synopsis ahn keonho has been your rival since ninth grade, and it's been that way up to junior year. In the battleground that is exams, tests, and pop quizzes, neither of you want to cede the number one spot. But newton's third law says otherwise. Is it possible for both of you to be more than just each other's opposites?
genre long fic, high school au, fluff, a little angst, enemies to lovers contains swearing, kissing, stella and jiwoo cameos from h2h, mentions of reader getting period
wc. 10.2k !
ONE OF THE FIRST THINGS they teach you in lab safety is to never mix volatile substances—especially incompatible ones—with each other. They're simply too unpredictable. Too unsafe. There is no telling what will happen if you do.
You first met Ahn Keonho in freshman year of high school.
Everyone knew each other from middle school, which made the appearance of a new face in your biology class all the more noticeable. And interesting.
This new guy didn't seem shy at all, and certainly didn’t follow the usual ‘new kid formula’, which consisted of a quiet, mysterious kid everyone made rumors about. He was on the taller side with black hair and dark brown eyes and was encircled by the kind of energy that could catch anyone's attention at a moment's notice. Perhaps it was his confidence.
Or arrogance.
You weren't quite sure yet.
By the first week of high school, Keonho had already found his people, a friend group of music bros and varsity jocks that he vibed with as if he had been buddies with them for years and not just a couple days.
You didn't pay him much attention those first couple months. You had never talked to him, he had never talked to you, and you both had very little common ground that overlapped in the venn diagram of your lives. He was already becoming a popular kid, girls talking to him like he was a high school Korean version of George Clooney.
─── .𖤓
“Polypeptides are composed of their respective monomers, amino acids—whose carbon structure consists of an amine group,” Ms. Cha lectured. “One nitrogen and two hydrogens.”
You did the reading, so you already knew all the things she was reviewing in class. Your head was perched lazily on your arm, cheek flat on your palm. You doodled in the margins of your notebook with your pen while half-listening to the lesson on the board.
“So, riddle me this. What differentiates a polypeptide from a protein?”
It took you a second to realize she was asking a question. You knew the answer, of course, so you raised your hand and said,
“The structures.”
“Yes, y/n,” Ms. Cha responded. “Specifically from which structure onwards does a polypeptide become a protein?”
Shit. “Um—”
“As they become secondary, tertiary, and quaternary.” A voice came from your right, the seat right next to you. You whipped your head around.
New kid Keonho.
“That's correct, Keonho!” Ms. Cha exclaimed. “I'm glad at least someone did the reading.”
You saw Keonho relax back into his seat. The confidence was extremely evident on his face.
Cocky asshole. He didn't even bother to raise his hand, just interrupting you without a single thought of hesitation.
The ironic thing was, you didn't even expect that from a guy like him. People usually never did the assigned reading since Ms. Cha went over it in class anyway—and this guy memorized structure classification like it was nothing. Keonho really didn’t strike you as the proactive type.
You could admit you might have been wrong.
─── .𖤓
By the end of November, teachers had already begun handing out reviews and guides for the midterms in January.
The science midterms were a special priority—they were the only ones that posted the public rankings for the top five scorers of the class. Biology for freshmen, chem for sophomores, and physics for juniors.
Which meant that by the beginning of December, you began studying for a test a month and a half away. Because even though exams weren't supposed to be a competition, they most certainly were treated that way.
In class one day, Keonho leaned over from his desk, cologne wafting through the air.
“Hey, have you started studying for midterms yet?” He asked.
You paused your notes and looked at him. “Yeah, a little bit.”
“Damn, ok,” He let out a small laugh. “Good for you.”
What the hell?
This guy was starting to get on your nerves a little bit.
The following days, you'd catch him doing all sorts of things. He'd peek over at your notes and then let out a little scoff. He'd correct you under his breath when you answered a question, even when it was already right. Once, he refused to lend you a pencil to write with despite having an evidently full case—which ended up with you being harangued by Ms. Cha to be more prepared.
“Y/n, maybe he likes you,” Stella theorized one day. “He’s pulling your metaphorical pigtails.”
“Absolutely not, he’s just a plain old asshole,” you responded, eating a spoonful of rice. Stella was about as delusional as they came, always making lunchtime an outlandish theory podcast.
You tried not to think about him and his annoying antics, directing your time and energy towards exam season instead. By the time winter break rolled around the corner, you felt confident enough. That was the key word: enough.
─── .𖤓
“You are given the allotted time of 85 minutes to complete your exam. Please begin.”
If impatience was a sound, your ears were filled with it.
Exam papers were flipped with speed as soon as the proctor gave the ok, coupled with the indistinct noises of pencils writing furiously on the paper.
Biology was the last exam on the midterm schedule, the one you had spent the most tireless nights working towards. Terms like ‘enzymatic breakdown’, ‘pulmonary circuit’, and ‘transport vesicles’ had been circulating through your brain at the most random times. Hell, you definitely had a couple nightmares about neurotransmitter functions.
But you had remained relentless on your goal to get into the top five. It seemed like a trivial thing, it really did, but there was truly something about the thrill of doing well.
The thrill of doing the best.
Of being the best.
Your mind focused back onto the papers in front of you, pencil twirling in your hand. Out of 40 questions, you had gotten through about 27, with half an hour still remaining on the clock.
Don't panic. You have time.
