Want so Bad Han Jisung x Reader x Lee Minho

"I've seen it all beforе but I keep freezing up"

The dance studio was filled with the hum of fluorescent lights and the faint thump of bass bleeding from someone's Bluetooth speaker next door. I hovered near the entrance, fingers curled tightly around a folded paper schedule Chris had handed me fifteen minutes ago.

"You're gonna help Minho with the transitions for the bridge," he'd said, offhand like it wasn't a bomb drop.

"He didn't ask for help," I'd pointed out.

"Exactly." Chris had smiled with that maddening calmness of his. "That's why I'm sending you. And Felix, so he doesn't bolt."

So now here I was, the door creaking open just enough for me to see Minho mid-turn. He was all lines and sharp precision, as elegant as he was severe. He didn't see us come in, or if he did, he didn't let on.

Felix stepped beside me, grinning. "Ready to enter the danger zone?"

"Only if you promise not to let him kill me."

"No promises."

Minho paused when he saw us. His jaw twitched.

"What's this?"

"Chris said we should help," I said, holding up the schedule like a peace offering.

"I don't need help."

Felix flopped onto the floor with exaggerated flair. "Too late. We're here. Accept the love, Minho."

He rolled his eyes, but didn't argue. Still, the tension in the room prickled at my skin.

The first twenty minutes were awkward, to say the least. I kept my distance, demonstrating steps from memory while Minho nodded, arms crossed, absorbing everything without comment. Felix chimed in with corrections and jokes, easing the tension where he could. He danced with lightness and joy, spinning a little too dramatically when he messed up on purpose just to make us laugh.

But I could still feel the wall Minho had built between us. Thicker now. Colder. He didn't correct me. He didn't challenge anything. Just watched.

"Try the sequence again," I said, cueing the music from my phone.

Minho moved through the first few counts with muscle memory, sharp and efficient, until the bridge.

He hesitated.

I stepped in front of him. "Here. When you pivot, your shoulder drops—like this."

He mirrored me, his brows slightly furrowed.

"Lift through here," I said softly, placing my hand lightly on his upper arm to guide him.

He froze. Just for a second.

My hand stayed.

Then his eyes flicked to mine.

And the air cracked.

His breath hitched just enough for me to notice.

His jaw tightened, and he turned sharply, brushing past me. "Don't overthink it."

The words hit harder than they should have.

I backed off, swallowing the sting. "You weren't always like this, were you?"

He didn't answer. His face gave away nothing. Just turned back to the mirror and reset the music.

Felix caught my eye and gave me a subtle frown, like he'd seen everything he wasn't supposed to.

We worked for another hour, going over the same few eight-counts again and again. My calves ached, and sweat clung to the nape of my neck, but the chill between me and Minho never lifted. He was brilliant and brutal and silent.