Chapter Text
Kiss my lips,
just like magic
Move your hips,
your body's growing restless
You're exposed,
you got a habit
♡
The studio lights were blinding, making the stark black background feel even more dramatic. The members of NCT DREAM were a mess of hyperactive energy after filming the penalty segment for Dream VS Dream. Loud cheers and playful shoving filled the space, but in the center, two figures held a moment of tense, personal effort that the cameras only registered as comedy.
Chenle’s arms were shaking.
He had Jisung in a princess carry, a posture that felt utterly ridiculous considering Jisung was a head taller and significantly heavier, a solid twenty-three-year-old man who looked like he belonged nowhere but on the ground. Chenle was trying to look nonchalant, his usual playful smirk plastered on, but the effort was pulling at his shoulder tendons and making his knees tremble.
Jeno had already managed his two members with effortless strength—Donghyuck draped over his forearm and Renjun clinging to his back. Mark, predictably, had Jaemin wrapped up. Chenle had been left with Jisung. It wasn't an accident.
"Jaemin's right, Lele," Renjun called out, sounding amused. "Your legs are going to give up."
Chenle just let out a loud, slightly strained, "Ay!" which earned a laugh from the staff.
Beneath the playful noise, Chenle could feel Jisung shift slightly, his boyfriend’s face suddenly close to his own, concern replacing victory in his expression. Jisung whispered, low enough that only Chenle could hear.
“Be careful, aren’t I heavy?” Jisung asked, his voice laced with genuine worry.
That was the worst thing Jisung could have said. It made the entire act, which Chenle was trying to perform with confidence, feel like a public display of his own inadequacy. Jisung was his boyfriend; he should be able to lift him. Effortlessly. Securely.
Chenle forced a smile, pushing the pride back into his chest. He tightened his grip, the leather of Jisung's trousers squeaking under his fingers. The moment was broadcasted live to a dozen cameras, so Chenle had to maintain the bit.
“N-not as bad as I expected?” Chenle stuttered the lie, trying to sound cool but failing miserably. He nearly corrected himself—not bad at all!—but the air was already gone from his lungs. The weight was real. The struggle was real.
Jisung, oblivious to the fact that his worry had wounded Chenle’s pride, just leaned in a fraction more, resting his head near Chenle's shoulder. He was focused on being safe, and in that moment, being cradled, even by a struggling Chenle, felt surprisingly… precious. A rush went through Jisung that was confusingly pleasant. He felt like the most delicate thing in the room, held aloft by sheer will.
“Okay, that’s a cut for the penalty segment!” the PD yelled.
Chenle practically dropped Jisung, staggering back a step and dramatically grabbing his lower back. The cameras were still rolling for the wrap-up, and he had to turn his pain into a joke.
"I think I need a month off, my back is broken!" Chenle exclaimed, fanning himself dramatically, but the internal thought was sharper: I will never struggle like that again.
He quickly glanced at Jisung, who was dusting off his leather pants, a soft, almost dazed expression on his face that Chenle couldn't quite decipher.
♡
Backstage was a controlled kind of chaos. Stylists rushed around and wiping off sweat. Chenle collapsed onto a folding chair, immediately starting to roll his shoulder and elbow with a grimace. The exaggerated pain he’d shown for the cameras felt very real now.
Jisung hovered near him, still looking slightly flushed from the rush of being lifted. He pulled a fresh water bottle from the cooler and handed it to Chenle.
“Here, drink this. I’m so sorry, Lele,” Jisung said, his eyebrows pinched together in worry. He gently knelt next to Chenle, resting a warm hand on his forearm.
Chenle pulled his arm back quickly, a little more abruptly than intended. He immediately softened his face, flashing a reassuring smile.
“Stop! What are you talking about? It was nothing, Sung-ah,” Chenle insisted, trying to sound breezy while every fiber of his arm muscle screamed. “Just a little show for the cameras. Besides, I carried you fine! I just played it up for the comedy, you know?”