The mosaic of circled bubbles with blank ones on the answer paper stared back at you.
Get it together.
You began getting into a rhythm as the clock’s quiet ticks became your metronome. Reading, highlighting, and marking up the questions, copying your answer from the questions paper to the answer sheet, double checking each bubble lined up with the correct number, it all was running smoothly—well, smooth enough.
By the time there was ten minutes remaining, you had finished. The chair made a small creak as you stood up to hand your papers in at the front of the room. When you turned around to head back to your seat, you saw Keonho, blurrily in your peripheral vision, already done his test and sleeping in the crook of his elbow on the desk.
Idiot, you thought. It was funny, how the very sight of his face made you deeply irritated on the inside.
─── .𖤓
You barely got any sleep that night. Thoughts of all the questions and numbers and words were circling around in your head, indistinguishable from one another. The question of how well you did was buzzing through your body at a time you should have been asleep. You kept tossing and turning, fidgeting, from feeling uncertain. That was one of your least favorite feelings; uncertainty.
When you got to school, you were impatient the whole day, dreading and anticipating last period biology at the same time.
“You have to relax, sweetie,” Stella put a hand on your shoulder. “You’ve been a zombie the entire day.”
“I know,” you mumbled.
“So then I’m sure you also know that whatever you get is not the end of the world.”
“Mhm.”
You picked at your food with a spoon, leg bouncing up and down underneath the table.
When the bell finally rang for the last period of the day, you approached the biology classroom hesitantly, feeling slightly feverish as you caught a glimpse of a paper Ms. Cha had pinned on the board. As you finally entered the classroom, you joined the group of people congregating around the bulletin board, trying to find your name above the heads of people.
People started clearing the front, so you took it as your cue to get up close to the board and scan the paper.
You started from the bottom, trailing your eyes up and up, as you finally caught—
l/n y/n.
And directly next to that, on the left—
#2.
That was what you wanted, right? Top five?
You gazed just above your name, at the very top of the list.
#1 - Ahn, Keonho.
YOU FIRST ONE-UPPED KEONHO IN SOPHOMORE YEAR.
Every possible chance you got in summer, you manifested classes with Stella and Jiwoo. You all would facetime each other, imagining holding hands, and pray for at least one class with each other. The same went for all your enemies, manifesting a big fat zero for the number of classes shared with them.
The universe seemed to like this game, however, of dealing cards that seemed like they were in your favor—and then revealing the house had beaten you out for even better ones.
It had happened in freshman year when Keonho got the number one spot on biology midterms over you, and it had happened again.
When you checked the class lists as they came out the week before school, you scanned them with Stella and Jiwoo once again on the phone.
“We all have english together!” Jiwoo’s voice boomed from the microphone with that treble-y sound, nearly blasting your eardrums.
“Wait—and Stella and I have chem together!” you said, eliciting cheers from the other ends.
“Y/n, did you look at the entire list?”
“For what, chem?”
“Mhm.”
“Why, is there someone else tha—”
You wished there was some kind of token you earned each time you saw Keonho’s name on any sort of anticipatory list.
“What the hell?” you groaned into the microphone. “I—oh my god—are you kidding me?”
Jiwoo audibly snickered. “This is peak comedy, I swear.”
“Stop it, it’s not funny!” your complaint got you absolutely nowhere. They both continued laughing.
─── .𖤓
“You excited?” Stella asked you in chemistry, placing her bag down as she sat next to you.
“Sure,” you smiled. At least this year, you had your best friend to distract you from the demon spawn of a human that was also in this class.
The classroom was minimally decorated, you noticed as you looked around. The only poster on the wall was a pun that read “Chemis-tree”, complete with a little clipart christmas tree filled with ornaments of different chemical equations. It was September.
As for the actual seats, they weren’t desks—instead really long tables to seat two people, probably for labs. There were three columns of these tables with four rows per column, making for around twenty-some students.
“I heard Mr. Jeon is, like, super strict,” Stella whispered. “On another level.”
“Is this supposedly true or do you actually know this?” you asked.
“Supposedly,” she added.
“Right,” you put your bag down next to your chair. “I guess we’ll see—”
“My man Keonho, dat me up bro!”
You and Stella both turned around at the sound of Martin’s booming bass voice. You felt the weight of Stella’s gaze as she looked back at you.
Because you were looking at him.
Keonho had definitely had a growth spurt over the summer. He had broader shoulders and his hair had grown out from its choppy haircut in ninth grade. His facial features hadn’t changed much, only become more defined in a way that looked a little too good for your liking.
“Earth to y/n,” Stella made you jump as she whispered close to your ear. “You good?”
“Yeah,” you breathed.
─── .𖤓
“A key concept of molecular orbital theory is the formation of MOs. Atomic orbitals, otherwise known as AOs, from different atoms combine to form MOs.”
All the rumors Stella brought up about Mr. Jeon were, in one way or another, true. He was a pretty strict teacher, very old school. And he was at least sixty years old.
Chemistry was undeniably one of your hardest classes. It moved extremely quickly, and Mr. Jeon would scold someone about the littlest thing at least once a class period.
Mr. Jeon was also a heavy favorite of Keonho.
