The Preparations

The practice room was too quiet.

You sat on the worn couch in the corner, laptop open but neglected, watching Yeojin move through choreography for what had to be the twentieth time tonight. The building was nearly empty—just you, her, and the hum of the overworked heating system fighting against the winter cold outside.

“Again,” she muttered to herself, restarting the track.

You checked your phone. 10:47 PM. The winter darkness outside had fallen hours ago.

“Yeojin, it’s late. You’ve been at this for hours.”

She didn’t stop moving. “The album recording starts next week. I need to be perfect.”

“You are perfect. You need rest.”

“One more run.” She caught your eyes in the mirror, flashed that smile. “Please, Oppa? I’ll stop after this one. Promise.”

You’d heard that three run-throughs ago. But you couldn’t say no to her—you never could. None of them, really, but especially not Yeojin with those wide eyes and that pleading voice.

“Fine. One more.”

She grinned and started the song over.

You’d arrived at the practice building around seven, expecting maybe an hour or two of supervision. Manager duties—making sure she didn’t overwork herself, that she had water, that she got home safe. Simple.

Except Yeojin had other plans.

When you’d arrived, she’d been dressed in what looked straight out of a casual IG post—an oversized cream-colored knit sweater with an open, netted pattern that showed glimpses of the black sports bra underneath. White athletic socks pulled up high, black-and-white sneakers that looked brand new. Her hair was down, loose and natural. She looked more like she was heading to meet friends at a café than grinding through dance practice.

“Cute outfit,” you’d commented.

“Thanks. I like being comfortable when I practice.” That smile—innocent but knowing.

You hadn’t thought much of it then.

Now, three hours later, things had changed.

The oversized knit sweater had come off first, maybe an hour in. “It’s so stuffy in here,” she’d complained, peeling it over her head and tossing it onto the couch beside you. “They always blast the heat in winter.”

Underneath was just the black sports bra and her cycling shorts—tight, black, leaving nothing to imagination. You could see every line of her body, the way her muscles moved as she danced, the curve of her hips.

You’d tried not to stare. Failed.

The sports bra came off during the second hour. She’d pulled a thin white t-shirt from her bag first, slipped it on, then reached underneath and yanked the sports bra out through the sleeve in one smooth motion.

“That thing was digging into my ribs,” she’d explained, tossing the bra aside with the sweater.

Now the thin white fabric of the t-shirt was all that covered her chest, and with the way she was sweating from the overheated room, it was becoming increasingly see-through. You could see the outline of her small breasts, see her nipples clearly, watch them harden when she moved near the pathetically weak air conditioning vent struggling against the heating system.

The white athletic socks had stayed on the whole time—somehow that made it worse. More deliberate. More styled.

You were trying very hard to focus on your laptop. Failing spectacularly.

Yeojin finished the run and stood in front of the mirror, breathing hard. Her chest rose and fell, the damp fabric clinging to her small breasts. She caught you staring in the reflection.

“What?” She turned to face you, hands on her hips. “Is something distracting you, Oppa?”

“No. Just… you worked hard. We should go.”

“Mm.” She grabbed her water bottle, tilted her head back, and drank. Water spilled down her chin, her neck, soaking into her already damp shirt. When she lowered the bottle, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Yeah, I’m ready. God, I need to get out of this hot box.”

She made no move to put more clothes back on. Just picked up her sweater, slung it over her shoulder, and headed for the door.

“Aren’t you going to…” You gestured vaguely at her outfit.

“What? Put this back on?” She looked at the sweater. “It’s like ten steps to the elevator. I’ll put it on when we get outside. Right now I just need to cool down.”

She was right. The building’s heated hallways would be just as stuffy. Just the two of you in the elevator down to the parking garage.

In the confined space, you were hyperaware of her. The smell of her sweat, sweet and clean. The way her shoulder brushed against your arm. How little she was wearing.

“Thanks for staying late with me, Oppa,” she said as the elevator descended. “I know you’re tired.”

“It’s fine. It’s my job.”

“Still.” She looked up at you. “I appreciate it. You’re always taking care of us.”

The elevator opened to the parking garage. The temperature dropped immediately—the unheated concrete structure was barely warmer than outside. Yeojin shivered.

“Fuck, it’s cold.” She quickly pulled on the sweater, but her legs were still bare in just the cycling shorts. “Let’s get to the car quick.”

Your car was one of only three left in the structure. She climbed into the passenger seat, and you immediately started the engine, cranking the heat.

“Oh god, heat, please,” she said, holding her hands up to the vents as warm air started flowing.

“Can we stop at a convenience store?” she asked as you pulled out into the winter night. “I need a post-workout snack.”

“Sure.”

You drove to the nearest 7-Eleven, pulled into the lot. Yeojin looked down at herself—sweater covering her torso but bare legs in cycling shorts.

“Actually, maybe you should go in. I’m not exactly dressed for winter weather.”

She was right. The thin cycling shorts were meant for indoor practice, not December temperatures. Her bare legs would freeze in seconds.

“What do you want?”

“Banana. And water. Oh, and some chocolate milk if they have it.”

You headed inside, grateful for the blast of heated air. Grabbed her items, paid quickly. When you came back out into the cold night, she’d moved the car.