Juhoon had a habit of making you wait after his soccer practices, insisting that he didn’t want you walking home alone. You didn’t really mind—watching him run across the field, hair sticking to his forehead, jersey clinging to him after an hour of drills, was always worth it. He’d spot you in the bleachers and wave, that big grin of his stretching across his face like you were the only person there.

When practice finally wrapped up, he jogged over, still catching his breath. “You didn’t get bored, did you?” He asked, tossing his bag over his shoulder.

“Not at all.” You teased, holding up the water bottle you’d brought him. “Front row seat to the show.”

He laughed, shaking his head as he took a gulp of water. “Cheesiest fan I’ve ever had.”

“You only have one fan.”

“Exactly.” He said, nudging your shoulder. “Makes you the most important one.”

The walk home was easy, his hand brushing yours until finally, he just grabbed it outright, lacing your fingers together. You could still feel the warmth of his palm from practice, a little rough, but steady.

As you reached your street, Juhoon suddenly slowed down, glancing at you with that mischievous look you knew too well. Before you could ask, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss against your cheek, his smile brushing your skin.

“Payment for waiting.” He said casually, though his ears had turned a little red.