You figured that was because Keonho knew how to play his cards right. He was friends with quite a number of troublemakers and rulebreakers, but he had a reputation among teachers that completely contrasted that. He always answered questions when nobody else had their hand up, always did the optional assignments, always did good deeds like holding the door or picking up trash—especially when he knew someone was looking.
It pissed you off.
Also because Mr. Jeon did not like you.
Once, you and Stella had been talking quietly to each other. While he was teaching. She needed help with some topic he had already gone over and would not risk getting her head bitten off for asking about it. So she quietly asked you. You two were whispering a little too loudly, so he began lecturing you about “classroom etiquette”, “knowing the time and place”, etc.
Worst of all, he said you should strive to be more respectful.
To be more like Keonho.
Oh, what you would have done to wipe the stupid smirk off of Keonho’s face when you passed by him at the end of class.
─── .𖤓
Mr. Jeon paced up and down the aisles of the lab tables, taking his sweet old time handing out the pop quizzes from last week.
“Nice work, y/n,” He remarked, placing the test paper on your desk.
You smiled at the big red 100 on the top of the paper, coupled with a little smiley face sticker next to the number.
If only glory lasted that long.
“Excellent work, Mr. Ahn.”
You turned in your seat. Martin patted Keonho's back enthusiastically, more enthusiastic than Keonho himself.
Keonho caught your eye from his seat behind you, smirking at your furrowed brow.
“Jealous?” He asked, holding up his test paper nice and proud.
101. In big red lettering, with two smiley face stickers on the paper and a handwritten ‘nice job!’
“What the fuck? There wasn't even an extra credit question!” All your joy for your 100 went out the window.
“Mr. Jeon gave me an extra point for my explanation on spectroscopy,” Keonho replied. He put his paper back down on the desk. “There's no shame in being jealous, you know.”
“I'm not fucking jealous,” you mumbled, turning back around to your stupid 100.
It was really goddamn annoying, how you couldn't have a single moment of joy of your own achievements, all because his stupid face somehow ruined it. You couldn't be happy about being number 2 because he got number 1. You couldn't be happy with a one hundred, because he got a shitty one hundred and one.
Was it completely brainless that you wanted to cry? Yes.
Did you still want to cry? Still yes.
You couldn't have gotten up faster when the bell rang as you made a beeline for the door. In the midst of people all heading out of the classroom, however, you felt a hand grab your wrist out of nowhere.
“Y/n,” Stella said. She tried whispering something to you, but you couldn't hear.
“What?” You asked, raising your voice to hear her.
“You—” she started.
“You're bleeding, idiot.” Keonho interrupted her, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Very noticeable.”
His eyes drifted down to your skirt and paused there, before gazing back at you.
Is this what a deer in headlights felt like?
You adjusted your head to turn sideways. You struggled to see fully, but still caught the faint splotch of red.
Dark red.
Fuck.
“I—”
“C'mon, let's go, y/n,” Stella prompted, leading you out the door.
That was embarrassing as hell. It really was. You felt your face heat up, even more ready to cry than you had been before.
Was this guy always going to make you feel like a loser?
─── .𖤓
At home, you felt at least a little bit more like yourself once you took a shower and washed your face.
You sat on your bed with your hair up in a towel, drawing random things on your precalc notes. Faces, flowers, the fan in your room, the small stuffed animal on the floor near your closet. Anything that took your mind off of what happened at school, you considered a success.
Plus, you couldn't afford to spend time thinking about it—even if you wanted to(which you absolutely didn't). Tenth grade midterms were fast approaching, and the science exam top scorer postings still applied to Mr. Jeon's chemistry students.
You'd make sure that this time, things were different. You'd see ‘Mr. Ahn’ look at the rankings with a downright distraught face, making sure he'd remember seeing your name at number one.
Number one.
─── .𖤓
“I'm sure you're all wondering about midterms, so this packet will review all the topics that are going to be covered on the exam. Study it well.”
Study it well.
It was mid-December, which meant two things. One, Mr. Jeon's ‘Chemis-tree’ Christmas poster was finally in season and, two, midterms were approaching. Fast.
“Pass these back,” Mr. Jeon instructed, giving a pile of papers to you and Stella to pass to the people behind you. Keonho and Martin were seated behind the two of you.
You took a packet for yourself and wordlessly handed one to Keonho, fingertips brushing ever so slightly.
“Thanks,” He said, expression unreadable.
You scoffed and turned back around without saying anything.
Stella glanced at you. “You good?”
“Yeah,” you said as an exhale.
You shook your head a little, maybe as a way to physically rid yourself of all the things swirling in your head. Focusing your attention to the study guide, your eyes followed the numerous topics—almost fifteen—that you needed to concentrate on for the midterm. Periodic trends, bonding theories, symmetry, and tons of other things you had learned since the beginning of the year. Despite how nerve-racking the exams probably should have been, it was hard to quell that feeling of excitement. That feeling of proving that number two wasn't permanent, and that number one certainly wasn't unattainable.
By the time you got home, you had already started planning out when, where, and how you were going to study in order to ace the midterms.
Did it feel as trivial as ninth grade? Yes. Absolutely. Who the hell would lose their mind over trying to one-up someone just for the heck of it, after all?
The answer was that you would. You absolutely, one hundred and one percent totally would.
─── .𖤓
If it weren't for the high stakes of the reason you were in the exam room, it probably would have felt nostalgic instead.
