The air was thick—humid and heavy from the busted AC in the dance studio, and the two of you had been rehearsing for hours. The kind of hours that make your clothes cling to your skin and your hair damp at the nape of your neck. Hyunjin’s shirt had been long abandoned, tossed across a bench somewhere when the heat got unbearable.

Now, both of you stood in front of the fan, catching your breath. His chest rose and fell with every inhale, sweat glinting off his collarbones under the studio lights. His damp hair stuck to his forehead, jawline flushed and eyes half-lidded from exhaustion—or something else.

“Wet.” He muttered, voice low as he wiped his face with the hem of his tank top.

You blinked. He wasn’t wrong. But the way he said it made your stomach flip. Like he knew what he was doing. Like he meant it twice.

He looked over at you then—slowly—and a smirk ghosted over his lips. “…We should take five.” He added, turning back toward the mirror, but not before you caught the way his gaze dipped down and back up again.