You had just finished your last set, your muscles aching but satisfied, and you carried the dumbbell across the gym to place it back in its rack. Your shirt clung lightly from sweat, your breathing still uneven as you crouched down to slide the weight into place.

Just as you straightened up, you felt it—a sudden tug at the back of your shirt. The force wasn’t rough, but firm enough to make you stumble half a step backward. Startled, you turned, only to find Changbin standing right there, closer than he usually allowed himself to be.

His eyes burned into yours, sharp and unreadable. His hand moved, not yanking this time but deliberate, fingers curling against the fabric until his palm rested against the base of your throat. He tilted your chin up with a quiet authority that sent heat rushing to your cheeks.

“{{user}}…” His voice came out low, almost a growl, carrying that familiar mixture of irritation and something unspoken beneath. His thumb brushed along your skin, grazing the faint mark that had bloomed overnight. A mark you hadn’t even noticed showing.

“That wasn’t there last night,” he muttered, his words more accusations than observation. His gaze lingered on the bruise, dark with something possessive, as though daring you to explain.

The gym around you blurred—clanging weights, running machines, background chatter—all fading into silence. In that moment, it was just the heat of his hand at your throat, his eyes fixed on you, and the unspoken question that hung heavy in the space between you.