The same motivational posters were plastered on the walls, the ones people would stare at whenever they got stuck as if it helped. It did, occasionally. The same cold desks and worn-down chairs were arranged in rows, and the same whiteboard at the front of the room had the words detailing the rules of the exam. Which the proctor would go over, anyway.
Your fingers drummed on the table lightly, fidgeting and flexing like you were anxious. Because you were.
Last time, when you were confident you'd do well, confident you'd be number one, confident you weren't below anyone…all of that turned out to be false.
And you couldn't have that again.
The proctor went through the whole process of explaining the setup of the exam, the rules, no cheating, all of it.
And then handed out the papers.
─── .𖤓
Your eyes scanned the printed list that was pinned on Mr. Jeon's bulletin board.
#1 - L/n, Y/n
#2 - Ahn, Keonho
You felt happiness bloom inside your chest where anxiety was before.
Finally.
Finally, you weren't at number two, you weren't stuck behind Keonho, and you were at the top which felt amazing.
“Nice job, l/n,” you heard from behind you. Keonho was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking at you with his goddamn smirk. “I knew you could do it.”
“Shut your mouth, Keonho. Who's the jealous one now?”
His eyes narrowed slightly, amused, and he sighed. Leaned in closer, and whispered, “Not me.”
YOU FIRST KISSED KEONHO IN JUNIOR YEAR.
If Keonho was a metal, you seemed to be a magnet.
Once again, your school year had already been tainted by the student list in your physics class. Not only did you not have Stella, Jiwoo, or literally anyone you were friends with—you were stuck with Keonho.
Like before. Except instead of there being a silver lining, the universe had dealt you the exact cards you prayed not to get.
The other thing was that physics, as it was, proved to be one of the most difficult classes so far. It was full of all sorts of hypotheticals—different from your previous science classes. Scenarios of ‘imagine this’, and problems that almost always started with ‘what if’?
There were also tons of group assignments too. The only thing Ms. Park loved more than the subject she taught was the idea of pairing students up to do anything—literally anything.
She claimed it was a win-win situation if the class got to learn more about physics while working with each other. ‘Non-chemical bonding’, she called it.
Which was not awful, in theory. Until the middle of October, when she was lecturing about a new partner project that went along with what you were learning—aerodynamics.
“With your partner, you'll be simulating flight in three different locations testing different effects of airflow. Using–” Ms. Park picked up a piece of paper. “–a paper airplane. Well, paper airplanes. Plural.”
That Seonghyeon dude you'd met because of a different partner project raised his hand.
“Do we get to choose our partners?”
“No,” Ms. Park said, almost immediately. “I've already assigned your partners, which are on this list right here.”
She cleared her throat and straightened out the paper in front of her.
“Seonghyeon, you'll be with James.”
They looked at each other from across the room and did a distanced handshake.
“Keonho,” she looked around the room before spotting him. “You'll be with y/n.”
Was it possible to think every swear word in existence in a single moment? Probably.
You could feel his eyes on yours, most likely thinking you'd react or look back at him or give him any sort of indication you were pissed. So you didn't look back at him, keeping your eyes fixated on the small drawing you'd been working on since the beginning of class.
When the bell rang, Keonho approached you with his bag lazily slung over one shoulder.
“Project's due Wednesday, so you wanna meet at the library today?”
You packed your notebook into the bag, zipping it shut.
“I would, if I had a car or anyone to drive me.”
“I can take you.”
You looked up at him and dropped your hand from your zipper.
“Really?” You scoffed.
“You can hate me all you want, but I want to get a good grade on this project.”
Your tongue swirled inside your cheek. Your eyes stared him down.
“...Fine. Where do you park your car? The cafeteria lot?”
Keonho rolled his eyes. “I have swim practice until 4:30, so you'll have to wait.” He said it matter-of-factly, like you were supposed to have known this information.
“So you want me to wait until 4:30 for you?”
“Do you want to get a good grade on this or not?”
Everyone else had already left the classroom. It was just you and him, and Ms. Park in the corner sorting through documents. He returned the stare you had given him, locking you in a stalemate.
“I'll wait on the pool bleachers, then.”
“Cool,” He said, leaving the room without another word while you watched him go.
─── .𖤓
You had never had a reason to go to the school pool before.
The smell of chlorine was overwhelming as you opened the heavy doors. It was warm, and you could hear yells and commands echoing through the place.
The swim team had already started practice, some of them doing laps, others still stretching near the edge of the water.
You spotted Keonho in the pool, talking to someone while leaning on the edge wall that faced the bleachers. His goggles were pulled up and you could catch the slight sheen that reflected off of his damp face.
His eyes strayed, though, and caught yours.
You looked away almost immediately, pretending to busy yourself with putting your stuff down on the metallic bleachers and sitting.
You glanced back down at Keonho again, whose eyes were still on yours, though he was nodding and seemed to be listening intently to his friend standing in front of him. You looked away just as quickly, focusing your gaze on the clock near the door.
Three o’clock.
You were here until four thirty.
You opened your bag and took out your notebook, reading through your physics notes. That kept you busy for about twenty minutes.
You spent another twenty doing the reading for next class, an extra fifteen writing notes of the reading, and another ten going over the rubric for your and Keonho's partner project. All of that totaled to around forty five minutes—halfway until Keonho's swim practice would be over.