It was a total lie, but Chenle’s pride demanded it. He couldn’t stand the thought of Jisung feeling bad about over a game, or worse, seeing Chenle as weak. He wanted Jisung to feel like he was made of feathers, effortlessly light and precious in Chenle’s embrace.
Jisung’s face didn't entirely lose its worry, but he nodded slowly, accepting the public narrative. He squeezed Chenle’s shoulder gently before standing up to go change out of his filming outfit.
A few minutes later, the members piled into the two vans. Chenle and Jisung, both headed to their respective family homes that night, ended up sitting side-by-side in the first van, enjoying the rare peace of a quiet ride.
Chenle leaned his head back against the window, the low, steady hum of the engine a soothing backdrop to his simmering determination. He looked over at Jisung, whose phone screen cast a soft blue glow on his focused features. Jisung was so big. Taller, broader, his shoulders easily eclipsing Chenle’s. And he was all Chenle’s.
I need to be stronger.
It wasn’t just about the next penalty game; that was a stupid joke. It was about that moment when Jisung leaned in and whispered his apology. It was about Chenle’s desperate, protective need to always be the one who could hold Jisung, effortlessly and completely.
He nudged Jisung's knee lightly with his own.
“Hey. Stop looking at comments. You’re done for the day.”
Jisung locked his phone immediately, his attention snapping to Chenle with a gentle smile. “I was just looking at the schedule. It feels so far away.”
“It is far away,” Chenle agreed, reaching out to lace his fingers with Jisung's. Their hands fit together perfectly, despite Chenle’s smaller frame. “But then we'll be together again.”
“Yeah, tomorrow” Jisung chuckled softly, squeezing his hand. Two months in, and they were still in that lovely, clingy stage where even a twenty-four-hour separation felt like an eternity.
Chenle looked at their joined hands. He was focused on the contrast: Jisung's hands were strong, with long fingers perfect. But Chenle knew, deep in his gut, that the feeling Jisung chased was the security of being held, not doing the holding.
♡
Chenle tossed his phone onto his bed, the adrenaline from last night's charged kiss with Jisung still buzzing under his skin. He didn't sleep well. He didn't want to just feel capable; he needed to be capable.
He changed his mind about waiting until rehearsal. He grabbed his phone and scrolled to the group chat he shared with Jeno and Jaemin, his favorite pair of workout addicts.
Chenle: Guys. I need a favor.
Jaemin: 💅 My personal trainer services are expensive, Lele. What’s up?
Jeno: Hey. What is it?
Chenle: I need to seriously bulk up my upper body for the Beat It Up choreo. Plus, the next leg of the tour is going to be brutal, and I want to be ready. Jeno, you’re the expert on form, and Jaemin, you know all the protein stuff. Can I tag along with you two? Starting now?
He waited, heart pounding slightly. This was technically true—he wanted strength for the tour—but the real motivation was wrapped up in black leather pants and a tall, beautiful boyfriend who liked to be claimed. He couldn't risk telling them the truth, or they would never let him live it down. Jaemin sent a slew of excited cat stickers.
Jaemin: OMG, YES. I knew you’d come to the dark side. We can get matching tanks! I’ll send you the address to our gym. See you in an hour!
Jeno: Cool. I’ll map out a beginner strength routine. No skipping leg day, though, Chenle. We need stability for the stages. We’ll focus on form and building consistency. This will be great for the promotions, seriously.
Relief washed over Chenle. They totally bought it. He was officially on a mission.
♡
Two weeks passed. Chenle was religious about his new routine. He hated it. His muscles constantly ached, he drank protein shakes that tasted like chalk, and he had to turn down Jisung's casual dinner invites because he needed to go lift instead.
His cover story was simple: "I'm focusing on my health and strength for the tour, Sungie! Don't worry about me!"
But even Jisung, sweet and oblivious, was starting to notice Chenle’s constant state of tired but determined.
The people who noticed the most, however, were his gym buddies.
