/N tire herself out.” “...I’m kind of fearing for Hoshi’s safety.” “If she beats his ass, it’s been long coming. You’ve only been here a week, but he pisses her off like no other. Not even I get on her nerves that bad.”

Junhui lets a snicker fall from his lips as you pull your wet shirt off your body and throw it in Soonyoung’s face, the cloth landing on his chest with a wet plop. Your own is covered by an equally soaked tank top, the peaks of your nipples prominent as Junhui shields his eyes.

“And you can re-choreograph today’s routine by yourself!” You screech, before the slam of the metal door to your trailer is heard. Mingyu sucks his teeth, and Junhui peeks through his fingers to see Soonyoung clutching your wet shirt in his hand as he runs the other over his face. He bends at the waist, grabbing the bucket and tossing the shirt into it.

“You walk in to ask if she wants to get ice cream and are met with a wet shirt to the face.” He grumbles as he walks past Junhui and Mingyu. Mingyu sighs before turning on his heel, following behind Soonyoung as Junhui stares at your trailer.

The lot is empty now, and the moonlight is bright against the tops of the trailers.

He can see you moving around the trailer through the windows, and he keeps his head down as he crosses the lot to gently knock on your door. Any rustling inside stops, a low muttering heard as you throw the door open. It hits his shoulder, your scowl immediately dropping as you put your hands up. You’ve already changed into another set of pajamas, but your hair is sectioned off and still damp.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I thought you were Hoshi, are you alright?” You wince like you’re the one in pain, but Junhui just brushes it off and glances at you with concern.

“Are you? You looked like you were about to pop a blood vessel when you were yelling at him.” Junhui crosses his arms, but your brows are furrowed.

“I’m fine. Go to bed.” You move to close the door, but still momentarily. “Why do you care?”

He only smiles, tucking his hands into his pockets as he shrugs.

“See you.” “Junhui.” “Be sure to stretch for me, princess. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

“Ugh!” You make a face as he clambers down the steps, “what is with all of you today?! Why do you all hate me?!”

You almost manage to slam the door, but Junhui’s faster – he grabs the door before it closes, gently pulling it open as he leans against the frame. Your eyes are riddled with fatigue, and you open your mouth to speak but he cuts you off.

“You must be so tired, hm?”

“Yes, I am,” you mutter pointedly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to get to bed.”

“Why, so you can toss and turn for a few hours and give us hell when you get up tomorrow?” Junhui raises a brow, “why don’t you just admit you’re having trouble? Did no one ever teach you how to ask for help?”

For the first time, Junhui sees defeat cross your features. You nibble on your lip, sighing before your shoulders lose their tension and you turn into the trailer. Junhui takes the chance to poke his head into it – the walls powder blue and everything organized in an almost torturous way. Your leotards are set in rainbow order, all your boots clipped to the hangers. A black couch that looks almost cloud-like lines the back wall, facing a heavily stocked vanity with hot hair tools and makeup neatly slotted away aside from one fuchsia blow dryer sitting on the table.

You slump in the black vanity chair, crossing your arms on your chest before your head lolls to the side. You blink at him, gesturing at the blow dryer.

“Do you know how to work this? My shoulders hurt.” You admit quietly, and Junhui nods silently, toeing his shoes off and leaving them outside before stepping into the trailer. You move forward to plug it in, but he taps the back of your chair to stop you as he does it himself. “Lowest setting, please. Too much heat will make my head hurt.”

Junhui stands behind you, watching the way your eyelids grow heavy as he silently dries your hair. You make eye contact several times through the mirror, only for them to fall shut at the feeling of Junhui’s fingers against your scalp.

“How’s Minghao? You got a chance to check on him yesterday, right?”

“He was too tired to talk to me. I just sat with him until he fell asleep,” your voice is almost tender, but you click your tongue. “Mingyu and Hosh got him in the morning, and I got stuck rehearsing with you for Jihyo.”

“Hey, I said you could leave.” “I didn’t want to. I don’t need to let anyone down. Work first, feel later.”

Your admission is whispered, barely audible over the sound of the dryer. Something in Junhui’s chest sinks as he peers at your tired face, the way your body is slumped against the cozy chair and he sighs.

“You’d never let me down.” He rakes his fingers through your hair, before turning off the dryer and unplugging it. He wraps the cable around it, sliding it into the empty slot on your vanity before looking over his shoulder at you.

“It’s not just about you.” “I know, but I am part of the ‘everyone’ you speak of. At least, for now.”