Sighing, you put all your things back in your bag and took out something you hadn't touched in awhile. Your sketchbook.
It was trash, really. Full of messy doodles and glimpses of life that weren't really lively at all. But you had forty five minutes to kill.
So you drew…him.
The bleachers had a bit of distance from where he was swimming, but you could still capture his face when his head was out of the water. You stayed like that for a long time, gazing at the water's fluid reflections and his soft features.
Those forty five minutes felt quiet. Peaceful. Solitary in an un-alone way.
The swim coach blew the whistle, probably indicating practice was over, since all the guys swam to the opposite edge to get out of the pool.
You hurriedly dated your sketch, oct.19, and shoved it in your bag with intense speed.
It was around 4:48 when Keonho emerged from the locker room and met you outside the pool doors. His hair was damp and fell slightly in front of his face. He was wearing his varsity letterman over his clothes, which had a small embroidered logo of your school on the front.
“C'mon,” He led you down the hallway and out the doors to the parking lot, reaching into his pocket for his keys.
You saw the lights of a grey prius flash on and off with a small beep sound.
Keonho didn't bother opening the door for you—not that you expected him to—and threw his bag in the backseat, before sitting down in the driver seat and closing the door.
He glanced at you sitting down in the passenger side next to him, and glanced just as quickly away. You noticed.
“You like Radiohead?” He said. He plugged the aux cord into his phone.
“I–”
“Good, I wasn't asking.”
You rolled your eyes and looked out the window instead. The parking lot was littered with little brown leaves and twigs and whatnot. It was cloudy, with small bits of sunshine peeking through and casting shadows along the pavement of the roads.
─── .𖤓
“How do you want to do this?”
You both were seated across from each other, notes and papers and rough sketches of plane models scattered across the library table.
“The rubric says we have to come up with theories for each current and then support it accordingly."
“We don't actually have to fly a paper airplane in different places?” Keonho asked.
“I guess not,” you replied.
Your eyes glazed over notes from the previous class about wind currents. You looked up.
And he was looking right at you.
“What?” You said. It came out with a tone that was a little bit harsh.
Keonho's eyes bore into yours, as he leaned on his elbows.
“Why do you hate me?”
You furrowed your eyebrows and put the note paper down.
“Huh?”
“Why do you hate me?”
You swirled your tongue in your cheek again. “I don't hate you.”
“Really?” He raised his eyebrows with skepticism. “You seem to dislike me. Quite a bit.”
You exhaled. “I mean, I have good reason to. That doesn't mean—”
“Oh yeah? What's your ‘good reason’?”
You didn't like his tone. “You seem to make it your life's mission to do better than me in everything.”
“I don't try to, it just happens.”
“Yeah, bullshit,” you scoffed. “That right there is why you're so dislikable.”
He tilted his head. “So you're saying you do dislike me?”
You rubbed your temple with your fingertips. “I'm saying that it's why I should.”
“So why don't you?” Keonho inquired.
“You're an idiot.”
“Sure, but that doesn't answer the question.”
You averted your eyes, staring at the shelf filled with copies of The Count of Monte Cristo, Julius Caesar, Jane Eyre.
“I don't know,” you answered as an exhale.
“You don't know?”
“I really should hate you, but I don't.”
You could see Keonho's head perk up slightly with interest out of your peripheral.
“Are you mad at me?”
You leaned back in your chair, turning your gaze back toward him.
“You keep asking questions like that, I might be.”
“No, I mean, like, long term. Do you get mad at me?”
You exhaled for the hundredth time.
“I do, because it feels awful when I put myself through shit only to be second place.” Your voice raises in volume at that last part.
“Why do put yourself through shit at all?”
“Because what am I without it?”
Keonho's chin raised slightly, gesturing for you to quiet down. You were in a library, after all.
“You don't need to be at the top of some list to feel meaningful.”
“I don't need you to lecture me,” you huffed.
“You know what?” His voice took on a tone of intensity. “What about when you got first on the midterms last year? Didn't you feel special then? Hm?”
“And then you came and acted like it didn't affect you!”
“Because it didn't!"
A loud silence filled the gap across the table. Keonho's weight now rested on one elbow, while you folded your arms across your chest and leaned back in your chair.
“That's your problem,” He said, softer.
“My problem?” You exclaimed, not matching his volume level. “You have no goddamn say over what my ‘problem’ is!”
“Yes I do, because your problem is with me,” He retorted. “You get all tangled up in these rankings and scores and grades because you feel this need to be better than me.”
“Don't fucking flatter yourself,” you scoffed.
“Yeah? Then why aren't you this batshit crazy over any of your other classes?”
“Because…”
“Because what?” He pushed. “I'll tell you. Because you've made this–this goal of beating me.”
“It's not like that,” you said.
“Then what is it?” He pushed again.
“Because how else will I know I'm good enough?!”
Your raised voice, damn near a cry, turned a couple heads around you. You shrunk even more into your chair as tears threatened to spill over.
“You,” your voice cracked slightly. “Do you remember that time in tenth grade, when you pointed out that I had bled through my skirt?”
You could visibly see Keonho trying to rack through his brain for that memory.
“I felt like a complete loser that day. A pathetic, fucking loser. And you know what the worst part was?”
His eyes softened, almost with pity, which you took as a sign to continue.
