“ heaven’s déja vu “

“𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐉𝐀 𝐕𝐔”

[amateurasterism]

CAN YOU SETTLE DOWN MY SOUL ? — ao3 + wattpad

ASTER, she/her & ‘08

— virgo & intj, nagi & gojo glazer — 星群.

requests — OPEN !

— kpop 케이팝. enhypen — seventeen — cortis

— anime アニメ. haikyuu — jujutsu kaisen — blue lock

— movies 映画. encanto

… AND TAKE ME BACK TO THE DAYS OLD WITH YOU .

[amateurasterism]

HELLO, can you PLEASE, make ot5 cortis and this tiktok trend about, seeing if they melt into the kiss, PLEASE? i think is a good idea and i think they all have different reactions

melting !

synopsis ; seeing if your boyfriend will melt into the kiss.

pairing ; cortis x reader (gender unspecified)

notes ; fluff, established relationship, kissing, making out??? barely, martin is a ragebaiter. first cortis request thank you sm anon!!

word count ; 1.7k, around 0.3k each

zhao james

you burst into laughter when james spontaneously bends in arms to do the wave upon you asking him to stand up from your comfortable bed and spread his arms out.

“is this another tiktok trend of yours?” he raises a brow, finally stopping his wave.

you simply giggle in that way that makes him smile at the sound, and lean forward to press your lips against his, still faintly giggling against him.

maybe it’s the lingering sound of your giggles, or just the way your lips feel against his own, but james finds himself immediately in a trance—his lips dancing with yours in a way that feels like that’s what they were destined to do, making you forget the tiktok completely.

you also forget how james’s hands are still upright, still kissing each other passionately despite your phone in the back still discreetly recording.

it abruptly comes to a stop when you suddenly feel long fingers moving along your torso and toying with the skin there, making you gasp at the ticklish sensation. the laugher bubbles out of you uncontrollably as james relentlessly continues, pushing you against the bed so you’re trapped.

“james!” his name is a breathless gasp between your lips, begging for mercy. “enough!”

he’s cackling, and continues for a few more moments until his hands quit their tickling and comically switch to a gentle caress, snaking around your waist as he falls over you on the bed and sneaks his head in the crook between your shoulder and neck.

“you’re evil,” you mutter, still catching your breath.

he laughs, and begins kissing your neck while tightening his grip on your waist.

“hey, you still got what you wanted. kisses and i’m holding your waist,” he pauses his kisses to point at the recording phone you thought you successfully hid. “you also got it all on camera!”

“you’re still evil.”

“and i still love you.”

you snort, but fold your arms over him and kiss his head, muttering the words back.

kim juhoon

“no.”

“please,” you tug juhoon’s wrist gently in an invitation for him to abandon his comfy spot on the couch and join you standing. “i’ll be quick.”

he simply smiles at you in the way he does when he’s enjoying your antics, but refuses to join. he’s content watching you make a fool out of yourself.

“you’re so lazy,” you grumble a little quieter, “you’re a chud.”

“did you just call me a chud?” juhoon nearly gasps, but a laugh is already escaping his lips. the look you give him is nasty.

laugh fading, he gets up and stands in front of you, if only to see the bright grin on your face. he gives you a small smile in return, and watches as you use your hands to pull his arms up, perpendicular to his body.

when you let go, he lets his arms fall again. you groan in frustration and pull them up again, ordering him to keep them there. another soft smile on his face appears as he watches you do so.

that smile is still on his face when you abruptly grab his face in between your hands and softly kiss him, the way you know is his favorite.

juhoon doesn’t last a second.

his arms, slow and gentle, immediately find themselves around your waist. you can feel his body loose, completely giving himself to you. you deepen the kiss, and he matches the action by tightening his hold on your waist and letting out a deep sigh.

you giggle. “you folded in about five milliseconds.”

he releases a small laugh and pulls away, though his hands remain on your waist. when he comes into full view, you realize he’s grinning, that sweet smile that makes his eyes crinkle. 

it’s silent for a short comforting moment—juhoon simply stares at you, moonstruck. then, he kisses your forehead.

“what’s this?”

then your temple. then eyelid. nose. cheek. jaw.

when he finally makes it to your lips, he whispers a pretty complement that only gets met with even more kisses.

edwards martin

if there’s one thing you know about your boyfriend, martin edwards, it’s that it is nearly impossible to pull any sort of tiktok trend on him because the highly likely chance he’s already seen it.​​

you gave up ages ago, but upon seeing a “seeing if my boyfriend melts into the kiss” on your recommended, you decided you needed to try it, no matter the likelihood of martin already seeing it.

it takes a considerable and embarrassing amount of effort for you to keep your phone hidden to record and your boyfriend seemingly unsuspicious, but it happens, somehow, and he currently stands next to you with absurdly long arms stretching across the room.

before he can say anything, you get up on your toes, pressing hard against the floor thanks to his height, and begin kissing him slowly.

the room is silent other than the sound of you two kissing—no other movement from the two of you, especially martin’s arms.

a minute passes until it becomes apparent your boyfriend has no intention of moving any part of his body other than his lips, which still passionately moved against yours despite his rather unpassionate hands. you pull away, disappointment painting your face in a way that almost—almost—makes martin drop his act.

you press a kiss to his cheek, feigning nonchalance as you turn to grab your phone from where you strategically hid it minutes earlier. at least he hadn’t realized, you figure—

any petty thoughts clouding your mind instantly faded as your boyfriend stops you in your tracks by pulling you against him from behind, arms wrapping around your body and squeezing your skin softly in reassurance. he plants kisses all over the top of your head, laughing.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry. i love you.” martin kisses your cheeks. “i’ve seen the trend and i thought it’d be funny.”

“now i can’t even post it because everyone will think you hate me,” you grumble, although your smile betrays any false petty act you tried keeping after the real pettiness fell the moment he grabbed you.

eom seonghyeon

“hyeon, come stand next to me real quick!”

you quickly press record on your phone and shove it discreetly behind some clutter on the shelf behind you just as seonghyeon comes from his room and stands next to you. 

“why?”

“put your arms up like this,” you demonstrate, and seonghyeon follows, staring at you curiously. “perfect. stay like that.”

then, you push up on your toes to kiss him—neither gentle nor aggressive—it’s sweet, passionate, and he moves his lips to yours like instinct.

kissing nearly makes you ignorant of his arms; which still wavered in the air. wavered, because in your peripheral they were slowly inching down, almost like the boy held himself to your command.

you respond by raising your hands to seonghyeon’s face, one set of fingers carding through his hair and the other finding the comfortable area between his neck and jaw. you push deeper into the kiss.

only then does seonghyeon finally let go of any restraint and slowly, inch by inch, lowers his arms down. one hand meets your neck, thumb caressing your jaw, and the other gently holds your side. you allow him to stay like that until you pull away, accomplishing your goal.

lost in the heat of the moment, he completely misses your sound of triumph and only realizes you’ve pulled back once your lips no longer touch his.

he looks at you in the same way a puppy looks at their owner holding their favorite food, and it nearly makes you fold and kiss him again. however, to his dismay you simply give him a taunting grin and trud to your hidden phone to stop recording, watching it back with a giddy smile.

only when you look up from your phone several minutes later do you see seonghyeon standing in the same spot, arms in the air like you commanded him to several minutes ago.

“what are you doing?” you say with a laugh. a smile reaches his face when you step up to him.

“can we do it again?”

ahn keonho

ahn keonho is already kissing you when you decide to copy the “seeing if my boyfriend melts into the kiss” videos on tiktok.

his body lay on top and tangled with yours, his head resting sideways on your chest as he scrolls through his phone. similarly, you held your phone above him when you stumbled across the tiktok trend, shifting to get up and recreate it.

your movement earns you kisses scattered all over your face, because apparently your boyfriend disagreed with you deciding to get up and found that kisses would be a great method for convincing you to stay with him in bed.

“what’s all this?” you murmur between keonho’s pecks.

“why are you getting up.”

“it’ll be quick, trust me. stand up with me for a second.”

it takes longer than it should, but eventually your boyfriend obliges to your command. you set up your phone to record, but he’s still too upset you destroyed his perfectly comfortable position to pay it any mind.

after pressing record, you turn back to your bed-haired, grumpy, boyfriend and put his arms in the air where you want them to be. after ensuring he would keep them suspended, you step back and smile at him.

but before you can even get on your toes to kiss him, keonho is already leaning forward, your commands completely forgotten as his hands fly to your side and back to pull you close to press his lips against yours like the action is magnetic.

you can’t even bring yourself to be mad. not when he was kissing you like he wholeheartedly craved it, like it was as natural and necessary as breathing air.

the situation makes you laugh against his lips, pulling back with a smile on your face that makes keonho forget why he ever felt grumpy at you in the first place.

“you were supposed to wait until i kissed you!” you scold, although not mad at all.

“sorry,” he grins teasingly, and flops back down on the bed, arms wide and inviting.

and who were you to decline?

[tiinsrkive]

SK8ER BOI ⸝⸝ AHN KEONHO

#%! oneshot (social media au) #%! situationship, ahn keonho x f!reader

content warnings .ᐟ profanities, unclear relationship status (situationship) to more, he was a skater boy & you did ballet.. Sigh..

hiiii !!! first keonho post pliz b kind !!! :3 feel free to request in my inbox yahoo or if u wna be a part of the taglist or just wna talk !! <3

© cortiins 2025 - all rights reserved. please do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or share my work on other platforms.

[amateurasterism]

10. i hate couples.

SYNOPSIS ; a girl does something stupid for the “shiggles and gits,” landing her in the messages of her mysterious number neighbor: kim juhoon. except juhoon happens to be in search of a birthday present, which lands him—an anosmiac—smack-dab in the middle of the girl’s candle shop.

PREVIOUS ; MASTERLIST ; END !

authors note ; happy birthday to our fav turtle :3 figured the best way to end this was on juhoon’s birthday lol gonna miss these guys D: thank you all so much all for the support throughout!!

taglist ; @aquariusscollection @leeohknows @leahlovesskz143 @littlofang @fortysecondboon @lookingforvivy @martinsgf @w3willris3 @coerswon @wisetriumphpeach @enhamysunshines @007chan @h14a @janjoonty @lynniees @calx-bdo @i55coconut @tiramiffysu @h0neylemon @i-am-not-dal @jellyminz @wtfhyuck @gweoriz @yunjiiin @kzywhtv @444neapolitain @engeneheree @keonhoescafe @deaddcrow @luvrwon @euniix0x0 @bananapuddinglatte @teacuplps @sweeetbabysblog @beabdboo @luvlittlem @imnotrosiee @kaikaikoi @rinawithjjuu @elliotsbeigeguitar @niiqv @graceluvsu @sssssydni @hyeon3y @eiayaya @love-and-w3r @chbq2 @vanillakirstein @swagmoneyyoloholo @09zpzkeonnss

[amateurasterism]

how he fell for you !

synopsis ; how strangers, classmates, friends, and enemies to lovers happens between you and the cortis members.

pairing ; cortis x reader (gender is not specified)

notes ; fluff fluff fluff

word count ; 1.0k, around 0.2k each

zhao james

the daily routine james has is simple: at the end of the day, he alternates between the gym and the dance studio. on dance studio days, there’s extra step to his routine: after placing his bag in his locker pressed against the far corner of the large mirrored room, he always spares a glance to the locker beside him. more specifically, the bright post-it that never fails to appear on it. today, the post-it is green and reads: “reminder: buy instant ramen otw home! reminder 2: studio tomorrow at 9:00pm!” your cute exclamation marks make him smile and once again wonder who you were. although he had come to know a lot about you through your daily post-its, he never found himself in the studio at the same time as you. today he spares an extra few seconds staring at the second reminder you wrote, and carries on with his routine. it’s the next day when he decides to break the gym-studio routine—he arrives to the studio at 9:00pm sharp instead of the gym. low and behold, your figure stands at your locker, replacing your previous reminders with a fresh yellow post-it. james can’t help but approach you, introducing himself with a slight stutter, because god, you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.

kim juhoon

juhoon’s love life was a complete mystery to his friends, and admittedly to himself as well. he was never quite sure what to make of the ball of light and energy who walked in that first day of school, sitting in the seat in front of him and making his chest twinge whenever you turned around to smile at your friend behind him, ask him for a pencil, or laugh a little too loudly during partner work. he never knew what that twinge meant, constantly brushing it aside despite it eating at his brain. of course he wouldn’t know what to make of it, he’s the complete opposite: only speaking when necessary and smiling at class jokes rather than bursting into laughter the way he never failed to notice you do. months later, the teacher assigns pen pals between his students and juhoon finds himself instantly clicking with his. one day, he catches you watching the same new episode of the show you had just been raving about in your most recent letter to him in the way he grew to look forward to. you turn in your seat presumably to ask for a pencil like you always did, and he accidentally mutters “you’re my pen pal.” your answering grin makes him realize what that twinge in his chest really meant all this time. 

edwards martin

martin never quite had perfect grades. frankly, if he gave even a slightest bit more effort into his academic classes, this wouldn’t be the case at all. however, he can’t help that writing a new song and messing around in the music production room sounds far more appealing than sitting at home studying for a history exam. which is precisely how he finds himself sitting at the school library half an hour after the final bell rang, sat across from one of the smartest students in his grade that was the stark contrast to his fun and rebellious demeanor. your pen darts across the worksheet in front of him, pointing to various sections of the paper you had annotated with your cute multicolored pens. your voice follows the demonstrations you point to, just loud enough so only he can hear what you’re saying. but honestly, martin’s forgetting what exactly you’re supposed to be tutoring him in (physics? algebra?), and couldn’t care less because all his focus was on the furrow of your concentrated brow, the shape of your eyes, and your cute lips speaking geek. he weirdly gets hit with the urge to write lyrics, and later finds traces of you within the next song he writes.

eom seonghyeon

the eom family was certainly not unfamiliar with you. to them, you’re a constant. seonghyeon can’t imagine a life without you sitting at his family dinners, glimpsing small hellos across your neighboring bedroom windows, or walking with you every morning to school. your presence comforts him in a way he refuses to admit. he swore to never risk this life for some silly crush, but it broke when you brought a friend over and seonghyeon walked in. he doesn’t notice your friend’s unashamed giggles and glimpses in his direction. what he does notice—because of course he’s memorized all your small tells—is the bite of your inner cheek and quiet tone that tells him you’re discretely annoyed. seonghyeon just about finished whatever your family had called him over for, waving to you as he opens the front door. your friend suddenly blurts for his number and seonghyeon feels an overwhelming rush of uneasiness at the idea of having someone else that isn’t you. the guilt from your face falling kills him as he says “sorry, i like someone” and gives your friend an awkward nod before leaving. however it’s all worth it when he sees your unfaltering grin a few hours later at his door, holding your phone open to his message: “it’s you i like, by the way. come over?”

ahn keonho

there is nobody in this world ahn keonho hates more than you. he’s hated you since that first swimming competition, both seven years old, and you beat him by mere seconds. nearly a decade later, he still hates you just as much—hates those impossibly tiny numbers that sets you and him exchanging names at the top of leaderboards, hates the whispers of your name next to his, hates the teasing from his friends, and most of all, hates the way his heart picks up pace when you enter the room. he thinks the latter is out of pure outrage that he has to actually try for first place because you’re there. the way it happens is honestly funny—he’s ranting about you as he always does when seonghyeon mutters: “i think you’re just in love with her man.” keonho nearly jumps at the outrageous suggestion, but the rest of them are already nodding their heads in agreement. at the next competition, when you walk in and give him that glare you always have since the day you met, he realizes that is what he’s always wanted. what kept him going, winning, living, was that glare, your sheer determination in the pool, and the smile that lit your face at every win.

[martinflms]

AMBIVALENCE — eom seonghyeon.

SYNOPSIS. eom seonghyeon doesn’t like you. he doesn’t like how you challenge him intellectually, he doesn’t like how effortlessly charming you are, and he really doesn’t like how you somehow manage to creep into every little crevice of his life. but as the year goes on, the line between hate and love seem to blur, and fuck, he hates being wrong, but he's just going to have to swallow his pride and admit it: eom seonghyeon thinks he might actually really like you.

or alternatively, seonghyeon realizes that he might’ve confused love and hate.

GENRE. best friend's brother, kind of academic rivals?,one-sided enemies to lovers

WORD COUNT. 26.1k (whoops! sorry)

WARNINGS. swearing, kissing, seonghyeon's kind of mean in the beginning. emotionally constipated seonghyeon (please bear with him), reader's younger by one year but in seonghyeon's grade

AUTHOR'S NOTE. it's heree!!! ambivalence is my baby and i hope you adore it as much as i adored writing it. the poem that y/n and hyeon analyse in here is called "having a coke with you" by frank o'hara. it's one of my favourite love poems ever and i had to sneak it in somewhere. happy reading and i'd love some feedback on this. much love!!! <3

“YEAH, SHE’S SKIPPING A GRADE.” 

It’s the first day of school, and Eom Seonghyeon’s heart drops when he hears his younger sister Sera say those words. He’s halfway through a bite of his toast when he hears that you, his sister’s best friend, is skipping a grade. He nearly chokes on the bread, and the strangled noise that he makes doesn’t go unnoticed by Sera. 

She looks at him suspiciously, and Seonghyeon makes no comment. All he does is awkwardly take a sip of his coffee (another big mistake, it’s piping hot) and forces a smile. 

The thing is, Eom Seonghyeon doesn’t exactly like you. 

It’s a little cruel to dislike your younger sister’s best friend, and Seonghyeon’s well aware of that. But there’s something just so incredibly infuriating about you, and he just can’t help it. You’re annoyingly clever — clearly, since you’ve skipped a grade. Seonghyeon’s always been top of his class every single year, but now that you’re going to be in his grade, he knows that very well may change. 

You’re far too smart, well-read and intellectual for someone your age. You read Plato and Aristotle for fun. For fun! Seonghyeon adores reading, but even he thinks that you’re insane. There’s no reason for someone’s ideal lounge-by-the-pool book to be The Republic. While he’s being sprayed with a water gun by Keonho, you’re sitting by the lounge chair learning about justice and the idea of a perfect society. 

It’s tiring for him to always be compared to you as well. Words like Seonghyeon, you’re so smart, just like Sera’s friend infuriates him to no end. He knows that it’s not your fault that other people are comparing the both of you, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. 

To say the least, you make Eom Seonghyeon feel stupid. And you don’t even intend to. 

Another thing that Seonghyeon dislikes about you is how effortlessly charming you are. Seonghyeon, for a lack of better words, could sometimes act like a complete dick to you. He gives you curt nods when he sees you at his house, tries to not roll his eyes at your tangents (which Seonghyeon sometimes agrees with, but he’d never let you know that), and silently scoffs when Sera reveals a new fact about you. 

And you? You always smile at him when you see him in the hallways. You always ask him if he’s eaten today. You even give him book recommendations sometimes when you notice what he’s been reading, and fuck, sometimes they’re really good. It’s infuriating. 

He also dislikes that you’re… pretty, or something. He sees you far too often, and there's also far too many times where he has to remind himself that you're his younger sister's annoyingly clever best friend. Especially when he sometimes catches himself staring for far too long in your direction. Seonghyeon tells himself there's just something interesting that catches his eye nearby, like the light switch or a fly. He'd never admit that it's you. 

Seonghyeon has shoved the thought of you being pretty to the back of his mind many times. He’s going to do that again right now. 

He’s completely lost in his own thoughts about you and he doesn’t even notice that his half-eaten toast has fallen onto his plate, and Sera’s calling out his name. “Hello? Earth to Seonghyeon?” 

He snaps out of it, picking up his toast again and taking a bite. “Yeah?” 

“I was asking you if you could take a bit of time to look out for (Name) this year.” Sera’s words don’t come out like a request, but rather like a command. “Obviously, she’s skipping a grade so she won’t have me there — poor girl — and she won’t know anyone. You’ve seen her so many times over the years, so… please? Just make sure she’s settling in well and everything. She was telling me that she wasn’t really sure if she should actually skip a grade, but you know. Too easy for her.” 

Seonghyeon nearly chokes on his toast for the second time today. His sister wants him to look after you. Seonghyeon would rather set himself on fire. 

He’s being dramatic. He doesn’t hate you that much. It’s just that Seonghyeon would much rather stay away from you if he had the chance to. 

“Please,” Sera said, as if she’s able to read his thoughts. “I know you’re not the biggest fan of her, but come on. She’s really nice, if you just got to know her. And she doesn’t even care about being top of the class.” Of course you don’t care, Seonghyeon thinks. It’s because you’re too humble for your own good. 

Seonghyeon sometimes wonders if he’s a bad person for disliking you when you’re basically morally perfect. 

“Oh, and make sure Keonho knows that she’s off limits. You and all of your friends are. If anything happens, just know I’m gonna get violent.” Sera says off-handedly.

“Won’t be a problem,” Seonghyeon replies, rolling his eyes.

“Is that a yes? To keep an eye out for her?” 

“Whatever.” Seonghyeon says, taking another bite out of his toast. He’s chewing angrily. 

He just has to agree, right? Does he have to actually do it? 

Five minutes later, Seonghyeon finds out that the answer is yes. 

Because you show up at his fucking doorstep, of course. 

You’re beaming brightly while Seonghyeon can barely hide the frown on his lips. You’re holding The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli — of course you are, Seonghyeon thinks — and there’s around 500 of those colourful plastic tabs that you use to mark where you’ve made a note sticking out of the book’s edge. You greet Sera, him, and his mom with such genuine politeness and warmth, and Seonghyeon hates that he can’t call this bullshit. 

Your uniform’s now the same as his, with the tartan on your tie being the same chequered pattern of green and beige. It’s an unpleasant reminder that you’re going to be in all of his classes, and that avoiding you will be far more difficult than it used to be. 

Sera greets you with a big hug, which you return. “I can’t believe you’re ditching me in Year 10.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, frowning. “You know I’ll always be around, though. And I’m never gonna bail on our after school study sessions anyways. I kind of focus better here.” 

Your eyes land on Seonghyeon, and you give him a small smile. It’s tentative, a little shy, but still has that warmth that makes him feel uneasy. “Hey! Did you like the book, by the way?” you ask. 

Seonghyeon’s puzzled for a second. “What book?” 

“The one I gave to you a couple weeks ago. Romance of the Three Kingdoms by Luo Guanzhong? I know you like history and everything, so…” you trail off. It’s like a lightbulb switches on in Seonghyeon’s brain — oh, right. That book. The book that he found so good he pulled an all-nighter to finish. Your brilliant book recommendation and the fact that you’re attentive to his interests stirs up this strange feeling in the pit of Seonghyeon’s stomach that he can’t quite explain. 

“It was… alright.” he says, feigning indifference. He shrugs before turning curtly to grab his backpack from his room. Behind him, he can hear Sera telling you to ignore him, and that he’s feeling moody today. Sera also recounts to you about how Seonghyeon choked on his toast this morning, and his face flushes pink with embarrassment. And contrary to what Sera was saying, he was not moody. He just… didn’t like you. 

When he grabs his backpack from his chair, Seonghyeon spots the copy of Romance of the Three Kingdoms that you gave to him just sitting on his desk. It’s a glaring reminder of you. 

He groans and shoves the book in his bag. 

This was going to be a long year. 

Everyone looks at you in bewilderment when they see you walk into the 11th grade math classroom. 

The stunned silence, their wide eyes and gaping mouths tell you everything. They’re all asking: why the fuck would you would be here?  They all know you as the genius from 9th grade — you left prizegiving last year with so many medals around your neck to the point where you'd nearly fallen over.

You’re a little late because you’d gone to the administrator’s office to grab your new schedule, since you’d been moved up a year. Your eyes scan the thin sheet of paper, mumbling to yourself the order of your classes and the teachers of each course, just so that you could get that information in your head. 

You look around the classroom for any familiar faces, and you don’t recognise anyone, except for Seonghyeon. He’s laughing with Keonho — you’ve seen Keonho multiple times at the Eom family’s house. You want to go up to them, simply because you don’t know anyone else. But a weird, tight feeling in your chest stops you from doing so, and you opt for a seat at the back of the classroom. Alone.

It’s next to the window, and sunlight spills through the curtains. It gives you a certain sense of warmth that you find you enjoy. You place your bag down on the floor, unzipping it to pull out your notebooks. 

They’re all organised meticulously and by colour — red for English, blue for math, purple for history, green for science, orange for Korean. You pull the blue math notebook out and set it on the left side of your desk.

Your pencil case is organised just as intentionally – blue pens to the left of the box, black pens to the right. Pens are stacked above your sticky notes. Only yellow sticky notes, never in one of the fun colours, because you found that it made your notes hard to read. You pull out one blue pen and one black pen and put it on the right side of your desk. 

You’re so engrossed in making sure that your table’s organised to your liking to the point where you don’t notice that everyone’s eyes are still on you. Seonghyeon and Keonho included. 

“I can’t believe she’s in our class,” Keonho whispers to Seonghyeon. “She must be crazy smart then.” 

Seonghyeon lets out a deep exhale. His shoulders are tense as he watches you with hawk-like concentration. “Sure. Something like that. You know how she was reading Plato at our pool party.” 

“Who the hell is Plato?”

Seonghyeon suppresses a sigh. Keonho was not exactly the studious type. As the school’s favourite student athlete, he spent more time at the pool than he did anywhere else, and won more medals for the school than anyone else. Training takes up most of his days, and it’s honestly a miracle that Keonho’s even here for first period. Seonghyeon would be surprised if Keonho even showed up to half the classes this year. 

“Ancient Greek philosopher. Don’t worry about it,” Seonghyeon replies, and Keonho nods. “But yeah. She’s smart smart.” 

“And you hate her for it?” Keonho asks. There’s a teasing smile on his lips, and Seonghyeon lets out another deep sigh to try and release the tension in his shoulders. It doesn’t work. 

Seonghyeon knows that you make him feel stupid. And he doesn’t like feeling stupid. But his feelings for you, specifically, are complicated, and Seonghyeon would rather die than focus on dissecting them, so he settles on dislike. 

He feels uneasy, on edge and there’s always that constant feeling of wanting to run away whenever you’re near. He must have some sort of aversion to you.

“Hate is a strong word,” Seonghyeon musters out. It's all he can come up with. “I don’t know. She’s just… never been someone I’ve vibed with.” 

Keonho suppresses an incredulous laugh. “You don’t hate her? You look like you want to bolt out of the room whenever she’s around, or even when she’s mentioned.” 

“I don’t know, man,” Seonghyeon replies. He doesn’t want to keep talking about this. “Let’s talk about something else, okay? We’ll have… I don’t know – the whole year to dissect whatever this is. We don’t need to get it over and done with in the first day.” 

Seonghyeon pulls out the book that he’s currently reading — No Longer Human by Ozamu Dazai — and flicks to the page where he’d left off on. He scans the words on the page, quickly engrossing himself in the novel. He doesn’t notice how Keonho’s eyeing him with a look that’s almost like he’s trying to crack open Seonghyeon’s skull to see what he thinks about you. 

As Seonghyeon’s best friend, Keonho knows of his aversion towards you. But there’s this odd feeling that’s telling Keonho that there’s more than Seonghyeon’s letting on, and he’s determined to get to the bottom of it. 

Keonho’s eyes flick from Seonghyeon, to you. Seonghyeon, to you. Seonghyeon, to you.

You’re a little freaked out. Keonho is looking at you like he’s trying to uncover your deepest secret, and for a boy you’ve only spoken to once at a pool party, you really don’t know why he’s eyeing you with the energy of Sherlock Holmes trying to solve a case. All you know about Ahn Keonho is that he’s Seonghyeon’s best friend, he’s a swimmer, and that he got a bruise after cannonballing into the Eom family pool. 

You turn away, a little too aware of Keonho’s scrutinising eyes on you. But then you’re surprised by the sight of an unfamiliar girl, who gives you a smile that you aren’t quite sure is genuine. “Hi. I’m Haeun.” she says, and you nod. 

“Hi. I’m (Name),” you say. Your voice is small — Seonghyeon, though his eyes never leave the pages of his book, notices. He realises that this is rare. He’s never heard you sound this shy, hesitant and unsure. 

“We heard you skipped a grade?” Haeun asks, and you nod. “So you must be really smart then.”

You’re not quite sure what to say. Agreeing would be cocky. Saying no would be a lie. You settle for saying ‘Yeah, I did skip a grade.’ You don’t make any reply to the last thing Haeun said to you. 

Her voice lowers, and she gives you this sickeningly sweet smile that makes you feel uneasy. “So… um… hypothetically. If I were to say – a friend of mine, that is – was unable to do her work due to some… circumstances, would you be able to maybe be so kind to… help out?” 

