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The S-class practice room was…intense
Lights too bright and mirrors too clean. Cameras were always rolling even when you wanted to disappear into the floor because you couldn’t manage to rap the way you wanted to. The air always smelled faintly like sweat, lemon-scented disinfectant, nerves and more sweat.
But Inhu had to admit: it also came with perks.
Like being able to watch Kangmin absolutely kill it when practicing. Especially his center parts.
Inhu wasn’t even trying to be obvious about observing Kangmin. (He was.)
Kangmin moved like he’d been born under stage lights: shoulders straight but definitely not stiff even with his arm in a brace, steps sharp, every movement a blend of muscle memory and instinct. His face? Lethally focused, eyes intense, jaw tight. When the music cut and the Masters called him aside, it wasn’t a surprise.
“You’ve got that leading-man energy,” one of them had said. “Masculine. Powerful.”
Inhu, lurking at the back of the room and pretending to tie his shoe, nodded a little too hard. It wasn’t even untied.
Now, during their ten minute break, each of them clutching their water bottles like they would die dehydrated in the too-cold practice room, Inhu found himself sneaking glances again. Kangmin was still a little flushed, hair sticking to his forehead, posture relaxed but just enough to seem effortless. A light sheen of sweat made his skin look dewy under the studio lights.
Inhu cleared his throat, leaning against the mirrored wall with a calculated casualness.
“You looked really… manly and cool during your part—well no, the whole time actually.”
Kangmin raised an eyebrow mid-sip. “Manly?”
“Yeah,” Inhu said, crossing his arms and trying to ignore the weird flutter in his chest. “Like. Strong. Intense. Confident. You know. Center vibes.”
A slow, amused smirk curled across Kangmin’s lips. “So you were watching me that closely, huh?”
Inhu sputtered. “No! I mean, I was watching everyone. Just… you stood out. Like, objectively.”
“Mm, sure.”
Inhu opened his mouth to retort, but fate being cruel intervened.
Gyehyeon strolled by, towel slung around his neck, grinning like he’d just overheard something scandalous.
“Manly? Kangmin?” he repeated, mock-offended. “Bro, he’s our member who acts the cutest and loves covering girl group songs during schedules. Once at the dorms—”
Kangmin choked on his lemon water, coughing violently.
Inhu blinked. “Wait. What?”
“Look it up on youtube,” Gyehyeon said proudly, like he was revealing insane secrets. “Ask anyone. He even does the expressions. Full-on aegyo-mode. Dude’s a menace with a Twice track.”
Kangmin’s ears were bright red. “Hyung,” he hissed, shooting Gyehyeon a death glare. “Why would you tell him that…”
But Gyehyeon only winked and strolled off, humming “Fancy”.
And just like that, the image was planted.
Burned into Inhu’s brain: Kangmin. Girl group choreo. Full commitment.
-
Later that night, after lights out, when the dorms had finally fallen into a rare, peaceful silence, Inhu stared at the figure sleeping on the bed across his dorm.
He. Couldn’t. Sleep.
Every time he closed his eyes, Kangmin’s earlier dance replayed in his head. Filtered now through imagination. Cute Kangmin, biting his lip and glancing coyly at the imaginary camera. Kangmin winking. Kangmin twirling.
He rolled over, shoved his face into his pillow, groaned quietly. This was insane.
But curiosity?
Curiosity was a dangerous, dangerous thing.
At 1:27a.m., heart racing like he was about to commit a crime, Inhu slid his hand beneath his pillow and pulled out his phone. Well he wasn’t allowed to have his phone but who cares… desperate times call for desperate measures. One earbud in. Brightness dimmed. Volume low.
He searched.
Kangmin girl group dance.
Then added: VERIVERY. Fanmeeting. Live. Dorm.
It didn’t take long.
The first clip: A fanmeeting from two years ago. Kangmin doing “Cheer Up” with such precision and joy that the audience’s screams nearly drowned out the music. He did the wink. Inhu nearly dropped his phone.
The next: a live where Kangmin took on Wonyoung’s part in “Panorama.” That elegant wrist flick? That practiced, smug smile? It was ridiculous.
Then the last one, a grainy messy dorm clip from an old youtube video. Kangmin, in fuzzy socks and oversized pajamas, casually dancing to a cute song Inhu couldn’t recognize in the hallway. A hairband pushed his fringe back.
Inhu slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the surprised laugh that burst out. His whole body was warm now and it wasn’t from the blanket.
He had to stop. He needed to stop. He was spiraling.
He locked the phone and stuffed it back under his pillow like it had cursed him. But even in the dark, his heart wouldn’t slow down.
Because that wasn’t the Kangmin he’d been watching in practice. That wasn’t “masculine, powerful” Kangmin. That was expressive, unguarded Kangmin. And somehow Inhu liked that even more.
He was going insane.
-
The next morning, sun barely coming in through the thin dorm curtains, Kangmin sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
He yawned, arms stretching wide.
“Hey,” he said.
Inhu, already dressed and styling his hair, flinched like he’d been caught stealing.
“Huh?”
Kangmin blinked at him, expression still soft with sleep. “You, uh… slept weird last night. Kept rolling over. Whispering stuff.”
“I—I did not.”
“You sure?” Kangmin tilted his head, eyes narrowing.
Inhu paused for a second too long.
Kangmin’s eyebrows raised. “Were you… watching something?”
His hairbrush fell somewhere on his bed. Inhu didn’t move.
Kangmin’s eyes widened. “No way.”
Inhu stood up so fast he nearly knocked over his water bottle. “Gotta go brush my teeth—”
“You watched my girl group dance videos.”