Jeno was the first to realize something was off. In the beginning, Chenle would wear a different hoodie or t-shirt to the gym every time. After about ten sessions, Chenle had settled into a uniform: a black, fitted tee that showed off the small, new definition in his shoulders and arms, and black shorts.
Jeno would catch Chenle flexing slightly in the mirror after a successful set of bicep curls, a fierce, serious expression on his face that only melted away when he thought no one was looking.
One afternoon, Jeno watched Chenle successfully hit a new personal record on the bench press.
"Nice, Chenle!" Jeno cheered, giving him a high-five. "That's fantastic progress. You're really disciplined about this."
Chenle gave a strained nod. "Gotta be," he gasped, still catching his breath. "Don't want to mess up, I need the stamina. Plus..." Chenle trailed off, his eyes going distant for a moment. He was likely thinking about the feel of a certain tall dancer in his arms.
Jaemin, who had been on his phone scrolling, suddenly looked up, a knowing glint in his eyes.
"Speaking of motivation..." Jaemin started, leaning close to Chenle with a mischievous grin. "You know, Chenle, you're getting almost as toned as Jisung. Maybe when you go home tonight, you should send him a mirror selfie."
Chenle's face immediately flushed a furious red. "Jaemin! Why would I do that? It's not for him!" he hissed, his eyes darting toward the gym door.
Jaemin simply shrugged, a quiet, almost smug smile playing on his lips. "Sure, sure. But I bet Sungie would love to see this. Want me to take a picture for your boyfriend?"
Chenle grabbed his water bottle and stormed off to the pull-up bar, muttering something about Jaemin being impossible.
Jeno just shook his head slightly, trying to hide his own smile. He glanced at Jaemin, who gave him a subtle wink. They knew Chenle was definitely getting stronger for the tour, but they also knew that the sudden, intense commitment wasn't about the music concept. It was about Chenle’s pride, and the very real possibility of lifting one specific person without collapsing.
♡
The company gym had become Chenle’s new battlefield.
Two weeks had passed since the penalty challenge, two weeks of consistent, brutal sessions with Jaemin and Jeno, where his focus wasn't on "endurance for the tour" but on the specific, singular motion of lifting a human being—a tall, strong, precious human being named Park Jisung.
Today, Chenle was looking less like an exhausted kitty and more like a determined, sweat-drenched warrior. He was still small, but his posture was different, his shoulders held with a new, subtle tension.
Jisung was there, of course, because Chenle had asked him to film something for content. Jisung stood near the squat rack, clutching a specialized gym bag like it was a baby he needed to protect. It held electrolyte powder, various recovery balms, and three different sized resistance bands.
“Jeno-hyung, are you sure this is a good idea?” Jisung asked for the third time, his voice laced with concern as he watched Chenle bounce slightly on the balls of his feet. “You guys just finished your full set. Doing these extra challenges is why Jaemin hyung says you have shorter life spans.”
Jeno chuckled, adjusting his grip on the heavy, athletic Chenle. Chenle had somehow convinced Jeno to be his primary "test weight" since Jisung was busy "filming" and Jaemin was working on his aesthetic, too used to Chenle's idea of a fun challenge.
“It’s good core work, Sung-ah,” Jeno assured him, slightly out of breath as Chenle, with a concentrated growl, managed a shallow lift.
Chenle put Jeno down, staggering slightly but managing to stay upright this time. He was panting, but the effort hadn't defeated him.
“See? I’m fine, Sung-ah!” Chenle gasped, wiping a hand across his forehead. “I told you, it’s just about activating those stabilizing muscles. It’s hard to do a full princess lift with no warm-up, but I’m getting there. I’m almost not using my back at all.”
Jisung, his eyes wide, rushed forward, bypassing Chenle’s triumphant grin and instead zeroing in on a red mark on his wrist.
“Lele, your wrist! You should wear wraps!” Jisung started rummaging frantically in his bag. “And you didn’t stretch those hamstrings enough! You need to take the foam roller for five minutes right now or you won’t be able to walk to dinner.”
