asymptote chapter 1 --౨ৎ-- j.yn
「pairing」 : oldermember!yunho x maknae!femreader
「word count」 : 5k
「genre」 : 9th member au
「summary」 : yunho's protective and possessive side is made obvious to the other members. when you both return to the dorm after a long day, glances and lingering touches build tension. some things are easier left unsaid.
「warnings」 : oblivious pining, possessive behavior, physical tension, sfw
「author's note」 : this series is based on this ask! sorry if this is a little boring, i'm using it as a set up for the rest of the story lol
series masterlist | chapter 1 | chapter 2
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The bass thundered through the practice room speakers, rattling the mirrors that lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Your feet hit the floor in sync with the beat, muscle memory guiding you through the steps you'd rehearsed what felt like a hundred times before. Sweat dripped down your temple, trailing down the side of your face, and your chest heaved with each labored breath. The tank top you wore clung to your skin, and you could feel the familiar burn in your thighs that came from hours of repetition. But you pushed through it, like you always did. This was the final run-through before tomorrow's music show performance, and everything had to be absolutely perfect.
"Five, six, seven, eight" Hongjoong's voice cut through the pounding music as he counted off the next transition, his tone sharp with focus.
You spun on your heel, arm extended in the angular movement that emphasized this part of the choreography, but your foot caught slightly on the floor. Not enough for anyone in the audience to notice during an actual performance, but enough that you felt it through your entire body. A fraction of a second off. Your weight distribution was wrong. You recovered quickly, finishing the dance until the end of the audio segment.
"Cut!" Hongjoong’s voice rang out as he killed the music, leaving only the sound of heavy breathing and shoes squeaking against the polished floor.
You bent over, hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath. Your lungs burned and your legs felt like they might give out. Around you, the other members did the same. San wiped his face with the bottom of his shirt, revealing his toned stomach for a brief moment before the fabric fell back down. Mingi reached for his water bottle with shaking hands, practically draining it in one go. Wooyoung collapsed dramatically on the floor with a loud groan, starfishing his limbs out.
"That part," Hongjoong said, walking toward the center of the formation where you stood. His tone wasn't harsh exactly, but it was firm. His posture changed, his expression became more serious. "The transition into the second chorus. You're still a half-count behind."
Your stomach dropped, a familiar sense of anxiety creeping up your spine. "I know, I'm sorry" you started, straightening up and pushing your sweat-dampened hair back from your face. Your ponytail had come loose at some point, strands sticking to your neck. You felt a spike of frustration at yourself, at your inability to get this one part right. "I don't know why I keep-"
"It's the third time today," Hongjoong continued, running a hand through his own damp hair, making it stick up at odd angles,his silver rings catching the light. There was frustration in his eyes, but you knew it came from a place of care. He wanted the group to succeed, wanted every performance to be flawless. "We can't have that inconsistency on stage tomorrow. You need to-"
"She's been hitting it fine all week."
The interruption came from your left, deep and calm. You turned to see Yunho stepping forward from his position in the back row, his expression neutral but his jaw set in that particular way that meant he was holding back what he really wanted to say. His dark hair was pushed back from his forehead, damp with sweat, and his loose practice shirt hung off his tall frame. He'd been in the back row for this particular part of the choreography, but now he moved closer, his long strides eating up the distance until he was positioned slightly between you and Hongjoong.
The practice room suddenly felt very quiet despite the eight other people in it.
Hongjoong blinked, clearly surprised by the interruption. "I'm just saying"
"I know what you're saying," Yunho said, his tone still even but with an undercurrent of something protective. "But she knows the choreo. She's tired. We've been here for four hours straight without a real break." He glanced at you, and something in his gaze made your heart skip, it was soft, concerned, like he could see right through to how exhausted you really were. "She'll get it."