“That I couldn't even be mad at you,” you were being vulnerable, too vulnerable, with him. “Because I had a problem, and you weren't even the cause. You just pointed it out. You were just the messenger.”
You let out a breath and relaxed your shoulders the slightest bit. This guy, just a few hours ago, was your enemy, your rival, someone you despised with everything.
And you realized that…
“You were never the problem, Keonho.”
─── .𖤓
The day after your time in the library felt…strange. Like the feeling you have when you wake up from a nap you didn't mean to take, and the world feels hazy and dizzying.
You dreaded heading to physics because you knew he would say something. Even if he didn't, you knew the air between you two would be tense. Different. Even awkward.
Sure enough, the second you walked in after the third period bell, his eyes flickered to your figure entering the classroom.
Usually, you sat at one of the desks near the door or by the window, or really anywhere on the outer rows. Keonho always sat near the front in the middle.
You sat right next to him.
You could feel his eyes on you as you slid into the seat, placing your bag at your feet and putting your phone in the front pocket.
“Hey.”
You snapped your head up and straightened in the seat. “Hey yourself.”
“I, um, wanted to apologize,” He said, more as a question. Softly.
“You didn't do anything wrong yesterday, I—”
“No, I mean, for everything. Since ninth grade. I've been kind of an ass to you ever since then.”
You turned in your seat. Was this because of yesterday? “Thanks,” you nodded. “That's…considerate of you, Keonho.”
“Yeah, well, I'm not just a handsome, brilliant face.”
He couldn't let a good moment last for more than one second.
“You need to learn how to shut up sometimes,” you laughed.
He just shook his head and chuckled along.
─── .𖤓
Things started to become different. At least, more different than they already were.
Keonho would lend you a pencil when you forgot one, offer his eraser when yours was completely eroded, compliment the drawings you'd make on papers that probably should've been purely dedicated to physics info.
It definitely didn't go unnoticed.
He'd walk with you in the hallway if you two were heading to the same place or ask for a song rec. Hell, he even asked for your phone number at one point of time.
Stella spotted you in the hallway with him once. She'd teased you about how surprisingly you'd switched up from being his ‘number one opp’ to whatever it was the two of you were now. Friends?
Towards the end of November, he asked you something you thought was pretty unthinkable, considering all the competition that came over it in the first place.
“Y/n,” Keonho tapped on your shoulder during independent study time in physics.
“Hm?” You acknowledged, without looking up.
“Do you want to study together today? At the library?”
That caught your attention. You looked at him from your seat right over.
“Do I wanna what?”
“Study. With me.”
You ran a hand through your hair and placed your pencil down.
“For what? Midterms?”
“Midterms.”
“I…sure,” you agreed. “Will I have to wait forever for your swim practice again?”
He laughed. “No, coach gave us off this week.”
“Ok,” you shrugged.
─── .𖤓
Keonho, thankfully, didn't take you to the spot you had been in when you went with him to the library that last time. Instead, you both sat in the corner table near non-fiction—science specifically.
“Did Ms. Park even give a review guide?”
“Nah, but,” Keonho dropped his bag at his feet and sat. “We can just study the topics we've learned so far.”
“Right.”
The chairs from whomever had sat here before were not exactly across from each other. Instead, they were closer to each other—next to, rather than across from.
Keonho didn't seem to notice, so you didn't say anything either, and sat down without a word.
You took out various items: your notebook, papers, textbook, a pencil which you had finally remembered to bring, your sketchbook—because all your models and diagrams were drawn in there.
“Seonghyeon told me his friend who's a senior said we should review a lot from unit one,” Keonho clicked his pen. “All the laws and shit.”
That paper of notes was buried deep in your folder somewhere, which turned up after an awkward two minutes of you trying to find it.
1st law - Law of Inertia: Objects at rest stay at rest, and objects in motion continue in a straight line at a constant speed unless acted upon by an external force.
The one where Ms. Park made it her life's mission to come up with as many bizarre examples as she could.
2nd law - Force Law: The force applied to an object is equal to its mass multiplied by its acceleration.
Yeah, you remembered that one when you made a calculation mistake on the very first quiz of the year.
3rd Law - Law of Action and Reaction: For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.
You knew that one well.
“Did Seonghyeon's mystery senior friend also mention if all the thermo laws would be on the midterm too?” You asked Keonho.
“I mean, it doesn't take a genius to guess that they probably will be,” He chuckled.
“Wow, is that how you were able to figure that out?”
“Is that a dig at me not being a genius?”
“It's just a dig. The ‘not genius’ part is a given,” you replied, half-joking.
“You always have to have an answer, don't you?” He smiled, really smiled, and you didn't know what to do. He'd never smiled at you like that before.
It became quiet. Really quiet. Too quiet. The blast of the air conditioning from the corner wall behind both of you was the only noise filling the silence.
Keonho cleared his throat. “So, um—”
“I have a question,” you interrupted. “For you.”
He gestured for you to continue.
“I—well, you know how the school has an art show every year?”
“You…do art?”
“Let me finish. I have a piece that’s, I guess, featured in it. And I can invite people so…”
“Y/n, is this a formal invitation to your art show?” Keonho rolled his chair a little closer. “Are you asking me out?” He teased.
“No! I—no! It was a courtesy invite, idiot!”
“Right,” he drawled. “Of course.”