Chenle laughed, pulling Jisung into a tight, sweaty hug. He didn't care about the hamstrings; he only cared about the way Jisung smelled like fresh laundry and mild panic.
“Okay, okay, Mom. We will stretch. But first, look at this. I can almost do this effortlessly now,” Chenle said, his voice dropping to a low, proud murmur meant only for Jisung’s ears. He wasn't talking about Jeno. He was talking about Jisung.
Jisung’s breath hitched. That word—effortlessly—was a trigger now. It was a secret word, one Chenle didn't know he possessed, that instantly made Jisung’s mind flash back to the fantasy of Chenle grabbing him, asserting his control with nothing but sheer, determined strength. The image of Chenle struggling to lift Jeno in the ridiculous, concentrated way he just had was unexpectedly intoxicating.
The contrast was huge: Chenle, small and whining about a stubbed toe five minutes ago, now demonstrating this incredible physical will just to master one specific, ridiculous lift.
Jisung felt his knees weaken—not because he was tired, but because the power Chenle was dedicating to this secret mission was profoundly arousing.
He swallowed hard. “Y-you better stretch,” he managed, his voice a little too airy. He took a step back, needing distance from the sweaty, prideful intensity radiating off his boyfriend. He needed a moment to re-assert his caretaker role before his desire completely took over.
“I’m going to go make you a recovery shake,” Jisung mumbled, nearly sprinting toward the protein station.
Chenle watched him go, feeling a quiet victory warm his chest. He didn't know what caused that sudden flush on Jisung's cheeks, but he knew he was closer than ever to fulfilling his goal.
♡
The moment Jisung stepped out of the gym, the cold air felt like a shock against his skin, but the heat that had settled in his core during Chenle's strained lift remained. He mumbled his goodbyes, claiming a sudden headache, and practically sprinted away.
Once inside of his own room, the heavy hoodie came off, thrown carelessly onto a chair. Jisung walked straight to his nightstand, his movements jerky and hurried, already anticipating the privacy and the desperate need to translate that electric feeling into something physical. He fumbled in the drawer, pulling out the small tube of lube and his phone.
He collapsed onto his bed, the plush comforter feeling too soft beneath his large frame. He looked up at the ceiling, feeling a sharp pang of embarrassment that immediately tightened his chest.
It felt pathetic. He was the tallest member, the powerful main dancer, capable of throwing his weight around on stage. Yet, the thought of Chenle—the sunny, kitten-like Chenle—grunting and straining to prove he was strong enough to hold him, made Jisung's abdomen feel warm and heavy with need.
He opened his video gallery and found the new pictures from the gym—Chenle, sweaty and focused, his mouth set in a determined line. The 'cute' was gone, replaced by a fierce, driven intensity.
"You're too tall, Jisung," he mumbled, closing his eyes and pressing the heels of his hands against his forehead. "You're supposed to be the one... you have to be the one..." The familiar, toxic doubt surfaced—the ghost of his ex-partner's expectations years ago, insisting that Jisung's size meant he had to be the top. He felt like he only deserved to top because that's what was expected of his masculine presentation.
But that was a lie. That was the knot in his mind that felt so tangled and wrong.
He slicked his fingers, which were long and slender—perfect for reaching exactly where he needed to be. He took a shaky breath, focusing intensely on the warm rush in his lower abdomen.
I want to be filled. I want to feel him.
As he pushed his first finger inside, Jisung closed his eyes tightly and forced the reality away, replacing it with fantasy.
He imagined Chenle’s face, not grinning, but serious and slightly breathless, just like when he was lifting Jeno. He imagined Chenle’s much smaller, warmer hand on his thigh, commanding him to spread. He imagined Chenle's face hovering above him, that triumphant look in his eyes that said, I claimed this, and you are mine.
