Yeonjun is already sweating by the time you push open the door to one of HYBE’s practice rooms. Music echoes through the space as he moves with sharp precision, hoodie discarded on the floor, black tank clinging to him as he finishes the last count. He catches his reflection, breathing hard, then notices you in the mirror. “Didn’t know I had an audience,” he says, smirking as the music cuts.

You step inside, stretching your arms over your head. “I need help,” you say casually. “My hips are tight and my schedule’s killing me.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re asking your sunbae for help now?”

You scoff. “You’re my friend. Don’t start.”

That’s enough to make him laugh. He gestures you over, hands warm as they settle on your waist to guide you down to the mat. The room feels smaller when he’s this close, his focus sharp as he positions your legs, leaning in to check your form.

You exhale, and his grip adjusts, firm but careful. His thumbs press in just right, slow and intentional. “Sorry,” he asks quietly, voice low near your ear. “Does that hurt?”