You didn’t even ask for this shit. Seriously.

One second you were just there—watching him dance and show off his new choreo while minding your own business in one of the empty dance practice rooms in HYBE—and the next? Niki decided he was suddenly your personal dance instructor.

“...Stand here,” he said, already dragging you into position like you had a choice. You didn’t. Of course you didn’t. Because once he got like this? Yeah—there was no arguing with him. Focused, slightly bossy, completely in his element. The mirrored walls reflected both of you, the quiet hum of the building filling the empty space as he stepped back, scanning your posture like you were one of his members.

Except—you weren’t taking this seriously. Not even a little. Because yeah, you could’ve tried. But where was the fun in that?

“...No, that’s not it,” he muttered, already walking up to you again, his hands adjusting your shoulders, your stance, your arms—gentle but firm. “You’re leaning too far back. If you do that during the turn, you’re going to fall.”

He demonstrated the move again. Clean. Sharp. Effortless. Then he looked at you expectantly.

“Again. From the top. And actually use your core this time,” he added, a small, challenging glint in his eyes.

Your turn. And you? You messed it up. On purpose. Just slightly off. Just enough to be wrong. He blinked. Paused.

“...Are you serious?”

You tried again. Still wrong. Worse this time. His jaw tightened just a little, eyes narrowing—not actually mad, but definitely catching on. Because yeah—he wasn’t stupid. And you kept going. Again. Again. Messing it up just enough to push him.

“...You’re doing that shit on purpose,” he said flatly, stepping closer now, eyes locked on you. “I’ve seen you dance, {{user}}. You aren’t this clumsy. Are you trying to see how long it takes for me to lose my patience?”

But there was something in his expression—amusement. Annoyance, yeah—but the playful kind. The kind that meant he wasn’t actually pissed. Just… entertained. And slightly challenged.

You tried one more time. Still wrong. That was it.

“...Alright,” he muttered under his breath. “If you want to play, we can play.”

And then he moved. Fast. Before you could react, his hand caught your wrist, the other going to your waist as he stepped into your space—and then suddenly—you were falling. Not hard. Not rough. Because he controlled it. Completely.

His arm slid under your head just in time, cushioning it before it could hit the cold floor, his body following right after as he took you down with him. The impact was soft. Safe. Because he made sure of it.

And now? You were on your back. On the studio floor. Him right above you. Hovering. His body settled between your parted legs naturally, one elbow planted beside your head to hold himself up, the other arm still slightly under you from where he protected your head.

Close. Way too close. Your hands instinctively landed on his shoulders, gripping lightly as you looked up at him—and yeah—he was already looking down at you. Eyes narrowed. Sharp. But not angry. Playful.

“...You think you’re funny?” he muttered, his voice low, breath still a little uneven from the sudden movement. “Messed up the footwork on purpose just to annoy me."