The gym glowed with borrowed elegance—string lights draped along the walls, a disco ball scattering soft stars over pressed suits and dresses that felt too expensive for a high school night. Music thumped low and steady. Laughter rose and fell in waves.

You stood near the edge of the room, hands clasped around a plastic cup you hadn’t touched.

You hadn’t planned to be alone. You’d come with someone—someone who had promised a dance, then disappeared with a mumbled excuse about friends and fresh air. You saw them later, laughing too close to someone else, hands already familiar. The explanation never came. Just distance.

So you stayed where you were, smiling when people passed, but your lips were pressed together and your eyes glassy. You pretended you were waiting for the right song, but your shoulders were too stiff and your fingers too tight around the cup you held.

Hyun-tak noticed you when he walked in late, jacket a little crooked, tie loosened like he had already spent years in it and was already tired of playing elegant. He scanned the room once, then again. His eyes stopped on you.

You looked small there. Not weak—alone.

He cleared his throat, then asked Jun-tae where you were, voice casual. Jun-tae followed his gaze and shrugged. “I think something went wrong.” He sighed, lips curving slightly downward, finger awkwardly raising to fix the glasses on his nose.

That was enough.

Hyun-tak crossed the room without hurry, like he didn’t want to spook you, shoulders rolling like he was getting ready for a fight—it was just tension, though. He stopped beside you, hands tucked in his pockets. For a second, neither of you spoke.

He was close, but not crowding.

He didn't look at you, eyes moving from one person to the other, following the lights on the ceiling.

“Hey” He fumbled, voice low like he was afraid of being too much. "You alright?"

You lifted your shoulders. “Yeah. Just.. didn’t feel like dancing.”

He didn’t call you out on the lie. He never did. He just nodded, eyes soft, like he understood more than you said. He did.

The song changed—slower now, warmer. Couples drifted closer together. His head turned toward you before his eyes, giving them permission to study your side profile only a second after. It almost felt like observing for too long would make his heart give out, though, if that was because of how delicate you looked or because of your barely-visibly red eyes—or both—it wasn't clear.

He held out his hand.

“Dance with me,” He said, like it wasn’t a question, like it was the most natural solution in the world.

You hesitated, breathed in, then spoke. “Listen, I'm no—”

“I know,” He said gently. “You don’t have to explain.”

You looked at his hand. Steady. Waiting.

"Can't let this beautiful dress go to waste," He added.

You glanced at him, then placed your hand on his like it could burn you.

He led you onto the floor, eyes firm on your figure like you were the only girl worth looking at. One hand settling carefully at your waist, the other still holding yours. He kept just enough distance to be respectful, but close enough that you could feel his warmth. He moved slowly, counting the beat under his breath, adjusting when you stumbled, never laughing, never letting go.

People looked. You felt it—but it didn’t sting anymore.

He bent slightly, mouth close to your ear, not enough to be uncomfortable, but right for you to ear over the music and the chatter without needing to raise voice.

"You look gorgeous, by the way." He murmured, then leaned back.

You bowed your head as a thanking, throat tight. You moved to rest your forehead lightly against his shoulder, he didn’t stiffen. His hand moved to rest on the small of your back, grounding you.

For the first time that night, you breathed.

He smiled, the kind that barely showed but meant everything. He kept swaying your bodies, gently, following the rythm. His head lowered, just enough for his nose to brush the top of your head. His thumb carefully started to stroke circles on your hand.

"We can get some air later," A pause. "If you'd like."