There was a beat of silence that felt like it stretched for an eternity. You could feel the eyes of the other members on the three of you. Seonghwa and Jongho exchanged a look near the corner. Wooyoung had propped himself up on his elbows from his position on the floor, eyebrows raised with interest. San looked between you and Yunho with barely concealed curiosity. Even Mingi, your usually oblivious roommate who could sleep through a fire alarm, seemed more alert than usual.
Hongjoong studied Yunho for a long moment, instincts clearly warring with his desire to perfect the routine. You could see the calculation in his eyes, whether to push back or let it go. Finally, he nodded slowly, some of the tension bleeding from his shoulders. He let out a long breath. "Alright. Fine. Let's take 10 minutes, a real break this time. Get water, stretch, rest. Then we'll run it one more time. Last one for today, I promise."
A collective sigh of relief went through the room. "Thank god," Wooyoung groaned, letting his head drop back to the floor with a thunk. Mingi immediately collapsed on the floor next to Wooyoung, and San headed for the water station they'd set up in the corner.
"Thanks," you murmured quietly to Yunho once Hongjoong had walked away to check his phone and consult with Seonghwa about something.
Yunho turned to face you fully, and his expression softened in a way that was reserved just for you. It was a look you'd started noticing more and more lately - something gentle and warm that made your stomach do small flips.
Yunho turned to face you fully, and his expression softened in a way that was reserved just for you. It was a look you'd started noticing more and more lately, something gentle and warm that made your pulse quicken. "You okay?
"Yeah, I just..." You shook your head, frustrated with yourself. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms. "I don't know why I keep messing that specific part up. I can do it perfectly when I'm alone, when it's just me in the practice room at midnight. But the moment we're all together, the moment there's pressure, I just-"
"You're overthinking it," he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You always get in your head when Hongjoong's watching. I've seen you practice this a hundred times. You're flawless when you're not worried about making mistakes."
"Here." Yunho moved behind you before you could respond, and suddenly his hands were hovering near your shoulders, not quite touching but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his palms. "The timing feels off because you're anticipating the turn. Don't think about the next move. Just let your body do what it knows how to do."
He guided you through the footwork slowly, his voice low and steady near your ear as he counted out the beats. You were acutely aware of how close he was - the heat radiating from his body after hours of dancing, the way his breath ghosted across the side of your neck and made your skin prickle with awareness, the subtle scent of his cologne mixed with sweat that was somehow not unpleasant at all.
When you turned your head slightly to thank him, you caught him watching you in the mirror that covered the wall. His dark eyes held yours in the reflection for a moment longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering across his face, something intense and focused that made your breath catch. There was a softness there, but also something deeper, something that gave you butterflies. Before you could analyze it, he stepped back, putting a professional distance between you once again, and the moment passed like it had never happened.
"Let's go again!" Hongjoong called out from across the room, clapping his hands together sharply. "From the top. Last run, let's make it count!"
As you took your position, you caught Wooyoung watching you and Yunho with a knowing smirk. When your eyes met his in the mirror, he winked exaggeratedly, and you had to resist the urge to flip him off. San was also watching with poorly concealed interest, and even Seonghwa had that look - the one that said he was filing this information away for later analysis.
The rest of practice went smoothly, much to everyone's relief. Whatever mental block you'd had seemed to dissolve after Yunho's intervention, and you hit every transition perfectly, your body finally cooperating with what your mind knew it should be doing. By the time Hongjoong finally called it for the night, the sun had long since set outside the practice room windows, city lights twinkling in the darkness. The temperature had dropped, and you could see your breath fog slightly against the window when you'd glanced out earlier. Your legs felt like jelly, your arms ached, and you were pretty sure you'd discovered new muscles solely through the pain they were causing you.
"Good work, everyone," Hongjoong said, and the relief in his voice was palpable. He clapped his hands together with significantly less stress than before.
You grabbed your water bottle from where you'd left it near your bag and drank deeply, trying to rehydrate and cool down your overheated body. The cold water felt like heaven sliding down your throat, soothing and refreshing. You could feel the exhaustion settling into your bones now that the adrenaline was wearing off.
"Hey."
