Ffff

It started as a simple health kick. Hongjoong had always been the leanest member of Ateez, a whirlwind of sharp angles and frantic energy that seemed held together by sheer willpower and expensive hair dye. But after a particularly grueling world tour, he decided he needed a more solid foundation. He wanted stamina. He wanted strength.

What he hadn't planned for was how efficiently his body would respond to the heavy bench presses and cable flies.

It was a Tuesday morning in the practice room, and the air was thick with the scent of floor wax and cooling sweat. Hongjoong was hunched over his laptop at the small table in the corner, focused on tweaking the bridge of a new track. He was wearing a vintage, slightly oversized black t-shirt—or at least, it had been oversized three months ago.

"Hyung," Wooyoung said, his voice dropping an octave into that mischievous tone that usually signaled trouble.

Hongjoong didn't look up from the screen. "If you’re hungry, go get a snack. We have ten more minutes of break."

"I'm not hungry for food," Wooyoung chirped, suddenly appearing at Hongjoong’s shoulder. "I'm just wondering when you decided to smuggle two loaves of bread under your shirt."

Hongjoong finally glanced up, blinking through his glasses. "What are you talking about?"

Wooyoung didn't answer with words. Instead, he reached out and poked Hongjoong squarely in the center of his chest. His finger didn't sink into soft fabric; it hit something firm, rounded, and surprisingly prominent.

"Whoa," San said, drifting over like he’d been summoned by a silent alarm. The younger man, who was no stranger to the gym himself, leaned in with an analytical squint. "Hyung, did you up your incline sets? The upper shelf is... significant."

Hongjoong felt a flush creep up his neck. "I’ve just been consistent. It’s nothing. Move, I’m trying to mix the bass."

"It’s definitely not nothing," Seonghwa added, joining the circle. He looked down at his leader with a mixture of motherly concern and genuine awe. "Hongjoong-ah, that shirt is struggling. Look at the seams around the armpits."

Hongjoong looked down at himself. Now that they’d pointed it out, he realized the fabric was stretched taut across his chest, the graphic on the front slightly distorted by the new volume beneath it. When he moved his arms to type, the fabric pulled even tighter, defining a deep, shadowed dip right in the center of his sternum.

"It’s just muscle," Hongjoong muttered, though his ears were burning. "Can we please focus on the choreography?"

They didn't focus on the choreography. For the rest of the day, Hongjoong felt like a specimen in a museum. Every time he took a breath, he could feel the eyes of his members tracking the rise and fall of his chest. During the dance practice for 'Guerilla,' the sharp, jerky movements caused his chest muscles to flex and jump under his sweat-soaked shirt.

During the break, Jongho walked up to him without a word, handed him a water bottle, and then casually rested a hand on Hongjoong’s shoulder, his thumb grazing the collarbone area.

"The power output in your chest pops has doubled," the youngest noted solemnly. "It’s very... impactful."

"Thank you, Jongho," Hongjoong sighed, taking the water. "At least you’re being professional about it."

"I can bounce a coin off them," Mingi shouted from across the room, ruining the moment. "I bet I can! Hyung, let me try!"

"No one is bouncing currency off me!" Hongjoong yelled back, though the effect was ruined when he crossed his arms, inadvertently pushing his chest out even further and making the 'cleavage'—a word he refused to acknowledge—even more pronounced.

The obsession reached a fever pitch two days later during a fitting for their upcoming stage outfits. The stylists had brought in a series of custom-made vests and silk shirts. Usually, Hongjoong’s measurements were a breeze; he was a standard small or a slim medium.

"Is there a problem?" Hongjoong asked, standing on the small podium. The stylist was frowning, tugging at the lapels of a crimson silk shirt that refused to button over his midsection without gaping dangerously at the chest.

"You’ve... changed," the stylist said, her brow furrowed. "The measurements from last month aren't working. If I button this, the buttons will fly off the moment you start dancing."

From the sofa in the corner, Yunho let out a low whistle. "See? We told you. You’re becoming a tank, Captain."

Yeosang, who had been quietly scrolling through his phone, looked up and tilted his head. "It’s the aesthetic. It’s very 'powerful leader.' But hyung, maybe you should stop doing chest day every day?"

"I don't do it every day!" Hongjoong defended himself, feeling exposed as the stylist grabbed a measuring tape.

"Deep breath in," she instructed.

Hongjoong inhaled, and the tape measure stretched. The members leaned forward in unison, watching the numbers.

"Wow," San whispered, sounding genuinely impressed. "That’s a lot of centimeters."

"I think we need to go with a deep V-neck," the stylist mused, tapping her chin. "If we can't hide it, we should emphasize it. It fits the concept of the new comeback. Strength, dominance, growth."

Hongjoong groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I just wanted to be able to carry my gear without getting a backache."

The result of the stylist’s decision was a sheer, black lace top worn under a structured leather blazer for their first live performance. The catch? The blazer was designed to stay open, and the lace was so thin it was practically a suggestion.

Backstage, minutes before they were due to go on, the atmosphere in the dressing room was chaotic. Staff were flying around with hairspray and glitter, but the members of Ateez were preoccupied.

"Hyung, you can’t go out like that," Wooyoung said, though he was grinning ear to ear. He walked over and adjusted the silver chains hanging around Hongjoong’s neck, his fingers lingering near the exposed skin of Hongjoong’s chest. "Atiny are going to faint. Look at that shadow. That’s not a chest, that’s a canyon."