“Are you going out tonight?” You ask, blinking up at him slowly as he lies on instinct – shaking his head before thinking. You tilt your head back, the slope of your neck visible to his eyes as you sigh, “can you keep me company until I fall asleep?”

He only nods, pushing down his subtle annoyance as he takes off his cap and hangs it on the hook by your door. He shrugs off his sweatshirt, “how long?”

“You don’t have to.” “I want to, but I need to sleep too, you know.” “Bullshit, you’re out until four in the morning.”

“I love that you keep tabs on me, princess. Makes me feel wanted.” He teases, watching you roll your eyes as you slide off the chair, stretching your arms over your head as you let out a soft groan. You roll your shoulders before gesturing at the light switch, “turn it off and come with me.”

He does as you ask, his eyes catching the tension in your calves as you make your way to the door that separates your bedroom from the living area. He follows behind quickly, watching the way you gather the sheets you’d taken off the bed and stuff them into the hamper at the end of your bed.

“They’re such jerks,” you mumble inwardly, “they know I can’t sleep well without Minghao.”

“Just Minghao?” “I don’t remember the last time I slept in here alone.”

“Where do you want me?” He ignores the drop in his stomach as he watches you pull the duvet back, hearing you let out an exhausted laugh that makes your shoulders shake.

“Are we fucking or something? Just lie down, man.” “We cou—” “Shut up.”

Junhui bites back his laugh as he approaches the side of the bed, before you flop onto your back on the left side, “don’t worry about any water patches, it mostly soaked into the mattress topper. So just lay wherever.”

You look pained as you stretch your legs, and Junhui perches on the edge of your bed before reaching over gently and squeezing your calf, “do you not stretch before bed?”

“I’m too tired to stretch right now.” You sigh, your shoulders sinking into the mattress, “and Minghao usually helps me before I go to bed, anyway.”

“Minghao not being here is not a reason to neglect your muscles. You’ll get hurt and then we’re all screwed.” Junhui says pointedly, and you raise a brow, sitting up on your elbows.

“Minghao usually–” “Minghao isn’t here, princess. So just let me help you.”

You huff, but Junhui’s gaze is pointed and you roll your eyes as you lay back down again. Stretching isn’t intimate, perse – but you can’t make eye contact as Junhui’s fingers dig into your thighs and calves as he moves your body around. You wince here and there, murmured apologies spilling from Junhui’s lips before he eventually stops, kneading the muscle of your calf before sighing.

“What’s your deal?” He asks, and you peel an eye open to look down at him. He squeezes your leg, making you lazily swat at him before resting your hand on your stomach. He lays on his beside you, holding himself up on his elbows as he peers at your face. You close your eye again, “elaborate.”

“Why are you so uptight?” “That’s certainly one way to ask me why I’m so hardworking and dedicated.” “Well, no.”

You snort, your lips curling into a soft smile as you shrug, “I have a lot of weight on my shoulders, but it’s nothing I don’t love. Ice cream with the team or alone is usually the only way I get out of here. I don’t have hobbies or vices because I don’t have time, but I love trapeze so much that sometimes, I think it doesn’t matter.”

You grimace as you turn on your side, tucking your arm under your pillow and bringing it lower against your chest. Your cheek smushes against the pillow, but you open your eyes to look at him, “I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”

“You work too hard.” “It’s all I have, don’t take it from me.”

Your voice is soft, almost pitiful as you look at him through your lashes.

“It’s not all you have. You’re someone outside of the circus, too.” Junhui tries, but you shake your head, letting your eyes fall closed. He takes the opportunity to take you in – soft lips, pouted from the way your cheek is squished by the pillow. Full lashes lining your eyes, your hair in disarray and your earrings twinkling in the low light of your bedroom. He sighs, clicking his tongue before reaching over your head and turning the lights off. You tense slightly at the proximity, your skin prickling as he rolls his eyes, opening his mouth but you mumble before he can say anything.

“Lie down.” “Don’t rush me.”

He pulls the duvet over you, before letting his head hit the pillow as he turns onto his back. He stares at the ceiling – seeing an array of rock music posters, several Polaroids of you holding trophies and posing provocatively in Halloween costumes before shows, and glow-in-the-dark stars scattered about.

“You’ve lived a whole life with Skyline, haven’t you?” He murmurs, but you don’t reply – your lashes kissing your cheeks as you breathe softly, sound asleep. His chest warms oddly, but he allows it to seep into him as he rakes his eyes over your sleeping face. “Goodnight, princess.”

