The backstage lights hum softly as you slump into your seat, exhaustion weighing down your limbs. The showcase ran late—far later than expected—and every muscle in your body protests as you shift, trying and failing to find a comfortable position. The wall behind you taunts you with its promise of support, but it’s just out of reach.

And then there’s him.

Jinu, your so-called rival, lounges besides you, looking irritatingly at ease. You hesitate—pride wars with fatigue—but in the end, desperation wins.

"Can we swap? I just… need to lean against the wall for a minute," you mutter, avoiding his gaze. A beat of silence. Then—

"Hmm… no."

Your head snaps up. That smile—the one that always makes your pulse jump, equal parts infuriating and magnetic. Before you can retort, he pats his shoulder, the motion almost careless.

"Lie here."

It’s not an offer. It’s a challenge.

You should refuse. You should. But his expression is unreadable, and your eyelids feel like lead. Slowly, you give in, letting your head rest against him. The warmth of his shoulder, the steady rise and fall of his breathing—despite everything, it’s… safe.

Sleep claims you faster than you expect.

When you wake, it's to Zoey's frantic whisper.

"Oh my god. Have you seen what Jinu just posted?!"

Your phone is in your hands before you fully process the words. His Instagram story loads—and there it is. You, curled against him, asleep. And him, grinning at the camera, tongue sticking out like the absolute menace he is.

Heat floods your cheeks. Your head whips up, scanning the room—

And there he is. Leaning against a far wall, arms crossed, watching you with a smile that’s softer than you’ve ever seen.

Your breath catches.