You looked up to find Yunho standing in front of you, his gym bag already slung over one shoulder. He'd thrown on a loose hoodie over his practice clothes, and his hair was still damp with sweat, pushed back from his forehead in a way that somehow made him look even better. It really wasn't fair how he could look that good after four hours of intense practice.
"You hungry?" he asked, his voice casual but his eyes intent on your face.
You blinked, becoming aware of the gnawing emptiness in your stomach. You'd been so focused on getting the choreography right that you'd barely eaten. "Yes, actually."
"Want to grab something? There's that place near the dorm that's open late. The one with the good tuna gimbap you like."
It wasn't unusual for you and Yunho to grab food together. As roommates. along with Mingi, you often ended up running errands or eating meals as a trio. It was practical, convenient, and meant you always had company. But lately, you'd noticed it had been more often just the two of you. Mingi was frequently at the studio working on his vocal training or production skills, leaving you and Yunho to your own devices. Not that you were complaining.
"Sure," you said, smiling up at him. "Let me just grab my stuff and change my shirt. I feel disgusting."
"You look fine," he said automatically, then seemed to realize what he'd said. His ears turned slightly pink. "I mean, take your time. I'll wait out here."
You ducked into the small changing room attached to the practice space, quickly swapping your sweat-soaked tank top for a clean oversized t-shirt and pulling on a zip-up hoodie over it. After a moment's consideration, you pulled your hair out of its messy ponytail and ran your fingers through it, trying to make it look somewhat presentable. Not that it mattered. You splashed some water on your face from the sink, trying to look at least somewhat refreshed, and reapplied your lip balm. Good enough.
When you emerged with your practice bag slung over your shoulder, Yunho was waiting by the door, scrolling through his phone. The blue light illuminated his features, casting shadows that made his jawline even more pronounced. He looked up when he heard you approach, and that soft smile crossed his face again.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Ready."
You said goodbye to the members who were still lingering, Hongjoong gave you both a wave, Seonghwa reminded you to rest well, and Wooyoung made some comment about "you two always disappearing together" that you chose to ignore, giving him a light shove as you passed.
The late evening air was cool against your overheated skin as you and Yunho stepped out of the building, a relief after the stuffy practice room. The walk to the restaurant was short, maybe ten minutes, and you fell into comfortable silence. Yunho walked beside you, matching his longer stride to yours, close enough that your arms brushed occasionally when one of you shifted.
At one point, a group of people approached from the opposite direction, a cluster of college students, laughing loudly and taking up most of the sidewalk, clearly drunk or at least well on their way there. Yunho's hand came to rest lightly on your lower back, guiding you slightly to the side so you wouldn't collide with them. His palm was warm even through your hoodie, and his fingers splayed across your spine with a certainty that felt protective and possessive all at once. The touch was brief, barely there, lasting only a few seconds until the group had passed. But it sent a small shock of awareness through you that lingered even after his hand had dropped away.
The restaurant was tucked between a convenience store and a small café, easy to miss if you didn't know it was there. It was the kind of place that looked unassuming from the outside but served some of the best cheap food in the neighborhood. The lights were harsh after the dim practice room and the darker streets, and you squinted as you walked to the counter, your eyes adjusting.
"What do you want?" Yunho asked, scanning the menu board mounted on the wall, even though you both had probably memorized it by now.
"Just tuna gimbap and a tea,".
He glanced down at you with a raised eyebrow. "That's it?"
"I'm not that hungry," you lied. Your stomach growled in protest, betraying you.
He gave you a look that clearly said he didn't believe you for a second, his lips quirking up in amusement. "We'll get the pork cutlet too. And some fish cakes."
"Yunho, that's too much-"
"It's not too much. You barely ate lunch."
He pulled out his card and tapped it against the reader before you could even reach for your wallet.
"Yunho" you started, exasperated but also oddly touched.
"Don't," he said lightly, pocketing his card and the receipt. He was smiling, clearly pleased with himself. "You can get it next time."