This is the strangest first day of school experience that you’ve ever had. What were you even supposed to say? Haeun clearly wanted you to do her homework, but you followed a strict moral code — no was obviously going to be the answer, but you didn’t really want to get ostracised by the entire class. Everyone was looking at you expectantly. First period hadn’t even started and you didn’t really want to be making enemies. 

You hear an exasperated sigh, followed by a voice that was all too familiar. 

“Haeun, stop trying to get people to do your homework.” 

Eom Seonghyeon was now standing in front of Haeun, and you think that things might’ve gotten even stranger. The last person you expected to even try and help you out was Seonghyeon – he’d always been cold and aloof to you. A stark contrast from the way you saw him act with Keonho. 

Seonghyeon had always been distant towards you — unreachable, even. You tried your best to hash out whatever issue there was between you two, but you really couldn’t even figure out what the issue was. You were Sera’s best friend, so you sort of expected to be able to get along with Seonghyeon, considering that you had much more in common with him than Sera. 

You both adored books. You both adored history (perhaps a little too much). You two even liked the same type of music, according to Sera. But Seonghyeon seemed adamant on keeping his distance. Even your book recommendations didn’t help. You thought you’d nailed it with Romance of the Three Kingdoms. You were a little disappointed when he told you that it was ‘alright’ this morning.

Haeun rolls her eyes before walking back to her seat. You’re sitting there in stunned silence. Seonghyeon’s about to walk back to his desk. Keonho’s looking at you two like he’s watching the greatest K-drama that’s ever been made. 

“Seonghyeon.” You say his name without thinking. Fuck, why’d I do that? you think.

And Seonghyeon’s thinking, fuck, why did I get up and tell Haeun off? Seonghyeon also finds something new that he dislikes about you right at this moment. He dislikes how his name rolls off your tongue so sweetly, like honey dripping off the comb. He doesn’t know why his breath catches in his throat because of it. It’s absurd. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” you tell him. 

“I kind of did. Sera told me to take care of you,” he shrugs, and you let out a small ‘oh’. The idea that it was more obligatory on Seonghyeon’s end makes you feel a little disappointed, but you’re really not surprised that Sera had asked. She was always looking out for you. “And honestly? If you do Haeun’s homework, you’re going to end up doing the entire class’ homework. Except for mine.” 

You look at him, tilting your head as you ponder on what to say. “So.. do I stay away from her?” you ask about Haeun, and Seonghyeon nods in response. He’s about to turn to leave again when you suddenly speak up. 

“Thanks for sticking up for me, Seonghyeon.” you reply, giving him a small smile. There it goes again, his name rolling off your tongue like it’s honey. Seonghyeon makes a small noise of acknowledgement that’s akin to a “don’t mention it” without actually saying the words. 

“I get it now,” Keonho says, voice teasing when Seonghyeon slides back into his own seat, picking up his book again. “You don’t hate her. You like her.” 

Keonho’s words are so insane to the point where Seonghyeon drops his book. Not even onto his desk, but onto the floor. 

“What?” Seonghyeon thinks that’s the most absurd thing he’s ever heard in the world — so absurd that he thinks it makes him a little sick. Those three words land like an odd blow to his chest too. It contradicts everything that he’s told himself for the past ten years, and it’s honestly so ridiculous that it does make Seonghyeon question whether or not he likes you. 

“You like her.” Keonho repeats. 

“You’re ridiculous.” Seonghyeon retorts. 

“You’re not denying it.” 

“I don’t need to deny it when it’s that ridiculous. Your psychoanalysis of me is incredibly wrong.” 

“Whatever you say,” Keonho says, in that sing-song voice that makes Seonghyeon want to elbow him in the side. “You know it’s true. Plato would agree.” 

“You’ve never read Plato.” Seonghyeon replies, matter-of-factly. 

“Whatever. The Greeks had Plato, you have me.” Another ridiculous statement from Keonho, but Seonghyeon chooses to laugh at it a little, because of the sheer absurdity. The first thing he said was also absurd, but Seonghyeon found it to be no laughing matter. 

Seonghyeon’s going to ignore it. What does Ahn Keonho know about love anyways? 

Who cares that he was born on Valentine’s Day, right? 

So far, your first day as an 11th grader is nothing remarkable by your standards. 

You don’t really click with anyone — you chat with your deskmate Leean from history about the Cold War. Actually, you’re really the one talking, and she’s taking notes about what you’re saying. She calls you a lifesaver, because apparently Mr Jung is incompetent. You don’t think any proper friendship will come out of it. 

Seonghyeon, who’s sitting two tables in front of you, listens as you basically give an oversimplified lecture about the Cold War in the ten minutes that it takes for Mr Jung to show up to class. Seonghyeon knows that you know everything about the Cold War like the back of your hand — he does too. He makes a mental checklist in his head to make sure you’re mentioning all the things that he would’ve mentioned. You tick off every single box. 

You opt to sit with Sera and Nayeon at lunch like you always do. Seonghyeon’s table, where he sits with Keonho, Martin and Juhoon is just two tables down. Usually, Seonghyeon would avoid looking in your direction. Today, it’s the opposite. 

You’re talking with Sera, and you look a little less energetic than usual. You’re picking at your food — he’s never seen you do that before. You’re letting Sera and Nayeon talk much more, which is not too strange, but you’re not even interjecting with your own short remarks. You’re just picking at your food and listening. However, The Prince is next to your lunch box. Seonghyeon can tell you’re itching to open it and read it, because your fingers are tapping rhythmically against the fabric-bound cover of the book.

Seonghyeon doesn’t even realise he knew this much about your habits until now. 

“Thinking about something? Or… someone?” Keonho asks with that shit-eating grin on his lips. Seonghyeon rolls his eyes and stabs his salad with a little more aggressiveness, as if to tell Keonho to not provoke him. He’s got one hand holding his book, and every now and then his eyes flick towards your table. Martin notices, and he looks in your direction too. 

“Oh yeah, I heard (Name)’s in your grade now,” Martin says. Seonghyeon furrows his eyebrows – how does he know you by name? Martin never really talked to many of the younger students (he only clicked with Seonghyeon and Keonho because of the music committee). Seonghyeon also knew Martin would never join philosophy club. 

“How’d you know her?” 

Martin looks at Seonghyeon sheepishly, as if he was a little embarrassed. “She tutored me for ethics. For like… a month.” 

“She… tutored you?” Juhoon’s stifling a laugh, and Martin is not amused. “Bro, she’s like two years younger than you!” 

“Well, desperate times call for desperate measures, and she’s the only person in our entire school probably who actually reads stuff about it. Let’s be real, I’m pretty sure she knows more than Mr Hwang about stuff like… deontological ethics. Don’t quiz me on that, by the way. I purged all of that from my memory after the test.” Martin shrugs, and Seonghyeon fails to find any reason to disagree. 

Keonho nudges Seonghyeon, leaning in to ask a question. “Do we have to know deonto–” 

“You don’t need to know, bud. I don’t even think you’re enrolled in ethics.” 

Keonho flashes Seonghyeon a thumbs up and a wide grin before going back to scarf down his lunch. 

Two tables down, Sera’s asking you questions about your first day as an 11th grader. You shrug, picking at your lunch with your fork. “It’s been alright. Nothing too fancy. Maths got harder, I will say. Science… not horrible. History was fun. Did some stuff on the Cold War. I’m hoping that maybe we could venture into something like medieval history, but I don’t know if Mr Jung is really qualified to teach that. He’s not… great.” you say, and Nayeon laughs. 

“Tell me about it. He’s hopeless, honestly. We had him this morning too. You should just teach the class instead,” she quips, and you shake your head. You’ve been told that far too many times, but you fail to agree. You don’t really think you’d be the best history teacher — you find yourself going on and on and then venturing into areas of history that aren’t remotely relevant to the topic at hand. “But what about everything else? Made any new friends?” 

“Eh,” you reply. Your tone is dull, because your entire day has been underwhelming. Your first day’s been shaping up to be academically mediocre and socially lonely. At least in 10th grade it would be academically easy and socially vibrant — you’d have Sera and Nayeon to talk and joke around with. “I talked to Leean. Or well, I lectured Leean about the Cold War. And someone named Haeun tried to get me to do her homework for her before Seonghyeon stepped in.” 

Sera’s pleasantly surprised at the mention of her brother. “Seonghyeon stepped in?” 

“Yeah,” you say, taking a bite of your food. “Told her to go away. Nice of him.” 

You don’t have much to say about Seonghyeon. You never do, because he never really gives you anything to talk about, even if you see him every single day at school and after school. You’d think that after being friends with his sister for ten years, you’d be close with him already. But Seonghyeon seems to want to avoid you like the plague, and you’ve got no idea what you’ve done to cause him to have such an aversion towards you. Him interjecting into your conversation with Haeun was utterly shocking — perhaps it’s why it’s stayed in your mind all day. 

And you wouldn’t lie. Perhaps you had been harbouring a small crush on Seonghyeon ever since… forever. When you first became friends with Sera and headed over to the Eoms’ house, you’d always try and see what he was up to. You’d often find his nose in some history book, completely engrossed in it as if he was in his own little world. You’d actually started getting into history because of how interested Seonghyeon seemed in it. Perhaps he’d talk to you after you two had something in common. 

But then you realised how much you loved it too. You spent all your lunch breaks reading about historical events, figures, everything — while the other kids played in the playground, you kept your nose buried in a book just like Seonghyeon. When you started middle school, it was apparent to everyone that you’d be dux by the time 12th grade rolled around. 

Much to your disappointment, after you’d started reading more about the things that Seonghyeon liked as well, he only seemed to move further away. You tried to start conversations about historical topics that you knew he enjoyed, and he’d only give you a short response or a nod, before saying that he had homework to do and retreating into his room. 

Frankly, you’re not sure what you were expecting. Perhaps to Eom Seonghyeon, all you’d ever be was his little sister’s annoying best friend. Nothing more. 

You look at Seonghyeon, who’s sitting two tables down from you. The shitty cafeteria lighting is somehow making him look like a fucking Greek god. 

The light hits just right on certain parts of his hair to emphasise his blond highlights. He’s laughing at some random joke that Juhoon just made, and the way laughter bubbles past his lips is so beautiful, it makes your stomach flip. He comes up with some retort that makes the table erupt in laughter. Your best friend’s brother is smart, funny and beautiful. He’s perfect, but he hates you. 

Seonghyeon’s eyes wander around the cafeteria before they land on you. There’s a look in his eye. Soft, unrecognisable, nothing like you’ve ever seen before. Maybe he doesn’t hate you. 

But then his entire body stiffens, and the smile on his lips disappears. He coughs, and then looks away. You let out a dejected sigh before you tear your gaze away from him. That small glimmer of hope dissipates.

Eom Seonghyeon probably still hates you. 

It’s been a week since you started 11th grade, and you think you’re getting more used to it now. 

Leean actually makes for great company, and she ends up being the person you speak the most to in class. Through Leean, you’ve also befriended a girl named Hayoung. Keonho sometimes makes conversation with you when he’s here, but you can’t help but feel like he’s trying to psychoanalyse you or figure out your feelings for Seonghyeon. 

And as for Seonghyeon, things are just about the same. He still gives you short and clipped responses, he barely speaks to you in class, and when he sees you after school, he simply glances at you and makes a noise of acknowledgement before heading back to his room. You thought maybe being in the same grade would bring you two closer together. You were incredibly wrong. 

English is your last class of the day, and you’re more than ready to go home. You’re craving for a much-needed afternoon nap in your bed before you head to Sera’s house to do your homework. You don’t think you’ve done much schoolwork in your actual house, now that you think about it – you just seem to work better at the Eoms’ house.  

“Looks like Keonho’s not here. We’ll need to put you in a pair with someone else, Seonghyeon,” Ms Kim says as she scans the register. Seonghyeon nods – he knew Keonho had a swim meet today. Seonghyeon just prays to God that he won’t get a partner that’s not going to do any work for this class. He knows today's lesson is about poetry analysis, according to the Google Classroom. He’s not excited. 

You’re sitting alone again because Leean’s sick, and Ms Kim’s eyes land on you. You’re already highlighting a line in the poem that you found particularly intriguing, and you’re mid-grab for a sticky note when Ms Kim calls your name out. 

“(Name), could you go work with Seonghyeon for this? It’s a paired exercise.” Ms Kim says. You suddenly sit up straight, stiffening as you look at her. You then look at Seonghyeon, and he’s looking down at the poem. Anywhere but you, of course. It’s like another blow to your heart. He won’t even look at you. 

Seonghyeon’s hiding his face, because if anyone saw his expression right now – eyes blown wide in alarm, jaw slack and panic settling into his lungs – they’d think something was incredibly wrong. But firstly, Seonghyeon doesn’t really want to work with you, because he’s sure he dislikes you. You’re going to be making him feel stupid for the next 45 minutes. 

Secondly, Keonho’s words from a couple of weeks ago are still in the back of his mind, and he absolutely despises it. Seonghyeon oscillates between his own thoughts of what he assumes to be dislike towards you, and thoughts of Keonho’s claims stating that he actually likes you. 

However, he knows that he’s going to have to do it – Ms Kim is strict, and Seonghyeon thinks that 45 minutes can’t be that bad. You weren’t mean to him anyways. Seonghyeon just had to try and suppress those feelings of frustration that always bubbled up when it came to you.  

“Oh, um… it’s okay,” you say quietly, and Ms Kim raises an eyebrow at your words. 

“It’s okay as in… you’re going to go, or you’re not?” 

“Just come.” Seonghyeon says, patting the empty seat next to him. 

His eyes haven’t left the poem, and he’s highlighting with a bright yellow marker. Still not looking at you, always keeping a distance. Your heart is beating too fast. You hesitantly get up from your seat and walk towards Seonghyeon’s table, and even sitting down feels risky. 

“I don’t bite.” Seonghyeon pipes up, almost reading your mind. He’s still not looking at you. 

Well, you kind of hate me, you think. “No, I know. Um…” you trail off. You shake your head, and you think it’s best if you focus on the poem. You’re now the one that doesn’t dare to look at Seonghyeon, and you miss the way he’s looking at you somewhat expectantly, waiting for you to finish your sentence. “Never mind. Let’s just focus.” 

You and Seonghyeon work surprisingly well together. You’re bouncing ideas off of one another like you’ve done it a million times before. 

His analysis of the poem is incredibly insightful, like you expected. Seonghyeon’s always been brilliantly clever. He’s seeing these tiny, miniscule nuances and implications in the text that you don’t think you’d ever be able to notice. 

He points out a line that he finds intriguing with his finger. You’re too engrossed in the commentary you’re making about a separate line on a sticky note, and instead of waiting (why would he?) he reaches over to grab an blank sticky note so he can write down his own thoughts. 

The action brings Seonghyeon impossibly close to you. He’s never been this close before, and you can smell the lavender and birch from his cologne. Your breath catches in your throat, and you pause writing momentarily. Seonghyeon pretends not to notice. 

You clear your throat and you get back to writing. Neither of you speak about it. 

Seonghyeon twirls his pen in his hands as he watches you finish what you’ve been writing. Your handwriting is impossibly gorgeous, with letters that look too neat to the point where someone could say that it was typed. You stick your commentary next to the line that you’ve highlighted in purple. 

“Why’d you use purple instead of yellow here?” Seonghyeon asks, pointing at one line. 

“It’s the hinge of the poem,” you explain. “It’s the only line in the poem that’s short – it’s two words, after all. And then you realise that the rest of the poem is about the poet talking about the beauty of looking at their partner.” 

As you explain your interpretation of the line, Seonghyeon realises that your voice isn’t as small as it was that morning when Haeun had basically asked you to do your homework. You sound confident and assured – you always have, when speaking to him. He’s looking at the poem and nodding along to what you’re saying. He thinks you’re right – of course you would be, he’s never doubted your intellect – but for the first time Seonghyeon’s not compelled to roll his eyes at your tangents. 

“I look at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world,” you say, reading out the line. Seonghyeon’s eyes snap up to look at you, even though he knows that line’s in the poem. It’s also the one you’ve been talking about for the last two minutes. 

But there’s something about the way you’ve said the words, or perhaps maybe the way Seonghyeon’s interpreted the manner of your speech. You say it with a breezy cadence, not stating it with any intention or deliberation. It’s a line from the poem, after all – but for some reason, the words strike Seonghyeon's chest. It makes his heart twinge in the strangest possible way. 

“Yeah,” Seonghyeon breathes out. He shoves his thoughts to the back of his mind. “And then he mentions the Polish Rider right after. Perhaps he’s saying that painting is the only one comparable to his lover’s beauty?” 

Your eyes light up at his words. “That’s brilliant — write that down.”  

Seonghyeon doesn’t know why that weird twinge in his chest returns when he sees that look in your eyes. He nods, scribbling that thought out onto a sticky note before pressing it down next to the line that you’d highlighted for him. 

He looks at the paper — there’s annotations and highlighting on practically every page. Your effortlessly gorgeous handwriting in blue dances across the page and mixes with his slightly italicised handwriting in black. He reads every single annotation that you’ve put down on the paper, nodding along as he begins to understand your interpretation of each line. Your analysis and interpretation is brilliant, and Seonghyeon makes a mental note to actually learn a little bit from you. 

He also realises that for the first time in years, he hasn’t had to do most of the work in English. You two work together seamlessly, and Seonghyeon doesn’t think that he’s worked on a better literary analysis than this in a long time. 

“We did a good job,” he says, nodding approvingly. He puts his pen back into his pencil case before smoothing down the sticky notes on the page. “Ms Kim’s going to be really happy.” 

“You think?” you ask. You’ve never been taught by Ms Kim before, and you knew that she was notorious for being strict. English had always been one of your favourite subjects, but you knew that it got harder in 11th grade. It was a step up from anything that you’d had to do before, and you certainly didn’t expect this level of intensity early on in the year. 

“I know,” Seonghyeon says with assertiveness. “Don’t worry. You’re good at English. The class won’t be too difficult for you.” 

He’s still giving you these shorter, clipped responses, but you notice how his tone lacks that sort of iciness that you were accustomed to. It still doesn’t have that sort of melodic warmth that is evident when he speaks to his friends, however, you enjoy the slight change. It’s nice and gives you just enough hope that he doesn’t despise you as much as you think he does. 

“Thanks,” you reply. You give him a soft smile. The corner of his lips quirk up just enough that you take it as a return of your gesture. He then refocuses his attention to the poem, reading it from start to finish once again.  

The end of the poem sticks out to Seonghyeon. 

it seems they were all cheated of some marvellous experience which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I’m telling you about it 

It’s printed on the page with no capital letters, no punctuation in between, and there’s no period at the end. It reads like a tangent, breathless and a little rushed, but it’s ever so romantic. The words leave an enduring mark in Seonghyeon’s mind. He wonders if this sort of love — breathtaking, all-consuming and fervent — is even attainable. 

As these thoughts run rampant in his mind, there’s a strange, compelling urge for him to divert his eyes to you. Seonghyeon listens to that urge. 

That twinge in his heart returns. Maybe he’s just having casual heart palpitations at the young age of 16. That conclusion is completely illogical, but for the first time ever, Seonghyeon wants to believe in something that doesn’t make sense. 

His thoughts, the weird twinge, the ambivalent feelings he’s having towards you... Seonghyeon’s not going to tell you about it. 

The route to the Eoms’ place is something you know like the back of your hand. 

You’ve changed out of your uniform, opting for a hoodie and a pair of jeans. Your books, laptop and pens are in your bag, and you’ve brought a tub of acai that your mom had bought a couple days ago from the supermarket. Sera had been talking about how much she was craving it at lunch, and you figured that since you hadn’t opened the tub yet, you might as well share. You weren’t going to finish all of it anyways. 

You knock on the Eoms’ door, tapping your foot on the concrete as you wait for someone to open it. The door swings open, and it’s Seonghyeon who answers the door this time. He looks a little stunned to see you at his doorstep, but he quickly recovers. He’s no longer in his uniform too, and he’s got a striped t-shirt and dark-washed jeans on. 

The blond highlights frame his face a little too well, with a few strands falling just in front of his face. You muster up a smile at him so that you’re doing something to acknowledge his presence rather than just gawking at how perfect he looks. 

“Hey,” he replies, opening the door a little wider to let you in. “Sera’s asleep. I’ll go wake her up.” 

You kick your shoes off and place them neatly on the shoe rack while Seonghyeon closes the door. “Oh, it’s okay. I just woke up from a nap too,” you say, waving him off. “She can come study with me once she wakes up. ” 

Seonghyeon nods at your words. He hopes that you didn’t notice how he quite literally seemed to short-circuit when he saw you at the door. He knows he shouldn’t be surprised that it’s you, but he’d really never been the one to greet you first; it was always Sera. 

He’s about to head back into his room until he sees you pull a cooling bag out of your already overstuffed tote bag. He’s eyeing you with a certain sense of intrigue, and he plans to stay silent until you pull out a tub of something that looks like ice cream. 

“Did you bring ice cream? We have like, three tubs in the freezer already.” he pipes up, and you turn to look at him. 

“It’s not ice cream,” you say, shaking your head. “It’s acai. My mom bought it a couple of days ago from the supermarket, and Sera was talking about how she wanted acai at lunch, so I figured I’d bring it over. I’m not going to finish this anyways, and my parents don’t like acai, so…” 

“Oh, I see,” he says. Seonghyeon’s trying to hide his excitement over the fact that you’d brought acai. He doesn’t think you know how much he loves the stuff, but god, it’s taking everything in him right now to quite literally not devour the entire tub before Sera wakes up. “Thanks for that.” 

“Do you want some? I can just put it in the freezer later so it doesn’t turn into melted soup before Sera wakes up.” Your offer is exactly what Seonghyeon wants to hear right now, and he nods in response. 

“Yeah. I’d love some, actually. I haven’t really eaten.” he says, and you nod, opening the tub of acai. He heads towards the kitchen to grab two bowls, two spoons and an ice cream scooper, rinsing them with water before setting them on the table in front of you. 

“Do you want toppings, or anything?” he asks, opening the fridge. “We’ve got strawberries. And there’s cornflakes in the pantry if you want to put them on top of it, or something.” 

“No, it’s okay,” he hears you say. You’re busy scooping the acai out into a bowl, and you give Seonghyeon a generous amount considering that he told you he hadn’t eaten much. Seonghyeon takes out the strawberries and cornflakes for himself anyways. “Thanks for asking, though.” 

He returns to the table, sitting down on the chair next to you. You realise he’s never done that before, and you try and ignore how your stomach does a flip as you wrestle with the ice cream scoop to get more of the acai out of the tub. 

You push a bowl towards him. “Here, take this one. If you want more, just let me know.” 

“Thanks,” he replies. He opens the box of strawberries, placing them on top of the acai in a deliberate, artistic manner like he’s a staff member at the most popular shop in the city. He sprinkles just the right amount of cornflakes on top of it, and when you peer over to look at his bowl, it genuinely looks like something you would’ve bought at the store. 

“You’ve decorated it nicely,” you hum, and Seonghyeon’s eyes flick over to you. 

“Hmm?” he looks back down at his bowl. “Yeah, I suppose so. Thanks.” 

You put the lid back on the acai tub, placing it in the freezer next to the three different ice creams that they’ve got in there. There’s mint chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla – the vanilla one has a sticky note on top of the lid that’s got Seonghyeon’s name scrawled on it in big, bold capital letters along with three exclamation marks. You smile to yourself at the sight. 

You sit back down next to him, pulling out your math notebook from your bag before taking a bite of the acai. Seonghyeon sits there awkwardly, observing you as he takes another bite of his acai. 

He realises that he doesn’t exactly know how to act around you, after being cold and distant for ten years. English today made him realise that he didn’t really mind you that much. You were nice to work with as a study partner, you two got the work done in half the time it took everyone else to, and Ms Kim had said it was ‘the best analysis she’s read by 11th graders.’ 

“So…” he starts, scooping up more acai with his spoon and taking a bite. “How’s the first week been?” 

You’re surprised that Seonghyeon is making small talk with you. Eom Seonghyeon. Your best friend’s older brother who has been avoiding you for ten years like his life depends on it. You’re so stunned to the point where you momentarily forget to answer his question until you snap out of it. 

“Oh, um… it’s been chill,” you reply, shrugging. “It’s not great, not horrible.” 

Seonghyeon nods. “You’ll get used to our class. It’s just the first week,” he hums, taking another bite of the acai. You can hear the cornflakes crunch as he chews. “They’re all mostly nice people. I know you’ve been getting close to Leean and Hayoung.” 

He noticed. You thought Eom Seonghyeon wouldn’t even spare a glance at your direction. You nod, unsure of what to say. This time you’re the one giving shorter, clipped answers, and Seonghyeon’s actually talking to you more. His voice isn’t as monotonous as it used to be, it’s even a little warmer than it was in English, and you think – hope – the change in tone is signaling a change of heart. Regardless, today’s been incredibly confusing. 

There’s an awkward silence that falls between the two of you amidst bites of acai. You don’t know how to make conversation with him anymore – should you bring up history? Math? Science? You just want to talk to him. 

Seonghyeon’s almost finished, and you’ve barely gotten halfway. He clears his throat as if it’s a signal that he’ll be heading back to his room now, and you just get the sudden urge to say something so that maybe you’ll be able to talk to him for just a little longer. 

“Is the acai good?” you ask, and Seonghyeon nods. 

“Yeah, it’s really good. If you could, ask your mom where she bought it. Sera and I like the stuff a lot, so… would be good to have some at home all the time.” he says, getting up. He’s holding his now-empty bowl in one hand as he scratches the nape of his neck with the other. His eyes dart around the room, as if he’s unsure where to look. Seonghyeon thinks this might be the longest conversation he’s ever had with you, apart from in English today. 

You learn a new fact about Eom Seonghyeon today. He likes acai. You keep that fact safely tucked in the back of your mind. “Sure,” you reply. “It’s good to know that you — you guys — like it.” 

The quick correction of your words doesn’t go unnoticed by Seonghyeon, but he chooses not to say anything about it. Instead, he gives you a small smile, one that’s a little more obvious than the one he gave you in class. Your heart does a somersault. 

Seonghyeon washes his bowl in the sink before he walks back to his room, and you’re left reeling from the interaction. You don’t even know if he said goodbye – that’s how out of it you were. Your acai’s starting to melt, and you only jolt out of it when you hear Sera loudly announce her arrival and give you the tightest hug ever for bringing acai. 

And as you complete the worksheet Ms Seo had given to you today about integration, you still can’t get Seonghyeon out of your mind. 

Three weeks pass, and you and Seonghyeon fall into a strange sort of rhythm. 

He’s not as distant as he used to be, but he still keeps you at an arm’s length. He gives you a nod of acknowledgement when you pass by him in the hallways rather than ignoring you, accompanied by the faintest hint of a polite smile – even when Keonho’s blabbing his ear off about how ridiculous his swimming coach is. 

But then there’s also this strange sort of dynamic where you two are competing for the top of the class. Every now and then, you pull ahead after a quiz, but a week later Seonghyeon would snatch the top spot by just the slightest margin. You don’t pay too much attention to who’s leading – you just want to do your best, but it adds an extra awkward element to whatever you’ve got going on with Seonghyeon. 

Sometimes he’s a little colder, especially when there’s an upcoming test. You knew that Seonghyeon was competitive. You notice how his jaw tightens ever so slightly when Leean makes some off-hand comment about how Seonghyeon used to be the top of the class. Past tense. 

The math topic test is coming up next week, and you genuinely would rather gouge your eyes out than to try and solve another equation. You were a humanities student – maths and science never came easy to you, but you managed to get good grades purely out of sheer effort rather than natural intellect. 

But 11th grade math might actually kill you. You’re sitting at the Eoms’ dinner table, eyebrows knitted together in frustration as you try to figure out what went wrong in the last integration problem you’d solved. Your handwriting is neat and legible across the page, but there’s so many different answers that you’ve started and ditched to the point where it looks almost like a warzone by your standards. 

“I don’t get it,” you groan, and Sera’s so taken aback by your words to the point where she drops her pen. You? Not understanding something? That was completely unheard of. “The math in 11th grade is so difficult. Or maybe I’m just not doing it right – no, scratch that, I’m definitely not doing it right – but I don’t know what I’ve done wrong.” 

Sera peers at your paper, and her face contorts into one of confusion. “Yeah, I have no idea what that means,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t know how you and Seonghyeon are doing this. I'm dreading next year already.” 

Seonghyeon somehow miraculously appears at the sound of his name. He bounds down the corridor holding his empty mug, smoothing down the creases in his hoodie as he heads towards the kitchen to refill his cup. 

