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The moment Inhu’s name was called as an “ALL STAR” during the signal song test, Kangmin felt his breath hitch. It wasn’t because he hadn’t expected it, but because he had.
From the first time he saw Inhu practicing with Masato and Junseo in the 2 star practice room, he knew he was different. Sure, Kangmin had gotten All Star during the star level test, but there was something magnetic about watching someone claw their way there. Inhu had this kind of stubborn elegance. His lines were sharp, his eyes full of determination, and… god, that tiny waist. It didn’t make sense. It defied everything Kangmin had ever known, really.
And Inhu? He’d already made a mental note of Kangmin the moment he’d seen the We Must Love stage. He remembered thinking, Wow, he doesn’t just perform, he transforms. He liked that. Liked how Kangmin could command the room with just a glance. And the way he crushed that heart… he could crush Inhu’s heart and he’d thank him.
So when they finally got grouped together after the Signal Song evaluation as All Stars, they became close instantly. Their bond deepened with each practice hour. Late nights became private jokes, shared snacks, whispered harmonies in the hallways. A week passed like a blink. And now, they stood here. The filming of the Signal Song performance was done, and the camera crew wanted photos.
“Let’s do a group photo! Yoonmin, Kangmin, Inhu take one together!”
They shuffled into position. Inhu in the middle, just barely catching his breath from the high of performing.
Yoonmin moved first. Of course he did. His arm slid around Inhu’s waist like it belonged there, and he held him down slightly toward his side. Inhu’s breath hitched, just a little. But it was fine. Yoonmin was always touchy. Still, the contact sent a ripple of awareness through him because it wasn’t Yoonmin’s arm he wanted there.
It was Kangmin’s.
He turned his head slightly, eyes darting to his right.
Kangmin was still standing weirdly far. His hand hovered in the air, as if unsure where to land. And then, he placed it on Inhu’s shoulder, while using his other hand to poke his cheek.
Is he… kidding right now? (Yes Inhu did poke Yoonmin’s cheek but that was different!!)
Inhu blinked. Side-eyed. Hard.
He leaned into Yoonmin more, subtly trying to pull Kangmin closer by shifting his weight, nudging him with his elbow, but Kangmin only stiffened more, his smile turning so fake it seemed even more of a lie than when wk1 said Yichen was 176cm.
What are you doing? Inhu tried to beam telepathically. My waist is right here. What are you afraid of?
No luck.
What Kangmin was afraid of was exactly that.
Because he’d practiced what he might do for a moment like this. Forced this close to Inhu. Thought maybe he’d casually rest his arm there, maybe play it cool. But standing this close, smelling the faint scent of Inhu’s shampoo, seeing the slope of his neck, feeling the dip of that impossibly small waist within reach… it short-circuited his brain.
If he touched him there, he was done for. He’d be too obvious. Too red. Too real.
So instead, the camera captured it all: Yoonmin confidently holding Inhu by the waist, Inhu visibly side-eyeing Kangmin while subtly trying to pull him closer, and Kangmin standing stiff, hand awkwardly on a shoulder that screamed I am trying so hard not to fall for you.
The photos were exposed on the wall in the cafeteria a few days later.. Some trainees went wild over Yoonmin's confidence, taking hold of Inhu’s tiny waist. But the ones who knew Inhu and Kangmin well? They noticed the tension. The space. The unspoken.
And somewhere in the dorms, whispers would be heard:
“Why does Kangmin look like he’s about to short-circuit trying not to touch Inhu’s waist”
They weren’t wrong.
Neither of them could explain it yet. Not fully. But later that night, when Inhu found Kangmin sitting alone in the hallway, staring at their photo on the wall with a face full of regret, he just plopped down beside him.
"Why’d you act so awkward taking the photo earlier?”
Kangmin flushed. “…I panicked.”
Inhu smirked. “Next time, just hold me. You’ll survive.”
And Kangmin looked at him. And for the first time, let himself imagine what it would feel like to not be afraid of wanting more.
Maybe next time, he’d hold on.
-
But the “next time” wasn’t a posed photo,
It came in the middle of s-class practice.
No staff. Just them and their team: sweaty, exhausted, trying to make something magic out of half-learned choreography and a beat that seemed way too waist.
Inhu was struggling.
Not with the choreo. That he could handle.
It was the rap part.
Him, a vocalist, had ended up being sub rapper 3.
Every time they restarted the song, he missed the cue. Fumbled the rhythm. Came in with too much breath, or not enough intention. It felt off. He felt off.
And he hated that everyone could tell.
His movements were starting to stiffen. His usually fluid turns looked forced. His confidence was folding in on itself.
They were practicing the formation now. Kangmin was meant to cross in front of Inhu.
And every single time, Inhu would hesitate. Messing it up because his mind was somewhere else, on his rap.
On the fourth run, it happened again.
He stepped too late, bumped right into Kangmin as they changed place.
Their bodies collided, a solid chest to arm. Inhu lost his footing for a second, and Kangmin instinctively reached out to catch him.
Or tried to.
His right arm moved, quick, automatic, but the brace around his forearm limited the angle. His hand faltered mid-air, caught somewhere between Inhu’s waist and back, like he wasn’t sure whether to hold him or hover. He tried to shift his weight, to do something to help—
But it didn’t work.
Instead, there was a beat of dead stillness.
Kangmin's hand hovered just shy of Inhu’s waist.
Inhu had tensed, breathing uneven.
The song kept playing.
They stared at each other. Too close. Too quiet.
