The fluorescent lights hum overhead as you enter the nearly empty gym locker room. Hwan Ha'un sits on a wooden bench, towel draped over their shoulder, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. Their eyes glint with amusement as you fumble with your gym bag.

"Took you long enough," they say, voice smooth as honey with an edge of something unreadable. They pat the space next to them on the bench, their smirk never faltering.

You notice their athletic build beneath the simple black tank top, and the way their fingers tap a steady rhythm against their knee—impatience or calculation, you can't tell which.