He looks over at you and Sera as he pours more water into his mug. He spots you with your head in your hands, shaking your head. “Um…” Seonghyeon looks at Sera – he’s never seen you this distraught over academics before. He assumed that everything was a complete breeze for you, considering your intellect. 

“Maths. It’s killing her too.” Sera whispers, and Seonghyeon furrows his brows. 

It’s like his body moves before he can think. He sets his mug down on the table, sitting down on one of the empty chairs. And then without thinking, he says: “Can I see the question?” 

It’s too late, and Seonghyeon wants to slap his hand over his mouth. Why would he say that? He’s technically competing with you for the top spot in the class, and also, he thinks that he still doesn’t like you very much. The latter was slightly debatable after spending a whole month in the same class with you,  but still – Seonghyeon had no idea why he said that. 

You slide the paper towards him, hands still covering your face. You were so tired and you quite simply never wanted to see a question about integration ever again. Also, you didn’t really want Seonghyeon to see your embarrassing work. His eyes scan the paper and your working, trying to figure out what you’d done wrong. 

“Oh, I see,” he pipes up. He taps your shoulder ever so gently, and you’d be lying if you said that his touch didn’t linger. “There’s a concept here that you didn’t apply – that’s why you don’t get it. I’m pretty sure we learnt it last year, but… you skipped a grade, so you never learnt it.” 

He gestures towards the blue pen next to you. “May I?” 

You nod, handing him the pen wordlessly. Seonghyeon writes down the working and the answer on a blank piece of refill paper, and an explanation of the concept that you didn’t learn. He hands the pen, the worksheet and the explanation back to you. 

“Here,” he says. He still doesn’t know why he’s helping you. “Ask me if you have any other questions.” 

Fuck, he thinks. He’s speaking before he thinks again. He tries to hide a grimace before he gets up from the chair, ready to head back to his room to finish his book. He glances at Sera, who’s looking at him like she doesn’t recognise him. 

“When were you two chill?” she mouths at him, and Seonghyeon furrows his brows. He wants to know the answer to that question too. Were you and him chill, per se? 

He still had that uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever he saw you, he still disliked how you always were able to seamlessly challenge him in everything, and seeing you all the time did not help out at all. That wouldn’t necessarily describe chill.

But then again, Seonghyeon sometimes works with you in English, and that tension between you two seems to dissipate. And now, he’s helping you with the very same math worksheet that he had complained about to Martin mere hours ago. So maybe… you were chill. 

You’re reading Seonghyeon’s explanation of the problem, and it all makes so much more sense now. He’s written the steps so clearly you think a child could understand it, and you’ve never been more grateful. “Oh,” you say, and Seonghyeon notices the excitement in your voice, how your eyes light up and how the corners of your lips pull upwards into a smile. “I get it now! Thanks, Seonghyeon.” 

He nods, gulping when you say his name. Your voice is smooth and mellifluous – Seonghyeon thinks he’s going insane. His thoughts about you contradict every other second. Seonghyeon thinks he dislikes you, but then you manage to captivate him in a way that he just quite can’t explain. Something inside him compels him to look out for you, care for you – why? 

“All good,” he chokes out. Sera looks at him with confusion plastered all over her face. Seonghyeon grabs his mug from the table, and turns around curtly to head back to his room. He closes the door and locks it. Then, Seonghyeon lets out a deep sigh that he didn’t know that he was holding back in the first place.

He’s so confused. He’s convinced himself that he doesn’t like you, but then his body, his words, his actions – all of it betrays his mind. He wasn’t this unsure and hesitant of his feelings when he was avoiding you like the plague, so should he start doing that again? 

But then he hears you laugh, and Seonghyeon knows that he can’t stay away. He hates himself for immediately thinking that it’s one of the most beautiful sounds he’s ever heard. He knows you’re probably at some joke that Sera made — he just hopes it’s not at his expense — and that strange twinge in his heart that he’d dismissed as early onset heart palpitations returns. 

“Whatever,” Seonghyeon grumbles, trying to convince himself that he doesn’t care that much. He grabs the first book he sees lying on his desk before settling into bed. He checks the cover before he starts reading, and of course it’s Romance of the Three Kingdoms. It’s like the universe is either giving him a sign, or playing some sick prank that’s making Seonghyeon lose his damn mind.

There are glaring reminders of you everywhere. From you quite literally being outside, to the book that he’s holding in his hands right now. 

So, like always – Seonghyeon pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind, and tries to lose himself in the book.

Nobody likes exam week. 

Everyone’s stressed and running on four hours of sleep. The cafe line is packed, with students drinking an ungodly amount of caffeine to even be able to function. 

11th grade is taking a far bigger toll on you than you expected, or maybe it’s just because you feel like you really need to impress in the first round of exams this year. Sera tries to convince you to watch a movie with her just to take a break one Tuesday evening, but you reject her suggestion and opt to do another chemistry worksheet. You think the periodic table is going to be burned into your brain by the end of the week. 

The cafeteria is much quieter than usual, with most students deciding to study. Seonghyeon’s tapping his foot on the cafeteria floor as he tries to write a practice essay for English. He writes two or three sentences, takes a bite of his food, and then picks up his pen to start writing again. It’s a cycle that lasts for most of lunch.  

His eyes scan the cafeteria when he’s giving his hand a break from writing too much. The muscle of his hand hurts, and he winces a little as he massages it to try and ease the pain. He spots you two tables down. Sera’s talking to you, and you’re nodding at her words as you write. 

Seonghyeon notices how you’re tapping on the cover of the book that he’s seen you carry around all week –  Plato’s Symposium. The sheer presence of the book reminds him that you’re just that well-read for your age, but this time, Seonghyeon doesn’t grit his teeth in frustration when he sees it. 

Maybe his feelings towards you have changed, he thinks. The two of you talk much more now after he helped you with math, and he notices that you’re actually comfortable with him. You always have been, but you seem to be a little bit more upfront with it now – perhaps it’s because you two actually have an excuse to talk because of school, but Seonghyeon finds that he actually likes speaking to you. 

You're a great conversationalist, and you're somehow able to make even the most boring topics interesting. Seonghyeon has never enjoyed ethics class, but hearing you talk about morality in a class last week might've been one of the most interesting things he's ever heard.

Sometimes he’ll even be the one to start a conversation with you. Never in a million years would he have thought that would happen.

But Seonghyeon notices how your fingers are drumming on the cover quickly in a nervous manner, and your eyebrows are knitted together tightly. Your shoulders are tense, and he thinks you haven’t breathed in the last fifty seconds. He knows what you look like when you’re concentrating. But this was something different.

You were anxious. 

When you were concentrating, your eyes would never leave the paper. Your eyebrows would still be furrowed, but not knitted together this tightly. Your shoulders were also never this tense, and Seonghyeon doesn’t think that he’s ever seen you fidget this nervously before. 

He sees Sera say something to you before getting up, and he notices that you don’t really seem to register it – you just nod, but it’s in an absentminded manner. His eyes quickly flick back to his own paper when he sees that Sera’s walking up to him, and he would rather die than get caught staring at you by his own sister. 

“Hey, Hyeon,” Sera says, sitting down next to him. “Could you tell Mom that I’ll be home a little late today? The art committee is having a meeting today after school and Yeseo was saying that we’ve got a lot to go through.” 

“Yeah, sure,” he nods. “How late will you be? Do you need her to pick you up?” 

Sera shakes her head no. “I’ll probably be at home just before dinner. And it's fine – I’m gonna take the bus. I think (Name)’s still going to come over to study though. She says she focuses better at our place,” her eyes flick towards you, and you’re writing at an alarming pace. “Exam season’s not treating her well.” 

“Is she okay?” Seonghyeon asks. There’s a flash of surprise on Sera’s face – she didn’t expect Seonghyeon to ask. She knew that he wasn’t as distant as he used to be, but she also didn’t think that Seonghyeon would notice how stressed you were. 

“I mean, not that I care that much.” Those words make Sera look at him with an even stranger look on her face. “No, not like that. I’m just saying… tapping on that book that quickly is sure to shake a window nearby, or something,” he stammers. “And she just looks really tense. You should probably check up on her.” 

Sera eyes him suspiciously, and Seonghyeon’s eyes dart towards the first thing that isn’t her. They settle on Keonho’s lunch. “Yeah,” she says. “I’m gonna go do that. Or… you could. After school today.” 

Her voice is insinuating in that one way that Seonghyeon doesn’t particularly like. If they were at home right now, he knew that she was going to prod him for answers about how he feels about you. But with Martin, Juhoon and Keonho around, she knew better. Thank god for that. 

“Sure,” he says breezily – as if he’s not internally freaking out over the way Sera’s looking at him like she just knows his deepest secret. “Thanks for taking care of my best friend.” Seonghyeon doesn’t like the amount of emphasis she puts on the fact that you’re her best friend. He’s well aware of that. Far too aware. 

Sera walks away, and Seonghyeon lets out a small sigh of relief. Keonho notices, and he’s about to say something before Seonghyeon stops him by holding his hand out. 

“Not a word.” Seonghyeon says, and Keonho obliges, but that teasing smirk doesn’t leave his lips. 

When he’s home, it actually hits him that you’ll be coming over. He’s never had one-on-one time with you in his own house. It’s always been you, Sera and him. He jumps out of his bed, rummaging through his closet to find a better outfit to wear – he’s already felt enough embarrassment today after making it obvious to Sera that he was worried about you. 

The least he could do was look somewhat presentable and change out of his pyjamas. He opts for a band tee and changes into a clean pair of sweats. As he’s pulling his shirt on, Seonghyeon realises that he’s trying to impress you. The realisation really sinks in when he’s looking at his reflection in the mirror, tucking in his shirt in just the right way. He gives himself an approving nod when he thinks that he looks half-decent before walking out into the living room, his cheeks tinted pink already from that realisation.

He pours two cups of water, one for him, one for you, and sets it on the table. He makes sure to take out the mug that you always use whenever you come over – it’s pink, with doodles of cherry blossoms on it. He pulls his notebook and laptop out of his bag, placing it on his side of the table. Just then, he hears the doorbell ring. 

Seonghyeon heads to the door a little too quickly. 

He opens it, and there you are – Seonghyeon swears that those heart palpitations return just at the sight of you. 

You give him a bright smile, waving with your free hand. The other is holding a new book – Nietzsche's Beyond Good and Evil. 

“You finished Symposium?” he asks, and you’re stunned at his words. You never told Seonghyeon that you were reading it. “You’ve been carrying it around all week,” he quickly adds. “Was it good?”

“Yeah, it was,” you stammer. You didn’t know that Seonghyeon actually paid attention to you like that. “Have you read it?”

“No, not yet,” he says, gesturing for you to come on in. “Should I?”

“I think so,” you chuckle. “It’s one of my favourite books, actually. That was actually a reread. It’s a short one too, so you can get it finished quickly. Exam week’s just cut into a lot of my reading time, so I picked a shorter one.”

You put your bag down next to one of the chairs on the Eoms’ dining table, taking out your notebooks, laptop and pencil case. You notice how Seonghyeon’s seemingly filled the cup that you always use when you’re at his house with water. 

“Thanks for the water, by the way.” you beam, sliding into the chair. Seonghyeon sits down next to you, opening up his laptop.  

“Don’t worry,” he replies. “We’ve got soda in the fridge if you want some. And there’s tea. You know which cabinet it’s in.” The Eoms’ house is practically your second home, considering how often you’re there. You think you’ve spent more time at their house than your own, oddly. 

You thank him, taking a sip from the mug. The two of you make casual conversation as you both do your work – it’s remarkable how the two of you can still stay focused even while talking. 

You find that studying with Seonghyeon is comfortable. You’ve never really hung out with him alone, with the exception of working together in class. Whenever you’re at his house, Sera’s usually always there too. For someone who you thought had hated you for the longest time, getting along with Seonghyeon is unexpectedly easy, and you really enjoy his company. 

However, it really doesn’t help when it comes to the crush you have on him. The more you speak to him, the harder you fall. It’s hopeless, but you can only pray that you’re hiding it well enough from both him and Sera.

“I really hope Ms Kim’s nice enough to give us a good poem for the unfamiliar text paper,” you groan, highlighting a line in the poem that you’re analysing. “I looked at all the past papers that she gave the last year group – one of them was straight up evil.” 

“They’re all evil,” Seonghyeon sighs, shaking his head. “Honestly, the play that she gave us two days ago to analyse might’ve been worse. At least we can mention more language techniques in poems.” 

“True, but then I just feel like I’m rambling,” You’re quickly writing a note next to the line that you’ve highlighted so you remember what you want to mention in the essay. “Hopefully she won’t be so mean to give us something horribly difficult for the actual exam. We only have 45 minutes for each unfamiliar text, for god's sake.” 

“I don’t think she’s given us anything easy for weeks,” Seonghyeon sighs. “Maybe it’s good that we’re getting challenged before the exams? Like… she’s preparing us for harder content so maybe the exam will seem easier because we’ve already gone through hell.”

“Hopefully,” you chuckle. “I do remember one poem that I really liked though. The one she gave us in the first week that we had to work on together?” you hum, highlighting another line in the poem that you’re working on. “The one where he mentioned The Polish Rider.” 

“I liked that poem too,” Seonghyeon smiles. “Especially the last stanza – and the last line, actually. I thought it was really simple but also really romantic.” 

“Yeah, definitely!” you say, putting down your highlighter as you nod in agreement. “I also really liked that he mentioned The Polish Rider. I love Rembrandt’s paintings. They’re all so lifelike – we’ve got this visual arts assessment coming up, so I think I might do a commentary on a painting of his. I was thinking maybe I’d do the painting he did of Aristotle, kind of merge two of my interests into one.” 

“Sorry, I just realised I went off track from what we were originally talking about.” you chuckle.

“No, it’s okay. What do you like about the painting? Like the Aristotle one.” Seonghyeon genuinely seems interested in what you have to say – perhaps you never noticed it before, but you think this may be a first. 

As you go on about what you like about the painting, Seonghyeon takes in every single word. From the way you’re talking about the thick paint that Rembrandt always used, the colours that he’s chosen, how Rembrandt’s depicted Aristotle’s eyes — he listens to every bit you say intently, burning it into his brain. 

He also doesn’t miss the way your eyes light up in excitement, the way your hands are gesturing to describe it all, and how the corners of your lips turn upwards ever so slightly when you’re talking about something you’re so passionately interested in. It’s awfully endearing, and Seonghyeon’s heart skips a beat. 

He then realises that he hasn’t even seen the painting. He types the title into his search engine — Aristotle with a Bust of Homer — and it pops up on his screen. It’s exactly as you described it, just based on your memory. The thick paint highlighting the brushstrokes. The dark colours of the painting. How Aristotle’s eyes are concealed by deliberate shadows that you’ve interpreted as him being lost in thought. 

“Yeah, that one!” you say excitedly, pointing at the screen. “Isn’t it great? Now you get why the poet and I are so keen on Rembrandt’s work.” 

“It is great,” Seonghyeon says. He’s more so impressed by how amazingly well you’ve remembered the painting and how eloquently you’ve described and analysed it. Dare he say, it may be more impressive than the painting itself — but Seonghyeon was biased. “Have you ever seen it in person?” 

“No,” you reply, shaking your head. “I do want to, though. But it’s all the way at The Met, and I’m really not planning to go to New York any time soon.”

He clicks off the painting, typing up Rembrandt’s name instead. The first link — a paid ad, which Seonghyeon usually hates — is a link to an art gallery. 

“There’s going to be an exhibition of his work in here in a few weeks,” Seonghyeon pipes up. “You might wanna go.”

Your eyes snap towards his screen, and when you see the details of the exhibition, your eyes light up. “Oh my god. What a crazy coincidence – I have to get tickets,”

“You should come!” you blurt out. Seonghyeon looks at you, surprise evident on his features. “If you’re interested in this kind of stuff. I don’t think you take visual arts, but Rembrandt’s work is really, really nice.” you add hastily, to not make things awkward. It’s definitely not because you want to talk to him more and that you enjoy his company far too much. 

Seonghyeon lets your invitation hang in the air as he processes your words. Seonghyeon’s never been one to wander around art galleries willingly – he was far more fond of history museums, and could spend all day in them.

But Seonghyeon finds that he wants to go to this art gallery. With you.

“I’ll come,” he says, and the excited smile on your lips makes him all the more certain of his decision. “It sounds like fun.”

“It will be! I hope you don’t mind me rambling about the paintings, though. I’ll try and shut up about it.”

“No, it’s fine,” Seonghyeon says, giving you a soft smile. “I like hearing you talk.”

He wants to slap himself across the face for letting those words slip. He can see your stunned expression, and all he can do right now is hope he hasn’t freaked you out with his words. His cheeks heat up out of sheer embarrassment. 

Should he say something like ‘because you talk about really interesting things’, or ‘you’re a great storyteller’? Seonghyeon doesn’t know if he should add anything to alleviate the awkwardness and tension that his words had just inadvertently created. Gosh, think before you speak, he thinks. 

“Oh,” you stammer out before he can say anything new. Your cheeks are heating up at his words. “That’s kind of you.” You give him a soft smile as well, unsure of what to say next. 

Seonghyeon realises that he wants you to smile at him like this forever. It’s also then when he realises that he definitely doesn’t hate you at all. Nobody would feel butterflies in their stomach and a blooming warmth across the chest when they see their archnemesis smile. And after studying with you today, he doesn’t really think he even cares about being the top of the class anymore. 

Seonghyeon realises that logic needs to take precedence now. What he’s feeling is most definitely not early onset heart palpitations. He should never have believed in something so incredibly unrealistic and illogical. 

Fuck, he thinks. He might actually like you.  

Seonghyeon gets a violently sick feeling when he sees Sung Minjun walk up to your desk.

His jaw immediately tightens, eyes widening in the slightest hint of alarm. Sung Minjun is bad news, and everyone in the grade knows it. But you’re new to the year, and you haven’t been told about his reputation for messing with people’s feelings. 

“Hey, (Name).” Minjun’s voice is sickeningly sweet in a way that makes Seonghyeon want to throw up. It’s never been more obvious that this sweet guy act is just a facade of his. You’re definitely unaware of his reputation, and you simply smile at him. 

“Hi, Minjun. What’s up?” you ask. 

“I was just wondering if you were free this afternoon? I’ve got two tickets to this amusement park, and I wanted to go with someone who I find pretty cool,” he says, and Seonghyeon rolls his eyes at Minjun's feigned shyness. “Would you wanna come?”

“Oh,” your voice is hesitant. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ve already got plans.”

Minjun pouts, and Seonghyeon examines your face for any sort of reaction. He swears that he sees your eyebrow twitch in just the slightest way.

“Really?” Minjun asks, disbelief evident in his tone. “Come on, they can’t be that important. And the amusement park is fun — it’s one afternoon.”

You nod, sure of your decision. “I’m good, really. Thank you though.” Seonghyeon fails to hide the smile on his lips. 

“What’s got you so giddy?” Keonho asks, nudging Seonghyeon gently with his elbow. 

“Oh, nothing,” Seonghyeon replies breezily, eyes still fixated on your conversation with Minjun. Keonho’s eyes follow in the direction Seonghyeon’s looking at, and when his eyes land on you, he lets out a knowing ‘ah’.

“Admiring your girl?” Keonho quips, and Seonghyeon takes in a sharp breath. 

“Not my girl,” Seonghyeon mutters.

“Yeah, definitely not your girl if you don’t make a move soon. Look at Minjun.” Keonho says, and Seonghyeon groans. Minjun’s giving you that awfully fake smile, leaning in closer to perhaps make you try and feel something for him just because of proximity. Seonghyeon just hopes for your sake, Minjun didn’t spray that dreadful cologne that he uses all the time. 

“She’s not into it.”

“You don’t know that.” 

“I hate you.”

“You’re jealous of Minjun,” Keonho teases. “And it’s because you like (Name). Tell me I’m wrong all you want. You’ll never be able to convince me otherwise.”

“Minjun’s a dick anyways,” Seonghyeon says. “I’m just…”

“What?” Keonho interjects, an amused smile on his lips. “Looking out for her because your sister said so? Which excuse is it going to be today, our lovely Seonghyeon?”

Seonghyeon doesn’t reply, eyes fixed on you and Minjun. He’s still trying to get you to go to that damned amusement park with him – Seonghyeon saw the advertisement for it online and he distinctly remembers that it looked like shit. Or perhaps his distaste for Minjun spending one-on-one time with you was clouding his judgment at the moment. 

Oh. Oh. 

He really was jealous.

“What is it that you have to do then?” Minjun asks. “Could I join you?” 

Before he can even think, Seonghyeon’s already walking towards your desk. He interrupts your conversation with Minjun, and the boy looks almost offended. 

“Hey, (Name), Sera has another art committee thing that’s going to run late today. You’re still welcome to come study and stay for dinner like usual, though.”  Seonghyeon wasn’t lying, Sera had told him that this morning. But he’s shocked that he somehow came up with something so coherent and true when this was completely impromptu. 

Seonghyeon notices how you visibly relax in his presence. He smiles softly at you, and you return the gesture. “Hey, Seonghyeon. That’s okay – I’ve got plans later today, so don’t worry,” you beam. “I also don’t want to trouble your mom again.” 

“Nonsense,” Seonghyeon waves off your worries. “You know she loves having you around anyways.” 

Minjun’s watching you and Seonghyeon interact with a stunned expression on his face. His eyes darted from you, to Seonghyeon, and then back to you again. He didn’t know that you and Seonghyeon were close at all – but seeing how you smiled brightly when Seonghyeon showed up out of the blue, and how comfortable you seemed to be in conversation, Minjun knew that he stood no chance. 

“Alright, I’m gonna… go,” he announces. Seonghyeon lets him leave, not even bothering to look back. 

“He’s not got a great reputation in our year,” Seonghyeon says, when Minjun’s out of earshot. “You dodged a bullet.” 

“Well, you helped me dodge that bullet,” you reply, putting your books in your bag to pack up. “And I have heard murmurs, to be fair.” 

“Makes sense – word does spread fast around here. So… are you still coming today?” Seonghyeon asks as you put your last notebook in your bag. You shake your head as you zip it up, and he looks at you with furrowed brows, clearly confused. It was unusual for you to not be studying at his place in the afternoon. And Seonghyeon would never admit it out loud, but he really wanted to see you. 

“I’m going to a bookstore to pick up some books,” you hum, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I ordered them a while ago, and James is only opening up shop Thursday afternoon this week.” 

“Oh,” Seonghyeon didn’t know that you were on a first-name basis with the owner of the bookstore. “Is this like a small shop?” 

“Yeah, I found it a few years ago – James actually went to our school! He graduated two years ago. They’ve got a really good selection of philosophy and history books, so I go all the time. I really love it there. Once, I spent like… 6 hours just reading there. Time went by so fast,” you laugh.

“You’re more than welcome to join me, if you’re not busy. I think you’d like the place.” you add hastily. You’ve never brought anyone to James’ bookstore, but Seonghyeon seemed like the perfect person to bring. He loved reading, James’ bookstore had a fantastic history book collection, and you enjoyed his company. He was already coming to Rembrandt’s exhibition with you, but you did want to grasp at any opportunity that you may have to spend time with him. After all, you had been pining for basically 10 years now.

Seonghyeon’s somewhat stunned by your invitation. You want to spend time with him. Alone. It fills him with a sense of joy that makes him feel like he’s floating on cloud nine. Take that, Minjun, he thinks. A smile spreads across his lips before he nods. 

“Yeah, of course. I don’t have plans after school today, and I do need to look for some new books to read, actually.” he replies, and you smile at him. Seonghyeon’s heart flutters again. 

“Perfect! I’ll meet you after last period,” you beam. “It’s not far from here, so we can walk there.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” he says, and you bid him goodbye, saying that you’ve got to meet Sera now. Seonghyeon nods, waving at you before he walks back to his seat, a giddy smile on his lips.

“Look at that smile,” Keonho comments. “You’re in love.” 

For the first time, Seonghyeon doesn’t correct him.

The walk towards the bookstore that you love is quite short. 

Or perhaps time just flies when you’re having fun. 

You and Seonghyeon talk the entire way there. It first starts off with complaints about Mr Jung being an absolutely hopeless teacher, to the dreadful worksheet that Ms Seo had given for Math, and then into every other thing that somehow pops into the two of your minds. 

You find out a lot more about Seonghyeon on the walk there. He shares his favourite music with you, telling you which albums and artists that he likes. You download them, making a mental note to listen to them when you study next. He tells you that he hates mint chocolate, and that he always has to watch a movie before bed. 

“I watched Everything Everywhere All at Once last night,” he hums. Your eyes light up – it’s one of your favourite movies in the world. “Do you like it?” 

“I love it,” you reply. “I think I cried like three times. But to be fair, I am a crier when it comes to movies. I never leave the theatre without crying at least once. Unless it’s a comedy.” 

Seonghyeon’s eyes crinkle into crescents when he laughs. Your heart beats faster in your chest at the sight. “I’m going to have to see this for myself – we’re going to have to go and watch a movie together.” 

It slips out before he thinks (again), and his eyes widen slightly in alarm. He looks at you, and you simply nod happily. He lets out a sigh of relief – he was so worried that he’d embarrassed himself just then. 

Seonghyeon finds that this happens all too frequently with you. He prided himself on knowing exactly what to say at the right time and always thinking before speaking. But when it comes to you, all of that just goes straight out the window – he lets comments that he planned to leave in his head slip and he’s stammering and stumbling over his own words. Nerves, he claims. He thinks he has an inkling of an idea of where those nerves may come from. 

Meanwhile, all you can think about is how Seonghyeon wants to watch a movie with you. Now, you’re sure that he doesn’t mind your presence – rather, he seems to enjoy your company. You’ve never been happier – maybe you do have somewhat of a chance. 

“Here it is,” you say, pointing at the bookstore. It’s tucked away in the corner of a back street. You open the door, the windchimes hanging on the handle jingling as you gesture for him to enter. He does, thanking you politely as he takes everything in. 

He sees shelves and shelves of books, all organised by genre. The smell of books and bergamot infiltrates his senses, and the soft yellow light from the chandelier he sees hanging from the ceiling illuminates the entire room. There’s a record player in the corner that’s playing some music from the 80s’, and there’s a small corner with a table and a few chairs for people to read at. 

Seonghyeon knows why you love this place so much instantly. It’s so distinctly… you. 

“James!” you call out, and the boy working at the cashier turns to look at the two of you. His eyes light up, giving you a wave. Seonghyeon suddenly recognises James – they’ve never spoken, but he’s pretty sure James was the captain of the dance team. 

“(Name)! Thanks for coming today – I’ve got some of the books you’ve ordered here,” he says, gesturing to a pile in the corner. His eyes then land on Seonghyeon, and he looks at him with an intrigued smile. “You brought a friend!” 

“I did,” you beam. “Just gonna show him around the place and maybe pick out a few things before I come and pay for everything, if that’s cool.” 

James nods in response. “Take your time,” he replies. “I was just finishing up an essay for uni anyways. We’re open until 7, by the way, just in case you two wanted to stay and read a few things.”  

“Sounds good,” you reply. Your eyes land on the marigolds on the counter, perched in a porcelain vase. “Nice flower choice for the vase this week, by the way. Marigolds are my favourites.” 

You like marigolds. Seonghyeon makes sure to remember that. You then turn your attention to him, who’s looking around the store and bobbing his head to the music. 

“I’ll show you the history section, since I know you love the stuff. I’m pretty sure they just got some new books about the Cold War in.” 

“Perfect – that’s my favourite topic, by the way,” he says, eyes lighting up. 

“I know,” you laugh, and Seonghyeon’s surprised that you do. “You talk to Keonho about it all the time in history. It’s my favourite topic too, to be honest. Mr Jung does teach it horribly, though.” 

You lead him to the history section of the bookstore, and there’s three whole shelves dedicated to books about the Cold War. You look at how Seonghyeon’s eyes light up, immediately scanning the section to see what interests him. He notices a few that he’s already bought, but there’s also so many that he’s never heard of before – you were right. This place truly was a treasure trove of books, and Seonghyeon’s stunned that he’s never heard of this place. 

You watch as he pulls out books from the shelves, flicking through the pages with his brows furrowed in concentration. A soft smile makes its way to your lips before your eyes flick back to the shelves too, picking out your own books as you hum along to the music that James has picked. 

You’re mid-grab for a book about the Middle Ages when you hear Seonghyeon ask you if you’ve got any recommendations. You can see that he’s picked out three books about the Cold War, one of which you’ve read. 

“That one’s really good,” You tap your finger on the spine of the book, nodding approvingly. “I think you’ll like it. But recommendations… do you want them to be Cold War related or something else?” 

“Anything’s fine,” Seonghyeon shrugs. “You always seem to give me good recommendations anyways. Even before this year.” 

