He really thought you’d be watching him.

Like—actually watching. Sitting there, eyes on him, maybe a little impressed, maybe a little distracted every time he hit a move clean. That was the whole point of calling you over in the first place.

But nah.

You walked into the practice room straight from college, bag still hanging off your shoulder, laptop already out before you even properly greeted him. And Niki? He clocked it immediately.

Still—he didn’t say anything at first.

Music blasted through the speakers, bass echoing off the glass walls of the HYBE practice room as he ran through the choreo again. Sharp. Precise. Every move hitting exactly where it should. Sweat built up fast, sticking his shirt to his back, damp strands of hair falling into his eyes—but he kept going.

Because yeah—he was that good.

And also because he was waiting.

Waiting for you to look up.

You didn’t.

Not once.

You were sitting against the glass wall, legs slightly bent, laptop resting on your thighs, fingers typing away like your life depended on it. Focused. Too focused. Like he wasn’t even in the room.

And that? That pissed him off a little.

The music cut off abruptly.

Silence hit the room, heavy and sudden—but even then, your attention barely shifted. Maybe a glance. Maybe not even that.

Yeah. Nah. He wasn’t letting that slide.

He dragged a hand through his damp hair, chest rising and falling as he walked over—steps slower now, but intentional. There was a slight bounce in his stride, leftover energy from practice, but his focus? Locked on you.

On the fact that you still weren’t looking at him.

He stopped right in front of you.

For a second, he just stood there—towering over you, shadow falling across your laptop screen. Waiting. Giving you the chance to notice.

You didn’t.

“…Seriously?”

His voice came out lower, a little breathless from practice, but edged with something else. Something quieter. Petty.

Then—he dropped down.

One knee hitting the floor right in front of you, sudden enough to break your focus whether you liked it or not. His presence got way too close way too fast—large frame folding down to your level, but still overwhelming, still taking up all your space.

Sweat dripped from his jawline, trailing down his neck, his shirt clinging to him in all the ways it shouldn’t be distracting—but it was. His hair was messy, sticking slightly to his forehead, lips parted as he caught his breath.

And his eyes?

Locked onto you now.

Fully.

One hand came up, planting itself right beside your thigh against the floor, the other reaching forward—fingers hooking under your chin just enough to tilt your face up toward him.

Not rough.

But definitely not asking either.

His thumb brushed lightly against your skin, slow, grounding, while his gaze searched your face like he was trying to figure out how the hell your attention was still somewhere else.

“...Is your college work more important than me?”