There was always a "next time" with him. Always. This had become your routine over the past few months - him insisting on paying, you promising to get the next one, and then him somehow always managing to pay before you could. You'd stopped fighting it as hard, though you still made a token protest every time.
"You always say that and then you never let me pay," you pointed out, following him to a table.
"That's not true. You paid last..." He paused, thinking. "Okay, you're right. But you bought me coffee last week."
"A coffee isn't the same as a whole meal."
"It's the thought that counts," he said sagely, and you couldn't help but laugh.
You found a table in the corner, away from the few other late-night customers, a couple of students hunched over textbooks and what looked like an office worker still in his suit, eating alone. The table was small, intimate, and when you slid into the booth, Yunho sat across from you. His long legs stretched out under the table, and for a moment, his knee brushed against yours. The contact was light, barely there, but he didn't move it away. And neither did you. It stayed there, a constant point of connection, and you found yourself aware of it throughout the entire meal.
"You did really well today," he said, leaning back against the vinyl seat and studying you with that intense focus he had. "Don't let Hongjoong's perfectionism get to you."
"He wasn't trying to get to me," you said, picking at a loose thread on your hoodie sleeve, needing something to do with your hands. "He was just doing his job. We all want the performance to be perfect."
"Maybe. But he could be less intense about it sometimes," Yunho countered.
"You're one to talk," you deflected, trying to lighten the mood. "You're just as much of a perfectionist as Hongjoong is."
"With myself, maybe," Yunho conceded, his gaze never leaving your face. "Not with you."
There was something about the way he said it -casual, but with weight that made your cheeks grow warmer. The implication that you were somehow different, somehow exempt from the standards he held everyone else to. You looked away, focusing intently on the plastic number stand on the table, suddenly finding it very interesting.
The food arrived quickly, brought by a teenage part-timer who looked like he'd rather be literally anywhere else. The gimbap was perfectly rolled, the rice still slightly warm, and the pork cutlet was golden and crispy. The smell alone made your mouth water and your stomach growl again, louder this time.
Yunho smiled at the sound. "See? You were hungry."
"Shut up," you muttered, but you were smiling too.
You unwrapped your gimbap and took a bite, and the familiar flavors exploded on your tongue, the sesame oil, the pickled radish, the perfectly seasoned tuna. It was exactly what you needed after a long day. Yunho pushed the pork cutlet toward the center of the table, silently offering to share like he always did.
"So," you said after you'd both eaten in comfortable silence for a few minutes, "are you nervous about tomorrow?"
"We'll get it," he said confidently, and there was no arrogance in it, just simple faith in the team. Then, with a small smile that made his eyes crinkle, "And if we don't this week, we'll get it next week. Or the week after. We've worked too hard not to."
As you talked about tomorrow's schedule, about the new choreography Hongjoong wanted to add to the next comeback, about Wooyoung's latest antics during filming, you noticed things. Small things that you tried not to read too much into but couldn't help cataloging in your mind.
The way Yunho's eyes dropped to your lips when you spoke, lingering there for just a fraction too long before meeting your gaze again. The way he leaned forward as you talked, elbows on the table, closing the already small distance between you like he was being pulled in by gravity. The way he smiled at everything you said, even the things that weren't particularly funny or interesting. The way his knee stayed pressed against yours under the table, a constant point of contact.
"What?" you asked finally, becoming self-conscious under his steady gaze. You touched your face. "Do I have something on my face?"
"No," he said, still smiling that soft, private smile that made your stomach do small flips and your heart beat faster. "Nothing."
"Then why are you looking at me like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like... I don't know. Weird."
His smile widened, clearly amused by your flustered state. "I'm not looking at you weird."
"You are though."
"I'm just... listening to you talk," he said, and there was something in his voice that made it sound like there was more he wanted to say but was holding back.
You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore how warm your face felt, how aware you were of every point of contact between you. "Weirdo."
He laughed, and the sound was warm and low and did absolutely nothing to help your racing heart. "Finish your food. I don't want Mingi complaining that I didn't feed you properly."