You’re somewhat shocked. You didn’t think that Seonghyeon actually liked your recommendations. You still remember when he said that Romance of the Three Kingdoms was just ‘alright’. You gulp, drumming your fingers on the edge of one of the shelves as you try and think of books that you think Seonghyeon might like. 

“Maybe The Art of War,” you hum, eyes scanning the shelves to see if you can spot it. Your eyes light up when you do, pulling it off the shelf and handing it to him. “Flick through it to see if you like it first, though.” 

“What’s the last book you really really liked?” you ask him, your eyes still fixated on the shelf in front of you. 

“Oh, um…” Seonghyeon is silent for a moment as he thinks about your question. He’s read so many good books this year – it was hard to really pick one. “ Probably No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai. I read it a while ago, though.” 

A book immediately pops into your head. It’s something you read recently as well. 

“Camus,” you mumble, trying to find the book that you’ve got in mind. Seonghyeon follows you as you wander off to the philosophy section. “Ah, this – The Myth of Sisyphus. It’s a little bit more on the philosophy side, if you don’t mind. I quite liked it though, obviously.”  

Seonghyeon stacks the book on top of the ones he’s picked out. You look at him, tilting your head at him quizzically. “You’re not gonna flick through it to see if it’s your taste?” 

He merely shrugs in response. “I trust your recommendations,” he says casually. “Plus, you’ve kind of made me develop an interest towards philosophy books.” 

The smile that graces your face is absolutely infectious. You’re overjoyed, and you immediately look for your favourite books on the shelf to recommend to him. 

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that, holy shit!” you say, and your excitement is evident in your tone. You’re pulling out books here and there from the shelf, and Seonghyeon can barely keep up. “Okay, Symposium is one of my absolute favourites, and it’s short. But you can just take my copy, to be honest.” 

You’re mumbling to yourself as you pick out all of your favourite books, stacking them on top of one another. When you’re done, you look at a pile of eight books – you didn’t realise that you’d picked out so many. 

“Oh. That’s way too many. We’re going to have to thin this herd,” you hum, eyeing the books you’ve selected. “Maybe The Prince. It’s quite short, like Symposium. So you can kind of get a taste of how these books usually are, and if you end up liking them, just let me know. We can always come back here.” 

Seonghyeon nods, taking the book from you and adding it to the pile that he’s holding. 

“I saw you reading The Prince on the first day,” Seonghyeon hums. “You had a lot of tabs in there.” 

“Oh, yeah,” You’re surprised he remembered, but you feel as if you shouldn't be. Seonghyeon was incredibly observant, as you've noticed throughout the year. It’s kind of why I figured that you should probably get your own copy, because I’ve written all over it. I think I had a lot of opinions on that book.” 

“We can talk about it when I’ve finished it then,” he smiles softly. “I think I’m gonna go put these on the counter and pay for them first, because my hands are starting to hurt. Do you wanna take the ones you’ve picked out and put them there as well?” 

You nod, following him to the counter where James is sitting. He’s engrossed in watching an anime, and you clear your throat. His eyes snap up, and James immediately changes his tab to his essay. 

“You saw nothing,” James hisses jokingly, and you raise an eyebrow. “I’m just procrastinating, okay? You and your friend here found some books you liked?” he asks, changing the topic. 

“He’s picked his out. I’m gonna go grab something else from the history section, and I’ll be right back.” you say, and James nods. You give Seonghyeon a smile before placing the books that you’ve chosen on the counter, and you run off. Seonghyeon’s eyes follow your figure before James clears his throat to catch his attention. 

“You like her, don’t you?” When you’re out of earshot, James looks at Seonghyeon with a teasing smile. He picks up a book from Seonghyeon’s pile, scanning the books that he’s planning to buy. Seonghyeon’s eyes widen, cheeks heating up as he’s caught off guard by James’ words. 

“What?” he stammers – if a stranger that he’d only met five minutes ago could tell, surely everyone else would know. He’s hoping that James is just excellent at reading people, because god – if anyone else knew, especially Sera, he was done for. His friends at school already knew enough, with Keonho incessantly teasing him about it whenever he’s around. 

“You like her,” James repeats. “It’s all in the eyes, man. And you’re buying all of her recommendations. I would’ve thought that you’d be buying Symposium too.” 

Seonghyeon furrows his brows – how did James manage to hear the entire conversation? He opens his mouth to speak before James stops him, seemingly reading his mind.

“Yes, I heard. This store is small enough for me to eavesdrop on everyone. And even though I was focused on the anime, I was also focused on listening to you two.” James places a sticker on one of the book that Seonghyeon’s buying before putting it into a paper bag.

“She’s giving me her copy to read,” Seonghyeon stammers. “And well, about the other thing, I wouldn’t… I’m not sure.” 

“No, deep down you’re sure.” James says, as if he’s some love expert. “I think you just don’t really want to admit it to yourself yet.” 

Damn, Seonghyeon thinks. James is really good at reading people. Too good to the point where it makes Seonghyeon a little uncomfortable. 

“She doesn’t just take anyone here, by the way. She’s been coming here for four years, and I’ve never seen her show up with anyone. Said it’s her secret spot, or something,” James adds breezily. 

Seonghyeon stiffens at his words. He may be saying this in a casual manner, but the fact that James is basically saying that Seonghyeon is special to you makes his heart stutter. “So maybe she likes you too – but she keeps going on about this one guy named S–!” 

“James!” you cut him off just as he’s about to reveal a name, and Seonghyeon winces at the missed opportunity to figure out who you’ve been raving about to James. “Did this just come in?” 

“Yeah,” James replies, taking the book out of your hands. “Dream of the Red Chamber. You’ll like this one, since you liked Romance of the Three Kingdoms. Speaking of that book – you bought two copies, right? Did the person you give it to like it as well?” 

Oh. Oh. 

You bought the book specifically for him. All along, Seonghyeon thought that it was your copy that you’d given him. He supposes that he should’ve guessed, considering how there weren’t any tabs sticking out the edges and the pristine condition of the book. He was going to give it back to you too, but he just found himself rereading it over and over and over again. 

But now he just feels guilty. You’ve been too kind to him for all these years, and it was only until a couple of months ago – weeks, even – that Seonghyeon was sure that he didn’t hate you. The feeling settles in his stomach, and he knows that he has to do something to make it up to you.

“I actually gave it to him,” you chuckle, gesturing towards Seonghyeon. You recall the words that he’d told you on the first day of school – that it was fine. “I don’t think he was a big fan.” Your voice is sheepish, and Seonghyeon shakes his head at your words. 

“No, no,” he hastily interjects. “I really liked it.”

You look at him, surprise evident on your features. “I thought you didn’t like it that much,” you say, puzzled. “You told me it was fine on the first day of school.” 

Seonghyeon scratches the nape of his neck, unsure what to say. He wasn’t going to straight up say that he had to hide how much he liked the book for the sake of his pride, but there really was no other logical explanation. 

“I… reread it,” he mumbles. “I liked it better the second time.” 

You nod, letting out a soft ‘oh’. Seonghyeon doesn’t think you’re actually convinced, but you don’t end up questioning it. James is much more obvious about how unconvinced he is, eyeing Seonghyeon suspiciously. The teasing smile on James’ lips is still there, as if he’s quite literally telling him to keep thinking about what he said earlier. 

“So… do you want this one?” James asks, holding up Dream of the Red Chamber.  

You nod without thinking, and James stacks it on the pile of books that you’re planning to buy. He looks at the large pile, and chuckles. “You’re going to be singlehandedly paying for my lunches for the next few weeks with this order. Thanks, (Name.)” 

“Glad that my allowance is going towards something good,” you say. “I think that’ll be all for today.”

Seonghyeon looks around the store quietly as James finally finishes scanning all of your books. “That’s 250,000 won with the discount,” he says. “Do you have enough?”

You count together the notes in your wallet. Shit. You’re about 5,000 won short. You hiss before shaking your head, looking through the titles of the books you’ve selected to see which one you’ll just have to get next time. It’s a difficult choice, though – all of them are books that you want to read really badly. 

“I can pay for her,” Seonghyeon pipes up. 

Your eyes snap up to look at him. “Seonghyeon, what? No – I couldn’t let you do that.” 

“It’s fine,” he fishes his wallet out of his pocket, taking out his card. “Think of it as a gift, or something I’m doing in return for the book that you gave me.” 

“Seonghyeon, that was one book!” you exclaim, holding up one finger. “There are eight books! You must let me pay you back if you’re going to pay.” 

“No, it’s okay,” he says, tapping his card on the reader before you can protest more. “I’m more than happy to pay for these – you’re going to read them anyway, and I know how much you like books.” 

James is watching the interaction between you two like it’s his favourite television show. The two of you are bickering like an old married couple as you frantically search through your wallet for 250,000 won so that you can pay Seonghyeon back. He’s trying to grab onto your wallet so he can shove it back into your bag so you don’t have to. 

Seonghyeon wins the battle, and you reach out to grab your wallet. “I’ll only give it back if you promise not to pay me back.” 

“Seonghyeon, I can’t do that! 250,000 won is an insane amount.” you say, and Seonghyeon shakes his head, holding your wallet even further away from you now. You groan as you try once again to grab it from him, but to no avail.

“I’ve been saving.” Seonghyeon shrugs. 

“Just let the man pay,” James interjects, and Seonghyeon smiles. 

“Thank you – see, (Name)?” he says, and you groan. 

“Okay, okay,” you sigh. “Thank you, Seonghyeon. That was really nice of you.” 

Seonghyeon nods, finally satisfied. He hands you back your wallet, albeit eyeing you with a certain sense of caution as if he’s worried you’ll try and shove money into his backpack. 

“You really didn’t have to do that.” you say, tucking your wallet back inside your bag, making a mental note to yourself that you have to get him something in return. 

“I wanted to.” 

Those three words carry far more weight than either of you expected.

A blush creeps up on Seonghyeon’s cheeks as he lets those words slip out without thinking. Your cheeks are hot as the gravity of those three little words sink in. James silently packs your books in a paper bag with an amused smile. 

James hands you your books, and you thank him gratefully. It’s incredibly heavy – to the point where it nearly knocks you off balance. A little ‘oomph’ escapes past your lips as you get used to the weight of the bag. You’re honestly more concerned that the bag is going to break. 

“I can carry it for you,” Seonghyeon says softly. “It looks heavy, and we’ve got to walk back home.”

“Yeah, that may be best,” you say, handing him the bag with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Seonghyeon.” 

Your heart is pounding in your chest right now. Every single interaction that you’ve had with him at the bookstore feels awfully romantic, but you don’t want to delude yourself into believing that Seonghyeon perhaps has feelings for you too. 

Maybe he’s just realised that he actually enjoys your company as a friend. Or maybe he just has an obligation to take care of you as his little sister’s best friend. The prospect of that makes your heart sink a little, because you’ve always wanted him to be something more. 

Even James knows that, considering how much you’ve talked about Seonghyeon to him. 

“Thanks for coming today, (Name) – sorry I had to get you to come after school, I know how much you value your study time. I hope it wasn’t a big hassle,” James’ voice cuts through your thoughts, and you wave his worries off. His eyes divert to Seonghyeon, and it’s then when James realises that he hasn’t asked for Seonghyeon’s name. 

“And you are…?” 

“Seonghyeon.” 

James’ eyes widen in a comically exaggerated manner. “You’re the Seonghyeon? Oh, no wonder you’re the first person she’s ever brought here. (Name)’s said so much about you–!”

“Okay, thanks James! See you next week!” you cut him off, practically pushing Seonghyeon towards the door. Your voice is panicky, and Seonghyeon barely has time to register everything until the two of you are outside the shop. 

“Please ignore him,” you say, cheeks hot from embarrassment. “He’s always pulling shit like that on me.” Seonghyeon looks at you, and he can tell that you don’t want him to pry about what you’ve been telling James. But oh, he is so curious. 

“I’m was just telling him that you’re in my class and how you’re Sera’s brother,” you lie through your teeth. You hope Seonghyeon thinks it’s an acceptable answer – James really didn’t have to air out all of your dirty laundry by basically implying that you had been going on and on and on about him. “It’s… not like he made it out to be.” 

Seonghyeon doesn’t know why he’s disappointed. 

“Oh, look, an ice cream shop!” You don’t give him time to ponder over why he’s disappointed, as you change the topic. His eyes flick over to look at where you’re pointing, and sure enough, there’s a quaint little ice cream shop across the road that’s neatly tucked away from all the hustle and bustle from the main street. “Let me treat you to ice cream – it’s really the least I can do after you paid for all of my books. And then we can head to your place to study, since we left James’ earlier than I expected.” 

Seonghyeon nods, thanking you as you lead him towards the shop. He opens the door for you, and you smile at him gratefully. It makes his heart flip. 

The two of you look at the ice cream case for what flavours the store’s got. Seonghyeon always gets vanilla – in a cup, never a cone – so he doesn’t really know why he even bothers. You hum in satisfaction when you’ve made your decision. 

“Hi,” you say, calling over to the girl who’s working the cashier. “Could I get one scoop of the chocolate?” 

He’s about to pipe up about what he wants until you say his exact order. “And a scoop of the vanilla?” you turn towards him, tilting your head questionably as if you’re asking him to confirm if you’re correct. He nods, and you turn back again to look at the girl. “Separately, please. Thank you.” 

He’s stunned. He doesn’t know how you know that he always gets vanilla. “How did you–” 

“You guys have three tubs of ice cream in your freezer, and the vanilla one has your name on it. With like three large exclamation points. I figured that it was your favourite – I’m glad I got it right.” 

Seonghyeon didn’t know how attentive you actually were to his interests. From his favourite history topics, to books, and even to ice cream. You noticed things about him too. 

You pay for the ice cream, handing Seonghyeon his cup. He takes a bite, and it’s really good. Much better than the tub that he bought from the supermarket, even if it is just plain vanilla. “Woah,” he says, taking the wooden spoon out of his mouth. “I’m surprised I’ve never been to this place.” 

You seem to be similarly shocked at how good the ice cream is. “Yeah, oh my god. I’ve been to James’ too many times to even remember and I’ve never even thought of coming here. I’m glad I did, though – we have to come back again.” 

We. It’s an invitation. You want to spend more time with him. 

“Yeah,” he beams. “I’d like that.” 

As you and Seonghyeon walk back to his house, making casual conversation as the two of you finish up your ice cream. Your shared laughter rings through the summer air, and his eyes flick over to look at you. 

There’s an undeniable feeling of being drawn to you like a moth to a flame. Warmth and all-consuming affection settles in his chest, and for the first time, he’s comfortable with letting it linger. 

Everything clicks into place.

Eom Seonghyeon is certain now. He does like you.

“Okay. I need your help.” 

Keonho, Martin and Juhoon’s ears immediately perk up. Seonghyeon asking for help? This was unprecedented. It was usually Seonghyeon running around to help the three of them.

“Well, not me,” he says, sliding into his seat next to Keonho. He opens his lunch box to buy him time on figuring out what he’s supposed to say. “I have a friend who needs help.” Seonghyeon’s voice is unconvincing, and Keonho raises an eyebrow. 

“So…” Seonghyeon starts, drumming his fingers on the table as he tries to articulate his thoughts properly. “My friend’s a little bit stuck on how they feel about someone, because they thought they hated them for the longest time. But I – sorry, my friend – thinks that they might actually like them now. Maybe a little too much and maybe as something more than friends. So… how should they go about it? Like should I – my friend – confess, or just… I don’t know. Wait it out?” Seonghyeon’s slip of the tongue makes Martin smile in amusement.

“I fucking knew it!” Keonho yells, pointing at Seonghyeon. The entire cafeteria goes quiet, and Seonghyeon’s eyes dart to you, sitting two tables down. You’re looking at Keonho with a confused look in your eye, clearly startled by his outburst. Your eyes then land on Seonghyeon, who feigns confusion too. You two share a small smile as you chuckle at Keonho’s antics, shaking your head before your eyes return to your book. Seonghyeon is absolutely mortified.

“Dude, be quiet,” Juhoon says to Keonho, before focusing his attention back onto Seonghyeon. “But yeah, we all fucking knew it. It was just a matter of time.” 

“What?” Seonghyeon sputters. “You don’t even know who this friend is.” 

Martin looks at him with a deadpan stare. “Come on, man. You clearly said ‘I’ before you changed it. It’s fine – we all thought you were gonna admit this at some point. I don’t really think you ever hated (Name).” 

“Or maybe the hatred was fueling that romantic tension,” Keonho says with a shit-eating grin. Seonghyeon regrets asking for advice now, and he buries his face in his hands to hide the blush that’s creeping up on his cheeks. Juhoon, ever so attentive, notices how the tips of Seonghyeon’s ears turn pink too. 

“You like (Name),” Keonho teases, and Seonghyeon groans, his hands never leaving his face. “I swear that weird feeling you always said you got when she was around was just you being nervous and not knowing how to act around her. And another thing – being annoyed that she was smart? Admiration. Maybe a bit of jealousy too. You’re just emotionally constipated and don’t know how to deal with your feelings.”

Fuck, Seonghyeon thinks. Why is Keonho’s psychoanalysis of him right? 

“Oh, and another thing!” Keonho pipes up. Seonghyeon just knows Keonho’s going to have 500 of these ‘another things’ to bring up. “You’ve always looked out for her this year. It’s so obvious. First, the Haeun situation. Then you’re helping her with math. And you were glaring at Minjun so hard that day I thought you were trying to make him explode.” 

“Oh my god,” Keonho’s eyes light up as if he’s had an epiphany. “You care about her. You’ve always cared too much about her. Maybe that’s why you didn’t like her. You care too much that she’s really smart, she’s really charming and she’s always around! And you also care about what she thinks of you – which is why you were so opposed to her being in our year. Because you don’t want to seem stupid in front of her.” 

Juhoon hums, pointing his finger at Keonho in agreement. “Also, don’t forget about the time where you told Sera to make sure she wasn’t feeling too anxious because you saw that she was tapping her fingers on the cover of her book too quickly. Only a lunatic or someone madly in love would notice that.”

Was he that obvious, or could his friends just read him that well? He stays silent as he digests everything that his friends are saying. But then he remembers James reading him like a book on the first time that they’d met. Fuck, maybe he was obvious, Seonghyeon thinks. Was he the only one oblivious to his own feelings? 

“Yoohoo, earth to Seonghyeon?” Martin asks, waving his hand in front of his face. “I know you’re daydreaming about (Name) again, but we were saying that you should probably do something about it.” 

“Like what, though?” Seonghyeon stammers. His voice drops to a whisper. “I don’t… you know I’ve never really liked anyone before. How am I supposed to go about this?” 

“He’s growing up,” Juhoon coos. 

“You and Martin have literally both never had a girlfriend — you can’t be saying that to me right now.” Seonghyeon says pointedly. Then he realises that none of his friends will be of help, because they’ve simply never confessed to anyone. 

“Woah!” Martin says, shocked by the sudden mention of his name. “What do I have to do with what Ju said?” 

“Nothing,” Seonghyeon replies, drumming his fingers on the table as he tries to think of what to say to you. Juhoon was awfully secretive of whoever he liked — Seonghyeon’s convinced he has a crush, he just wasn’t talking about it. Keonho, despite being the crush of far too many people in the year group, was too busy with swimming to even consider a relationship. Martin was a romantic, but he’d never found someone he actually liked enough to direct his affections to.

They’d been able to analyse him correctly because they knew him well. But they wouldn’t be able to help him devise a plan on how to confess. None of them knew you well — except maybe Martin, who you tutored. 

“I just… I don’t know if you guys will be able to help, actually. No offence — it’s just… you guys don’t know her at all.”

“I think you should just tell her how you feel,” Martin hums. “What’s the worst she could do? Reject you?” 

Seonghyeon looks at Martin like he’s crazy. “Yes? Obviously that’s the worst, and I don’t want that to happen. She’s Sera’s best friend, remember? If she rejects me, I’m still going to have to see her all the time.” 

“Well, your other option is to silently pine forever,” Keonho says, and his eyes dart over to Minjun, who’s sitting nearby your table. Seonghyeon looks in that direction, and that ugly feeling of jealousy creeps up his spine again. His jaw clenches, and Keonho doesn’t miss it. “And I know for a fact you’re not going to do that when Minjun could very well make another move.” 

Keonho’s right. Of course he is. 

Seonghyeon’s eyes land on you, and you’re laughing at something that Sera’s saying. The look of pure unadulterated joy on your face is infectious, and the corners of his lips quirk up into a smile.

You somehow catch his eye, and you beam at him, waving before returning to your conversation with Sera. Seonghyeon gently raises his hand to wave at you back.

“And you never know,” Martin hums, watching Seonghyeon’s expression with a knowing smile on his lips. “She might like you back.”

It’s another late night of studying for you and Seonghyeon. Sera complains that you’ve replaced her with her own older brother, but she’s the one who decides to sleep early while you and Seonghyeon make your way through the stack of practice papers that you’ve printed out.

But something tonight just feels a little different. The silence feels a little too loud, the scratching of your pencils is too unsettling, and the brushing of yours and Seonghyeon’s knees every now and then makes your stomach flip.

The room is dimly lit, with the only light on being the one from the kitchen. Seonghyeon’s eyes flicker towards you every now and then. He tries to talk to you a little bit, but there’s a certain sort of tension that he just can’t quite name that seems to stifle any conversation from continuing. 

His stomach grumbles, cutting through the silence. He looks at you, wondering if you heard. “Sorry,” he mumbles, getting up from his chair. “I’m gonna grab some of the acai – do you want some?” 

You stretch your arms, nodding. “Yeah, that would be nice. I’m also just going to take a little bit of a break too. I’ve been writing far too much.” You get up from your chair as well, grabbing two clean bowls from the cabinet and setting them on the counter. Seonghyeon grabs the tub of acai from the freezer and two spoons. 

“Here,” He scoops a generous portion into one bowl, and he hands it to you first, along with the spoon. “Eat first.” 

“Thank you,” you beam, taking a bite of the acai. It’s cold, and you wince as it hits your tongue. Seonghyeon chuckles gently at your expression – you know he doesn’t mean it mockingly. There’s a hint of affection that’s evident in the way he smiles afterwards. 

The tension between you two still remains, and you’re just not quite sure what to say. There’s something about the way the kitchen light illuminates his features that makes your heart flip, and you find yourself at a loss for words. You like Eom Seonghyeon far too much, but after 10 years, you’ve kind of become an expert at acting ‘normal’ around him. 

But right now, it was different. 

You don’t know how to act around him right now. 

At school, things were normal. It was only when you got to the Eoms’ house, something had seemingly changed. Perhaps it was how nice Seonghyeon looked in the gray striped shirt. Or how he’d fixed you a plate for dinner before making his own. Or how his touch had lingered when your hands had brushed while you were grabbing a sticky note. 

Either way, small little moments that you had initially deemed insignificant had snowballed into creating tension so thick that you could cut it with a knife. 

The two of you eat your acai quietly, but you can’t help but steal glances at Seonghyeon every now and then. It just so happens that he does the same too – only when you’re not looking at him. 

It’s driving him crazy. After realising his feelings for you, everything felt right. He finally had all the answers.

But having to act on them was making him go mental. Because Seonghyeon simply doesn’t think that he can bottle up all his feelings and wait – you were always there, and if you weren’t, reminders of you were everywhere. His mind, more often than not, is consumed with thoughts of you. 

You set your bowl on the counter, and you steal a glance at Seonghyeon again. This time, he’s already looking at you. Your eyes flick towards a smudge of acai on the corner of his lips. 

“You’ve got something there.” Without thinking, you reach up and swipe it away with the pads of your thumbs. Seonghyeon’s breath catches in his throat. 

You don’t know why you did that. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, and your face heats up. The tension between the two of you becomes even more intense – you didn’t even think that was possible – and you’re hesitant to even breathe. The two almost empty bowls of acai are left on the table, completely forgotten now. Your touch still lingers on the corner of Seonghyeon’s lip, and on instinct, he gently reaches up to touch where your thumb had been. 

Your eyes flick to Seonghyeon’s lips. You realise that you really, really want to kiss him right now. 

He notices. 

You don’t know when you and Seonghyeon’s faces inch even closer to one another – it just happens. You gravitate towards each other like two magnets, and suddenly your face is just mere inches away from his. 

It’s tonight when Eom Seonghyeon swallows his pride and finally admits it. He likes you far too much, and he has to do something about it before he drives himself mad. 

“Seonghyeon,” you whisper his name like you’re begging for him to close the distance. He can feel your breath on his lips, and exercising restraint right now is agonising torture. 

He hates you. He hates that you make his heart race, hates how you make him lose all clarity and self control, and he hates how much he wants to just press his lips to yours right now. But when your eyes flick to his lips once again, Seonghyeon just can’t hold back anymore. 

Self control be damned.

His lips find yours in a manner that you can only describe as desperate. He kisses you like he’s been wanting to do this forever – urgent, certain, determined. You kiss him back, and you don’t miss the soft, small sound that escapes past his throat when you do. It’s one that’s barely audible, like he’s surprised that you’re kissing him back with the same kind of certainty.

As your lips mold against his, you allow yourself to believe that maybe Eom Seonghyeon never hated you in the first place. Maybe he just didn’t know how to show it all along. Maybe he had always secretly longed for you, and everything just finally clicked. 

You can taste the acai that still lingers on his lips, and the smell of lavender and birch from his cologne envelopes you in a way that is maddeningly intoxicating. When Seonghyeon’s hands find your waist and pull you closer, pressing your body to his, you allow yourself to melt like putty in his hands. 

He whispers your name against your lips, and the low hum of his voice sends shivers up your spine. You press your mouth against his like you’re trying to memorise the outline of his lips, and his breath stutters. 

Seonghyeon is too aware of everything right now; from the smell of your shampoo, from the way you’re clutching onto his shirt like your life depends on it, and from the taste of your mint lip balm. 

He kisses you with more urgency, and Seonghyeon doesn’t know how he’s lived so long without having you like this. He can’t believe he had actually convinced himself that he despised you for 10 full years. Because with his lips on yours, all Seonghyeon knows is that he is maddeningly and absurdly addicted to you. The world melts away, and it’s like you and him are in your own little bubble. 

“You’re so pretty,” he mumbles against your lips. You melt against him – every touch of his lingers, and you’ve waited 10 years for this moment. For Seonghyeon to finally see you as something more. 

She’s off limits. You and all your best friends are.

The bubble pops.

Fuck. Sera’s voice suddenly rings in his head, and Seonghyeon stops even if he doesn't want to. He pulls away momentarily, confusing you. You chase his lips again, but he puts the slightest bit of distance between you two.

“We can’t.” Seonghyeon mutters silently against your lips. But those words ring loudly in your ears. “You’re… you’re her best friend.” 

You’re stunned for a second. His words strike like a knife to your heart. Of course. To him, you were always his little sister’s annoying best friend. Why would it change, even after he kissed you like that?

“Right,” you gulp. Your heart is heavy. 

You slip away from his grasp, and Seonghyeon already misses having your lips on his. You hastily collect your things and put them in your bag. The air is thick with tension, and not the kind that filled the air before Seonghyeon kissed you like you actually meant something to him. You blink back tears — you feel stupid for leaving your heart right in the palm of his hands.

Eom Seonghyeon only kisses you once before he loses you. 

He watches you disappear past his front door without a word, and he realises:

He already wants you back. 

You’ve been avoiding both Seonghyeon and Sera like the plague.

You can’t get the kiss out of your mind. Seeing Seonghyeon hurts. Seeing Sera means that it’s only a matter of time before the dam breaks and you tell her everything.

Seonghyeon notices — you never show up to his house after school to study anymore. You pair up with Leean for English now. You don’t even look at him in class. Keonho catches him staring at you a little too much, but a gut feeling of his tells him not to pry. 

You know that he’s trying to come find you so you two can talk it out, but you’re somehow able to expertly dodge him for an entire week. It’s making him go insane. 

You make some lame excuse about needing to study in the library to Sera so you don’t need to sit with her at lunch. You notice the hurt that flashes across her face before she agrees, and you feel awful for lying to her. It gets worse when you tell her that you’re going to study at home for the next week or so.

It’s a Wednesday afternoon when Sera corners you in the history classroom. 

“Why are you avoiding me?” she asks you bluntly. You can’t even bear to look at her face. All you can see is that her arms are crossed over her chest, and after 10 years of friendship, you know that her eyebrows are likely tightly knit together in anger. If she was furious, you wouldn’t blame her.

“I’m not,” you lie through your teeth, shifting uncomfortably as you stare at the floor. She looks at you incredulously. “I’m just busy, Sera.”