You’ve been awake for exactly seven minutes, just staring at the alarm clock on your windowsill. The red numbers mock you; the hard shell covered in faded stickers from years past. You don’t dare move, feeling Junhui’s steady breathing against the back of your neck – his arm wrapped warmly around your waist, pulling you into his chest and keeping you there against your better judgment.

You can feel your skin prickling at the proximity, but your cheeks are hot at the feeling of his hips pressing into yours unknowingly. Nothing is happening, he’s not sporting a boner or anything – you just feel...warm. Too warm, and worry sinks into your bones as you feel him nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck.

Your voice is caught in your throat as you open and close your mouth, but the hitch in your breath is enough that you feel his arm tighten around you. He stirs behind you, and you quickly squeeze your eyes shut before feeling him lean over to look at you.

“Stop pretending you’re asleep.” “I’m not pretending. I’m asleep. Shut up.”

Your scowl is useless as he half-laughs, pressing you into the mattress as he reaches over and tilts the clock to look at it – three-fifty-six in the morning glares back at him. He grunts, shoving the clock away before falling back into place behind you. He doesn’t put his arm back around you, instead laying on his back with a groan.

“I should go back to my trailer.” He mumbles, “why is your bed so soft? That’s so unfair...”

He trails off with a puff of air from his lips, wiggling around behind you as you lamely clear your throat.

“If you want.” “Do you?” “Doesn’t matter what I want.”

He scoffs, propping himself up on his elbow and leaning over you. His chest is warm against your back, and you make the mistake of turning your head to look at him, the quirk in your brow faltering as you realize how close he is. His eyes purposely scan your face, stopping at your lips for what feels like forever before they flicker back up to your eyes.

“May I speak freely?” He cocks his head slightly, and you find the courage to roll your eyes as you move back to your original position, snuggling your face into your pillow, “no, Junhui. Go back to sleep.”

“Would it kill you to be nice to me?” “I’d certainly kill you; I don’t know about being nice.” “...Oh, I get it.”

You still, your hand gripping the hem of the duvet to pull it over your shoulder, “get what, Junhui? You’re gonna get your ass handed to you if you don’t shut your ass up.”

“You don’t want to get close to me or treat me decently because you’re worried that you’ll fall for my charm.”

You choke on your spit, your fist hitting your chest quickly as you sit up – only to see Junhui sporting a shit-eating grin as he looks up at you. You inhale deeply, coughing lightly before lying back down with a huff. He peers down at you smugly, “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“You’re annoying, is what you are.” You mutter, turning back on your side to face away from him. “It’d do you well to shut the fuck up sometimes.”

“You’re kind of catty, you know that?” “It’s part of my charm, and unless you want me to get really catty...shut up.”

He doesn’t dignify you with a response – instead giving a soft snort before laying back down. He keeps a safe distance between you and him. The loss of warmth is palpable, but you only pull the duvet higher on your body as you close your eyes.

It feels like an hour passes by – your eyes burning with fatigue as you peel them back open to see only ten minutes have passed. You groan internally, moving to turn around when you’re met with the expanse of Junhui’s back in your face as he’s turned away from you. He's relaxed; the fit of his shirt stretched against the broad expanse of his shoulders but looser at his slim waist. You allow yourself to ogle him, a sigh falling from your lips as you close your eyes again.

“Can’t fall asleep?” His voice is low, but there’s a hint of teasing in it. You roll your eyes even though he can’t see them, making a noise of affirmation soft enough to be confused with another sigh – your pride not able to handle confirming your troubles to him. “How can I help?”

“Just...lay there.” You mutter back, and he lets out a defeated sound before turning around again to face you. You don’t bother opening your eyes, but you can feel his arms brush yours as he crosses them in front of him and adjusts into the mattress. A moment passes, the words slipping from your lips like an admission of sin – full of guilt and you regret them almost immediately.

“Minghao usually holds me.” “Does he kiss your forehead goodnight, too, princess?”

You scoff, burying your chin into your chest, “you fucking asked.”

He says nothing, only extending his arm under your head and shuffling closer. You stiffen at the contact, before feeling him pull your leg over his hip. His hand is cool against your thigh, barely breaching your pajama shorts before he quickly pulls it away. He rests it around your waist, his fingertips tracing patterns into your back as his other hand brings the extra pillow behind you

“Just relax.” “I’m relaxed.” “You’re stiff as a board.”

