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Midnight. Lucky Punch Boxing Gym — a grungy, seemingly worn-down facility but secretly a modern and popular private gym tucked in a forgotten street in Seoul. The kind of place that smells of tape, leather, unresolved tension, and unspoken dreams.
The gym should’ve been closed hours ago. The lights above flickered, casting a pale, tired glow across the ring. The sound of gloves hitting the punching bag echoed, rhythmic and relentless.
Shuaibo stood barefoot on the mat, fists wrapped, chest heaving, sweat soaking through his oversized white tee. The cute froggy patch on his shirt was nearly transparent now, clinging to the curve of his chest. His long hair was a damp curtain framing his sharp cheekbones and fierce scowl.
Across the ring, Steven was a picture of composed arrogance. His black trousers were rolled up slightly, shirt sleeves messily cuffed, tie dangling like he didn’t care. He leaned back against the ropes, arms resting casually, watching Shuaibo like he was the only thing worth seeing in the world.
They had just finished their third sparring round. No words. Just footwork, jabs, dodges, the occasional too-close body contact that neither of them acknowledged but both felt burn into their skin.
Shuaibo ripped off one glove, breathing heavily.
“You didn’t call that hit to the ribs,” he muttered, walking toward the corner and picking up his water bottle.
Steven didn’t answer right away. He reached down to rewrap his knuckles tighter, slow and deliberate.
“You dropped your guard.”
Shuaibo turned, scoffing. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re predictable.”
Shuaibo’s eyes narrowed, stalking forward until they stood just a step apart in the center of the ring.
“Ugh,” he bit out, eyes blazing, “I’d love to punch that annoying look off your face.”
Steven didn’t even flinch. In fact, he smiled. The kind of smirk that made people want to fight or kiss him—maybe both.
“Sure,” he said, voice low, dangerous, playful. “As long as you’ll use your luscious lips.”
The silence that followed was thick—like the air itself was waiting for something to combust.
Shuaibo blinked, stunned. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Steven stepped forward, their chests nearly brushing. “You keep acting like we’re just sparring. But this—” his finger pointed between them, “—has been building for weeks. Don’t pretend you haven’t felt it.”
Shuaibo’s lips parted, jaw tightening. “This is training.”
“This is denial.”
Steven’s voice dropped lower, huskier. His gaze flicked between Shuaibo’s eyes and lips with agonizing precision. “You hate how much you want me. It makes you reckless.”
“I don’t—” Shuaibo started, but Steven interrupted.
“Then why do you only book the late-night sessions when you know I’m here?”
Shuaibo hesitated. “Pure coincidence.”
Steven raised a brow. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Shuaibo’s fists clenched. “Maybe I just enjoy punching you more than anyone else.”
Steven smirked again. “Then do it. Land one. Right here.” He tapped his cheek. “But don’t lie to yourself about why you want to.”
The words hovered like a challenge, raw and intimate.
Shuaibo surged forward, grabbing Steven by the shirt. Their faces were inches apart now—close enough to feel the heat between them, to hear the tremble in each other’s breath.
“I could break your nose.”
Steven tilted his head. “Then do it. Or just kiss me.”
Shuaibo stared, chest rising and falling rapidly. His fists gripped Steven’s shirt tighter.
He hated how right he was. Hated how every sparring match with Steven left him burning. Hated how much of his self-control got left on the mat every time they danced around each other, pretending it was just footwork and sweat.
With a frustrated growl, Shuaibo yanked him in and kissed him.
It wasn’t sweet. It was feral—teeth, tongue, sweat, and months of pent-up tension. Steven didn’t hesitate. He kissed back with just as much heat, matching Shuaibo’s fire blow for blow.
They stumbled back against the ropes, gloves still half-on, mouths hungry and unrelenting. Steven’s hand tangled in Shuaibo’s damp hair while Shuaibo pressed closer, his leg sliding between Steven’s, pinning him against the corner post.
When they finally pulled apart, Steven’s lips were swollen, his tie now hanging uselessly between them. Also, why tf was he wearing a tie for a spar anyway?
Shuaibo looked away, panting. “This doesn’t mean anything.”
Steven smirked. “Sure. Just like all those late-night sparring sessions ‘didn’t mean anything’ either.”
Shuaibo opened his mouth to argue, but Steven cut him off with another kiss—softer this time, like a promise instead of a dare.
And for once, Shuaibo didn’t pull away.
Later, as they sat side by side on the floor of the ring, laces undone, water bottles shared, Shuaibo murmured without looking at him, “You still have an annoying face.”
Steven chuckled, wiping blood off his lip with the back of his hand. “And you still didn’t land that punch.”
Shuaibo glanced at him, eyes playful despite the bruise forming near his cheekbone. “Give me one more round.”
Steven leaned in, voice low. “Only if there’s another kiss in the next one.”
