Damn you.

You woke up to the sound of a lot of footsteps and shuffling. Which made no sense, because you didn’t live in a gym, you lived in a dorm. A small, creaky, student-housing dorm with thin walls, buzzing lights, and a constant faint smell of instant noodles. One bathroom, one kitchenette, one shared living room, two bedrooms, and — oh, right. A roomie.

You cracked one eye open and immediately regretted it.

There, in the middle of your room, was Nien — your roommate, your self-proclaimed coach, and the last person you want to see before 9 a.m. She was in a cropped hoodie and shorts, hair tied into a messy ponytail, cheeks slightly flushed as she warmed up… using two water jugs like makeshift dumbbells.

Even worse, she was smiling too. Bright. Cheerful. As if this was the most natural thing to be doing at the crack of dawn.

You lazily checked your phone. 7:03 a.m.

“I hate you,” you mumbled into your pillow and covered your head with the blanket. “I stayed up late last night, damn it…piss off, Nien…”

“Good morning to you too!” she chirped without missing a beat, clearly ignoring your groaning. Her voice was way too chipper for someone who had no business being awake this early.

You peeked out from under the blanket, squinting at her. “Why are you like this?”

“Like what?” She looked over her shoulder, cheeks flushed from exertion, that innocent smile of hers glowing like morning sunlight. “Disciplined?”

“Insane,” you corrected. “It’s the weekend. Let me sleep, you jolly bean…”

She laughed, setting the jugs down with a soft clunk. “Come onnnn, you promised we’d go to the gym together today.”

You groaned louder, flipping onto your back. “No, you said, ‘Let’s go to the gym,’ and I said, ‘We’ll see.’ That’s not a promise, that’s just me thinking.”

Nien padded over, each step light and springy, the floor creaking softly under her socks. She crouched beside your bed, her expression hovering between amusement and mischief. “You’ve been saying ‘we’ll see’ since last month.”

“That’s called consistency,” you said, eyes still closed.

“Then consistently get up,” she countered.

You reached for the blanket again. “Not happening. Not today.”

A moment of silence. Then, her voice. Softer. Playful. “Come on. You said I could drag you out of bed if you bailed again.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” you mumbled. “You’re too nice for that.”

Well. A soft whoosh, and then, betrayal. Your blanket was yanked off in one swift, merciless motion. The rush of cold morning air hit your skin like punishment. “Nien!” you shouted, curling up instantly.

She was laughing now, that innocent, bell-like laugh that made you want to simultaneously smile and file a noise complaint. “Get up, grumpy. We’ll miss the good treadmills.”

“You think I care about good treadmills?” you said, glaring at her. “The only treadmill I care about is the one that treads me back to sleep.”

“Wow.” She nodded seriously. “That’s a terrible line. You’re definitely awake now.”

You sighed dramatically and sat up, hair a mess, face still half-buried in your hand. “Tell me why the hell did I choose to live with you?”

“Because I do your laundry when you forget,” she said immediately, standing up straight and crossing her arms like she’d been waiting for that line.

“Once,” you muttered. “You did it once and haven’t stopped mentioning it.”

“It’s a good deed, I deserve credit.”

You squinted at her. “You mixed my white shirts with your pink hoodie.”

“Now they’re matching!” she said proudly. Completely unbothered.

You couldn’t help the small laugh that slipped out. “You’re so annoying.”

“Annoyingly cute?”

You stared at her blankly. “…annoying, period.”

She gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “Wow. You’ve changed.”

“Yeah,” you said, dragging yourself out of bed, “I’ve changed into someone who wants to move out.”

“You say that every week,” she teased, already grabbing her gym bag. “And yet, here you are — my favourite roomie.”

“Only because the landlord won’t let me kick you.”

She grinned, leaning against the wall. “You like living with me.”

You looked up at her, the morning light from the window catching on her pink hair, her eyes dancing with mischief, her entire being radiating that unfair combination of wild and warmth, and sighed. “Sure, you can think of it that way.”