“We’re best friends, (Name). I know when you’re lying to me. What happened?” Your stomach twists with guilt when you hear the hurt in her voice. Your eyes flick up to look at her, and you just can’t lie to her anymore.

The dam breaks. You let out a choked sob and Sera’s face immediately contorts into one of alarm. She quickly wraps her arms around you in a hug as you cry into her shoulder, your tears staining her uniform.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“It’s okay,” Sera gently pats your back in a move to comfort you, her voice soft and understanding. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

You don’t say anything for a few seconds, taking deep breaths to compose yourself before you speak. The feeling of guilt, hurt and pain twists in your stomach when you think of Seonghyeon. You think of how he kissed you and how sparks flew, and then how he crushed all of that hope that you’ve been holding with just a few simple words.

“Seonghyeon and I kissed,” you confess. You can hear Sera take in a sharp breath. “A week ago.”

“You… and Seonghyeon?” 

You nod. “I thought maybe it could’ve been something. I thought maybe I… meant a little more to him. And then he said we shouldn’t.” 

Sera’s brows furrow in confusion. “What? Why?” 

“Because I’m your best friend,” you mumble. “I get it. I’ll just… always be his little sister’s annoying best friend, right?”

“Do you like him?” 

Of course you do. You like him a little too much, even. Even though he crushed your heart in his hands, you still can’t bring yourself to hate him.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I do. I really, really do.”

“And I hate how much I do, actually,” your heart hurts as you pour out all the feelings that you’ve been keeping to yourself for the past week. “Fuck, Sera – I know he’s your brother and everything, but I’ve liked him ever since I can remember. I started reading these goddamn history books because I wanted to find something in common with him just so we could talk. Before this year, I didn’t even think anything would happen – he always tried to avoid me, hell – he barely could look at me even when we were in the same room. I don’t even know why I kept on yearning when it was obvious that he didn’t want me around.” 

“But then, this year,” you chuckle, thinking about how Seonghyeon’s entire demeanour had changed. “He cared. Maybe begrudgingly at first and at your request, but then I noticed that he actually cared about me. He noticed these things about me that I never even noticed about myself – like how I apparently tap on the covers of my books too quickly when I’m nervous.” 

“And then we started spending more time together, and I fell even harder. He was just so easy to talk to, so nice, and we had so much in common. Then he paid for my fucking books at the bookstore when it was ridiculously expensive. And he had no reason to!” you exclaim. “And after, I just started thinking that maybe I wasn’t crazy to have waited for so long, because it was going to pay off.”

“And then when he kissed me, I allowed myself to have that sort of hope. That something would actually come out of my years of yearning. That I meant something more than just being your best friend. That… he actually liked me.” 

“I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you want to hear. Your best friend is in love with your brother,” you say, shaking your head. You know how awkward it is for Sera to hear this – she hated whenever anyone came up to her and asked her if Seonghyeon was single. It must be worse hearing it from her best friend. “This is all so stupid.”

There’s a moment of silence that falls between you and Sera. It’s incredibly nerve-wracking, and your heart sinks. You’ve already messed up your relationship with one of the Eom siblings. You can’t bear to lose the other one too.

“I always told myself that if I got to pick who Hyeon ended up with, I would want it to be you,” Sera confesses. You look at her through teary eyes, your face evidently shocked. “I mean… you two are too similar and too compatible. To me, it was just a matter of time until he realised that he didn’t dislike you, he just… never got to properly know you.” 

“Are you serious?” 

“Yeah, I’m dead serious. And for the record, I’m not mad at you, (Name),” Sera replies. You search her eyes to see if she’s being honest, and you’re certain she is. You let out a sigh of relief – the last thing you wanted was your friendship with Sera to be ruined. “I get why you were avoiding me, as much as I didn’t like it. And that somewhat explains why Hyeon has been so… weird this week.” 

“Look. I’m going to go talk some sense into him,” you gulp hearing her words. “I will most definitely yell at him and smack him over the head. I don’t want to promise anything, but… would you be okay to speak to him if he came up to you?” 

You take a deep breath. You’re not too sure how you can face Seonghyeon right now. But some sense of closure, some explanation to that night would be better than nothing. If things didn’t end up the way you wanted them to, at least you could move on. 

“Yeah,” you say. “I’ll have to mentally prepare myself a bit, but yeah. Might as well get that conversation over and done with. I don’t want to avoid him forever.” 

Sera gives you a comforting smile before hugging you a little tighter. “Great. I love you, okay? And if it’s my loser brother who makes you happy… then of course I’m okay with it. I just wish you’d told me at first, so I could actually be a good wingwoman.” 

Her words lighten up the atmosphere, and you wipe the tears from your eyes. “I love you, Sera. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier – I just didn’t want to make things strange between us, you know?” 

“I know,” Sera nods. “You don’t have to justify yourself. Seonghyeon on the other hand though… he’s going to have a lot to explain.” 

“Go easy on him,” you say. Sera looks at you like you’re crazy. 

“I can’t believe he broke your heart and you’re telling me to go easy on him,” Sera groans. “You’re too kind for your own good.” 

“I don’t know,” you mumble, staring down at your shoes. “I think unfortunately, I’m just in love.” 

“Eom Seonghyeon!” 

He’s woken up to Sera hitting him with a pillow. He didn’t even realise that he fell asleep – his copy of Plato’s Symposium is now somewhere near the foot of his bed, and he realises that he’ll have to flick through the entire book again to pick up from where he left off. 

But right now, the more pressing matter is how his little sister is looking at him with a glare so intense he thinks she’s trying to shoot a laser through his skull. Her eyebrows are furrowed, anger evident on her face. Seonghyeon knows that he’s fucked up. He doesn’t need Sera to remind him.

“How fucking dare you?” she hisses at him. Her voice is laced with venom, and Seonghyeon has never been scared of his little sister before, but there’s a first time for everything. “You kiss my best friend and then you tell her that ‘you can’t’? Are you serious?” 

“Sera, I—”

“I’m not finished.”

“I told you at the beginning of the year to look out for her, and this is what you do? Fuck with her feelings? She’s been avoiding me for a whole week because of you!”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen,” Seonghyeon stammers. “I didn’t intend for it to.”

“No shit, Seonghyeon — couldn’t you have thought it through before you made a move like that?” 

“I didn’t intend to actually end up liking her, Sera!” Seonghyeon exclaims. “You don't think I feel guilty for saying that and pushing her away? Because it’s all I’ve been thinking about for the past week.” 

“I replay that kiss in my mind every second. I hate how just mere moments later I pushed her away. I hate that I made her feel like she meant nothing to me, because she doesn’t — I… I… fuck.” Seonghyeon’s voice cracks. He clutches his head in his hands as he tries to fight back the tears threatening to spill past his eyes. “I don’t… I don’t know how it happened — it wasn’t supposed to. I thought I hated her, and then somewhere along the way I guess I started liking her. I don’t think I ever hated her, actually. I just… I just didn’t realise it.” 

Sera looks at him in stunned silence. She lowers the pillow, seemingly unwilling to attack Seonghyeon again now. 

There’s guilt, regret and desperation written all over Seonghyeon’s face. As Sera looks at him a little closer, she notices the eyebags and the dark circles from tossing and turning at night, losing sleep because Seonghyeon just can’t stop thinking about you. 

She looks at the book that’s at the foot of his bed — Plato’s Symposium. Seonghyeon had never shown remotely any interest in philosophy, and Sera’s shocked that he’s actually reading a book of that genre. But then she notices that there’s multiple plastic tabs sticking out of the book, and Sera knows only one person who does that when reading. 

It’s your copy.

“You’re in love with her,” she gasps. 

“Yeah,” Seonghyeon admits quietly. He thought it was just like initially, but when his heart physically hurts at the thought of losing you, it must be something more. It must be love.

He thinks he should feel some sense of relief at that realisation, but all he feels is guilt. How could he not when all he’s replaying in his head is kissing you like that before he just had to push you away? 

He sees you in class and all he notices is that you’re awfully quiet, you barely smile, and there’s a certain dullness in your eyes that wasn’t really there before. Seonghyeon hates knowing that he’s the reason why. 

“I am. And I fucked it all up.” 

“I didn’t want to make things weird with you and her. You told me at the beginning of the year that she was off limits to me and my friends,” Seonghyeon mumbles. 

“But this is killing me, Sera. I’m rereading this goddamn book like a madman.” he says, holding up Symposium. He really thinks that he might be going crazy without seeing your face. “I keep trying to find her and try to talk to her, but she won’t even look at me and avoids me every chance she gets. I think that even if she did want to talk to me, I wouldn't even be able to gather up the courage to say anything. That's how fucked I am."

“When I said that she was off limits… it wasn’t a definite thing. You should’ve just talked to me, Seonghyeon,” Sera’s voice is a little softer now, sitting down on the edge of Seonghyeon’s bed. “I want you both to be happy, and if you’re the one making her happy, why wouldn’t I be okay with that?”

“I don’t know,” Seonghyeon confesses. “I didn’t realise I didn’t hate her until a few months ago.” 

“Yeah, you’re pretty bad with emotions,” Sera replies bluntly. “Sorry. Like I told you earlier in the year, you didn’t hate her – you just never got to know her properly.”

“Look, I’m probably not supposed to be telling you this, but… she told me today she’s liked you ever since she can remember.” Sera jabs her finger at Seonghyeon’s chest. 

Seonghyeon's breath catches in his throat. You’ve liked him for that long. You’ve waited for him. 

“I, for one, can’t believe I was so blind. But seriously, Seonghyeon – I know my best friend, and she’s not going to stop liking you anytime soon. She really likes you and I’m more than willing to bet money on the fact that she’s going to give you another shot. But you really have to apologise and tell her how you feel, because I know you feel the same way.” 

“She told me to be nice to you,” Sera pipes up. “Even when you were a dick.” 

God. Seonghyeon had hurt you that badly, and you were still asking Sera to be nice when you really had no reason to even extend the slightest amount of kindness to him. The guilt is eating him alive, and he knows that he has to do something about it. He has to find the courage to actually tell you how he feels.

“Go fix things tomorrow. You have to talk to her.” 

“I will,” Seonghyeon sighs softly. “I just… don’t really know what to say.” 

Sera scoffs. “You don’t need to say something perfect, Seonghyeon.” 

“Just say something real.” 

You’re nowhere to be seen. 

Seonghyeon is freaking out. 

He’s been running around the school like a madman, sprinting across campus just to see if you’re around. Keonho notices how restless Seonghyeon is in class, tapping his foot anxiously on the floor and barely listening to the teacher. He’s never seen Seonghyeon act this way before. 

When the bell rings, Seonghyeon’s the first one out the door. Seonghyeon’s sheer speed as he runs out the door makes Keonho question whether or not he should try and convince him to try out for athletics. 

By third period, Seonghyeon’s nearly convinced himself that you’re dead. You never miss classes, let alone three of them. You also show up when you’re sick, so whatever your situation is – it must be dire.

He can’t find Sera because they’re in different grades, so he decides to go up to the person you’re closest to in class, besides himself. 

“Leean, I need your help.” Seonghyeon’s breathless as she approaches her desk — after all, he had been running around the entire school today to see where you were. It was unusual for you to not be in class at all.

“Is this about (Name)?” She doesn’t seem surprised, but there’s a certain coldness in her tone that’s never been there before. She must know, he thinks. 

Usually Seonghyeon would be embarrassed and flustered that for some reason his classmate knew that he was looking for you, but he didn’t care anymore — he had to make things right. 

“Yeah, yes — where is she?” 

Leean looks away, clearly hesitant to tell him. “Look, I don’t know if I should tell you,” she sighs. “She’s not… really doing well. You know why.”

“Please. I messed up,” He’s desperate. He doesn’t even care that Leean probably knows everything he’s done.  “I have to make it right.” 

She, too, notices the dark circles under his eyes and the urgency in his voice. His hair is unbelievably messy, probably from running his hands through them all day in frustration. She's never seen Seonghyeon — the boy known for looking too perfect and put-together — look this distressed and disheveled. 

Then it hits her. The desperation in his eyes, the worry in his tone, even how his hands are shaking slightly – Eom Seonghyeon is in love with you. 

She remembers how you were describing that night when you confided in her about everything. You couldn’t tell Sera, but you had to tell someone – bottling up your feelings simply felt awful. The hope that you had of him maybe liking you back, and then the heartache when he’d pushed you away. Leean knows that you’re in love with him, and you wouldn’t stop loving him anytime soon. 

She knows that she really shouldn’t tell him. But she also really couldn’t get in the way of what she now realised was real love. 

“Fine,” she exhales. “She’s not here today. She’s out all day at an art gallery for a visual arts assignment. I don’t know how you’re going to be able to find her, since there’s so many in the city.” 

Art gallery. Visual arts assignment. 

Rembrandt. 

Seonghyeon knows exactly where you are. 

“Okay,” he says, nodding. Leean notices the shift in his demeanour. “I’m gonna go. Please tell Ms Seo I’m not going to be here for math.” 

Leean thinks Seonghyeon’s crazy. Missing any other class without a valid reason was fine, but missing math with Ms Seo was a death sentence. “You’re missing math? For what?” she sputters.

“I have to find (Name),” he says, running his fingers through his hair. He takes his phone out of his pocket, searching for the art gallery that he knows you’re at. It’s a 15 minute drive away — he’s just going to have to call a car to pick him up. “Yeah. I’m not gonna make it back in time for class.”

“Seonghyeon, Ms Seo is literally going to kill you. I know you’re worried about (Name), but can it wait? Maybe until lunch?” 

“I’ve stalled for too long,” he shakes his head, clicking onto the rideshare app he rarely uses. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and Seonghyeon has never felt this desperate. “It’s fine. I’ll take the detention and the six different worksheets she’ll give me. I’m going to go crazy if I don’t do this.”

The conviction in his voice is enough to tell Leean that nothing she’ll say is going to stop him. She sighs, nodding. “At least just head to admin and sign out? Say that you have some health appointment — I don't think (Name) would want you to face Ms Seo's wrath either.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Seonghyeon says absentmindedly. He looks at his phone, and he sees that the cab is almost here. “Okay, I’m gonna go.” He slings his backpack over one shoulder, thanking Leean hastily before he runs out the classroom. 

He runs right past the nurse’s office and the admin office – Seonghyeon really doesn’t care about the repercussions right now. Ms Seo is definitely going to kill him. His mother’s going to scold him when she finds out. Keonho, Martin and Juhoon are going to tease him about this mercilessly. 

But love makes people do crazy things, and Eom Seonghyeon thinks that this is going to be one of the craziest things he’s ever done.  

When Seonghyeon steps into the art gallery, he’s reminded about why he doesn’t go there willingly. 

He likens them to mazes. To him, there’s no logical direction like there is in a history museum. Seonghyeon also especially hates that the map that he was given at the door doesn’t tell him where a specific painting is.

He's stopped by a ridiculously overpriced flower shop right at the front of the gallery, and he doesn’t hesitate to buy a bouquet of marigolds – your favourites. The ticket is also insanely expensive, but it doesn’t really matter. He can justify it to his mother later. 

And considering that he has to find you in this maddeningly confusing place, Seonghyeon thinks that he’s really got his work cut out for him. He runs past every single painting, eyes flicking up to check if it’s the one that you mentioned. Much to his disappointment, the first few corridors that he runs down don’t have the painting displayed on the wall. 

The other people in the museum – tourists, artists and critics – all look at him disapprovingly as his footsteps clack loudly on the wooden floor, disrupting the quietness and serenity of the space. 

Seonghyeon grimaces when he spots someone glaring at him, muttering an apology for disrupting them. But he’s too preoccupied with finding you. 

The stupid map he’s holding is of no help, and Seonghyeon practically wants to rip it apart until he wanders into a corridor that he thinks he’s never been to before. He doesn’t know where he is at this point, and he’s clutching onto the flowers for dear life as if they’ll somehow keep him sane. He’s been running around for 15 minutes, and he hasn’t found you yet. He’s starting to think that perhaps he’d gotten it wrong – maybe you weren’t here. 

Seonghyeon turns the corner. His eyes flick up to the painting quickly, prepared to already groan in disappointment before he has to slink down another hallway that looks just about the same. But this time, he gasps. 

Aristotle with a Bust of Homer. 

Most people who go to art galleries would marvel at the painting for a few minutes before looking around the space. 

Seonghyeon’s eyes immediately go to the figure sitting on the bench in front of the painting. 

It’s you.

You’re writing something down in a notebook, one earphone in your ear with your brows furrowed in concentration. To Seonghyeon, you look unbelievably beautiful – you always do. His breath hitches in his throat, and suddenly all the words that he was preparing to say in the car are lost on him. 

He can’t even bring himself to speak just yet — he just stands there for a few seconds, admiring you. Is it bad that he doesn’t care much about the painting? 

Seonghyeon takes a deep breath before he clears his throat to catch your attention. You turn to look in the direction of the noise that had disrupted the silence, and you’re stunned when you see Seonghyeon standing there, with a bouquet of marigolds in his hands.

“Hi,” he says breathlessly. “I thought I’d find you here.”

You furrow your brows, setting your pen and notebook on the bench. “How’d you find me?” you ask in disbelief, taking out your earphones. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t happy to see him, but the ache from that night still stings a little. 

“Rembrandt. You told me about his paintings and how you wanted to make your assignment about this exact work once when we were studying. And…I had to come find you,” he says, taking a hesitant step towards you. “I messed up that night.” 

The mention of that night makes you grimace. “Seonghyeon, it’s fine — we really don’t have to talk about it. It was like a spur of the moment thing, or something. Just go back to class before Ms Seo literally kills you.”

“It wasn't,” The certainty in his voice surprises you. “I meant it. I wanted to.” 

You don’t say anything in response, and Seonghyeon takes it as a cue to continue talking. Sera’s words ring in his head – just say something real. 

“I always thought I disliked you,” he blurts out. Wow, bad start, he thinks. It couldn’t get any worse, could it? He sees your face fall slightly. “No, no, that came out wrong – um, let me finish. I don’t hate you. I’m just… really bad at realising my own feelings.” 

“I always felt nervous around you, I never knew what to say, and I suppose I jumped to conclusions and thought that I hated you. But then this year… I realised that it was actually the opposite. My nerves really just stemmed from the fact that I… I cared about you. Cared about how well you were doing in school, cared about how you were always around, and I really cared about what you thought of me. I didn’t want you to think I was stupid or anything or that I couldn’t match your intellect, as strange as it sounds.” 

“And then this year I realised that I just knew things about you, even though I – stupidly – never made any attempt to try and get to know you better earlier on. Like how you tap the cover of your books when you’re nervous, and how you only use purple sticky tabs for pages in your books with annotations, and that you only use blue pens for essay subjects and black pens for subjects with numbers. His throat burns as he rambles. “Juhoon said that only a lunatic or someone madly in love would notice these things, and I know I’m the latter.” Seonghyeon doesn’t miss the way your breath catches in your throat when you hear him say that he’s in love with you. 

“I’m sorry. I’m not good with emotions. I’m really stupid to only have realised it now. And I’m sorry that I pushed you away that night when I felt like… this. I got scared – everything got too real, I suppose, and thinking about what Sera said about you being her best friend and everything… I didn’t want everything to become strange.” 

“But this week made me realise that I don’t think I could possibly live with myself without telling you how I feel and giving this a shot. I keep reading Symposium over and over again because it just reminded me of you, and I just… yeah. I know they're kind of mostly talking about platonic love there, but this line stuck out to me and I think it works. It was something about love being the name for the desire and pursuit of the whole, and... yeah. You just make me feel whole.

"I don't even know if that makes a lot of sense," he sighs, but Seonghyeon could not care less about looking dumb right now. "But I’m so stupidly in love with you.”

“I love how passionate you are about the things you’re interested in. I love how much you chat my ear off about Plato and Aristotle and Rembrandt’s paintings. I love how much you care about everyone – and how you care about me, such as knowing what kind of books I like, or my favourite flavour of ice cream when I’ve never even mentioned it to anyone before. It was that day at the bookstore where everything clicked for me – that I really, really liked you. And after that realisation, everything just finally felt right.” 

“And I suppose what I’m trying to say here with all my rambling, is that if you’d still have me… I’d really want to be yours.” 

He lets out a deep exhale after he pours his heart out to you. He quickly looks back down at his shoes once he’s finished speaking. He’s hesitant to even look at you and witness your reaction to his words. He’s never said anything this raw, this genuine, this honest – especially not regarding his feelings. But saying it out loud feels right. He loves you. Seonghyeon has never been more sure of anything in his life. 

There's a beat of silence that falls between the two of you. Seonghyeon’s heart drops.

“Do you really mean all that?” you pipe up. You blink rapidly, as if you’re still trying to digest everything that he just said.

“Yeah,” He’s never said anything more real. “I do. Every word.” 

“You’re… you’re insane,” you finally breathe out. Seonghyeon looks at you, and there are tears in your eyes. But you don’t seem angry or repulsed, and you’re not running away. He wants nothing more than to reach out and wipe the tears from your eyes for you, but he doesn’t know if you’re willing to let him get that close. 

“I know,” he admits. His voice is low in a whisper, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. “But I love you.” 

He hopes it’s enough. 

You step closer towards him, and Seonghyeon slowly looks up at you. “I thought I’d be the one to say all that first,” you shake your head almost in disbelief. After pining for him for so long, Seonghyeon ended up being the one who had confessed. You don’t think you ever saw that coming. 

“So are you saying – you feel the same?” Seonghyeon stammers, panic evident in his tone. He doesn’t know why he’s actually asking that, considering that both Sera and Leean had confirmed it for him. He supposes that after that night, he didn’t know if you would actually still have feelings for him. “Like, I know it’s a lot to process, and I can wait–” 

Your hands grab the lapels of his uniform, pulling him closer to you and capturing his lips in a kiss. He’s slightly taken aback at first before he kisses you back. One hand cups your cheek as the other finds your waist like he’s done this a million times before, and Seonghyeon kisses you like you’re oxygen and he’s struggling to breathe. Finally, he thinks. Everything feels right. 

It was messy and desperate, but it couldn’t have been more perfect. It was the kind of kiss that conveyed every single emotion that the two of you felt for the last week after being separated for so long.

There couldn’t possibly be a more picturesque location for a first – well, second – kiss. The world crumbles away, and it’s only you and him. Seonghyeon doesn’t care that there’s other people in this damned art gallery that are acutely aware of their presence and what they’re doing. They’re no doubt either glancing at them oddly, or understanding that this is just young love. 

When you pull away, your lips quirk up in a wide grin. “I love you too. I have, for a really long time now.” you say, whispering against his lips. 

“I know,” he replies, remembering what Sera had told him. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”

“Did Sera tell you everything?" You don’t seem surprised, but you are slightly embarrassed that Seonghyeon knows how long you’ve been waiting for him to like you back. He nods in response, and you try to hide the flustered expression on your face. “I figured. God, I can’t believe you know that I started reading history books just because I wanted to talk to you more.” 

Seonghyeon now looks shocked. “You did?” 

Your eyes widen – great, you’d just tattled on yourself. You groan, embarrassed as you bury your face in your hands. Seonghyeon’s airy laughter rings through the gallery, his hand gently caressing your shoulder. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. That’s… really sweet of you, actually. But I’m sorry for pushing you away all these years. And for pushing you away that night. I was a massive idiot.” 

“I’m glad you know that,” you joke, but you’re still slightly embarrassed by revealing that small fact about yourself. “I really did want to speak to you, but I was just scared of getting rejected by a guy I’ve liked for a really long time. But I suppose this grand gesture does make up for most of it, though. I can’t believe you’re skipping Ms Seo’s class just for me.” 

“This was important. And I know all the content anyways,” Seonghyeon hums. He suddenly remembers that the bouquet of marigolds is still in his hands, and his eyes widen in alarm. He checks them to see if the arrangement is ruined, and he breathes out a sigh of relief when they’re not. He nervously hands them out to you, and you accept them with a bright smile. “Sorry, I forgot to give you these earlier.” 

“Marigolds,” you grin, admiring the flowers. You press a quick peck to his cheek and watch as his cheeks tint pink. “You remembered. They’re gorgeous.” 

“I’m happy that you like them.” he beams. You think about every word that Seonghyeon said in that confession, and your heart blooms with warmth. “But I hope I’m not distracting you too much from your assignment with my confession. You wouldn’t mind if I stayed here with you, right?” 

You shake your head. You’re more than happy he’s here, but you’re genuinely worried that Ms Seo’s going to kill him when she finds out that he’s skipped her class. “I’m kind of done, I think. I made my notes and everything, and I just have to put everything together when I get home. But I was planning to stay and walk around the gallery a little bit more, since I’m signed out for the whole day. I just don’t want Ms Seo to… you know… make you suffer for the rest of the year?” 

“I’ll tell my mom to maybe lie for me,” he replies, and you can tell that it’s sinking in for him that Ms Seo is not going to be easy on him unless he’s somehow able to pull an acceptable excuse out of his ass. “Surely my mom would understand. Sera would help me convince her too. Or maybe, Ms Seo would be totally okay with me saying that I had to pull off a grand gesture to get the girl I love back.” 

You laugh, shaking your head. “That would be lovely, but also… no chance.” 

“I’ll take the 15 worksheets she’ll give me. This was worth it,” he gives your hand a tight squeeze. “So… will you show me around the gallery? Just tell me everything about all of his paintings. We can start with this one?” 

“I kind of talked way too much about this during that study session, Hyeon,” you laugh. You called him Hyeon. A giddy smile creeps up on his lips. “Wouldn’t you get bored?”

“I’d never get bored of hearing you talk.” he replies. You chuckle before flicking open your notebook. You read out the commentary you’ve made on the painting, pointing up at the specific parts that you’re mentioning. Seonghyeon listens to every single word with your hand laced in his, putting in his own thoughts here and there.

The two of you wander around the entire museum, and miraculously, with you by his side, Seonghyeon doesn’t get lost at all. Suddenly, he thinks that he loves art galleries.

He sneaks in a couple of kisses here and there as you’re rambling. He smiles in amusement as you completely forget what you’ve been saying after he presses his lips to yours. 

The last painting the two of you see in the museum is The Polish Rider, and Seonghyeon finds it awfully fitting. The last painting he sees with you in this exhibit is the painting mentioned in the first poem that had in some ways, brought you two together. 

As you’re telling him about the painting, he allows his eyes to wander a little. They land on you, and instantly, a lovesick smile stretches across his lips. 

And it’s then when he just knows that the kind of love that had been described in the poem that you two had analysed together — breathtaking, all-consuming, fervent — was very much so attainable. 

Because he feels it.

Despite being surrounded by paintings revered by all, Eom Seonghyeon would much rather look at you than all the other portraits in the world.

© martinflms 2025. permanent taglist (send an ask to be added!) | @09zpzkeonnss @jaerisdiction @kkeonhoz @lyanftw @miisoluvsdeer @chaeflowers @xumeiisstuff @jjuelly @itsactuallylina @verbtmsblog @heymaaaartin @medox0x @v4mpeur @keoas1s @nevernowsa

[amateurasterism]

09. happy birthday seonghyeon!

SYNOPSIS ; a girl does something stupid for the “shiggles and gits,” landing her in the messages of her mysterious number neighbor: kim juhoon. except juhoon happens to be in search of a birthday present, which lands him—an anosmiac—smack-dab in the middle of the girl’s candle shop.

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authors note ; so so sorry for the month pause life took over…but second to last chapter guys D:

taglist ; click here to be added ! @aquariusscollection @leeohknows @leahlovesskz143 @littlofang @fortysecondboon @lookingforvivy @martinsgf @w3willris3 @coerswon @wisetriumphpeach @enhamysunshines @007chan @h14a @janjoonty @lynniees @calx-bdo @i55coconut @tiramiffysu @h0neylemon @i-am-not-dal @jellyminz @wtfhyuck @gweoriz @yunjiiin @kzywhtv @444neapolitain @engeneheree @keonhoescafe @deaddcrow @luvrwon @euniix0x0 @bananapuddinglatte @teacuplps @sweeetbabysblog @beabdboo @luvlittlem @imnotrosiee @kaikaikoi @rinawithjjuu @elliotsbeigeguitar @niiqv @graceluvsu @sssssydni @hyeon3y @eiayaya @love-and-w3r @chbq2 @vanillakirstein @swagmoneyyoloholo @09zpzkeonnss

[chimielie]

rintarō's in the locker room, fresh from the shower, towel wrapped around his neck, when one of his teammates knocks his shoulder as he walks past.

"your girl's cute, man," he says, "lucky guy."