He didn’t turn around.
“I knew it,” Kangmin groaned, collapsing back onto his pillow. “If only Gyehyeon hadn’t said anything.”
Inhu hovered awkwardly near the door. “…I was curious, okay?! You—you looked so different during practice, and then he said that, and I just—I had to know.”
Kangmin let out a dramatic sigh and pulled the blanket over his head. “This is betrayal.”
“No, really,” Inhu stepped closer, guilt gnawing but fascination stronger. “You’re actually… kind of incredible at it.”
A beat.
“Right…” came the muffled voice from under the blanket.
“Like. Ridiculously good. You have, like, idol duality or whatever.”
Kangmin peeked out, hair a mess, eyes still bleary. “…So. Manly and cute?”
“Unfortunately for me, yes.”
Kangmin smirked again—less sleepy now, more Kangmin. “You’re insane.”
Inhu rolled his eyes, trying (and failing) to hide the smile tugging at his lips. “Shut up.”
Kangmin stood up, stepping into Inhu’s personal space like he was always meant there.
Smirk still fully engaged, he leaned in and whispered, “I’ll do any dance you want later. Just for you.”
And with that, he walked past and out of the room to head to practice, leaving Inhu standing there, ears pink, mind spinning, heart pounding.
-
After hours of dancing to s-class over and over again, practice finally ended with heavy breaths and slumped shoulders. The cameras had stopped rolling a long time ago, their little red dots blinking off like unspoken permission to drop the perfect idol act.
Kangmin plopped down on the studio floor, lying flat on his back, sweat soaking through the back of his shirt. “Dead,” he muttered.
Inhu stood by the mirrored wall, strawberry milk in hand, watching Jiahao, Seowon, Gyehyeon and Junmin slowly trickle out with lazy waves and murmured goodbyes.
Only Donggyu, Inhu and Kangmin were left in the room.
It didn’t take long for Donggyu to finally get up and make the lights dimmer because they were now way too bright as he left the room.
Almost in complete darkness, the s-class practice room suddenly felt… private.
Inhu hesitated, then grabbed his phone and scrolled until he found the track he’d been lowkey obsessed with for the past week: a slow sexy beat.
He looked at Kangmin. Still flat on the floor, arms spread like a starfish.
“Kangmin,” he said quietly. “Wanna dance?”
Kangmin’s eyes cracked open. “Now? I can barely feel my legs.”
Inhu smirked. “I’ll do it with you. Come on. It’s a vibe. Just… just try it. You told me you’d dance to anything I wanted earlier today.”
“I said I’d show you any dance you wanted. One that I know…I don’t feel like learning a new dance today after all that practice.”
“You’re no fun, I waited for this all day!” Inhu said with his usual smirk.
Kangmin sighed dramatically but rolled to his feet anyway, hair sticking up in random directions. “Fine, but if I die, you’re explaining it to the company.”
Inhu tapped play and they spent the next few minutes learning the main parts of the dance. When they were finally satisfied, they decided to try it out as a duo.
The opening beat echoed low and smooth through the room: moody, rhythmic. It was slower than most of their usual dances, more groove than impact. But it had something different in it.
They moved in sync for the first few counts. Even half-tired, Kangmin was magnetic, every sway and glide pulled from some internal rhythm.
But then the chorus hit and Kangmin messed up.
His hand was meant to glide across his chest, a slow, precise sweep before turning into a spin. Instead, he turned too fast, lost footing, and nearly toppled into the mirror.
Inhu was beside him instantly, catching his already hurt arm before he could fall.
“Are you okay?” Inhu asked, gripping his arm.
Kangmin laughed breathlessly. “Smooth, huh?”
“No,” Inhu said, voice lower now. “But you will be.”
Without letting go, he guided Kangmin back into position. “Here,” he murmured, stepping closer, behind him now. “It’s all in the pacing. Slower. Controlled.”
Kangmin nodded, not trusting his voice. He felt the heat of Inhu’s chest at his back, the way his breath tickled the curve of his neck.
“Try again,” Inhu said.
They moved together this time. Inhu’s hand found Kangmin’s wrist, steadying the motion. The glide. Then the turn. This time perfect.
“You got it,” Inhu whispered.
Kangmin turned his head slightly, and they were too close. Dangerously close.
The music softened for the bridge and they should have continued dancing but neither of them moved. They just stared right at each other.
Kangmin’s breath hitched.
Inhu's hand was still on his arm, fingers curling just slightly, anchoring him. “You really are… kind of ridiculous,” Inhu said, eyes locked on his. “You go from all out center charisma to tripping over your own feet, and somehow you make both look—”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Because Kangmin stepped forward first. Just a breath. Just enough.
And Inhu leaned in.
The kiss wasn’t staged, wasn’t practiced like their choreo. It was soft at first, tentative, testing. Then Kangmin tilted his head slightly and deepened it, and suddenly Inhu’s hand was cupping his jaw, thumb brushing just under his ear.
The music faded out in the background, unnoticed.
When they finally pulled apart, it was silent. The kind of silence that echoes.
Kangmin’s voice was barely audible. “Wow.”
Inhu nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
A pause.
“Wanna do the choreo again?” Kangmin asked, trying to smirk through the way his breath caught.
Inhu laughed, quiet and real. “No. Not tonight.”
Kangmin leaned his forehead against Inhu’s shoulder, eyes fluttering closed. “Okay.”
They stood there like that for a while, two silhouettes in a half-lit studio, sweat cooling, hearts still racing.
Outside the practice room, the building was asleep and Inhu couldn’t believe Kangmin had managed to be fierce, cute and sexy all in one day.