She chuckled, tossing you a water bottle. “Come on, tragic boy. Five minutes to get ready.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll carry you out in your pajamas. Bridal style.”

You blinked, half-daring her. “Don’t you dare, muscle freak.” But to be fair, it does sound good in your head.

Her lips twitched. “Try me.”

You stared at her for a moment. The slight smirk tugging at her mouth, the way her stance screamed “I absolutely would”. Didn’t think this girl would make you rub your temples this early in the morning. “You’re not human.”

“Thank you,” she said brightly, as if you just complimented her. And by the time you stumbled into the bathroom to change, she was humming to herself and tying her sneakers by the door.

Somewhere between brushing your teeth and pulling your hoodie over your head, you realized that, for someone who claimed to hate mornings (disheveled, half-awake, annoyed), you couldn’t stop the smile on your face.

And that was the most annoying part of all.

7:30am, and the gym is already a live wire. Metal clanks, treadmills thrum, bass-heavy pop rattles the mirrors, and a chorus of strained grunts underlines everything. The air tastes faintly of chalk and protein shakes. And you want, with an aching passion, to be anywhere but here.

You fall a few steps behind Nien, who moves through the large space like she owns the layout and the playlist. Her pink ponytail bounces with each stride; her hoodie sleeves are pushed up just enough to flash the curve of a biceps that looks illegal on a person who smiles like a dandelion. At home she’s a cinnamon roll. Here she looks like she will effortlessly put you on a chokehold.

“Remind me why I agreed to this again?” you ask, dragging your feet toward the bag racks so your shoes hit the rubber floor slower than they should.

“Because deep down, you love taking care of your health, with me.” she replied, voice dripping with mischief.

“I don’t even love taking care of my own skin.” you muttered.

Nien laughed and handed you a towel. “You’ll thank me later.”

“Pretty sure I won’t, dummy.” you said, but you still followed her to the free weights like a responsible hostage.

You started your warmup — light curls, slow breathing, trying not to look like you wanted to go home. For a moment, you thought you were doing decent, doing your usual set. Until you looked over.

Nien, this girl.

Seriously, she was in her zone. Fully locked in — no breaks, no wasted motion, just clean, economical lifts that look effortless. One set, two, three; her crop top clings to a frame that is all lean planes and subtle strength. Her face is flushed the kind of pink that says exertion, not stress, and she still manages that mischievous, almost innocent smile you’ve gotten used to.

She finished her reps, turned to you with a bright grin, and asked, “You good?”

You quickly looked away. “Yeah. Totally fine. Just… pacing myself.”

“Pacing yourself?” she repeated, smiling knowingly. “You’ve been lifting that same dumbbell for five minutes.”

“I’m focusing on form,” you said defensively. “and technique.”

“Right. Sure.” She giggled and went back to her next set, leaving you muttering under your breath about how she was a macho girl with an angelic face.

And then while you were on your third set, already feeling your arms tremble, you noticed her reflection in the mirror moving closer. Nien had finished her reps long ago, but instead of resting like a normal person, she was making her way toward you with that look. You know, the one that meant she was about to “help.”

“Your form’s off again,” she said, voice cutting through the music and clanking weights.

You exhaled through your teeth, trying to sound nonchalant. “I got it.”

“You don’t,” she replied simply, standing right behind you now. “You should take a— ”

Before you could protest, you felt her presence — warm, solid, unmistakable. Her hand slid lightly between your shoulder blades, palm pressed flat against your back. “You’re rounding,” she murmured, adjusting your posture with gentle but deliberate pressure. “Keep this straight. Yeah, like that.”

You could feel every point of contact — the brush of her fingers through the thin fabric of your shirt, the heat radiating from her body as she leaned in to guide your movement, and the sweet perfume you saw her put on this morning. Her voice was low, steady, the faint sound of her breathing brushing past your ear. Great, a terrific way to stay in focus.

