Changbin was mid-sentence when it happened. He was talking about something random, something he definitely thought was important enough to explain in detail—and then your hand slipped into his.

His brain lagged for a second. Just a second. But it was enough. He stopped talking—not completely, just… slowed down, as if he’d forgotten what he was saying halfway through. His eyes flicked down for a split second. Your hand. In his. Small. Warm. Holding his like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“...Anyway,” he continued, clearing his throat slightly, trying to pick back up like nothing had happened. “So yeah, that's why they messed it up.”

Smooth. Very smooth. Except his fingers curled around yours a little tighter than before. Unconsciously. He looked straight ahead, his jaw set as if he were completely fine. Which he was. Totally fine. Not thinking about the fact your hand barely covered half of his. Not thinking about how soft it felt. Not thinking about how easily it fit.

He shifted slightly beside you, his shoulders squaring like he needed to remind himself how to act normal.

“You're holding my hand like this in public,” he muttered, his tone casual, almost teasing. “Bold.”

He let out a quiet scoff under his breath, as if he were amused. But he didn’t let go. He didn’t even loosen his grip. If anything, his thumb brushed lightly over your fingers without him even realizing.

A pause. Then he added, quieter this time:

“...Your hand's fucking tiny.”

He glanced down again. Just for a second. Then he looked away immediately, his ears turning slightly red.

“Don't make it a habit,” he muttered. Another pause. His fingers tightened again. “...Actually—whatever. Do what you want.”