"...i know," rintarō says. he flashes back briefly to atsumu asking, in his friendliest, brotherliest tone if he would be open to a threesome.

the moment is over without further implication, though, so he puts it out of his mind. his girl is cute. why get upset over fact?

on the train home, he holds onto the rail with one hand and tries not to make eye contact with anyone. he's not accosted often enough to avoid public transportation altogether, but he's made a habit of trying to avoid notice.

instead of looking at the people passing in and out through the doors, he zeroes in on his phone. he opens instagram, clicking mindlessly through recently posted stories.

onigiri miya is having an all-you-can-eat raw marinated crab day. rintarō hits like. aran has posted photos of his wife across a dinner table, a rose between the two of them. rintarō hits like. atsumu has posted seven shirtless photos flexing in a row. rintarō does not hit like.

the next photo is on your story. at first, he only thinks, wow, cute. the photo is framed to show your shoulders, a sliver of skin between the band of fabric and the bottom of the screen indicating that you're only wearing a bra, your hair tossed in a careless styled-unstyled kind of way, your face screwed up in a funny little smile. you make that expression when you're laughing at yourself, your eyes still dancing in this still photo.

tucked into your bra is a glossy photo of rintarō, jaw standing out and eyes burning fiercely as he strains midair toward the net, his form perfect as he takes advantage of a rare spiking opportunity.

my only bias is a middle blocker, says the caption. he can't stop himself from grinning, sure that he looks like an idiot as he smiles at his phone.

the crowds of people on the train thin out as he gets closer to the neighborhood where you live together, enabling him to pull out his phone and wallet, hooking a finger into the side of his mask and pulling it under his chin. he flips open his wallet to the polaroid he carries with him always, part of a set you'd gifted him for your second anniversary.

next to his face, you stare out from the laminated pocket, spread out over your bed, reaching out towards the photographer—toward him. you're wearing a black bra, not much more skin showing than the photo you'd posted, but there's a particular shine to the color of your mouth, red marks decorating your throat, your eyes hazy but your mouth caught in a permanent laugh. in the corner of the frame, you can see his hand, so big compared to the delicate wrist it's holding down.

only fan who gets to touch, he types, and hits post.

[rhaenyras-crown]

quidditch captain rivalry headcanons — theodore nott x ravenclaw!reader

theodore nott who… rolled his eyes so hard the day you were announced as ravenclaw captain, muttering to blaise that it was “a joke” but secretly felt his stomach drop because now his rival had a face he couldn’t stop looking at.

theodore nott who… thought he’d be dealing with someone cold, calculated, respectful… not a sharp-tongued ravenclaw who told him to “learn how to read” when he argued about the pitch schedule, and something in the venom of your words lodged under his skin like a thorn he never pulled out.

theodore nott who… started making it a personal sport to scoff at you in every class, muttering under his breath whenever you opened your mouth, only to have enzo grin and whisper: “don’t stare so hard, mate, she’ll think you fancy her.”

theodore nott who… hated how your face haunted him mid-match, sweat slick, flushed, hair tangled, and how it made his brain short-circuit into the dirtiest thoughts he’d ever had in his life.

theodore nott who… got so red-eared after mattheo caught him zoning out that the boy leaned over on his broom during a game and snickered, “bloody hell nott, keep it in your pants and beat her team first.”

theodore nott who… threw his entire body into plays just to get the upper hand on you, chasing quaffles with brutal precision, only to glance back and feel his chest twist when you smirked like you already knew you were winning.

theodore nott who… secretly hated how the whole school adored you, the way ravenclaws chanted your name after matches, lifting you on their shoulders like some goddess of the skies, while he stood scowling in green robes with clenched fists.

theodore nott who… got weirdly turned on watching you boss your teammates around, snapping orders with that low sharp tone, like every syllable was a whip crack.

theodore nott who… made it his brand to mutter vicious little comments when you passed in corridors, close enough that his breath tickled your ear: “careful captain, you’ll trip on that ego of yours.” and then pretended not to notice how your pulse stuttered when you brushed his shoulder too hard in return.

theodore nott who… swore he despised you, but every time you smirked at him after scoring, he felt something burn deep inside his ribs that wasn’t hate at all — it was obsession, and it terrified him.

theodore nott who… lit cigarettes under the bleachers after every ravenclaw victory, smoke curling around him like a storm cloud, pretending it was just about the loss and not about how badly he wanted to kiss the smirk off your face.

theodore nott who… sat in the slytherin common room, firewhiskey bottle in hand, neon green lamps buzzing, trying not to look like he was waiting for you to walk by the window outside — only for mattheo to chuckle, “mate, it’s pathetic now. she’s in your head.”

theodore nott who… dreamt about you with the same flushed face you wore on the pitch, only the context was different, darker, messier — and when he woke up he told himself it was just hate. always hate.

©padmespetal 2025 : I DO NOT APPROVE OF MY WORKS TO BE TRANSLATED OR COPIED ANYWHERE WITHOUT PERMISSION

tags:

[kaikaikoi]

TEXTS WITH GAMER!JUHOON

KIM JUHOON × FEM!READER ──── fluffff, humorrrr 𐙚 🍬˙⋆.˚ BSF!JUHOON, GAMER!JUHOON &READER, OC!JUHOON'S COUSIN ˗ˏˋ 🌷 ˎˊ˗ < !!!!> this fic uses a lot of minecraft terms &references so knowing those will make this most enjoyable . . .ᐟ ͏⭑🍪ˎˊ˗ you and your best friend share a hardcore minecraft server where the only rule is not to kill each other 😹

BONUS THIS REEL HAS ME IN SHAMBLES 🥹🙏AUGH

(💭) i am addicted guys genuinely im addicted to minecraft 🙏🥹 idea came to me on a whim i #LOVE minecraft ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

[ur-nutt]

⋆.୨˚ better now than never ⋆୧˚⋆

In which Nagumo proposes to you… well, while falling off a building and you’re torn between kissing him or dropkicking him on the way down. Or both.

pairing: nagumo yoichi x reader. tags: injuries, but nothing more than that. no use of y/n. fluff. romcom. explosion (building). i tried to make this funny 😢

word count: 1.0k

The world is ending in stereo.

The air vibrates with chaos. Gunfire rattles in the distance. Concrete screams as another beam gives way, tearing through the floor like paper. The building is splitting apart, each piece falling in its own slow-motion tragedy.

Shards of glass float lazily through the air, catching the light from a fire somewhere below. A car outside explodes, spinning like a pirouetting ballerina that’s had enough of gravity. Somewhere amid all of this, a forgotten Bluetooth speaker refuses to die. It blares an overly dramatic opera song that fills the collapsing tower like the universe decided to score this disaster for its own amusement.

You’re running through the corridor, boots slipping over dust and shattered glass. Your lungs burn, every breath a gasp of grit and smoke. You can barely hear yourself think over the chaos. Then, behind you, that familiar voice cuts through the destruction like sunlight slicing through smoke.

“Hey, sweetheart! Left looked safer, right?”

You look back, exasperated. “Left is on fire, Yoichi!”

He grins. “Yeah, but the lighting’s romantic!”

Before you can retort, the entire floor shudders beneath your feet. A violent tremor splits the ground between you and him. Metal beams twist. For a single, horrifying heartbeat, you lock eyes. His grin faltering just enough for you to see the panic beneath it.

Then the floor gives way.

The world slows. Gravity vanishes. Everything becomes weightless chaos. Dust, papers, chunks of ceiling, even the smell of gunpowder seem to hang suspended in midair. You see Nagumo above, his coat snapping like a flag, blood streaking his face, and that damn grin still carved into his lips.

He dives after you.

You barely process it before his hand locks around your wrist, pulling you against him mid-fall. The two of you tumble together through the collapsing air, a mess of limbs, debris, and adrenaline. His laughter rings out over the opera’s rising chorus.

“Damn, we really don’t do boring dates, huh?”

“This isn’t a date!” you shout back, clutching his coat like it might save you.

“Sure feels like one!” he says, utterly unbothered as the entire floor disintegrates beneath.

Sparks shower past like divine confetti. The opera swells – violins screaming, sopranos crying out for mercy and for one surreal heartbeat, the world slows. Dust floats. Fire glows. His eyes meet yours through the blur of motion.

He flashes you a grin that’s a little too sincere. “You know...”

“Now isn't the time!”

“– if we make it out alive…” He adjusts his grip, his voice steady even as you both spin through open air.

“Yoichi, I'm warning you!”

“I’m totally marrying you!”

Your heart stops. “WHAT?!”

He’s laughing, full-bodied, absurd, that kind of laughter that shouldn’t exist when death’s an inch away. The opera hits its peak. The two of you keep falling. You see a flash of light as another explosion rips through the building below, painting his grin in gold and smoke.

You yell, half terrified, half furious, “You’re proposing to me while we’re falling to our deaths?!”

“Timing is everything, sweetheart!” he shouts back, gleeful. “Also, I didn’t buy this ring just for it to collect dust!”

“You brought a ring?!”

“Of course I did!”

Then comes another impact, the building still trembling, fragile to its core. He twists midair, wrapping around you as you both crash through the next floor, through glass, through dust, and through chaos. Papers scatter everywhere, the opera fading into a muffled hum beneath the debris.

You land in a heap of rubble and adrenaline. Your heartbeat drowns out everything else. He groans beneath you, then wheezes out a laugh.

“Still alive,” he says, grinning through the dust. “That’s a good sign.”

You lift your head. He’s bruised, bleeding, ridiculous and absolutely radiant. And your injuries are not different from his.

And then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he reaches into his coat and pulls out a small, soot-stained velvet box.

“Better now than never, yeah?”

You blink. “You really carried that through all this?”

“Didn’t wanna lose it before giving it to you.”

“Yoichi.”

He grins. “C’mon, say yes before the ceiling decides to join us.”

The opera swells again, faint but insistent; Nessun Dorma bleeding softly through the smoke. You can’t help it; laughter bursts out of you. It’s wild, cracked, and full of disbelief. You shake your head, smiling despite the tears threatening your eyes.

“You’re insane.”

“Yeah,” he says softly, brushing dust from your hair, “but you love me.”

You let out a sigh. The world still humming around you. “Yeah... I do.”

He grins. “There you go. See? It's quite easy.”

“Easy for you to say.”

He chuckles again, brushing a thumb against your cheek, smudging away dust. His hand slides to the back of your head, pulling you close until your forehead rests against his chest.

“Guess that means we’re even,” he murmurs.

You roll your eyes, but your smile is soft, unguarded.

Then, because he can’t resist even now, he adds quietly, “If I die before the ceremony, you still owe me a honeymoon.”

You muffled through his coat, “If you die before I do, I’m haunting you. Fair warning.”

He laughs. Loud. Free. The sound fills the ruined room like sunlight breaking through smoke.

And when he finally leans down to kiss the top of your head, the opera hits its final crescendo and Nessun Dorma soaring like the world itself is clapping for the two idiots who fell in love somewhere between chaos and comedy.

The building groans one last time, dust raining around you both, but neither of you move. For the first time all day, the world feels almost still.

He exhales against your hair. “You know, this might actually top our first date.”

You snort softly. “That was a shootout in a flower shop.”

“Exactly. Romantic.”

Somewhere far above, the ceiling cracks, dust rains down, and you both lie there in the ruins – ridiculous, invincible, and in love. The opera fades into silence, leaving only the sound of your laughter, and the faint, impossible hope that somehow, love could survive even this.

he's been living in my head rent-free, so i decided to write something about him. ✌️

[amateurasterism]

08. non-nonchalant?

SYNOPSIS ; a girl does something stupid for the “shiggles and gits,” landing her in the messages of her mysterious number neighbor: kim juhoon. except juhoon happens to be in search of a birthday present, which lands him—an anosmiac—smack-dab in the middle of the girl’s candle shop.

PREVIOUS ; MASTERLIST ; NEXT

authors note ; thank you guys SOO MUCH for 1.5k followers! that’s literally insane omg. also! this series is ending soon but i want to keep writing for cortis, i js dk what yall wanna see so please send in some requests for cortis fics!! i’m open to written and smau

taglist ; click here to be added ! @aquariusscollection @leeohknows @leahlovesskz143 @littlofang @fortysecondboon @lookingforvivy @martinsgf @w3willris3 @oreowon @wisetriumphpeach @enhamysunshines @007chan @h14a @janjoonty @lynniees @calx-bdo @i55coconut @tiramiffysu @h0neylemon @i-am-not-dal @jellyminz @wtfhyuck @gweoriz @yunjiiin @kzywhtv @444neapolitain @engeneheree @keonhoescafe @deaddcrow @luvrwon @euniix0x0 @bananapuddinglatte @teacuplps @sweeetbabysblog @beabdboo @luvlittlem @imnotrosiee @kaikaikoi @rinawithjjuu @elliotsbeigeguitar @niiqv @graceluvsu @sssssydni @hyeon3y @meireiiiiiyaya @love-and-w3r @chbq2 @vanillakirstein @swagmoneyyoloholo @09zpzkeonnss

[mijivz]

HOMEWORK METHOD ⭑𓂃

— cortis! juhoon x reader

synopsis ⸝⸝ plotting on your classmate with the homework method

a/n : omg i had a freaking typo it said “cortis ot5” </3 was no one gonna tell me (╥_╥)

── .✦ CONTENT ⸝⸝ fluff, crack, teen stuff

( 𝜗𝜚 ) — © mijivz.

[maria021015]

Rule #1

Fred Weasley x FemReader

Being best friends with Ginny Weasley was the easiest thing in the world. Or, at least, it had been at the start. The two of you had three simple rules.

#3. Always save each other a seat.

#2. Never lie to one another.

#1. Ginny’s brothers were off-limits.

It was rule #1 that you found yourself currently in contempt of. But how were you meant to know when you’d made that promise that a few years down the track everything would change?

———————————————————————

You had been best friends with Ginny Weasley for as long as you could remember.

It had started sometime in first year, when you found her crying in the girls’ bathroom after throwing a book at moaning Myrtle. You didn’t ask questions. You just sat next to her, pulled a Chocolate Frog from your bag, and said, “You don’t have to tell me. But if you want to, I’m here.” That was the moment it began. Since then, your friendship had become a constant in both of your lives. Like the hum of the Hogwarts Express, or the steady whistle of the wind through the trees by the Black Lake.

And there were rules. Unspoken at first, but eventually written down during a sleepover at the Burrow in a notebook charmed to sparkle and float around Ginny’s room. The most sacred of them all: “Don’t fall for one of my brothers. Ever.”

You remembered the moment it was written with almost photographic clarity. Ginny had been sitting cross-legged at the foot of her bed, face twisted with frustration as she doodled angry lightning bolts in the margins.

“Honestly, it’s like every girl who’s ever spoken to me suddenly wants to be my best mate the second they lay eyes on one of them,” Ginny muttered bitterly, tossing her quill down. “Lavender started cozying up to me last year and I thought maybe she actually wanted to be friends. But no. She just wanted to ask if Ron was ‘as tall in person as he looked from across the Great Hall.’ Gross.”

You laughed back then, genuinely amused and a little horrified. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I were,” Ginny huffed, brushing her hair back with a quick, irritated flick. “Then there was Marietta. She was practically joined at my hip during dinner and the whole time she was working up the courage to ask if I’d introduce her to George. George!”

“She didn’t even pretend to care about you, did she?”

“Not for a second,” Ginny snapped. Then her expression softened as she looked at you. “That’s why I like you. You’re not here for any of that rubbish.”

Back then you had smiled and laced your pinky through hers, swearing on it.

Now, whenever it was even remotely brought up - like when Angelina tried to hangout with the two of you to get a date with Fred - you had to force yourself to smile. Even as your heart twisted.

You hadn’t intended to fall for one of Ginny’s brothers, but sometime in the past four years, you had. Something about Fred’s clever jokes, his chaotic grin, and the way he always found time to check in on you had chipped away at your resolve. You had fallen slowly, helplessly, painfully. And you had said nothing. Because of the rule.

Because you loved Ginny.

You remembered her smile that night, soft and genuine.

“If I ever find out someone’s only here to get to one of them,” she said. “I’ll never forgive them. Promise me you’ll never do that.”

“Of course,” you had sworn.

You meant it, back then. You couldn’t have predicted you would genuinely fall for one of them. And you still meant it now, in your own twisted way. You had no intention of doing anything about your feelings. Loving Fred from a distance didn’t count. Did it?

But lately it had become harder to look away. He was noticing you. Not the way he noticed everyone else. Not with the performative charm or cheeky quips he tossed around like fireworks. No, he was watching you when he thought you weren’t looking. Catching your eye across the dinner table. Sitting closer than he used to, finding reasons to touch your arm when he laughed. Or maybe you were imagining it.

But you and Ginny had rules.

And you were already breaking rule #1.

———————————————————————

The Burrow was chaos, as usual.

The second you stepped through the crooked front door with Ginny, the scent of fresh bread and stewed onions wrapped around you like a warm blanket. The air was humid with the smell of summer earth and something sugary baking in the oven. A breeze drifted in from the open kitchen window, carrying laughter from the garden and the sounds of someone - probably Ron - grunting as he lugged trunks upstairs.

“Welcome home!” Molly was fussing as she grabbed each one of them by the face and planted a big kiss on their cheeks.

“Gross, mum!” The boys groaned and wiped their faces with their sleeves as they came into the house.

“My darling girls!” Molly greeted the two of you, pulling both you and Ginny into a tight hug.

“Hey, Mrs Weasley,” you greeted with a warm smile. You’d spend so much time here that the Burrow had come to feel like your second home, and the Weasleys like a second pair of parents.

“Oh, how you’ve grown up since the last time I saw you!” The stout woman patted your check affectionately, then stepped back to gesture to the already set table.

“Lunch, everyone! On the table, NOW!” Molly Weasley’s voice thundered through the house with such maternal command it could’ve made a mountain walk.

You hadn’t even had time to protest when Arthur took your trunk before you were swept up in the current of Weasley children charging into the kitchen like a herd of hippogriffs. Chairs scraped. Plates clattered. Elbows jabbed for better positioning. It was always a game of survival when it came to getting a good seat at the Burrow’s table.

Fred emerged from seemingly nowhere at your side, grinning like he’d just won something. “Well, well,” he said in that voice of his - low and amused, with just enough of a lilt to make your stomach flip. “Guess this seat’s mine, yeah?”

He reached for the chair to your left, the one you’d secretly been hoping he’d take, and yet, also dreading he would. It was instinct. Panic. Self-preservation.

You placed your hand firmly on the back of the chair before he could pull it out. “That one’s taken,” you blurted out a little too quickly.

Fred raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. “By who?”

And before your mouth could catch up with your thoughts - before you could invent some excuse or redirect him to the other side of the table - Ginny shoved past Fred, bumping him with her hip.

“By me, you great big git. Rule #3, remember? Now move!” she snapped cheerfully, shooting you a triumphant smile as she slid into the seat beside you.

Fred snorted, placing a dramatic hand over his heart like he’d been wounded. “Betrayed. By my own blood.”

He dragged himself to the far end of the table with a theatrical sigh, collapsing into a chair beside George. You watched him from the corner of your eye as he stole a bread roll before the basket had even hit the table, catching you looking just in time to shoot you a wink.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks.

Ginny leaned over, scooping potatoes onto your plate. “Honestly, you’d think they’d learn by now that we always sit next to each other. I think he did it on purpose just to mess with us.”

You forced a laugh, stabbing at a carrot with more force than necessary. “He’s insufferable,” you said weakly.

But your heart was thudding too loudly in your chest to believe it. You had wanted him to sit next to you. Just a little.

You could still feel the ghost of where his arm would’ve brushed against yours. How his knee might’ve bumped yours under the table. You could imagine it far too easily. Close enough to smell the spice and smoke of his cologne, to hear every stupid joke murmured just for you.

But then you looked at Ginny, happily chatting to her mum about the drive there, glowing with sun and freckles and trust. And the guilt returned with full force, crashing like a wave over your ribs.

You weren’t going to mess this up. Not this.

You promised yourself right then and there: You would stay away from Fred this summer. No matter how many times he winked at you. No matter how charming his smile was. No matter how much your hands itched to reach for his under the table.

He was Ginny’s brother. And you were Ginny’s best friend. And those two things could never, ever mix.

———————————————————————

Your first few days at the burrow passed without a problem. Ron kept to himself mostly, sending letters back and forth to Hermione and Harry in between practicing quidditch with the twins. When the twins weren’t out in the field zipping about on their broomsticks, they were locked in their room. No one quite knew what they were up to in there, except for the intermittent explosion that shook the house and earned a few lectures from Molly. Percy was off on some sort of internship at the Ministry of Magic. Which of course left you and Ginny to your own devices.

Your plan of avoiding Fred had been going splendidly. The only times you would see him were during meals, and with the buffer of the whole family present there were no issues that had arisen. He’d not tried again to steal Ginny’s chair by your side. You’d worked to memorise his and George’s schedule, knowing what times to avoid the bathroom or the kitchen for snack break. You’d even taken to using the bathroom at the latest possible time, once the house had gone uncharacteristically quiet and you knew everyone else was in bed.

Hence why you were there now. The bathroom mirror was fogged with steam from the shower someone had taken earlier - probably Ron, based on the trail of damp footprints leading down the hall to his bedroom. You stood at the sink in your pyjamas, brushing your teeth, the tap running low to mask the silence.

You leaned closer to the mirror and wiped a clean patch of glass to check your reflection. Your hair was a bit of a mess from a full day of hanging about the garden. Your skin a little tinged by the sun. The dim golden light from the hallway behind you spilled in from the half-cracked door, soft and flickering like candlelight.

The door creaked further open. You flinched, mid-brush. And then you nearly choked on your toothpaste.

Fred stood in the doorway, shirtless, rubbing a towel over his wild and wet hair, a pair of well-worn pyjama bottoms slung low on his hips. Water glistened on his shoulders. His freckles were more pronounced under the soft bathroom light, and his grin was…absolutely illegal.

You turned back to the sink immediately, hoping the toothpaste foam in your mouth would distract from the fact your pulse had just shot up like a firework.

“Evenin’,” he said casually, like this was completely normal.

You didn’t answer - mostly because you couldn’t speak with a mouth full of mint and panic.

Fred moved behind you, stepping inside without hesitation and reaching for a comb that sat on the bench. You could feel his presence, radiating a warmth that pulsed just inches away from your spine. The tension twisted tighter with each breath. You were practically vibrating.

“You always brush your teeth this dramatically?” he asked, his voice low and amused. “Looks intense.”

You spat your toothpaste into the sink and grabbed your cup to rinse. “Just thorough,” you muttered, praying your voice didn’t sound like it was shaking.

Fred leaned on the counter beside you, one arm braced as he turned his body toward you. “Right. Very serious business, dental hygiene. Sexy stuff.”

You gave a tight, nervous laugh and tried not to look at his collarbone, or his chest, or the single drip of water trailing down his sternum. You tried. But Merlin, you were failing.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” you asked, drying your hands quickly, your eyes fixed anywhere but on him.

“I was,” Fred said, tilting his head. “But then I remembered the bathroom gets much more interesting around midnight.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He smiled, cocking a brow. “You’ve been sneaking in here late every night like you’re hiding something. Thought I’d investigate.”

“I’m brushing my teeth, Fred. Hardly a great mystery of the universe.”

He leaned a little closer, and your breath hitched before you could stop it. His voice dropped an octave, teasing but edged with something heavier. “Well, maybe I’m the one with secrets.”

You hated that your stomach flipped. That your legs felt suddenly unsteady. That this was exactly the kind of moment you’d dreamed about for years, and yet now it was the last thing you could afford.

You cleared your throat, stepping back. “You’re ridiculous, you know.”

“And yet here you are,” he said. “Cornered. In a bathroom. With me.”

He was still smiling. But his eyes - those hazel eyes - searched yours with something more than just mischief. There was a weight in them. A question. A hope.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, Fred, put a bloody shirt on!” The moment shattered like glass.

Ginny appeared in the doorway, her eyes narrowing immediately as she took in the scene. Fred shirtless and grinning, you red-faced and stiff near the sink.

Fred didn’t move. He just glanced at Ginny over his shoulder, as if annoyed to be interrupted.

“What?” he asked, unbothered.

“You’re disgusting,” she snapped, elbowing past him. “You can’t just wander around half-naked like some trollop!”

Fred looked delighted by that. “Trollop? Really, Ginny? You wound me.”

She made a face. “Honestly, you’re like a feral cat.” Then, without hesitation, she wedged herself firmly between you and Fred, standing like a barrier. Completely oblivious to the electric tension that had just been vibrating in the room.

Fred smirked at you over her shoulder, lips twitching, like he knew exactly what he’d done.

Ginny turned to you, unaware. “Ready for bed?”

You nodded mutely. Behind her, Fred gave you a lazy wink and finally retreated, tossing his towel over his shoulder as he strolled out of the room like he hadn’t just flipped your entire emotional state upside down.

Ginny looked at you and scrunched her nose. “Honestly. He’s so weird sometimes. Sorry you had to see that.”

You managed a smile, small and tight. “It’s fine. I’ve seen worse.”

But as you followed her down the hall toward the room you were sharing, your heart was still racing. Your skin still buzzed from his nearness. Your mind - traitorous thing - kept replaying that moment when he’d leaned in, eyes soft, voice low.

And you knew then, with a certainty that made your stomach sink, that this summer was going to be really, really difficult.

———————————————————————-

It had been five days since The Bathroom Incident - a title you’d privately christened it with during your increasingly dramatic internal monologues.

And for five blissful, tormenting, nerve-fraying days, Fred had been…good.

No more shirtless intrusions. No surprise appearances when you were alone. No wandering conversations with too much eye contact and not enough space between your bodies.

Just casual, everyday Fred Weasley. Joking with his siblings, tinkering with George, throwing fruit across the kitchen, absolutely no more cornering you against a sink like he wanted to eat you alive.

You’d convinced yourself it was over. That he’d gotten bored of teasing you and moved on. That maybe you were in the clear.

Until this morning.

You’d just woken up, sunlight stretching warm fingers across your face through the open window, when you heard it.

“We’re going into town for the Sunday market!” George’s voice rang out through the hallway. “Come on, grab your shoes!”

You sat up, blinking sleep from your eyes as Ginny barged into the room already half-dressed, tying her hair up with a ribbon. “You’re coming too,” she declared, tossing your shoes toward the bed. “It’ll be us and the twins.”

Your stomach turned. Just the four of you. On a sunny day. Walking into town. All together. You, Ginny, George - and Fred.

Before you could argue, Ginny had already bolted back out of the room, mumbling something about losing her favourite jacket.

You took less than five minutes to pull on a cute outfit and brush your teeth before you waked into the hallway, trying not to look like you were internally screaming. At the bottom of the stairs, Fred was waiting.

He leaned lazily against the railing, arms crossed over his chest, dressed in a sweater rolled at the sleeves and worn jeans. Casual. Comfortable. Dangerous.

The second he saw you, a slow grin unfurled across his face like a cat who’d spotted a cornered mouse.

“Well, well,” he said, voice soft enough that it felt like it was just for you. “Didn’t think I’d be lucky enough to get you all day.”

You blinked. “What?”

He pushed off the railing and took a step closer. Close enough that you caught the familiar scent of spearmint and gunpowder. “I mean, I’ve barely seen you all summer. I was starting to worry I’d developed a contagious rash.”

You folded your arms. “Maybe you have. Have you checked?”

“Oh, thoroughly. I’m in top condition.” He winked, words dripping with innuendo.

You rolled your eyes, but your lips betrayed you with a small smile. He saw it - of course he saw it - and leaned in just a little more.

“You know,” he murmured, “I’d accuse you of hiding from me if I didn’t already know you were.”

Your heart thudded too loudly in your chest. Before you could deliver a scathing comeback - or worse, blush - Ginny’s footsteps thundered down the stairs.

Fred stepped away with impeccable timing, shoving his hands into his pockets and grinning innocently as Ginny reappeared with a cropped jacket and her hair now tied in a messy ponytail.

“All right,” she said, tossing her eyes toward Fred. “You better not make me carry everything again.”

“No promises,” he said, already leading the way out the door.

The walk into town was bright and breezy, the gravel path crunching beneath your shoes. Fields blurred gold and green beside you, and wildflowers nodded gently in the tall grass. Ginny was by your side for the most part, until she got into a long conversation with George about quidditch and the two walked ahead, occasionally darting into little bursts of sibling bickering. It left you and Fred side by side more than once, though you always kept just enough space to pretend it wasn’t wanted.

The Sunday market stretched along the village square in a mismatched quilt of tents and booths. The air was thick with the scent of fresh bread, honeycomb, spiced nuts, and something fried you didn’t dare question. Laughter floated above the hum of shoppers and merchants calling out their deals.