You scrunched your nose mockingly and took out the slightly crumpled art show flyer from your sketchbook.
“Here,” you offered.
But he wasn’t looking at the flyer in your hand.
“Are your drawings in there?”
“You can’t look.”
“I didn’t ask that, I was just asking—”
“I know what that question entails, and the answer is no.”
Keonho pursed his lips in a slightly boyish way and squinted his eyes slightly.
“Please?”
“Will you read the flyer if I let you?”
He rolled his eyes jokingly. “Sure.”
You hesitantly lifted the hardbound sketchbook and plonked it in front of him. He undid the slightly worn down strap of the book and flipped through the pages with careful hands. Your eyes flitted between his reactions and the drawings.
“Damn,” you heard him mutter under his breath.
There was all sorts of shit in there. There were multiple of Stella and Jiwoo, most of them were referenced from pictures they had posted. There was one of the library you were in right now, of the school building from the outside, of the little clump of trees near the school’s main entrance. There was even one of you. His hand stayed a little extra longer on that page.
And then he flipped to the next one.
He leaned in and squinted.
“Is this…me?”
Shit.
You wasted no time lunging in your seat for the goddamn book, which Keonho resisted by rolling his chair backward.
“I didn’t realize you were this into me,” he laughed.
“Shut your mouth, idiot. I made that recently. It’s not even you!”
His right hand was blocking you from grabbing the sketchbook, and his other was bringing it closer to himself to look at more intently.
“Liar,” he argued, having way too much fun. “It’s dated in the corner, ‘October 19’.”
“That—”
“And that was the day you waited for me at swim practice!”
You groaned and finally snatched the book away from him. The look on his face was as arrogant as his personality, he just sat there laughing to himself.
“Is this a preview of your art show? Which is—” he read the flyer, as he promised, that was laid in front of him on the table. “—December 11th at 6:00 pm?”
You rested your head in one hand leaning on the desk. “No.”
“Really? You didn’t make a full-scale portrait of me, Napoleon-style?”
“You wish you were as hot as Napoleon."
“He isn’t even hot!”
“Exactly.”
─── .𖤓
"Napoleon's not a hear-me-out,” Stella claimed while chewing on a licorice. “You know who is? Edmond Dantes.”
You glared at her through the mirror and continued adding lip gloss. “He’s not real, though.”
“He is to me!”
You both were in her bathroom, getting ready for the big art event. All sorts of hair products were strewn across the counter, along with the five different shades of eyeshadow that Stella broke out of her dusty drawer and three types of moisturizer.
“You’re looking hot,” She said out of nowhere, enunciating the t. “If Ahn Keonho doesn’t ask you out tonight, I will.”
This time, you glared at her by turning around fully. She was sitting innocently on the edge of the tub.
“Stella,” you let out a big exhale, like a mother getting ready to lecture their child. “That is, like, the furthest thing he—”
“Y/n, you’re even more dense than you are competitive,” she took another bite of her licorice. “And you’re super competitive.”
You were a couple seconds away from completely ripping that licorice out of her hand.
“Are you trying to say that Keonho likes me?”
She snorted. “Trying to? That's what I've been saying this whole time!”
You shook your head and turned back around, putting your finger to your lips and touching up the gloss.
“Stella, if he does, I'll give you a month's worth of my salary.”
“Girl, you work a minimum wage job.”
“Which is why I'm wagering it,” you smiled at the mirror and smoothed down your shirt—a dressy one with a lace rim which Stella had allowed you to borrow. “You can't lose what can't happen.”
Stella got up from the tub edge with an obnoxiously loud groan.
“Ready to go?” She stuck her hand in her jean pocket and jingled her keys.
You followed her out of the bathroom wordlessly, taking one last glance at yourself in the mirror.
─── .𖤓
The highly anticipated art show—well, highly anticipated by you—was in the second floor hallway. Dozens of pieces by students were hung on the walls with little tags of the medium and the student who made it.
The halls were crowded already, it was ten minutes after six. You walked close to Stella because even though you knew most of the people here, it was still scary as hell.
“Eye candy, ten o’ clock,” Stella whispered.
You looked over to your left and saw. Him.
“Let's go over there!” She exclaimed, leading you directly to him. Very unsubtly. You tried to resist, pulling your arm away so you could stay where you were instead. Stella was not having it.
“Y/n, you have to go say hi to the guy you invited! You can't get cold feet now,” she reasoned.
“Yeah, well, that was a different y/n that invited him.”
“Just show him your art, it's not that hard!”
“What if he thinks it's total crap?” You retorted. You were falling back on nothing at this point.
Stella smirked. “Since when do you care what he thinks?”
You looked at her for a good moment before sighing. She had won and she knew it.
“I don't,” you mumbled, letting her drag you to him.
He was talking to Martin, dressed actually pretty nice. He was wearing a quarter-zip that didn't look awful on him, with dark jeans and non worn-out shoes. He had worn his varsity letterman overtop the quarter-zip.
“Go talk, y/n,” Stella shoved you without another word and went off in another direction.
She had left you stranded right next to 190 cm Martin, so you only got Keonho's attention a good couple seconds after she left you there.
Martin must've noticed Keonho's gaze flicker to you—so he cleared his throat with the excuse that he had to head to the bathroom. You didn't miss the wink he gave Keonho when he left.