Shuaibo rolled his eyes but didn’t say no.
Because in this ring, it was never just about the fight. It was about them—and everything they were finally, finally letting happen.
Epilogue
They didn’t realize how much time had passed.
The gym was bathed in a warm, sleepy glow from the single overhead light still flickering. The ring ropes groaned softly beneath their weight as Shuaibo lay sprawled half on top of Steven, chest still rising and falling with the aftershocks of adrenaline—and something far less innocent.
Shuaibo had meant to get up. He really had. But Steven’s arm wrapped around his waist was far too comfortable. And Steven, for once, looked relaxed. Soft even. One hand absently combed through the ends of Shuaibo’s damp hair while his other traced lazy circles on his hip through the thin cotton of his sweatpants.
Their legs were tangled. Gloves discarded. Steven’s shirt had somehow gone missing, and Shuaibo’s tee was pushed halfway up his back. The occasional soft, stolen kiss still lingered between quiet breaths.
Then—
“Aibo-hyung?!! Are you still here?!! I left my iPad in the staff room and I need it for tomorrow—wait, the lights are still on—?!!"
The gym door slammed open.
They froze.
In the sudden flood of hallway light stood JL, in his oversized hoodie and fuzzy slippers, holding a half-eaten convenience store rice ball.
Behind him, Han leaned against the doorway, phone in hand, clearly just dragged along for the ride by his adorkable boyfriend.
Shuaibo didn’t even try to move. He was still on top of Steven, one hand planted firmly on his bare chest. Steven, to his credit, just blinked once and then—smirked. Bastard.
JL’s jaw dropped. “OH MY ACTUAL GOD HANIII— *gasps* They were about to—” He waved his arms dramatically. “—grind each other into the mat like it's Fifty Shades of Muay Thai!!!"
Shuaibo groaned and buried his face in Steven’s neck. “Kill me.”
Han let out a long, dramatic whistle. “Well, well, well. No wonder you keep telling me to go ahead and leave the gym early, Steven hyung.”
Steven looked up casually. “Didn’t think we’d have company.”
JL choked on his rice ball. “Company?!! You’re NAKED! IN MY FAMILY’S BOXING RING!!!"
Shuaibo hissed, voice muffled, “We’re not naked.”
JL gestured wildly. “Your shirt is almost off, his shirt is nowhere to be found, you're on top of him, your legs are tangled like some kind of pretzel from hell, and there are bite marks on his collarbone! Don’t lie to me, Zhang Shuiabo hyung!!!”
Steven smirked. “Oh yes looks pretty right?!! That one was his idea.”
“STEVEN!!!”
Han walked in and stood beside his dramatic other half, calmly and loudly sipping his iced americano, like it was just another regular Tuesday night. “Honestly, it was only a matter of time. I told Jeyellie weeks ago this whole ‘midnight rivalry’ thing was just a cover for unresolved sexual tension.”
JL flailed. “I thought you were JOKING!!!”
Shuaibo finally sat up, flushed from head to toe, hair wild and sticking to his face. “Can we please not talk about this right now—”
JL snapped a photo. “Too late!!! This is sooo group chat material!!! ”
“JL!!!" Shuaibo lunged, and Steven casually pulled him back down into his lap with one arm, unbothered.
Han laughed, taking JL’s phone away. “Alright, alright. No blackmail for tonight. But you owe me an explanation, cousin.” He looked straight at Steven and raised an eyebrow. “Since when are you capable of kissing anyone without analyzing their defense strategy mid-smooch?!!"
Steven yawned. “Since Shuaibo stopped trying to kill me and just kissed me instead.”
Shuaibo muttered, “Mistake. Huge mistake.”
Steven leaned in, whispering with that infuriating smirk, “Then why are you still on top of me, baby?!! Not that I'm complaining.”
JL made an exaggerated screeching noise and turned toward the exit. “I’m soooo never coming back here past midnight again.”
Han looped an arm around his boyfriend’s waist and half carried half dragged him out. “Come on, love. Let’s just go home and leave them to finish round four. I think they’ve moved on past to grappling anyway.”
As they reached the door, Han glanced back over his shoulder. “Oh and please clean up whatever mess you’ve made, or are about to make. Wouldn’t want Tito thinking his precious son and I left the gym messy. We’re way too careful for that.”
JL let out a scandalized shriek, swatting at him. “Hani!!! Oh my god—stop talking!!!”
Their bickering faded into the hallway as the door clicked shut behind them, leaving behind the unmistakable echo of chaos and the sound of Shuaibo’s mortified groan.
Silence returned.
Shuaibo exhaled slowly, still laying slash sitting on Steven’s lap.
“…we’re never living this down.”
Steven leaned in, brushed a kiss just under Shuaibo’s jaw, and grinned.
"Meh. Worth it."
Shuaibo tried not to smile at that.
He failed.