Chapter Text
Hyunjin was late, which meant nothing and everything.
Nothing, because he was always late.
Everything, because you always waited for him anyway.
The studio smelled faintly of resin and rain. Water tapped against the windows in careful rhythms, as though the sky was practicing choreography with the dancers inside. You sat on the polished floor, chin on your knees, idly sketching the outline of a figure mid-turn. Your pencil never bothered capturing the face. You could never get that right; the expression was more movement than features.
The speaker crackled, then hissed, then surrendered to silence again. Someone swore. Someone else laughed. Hyunjin still didn’t appear.
You pretended to be annoyed. You pretended badly.
When the door finally pushed open, it was with no fanfare at all. Just Hyunjin, hair damp from the rain, strands clinging to his jaw as if reluctant to let go.
“You started without me?” he asked, tossing his bag beside yours.
“We waited,” Minho said, not bothering to hide the grin in her voice. “Like we always do.”
Hyunjin clasped his hands together in mock gratitude. “My loyal subjects.”
“You’re impossible,” you muttered.
He heard the warmth underneath it. He always did.
Rehearsal began with warm-ups, though Hyunjin hardly needed them. His body woke faster than muscle should. He moved like someone remembering rather than learning, as if dance was a language his bones were fluent in before the rest of him existed.
You watched from your corner, sketchbook open, pretending to capture the poses. You almost fooled yourself. But you didn’t draw him because he was beautiful. Plenty of things were beautiful. You drew him because he looked like someone who’d been carved from longing, and longing was harder to ignore.
Halfway through warm-ups, the speaker finally cooperated and strings unfurled through the room. The other dancers scattered to stretch and practice counts, but Hyunjin looked at you.
“Want to see something?”
You tried not to smile. “Only if it’s good.”
He scoffed as though that was the least generous condition anyone had ever given him, then stepped into position. The rain’s tempo matched the music in a strange duet of accident and intention.
Hyunjin moved.
Not the confident performer from recitals, not the polished version reserved for crowds. This was quieter. A dance carved small for one person. A request disguised as choreography. You knew he’d deny that if you said it aloud.
When the music faded, the room was still for a moment too long. Even Minho stopped stretching.
Hyunjin’s chest rose and fell like he’d been chasing something through the air and hadn’t caught it in time.
“Well?” he asked.
“You kill me,” you murmured before your brain could filter it.
His brows lifted, amusement flickering to life. “Strong review.”
You flushed, eyes darting anywhere that wasn’t his face. “I mean—you’re good.”
“Sure. That’s definitely what you meant.”
He reached for your sketchbook, but you pressed it to your chest before he could take it.
“Don’t,” you warned.
“Embarrassing?”
“Private.”
Hyunjin hummed, neither agreeing nor apologizing, simply accepting that you had rooms in yourself he wasn’t allowed into yet. Or maybe he liked the idea of waiting at the threshold.
After rehearsal, the rain softened into something more polite. You and Hyunjin shared an umbrella that was tragically not meant for two people. Your shoulder brushed his with every uneven step. You both pretended it was inconvenient; neither moved away.
“You hungry?” he asked.
“With you or in general?”
“Both.”
The restaurant was the kind of place where the fluorescent lights buzzed loudly enough to become a soundtrack. You ordered too much food. Hyunjin picked out every mushroom and relocated it to your plate like a ritual the two of you repeated without discussing.
When you laughed at him, he didn’t look away the way most people do. He watched, eyes steady, almost studying. It made your pulse do confusing arithmetic.
“You always look like you’re thinking about something,” he said.
“I usually am.”
“What about?”
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be half as interesting.”
Hyunjin leaned back, expression soft. “You assume I’m interesting.”
“I don’t assume anything. I observe.”
“Then what do you observe now?”
You exhaled a laugh. “Someone who should own a scarf. Winter’s not a suggestion.”
He grinned, chin tipped toward the window. “Maybe I’m waiting for someone to buy me one.”
The sentence rustled through your chest like a bird startled into flight.
You didn’t answer. Not because you had nothing to say, but because you had too much.
Later, when he walked you home, he didn’t linger at your doorstep like a romantic cliché. He paused halfway down the street, looked back over his shoulder as though debating something, then kept walking.
You watched until he disappeared into the rain-blurred horizon, umbrella folding him into the night. The sky swallowed the silhouette, and the city resumed the indifferent hum of traffic and neon.
You stood there far longer than you needed to, hands curled into fists in your pockets, pulse misbehaving.
You didn’t know yet that fate had already seen you.
That Dalnim had already taken note.
That longing was already currency.
All you knew was that Hyunjin had smiled at you in bad lighting, and somehow that was enough to make the world feel altered.