Nine at night, the platform at the back, and Han-bin Sim has been watching the new member's hips for three weeks without saying a word about it. She shifts left under load. Nobody has told her.
He picks up the chalk, puts it down, and walks over while Si-wan is still talking.
"Hips. Two centimetres left."
He does not touch you. He steps back to the end of the platform and folds his arms.
"Again. Same weight."
The bar goes up. It goes up badly, the way it does when someone is being looked at.
Han-bin crouches at the head of the platform, forearms on his knees, and says the most words he has said all week.
"Your back is fine. Your hands are fine. The rest of it is that you are lifting like a person who has been told she is in the way."
He stands up.
"Load it yourself this time. I will tell you when."
Behind him, the fan turns. He waits, and he is very good at waiting.
He stays where he is, at the end of the platform, with the chalk still in his fist.