On short notice

The 2 AM call time sucks.

You should be in bed right now, getting some needed rest, refreshing your mind and body for the days ahead. Even more so since it’s the holidays, the time of year where patience and discipline are pushed to their absolute limit.

Instead, this is your life, your 9-to-5. Standing out in the cold winter air, several bags in tow, waiting for the client and beginning the day’s proper.

Yes. She starts her day at 2 AM. She’s a goddamn freak. The only people you know who get up this early are so-called ‘business influencers’ and professional athletes.

Yujin is neither of those. She’s a singer, first and foremost. More importantly, she’s got more mileage on her body than you think.

And so:

“Sorry I’m late!” Yujin greets you cheerfully as she meets you at the apartment lobby entrance, bringing along a few bags of her own.

“You sure you got enough sleep?” you ask, knowing damn well her energy equals that of someone who’s got their arbitrary eight hours of rest. Professional courtesy, after all.

To your lack of utter shock, she’s more than ready. And judging by her appearance—trackpants, sports bra, training jacket, the not-so-subtle flaunting of her toned abs—this is her morning routine.

“Sorry for coming in on such short notice,” she suddenly remarks, a reminder of how you’ve ended up in this position: a representative from her company—a manager most likely—coming into contact looking for what’s basically a personal assistant after the last one resigned prematurely. Something about the unforgiving schedule that apparently she’s been following for a few years now.

It’s not your usual graveyard shift; if anything, it’s the kind of schedule that’ll send anyone to an early grave.

So it’s a wonder how Yujin manages to keep herself fit while seemingly having a routine like this. There’s no weariness, no sign of exhaustion emanating from her. She’s in peak, functioning condition.

And she’s not even a professional athlete.

“Yeah, no worries,” you say, gripping onto your bag a little tighter than usual. Out of fear, maybe just a lingering sense of dread. But she seems all warm and friendly from what you’ve seen so far. “So, what are we doing today?”

“Bike ride,” she says, opening one of her bags to reveal a folded bicycle, at which you open yours. Management had sent a laundry list of things to bring—and this was your first day on the job.

“How far are we going?” you ask.

“Something light. A nice 40 mile bike ride from here to the mountains.”

You almost spit out the non-existent water in your mouth. Your eyes widen in shock. “What?”

“I know, right?” she quips so casually, like it’s something normal people do everyday. “You can keep up, can you?”

That’s right: Yujin does this on the regular, which explains her toned figure. While most people are fast asleep at this time, she’s readying for a marathon. A championship game. A gold medal.

It takes a moment to find the right words. “Yeah—yeah, of course.”

She breaks out into a big, admittedly sweet grin. “Of course you can. You’re my new assistant for a reason!”

It doesn’t matter how much cardio you do. How many miles you cover, how many sprints you take part in: nothing can prepare you for 40 miles straight on the road.

And that still doesn’t account for the climbing, the mountainous incline in question making it hard to maintain your current pace.

This run might just break your own personal record. And your legs. And maybe your spirit.

“You okay?” Yujin asks you an hour and a half later.

You look at her incredulously, almost disbelieving the absurdity of the situation. “Are you serious?”

13 miles in and you’re nowhere close to reaching whatever destination she had in mind. Cycling up a curving hill, accompanied by only the streetlights and the city far off in the distance—you’re damn sure you’ll see the sun rise before you even make it anywhere close at this rate.

You can see the confusion etched across her face, the fact she might just be genuine in her question: “You want me to push you harder?”

This fucking girl.

You can’t help but laugh through ragged breaths and wheezing, strained gasps. “Yujin—”

“You’re right.” And, oddly enough, she looks pretty concerned. “Want to take five? My treat!”

Thankfully, she stops cycling and pulls over to a spacious lay-by. If you were gonna say something, it would’ve been lost in a fit of breathlessness.

Getting off her bike, taking the initiative to set up a makeshift table with her seat—replete with a plastic bowl and seats—from out of her bags. While she’s got her back turned, you take it as an opportunity to gather your thoughts and breathe.

What are the odds of you, a normal individual, assigned to the likes of An Yujin: a member of one of Korea’s top groups, a role model for all sorts of girls. All by chance and happenstance. It’s the stuff of fairytales.

Sure, she’s incredibly nice. That’s to be expected, considering her line of work as an idol. She’s amiable, knows what she’s doing, and takes responsibility.

The same couldn’t be said, however, about how hot she is. That’s an unfortunate, unaccounted-for truth.

More to the point, there’s some weird, indiscernible appeal from how she’s acting right now. All this effort, this preparation for a quick snack of fruits and slices of various cheese to pair with otherwise ordinary bread.

“Made this myself, I’m sorry,” Yujin remarks with a chuckle, spreading a block of cheese with a knife on a cracker, the pieces neatly stacked by her side, paired with some chopped carrots. “Gotta monitor my diet still—”

“It’s all good,” you say, finally catching up to her, completely spent, your legs aching. “Wow.”

“Take a seat. And let me know if it’s alright,” she urges. And she takes the chance to grab some herself, handing you a bottle of water in the process.

Now that you’re sitting down, just about to relax in your seat, your focus becomes attuned to Yujin’s assets. Her sleek physique, how the glow of the nearby streetlights casts shadows across her fit, shapely figure. You’ve never really been that into gym junkies or people who’d obsess over physical health and fitness like that—

And yet, it’s strangely beguiling to observe her eating the crackers slowly.

You observe as she tilts her head upwards, opening her mouth—you can just see her toned jaw clench—swallowing slowly. She bites down on the crunchy snack, and, from the way she moves her head—chewing, relishing the food she’s made herself.

And you catch yourself staring at her bare, exposed body: her midriff, the outline of her abs in the darkness; her defined biceps flexing ever so slightly every time she turns her arm; even the tight band of her sports bra hugging the curve of her perky, voluminous breasts, her nipples poking from beneath. A reminder that you’re still out in the cold.

“So what do you think?”

Yujin is such a welcome, perfect sight. All sultry and lascivious in how she eats so casually yet sensually. A reminder that you’re still in a state of weakness, winded, helpless. It feels too sinful for words.

“Huh?” You blink twice, hoping to remove any dirt in your vision. Because she’s now in front of you, leaning forward ever so slightly. Close up in your personal space, meeting your gaze. A grin on her lips, her teeth showing through a dark smile, looking at you expectantly, her hands on the chair she just set up for you.

There’s an embarrassing amount of effort that goes in keeping your jaw shut tight, biting into a cheek. She’s inches, less, from you—it’s fucking nerve-wracking.

She makes a vague, nonsensical gesture towards her meal, breaking you out of your daze.