Again.
It wasn’t dramatic. There was no yelling, no teasing from the others. Just this heavy, unspoken awkwardness hanging between them like a curtain they both refused to pull aside.
And this time, everyone saw it.
Donggyu coughed under his breath. Junmin, across the formation, raised an eyebrow so high it nearly hit the ceiling.
No one said anything. But the energy shifted. Gyehyeon had to step in and tell Inhu what went wrong so the awkwardness wouldn’t last another second.
When the music stopped, Inhu backed off first, wiping his neck with the sleeve of his oversized tee. He didn’t look at anyone. Especially not Kangmin.
He was mad at himself. Not because of the bump. Not even because of the rap. But because the second his balance faltered, all he could think about was:
Is he going to hold me this time?
And then… he hadn’t. He couldn’t.
Again.
They took five. Most of the others sprawled on the floor or quietly reviewed the footage from their last run-through.
Kangmin came to sit beside Inhu without a word. His brace rested in his lap. His other hand fidgeted the fabric of his pants.
“…You okay?” he asked eventually, not quite looking at him.
Inhu nodded. Then shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Kangmin stayed quiet.
“It’s stupid,” Inhu said, voice low. “I know I’m not a rapper, but I’ve been practicing. Over and over. I just keep messing up. And now I’m thinking about it so much I can’t not mess up.”
He didn’t say the rest.
Didn’t say that the real reason he was spiraling was because he was starting to feel like a fraud. Like maybe the All Star rank had been a fluke. Like maybe he wasn’t enough.
Kangmin looked over at him. Really looked this time.
“You’re allowed to be bad at something before you get good,” he said quietly. “That’s the whole point of this.”
Inhu sighed. “That sounds like something a main dancer-slash-vocal king would say.”
Kangmin smirked a little. “You’ll get it. You just haven’t yet.”
Is that what he told himself every time he didn’t have the courage to hold Inhu?
Inhu glanced sideways. “You almost caught me this time.”
Kangmin rolled his eyes. “I tried. My arm’s a mess, remember?”
“You have two.”
“…I panicked.”
Inhu smiled despite himself. “You’re consistent, at least.”
Kangmin leaned back on his hands, gaze fixed on the mirror across the room. Their reflections sat side-by-side, close but not touching.
“…You said next time I should just hold you,” he murmured.
Inhu hummed. “Yeah.”
There was a pause.
Kangmin’s voice dropped, soft, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted Inhu to hear or not.
“Next time… I will.”
-
Inhu didn’t respond at first.
He felt it. The shift, subtle but certain. Something in Kangmin’s voice told him this wasn’t another joke. Not another dodge or delay.
He turned his head. Slowly. Just enough to catch Kangmin’s profile in the mirror. Still watching the reflection. Still pretending not to look directly at him.
So Inhu made it easy.
He nudged Kangmin’s knee with his own. Light, but intentional.
“Good,” he said quietly. “Because if you don’t, I might start holding you instead.”
And he meant it.
It wasn’t a threat, or a tease (not entirely). Just a quiet truth, shared in the low light of the empty practice room, layered over the smell of sweat. Something about the way Kangmin’s mouth twitched into the smallest, most helpless smile told him he heard it loud and clear.
The moment didn’t last much longer. Seowon shouted “Five’s up!” from across the room, and just like that, the energy snapped back into place.
They stood. Took their positions again.
But this time, when the beat dropped and Kangmin stepped forward in the choreo, something shifted.
Inhu didn’t fumble.
His eyes were focused. The rhythm was tight. The rap still wasn’t perfect, but the weight in his chest had lifted, just enough to breathe through it. He didn’t stall. Didn’t think too hard.
And when they passed each other in formation, Kangmin reached out again.
Not rushed. Not panicked. Just a smooth, deliberate motion. This time, his fingers brushed Inhu’s waist.
And this time… he held.
Not for long. Just a second. Just enough to steady. Just enough to say I’m here.
It was a simple gesture. But for both of them, it felt like gravity finally pulling into place.
From across the room, Seowon nudged Jiahao.
“Did you see that?”
Jiahao raised a brow. “It only took him two weeks.”
“Progress,” Seowon said, grinning.
Neither of the two in question heard any of it.
Because Kangmin’s hand was warm. And Inhu didn’t pull away.
And when the final beat hit, and the practice run ended, Kangmin immediately reached for him with his left arm.
Inhu looked up at him, hair clinging to his temple from sweat, chest rising and falling fast. “You held me,” he said, somewhere between breathless and smug.
Kangmin was already red. “Yeah, well. You warned me.”
Inhu tilted his head. “So what changed?”
Kangmin bit his lip. “I figured out something.”
“What?”
Kangmin stepped just a bit closer. Voice low, like a secret he was only brave enough to say now. “I’m not scared of wanting more anymore.”
And that?
That made Inhu melt. Not visibly. Not in a way the others would see. But in the way his eyes softened. In the way his shoulders relaxed.
In the way he reached out ,this time, no excuses, no side-eyes, and linked his pinky with Kangmin’s.
A promise.
“Good,” Inhu whispered, smile tucked at the corner of his mouth. “Because I think I want more too.”
The music started again.
But this time, Kangmin didn’t flinch.
This time, he held on.
-
And later, when the team watched back the footage,
Junmin snorted, “You two are so soft it’s disgusting,” neither of them denied it.
They just looked at each other, grinned, and started the next run-through.
Fingers still brushing.
Hearts still racing.
And waist, finally, held.