You feel your cheeks hot as you attempt to loosen up, every hair on your body standing up at the proximity. You peel an eye open to look at him, his own closed as he speaks again, “you won’t fall asleep looking at me.”

“Do you really think I’m uptight?” You whisper, and he raises a brow before opening his eyes.

“You’re worried about that at...four-twelve in the morning?” “I’m always worried about how I'm perceived.”

You nibble on your lip, earning a soft sigh from him as he pats your back gently. Almost awkwardly, before he gives you a pointed look.

“My first impression of you still stands, if that’s of any comfort.” He says carefully, and you must look confused because he shrugs as much as he can before clicking his tongue. “After everything happened in Boston, I came to Manhattan because I was hoping Jihyo would take a chance on me. Everywhere I walked in this neighborhood, I saw posters of you and followed them here. I thought, if a trapezist is the face of this circus, the routines must be out of this world. And I was right, because I watched everyone perform for an entire weekend two weeks before Minghao got hurt and I saw just how much chemistry the two of you had in the ring...but you were absolutely captivating. The leotards, the expressions, the movements. You really, truly are a star out there. You’re a great performer, and you’re beautiful...in and out of your element.”

You can’t look at him as he sighs, clicking his tongue.

“But you prove time and time again that you have no idea who you are if you’re not performing. You have no idea who you are without Minghao, or Jihyo, or the circus. That’s why you think this is all you have, that’s why you have certain types of chemistry with different people on the team that you don’t have with others. Just like you don’t shy away from anyone the way you do with me, and it’s not because you’re not used to new people, either.”

“I know who I am,” you whisper, staring at his chest. Your voice is small, but his hand squeezes your hip gently before he shakes his head, “no, you don’t. Your whole life is this place...you said it yourself.”

“What kind of chemistry do I have with the others?” You ask, wanting to change the subject quickly. You can tell he catches on as he drums his fingers against your hip, humming slightly.

“You and Minghao have an undeniable connection, but it’s definitely waned over the years and went from one type of connection to another. You and Soonyoung are like a constant lover’s quarrel, and you and Mingyu are like a divorced couple that mutually agreed it was time to end things.” He shrugs, “which is why I'm not surprised that all of you have history in some way or another. It’s not hard to realize when two people have slept together, you know. It just takes a little observation.”

“You’re presumptuous.” “And I’m right.”

“What makes you think that I’ve slept with them?” You mutter, your tone almost bitter as he pats your hip.

“The fact that you’re not refuting it, but also that Minghao is so comfortable touching you and you allow it. I had to hold you for practice yesterday and you almost bit my head off.” He says plainly, “do you just not trust me?”

“I do.” You pick at your nails, holding your hands between your bodies as he lets out a weak laugh, “I do, Junhui. I swear. I just...I’m not used to you.”

“I’ve known you for fifteen days and I’m already in your bed. I’d say you’re pretty used to me.” “Did you just call me easy?” “You’re a lot of things, but easy isn’t one of them. Trust me, I know easy.”

“That makes you sound like you’re easy.” Your voice is annoyed, only for him to chuckle as he shrugs.

“Why would I play hard to get when I want it just as much? Seems like a waste.”

You suck your teeth, peering up at him through your lashes, “what else have you observed about me?”

He shifts, “not much.”

“Bullshit.” “Yeah.”

He smiles cheekily as you roll your eyes, limply hitting your fist against his shoulder, “Junhui, come on.”

“Mmh, I don’t know. You get goosebumps when we’re too close to each other. You bumped into me the other day during the team meeting and didn’t apologize, but you didn’t look like you could speak, either.” He purses his lips, letting out a low whistle, “you don’t hold eye contact with me, so I avoid making it because I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Do you really sleep with a new girl every time you go out?” You blurt, earning a lopsided smirk as he shakes his head.

“No. Sometimes I just want a drink, or I go out to clear my head.” “Then why are you out until four in the morning?” “Clearing my head of you takes time, princess.”

He closes his eyes, seemingly closing the floor for conversation – but you ask anyway.

“Me?” “Yes. You. Go to sleep.” “But I–”

He leans forward, pressing a quick kiss to your hairline before resting his chin lightly on your head, “go to sleep, pretty girl. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

The room falls silent as he pulls you closer, and you hate how the heat of his body against yours makes you feel fuzzy. You hate how you can feel his lips against your skin and how you don’t mind it, how you wouldn’t mind him kissing you again – but with intent, and preferably, lower.

“Goodnight, princess.” “...Goodnight, Junhui.”