"Mingi doesn't complain," you protested, taking another bite of gimbap.
"Mingi complains all the time. He's just polite about it, so you don't realize he's complaining."
You couldn't argue. It was perfectly accurate.
The walk back to the dorm was quieter than the walk to the restaurant had been, both of you full and tired and content. The streets were even less crowded now, the hour late enough that most people were home. Yunho walked beside you, close enough that your arms brushed with every other step. He'd insisted on carrying your practice bag along with his own despite your protests, and now both bags were slung over his broad shoulders like they weighed nothing.
"Do you think Mingi's home yet?" you asked as you approached your building, fishing in your pocket for your key card.
Yunho pulled out his phone to check, the screen illuminating his face in the darkness. "He texted the group chat. Said he was staying at the studio late to work on that song he's been composing. Probably won't be back until after midnight." He glanced at you as he pocketed his phone. "Looks like we've got the place to ourselves for a while."
The dorm was dark and quiet when you entered, exactly as expected. You kicked off your shoes in the entryway, lining them up neatly beside Yunho's larger ones, and padded into the kitchen in your socks to grab some water. Your throat was still dry from practice despite the tea at dinner.
"Want to watch something?" Yunho called from down the hall. You could hear him moving around, probably dropping off the bags and changing into more comfortable clothes.
"Sure," you called back. "My room or yours?"
There was a pause, just for a beat. "Yours. My room's a disaster right now. I haven't had time to clean."
You smiled to yourself, heading to your room and flicking on the small lamp on your desk rather than the harsh overhead light. It cast a warm, golden glow across the space. Your room was small but cozy, decorated with polaroids tacked to the walls in neat rows - pictures of the members, your family back home, of random moments that made you happy. A collection of plushies that the members loved to tease you about sat on your bed and overflowed onto the small chair in the corner.
Yunho appeared in the doorway ten minutes later, and your breath caught slightly. He'd changed into gray sweatpants and a loose black t-shirt, and his hair was damp like he'd quickly showered to wash away the practice sweat. He looked comfortable. Domestic. The sight did something strange to your heart.
"What do you want to watch?" you asked, settling onto your bed and pulling your laptop closer from where it sat on your nightstand.
"Whatever you want." He sat down beside you without hesitation, and the bed dipped under his weight. Close enough that you could feel the heat of his body, smell the clean scent of his soap. The bed wasn't large, just a standard single with a frame that creaked if you moved too much, and his long frame took up most of the space, his legs hanging off the edge slightly.
You pulled up a streaming site and scrolled through the options, but nothing immediately jumped out at you. Your brain was too tired to commit to an actual show or movie. After scrolling aimlessly for a minute, you gave up and switched to YouTube instead, letting some random playlist of music videos fill the silence.
"Long day," Yunho murmured, leaning back against your pillows and the wall, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rode up slightly, revealing a strip of toned stomach that you definitely didn't stare at. Definitely not.
"Yeah," you agreed, closing the laptop and setting it aside. The music was enough. You didn't need to actually watch anything. You shifted to face him more fully, tucking one leg under you. "Thanks for earlier. In practice, I mean. For stepping in."
"You don't have to thank me for that."
"I know, but..." You picked at the hem of your hoodie, trying to articulate what you meant. "You didn't have to step in like that. Hongjoong wasn't being unreasonable."
He turned his head to look at you fully, and his expression had shifted to something more serious. "Yes, I did have to."
There was something in his tone that made your breath catch in your throat. The air in the room felt different suddenly.
"Yunho..."
You didn't know what to say. The sincerity in his eyes, the conviction in his voice, it was almost overwhelming. "You're too nice to me," you said finally, trying to lighten the moment because the intensity was making your heart pound so hard you were sure he could hear it in the quiet room.
"I'm not nice enough," he countered immediately.
He shifted slightly, angling his body toward yours more fully. The space between you was minimal now - maybe six inches separating your faces. Close enough that you could count his eyelashes if you wanted to. Close enough that you could see the way his gaze dropped to your lips again, lingered there with clear intent, then slowly dragged back up to meet your eyes.
