A Backstage Love I Han Jisung x Reader

Support Through A Glass Door

The next few weeks passed in a blur of grueling rehearsals and sleepless nights. The bond between the nine of us grew stronger, our movements more synchronized, our voices blending seamlessly. It wasn't easy—there were tears, frustrations, and even the occasional argument—but every challenge brought us closer.

One evening, after a particularly intense day, I found myself in the practice room, stretching out the soreness in my legs. Han walked in, holding two water bottles.

"You're still here?" he asked, handing me one.

"Yeah," I replied, taking a grateful sip. "Just needed to clear my head."

He sat down beside me, the silence between us comfortable. But when I turned to thank him, his gaze was already on me, intense and unreadable.

"You've been killing it, Y/N," he said softly. "Watching you grow into this—it's... inspiring."

My cheeks flushed, but I held his gaze. "You're the one who's been inspiring me, Han. You believed in me when I didn't believe in myself."

The space between us seemed to disappear. His hand reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. My heart raced, and before I could second-guess myself, I closed the gap, our lips meeting in a kiss.

The kiss deepened, filled with a yearning that had been building for far too long, yet again. His lips were soft yet demanding, moving against mine with an intensity that sent shivers coursing down my spine. His hands, warm and steady, found their place at my waist, pulling me closer as if afraid I might slip away.

As I was lifted effortlessly onto the ballet bar, my back pressed against the cool mirror, the contrast sent sparks through me. My hands instinctively found their way to his hair, threading through the strands as I anchored myself to him.

His hands slid to my waist, his touch deliberate, fingers pressing into the fabric of my shirt as though trying to memorize the curve beneath. One hand lingered, splaying against my lower back, pulling me closer with an urgency that was still somehow tender. The other brushed upward along my side, grazing the edge of my ribcage, the motion careful, reverent—like he was afraid this moment might slip away.

Each touch, each press of his lips against mine, felt like an unspoken confession, a culmination of stolen glances, teasing remarks, and fleeting touches over the months.

Opening my eyes for a fleeting second, I caught the silhouette of Chan through the glass door. He stood there, arms crossed, facing away, his broad figure a shield ensuring we weren't interrupted by any prying eyes.

Han's forehead rested against mine as we both tried to catch our breath, his lips curling into a lazy grin. "You keep this up, and I'm not gonna let you leave this practice room."

I couldn't help the smirk that tugged at my lips. "Big talk for someone who's supposed to be 'just stopping by,'" I teased, brushing a strand of hair from his face.

His hand slid from my waist to rest lightly on my hip, pulling me closer. "Stopping by, huh? Is that what we're calling it now?"

I rolled my eyes, but my heart was still pounding. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Nowhere more important than here," he replied, his voice low and unwavering, sending a shiver down my spine.

I tried to muster up some retort, but he tilted his head, catching my lips again in a kiss that stole every coherent thought. It wasn't rushed this time; it was deliberate, as if he was savoring every moment, every second of this stolen time together.

As he pulled away, his thumb traced along my jawline, his eyes flickering with amusement. "You're trouble, you know that?"

"Me?" I arched a brow, straightening my shirt as I slid off the ballet bar. "I'm not the one sneaking into practice rooms to cause distractions."

He chuckled, low and warm, leaning down so his lips were just a breath away from my ear. "Admit it—you like the distraction."

Before I could respond, Chan's knock on the glass door interrupted us, his face carefully neutral as he looked anywhere but directly at us. "Hate to break up whatever this is," he said casually, though his tone was laced with amusement, "but you're on the clock, you know."

Han groaned dramatically, running a hand through his hair. "You just love ruining my fun, don't you?"

Chan raised a brow. "I'm saving you from getting caught. You're welcome."

I shook my head, trying to hide the smile that tugged at my lips. As I moved toward the door, Han caught my wrist, his touch lingering.

"Later," he said softly, his voice carrying a promise.

Before we could exchange another word, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out to see a message in the trainee group chat.