He imagined those cute, small hands being rough, dragging him closer. He imagined Chenle’s fingers, smaller, yet somehow more intense, replacing his own, exploring him with a confident certainty that he had the right to be there.
The fantasy became so vivid, so real, that a sound, a choked, vulnerable sob, escaped his throat. The warmth swelled, sharp and sweet, and the pleasure was overwhelming. It wasn't just the physical sensation; it was the validation. The confirmation that he could be tall, he could be strong, and yet still be the most delicate thing in his boyfriend's arms, taken and controlled by the very man who looked like an innocent kitten when he smiled.
It doesn't matter who you are, Chenle. Just be inside me, he thought, letting the warm comfort wash over his mind—the soft, adoring side of his feelings for Chenle. He didn't care about roles; he just cared about that electric, intense, undeniable connection.
♡
The main house was quiet, smelling faintly of expensive air freshener and the chicken Daegal had just devoured. Park Jisung, already showered and comfortable in one of Chenle’s biggest, softest hoodies, was sprawled across the plush carpet in Chenle’s room, scrolling absently through variety show clips. He felt peaceful, settled, and completely at home.
He glanced up when the bedroom door creaked open, his gaze snapping to his boyfriend.
Chenle looked like he’d just emerged from a sauna that had been set on fire. His usual cheerful energy was muted, replaced by a fierce, exhausted glow. He was wearing his fitted black gym tee and shorts, both damp and clinging to his frame. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and a sheen of sweat covered every inch of exposed skin, making him look slick and slightly dangerous.
“Sung-ah! I’m home!” Chenle announced, dropping his gym bag with a thud near the door. The sound was followed by a dramatic sigh of relief.
Jisung instantly abandoned his phone and sat up on his knees. “Lele, you look dead! Go shower now. I already refilled Daegal’s bowl and—”
Jisung didn't get to finish his sentence. Chenle, without breaking stride, crossed the carpet and swooped down. He had a triumphant, mischievous glint in his eyes—the kind that said, I know I’m gross, and I know you can’t resist.
“Ew, no, stop! Don’t touch me!” Jisung squeaked, throwing his arms up in a playful but half-hearted defense. “You’re all sticky! I literally just showered!”
Chenle just laughed, a low, panting sound that sent a little shiver down Jisung's spine. “Too late!” he crowed, pulling Jisung forward by the front of the oversized hoodie.
Jisung's instinct was to push back, to use his height and weight advantage to gently pull Chenle away toward the bathroom. He lifted his hands and placed them against Chenle’s arms, right on the bicep and shoulder, intending to shove him back with a dramatic, exaggerated groan.
But his hands froze.
Under the slick layer of sweat and the thin, damp cotton of the shirt, Chenle’s muscles felt solid. It wasn't the soft give of his body before, the playful squish Jisung was used to. This was density. This was muscle, taut and defined, vibrating faintly with the exhaustion of heavy effort.
Jisung tried to push. He genuinely tried to pull Chenle apart, but Chenle held his ground with stunning, unyielding stability. Jisung’s push didn't move him; it just made Chenle lean in harder.
“Gotcha,” Chenle whispered against his mouth, a warm, sweaty puff of air. He tightened his grip on the hoodie, bringing them chest-to-chest.
The contact was shocking. Chenle’s skin was radiating heat, and the scent—not just sweat, but a complex mix of exertion, clean soap from the gym, and a hint of the electrolyte drink he always drank—hit Jisung like a wave. It should have been disgusting, a violation of his fresh cleanliness, but instead, it felt incredibly, undeniably hot.
Chenle's mouth finally claimed his, not with the usual sweet peck, but with a more desperate, confident pressure. Chenle's kiss felt possessive, driven by the pure, unadulterated triumph of his own physical achievement. I worked hard today, and I deserve this. And you are mine.
Jisung’s resistance dissolved instantly. His hands, which were supposed to be pushing Chenle away, now fell to Chenle’s forearms, tracing the new cords of muscle he could feel tightening beneath the skin.
