Running to You | Park Han + JL + Steven | Haneulz + Stejay AU

Chapter 56: The Ride to Busan

The team gathered at the university gate just past sunrise -- some bleary-eyed, others buzzing with too much caffeine and too little sleep. The KNSU track team didn't travel light. Equipment bags, duffels of uniforms, and more resistance bands than a physiotherapy clinic were loaded into the undercarriage while the team milled around, full of loosely leashed energy in the dawn light. 

The university charter bus didn't smell like anything particularly athletic or inspiring. Not pine-scented, not hopeful. It smelled faintly of vinyl, warm Gatorade, and the kind of generic air freshener that had probably been named something unrealistic like "Morning Rush" or "Ocean Ice." 

JL yawned into the sleeve of his jacket, eyes puffy from too little sleep. Steven stood beside him, stretching languidly, a movement that looked effortless but showed off the lean strength in his arms. JL could smell his freshly shampooed hair, his favorite brand of cologne. JL could rattle off Steven's scents from memory by now, he realized. What was he, a kpop stan?

"Bus assignments!" Coach Yang barked, stepping off the front seat with a clipboard in hand. "Pairs, as listed. Assigned seats. No switching."

Woongki groaned. "Assigned? What is this, a prison transport?"

"Discipline is a mindset," Coach snapped.

Woongki made a face but kept his mouth shut.

JL half-listened, only perking up when he heard his name.

"Gaspar -- seat 4A. Han -- 4B."

JL blinked. "What?"

Han was already walking toward the bus, duffel slung over one shoulder, black zip-up jacket unzipped just enough to show the sharp line of his collarbone. His expression was unreadable. Too calm. Which meant something was definitely brewing under the surface.

Steven stepped forward, brows slightly furrowed. "Wait -- Coach--"

"It's strategy," Han said without turning. "We're reviewing the run cycles for the Supermeet. JL and I run second and anchor. We need to discuss transitions."

Coach nodded. "Exactly. Thought through and approved. Good initiative, Han."

Steven stared at the clipboard. Then at JL.

JL glanced at him, helpless, lips parting -- but no protest came out.

Woongki, trailing behind, pulled out his phone with the speed of a paparazzi spotting an idol. "The Alpha has cornered the Gazelle," he narrated in a faux-documentary whisper. "Note the ease with which the predator isolates its target. Magnificent."

"Delete that," JL hissed, ducking his head.

Kyungho just exhaled deeply and muttered, "This is going to be a long ride."

And so they sat.

Not close. Not far. That precise kind of distance measured in shared breath and unspoken tension.

Han was all long limbs and lethal stillness, dressed like someone who had never known disorder. Black track pants, black windbreaker, sleeves zipped just enough to show wrists that looked carved. He sat like his spine had been engineered for posture awards and international press photos, and he smelled -- not of cologne -- but of eucalyptus muscle balm, clean laundry, and something indefinably expensive. Like a boy raised in silence and perfection.

JL hated that he noticed. Hated more that he remembered how Han used to smell like nothing. Like a vacuum where expectations lived. And now, with that cool confidence pressed into the curve of the seat beside him, Han smelled like effort. Like he'd shown up trying.