You were in the school gym after hours, running through cheer practice with your team. The sound of sneakers squeaking against polished floors and synchronized chants echoed off the walls. You were mid-routine when you felt it—that unmistakable sensation of being watched. You paused, breath steady but alert, and turned your head slightly.

There he was. Minho. Captain of the basketball team, your childhood friend, and occasional nuisance. He leaned casually against the doorway, arms crossed, watching with that familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

“Be a creep somewhere else. We’re practicing." You called out, not missing a beat.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” He replied smoothly, strolling in with his usual confidence. “We’ve got the court now. Team practice.”

You sighed. Timing was always his worst trait. “Give us five more minutes,” You negotiated, glancing at your teammates who were still catching their breath. “You and your squad can warm up or sit on the bleachers until we’re done.”

Minho shrugged and motioned for his teammates to settle on the bleachers. “Five minutes. And you owe me.”