He broke the kiss only to gasp for air, his eyes wide and dark. “Lele…” he managed, his voice a breathless plea.
Chenle leaned back just an inch, his eyes blazing with a mix of pride and desire that was new. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving, but he kept his hands firmly clamped on Jisung’s hoodie, anchoring him in place.
Jisung reached up, his long, cool fingers hesitantly touching the damp hair at Chenle’s temple, then tracing the sharp line of his jaw. The sweat was no longer gross; it was the intoxicating proof of Chenle’s willpower, dedicated to a cause Jisung was only now beginning to truly understand.
The air between them felt thick, charged with the electric contrast of Chenle's heated strength and Jisung's soft vulnerability. This was not their usual sweet interaction. This felt like a dangerous game.
“I need a shower,” Chenle finally murmured, his voice husky, but he didn’t let go. His eyes searched Jisung's face, seeking confirmation that the teasing had been received as more than just a joke.
Jisung didn’t answer with words. Instead, he pulled Chenle's sweaty face back down and deepened the kiss, a fierce, hungry sound escaping his throat.
Chenle finally pulled back, resting his damp forehead against Jisung’s for a charged moment. His breath was still coming in heavy, satisfied gusts.
“See?” Chenle whispered, his voice vibrating with pride. “You complain, but you like it when I’m sweaty.” He punctuated the word with a cheeky little nip on Jisung’s lower lip.
Jisung let out a soft, frustrated sound, his hands now instinctively holding Chenle's arms firmly, trying to keep the contact going. “I don’t like that you’re sticky, Zhong Chenle. I like you,” he corrected, though the heat still high in his cheeks betrayed him. He couldn't deny the way his heart was pounding.
“Sure, sure,” Chenle teased, giving him a quick, smug smirk. He tried to pull his arms back to head toward the bathroom, but Jisung’s grip tightened immediately.
“No, wait! You were fast to come in, but now you’re going to be slow in the shower and let me starve,” Jisung whined, leaning forward dramatically to nuzzle Chenle’s sweaty neck, inhaling the complex scent of effort and desire. It was strangely addictive.
Chenle chuckled, a delighted, deep sound that surprised even himself. This clinging, desperate side of Jisung was a new and wonderful reward. He shifted his weight, easily supporting Jisung's lean against him.
“Aish, Park Jisung, you are such a princess today,” Chenle teased, though his tone was pure affection. He gently nudged Jisung's chin up with a finger that was still slightly slick with sweat. “Look at you, all soft and demanding.”
He lifted one arm and used it to cup Jisung’s cheek, his thumb brushing over the plush skin there. “I promise I will be super fast, okay? Five minutes tops. And then we can cuddle as much as you want. I need to recharge after that workout, and only you can help with that.”
That was the key word: recharge. It was a reminder that even after all that show of strength, Chenle still fundamentally needed Jisung's softness.
Jisung's expression softened instantly at the word "cuddle." He still looked a little dazed and flushed, but his clingy energy faded, replaced by the familiar relief of having a plan.
“Fine,” Jisung conceded, reluctantly letting go of Chenle’s arms. He sat back on his knees and pointed dramatically toward the bathroom door. “But if you take more than five minutes, I’m sending Daegal in to scratch your feet.”
Chenle laughed, stepping back and flashing him a two-finger salute. “Deal! Five minutes, Sung-ah. Get ready for your cuddles.”
With that, Chenle vanished into the en-suite bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him. Jisung sat on the floor, still feeling the heat radiating off his own skin where Chenle had touched him. He took a long, shaky breath and reached up to touch his own lips, tasting the faint saltiness of Chenle's effort.
He walked slowly to Chenle’s expansive bed and collapsed onto the duvet, pulling a thick, fluffy pillow into his arms. “Princess” he mumbled to the pillow, a soft, goofy smile stretching across his face.
