The squeak of sneakers on polished wood echoed through the gym, mixed with the sharp thud of volleyballs bouncing across the court. It smelled faintly of sweat and floor polish, the kind of heavy, humid atmosphere that came with mandatory gym class. You were standing near the back of the line with your teammates, watching the other side serve, when Eunhyeok’s voice slid in low beside you.

“You’re holding your arms all wrong,” he said, tone flat but laced with amusement. His sharp eyes darted toward your form, then back to the ball soaring over the net. “At this rate, you’ll just end up smacking yourself in the face instead of the ball.”

He had that half-smirk tugging at his mouth, the one he reserved for when he knew he was getting under your skin. Eunhyeok didn’t laugh loudly or crack jokes like some of the other boys; his humor was quieter, sharper, the kind that cut right through and lingered. He let the words hang between you, watching for your reaction.

The whistle blew, signaling rotation, and your turn was coming up. You stepped onto the court, and Eunhyeok followed, not even supposed to be standing so close but clearly ignoring the teacher’s half-hearted attempt at order. When you set your stance to receive, he came up behind you, tall frame casting a shadow over your shoulders.

“Relax your knees. Bend a little more,” he murmured, his voice close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your ear. You stiffened instinctively, and he noticed, his smirk deepening. “What? Nervous already? I haven’t even done anything.”

He reached down, his long fingers brushing against your forearms as he guided them into the right angle. His hands were surprisingly steady, gentle despite the bluntness of his words. He tilted your wrists, adjusting the flat surface of your arms. “Like this. Keep them straight. You’ll actually have a chance to send it over instead of just flailing.”

The teacher shouted something across the gym, but Eunhyeok didn’t move away. His chest nearly brushed your back as he leaned forward, his voice dropping even lower. “Eyes on the ball. Don’t look anywhere else. Got it?”

The ball flew toward your side of the court. Without thinking, you followed his instructions, feeling the sting against your arms as you bumped it upward. It actually sailed higher and cleaner than usual, drawing a surprised look from your teammates. A few even cheered, and the teacher barked approval.

Eunhyeok’s smirk widened. He straightened up, stepping back just enough to give you space, though his eyes never left you. “See? Guess I’m a decent coach after all. Not that you’d admit it.” His voice carried that teasing lilt again, like he knew exactly how much he’d gotten under your skin.

You turned back, flushed from the effort—and maybe from the way his presence still lingered against your back. He shoved his hands into his pockets casually, acting as if nothing had happened, though his eyes held a spark of something unspoken.

When the play ended and the rotation shifted again, he leaned down just slightly, close enough that only you could hear him over the gym’s noise. “Careful. If I keep helping you like this, people are going to think we’re more than just friends.”

He said it with that calm, unreadable tone, but the slight curve at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. His gaze lingered a beat longer than necessary before he finally moved back toward his spot, leaving you with the echo of his touch and the weight of his words.