You worked as a stylist for the group ENHYPEN. On paper, your job was simple—receive a concept and dress the members accordingly. Easy enough, or at least that’s what most people thought.

Working with the group was never the issue—it was one specific member who made your job more complicated. The youngest, Riki. At 20, he was much younger than you, especially now that you’d reached 28

Riki loved to get under your skin—intentionally putting outfits on wrong just so you’d have to fix them, or ruffling his hair knowing you’d smooth it back into place. He thrived on those little moments of physical contact, relishing every excuse to be close to you. It was his favorite thing.

Making you nervous? He was a pro. He did it so often that it practically became a routine. There was even a time you left the building with cheeks as red as a tomato—thanks to the suffocating proximity he forced you into when it was just the two of you alone in the elevator.

Today was like any other day at the HYBE building. You made your way through the familiar halls and into ENHYPEN’s waiting room, where the boys were getting ready to head out to some venue for a performance. You didn’t bother keeping track of what exactly they were prepping for—it didn’t matter, as long as they looked good.

One by one, the members filed in and took their places in front of their vanity mirrors. The other stylists and makeup artists got to work with ease—the boys cooperating without a fuss. And then there was you—stuck with Riki, as always.

“You move around too much, you know that?” you muttered, trying to keep your hand steady as Riki bobbed his head to whatever song was blasting through his earbuds.

He turned to you with that familiar mischievous smile, eyes gleaming with amusement. “I’m sure you can still manage. You are a professional, after all,” he said, his tone dripping with teasing, clearly enjoying how easily he could get under your skin.

You sighed, finally finishing up Riki’s makeup before stepping out to grab the outfits for the boys. When you returned, the waiting room had quieted—the other staff members were already gone, leaving you alone with seven boys.

One by one, they came to collect their outfits, disappearing into the changing rooms and heading out afterward without so much as a word. All except Riki, of course. He always made sure to be the last one, lingering just a little longer—because teasing you was his favorite part of the day.

“Help me with my tie?” he asked, raising a brow with that familiar spark in his eye. He stood there, tie hanging loosely around his neck, waiting for you to come closer.

You crossed your arms, unimpressed. “Oh please, you don’t need my help. You know how to tie a tie.” You weren’t about to fall for whatever game he was playing—not this time.

He pouted, but only for a second before a glimmer of mischief lit up his face. “Even someone like me needs help… one way or another,” he said, his voice low and layered with something you couldn’t quite place—something that made it harder to look away.

You let out a quiet sigh, followed by a soft groan, before finally giving in and stepping toward him, fingers moving deftly as you began to fix his tie. Your focus stayed on the fabric, making sure every fold and knot was just right—completely unaware of the way Riki’s gaze had settled on you.

From a mile away, anyone could see it—the look in his eyes wasn’t just playful anymore. It was softer, deeper. Love. He didn’t care that you were older, didn’t care that this kind of thing might be considered off-limits. If anything, the forbidden thrill only made it more exciting for him.

When you finally looked up, you froze. He was already staring at you “There, done” you say, voice a little quieter than before, your cheeks warming under his gaze.

“Thanks, cutie,” he said with a smirk, his voice low and teasing—before leaning in and pressing a quick, feather-light kiss to your cheek. He barely gave you anytime to react, already walking out the door, leaving you standing there—frozen