There is a shift between you and Junhui the next morning, and he can tell.

You’re quiet – you hand him things off the breakfast table without asking, things he likes. The peach yoghurt, the string cheese, you move quickly and with purpose as you make your plate and Mingyu’s, who is actively trying to fight you for it. Your hands hover over Minghao’s favorites, only to pull them away and grab utensils before moving away. Mingyu manages to take both plates from you at the end of the breakfast table, and you follow him without a word.

You keep the wall up throughout the morning. Mingyu asks you on several occasions if you’re alright, even Soonyoung presses his hand to your forehead before you swat him away and insist that you’re fine. Chan’s eyes are focused as he watches the two of you run a routine he’d choreographed to Feel Something by Jaymes Young a few months back – admittedly, with you and Minghao in mind.

Junhui wonders if he’ll ever measure up.

He stops wondering just as fast – holding you close to him while you’re both suspended in the air, your fingernails digging into his shoulders in a way that feels sinful. Your breathing is ragged against him as you move through the routine, ending with your knees wrapped around the upper part of the hoop and him curved on the inside of the hoop – your faces millimeters away from each other, so close he can feel your breath on his lips.

Soonyoung taunts you both for a kiss – only for Junhui to feel an odd twist in his stomach when you seem to consider it as the song ends. Your eyes trail his face, but you roll them just as quickly; opting to stare at the ring below you.

You don’t look at him as you both reach the ground, only muttering a soft thank you when he pulls you off the hoop carefully. You rub at your knees vigorously, the tape peeling back from your hand as you do so.

“That’s lunch.” Mingyu calls over his shoulder, but Junhui watches as you ignore him and plop down on the bleachers. Your chest heaves with deep breaths as you peel the ripped tape off your hands, eyes watching everyone file out. Junhui lingers at the end of the line, letting the door close in front of him and leaning against the frame as you reach for the tape left behind by Seungkwan on the bleachers. You rip the end up, wrapping your wrists quickly and tearing the end off with your teeth – stretching your arms over your head with a pained grunt and rolling your shoulders back twice.

He’s not sure you can see him – the edges of the arena dim and he’s dressed in all black. He uses the shadows to his advantage as he leans into them, the frustration radiating off your body practically tangible as you grab one of the ropes and tug on it harshly. You let it pull you into the air, your hand grabbing a hoop and flipping through it – curling your knees around the metal and letting it glide you around the arena, your eyes closed as you swung upside down. The creak of the hoop hinges at the top of the arena are the only sound aside from the thwip of your movements – and Junhui finds himself biting back a smile as you flip back into the hoop, wrapping your arms and gripping the metal tightly as you spun like a top on your descend.

You let out a loud sigh as you slowed to a stop, almost a sound of relief to Junhui’s ears. You lolled your head back, crossing your ankles before carefully unwrapping yourself from the hoop and hopping down. You run a hand through your hair, dropping it to settle both on your hips as you walk back to the bleachers, a sway in your hips reeking of subtle satisfaction.

“Sidney Kim, right?”

You jump, your eyes wide as a hand flies to your chest – looking around when Junhui decides to step back into the light. Huffing, your hand drops and you sit on the bleachers with furrowed brows. You bring your hand to your mouth, tearing the tape with your teeth and peeling it off.

“Or is it Nina Jeanine? 1992 Cirque du Lune, right?” “What are you doing here?” “Wondering why you’re not eating lunch.”

“Stop worrying about me, it’d do you well.” You reply, tossing the scraps of tape into the garbage back at the end of the bleachers. You roll your wrists, and Junhui only steps closer, leaning against the opposite railing of the bleachers when you look up at him, “why aren’t you eating lunch?”

“Practice what you preach.” “It’s my job to worry about you.”

He smiles, “no it isn’t.”

Silence settles in the arena as you stare at each other – almost like two cats sizing each other up. You falter first, opting to look away as you grab for the tape again, “Nina Jeanine.”

“Figured.” “What are you really doing here?”

“What I said I was, princess. Wondering why you’re beating yourself up in here instead of eating lunch, of which we now have only forty minutes left of.” He points at the clock on the wall. Your shoulders stiffen, “I’m just blowing off some steam. Go ahead, I’ll catch up.”

“Blowing off steam...for what? We’re on track with everything. Ticket sales are at an all-time high. We could practically do the routine in our sleep...what is there to blow off steam for?” Junhui raises a brow as you seemingly bristle, your fingernail picking at the roll of tape before you set it down and stand up. You cross your arms on your chest as you plaster on a smile, “let’s go. Lunch awaits us.”