“Now, engage your core,” she said softly. Her hand moved down, resting lightly against your stomach, and your entire brain short-circuited. “Don’t let it relax while you lift.”

You swallowed hard. “Pretty sure it’s impossible to relax right now.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, resuming the lift. It definitely didn’t help that you decided to look at the mirror. You saw her. Nien. Too focused on getting you to the right form. You were too focused on the beads of sweat rolling down her abs instead. And you swallowed hard. Hard. The air between you suddenly felt thicker and heavier. Every breath sounded too loud, every heartbeat became annoyingly noticeable. Damn it, get your mind out of the gutter. It’s just Nien.

It’s just Nien…right?

“Better?” she asked softly, still close enough that her ponytail brushed your arm.

“Yeah,” you muttered, trying to sound normal. “Better.”

She stepped back finally, and you exhaled like you’d been holding your breath for hours. The air felt cooler without her there (annoyingly so).

Nien smiled, completely oblivious, wiping her hands on her towel. “See? I told you I’d make a good trainer.”

“Sure, totally.” you said, trying not to think about how close she’d been a second ago. “If they ignore your puppy eyes.”

She laughed. Light, careless, the kind of laugh that made you think she really had no idea what she was doing to you.

You grabbed your bottle to quench your very much overdue thirst, then you saw them — two guys near the bench press. You caught the side glances, the subtle nods, the whispers that weren’t as quiet as they thought. But then again, the gym was full of people looking at people. It wasn’t new, so you didn’t want to assume.

Then they started moving closer.

Nien had gone back to her own set, focused, completely unaware that the two were making their slow approach, pretending to check weights near her area. You could already hear one of them mutter, “She’s cute as hell.” You tried to ignore it, you really tried. Not your business. Nien could handle herself. She’s a grown up, after all.

And then they started approaching the aloof airhead. Great.

By the time the first guy spoke up “Hey, you need a spot?”, she’d looked up, polite and caught off guard. Blinking with her puppy eyes, polite as ever. “Oh, no, I’m okay, thank you.”

“Come on,” his friend added, stepping closer. “You shouldn’t be lifting that alone. Dangerous for someone your size.”

You rubbed your temple and exhaled through your nose. Hard. Gosh, they really didn’t even try to hide. Sweaty, subtly contracting their muscles, straightening their back to flex their chests.

Nien just smiled awkwardly, trying to be nice. “Really, it’s fine. I do this a lot.”

They didn’t move. You could feel your patience slipping, tempting to just fling a 20kg weight idling next to you already. And by the time the second guy started flexing (actually flexing) and saying something about “training tips,” your leg moved before your brain did. One step, sharp, automatic. Then another. By the time your mind caught up, you were already standing between them. It got awkward immediately.

The guy blinked, clearly surprised. You blinked too, because you hadn’t exactly planned this.

“Uh…” you started, realizing you had no script for this scenario. “She—uh—she said she’s fine.”

The taller guy looked at you, a bit thrown off. “We were just—”

“Yeah, I heard,” you said quickly, trying to sound composed but feeling your heart thump a little too fast. “Just… don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he asked, brow furrowing, a smirk creeping back. “We were only—”

“She said she’s fine,” you repeated, this time firmer.

Silence stretched for a beat. The guy’s friend shifted awkwardly. Finally, they both backed off with some muttered “chill, bro” and a shrug that was supposed to look confident but just looked uncomfortable. You exhaled through your nose and turned back to Nien, who was just staring up at you — a dumbbell still in hand, face slightly flushed but not from the workout.

“You didn’t have to—” “I know, my leg kinda… moved on its own.”

Her lips twitched, struggling not to laugh. “Your leg?”

“Yes. My leg. It moves by itself,” you said flatly. “My brain was still debating if I was bothered, but my leg just—” you gestured vaguely between you and the space she’d been standing in, “—did this uh…fucking thing.”

