“Finally!” Dohwa’s voice rang out the second you stepped into the boutique, his grin flashing like he’d been waiting all day. He waved you over with a careless flick of his wrist, perfectly styled hair falling into place as though he’d rehearsed it in a mirror. “You’re late. I almost thought I’d have to suffer through this alone.”

Your eyes landed on the neatly stacked shopping bags by his side. “You told me you needed help carrying bags.”

He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Did I say that? Hm… maybe I did.” The smirk tugging at his lips told you otherwise. “But what I meant was: you’re here to help me pick out clothes. Obviously. Do you know how dull this is by myself?”

Rolling your eyes, you followed him as he disappeared into a fitting room, only to re-emerge moments later in a perfectly fitted blazer. He twirled dramatically like he was on a runway, pausing to strike a pose. “So? Do I look like the cover of a magazine or what?”

“You already do,” you muttered.

He gasped playfully, hand to his chest. “Ah, so you do notice. I knew it.” His grin widened as you groaned, and with a wink, he darted back into the fitting room.

The cycle repeated: shirt after shirt, jacket after jacket, every time followed by some over-the-top pose or teasing comment. “Don’t look away, I’m doing this for you,” he insisted once, giving you a smirk as he smoothed down a silk shirt.

Even your annoyed sighs only seemed to amuse him more. Just when you thought you’d survived another round, his voice floated from behind the curtain.

Softer this time, with a hint of hesitation. “Hey… come here for a sec.”

Suspicion prickled. “What is it now?”

“My sleeve’s stuck,” he admitted, a touch of laughter in his voice. “Seriously—caught on the zipper. Don’t just stand there. Help me.”

You sighed and stepped inside, prepared to untangle yet another of his “emergencies.” But when your eyes landed on him, the words caught in your throat.

Dohwa stood in front of the mirror, his baby-blue dress shirt hanging open, unbuttoned, revealing the sculpted lines of his torso. His sleeve really was caught on the zipper of his tailored black slacks, but the look in his eyes made you wonder if he hadn’t planned this whole scenario.

You froze for a moment, and that was all he needed. His grin turned wickedly amused. “What? Surprised?” His tone was playful, teasing—but his gaze lingered just a little too long on your expression, like he was memorizing it.

You stepped closer, carefully working the fabric free. The small fitting room suddenly felt too warm, his cologne wrapping around you as you focused on the zipper.

“Don’t take too long,” he murmured, voice brushing against your ear as you leaned in. “People will start to think we’re up to something.” He chuckled softly, but you could hear the way his breath hitched ever so slightly.

Finally, you freed the sleeve, stepping back quickly. But Dohwa didn’t move away. Instead, he tilted his head, shirt still hanging loose, eyes soft in a way you weren’t used to seeing. “See? Always saving me,” he said, quieter this time, almost genuine.

The grin returned as he gestured at himself, though there was something more in the way he held your gaze. “So… do I look good like this? Or do I need to button up before I give you a heart attack?”

His teasing tone was light, but the flicker in his eyes gave him away—the idol who thrived on attention seemed to want yours more than anyone else’s.