He had always felt pressure to be the "man" in relationships because of his height and build. To be expected to take the lead, be the protector, the one in charge. But with Chenle, it was different. Chenle wasn't just accepting of Jisung's soft side; he demanded it. He loved the gentle, whiny, occasionally clingy version of Jisung—the one that needed to be cared for, or, just now, called a princess.
The thought made a happy, airy giggle bubble up from his chest, and he buried his face deeper into the pillow to stifle the sound.
Maybe I should be whiny every day, he thought, imagining Chenle's satisfied, proud grin when he gave in to a dramatic plea for attention.
♡
The practice room mirrored wall was fogged with the combined heat of six very sweaty idols. They had just run through the high-energy finale of "Beat It Up" twice, and the air was thick with panting.
Chenle, who was still competitive about his fitness goals, was trying to catch his breath without slumping too much. He didn't want his new-and-improved stamina to look fake.
Jisung, draped over a nearby speaker, was massaging the back of his own neck, looking like a graceful swan slowly melting.
"Mark-hyung, can we get ten minutes? My legs are basically noodles," Jeno groaned, collapsing onto the floor and immediately starting to stretch his hamstrings.
"Yeah, ten minutes, let's go. Hydrate," Mark agreed, walking toward the water cooler.
Jisung slowly pushed himself off the speaker, heading toward the pile of water bottles near the corner. Before he could even reach his designated thermos, Chenle was already there. Chenle, without looking at Jisung, grabbed his own water and then picked up Jisung's tall, bright-pink bottle, popping the cap off.
He turned and held it out to Jisung. It was a fluid motion, an automatic gesture that bypassed all of Jisung's usual routines.
Jisung froze mid-step. He looked at Chenle's hand, then at Chenle's face, which was already sipping his own water, completely unbothered by the sudden interruption of the universe's natural order.
"What?" Chenle mumbled around his water bottle. "You were going to do it, right? I just saved you a step."
"Y-yeah," Jisung managed, taking the bottle. His hand brushed Chenle's, and the warmth of the touch, combined with the sheer surprise, made his heart flutter. It was so automatic. Like I'm incapable of opening my own water. The thought should have annoyed him, but instead, it felt incredibly sweet.
He was still staring at Chenle when he realized his shoelaces had come undone—a common hazard during intense choreography. Jisung began to bend over to fix them, but Chenle dropped his bottle into his lap with a thud.
Chenle knelt down in front of Jisung, completely ignoring the disgusted look Jaemin gave him about touching the sweaty floor. Without a word, Chenle quickly and efficiently retied the laces of both of Jisung’s shoes, pulling the knot tight and secure.
Jisung stayed perfectly still, looking down at the top of Chenle’s head. Chenle’s hair was damp, and he could see the muscles in Chenle's shoulders shift slightly with the effort. He's kneeling for me. He’s taking care of the smallest, most basic thing I should do myself. A deep, pleasant heat began to spread through Jisung's chest.
"Done," Chenle announced, standing up. He gave Jisung a smug look, daring him to complain. "Don't trip on those."
"Aww, look at Chenle being a good boyfriend!" Jaemin cooed loudly from across the room, having witnessed the whole thing. He then clapped Jeno on the shoulder. "Jeno, look, he's basically polishing Jisung's shoes. We taught him well."
"It's about minimizing injury risk, Jaemin," Jeno replied, but his lips were twitching with a smile. "Good form, Chenle. Very efficient."
Chenle, flushing slightly, just let out a loud, slightly embarrassed, "Aish, I just don't want to carry him to the ambulance later!"—but the playful defense felt thin. He couldn't hide the possessive pride in his eyes.
Jisung didn't say anything. He just watched Chenle and then looked down at his perfectly tied shoes. He took a long, slow drink from the water Chenle had opened, letting the rush of attention and care wash over him.
Later, as they were finally leaving the practice room, Jisung reached for his gym bag, which was stuffed with extra clothes and heavy recovery tools. He only had to take one step before the bag was plucked from his fingers.
"Lele, I got it," Jisung said, turning around.