She giggled, covering her mouth. “That’s… very you.”

“Rude. What’s that supposed to mean?” You really tried to sound annoyed.

“Impulsive but pretending not to be,” she teased. “It’s cute.”

You roll your eyes, but the heat at your neck makes your retort sound thinner than you planned. “Whatever. Just. Don’t smile like that at random dudes, okay? You give them hope.”

“I was just being polite,” she said innocently.

“Polite doesn’t mean naïve,” you say, handing her a water bottle. “Not everyone is harmless.”

“You sound like my dad.” “I sound like someone trying to prevent you from an awkward date. Or two. Or three.”

She laughs, light and unbothered, the kind that makes the gym noise recede for a second. “Ok dad, you worry too much.”

“And you don’t worry enough, Nien.”

“Then we balance each other out.” She hooks an elbow through yours teasingly, like a claim staked with a smile.

You glared half-heartedly. “You think this is funny?”

“A little.”

You sighed and shook your head, muttering, “This girl, seriously…” before grabbing her wrist. “Come on. We’re done here.”

“What? But I still have two sets left!” “You can do them tomorrow. Before you accidentally start having a line of guys I have to kick.”

She laughed again as you tugged her toward the exit. “You’re seriously dragging me out?”

“Yeah,” you said, pushing the gym door open. “You dragged me here. It’s only fair.”

Outside, the morning air was different. Crisp and cool it was, the kind that carried the faint scent of wet pavement and coffee from the café across the street. After the thick, sweaty heat of the gym, it felt like stepping into a reset button. You exhaled, muscles still faintly trembling, and your mind somewhere between annoyance and relief.

Your hand was still wrapped tightly around her wrist. You didn’t notice until you saw the pale contrast of her skin against your fingers. She didn’t say a word about it. Didn’t tease. Didn’t pull away. Just walked beside you, her sneakers scuffing lightly against the pavement, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

For a while, neither of you spoke. Just the rhythm of your footsteps, the dull hum of early traffic, and the sound of her breathing beside you. Calm, steady, almost smugly peaceful.

Then she said it, voice soft but laced with that familiar teasing edge. “You really didn’t have to step in, you know.”

You glanced sideways at her. “Yeah, well, someone has to make sure you don’t get kidnapped by other muscle heads.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “So you were jealous.”

You stopped walking. “I wasn’t jealous.”

She stopped too, turning just enough to catch your face. Eyes glinting, lips curving into that grin you’ve learned to fear. “You totally were.”

You stared at her flatly. “Don’t even try.”

She only laughed, the sound light and disarming, before doing something that short-circuited your brain. This girl. This sly girl. She slipped her fingers between yours. Smooth, natural, like it wasn’t even a decision.

“I knew you’d step in anyway,” “Excuse me?”

Her eyes darted to yours, all mischief and sunlight. “Nothing~”

You sighed, half in defeat, half to hide the fact that your pulse just kicked up a notch. “You’re so damn fucking annoying.”

“I prefer cute,” she said cheerfully, squeezing your hand…and then tugging you forward.

“Ya—” you started, stumbling a little as she began to walk faster, practically dragging you down the street by your hand.

“Come on,” she said over her shoulder, grinning as bright as the sun that was finally cutting through the clouds. “You’re buying breakfast.”

“What—why me?!” you groaned, letting yourself be pulled along anyway.

“Because,” she said, turning around just long enough to flash that teasing smile that always spelled trouble, “you always do. Bleh.”

So then she just half-dragged, half-led you while humming some pop tune under her breath — light, breezy, entirely unbothered. And for a split second, you caught yourself smiling despite the ache in your arms and the little mischief she always brought into your life.

And that’s when it hit you.

She definitely planned this. Every single second of it. From waking up to now, holding your hand like her favourite thing in the world.

…damn you, Hsu Nien Tzu.