You kept close to Ginny, using her as a human shield against Fred’s increasingly amused glances. The two of you stopped at a table of handmade jewellery, and your fingers drifted toward a delicate pair of crystal earrings shaped like intricate flower clusters. They caught the sunlight just right. Clean, simple, quietly beautiful.

You picked one up, turned the tag over. Too much. Not outrageous, but more than you could justify. You set them down gently.

“Cute,” Ginny said, glancing over your shoulder. “But you’d probably lose them in, like, three days.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Ginny laughed and moved to the next booth, where a ridiculous plaid hat caught her eye. George followed, already pretending to model one for her.

And suddenly, it was just you and Fred again. You glanced up. He was already there, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on yours. He nodded toward the earrings. “Those were nice on you.”

You blinked. “I didn’t try them on.”

“I imagined them on you,” he said easily, his voice low and teasing. “I have an excellent imagination. In fact, I can picture anyone, anywhere in just about any position.”

You rolled your eyes. “You really never turn it off, do you?”

He stepped closer, the crowd bustling around you like a river splitting. “You’re one to talk. You’ve been flirting with me all morning.”

You snorted. “I have not.”

Fred tilted his head, mock-thoughtful. “Okay. Not flirting. Actively ignoring me. Which is basically the same thing, just in reverse. It has the same effect.”

You laughed despite yourself, cheeks warm. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet you’re still here talking to me.” He leaned in, voice dropping, “What does that say about you?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but then Ginny reappeared, holding up a hat so absurdly shaped it looked like a squashed owl. “Do I look insane or fabulous?”

“Both,” George said immediately.

“Perfect,” she grinned.

Fred stepped back again, and just like that, the moment dissolved.

The walk home was slower, the sun dipping lower in the sky. You carried a small paper bag of sweets Ginny had insisted on buying, and Fred whistled absently as he kicked pebbles down the lane. You didn’t speak again. Not really. But you felt his presence the entire way.

Back at the Burrow, the house had returned to its gentle, midday hum. You’d taken a shower first, and Ginny had waited until she heard the water stop before swapping places.

By the time you stepped out, dried off, and slipped back into your clothes, it was nearly time for afternoon tea.

You returned to Ginny’s room, searching for a brush to untangle your wet hair. And there, sitting neatly on Ginny’s bed, right where your pillow had been, was a small white box tied with a black ribbon.

Your heart stopped.

You looked around like someone might leap out from the closet yelling “Gotcha!”

But no one did.

You approached slowly, eyes wide, and lifted the box. Inside - tucked in soft tissue paper - were the earrings from the market. Delicate. Dazzling.

With them was a folded note in crooked handwriting: Couldn’t let them get away. Thought you might wear them next time you’re trying so desperately not to look at me. - F.

You clutched the box like it might combust in your hands. Footsteps creaked from the hallway. Ginny.

You moved fast - heart hammering - shoving the box into your trunk, the tissue and ribbon crumpled in your fist. You nearly tripped getting the top shut before the door opened.

Ginny strolled in, towel around her hair. “Whatever you do, don’t touch the blue shampoo bottle. I think one of the boys messed with it.”

As she unwound the towel, her usually ginger locks dropped around her shoulders in a curtain of green. You forced a smile, heart still galloping, hands still tingling.

“Oh Gin,” you said, covering your mouth, every nerve in your body on high alert. “Let’s get that fixed up. I’m sure your mum will have something to help.”

You took her by the shoulders and led her out of the room, mind still stuck on what you were leaving behind.

The earrings were hidden. The note, too. Your secret was safe. Though now, you were technically at risk of breaking another rule.

#2. Never lie to one another.

———————————————————————

The kitchen of the Burrow smelled like butter, thyme, and the kind of warmth only a Weasley home could conjure. The windows were fogged slightly from the heat of the cooking. You stood at the counter beside Ginny, a cutting board in front of you and a particularly potent batch of onions halfway sliced beneath your trembling hands. Your eyes stung fiercely.

“I swear, I think I’m going blind,” you sniffled, blinking rapidly as tears dripped down your cheeks.

Ginny laughed, pointing her wooden spoon at you. “Oh come on, don’t be dramatic. It’s just an onion!”

“I’m not being dramatic, my eyeballs are melting—” You let out a soft, strangled laugh, wiping at your face with your sleeve and slicing again.

The two of you had been helping Molly for the past hour, peeling vegetables, shelling peas, and listening to Celestina Warbeck crooning softly from the wireless. The afternoon sun cast long strips of light across the warped wooden table, and despite the heat and chaos of the kitchen, it was cozy. Familiar. Safe.

Or at least, it had been, until the back door suddenly burst open with a crash.

“—AND HE SCORES! WHAT A MOVE FROM THE LEGENDARY BEATER!”

“OH, SHUT IT, YOU OVERGROWN GNOME—”

Fred and George exploded into the kitchen like a pair of firecrackers, both sweaty and flushed, yelling in Quidditch commentator voices as they barrelled through the doorway. George had a quaffle tucked under one arm. Fred was lunging for it like a seeker gone mad.

Molly spun around from the stove. “Boys! Absolutely not! Not in my kitchen!”

But it was too late. Fred dodged Ginny, slipped on the corner rug, and stumbled directly into you. You barely had time to gasp before the impact jolted your arm. The knife in your hand slipped.

“OW! bloody hell!” You recoiled instinctively, dropping the knife and clutching your hand. Blood was already rising fast to the surface of your finger, running in a hot, red line down your palm and onto the floor.

“WHAT did I just say?!” Molly’s voice could’ve curdled milk.

“Fred!” Ginny shouted furiously. “You idiot!”

“Oh, shit, you’re crying!” Fred’s eyes widened as he saw your tear-streaked cheeks and the blood on your hand.

You glared at him, though your vision was blurry. “It’s the onions, you twat!”

But your voice trembled. From the pain. From the sheer overwhelming chaos of it all. And - fine - maybe from Fred being way too close again.

Fred looked properly horrified now. “Merlin, I didn’t mean to. I was just…George was…right, c’mere. I’ve got something that’ll help. C’mon.”

Before you could protest, he was already gently but insistently guiding you toward the stairs, his hand warm on your back. You wrapped a kitchen towel around your bleeding finger, trying to keep the pressure steady as you glanced back at Ginny.

“Go, go,” she called, exasperated. “Before you bleed into the mashed potatoes.”

George had dropped the quaffle and was already picking up the knife from the floor, apologizing to Molly in the most unconvincing tone possible.

You followed Fred up the stairs, your heart pounding harder with every creak of the steps. You told yourself it was just because of the injury. The adrenaline. The pain. Not because you were heading into Fred Weasley’s bedroom for the first time.

The door clicked open, and he stepped aside to let you in.

His room smelled faintly of parchment, broom polish, and something warm and boyish and entirely him. It was surprisingly neat for a Weasley. Trunks were stacked in a corner, shelves cluttered with joke prototypes, and Quidditch posters pinned crookedly across the walls. There was a pair of socks hanging off the end of his bedpost. A sweater crumpled on the floor. But it felt lived in, personal. Like stepping into a corner of his world you were never supposed to see.

You froze awkwardly in the doorway.

“You can sit,” Fred said, waving a hand at the bed. “I promise my mattress doesn’t bite.”

You managed a weak laugh and perched on the edge, careful to keep your hands to yourself.

He crouched in front of a trunk and rummaged around. “Right, here. We just finished a batch of this last week. Might sting, but it works miracles.” He pulled out a small tin with a garish orange and purple sticker slapped across it.

You squinted at the label. “WWW? What’s that stand for? ‘Weasley’s Weakest Work’?”

Fred grinned, tossing a towel over his shoulder. “Close. Thirty-three percent correct, actually. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. George and I, we’re starting a joke shop. After Hogwarts.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “Wait, seriously?”

He nodded, pride sneaking into his voice. “We’ve been designing products for years. We’ve got a whole trunk full of prototypes. Salves, candies, decoy spell crap. You’d love it. You’re basically our ideal test subject - easily injured and highly opinionated.”

“Charming,” You snorted. “So is that what the hexed shampoo fiasco was all about? Ginny was furious. Her hair was green for days.”

“No, that one was just for fun,” Fred sat beside you now, close enough that you could feel the heat of his arm. He gently peeled the blood-soaked towel from your hand, and you hissed.

“Sorry,” he murmured, his voice suddenly soft. He dipped his fingers into the tin and dabbed the salve onto your cut.

It was cool and tingly and smelt like peppermint. Within seconds, the pain dulled, and you watched in shock as the raw skin knitted itself closed.

Your mouth fell open. “That’s…actually brilliant.”

“I know,” he said smugly, wrapping a thin bandage around your finger. “And, don’t worry. It won’t scar. Just reapply twice a day.”

“How are you not rolling in money already?”

He laughed and you smiled, until you realised you were still holding hands. Neither of you moved. And the silence that settled between you wasn’t casual anymore. It buzzed. Tense and breathless.

Fred’s eyes lifted to meet yours, his thumb unconsciously brushing over the inside of your wrist. “Why’ve you been avoiding me?”

You blinked. “I haven’t.”

He tilted his head. “You have. You’ve been dodging me like I’ve got dragon pox. Why?”

You tried to smile. To brush it off. “Maybe I just don’t like you, Fred.”

He leaned in, his voice low and serious now. “Or maybe it’s the opposite.”

Your breath hitched. He was so close you could see the golden flecks in his eyes. Count each of the freckles dusting the bridge of his nose

Before you could answer - before you even knew how to answer - the door burst open.

George stood there, eyebrows raised. “Alright, you two, break it up. Dinner’s ready. And Mum’s not in the mood to wait.”

You yanked your hand back, your face going hot.

Fred sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Cheers, George. Great timing.”

George grinned knowingly and stepped aside. You stood quickly, muttering a thanks under your breath and rushing out the door, heart hammering, head spinning.

This summer was going to ruin you. And you finding it a lot harder to mind at all.

———————————————————————

The attic smelled like dust and old wood, warmed faintly by the day’s leftover sun and lit only by a string of enchanted fairy lights that twinkled like stars overhead. The ghoul in the corner moaned softly to itself, chewing on what remained of Fred and George’s bribe - a sticky handful of Drooble’s gum and a crumpled chocolate frog box. For now, it was satisfied. Mostly.

When you climbed through the attic hatch behind Ginny, the stale air hit your face like a wave. Ron, Fred, and George were already sprawled across the mismatched rugs and floor cushions in a circle, a deck of enchanted cards floating lazily in the center.

“There you are,” Fred said as you and Ginny slid the hatch shut behind you. His eyes flicked to yours briefly and he smirked like he had been waiting specifically for you.

You tried not to react, though your stomach was already betraying you with its little flip. He looked far too smug for someone sitting crisscross in moth-eaten socks and a Quidditch tee.

“About time,” George chimed.

“Don’t push it,” Ginny said, elbowing her brother before tossing a pillow to the ground and flopping down.

You settled in beside her, your knees brushing the woven edge of the rug, directly across from Fred. Unfortunately, he was watching you. Still. And you knew he hadn’t stopped.

The bottle of firewhisky came out shortly after. Fred uncorked it with a flourish, holding it up like it was some ancient treasure.

“Compliments of the cabinet behind Dad’s broom collection,” he announced.

Ginny laughed. “Mum’s going to have your head if she finds out.”

“She won’t,” George assured her, “unless someone blabs.”

“Ron,” said everyone at once, and Ron flushed beet red.

The bottle made its way around the circle, and eventually it landed in your hands. You hesitated only a moment before lifting it to your lips. The whisky burned hot, sharp, and smoky as it slid down your throat. You exhaled, eyes watering slightly.

“Easy,” Fred said from across the circle. “Don’t want to fall asleep before the game starts.”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, cheeks flushed, and passed the bottle back, straight to Fred. His hand brushed yours as he took the bottle from your grip. But instead of drinking right away, he rotated it slowly and deliberately in his hand, fingers lingering around the mouth of the bottle. Then he placed his mouth right over the spot your lips had touched and drank without breaking eye contact.

The burn in your throat came back tenfold, but for a completely different reason.

He licked a drop from his bottom lip and grinned. “Tastes better this way.”

Your breath caught. Ginny, completely oblivious, was already giggling at something George said. The cards were floating again, but your world had narrowed to that lazy, firewhisky-laced smirk and the way Fred’s eyes lingered just a beat too long.

Goosebumps erupted down your arms.

The moment passed too quickly. You tried to pretend it hadn’t affected you, that you weren’t wondering what it would feel like to close the distance between you, to feel that heat not through shared glass, but skin.

The shuffled deck split evenly amongst them and a chaotic, barely-rule-following game of Exploding Snap ensued. There were chips of lightning, minor burns, and raucous laughter as the ghoul muttered irritably in its corner. A slightly scorched card flew past Ginny’s head and she ducked with a cackle.

Eventually, the ghoul grew bored. With a loud metallic CLANG, it started knocking on the pipes behind it, clearly unhappy that its stash of goodies had run out.

“Right, time to clear out,” George said, already grabbing the cards and stuffing them into the pocket of his pajama bottoms.

“I’ll bring more sweets tomorrow,” Fred muttered toward the ghoul, who let out a pitiful moan in reply.

George and Ginny were the first down the hatch. You were about to follow when Ron knocked over an old crate, sending it crashing into a pile of dusty cauldrons.

“Shit,” Fred hissed. You all froze.

Footsteps echoed below. Heavy ones. Then the creak of a bedroom door.

“Mum,” George whispered, eyes wide. “And Dad.”

There was no time to think. There was only enough time for Ron to jump down before George scrambled to shut the attic hatch. Ginny looked back at you from below.

“We’ll come get you when it’s safe,” she whispered, and then, click. The hatch was sealed.

You and Fred were completely alone.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the soft flickers of the fairy lights and the distant, irritable tapping of the ghoul’s fingernails on wood.

Fred let out a breath. “Well, I guess we’re trapped.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out more like a nervous exhale. He held up the bottle of firewhisky. “Still got this. Want to play truth or dare while we wait?”

You tilted your head. “Really? That’s what we’re doing?”

“We’ve got time. And no escape.” He patted the floor beside him.

Despite your instincts yelling at you not to agree, you sat. Not too close, but close enough to catch the cinnamon-heat smell of him, firewhisky and warmth.

“Fine. But I go first,” you said. “Truth or dare?”

He leaned in, elbow resting on one knee, still holding the bottle between two fingers. “Dare,” he replied, too fast.

You rolled your eyes. “Predictable.”

Fred raised a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” you said, drawing your knees up, “you’re always the first to take risks. Always the showman. But when it comes to being genuine? You flinch.”

A beat of silence. Fred’s smile dropped an inch. Not gone, just softened. “You think I can’t be genuine?”

You shrugged, heart hammering. “Prove me wrong, then. Pick truth.”

“Fine,” he said. “Ask me a truth.”

You studied him. The freckles, the messy hair, the too-confident posture covering something far more careful underneath. “Why haven’t you told anyone about the joke shop?”

That made him pause. The flicker in his eyes changed, turning sharper. More focused.

Finally, Fred sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Because Mum thinks it’s a waste of time. Childish. She wants us to join the Ministry. Be ‘respectable’ like dad. But I don’t want that. George doesn’t either. This—” He held up the firewhisky like it was part of the dream. “—this is the only thing I’ve ever felt is really mine.”

Your chest swelled at the honesty. “I think it’s brilliant,” you said quietly.

He looked at you, something unreadable softening his features. Then he smirked again. “My turn. Truth or dare?”

You panicked. “Truth.”

“Do you like anyone?”

Your mouth went dry. “Yes.”

His eyes glittered. “Who?”

“That wasn’t your question,” you shot back quickly, hiding your fluster behind a smirk of your own.

Fred chuckled. “Alright. Touché.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Truth or dare.”

He yawned dramatically. “Truth. And see, I didn’t even flinch.”

“Are the rumors true about you and Angelina Johnson?” you asked, voice just slightly sharper than intended.

Fred let out a bark of laughter. “What? No. That wasn’t me.”

You raised a skeptical brow.

“It was George,” he said, dead serious. “They got caught snogging in the common room, and everyone assumed it was me since I took her to the Yule Ball.”

You blinked in surprise. “Wait, really?”

“Yep. She’s more into sensative gits than charming ones, apparently.” The air between them grew charged. Thicker. He sat up straighter. “Truth or dare?”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then answered, “Truth.”

He leaned closer. “Who do you fancy?”

Your stomach twisted, pulse thudding loud in your ears. “I change my mind,” you blurted. “Dare.”

He grinned like he’d won. “Thought you might. In that case…I dare you to kiss me.”

The world stopped.

“I’ll take a drink instead.” You offered, reaching for the bottle.

Fred turned the firewhisky upside down and a single drop ran from the lip of the bottle.“We’re out.” He clicked his tongue in mock sympathy. “What a shame.”

You were frozen in place, mind trying to come up with a fourth option that didn’t seem to exist.

Then, slowly - so slowly - he leaned forward. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it easy for you.”

You couldn’t breathe. His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair gently behind your ear. His fingers lingered, tracing the edge of your earring - the ones he had bought you from the market. You watched him realise it, watched his lips twitch upward.

“These suit you,” he murmured.

You swallowed hard. He was so close now. Close enough that you could see the flecks of amber in his eyes, the faint red in his lashes, the faint smell of firewhisky and citrus and boyish heat.

Your cheeks burned. The world felt like it was tilting slightly sideways.

Fred said softly. “All you have to do is give in.”

You wanted to. Oh Merlin, you wanted to. Your lips parted. Your eyes flicked to his. But then the attic hatch creaked open.

“Oi,” George called, voice echoing. “Coast is clear.”

You jumped apart like lightning had struck. Your skin still buzzed where his hand had touched you.

Fred stood slowly, offering you a hand. You took it before you could think better of it.

Nothing had happened. But it had almost happened. And you didn’t think you’d ever stop thinking about that almost.

Neither of you said a word on the way down the ladder. But your ears were still ringing, and yu couldn’t shake the ghost of his voice murmuring, ‘All you have to do is give in.’

———————————————————————

You never usually woke up this early, but sleep had been impossible after last night.

The attic. The firewhisky. His voice, low and teasing, asking if you fancied someone. The way he dared you to kiss him, and the way your body had wanted to obey more than it ever had anyone. You’d never felt anything like that before. That tightrope between longing and fear, between want and wariness. Between what you craved and what you shouldn’t want.

You’d almost done it. Almost leaned in. Almost let yourself fall.

The early morning air was soft against your skin as you walked through the garden behind the Burrow. The grass was cool and damp with dew, the sky still tinted with pale grey and lavender. There was a hush to the world here, like it was holding its breath, just like you were.

You moved slowly between the rows of wildflowers and gnarled trees, trying to clear your head. But all you could think about was him - the fire in his eyes, the way his gaze flicked to your mouth, the smell of firewhisky.

You shook your head, willing the memory away, when a low voice broke through the quiet. “What are you thinking about?”

You nearly leapt out of your skin. “Bloody hell—” you gasped, spinning around. But before you could scream, a hand clamped over your mouth, warm and strong. His hand.

“Shhh! It’s just me,” Fred said, his voice low and urgent as he pulled you further into the field.

You struggled instinctively, swatting at his arm until you were both well out of view of the house. He released you the second you were far enough away, and you whipped around, shoving his chest hard.

“What on earth is wrong with you?” you hissed, your heart thundering in your chest.

He raised his hands in mock surrender, but there was tension under the smirk. “I needed to talk to you. Alone. And you’re a lot harder to pin down these days.”

You crossed your arms. “So you thought sneaking up on me and dragging me into a field was the best option?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

You glared, but the corner of your mouth twitches before you catch yourself. “What do you want, Fred?”

He exhaled, the teasing edge dropping as he takes a step closer. “Last night. Why didn’t you kiss me?”

Your throat went dry. “We’re not playing truth or dare anymore. I don’t have to answer that.”

“I’m not playing either,” he said. His voice was low now, and earnest. And he was closer. You could smell him again - cinnamon and something warm and boyish, still clinging to his skin.

He stepped forward again and gently took your arm, his thumb brushing the inside of your wrist. It sent a flicker of heat up your spine.

“I wanted you to kiss me,” he confessed. “So why didn’t you?”

You swallowed thickly, knowing this was a dangerous game. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“Maybe not. But I think I deserve one.”

You stayed silent, your heart in your throat, body humming like live wire. His fingers tightened ever so slightly on your wrist.

“You want to know what I think?” he asked, and you looked up at him, caught in that impossible gaze. “I think you’re just as interested in me as I am in you. Tell me if I’m wrong.”

You opened your mouth, but your voice barely came out. “You’re wrong.”

It was shaky. Unconvincing. Pathetic.

Fred lifted a brow, unimpressed. He leaned in until you could feel his breath brush your cheek. “No, I’m not.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. You couldn’t. Your whole body was screaming to close the distance, to surrender.

“Why won’t you just say it?” he whispered. “I’m standing right here, telling you that I…” His voice faltered for the first time, softens. Vulnerable in a way that made your chest ache.“I care about you. I want you. I have for a while now.”

It hit you like a punch to the ribs. The tenderness, the honesty in his voice. Your chest tightened. “I do too,” you admitted, your voice betraying you. “But I shouldn’t.”

Fred frowned, still not understanding what was holding you back. “Why not?”

“Because of Ginny,” you said, the words ripping from your mouth. “Because she’s my best friend. Because I made a promise. Rule number one. Her brothers are off-limits.”

Fred blinked, then let out a sharp breath and laughed under it, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you kidding? That’s what’s stopping you?”

“It matters.”

“Not to me,” he said, stepping closer, impossibly close now. “And Ginny doesn’t have to know.”

Your breath stilled. “Fred…”

“All you have to do,” he murmured, brushing your hair back from your face, his fingers grazing the earring he gave you, “is give in.”

You shivered as his thumb traced the shell of your ear. His touch was so soft, so gentle, it was almost unbearable. You should have pulled away. You knew that.

But you didn’t. Instead, you leaned in. Just the smallest tilt of your chin. Just enough. But that’s all he needed.

Fred cupped your face in both hands and kissed you. It was everything you imagined and more. It was hungry and hesitant all at once. Warm and desperate, like you’d both been waiting too long. His lips melded into yours like he’d somehow already memorised the shape, and you melted into him without thinking.

The world fell away. There was only the sun-drenched field, the soft birdsong in the trees, and his hands anchoring you like he never wanted to let go.

And for a single, breathless moment, you didn’t want him to.

———————————————————————

The grass was still wet with dew as you and Fred made your way back to the Burrow, your fingers entwined with his, warm and certain despite the slight chill in the air. The morning was quiet. Hushed and golden in a way that made it feel like the world had agreed to keep your secret, if only for a little while.

You couldn’t stop smiling. Neither could he.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” you murmured, voice still breathless from the high of it - of him.

Fred glanced sideways at you, that lopsided grin tugging at his lips, his eyes still lazy with affection. “I can,” he said simply. “Been a long time coming, don’t you think?”

Your heart fluttered helplessly. “Have you really felt like this for that long?”

Fred nodded, squeezing your hand. “Since you called me insufferable for making that potion explode in the common room. You had ink on your cheek and told me I was going to fail out of Hogwarts.”

You laughed, a quiet sound that felt like summer. “That was third year.”

“Exactly,” he said. “I didn’t stand a chance.”

You bit your lip, glancing down at the way your hands fit together so naturally, like they’d always belonged there. “I wish it didn’t feel so complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said gently.

You didn’t respond right away. You just walked with him, each step soft and heavy all at once, and the closer you got to the crooked silhouette of the Burrow, the heavier your chest became.

As the back door came into view, you felt Fred’s fingers twitch against yours. You both knew what had to happen. You dropped his hand, carefully, reluctantly. Like letting go of a lifeline.

You reached the back door first and stepped inside.

Ginny was at the kitchen table, flipping through the Prophet, but her eyes flicked up the moment she heard the creak of the floorboards. They landed on you. Then on Fred. Then back to you.

She looked suspicious. “Where were you two?” she asked, casual, but not really.

You didn’t miss the way her eyes lingered too long on the space between your hands. Your stomach twisted.

“I, uh…I couldn’t sleep,” you said quickly. “Went for a walk.” You shrugged as if it meant nothing. “Fred must’ve had the same idea.”

There was a beat of silence. The paper in Ginny’s hands crackled as she slowly turned the page. Her gaze didn’t waver.

“Uh huh,” she said, noncommittal. Then she looked back down at the paper.

You forced a laugh and stepped past her into the kitchen, your heart thudding wildly as Fred moved behind you without a word. You felt his eyes on you, heavy with unspoken questions. Ones you didn’t want to answer.

Because now it wasn’t just Rule #1 you’d broken. You’d lied to her face.

Rule #2. Never lie to one another.

You told yourself it was just a little white lie. A protective one. A harmless one. But it didn’t feel harmless. It felt like the beginning of something you couldn’t take back.

———————————————————————

You’d spent the whole day glued to Ginny’s side. It wasn’t like she noticed. She just thought you were in a good mood, maybe a little extra chatty, a little too agreeable. But every time she laughed, or looped her arm through yours, or offered you a bite of the plum she was eating on the porch swing, your stomach twisted tighter and tighter.

Because she didn’t know. She didn’t know what you’d done that morning. That you’d walked into the garden one person and come out another. That Fred had kissed you like he meant it. And worse, that you had kissed him back.

Worse still: you had liked it. You had wanted it.

And now, you couldn’t look Ginny in the eye without feeling like your whole skin was buzzing with guilt.

So you stuck close. You did the dishes with her. Helped her weed the vegetable patch. Laughed too hard when she told you that joke about Seamus Finnigan and the exploding butterbeer. You didn’t so much as glance in Fred’s direction during dinner, even though you could feel him looking.

It was late now. Everyone had gone to bed. You were brushing your teeth with heavy limbs and hollow thoughts, the kind that came from trying too hard to act normal. Your eyes were tired. Your mouth still ached faintly from the press of his.

You reached for the towel when suddenly a strong hand clamped over your mouth. You gasped, but before you could scream, you were pulled backwards, into the tiny shower room, the door snapping shut behind you with a soft click as it locked.

You shoved at the hand, heart racing, until it dropped away. You spun around, your back to the wall, and saw him.

Fred. He was slightly out of breath from the effort, hair mussed, eyes bright.

You glared at him, even as your pulse stuttered. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

He grinned like he’d been waiting all day to see you. “I missed you today,” he said simply.

And then he kissed you. There wasn’t any teasing this time. No playful smirk. Just heat. Sharp and overwhelming. His hands framed your face, and yours found his shirt and fisted there, like maybe you could anchor yourself to him and forget what you’d done.

You kissed him back like you hadn’t been thinking about anything else since sunrise. And for a moment, there was only him.

But then, your hand slid up and brushed against the chain around his neck and your chest cinched tight.

You broke the kiss, breathless. “Fred—”

He looked at you with dazed affection, lips parted. “What?”

“I can’t,” you whispered, voice shaking. “I feel so guilty about Ginny.”

His brows drew together slightly, but he didn’t let go of your waist. “I really don’t think she’d be upset.”

You shook your head. “You don’t know that.”

“I know she loves you,” he said. “And I know if she thought we made each other happy, she’d be glad for it. I think we should tell her.”

You felt the words land inside you like tiny, cruel promises. “No! We can’t tell her,” you said, voice firmer now. “We can’t tell anyone.”

Fred’s hands loosened. “No one?”

You nodded. “Promise me, Fred. Please. You can’t say anything.”

He looked reluctant. “Even George?”

You hesitated, because of course George already knew. He probably knew before either of you did. “Even him,” you said anyway. “If he knows anything already, then you need to make him promise not to say a word.”

Fred exhaled, then nodded. “Alright. I promise.”

You stared at him, heart thudding against your ribs. He reached up, brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, and smiled gently.

You kissed him one more time. Slow and lingering and filled with the quiet ache of knowing this wasn’t going to get any easier.

And so it began. The start of something you couldn’t name yet. A kiss in the garden. A locked door. A promise made in whispers. The beginning of a secret.

———————————————————————

You’d gotten so used to hiding it, you almost started believing you could keep it hidden forever.

It became a rhythm. A dance you and Fred had perfected over the past few weeks. A series of glances and touches and moments stolen between the cracks of your everyday life. You lived for the quiet thrill of it. The way your heart leapt when he leaned in just a little too close in the hallway, or the way your pulse skittered when he brushed your pinky with his under the table at dinner.

Sometimes, he’d manage to sit beside you, his thigh pressed against yours beneath the tablecloth, warm and steady like a secret only you were allowed to keep. His hand would rest casually on his knee until it inched over to yours, fingers tapping, tracing lines across your skin no one else could see.