Your heart was pounding so loudly in your ears that you were sure he could hear it. The room suddenly felt very small, very warm.
"We should probably get some sleep," you whispered, but even as you said it, you didn't move. Couldn't move. "Big day tomorrow."
"Yeah," he agreed, his voice just as quiet as yours. But he didn't move either. If anything, he seemed closer, though you weren't sure which of you had shifted.
The moment stretched out, taut and fragile like a soap bubble. You were aware of everything in hyperdetail, like the sound of his breathing, slightly elevated. The warmth of his skin, radiating across the small distance. The way his hand rested on the bed between you, so close that your fingers were almost touching, just a centimeter of space keeping them apart.
He leaned in, just slightly. Just enough that you could feel the shift in the air, could sense the intention behind the movement.
Your eyes started to flutter closed, your breath catching-
A door banged shut somewhere in the dorm, the sound echoing through the walls like a gunshot.
Mingi's voice called out from what sounded like the living room, cheerful and completely oblivious.
You and Yunho sprang apart like you'd been electrocuted, the spell shattered instantly. Your face was on fire, your heart racing for an entirely different reason now - part disappointment, part relief, part mortification. Had you really almost just-?
"In here!" you called back, and your voice came out embarrassingly shaky and too high-pitched.
Mingi appeared in your doorway a moment later, looking tired but content, his bag slung over his shoulder and his hair messy. "Oh, you're both here. How was dinner?" He looked between the two of you, and you wondered if he could tell what he'd interrupted, if it was written all over your faces.
"Fine," you and Yunho said in unison, which probably sounded more suspicious than if you'd said it separately.
Mingi raised an eyebrow, his sharp eyes moving between the two of you with an assessing look. But true to form, he didn't comment on whatever he thought he was seeing. "I'm going to shower and pass out. Don't stay up too late. We have to be up early tomorrow."
"We won't," Yunho said quickly, his voice slightly strained.
"Night," you added.
Once Mingi was gone, disappearing down the hall toward the bathroom, the silence returned. But it felt different now, awkward where before it had been charged. The moment had passed, the spell broken.
Yunho stood up, running a hand through his damp hair and not quite meeting your eyes. "I should let you sleep. You need rest."
"Yeah," you said, standing as well on legs that felt slightly unsteady.."
He paused at your door, his hand on the frame. For a second, you thought he might say something about what had almost happened, about the tension that had been building between you. But instead, he just offered you that soft smile, the one that was so familiar.
"Goodnight," he said, his voice gentle.
"Goodnight, Yunho."
And then he was gone, pulling your door closed behind him with a soft click. You heard his footsteps retreating down the hall, heard his own door open and close.
You sat back down on your bed slowly, your fingers unconsciously moving to brush your lips. Your heart was still racing, your mind replaying the moment over and over like a loop you couldn't escape. The way he'd looked at you. The way he'd leaned in. The absolute certainty you'd feel that he was going to kiss you.
What had that been?
You weren't entirely sure you wanted to know the answer. Or maybe you did, and that was what scared you.
As you finally changed into pajamas and crawled under your covers, turning off the lamp and plunging the room into darkness, you couldn't stop thinking about it. Couldn't stop replaying every moment of the evening. The way Yunho had defended you in practice. The way he'd looked at you over dinner, like you were the only person in the entire restaurant, in the entire world. The way his knee had pressed against yours. The way he'd leaned in, his intentions clear.
Like he wanted to kiss you.
Like he'd been thinking about it for a while.
You rolled over, punching your pillow into a more comfortable position, trying to force your racing mind to calm down. Tomorrow was a big day. You needed to sleep.
But as you finally started to drift off, your last conscious thought was of Yunho's eyes, dark and intense, fixed on your lips.
Tomorrow, you told yourself. You'd think about this tomorrow.
series masterlist | chapter 1 | chapter 2