Chenle was already halfway out the door, Jisung's heavy black bag slung casually over one shoulder, his own bag tucked under the other arm. He looked like a determined little pack mule.
"I know," Chenle said over his shoulder, walking faster now toward the van. "It's too heavy for a princess."
Chenle didn't see the effect of that word. He didn't see the way Jisung's breath hitched, or the soft, dazed, utterly victorious expression that spread across his face.
Jisung smiled—a real, genuine, dopey smile. The guilt that sometimes surfaced when he thought about being the one taken care of was completely smothered by the warmth of Chenle's unwavering devotion. This was exactly where he belonged.
♡
The main dorm was silent, the kind of quiet that sinks into the bones when you realize you're truly, blessedly alone. The afternoon light filtering through the blinds cast pale, watery stripes across the floor of Jisung’s room, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.
Jisung had been pacing for nearly an hour, the soft carpet muffling his steps, but doing nothing to quiet the frantic thumping of his heart.
Ever since Chenle had effortlessly swung his heavy gym bag onto his shoulder and called him ‘princess’, a wildfire of validation and terrifying desire had been burning in his chest.
What if...
The thought was a ridiculous, bold whisper, a feeling he’d kept locked away for years. It was one thing to feel small and cherished by Chenle in a hoodie, but quite another to present the truth of his vulnerability. The truth that he wasn't just soft; he wanted to be claimed.
He stopped in front of his closet, his breath hitching. Deep inside, nestled beneath a pile of oversized, utilitarian sweats, was a box. It wasn't full of performance gear, but something far more personal. He hadn't bought these items for anyone but himself, acquiring them over the years in secret, drawn to the promise of delicacy and softness they offered.
The fact that he owned lace-trimmed thigh-highs and a whisper-thin slip was so telling about how deep this desire ran, years of fantasizing about a connection where his strength wouldn't be a mandate for control, but an option he could choose to put down.
A surge of boldness, a foreign, reckless energy, took over. He grabbed the box and the first thing he saw—a pale, silken slip with delicate lace trim, the kind of garment that felt like a beautiful sigh when held.
Shaking, Jisung changed. The fabric felt cool and weightless against his skin, utterly unlike the heavy denim and structured jackets he wore for his idol image. He felt exposed, vulnerable, and completely, deliciously right. He added the thigh-highs with the soft lace trim, which hugged his strong dancer's legs in a way that felt utterly precious and demanding of protection.
He looked in the full-length mirror. Gone was the imposing, charismatic main dancer. In his place was a reflection of softness, of a person who looked fragile enough to break, desperate to be cradled.
Oh, Chenle would like it. The conviction was almost painful. He had to know for sure. This wasn't just about heat; this was about confirming Chenle’s specific, beautiful love for his most hidden self.
He grabbed his secondary phone, the one dedicated to private exchanges with the members. He tried several angles: a shy one, just his eyes peering over the duvet; one focusing on the soft texture of the thigh-highs; and one of his back, highlighting the lace and the vulnerability of the pose.
He selected the four most potent images and opened the chat with Chenle. His thumb hovered over the "Send" button for a full minute, heart hammering against his ribs. Is he going to humiliate himself? What if Chenle doesn't like it? A quick, acidic shot of worry surfaced: Did Chenle's ex-girlfriends do something like this? Jisung violently choked that thought down. That didn't matter. This was about them.
He clicked the "View Once" option, a necessary shield for this reckless bravery, and sent the burst of photos.
The minute the notification left his phone, Jisung flung the device onto the far corner of his bed, as if it were a grenade about to explode. He scrambled under his covers, pulling the duvet over his head.
He lay there, body humming with anxious adrenaline, trying to hide from his own actions, waiting for the inevitable ping that would either confirm his deepest fantasy or crush his delicate, hidden truth.
♡
Just the two of us here
Falling deeper into the mood
No one else is in the room
Like we're drawn by gravity
Closer and closer into you
I can't control this chemistry
Even if it ruins me, I don't care
♡