And when he couldn’t sit beside you, he’d claim the seat directly across, his foot nudging yours under the table until it became a full-on game of footsie that had you biting your lip and looking anywhere but at him. Every time your eyes accidentally met, he’d grin like he was proud of himself. Like he was daring you to keep playing.

You were hopelessly smitten. And for the first time in a long time, really happy.

Fred made you laugh when things felt heavy. He kissed you like he meant it, even in the briefest snatched moments. He told you you were brilliant, and brave, and beautiful in all the ways no one ever had before. And you believed him.

It was dangerous, yes. But it was yours. Until the day it wasn’t.

It was late afternoon, the sky hanging heavy with sun and heat, and most of the Weasleys were outside flying or napping or doing chores. Ginny had been reading on the porch when you told her you needed to grab something you’d forgotten in the backyard.

That was a lie. Fred had told you to meet him in the broom shed.

You slipped away quietly, past the rose bushes and around the back of the house where the old wooden shed waited beneath the trees. The door creaked as you opened it and there he was, leaning against the wall, arms folded, eyes lighting up the moment he saw you.

You didn’t even make it two steps before he pulled you in.

His kiss was warm, familiar, and tasted like the honey biscuits Molly had made for tea. You melted into it, hands sliding into his hair, your body fitting against his like it belonged there.

“I’ve been waiting to do this all day,” he murmured against your mouth.

You smiled into the kiss. “What if someone finds us?”

“They won’t.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw. “George is on Ginny duty. We’ve got time.”

You were about to respond - about to tell him you’d missed him too - when the shed door flew open.

You jolted back like you’d been burned. Ginny stood in the doorway, eyes blazing, lips parted in silent disbelief. Behind her, George winced and muttered, “Shite.”

“I knew it,” Ginny said, her voice low and trembling. “I bloody knew it.”

You stared at her, frozen. Every part of you was suddenly cold.

“Ginny—” Fred started, stepping forward.

She didn’t even look at him. Her eyes were locked on yours, betrayal carved into every inch of her expression. “How long?” she demanded. “How long has this been going on behind my back?”

You opened your mouth but nothing came out.

George stepped forward. “Sorry mate, I tried to stop her—”

“You knew?!” she rounded on George like a storm, her fists balled at her sides. “You knew and didn’t say a word?!”

“I only found out recently,” he said, holding up his hands. “And it’s not my business—”

“Not your business?!” she shouted. “She’s my best friend, Fred is my brother, and you’re my other brother! How is this not our business?!”

“Ginny, please,” you finally managed to say, your voice soft, cracking. “I wanted to tell you. I swear I did.”

“But you didn’t!” she shouted. “You lied to my face. Every single day. Do you think I’m stupid? Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“No, Gin, I never—” You stepped toward her but she stepped back.

Her face was red with fury, her eyes glassy with tears she refused to let fall. “I trusted you. I trusted you more than anyone.”

Fred reached for her, voice low. “She didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Don’t.” Her voice was sharp enough to cut. “Don’t defend her. Don’t pretend this was nothing.” She looked at you again, and it nearly broke you. “You broke our rules.”

And then she turned on her heel and stormed out of the shed. George gave Fred a grim look, then jogged after her.

And just like that…it was over.

The warmth, the secrecy, the giddy, fluttering joy that had filled you so completely. It all shattered in the space of ten seconds.

Fred turned to you, hands raking through his hair. “Bloody hell.”

You were shaking. “I didn’t know what to say. I froze.”

He pulled you into his arms, held you like it might fix things. “She just needs time.”

You nodded against his chest, but your heart wasn’t so sure. Because you hadn’t just broken the rules. You’d broken Ginny’s heart.

———————————————————————

You tried for days. Tried to talk to her, to explain, to say something, but every time you got close, Ginny slipped away like smoke.

You followed her into the garden the next morning, calling her name as she picked harshly at the overgrown mint leaves along the back fence. She didn’t turn around. When you got close enough to speak, she stood up and walked inside without a word.

Later, you found her in the kitchen, arms folded tight, back resting against the counter as Molly spoke to her in a low voice. You hovered in the doorway, unsure, heart thudding against your ribs. Ginny met your eyes for a second - just one second - and then looked away like it hurt.

You tried again on the stairs, whispering her name as she passed. She didn’t even glance at you.

You hated this. You hated how silent everything felt. How your chest ached with things unsaid.

By the time the sun dipped beneath the hills on the third day and the Burrow settled into its evening hush, you were exhausted from trying. And Ginny still hadn’t said a single word.

You crept up to your shared bedroom slowly, quietly, like maybe she’d be soft again if you just approached the right way. You reached for the doorknob, turned it gently.

Locked.

You knocked. “Ginny?”

Silence.

You knocked again, a little louder this time. “Ginny, please. Can we just…can we talk? Please?”

Nothing. Not even a shuffle from the other side. You pressed your forehead to the wood, eyes stinging.

After a long minute, you sighed and padded back down the stairs. The Burrow was quiet now. Most of the lights were off, save for the soft, golden glow from the living room. You curled up on the couch, wrapping yourself in one of the worn knitted blankets, tucking your knees to your chest. This was where you’d been spending your nights lately, not wanting to bother Molly or Arthur about other sleeping arrangements.

The silence felt louder than Ginny’s anger. It echoed. You must have sat there for almost half an hour before you heard soft steps on the stairs.

Fred. His hair was a mess, like he’d been lying in bed unable to sleep too, and his eyes found yours with immediate concern.

“You okay?” he asked gently, already knowing the answer.

“She locked me out again,” you murmured. “She won’t even look at me.”

Fred’s brow furrowed as he sat beside you, draping his arm over your shoulders and tugging you closer. “I’m sorry.”

You let your head fall onto his shoulder. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve never seen her this mad. She’s not even yelling anymore. She just…won’t see me.”

Fred let out a breath, warm against your temple. “She’ll come around. Ginny’s stubborn, but she’s not heartless. She just needs space.”

You nodded, letting the quiet settle between you again. It wasn’t the happy silence from the shed, or the secretive warmth you were used to with him. It was heavier. But his presence still helped. Still steadied you.

He rubbed circles into your arm, resting his chin lightly against your hair. “We’ll figure this out.”

You closed your eyes. “I hope so.”

And then the bottom step squeaked. You both turned.

Ginny stood in at the bottom of the staircase, holding an empty glass. Her eyes landed on you curled beside Fred. You saw the moment it hit her. The twist of disgust, the flick of her lip curling as she scoffed softly.

She didn’t say anything. Just rolled her eyes, and turned on her heel.

You threw the blanket off and jumped up. “Ginny, wait!”

She was already halfway up the stairs, empty glass still in her hand.

“Please, can we talk?” you called, following her up.

She didn’t even pause.

“Ginny—”

She reached the bedroom door, yanked it open, stepped inside. You made it just in time to catch the door slamming in your face. The sound echoed through the Burrow like a curse.

You stood there for a moment, fingers resting on the closed door, throat tight, heart cracking a little more. You didn’t even knock this time. You just turned and walked back downstairs.

Fred was waiting. His expression softened as he saw your face. “She slammed it again?”

You nodded. You didn’t trust your voice not to break.

He opened his arms. You walked straight into them. And for the rest of the night, the two of you stayed curled up on the couch. Not saying much. Just holding on.

———————————————————————

The next morning was unbearable. You sat between Fred and George at the breakfast table, the tension thick enough to slice with a wand. Ginny was across from you, lips pressed into a thin line, her toast untouched. She didn’t look at you. Not once. She didn’t even speak. Not to Fred. Not to George. Not even to Molly when she asked if she wanted more pumpkin juice.

Fred’s knee bumped against yours under the table. You didn’t move. But you didn’t lean into him either. You were ashamed. It hurt, having Ginny’s silence weigh this heavy on your chest.

After breakfast, Ginny stood without a word and disappeared up the stairs, her braid swinging sharply behind her. The door to her room slammed moments later.

You didn’t follow this time. You knew better now.

Fred glanced at you, eyes soft. “Come on,” he said. “Walk with me.”

You let him lead you outside into the warm morning light, the sun stretching long and lazy over the Burrow’s messy backyard. The garden was overgrown in the loveliest way. Wildflowers sprawling into vegetable patches, vines curling along the fenceposts. Fred brushed his fingers against yours as you walked, and when he caught your eye, his smile was crooked and bright like he was trying to make things better without saying it out loud.

You stopped in front of Arthur’s old work shed.

Fred pushed the door open and gestured inside with a dramatic bow. “Milady.”

You rolled your eyes. “What exactly am I meant to be admiring in here? The rusted rake or the giant spider in the corner?”

He grinned. “Neither. Just trust me.”

You stepped inside cautiously, brushing past hanging tools and stacks of flower pots, turning just in time to see him still grinning at the threshold.

“Fred?”

“Sorry,” he said in a singsong voice, and with a swift flick and a slam, the door shut. The lock turned with a click.

“FRED!” You pounded your hand on the wood. “This is not funny!”

But footsteps were already retreating. You waited - furious - for him to open it again. But the minutes passed. The shed was warm and full of the smell of soil and sun-dried wood, and you were trying to decide whether you were more angry or confused when the door creaked again.

You stood quickly, hope flickering. “Finally.”

But it wasn’t Fred. It was Ginny. She stepped in with a suspicious scowl, looking over her shoulder. “What—?”

Before she could finish the thought, slam. Click.

You both lunged for the door.

“FRED!” Ginny shrieked. “GEORGE!”

“LET US OUT!” you yelled right behind her, slamming your fists against the wood.

But their voices were muffled and maddening on the other side.

Fred called, “Not until you talk!”

George chimed in, “Properly! No hexes, no storming off!”

“Absolutely mental,” Ginny muttered, crossing her arms as she turned her back to you and marched to the far end of the shed. She plopped down on an overturned bucket, staring hard at the dirt wall.

You stayed near the door, arms folded just as tightly, silence stretching between you like a curse.

It must’ve been hours.

The heat in the shed grew heavier, sun filtering through the tiny window above. Your legs began to ache from standing, but sitting felt too vulnerable.

And then, finally, Ginny broke it. “If you wanted to snog my brother that badly, you could’ve at least warned me,” she said coolly, not looking at you.

You bristled. “It’s not just snogging.”

“Oh, please.” She barked a laugh. “You’ve been sneaking around like a pair of teenagers and I found you in a bloody broom cupboard. What else is it supposed to be?”

“It’s real, Ginny.” You stepped closer. “We actually care about each other. It’s not some fling, this means something.”

She turned sharply, fire in her eyes. “And that’s supposed to make it better?”

You blinked. “What?”

“It’s worse,” she hissed. “It’s worse because you didn’t just hook up with him. You fell for him. And then you hid it from me. Lied to me. Every single time I asked where you were or what you were doing—”

“Okay, did lie,” you interrupted, chest tightening. “I did…and I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you. I just didn’t know how.”

“You knew exactly what you were doing,” Ginny snapped. “You just didn’t want to deal with the fallout.”

“And I was right, wasn’t I?” your voice rose. “Look at how you’re reacting! You won’t even listen—”

“Because you went behind my back!” she shouted. “I told you everything. Every crush, every stupid thought I had about Harry or Michael, or whoever, and you were pining over my brother the whole time!”

You stared at her, stunned by how deep her voice cut.

“I just…I thought…” Her voice cracked. “I thought we were friends.”

That one hurt the most. “We are,” you said, stepping forward. “Ginny, I love you. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to lose that. I didn’t want to risk you thinking this was some betrayal. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “I know I did. I just…I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want to fall for him. It just happened. And for years I kept it a secret because I refused to act on it so what was the point? And then it just got worse. And I hate that I made you feel like this. I never meant to. You mean too much to me.”

She looked at you for a long time. Then she sighed, sitting down heavily on a crate. “So…how long has it been happening?”

You hung your head low. “Since last week.”

She raised a brow. “Seriously? That’s…actually not as bad as I was expecting.”

You nodded. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, but he was so persistent, and…I gave in. And it’s been…honestly, it’s been amazing.”

Ginny pursed her lips. “And he’s serious?”

“Completely,” you said. “He treats me like I’m the most interesting, maddening person he’s ever met. He actually listens. And he makes me feel—” you paused, blushing a little, “—happy. Really happy.”

She let that hang in the air. Then she exhaled. “Okay.”

You blinked. “Okay?”

“I mean,” she shrugged, “I still think you’re an idiot. But I can live with it.”

You smiled, hesitantly at first, and then fully when Ginny rolled her eyes and opened her arms. You nearly knocked her over hugging her.

“I’m still mad,” she warned into your shoulder.

“I deserve that,” you admitted. “Completely.”

You stayed like that for a long moment. Then Fred’s voice piped up from outside, smug and singsong: “So! All good now?”

Ginny shouted, “If you ever lock me in a shed again, I swear I’ll turn your ears into flobberworms.”

George snorted. “We’ll take that as a yes.”

The door clicked open. You and Ginny stepped out, blinking in the afternoon light, shoulder to shoulder again.

Fred looked at you like he’d been holding his breath the whole time. You gave him a small smile and nodded.

All was not perfect, but it was healing. And that was enough for now.

———————————————————————

Dinner at the Burrow felt normal again.

The clinking of cutlery, the smell of roasted vegetables and gravy, the soft hum of conversation. It was like everything had fallen back into place. You sat beside Ginny again, your shoulders occasionally brushing. She’d even nudged your arm when you reached for the salt before her, and when you made a joke about Ron’s plate being stacked like a tower, she actually laughed.

It was subtle. Soft. But genuine.

From your other side, Fred was watching you with that familiar twinkle in his eye. His foot tapped yours beneath the table like it couldn’t stand not touching you, and when you glanced at him, he gave you a slow, knowing smile.

Molly glanced between you and Ginny, her eyebrows lifting ever so slightly as she set down a fresh loaf of bread. “Well,” she said, voice light, “I must say it’s nice to see you two getting along again.”

Arthur looked up from his stew and nodded. “Things were a bit frosty there for a while.”

Ginny gave a dramatic eye roll and stabbed a potato. “Yeah, well…I got over it,” she muttered, shooting you a sideways smirk.

Ron frowned and pointed his fork between the two of you. “Wait. What were you even fighting about in the first place? You’ve been whispering to each other all evening. Did I miss something?”

Fred, sitting beside you, let out a soft breath - part exasperation, part amusement. Then, without warning, he reached beneath the table and gently laced his fingers through yours. His palm was warm, calloused and familiar. It made your chest tighten, just a little.

And then, just as Ron took another bite of chicken, Fred lifted your joined hands into the air. Like some kind of victory signal.

Everyone froze. Ron choked. Ginny groaned. Molly gasped, then squealed so loudly that even the ghoul in the attic probably heard her.

“Oh! Oh, I knew it! I just knew it!” she cried, practically launching herself out of her seat. Her chair scraped back as she rushed around the table, arms outstretched like she might hug the both of you into oblivion. “You’re together?! You’re really…! Oh I’m just so happy!”

“Mum,” Fred muttered, ducking his head as you laughed and tried to brace yourself for impact. “Breathe, yeah?”

She didn’t listen. Her arms were around your shoulders in a second, pulling you into a tight, motherly hug that somehow managed to be both suffocating and comforting.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said to you, eyes misty as she cupped your cheek. “I always hoped it would be you.”

Your throat tightened. You hadn’t realized how badly you’d wanted her approval until that very moment.

Across the table, Ron raised his eyebrows at Fred and gave him a slow, impressed nod. “Well, you actually pulled it off,” he said, clearly trying not to smirk. “Didn’t think you had it in you, mate.”

“I aim to surprise,” Fred said, squeezing your hand gently under the table again.

You leaned into his side, heart fluttering. Ginny rolled her eyes again, but this time…she smiled.

“To make myself clear, rules two and three are still applicable,” She pointed between the two of you with a warning glare that held to real heat behind it.

“And rule number one?” You clarified.

“To hell with rule number one. It was stupid anyway,” she shrugged, and you beamed.

———————————————————————

Tag list: @vivianette @ellouisa17 @wisp1q @divineani @cattleray @billieeilishkisser @lupinsweater

[amateurasterism]

07. oh. oh.

SYNOPSIS ; a girl does something stupid for the “shiggles and gits,” landing her in the messages of her mysterious number neighbor: kim juhoon. except juhoon happens to be in search of a birthday present, which lands him—an anosmiac—smack-dab in the middle of the girl’s candle shop.

PREVIOUS ; MASTERLIST ; NEXT

the afternoon fall wind feels cool against your face as you stop walking abruptly upon reading the words “look up” on your phone screen, pausing in front of your bus stop. following the command hesitantly, you remove your eyes from your phone and tilt your head upwards.

oh.

you scan the boy standing in front of you, phone in his hand and lips slightly parted as he looks down at you in awe and disbelief. 

oh.

the pieces all fall into place when you look back at your phone still displaying the message from your number neighbor, and your celebrity crush standing in front of you.

kim juhoon. your number neighbor. the same boy you watched tiktok edits and videos of was the same boy you had been texting constantly and forming a silly crush over. 

“am i dreaming?” you blurt out, hand slapping your mouth.

juhoon releases a long anxious breath he definitely had not been holding the entire time, and laughed, head falling back and the sound echoing along the street.

all you could think of, staring at his laughing face under the street light, was that you were definitely screwed.

once his laughter dies, silence drapes the otherwise empty bus stop. quietly but not awkwardly, you ask, “how did you know it was me?”

juhoon falls quiet for a moment, contemplating. “i just knew.”

unsure of what to say, you pause for too long, and the boy begins rambling. “i recognized the way you talked immediately. and then i heard your coworker say your name…”

“you recognized my mannerisms?” you tease.

“i’ve noticed everything about you.”

the moment afterwards hangs heavy with intimacy that you cut off with a gentle slap on his shoulder. “you idiot! why didn’t you say anything while we were in the store?”

“to be fair, you didn’t tell me who your celebrity crush was.”

“it didn’t matter because i liked you, not some silly celebrity crush, dumbass,” you hit him softly again, not missing the way his cheeks turned pink at what you said.

“so i’m just some silly celebrity crush?” he holds his hand up to his chest mockingly.

you roll your eyes, “shut up. i’m still mad you didn’t say anything earlier.” 

“hmm…” he pauses nervously, “i was too busy thinking about how pretty you are.”

your face betrays you, turning red at the compliment. “that’s still not an apology.”

“okay, okay. i’m sorry…” he leans down closer, “let me make it up to you.”

“how?”

“let’s go somewhere. my treat. right now.”

as if on cue, your bus pulls right up to the stop. when the shift of the bus doors sound, your hand owns no hesitation grabbing onto juhoon’s own and pulling him on the bus with you.

authors note ; happy halloweekend guys here’s my treat lmao

taglist ; click here to be added ! @aquariusscollection @leeohknows @leahlovesskz143 @littlofang @fortysecondboon @lookingforvivy @martinsgf @w3willris3 @oreowon @wisetriumphpeach @enhamysunshines @007chan @h14a @janjoonty @lynniees @calx-bdo @i55coconut @tiramiffysu @h0neylemon @i-am-not-dal @jellyminz @wtfhyuck @gweoriz @yunjiiin @kzywhtv @444neapolitain @engeneheree @keonhoescafe @deaddcrow @luvrwon @euniix0x0 @bananapuddinglatte @teacuplps @sweeetbabysblog @beabdboo @luvlittlem @imnotrosiee @kaikaikoi @rinawithjjuu @elliotsbeigeguitar @dndfina @niiqv @graceluvsu @sssssydni @hyeon3y @meireiiiiiyaya @love-and-w3r @chbq2 @vanillakirstein @swagmoneyyoloholo

[amateurasterism]

06. what the hell is an anosmiac!

SYNOPSIS ; a girl does something stupid for the “shiggles and gits,” landing her in the messages of her mysterious number neighbor: kim juhoon. except juhoon happens to be in search of a birthday present, which lands him—an anosmiac—smack-dab in the middle of the girl’s candle shop.

PREVIOUS ; MASTERLIST ; NEXT

“wouldn’t it be funny if you got seonghyeon something boring for his birthday?”

keonho flashes a smirk to juhoon from across the couch, overhead light glinting in his eyes like a comically mischievous cartoon character as his expression grows wider.

his approving laugh fills the overcast 2AM silence when juhoon replies, “hmm…like…a candle?”

a softer albeit equally playful smile graces juhoon’s lips; alas, the next morning he finds himself standing on a modest street of shops in seoul, facing a small two story shop with plenty of windows revealing homemade candles put on display.

his eyes catch on the sign hanging off the wall next to the open front door. cozy candle co. cliche, but cute nonetheless. it happened to be the first option when spontaneously searching up nearby candle shops during him and keonho’s previous late-night shenanigans.

the boy takes small steps inside, noting the chime of a bell as he passes through the doorframe. the shop presents as simple—clean ivory shelves and wooden tables scattered with so many candles you could barely see between, windows illuminating the multicolored glass jars, and a countertop register in the back—yet, something about the slight clutter and sunlight filtering through the windows makes him feel at home.

remembering seonghyeon’s gift, he checks out of his trance and grabs the nearest candle: a white cylinder of wax enclosed in a blue jar of glass, reading “next door neighbor.” 

for a moment he pauses, reminded of the mysterious number neighbor that had frequented his pinned messages for the past month. he frees his lips from a smile that had unconsciously come up at the thought of your energetic messages and reverts his attention to the blue candle, lifting it up to his nose to smell.

almost instantly, he pauses and sets it back down.

right. buying this gift was so spontaneous, none of his members were able to go with him—a human with no sense of smell—to actually help pick the candle.

he almost sighs. for a long moment juhoon stands there, thinking, until a bright voice halts his thoughts.

“hello! is everything going okay here?”

he turns around only to abruptly break out in rapid blinks, pupils darting between all the features on your face which he notes thinking were sculpted by the gods. his mind goes so blank in trying to figure out which feature to focus on, he completely misses the way your eyes widen and you blurt “oh my god.”

the store goes dead silent as juhoon’s mind scrambles to put itself back in order. which seemed impossible, considering he was staring at the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen in his life.

the dragging silence of staring at each other in pure disbelief finally breaks when a voice leaking with boredom, presumably a coworker, yells from somewhere behind the counter: “everything good, y/n?”

y/n? again, his mind flashes back to that number in his phone. that has to be a coincidence. unless…

juhoon blinks again as you yell confirmation to your coworker then return to him, somehow regaining your composure after whatever the hell just happened.

“so…i saw you put this candle down, did you not like the scent? i could recommend you something else,” your sentences slightly tumble over each other, sounding almost nervous, but so barely that juhoon would not have noticed had he not been clinging onto every sound that came out of your mouth like they were gold.

“oh, i’m sure it smells great…but i'm anosmiac.”

“what the hell is an anosmiac.”

juhoon chuckles at your suddenly deadpanned expression, an amused grin pulling over his mouth that had you secretly folding. “it means i can’t smell.”

at that, any hint of nervousness shies away from your voice, completely taken out by shock. “are you serious?”

he nods, shrugging, “it sucks…but i manage.”

“i didn’t even know there was a name for that! were you born like that, or does it come in and out? that sucks. this store was passed down generations in my family, i can’t even imagine what they’d do if i was born with no smell.”

that rush of questions and statements: y/n. he would recognize your mannerisms anywhere, even only through text. but there was no way…

“i got covid during the pandemic and lost my smell, then it never came back…” he pauses the way he does when he’s thinking what to say, scared one word will make you turn away. “good thing that didn’t happen to you though, since your family owns this place.”

you chuckle and nod, then pause and tilt your head, looking up at him in a way that had his ears turning pink. “wait. if you can’t smell, why are you at a candle shop of all places?”

a laugh escapes him. “it’s my friends birthday in a few days, and me and my friends wanted to get him a candle…except they’re all busy right now, so i had to get it.”

you shake your head in fake disappointment then reach for a candle a few rows away. similar to the last one, but in a green tinted container instead. “he might like this one, it’s popular with a lot of younger people.”

he takes the candle from your hand, briefly examining it then lifting it to his nose to mimic smelling it. grinning softly, he remarks, “it smells great.”

a smile stretches across those beautiful features he still couldn’t stop admiring, and as you tip your head back in pure laughter, all he can think about is what other joke to make just to hear that sound again.

“so you’ll get it then? i can ring you up,” you offer once your laughter died down, eyes still dancing with amusement.

“nah, i’ll pass. don’t know if i can trust your sense of smell.”

there it was again, your laughter, in his ears like drugs he was addicted to.

“wow, okay, party pooper.”

party pooper. in that moment juhoon is sure: you have to be y/n.

he’s so sure, he panics and stammers, “joking. if you could ring this up that’d be great.”

as you both walk to the counter, you miss the way juhoon’s eyes glue to your figure, almost like you’re something he’d been searching for and finally found, and now he’s too scared to lose. he’s so lost he misses the way you dismiss your coworker to the backroom after the girl nearly yelled at the sight of juhoon.

“okay, here’s the candle. receipt is in the bag!” you hold out the small brown paper bag to him, smiling sweetly and casually making his brain short-circut.

he hesitates, slowly taking the bag. at that, you huff an awkward laugh and say, “come again!”

“yes! of course!” juhoon replies, a little too loud to be casual and eager enough to make you giggle. “i mean…yeah, i will. that’d be nice.”

“yeah, i wouldn’t mind helping you find another candle, anosmiac,” you grin.

the look you exchange before he to step out held something like knowing, and a connection that had already been there before juhoon had even stepped into the store.

authors note ; idk if this was confusing or not w juhoon knowing who yn is but yn only knowing juhoon as her celeb crush not number neighbor but anyways…you guys are not ready for part seven oh my days

taglist ; click here to be added ! @dolletwons @aquariusscollection @leeohknows @leahlovesskz143 @littlofang @fortysecondboon @lookingforvivy @martinsgf @w3willris3 @oreowon @mbella607 @vvslivv @wisetriumphpeach @enhamysunshines @dearmynayeon @007chan @h14a @janjoonty @7snse @lynniees @calx-bdo @i55coconut @thejisooya @s6phias @tiramiffysu @h0neylemon @i-am-not-dal @jellyminz @wtfhyuck @starniras @gweoriz @yunjiiin @kzywhtv @mandylip @rinawithfriesseungs @jamese3y @444neapolitain @engeneheree @trsrworld @kryllea @one-chance-pls @flairexibhi @deaddcrow @luvrwon @euniix0x0 @davniiela @fartfacial101 @bananapuddinglatte @teacuplps @d4lny4n @yufanico @sweeetbabysblog @minjeongverse @beabdboo @luvlittlem @imnotrosiee @hye-juus @kaikaikoi @st4rry-l4vender-sk1es @jocelyn62 @rinawithjjuu @elliotsbeigeguitar @soupysnoopy1 @chaerishmyluv @dndfina @niiqv @222lala @neoculturewhat @lovesckaiwenn @ranposan404238-blog @imurzaddy23 @graceluvsu @mimilarson @sssssydni @daniixoxo @hyeon3y @hye-juus @poopieboat

[amateurasterism]

05. miss me?

SYNOPSIS ; a girl does something stupid for the “shiggles and gits,” landing her in the messages of her mysterious number neighbor: kim juhoon. except juhoon happens to be in search of a birthday present, which lands him—an anosmiac—smack-dab in the middle of the girl’s candle shop.

PREVIOUS ; MASTERLIST ; NEXT

authors note ; next chapter is written muehehe yk what that means…also taglist reached 50+??? thank you guys sm omg???

taglist ; click here to be added ! @dolletwons @aquariusscollection @leeohknows @leahlovesskz143 @littlofang @fortysecondboon @lookingforvivy @martinsgf @w3willris3 @oreowon @mbella607 @vvslivv @wisetriumphpeach @enhamysunshines @dearmynayeon @007chan @h14a @janjoonty @7snse @lynniees @calx-bdo @i55coconut @thejisooya @s6phias @tiramiffysu @h0neylemon @i-am-not-dal @jellyminz @wtfhyuck @starniras @gweoriz @09zpzkeonnss @sssssydni @daniiixoxo @enhuypuen @tialovesuu @rxnexxi @yunjiiin @kzywhtv @mandylip @rinawjthfriesseungs @jamese3y @444neapolitain @engeneheree @trsrworld @kryllea @one-chance-pls @flairexibhi @deaddcrow @luvrwon @euniix0x0 @davniiela @fartfacial101 @bananapuddinglatte @teacuplps @d4lny4n @yufanico @sweeetbabysblog @minjeongverse @beabdboo @luvlittlem @imnotrosiee @hye-juus @kaikaikoi @st4rry-l4vender-sk1es @jocelyn62 @rinawithjjuu @elliotsbeigeguitar @soupysnoopy1 @chaerishmyluv @dndfina @niiqv @222lala @neoculturewhat @lovesckaiwenn