ENHYEOK POV
Fuck.
Why is she not looking away? Why is she still holding eye contact with me like that is normal?
People do not do that with me. They look away, flinch, blink—react in some way. They never just stay like this.
Not her.
She keeps lifting herself up, eyes locked on mine like she is trying to figure out if I am even real. It lands somewhere uncomfortable—low, tight, irritating.
I should look away. I know I should. I tell myself to do it.
But nothing moves.
My eyes stay on her like they have a mind of their own.
Great. She probably thinks I am a creep.
Look away, Enhyeok. Now.
Nothing.
She lifts again and a loose strand of her hair sticks to her cheek. My fingers tighten slightly around her ankles before I even realize it.
Why am I even counting?
What number is she on?
I have no idea.
This is wrong.
She lifts again—breathing uneven, eyes still too focused—and something in my head snaps.
No.
I let go of her ankles too abruptly.
She loses balance instantly and drops back onto the grass with a loud exhale.
She looks up at me, annoyed. "What is wrong with you?"
I keep my expression flat. "I lost count."
"So?" she fires back immediately, like I just insulted her.
"So do it again."
She pushes herself up halfway, staring at me like I told her to jump off a building. "Why would I start again? Are you insane?"
Maybe.
Right now, I probably am.
"Do it," I say.
She groans loudly and drops back onto the ground in defeat.
I crouch again, hands hovering near her ankles for a second before I grip them properly this time.
She starts counting.
"One."
Her voice is breathless. Annoyed.
"Two."
She lifts again, this time avoiding my eyes like I am something she should not look at.
Good.
That is better.
She should not look at me like that.
My head is already off balance.
I shift my gaze away slightly, focusing on the ground instead. The grass. The dirt. Anything but her.
Still, every time she lifts, she enters my peripheral vision again.
Her voice continues, softer now, threading through the quiet in a way that does not belong there.
I tighten my grip just enough to keep her steady.
Nothing more.
This is nothing.
Just exercise.
Just a task.
Just her.
Close enough that I can feel her movement through my hands.
I keep my face neutral. My breathing controlled.
She lifts again, voice straining slightly.
"Thirty."
I blink once.
Finally.
I do not look at her this time. My eyes stay on the ground, expression empty, posture steady.
But inside, everything is disorganized.
Unsettled.
Like something is out of place and I do not know how to fix it.
And I hate that she does not even notice.
_______
JIAH POV
My stomach actually hurts.
Not dramatic pain—real pain. Like my muscles are protesting their existence.
That idiot.
I press my hand over my stomach, trying to recover while he stands up like nothing happened, brushing himself off.
"Now it's my turn," he says. "You don't need to hold my ankles."
Relief hits me so hard I almost thank him.
Instead, I flip him off.
Quick. Clean. Perfect execution.
He does not react, obviously, but I feel satisfied anyway as I drag myself away and collapse onto the steps.
"I hate him," I mutter, breathing heavily. "Actually hate him."
I lean back, still recovering, and my gaze drifts toward the basketball court.
And lands on Jiho.
Of course.
He is playing. Running, jumping, moving effortlessly. Sweat, sharp movements, focus.
And yes, he looks good.
Annoyingly good.
My eyes follow him automatically, like I have no control over it.
He dribbles, shoots, lands—everything slowing down in my head like a scene I should not be watching.
Then my brain does what it always does.
Replays it.
His voice.
Soft.
Clear.
"I don't have feelings for you."
The whispers.
"How many times now?"
"Is she serious?"
I remember standing there, saying nothing, just staring at the ground.
I frown, the memory hitting harder than it should.
"Why me?" I mutter under my breath. "Out of everyone."
Before I can sink further into it—
"Jiah, watch out!"
I look up.
A basketball is already flying toward me.
Too fast.
It hits me straight in the face.
Pain explodes instantly. I stumble, trying to regain balance, hands flying up too late.
My eyes water on reflex.
It hurts.
A lot.
Something warm drips down.
I look.
Blood.
"Of course," I whisper, pressing my hand against my nose.
It is already bleeding badly.
I scramble for a tissue, pressing it against my nose, trying to stop it.
My eyes sting, my face throbs, and my pride takes the final hit.
Then—
Footsteps.
Fast.
Different.
Someone stops right in front of me.
I look up.
And freeze.
Jiho.