"Stop being dramatic," Hongjoong said, trying to pull the blazer closer together. It was useless; the garment was tailored to frame his torso. Every time he moved, the light caught the defined curves of his pectorals, the sheer lace doing nothing to hide the results of his hard work.

Mingi walked over, looking sharp in his own outfit, but his eyes went straight to Hongjoong’s midline. "I’m serious, hyung. I’ve been looking at you in the mirror for five minutes. It’s distracting. How am I supposed to remember my rap when I’m standing behind you and all I see is... that?"

"It’s just skin and muscle, Mingi," Hongjoong snapped, though his heart was racing. "We are professionals. We are Ateez. We focus on the performance."

Seonghwa walked over, looking like a prince, and placed a steadying hand on Hongjoong’s back. "You look good, Joong-ah. Really good. But maybe... don't lean forward too much during the ending fairy? The camera might get an eyeful."

"I hate all of you," Hongjoong muttered, though there was no real heat in it.

The performance was a blur of fire, bass, and screaming fans. Hongjoong threw himself into the choreography with his usual ferocity, but he was acutely aware of the new weight he was carrying. He felt more grounded, his movements more explosive. But he also felt the cool air hitting his chest every time he spun, the lace fluttering against his skin.

During the bridge, there was a moment where the music dropped out, and Hongjoong had to stand center stage, panting heavily as the lights dimmed to a single spotlight. He was supposed to look rugged and exhausted.

As he breathed, his chest rose and fell sharply. The sweat made his skin glisten under the lace, the deep line of his cleavage catching the harsh white light. He heard a collective gasp from the front row that was louder than any cheer they’d received all night.

When they finally finished the set and stumbled off-stage into the wings, the adrenaline was high.

"Did you hear them?" Yunho laughed, dumping water over his head. "The front row literally stopped singing during your solo part."

"I think I saw a fan drop their lightstick," Yeosang added, wiping his face with a towel. "Right when you did the floor crawl. The, uh... the view was very clear."

Hongjoong collapsed into a folding chair, his blazer hanging off his shoulders. He was too tired to be embarrassed anymore. "Is it really that noticeable?"

San sat down on the floor at his feet, looking up with an uncharacteristic seriousness. "Hyung, you’ve always been our leader because of your mind and your heart. But now? You look like you could physically carry the entire team on your back. It’s intimidating. In a good way."

Wooyoung leaned over the back of Hongjoong’s chair, poking the muscle again. "It’s not just intimidating. It’s soft. Can I use you as a pillow on the plane ride home?"

"Absolutely not," Hongjoong said, though he didn't swat the hand away this time.

"I’ll pay you," Wooyoung bargained. "Ten minutes of pillow time for a bag of those honey chips you like."

"Make it two bags," Hongjoong sighed, closing his eyes.

"Deal!"

The next day, the internet was in a state of absolute meltdown. 'Hongjoong Chest' and 'Captain Big Pectorals' were trending worldwide. Fans had compiled slow-motion clips of the performance, specifically focusing on the way his chest moved during the more intense parts of the choreography.

Hongjoong sat in the back of the van on the way to their next schedule, scrolling through Twitter with a look of pure disbelief.

"Look at this one," Mingi said, shoving his phone into Hongjoong’s face. It was a high-definition fansite photo of the ending fairy. The lighting was perfect, highlighting every muscle fiber and the deep shadow between them. The caption simply read: *I survived the Great War, but I won't survive Kim Hongjoong’s gym era.*

"I'm deleting the internet," Hongjoong announced, though he was secretly smiling.

"You can't delete the truth," Seonghwa said from the front seat. "The fans love it. And honestly? It’s been good for your confidence. You’re standing taller."

"I'm standing taller because my chest is too heavy to slouch," Hongjoong joked, earning a round of laughter from the group.

"Hey, hyung," Jongho said, looking up from his own phone. "I just saw a video of you from three months ago. You look like a different person. You were so... tiny."

"I wasn't tiny, I was streamlined," Hongjoong corrected.

"Now you’re a 4K experience," Wooyoung chimed in. He reached over the seat and tried to squeeze Hongjoong’s bicep. "Are you going to the gym tonight? Because if you are, I’m coming with you. I need to catch up. I can’t have the Captain out-bulking the main dancers."

San nodded fervently. "Me too. We’re going to turn Ateez into a group of giants. But you’ll always be the one with the best... assets, hyung."

Hongjoong shook his head, looking out the window as the van sped through the streets of Seoul. He felt the familiar tightness of his shirt, the solid weight of his own body, and the warmth of his members crowding around him.

He had started this journey just to feel a bit stronger, to keep up with the grueling pace of their lives. He hadn't expected to become the center of an international obsession, nor had he expected his members to turn his fitness journey into a team-wide spectator sport.

But as he looked at the reflection of his broader shoulders in the window, he realized he didn't mind it as much as he pretended to.

"Fine," Hongjoong said, his voice commanding the attention of the whole van. "We’ll all go to the gym tonight. But if any of you touch my chest during the workout, I’m doubling your cardio."

"Worth it!" Wooyoung shouted, and the van erupted into chaos once again.

Hongjoong leaned back, a small, proud smile tugging at his lips. He might be the same height, but he felt bigger than he ever had before. And if his members wanted to obsess over his 'new armor,' well, he’d just have to give them—and Atiny—something even more impressive to look at during the next comeback.

After all, a Captain had to lead by example. And right now, the example was looking very, very firm.