Junhui sucks his teeth as you walk past him, his hand darting out and grabbing your elbow gently. You don’t stiffen, limply allowing him to pull you back and sit you down on the bleachers. He moves to kneel in front of you, his hands settling on either side of you as he looks at your face. Stress is weaved between your brows, the pad of his thumb coming to rub between them.

“I’m fine.” “You’re a shit liar. Add that to my list of impressions about you.”

You tongue your cheek, swatting his hand away from your face. Your hands are clasped in your lap, but you pick at your fingernails as Junhui drums his fingers against your knees. He takes his time to look at you, gingerly placing his hands over yours to stop your fidgeting – and you meet his eyes, your own full of stress.

“Is it because Soonyo—” “He’s so fucking annoying. I don’t have to kiss everyone I do a routine with. Then I’m just the Lucky Star with an emphasis on lucky.”

Junhui bites back his smile, the pout on your lips full of frustration as you huff, “he wants to act like he knows something, when he doesn’t. I don’t need the entire city of Manhattan to see me kiss someone, just for ratings and applause. It feels fake, and I’m no phony.”

“We could kiss now.”

You roll your eyes, “shut the fuck up.”

“We could, though.” Junhui shrugs, gesturing to the room around you both. “It’s just you and me. No lights, no audience...no pressure. And no one has to know, just us.”

Your lips are pressed into a thin line, raking your eyes over his face, “that’s not fair to Minghao.”

“You’re not dating Minghao.” “You don’t know that.”

“I know a lot of things, princess. You and Minghao broke up years ago.” Junhui speaks pointedly, his hands cupping your knees with a soft pat, “think about it, because it doesn’t sound like you’re all that against actually kissing me.”

He leans forward a bit, watching the way you furrow your brows deeper as his nose brushes yours, “I’d kiss you, if you wanted. Just like this.”

The air is thick around the two of you, his eyes scanning your face and the way you’re considering it. The way you’re thinking about it – before you shake your head.

“I can’t do that to Minghao.” “Of course, princess. Just putting it out there.”

He smiles, patting your knees again, “lunch. Now.”

He stands up, dusting his knees as you do the same, folding your hands behind your back. You walk in front of him, your pace slow and deliberate as you glance over your shoulder – looking directly at the hoop hanging in the middle of the ring.

“It’s too intimate.” You say suddenly, facing him with a quick turn of your heel. “It’s too intimate, to kiss someone I work with and know that I have a hard time separating business and pleasure.”

“It doesn’t have to be more.”

“That’s the problem,” you click your tongue, shaking your head before turning back on your heel. “You’re right about a lot of things, Wen Junhui. I’ve never thought I’d admit to that.”

“Like?”

“I don’t know who I am when I’m not performing.” You reach the door, shaking your head as he stands behind you. Almost too close, it seems – and you confirm it when you turn around as you cross your arms on your chest. He can barely see your face in the dimness, but there’s a sparkle in your eye that wasn’t there earlier, and something about it makes him giddy.

“I can fix that.” He leans slightly closer, before feeling your hands ghost over his chest. He tilts his head at you, the warmth of your breath hitting his throat as he looks down. “What else?”

“I’m not here to feed your ego.” “Mmh, but you wanna.” “Shut up.”

He thinks you roll your eyes, turning around and moving to push the door when he snakes his arm around your waist. You easily give, letting him pull your back into his chest – the smell of your perfume, warm and citrusy, filling his nose as he pins you against the door. You lean your head back, the gloss of your eyes visible in the dim lighting.

“Don’t tell me you’re falling for me, princess.” His voice is low in your ear, his fingers lightly digging into your hip as you huff out a humorless laugh. You splay your hand over his, “no, I don’t swoon easily. Took Minghao a year to even get in my good graces, and another to be my boyfriend.”

“So, you did date him.” “Don’t give up hope, hotshot.”

“Just say you want me. It won’t kill you.” Junhui whispers as you twist out of his hold, your hands pushing against the door but not enough to open it as you peer up at him.

“I do.” You seemingly shrug, a stream of light bleeding in from the way you crack the door open, “but I love my job more than I’ll ever want you...so let’s stay out of each other’s way. Cool?”

You don’t give him a chance to respond – but it’s a challenge. You mean it as one; he can tell as you smile brightly at everyone, leaving Junhui in the shadows as the door closes in front of him.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, peering over his shoulder at the barely swinging hoop. “Cool.”

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