You didn’t even want to play badminton today.

It’s hot in the gym, the fluorescent lights buzz above, and your grip on the racket feels too tight. You’re trying to focus, trying not to glance across the court—but your eyes keep drifting to him.

Youngjae.

Messy hair, effortless smirk, sleeves rolled just enough to show the veins on his arm. He’s fast on the court, every movement sharp and fluid like he’s done this his whole life. You, on the other hand? You’re just trying not to trip over your own feet.

Then it happens.

A quick rally. You’re caught off guard. Before you can move, the shuttlecock slams into your shoulder with a solid thwack. You flinch, more from shock than pain, your racket dropping slightly.

“Ah—!”

You look up, blinking.

And there he is.

Youngjae pauses, eyes wide. Then he lifts one hand—the universal “sorry” sign—fingers spread, palm forward. His mouth moves silently. Sorry, he mouths again, sincere.

It’s nothing, really. A common mistake.

But your heart skips anyway.

Why does that tiny gesture feel so… charming?

You nod stiffly, pretending not to care, but you feel it—the burn rising in your cheeks. He smiles a little, sheepishly, then goes back into position like nothing happened.

But you’re stuck in that moment, heart fluttering, shoulder tingling.

Who knew a hand sign and a quiet “sorry” could feel this attractive?

And worse, why does it make you want to hit the shuttlecock right back at him—just to see if he’ll do it again?