The underground gym’s break area was a grimy little corner of chaos, a sweat-soaked sanctuary where the air reeked of protein bars, kimchi, and the kind of testosterone that could fuel a small engine. Overturned crates served as makeshift seats, mismatched plates clinked with every sloppy bite, and the walls—scarred with graffiti and the ghosts of old fights—seemed to pulse with the raw energy of the place. Felix, the new guy still carving out his spot in this rough-and-tumble crew, found himself wedged between Beomgyu and Yeonjun on a crate barely big enough for one ass, let alone three. Lunch break was in full swing, and the table—if you could call a slab of warped wood balanced on cinder blocks a table—was a battlefield of raunchy banter and half-eaten convenience store kimbap.
“Yo, Felix, you ever been in a real chokehold, or you just playin’ at it?” Beomgyu grinned, leaning in close enough that Felix could smell the gochujang on his breath. His eyes sparkled with mischief, dark and dangerous under the flickering fluorescent light. “I could show you one. Real personal-like. Might even throw in a kiss to make it hurt less.”
Felix didn’t flinch, just raised an eyebrow as he unwrapped his own kimbap with deliberate slowness. “Thanks, Beomgyu, but I’m not into foreplay that leaves me blue in the face. Maybe stick to flirting with someone who can’t bench more than you.”
The table erupted in laughter, Yeonjun slapping his knee hard enough to rattle the plates. “Damn, pretty boy’s got claws! Beomgyu, you gonna let him talk to you like that? Thought you were the king of smooth around here.”
“King of smooth?” Beomgyu shot back, mock-offended, clutching his chest. “I’m the whole damn dynasty, Yeonjun. Felix here just don’t know it yet. Give me a week—I’ll have him begging for that chokehold.”
“Keep dreaming,” Felix deadpanned, taking a bite of his kimbap. “I’ve got standards. They’re low, but not *that* low.”
Another round of cackles ripped through the group. Taehyun, sitting across the table with his arms crossed, rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t pop out. “Can y’all stop acting like horny teenagers for five minutes? Some of us are trying to eat without choking on secondhand embarrassment.”
“Lighten up, Tae,” Yeonjun drawled, flicking a stray grain of rice at him. “You’re just mad ‘cause Felix is getting more action in one lunch break than you’ve had all year.”
Soobin, quiet as ever, just smirked from the corner, his long legs stretched out as he sipped on a can of soda. His eyes flicked to Felix, a silent nod of approval that said more than any loudmouth jab could. Felix caught it, and for a fleeting moment, he felt something like belonging—a rare warmth in this gritty, cutthroat world he’d stumbled into.
The banter kept rolling, crude and sharp, a rhythm Felix was starting to match. He tossed out a quip about Beomgyu’s questionable gym shorts—“What, you raiding your little brother’s closet now?”—and earned a chorus of “ooohs” that made even Taehyun crack a reluctant grin. It was messy, loud, and oddly comforting, this pack of misfits sizing him up and letting him in, one snarky comeback at a time.
Until the cold hit.
A sudden splash of icy liquid slammed into Felix’s chest, soaking through his thin tank top and dripping down his chin. The shock stole his breath, the sticky mess clinging to his skin as the table fell silent, all eyes snapping to him. He blinked, stunned, as the sharp tang of what smelled suspiciously like watered-down energy drink assaulted his senses.
“What the—” Felix started, wiping a hand across his face, only to freeze as a shadow loomed over him.
Minji.
She stood there, all five-foot-eight of pure, unapologetic menace, an empty bucket dangling from one hand like a weapon. Her dark hair was pulled back tight, accentuating the hard lines of her jaw, and her smirk was a blade, sharp enough to cut through the tension in the air. Dressed in a cropped tank and cargo pants, her arms flexed with the kind of muscle that came from throwing punches, not posing in mirrors. She was a fighter through and through, and right now, her gaze was locked on Felix like he was fresh meat in a lion’s den.
“Well, well, pretty boy,” she purred, her voice low and laced with venomous amusement. She tilted her head, sizing him up as the liquid dripped off his jaw onto the crate. “Look at you, sittin’ here all cozy with the boys, actin’ like you belong. Thought I’d give you a proper welcome. You know, wash away all that newbie stink.”
Felix’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling into fists on his lap, but he didn’t move. Not yet. The crew watched, breath held, waiting to see if he’d crack under the weight of her stare. Beomgyu let out a low whistle, leaning back with a grin. “Damn, Minji, you don’t play. You gonna drown him before he even throws a punch?”
“Shut it, Beomgyu,” she snapped without breaking eye contact with Felix. “I don’t waste my time on punching bags. I’m just curious if this one’s got any fight in him, or if he’s just here to look good and bleed pretty.”
Felix exhaled slowly, wiping another trickle of sticky liquid from his cheek. His voice came out steady, edged with a quiet fire. “If you wanted to see me wet, Minji, all you had to do was ask. No need for the theatrics.”
Her smirk widened, a flash of something like intrigue crossing her face before she masked it with a scoff. “Cute. Real cute. But I don’t play with boys who can’t keep up. You wanna talk big, you better back it up. Gym’s no place for eye candy who can’t take a hit.”
“Oh, I can take a hit,” Felix shot back, standing slowly, his soaked shirt clinging to his frame. He met her gaze head-on, unflinching, even as the cold liquid dripped down his chest. “Question is, can you handle it when I hit back?”
A murmur rippled through the crew, Yeonjun muttering a quiet “oh, shit” under his breath while Taehyun shook his head like he was already mourning Felix’s inevitable funeral. Minji’s eyes narrowed, but her smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it grew, charged with a dangerous kind of delight.
“Big words, newbie,” she said, stepping closer, her presence a wall of heat and challenge. She dropped the bucket with a loud clang, crossing her arms as she towered over him. “Let’s see if you’ve got the guts to match ‘em. Or are you just gonna stand there, dripping and looking pathetic?”
Felix didn’t answer right away. He just stared back, jaw tight, the sticky mess still trailing down his neck as the air between them crackled with something raw and electric. The crew held their breath, the break area suddenly too small for the storm brewing between the two of them. Whatever came next, one thing was clear—Felix wasn’t folding. Not yet.
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