The studio was already buzzing when Zane stepped in that morning. Bright lights, cables everywhere, assistants rushing from one side to another—it felt different from the previous shoots. Bigger. Sharper. Like everything about this project had to be perfect.
Because it wasn't just any product.
It was the launch of the Camille Group's new smartwatch.
And Zane was the face of it.
He rolled his shoulders back, adjusting the waistband of his training shorts as one of the stylists clipped a mic onto him. The watch sat snug around his wrist, sleek and metallic, catching the light every time he moved.
"Alright, Zane," the director called. "We'll start with the treadmill sequence. Show us intensity. Focus. Like you're in the middle of a fight."
Zane nodded, stepping onto the treadmill.
And then—
His eyes caught him.
Adrien.
Leaning casually against a pillar at the back of the set, arms crossed, dressed in simple black trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves slightly rolled up. He wasn't even trying, yet he stood out effortlessly. Like he didn't belong to the chaos of the room—but owned it anyway.
Zane's lips curved into the faintest smile.
Adrien raised an eyebrow.
Focus, Zane told himself, turning forward just as the machine started.
The treadmill whirred to life beneath his feet.
"Action!"
Zane ran.
At first steady, controlled. Then faster. Sweat began to gather at his temples, sliding down the side of his face. His breathing deepened, chest rising and falling in rhythm with each step.
"Closer shot!" the director yelled.
A cameraman moved in, zooming on the watch.
"Heart rate—show it reacting."
Zane glanced at the screen on his wrist, tapping it mid-run like they had rehearsed. Numbers flickered—heartbeat, calories burned, performance metrics. He pushed harder, jaw tightening as if he was in the final round of a match.
"Good! Again!"
And again.
And again.
By the tenth take, his shirt clung to his skin. By the fifteenth, his muscles burned. By the twentieth, his legs felt like lead.
But every time he thought about slowing down—
His eyes flickered back to Adrien.
Still watching.
Still there.
And somehow, that was enough to keep him going.
"CUT! That's a wrap!"
The director's voice echoed through the studio, followed by scattered applause. Assistants immediately moved in, some handing towels, others beginning to dismantle equipment.
Zane stepped off the treadmill, slightly breathless, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
Before anyone else could reach him—
A bottle of water appeared in front of him.
He looked up.
Adrien.
Zane took it, fingers brushing briefly against his. "Thanks."
Adrien shrugged lightly. "You looked like you were about to collapse."
"I don't collapse," Zane shot back, opening the bottle and taking a long sip.
Adrien's gaze trailed down—slow, deliberate—taking in the sheen of sweat across Zane's chest.
Zane noticed.
Of course he noticed.
He swallowed, suddenly very aware of himself. "I need a towel."
Adrien tilted his head slightly.
"No."
Zane blinked. "What?"
Before he could react, Adrien lifted a hand—just one finger—and slowly traced it down the center of Zane's chest, following the line where sweat had gathered.
Zane froze.
"I like it," Adrien said simply.
Zane's brain short-circuited.
For a second, he couldn't even speak.
"…I'm sweaty as hell," he managed.
Adrien leaned in just slightly, voice low. "I said I like it."
Zane felt heat rush straight to his face.
He looked around quickly—but the crew was already packing up, most of them too busy to notice.
Adrien glanced around too, making sure of it.
Then, without warning, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Zane's lips.
Soft.
Brief.
Gone in a second.
Before Zane could even process it, a towel hit his face.
"Dry yourself," Adrien said, already stepping back with a faint smirk.
Zane stood there, stunned, clutching the towel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
"…you're insane," he muttered, though the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him.
Adrien didn't deny it.
By the time they left the studio, the sky had softened into late afternoon hues. Zane unlocked his car, and they both slid inside without a word.
It felt… natural now.
Too natural.
Zane reached into the backseat, pulling out a small bag. "My mom packed lunch."
Adrien raised an eyebrow. "Lunch? At this hour?"
Zane smirked. "She packed two."
Adrien paused.
Then something softened in his expression.
"…she did?"
Zane nodded, handing him one of the boxes.
Adrien took it carefully, almost like it meant more than just food.
They ate in comfortable silence at first.
Simple meals, but warm. Homemade. The kind that didn't need fancy presentation.
Adrien leaned back slightly, finishing his portion. "It's good."
"She'll be happy to hear that," Zane said.
A quiet moment passed.
Then Zane shifted slightly in his seat, exhaling.
"…I feel hot."
Adrien glanced at him.
There was a pause.
Then, calmly, "What do you want to do?"
Zane hesitated.
For once, he didn't joke. Didn't deflect.
He just looked at Adrien.
"…stay here a bit longer," he said quietly.
Adrien held his gaze.
Then nodded once.
So they did.
No rushing. No chaos.
Just the two of them, sitting close, talking about nothing and everything at the same time—matches, school, random things that didn't matter but somehow felt important.
At some point, Zane leaned in again.
This time slower.
Adrien didn't pull away.
Their lips met, softer than before, less rushed. It wasn't about heat—it was something steadier. Something that lingered.
When they pulled back, neither of them spoke.
They didn't need to.
Eventually, they parted ways.
Adrien had class.
Zane had training.
But the silence between them wasn't empty anymore.
By the time Zane reached the gym, the world had already caught up.
Screens inside were flashing the new smartwatch ad.
Billboards outside had his face plastered across them—running, focused, alive.
People were talking.
Cameras flashed the moment he stepped out of his car.
"Zane! Over here!"
"How do you feel about the new campaign?"
"Are you ready for the semifinals?"
He didn't stop.
Didn't answer.
Just walked straight inside, focused.
Because tomorrow—
Was everything.
Meanwhile, Adrien sat in his Korean class, but his mind wasn't there.
Not even close.
His phone buzzed once under the desk.
Zane.
did you eat properly?
Adrien smiled before he could stop himself.
yes. train properly.
A second later—
always do
Adrien exhaled quietly, locking his phone.
Ji-Won noticed.
Of course she did.
She waited until class ended.
"Adrien."
He looked up.
"I need to talk to you."
They sat in his car.
Silence stretched between them.
Ji-Won turned to him, taking both his hands in hers.
Her grip was firm.
"Adrien… I'm going to hold your hand when I say this, okay?"
He frowned slightly. "What are you talking about?"
She inhaled slowly.
Then—
"I think you might be into Zane."
Everything stopped.
Adrien froze.
Completely.
His fingers stiffened in her grasp.
"…what?"
Ji-Won didn't look away.
"I've been watching you," she said calmly. "The way you react when his name comes up. The way you look at your phone. The way you disappear when he texts."
Adrien pulled his hands back slowly.
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it?"
He looked away, jaw tightening.
"This is stupid."
"Adrien."
He didn't answer.
Because for the first time—
He didn't know what to say.
And that terrified him more than anything.