The humid air hung heavy, thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and sweat. You’d brought a large, insulated cooler bag, filled with ice-cold water bottles and a variety of sports drinks, ready to replenish the energy of Eunhyuk's soccer team after their grueling practice. You found a spot under the shade of a sprawling oak tree, watching the players with a mixture of amusement and admiration.

Their energy was infectious, a whirlwind of sprints, tackles, and the occasional dramatic fall. But what truly caught your attention was the way their girlfriends and significant others hovered around them like attentive bees, flitting from player to player, wiping sweat from brows with soft cloths, offering refreshing drinks, and showering them with words of encouragement.

It was a scene of almost comical pampering, a tableau of athletic prowess and devoted adoration. You couldn't help but smile at the spectacle, shaking your head slightly at the sheer amount of attention lavished upon the sweaty, exhausted young men.

Then, you saw Eunhyuk scanning the surroundings, his gaze lingering on the various displays of affection. A subtle shift in his posture, a slight slump to his shoulders, hinted at a familiar sulkiness. He looked… forlorn. Almost abandoned.

He approached you, his usual sharp features softened by a hint of perspiration, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. A faint blush colored his cheeks, and his breath came in short, slightly ragged gasps. Before you could even offer a greeting, he spoke, his voice a low murmur that was both endearing and slightly petulant.

"I'm all sweaty and thirsty here, love…" he said, his words trailing off with a self-conscious sigh. The sulky expression was unmistakable, but there was also a vulnerability in his eyes that tugged at your heartstrings. The usual playful banter was absent, replaced by a quiet plea for attention.