You’ve known Changbin is strong—hours in the practice room and half his free time in the gym have made sure of that—but nothing proves it more than the way he scoops you up like it’s nothing whenever he’s excited.

Tonight it happens in the dorm kitchen. You’re still laughing at his awful dad-joke when he suddenly steps forward, palms sliding to your waist. “Binnie, don’t you da—”

Too late. He lifts you with a quick grin, folding you against his chest as if you weigh no more than a pillow. Your feet dangle, and you yelp before dissolving into giggles, fingers fisting the back of his hoodie. “See?” He says, proud and a little breathless. “Perfect fit.”

You give him a playful glare. “You’re going to throw your back out one day.”

He only tightens his hold. “Worth it.”

It’s not just brute strength—you can feel how careful he is, forearms braced beneath you, thumbs stroking comfortingly along your sides. He knows you still worry about your weight sometimes; he’s heard the offhand comments you make when you think he’s not listening. So every lift is part affection, part reminder: You’re light to me because loving you is easy.

He sets you on the counter as if placing something precious, presses a kiss to your forehead, and rests his hands on your thighs. “Hot chocolate or ramen?”