“Hey,” Keonho smiled. His eyes dropped to your outfit, the nice shirt you'd put on and the actually clean pair of jeans you were wearing. “You look nice.”
You nodded, slightly awkward. “Thanks.”
You shifted your weight and stood there for some time.
“So, are you going to show me? Your piece?”
“Oh! I—uh, well, you have to promise me you won't laugh,” you said.
“I won't laugh.”
“You don't sound like you mean it.”
“Trust me, y/n,” He stepped closer and put a hand in his pocket. “I mean it.”
You tried to ignore the way your heart sped up a little at that comment, and hid it instead with a soft smile. Wordlessly, he followed you down one of the corridors towards the section of paintings. The whole hall was a splash of colors, thoughts, people, places, everything.
Near the end was yours. You stopped in place, holding your breath the tiniest bit.
You watched Keonho's smile drop slightly, awe replacing it instead.
“Woah, y/n,” He moved closer to the mounted painting. “It's beautiful.”
That made a little heat rise to your cheeks. Because it was a self-portrait. A painting of you. You rarely ever drew or painted yourself, because it meant looking at your own reflection for hours.
Which maybe wasn't such a bad thing this time.
There were small red paint splotches decorating various parts of the canvas, some on your face, others in the background. It was a small thing, but you knew Keonho of all people would know what it meant.
“Y/n,” He said softly, turning to you. It snapped you out of your thoughts. “You are so…amazing.”
You froze. What?
You chuckled. “You mean you think my piece is amazing?”
“No,” He stepped toward you. “Well, yes. But you. I meant you.”
Thank god there were people down the hall, because you don't know what you would have done if there was complete silence.
“Keonho—”
“I know this probably sounds…I don't know, out of place, considering we've not been the best of friends the past few years,” his hand brushed yours, testing the waters. “But I think you're really, really amazing.”
You let out a shaky breath, dropping your gaze to his hand touching yours.
“Thank you,” you whispered.
“Y/n,” He started off. “Do you like me?”
You gazed at his brown eyes. Was this what Stella had been getting at the whole time? “Hm?”
“I think you like me.”
“I think you're full of shit.”
“Is that a yes?” He asked.
Hell, this guy was always straight to the point. Your heart was pounding when you said,
“It's not a no.”
“Good,” He said close to your ear. “At least we can agree on something.”
His hand enveloped yours, interlocking his fingers with it. The warmth made you shiver, just the tiniest bit.
“You cold?” He whispered to you, just as softly.
You looked down at the goosebumps on your arms and back at him.
“No.”
Keonho laughed. “You're such a bad liar.”
Before you could even protest, he let go of your hand and brought it to the sleeve of his letterman. He shrugged it off, smoothed it down, and offered it. To you.
“I don't need your jacket.”
“Ok. And?” He took your hand and had you grab it. “I don't need it either.”
You stared at the jacket he had pretty much forced into your hand. His name, K. Ahn, was printed in big lettering on the back.
You put it on. It was definitely a couple sizes too big, almost comical, but it was warm. Really warm. You didn't have to let him know that.
He clicked his tongue. “Looks nice on you. Should we head back?” He started to turn around, putting his hands in his pockets.
“Hold on,” you grabbed his wrist and made him pause. “You're just gonna say you like me and then head back?”
His eyes traveled from your hand on his wrist back to you.
“Would you rather I stay, pretty?”
You furrowed your eyebrows. “What did you call me?”
Keonho turned to face you forward fully again.
“Pretty.”
He took one step toward you. Then another. And another. It was ironic how this was all playing out in front of your painting, like your portrait was judging you personally.
“I—what are you doing?”
You both were near the end of the hallway, so the wall perpendicular to the paintings was near as well.
He kept walking toward you, at a brisk pace, and you kept stepping back—until your back hit the wall.
“You know, y/n,” He said calmly. How was he so calm? “This is a pretty good place to have a first kiss.”
You widened your eyes slightly. “Huh?”
Your brain could not form sentences, or words for that matter, that were over a syllable long.
“Wow, I didn't think I'd have to spell it out for you,” Keonho said with his signature tone.
Your breath caught as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His hand lingered there. He leaned in closer and closer, lips practically brushing yours—but not quite.
He was waiting for you.
So you gave him an answer.
You closed the distance, pressing your lips to his. You weren't sure if he had ever kissed anyone before, but you certainly hadn't.
Your hand gripped the back of his quarter-zip while he held your jacket—well, his—to bring you closer. One of his traveled further up to where your neck and shoulder met, the other holding you by the waist.
You pulled away first, breathless. You had just kissed the guy who'd been your sworn enemy for years—in the corner of an empty hallway that was only a few feet away from the bustle of other students and faculty.
Keonho's grip on your waist remained firm. He was grinning at you, somewhere between a smirk and a soft smile.
“You're amazing,” He whispered. He rested his forehead against yours, noses brushing.
EPILOGUE
“This music sucks.”
Keonho's arms were at your waist, swaying lightly to the music playing in the gym.
He was wearing a suit with a blue tie, along with a small purple flower tucked in his chest pocket to match your dress. Which also happened to match the purple corsage adorning your wrist.
Your hands rested on his neck, smiling ear to ear.
“Why, because it's not Justin Bieber?” You joked.
“Mhm,” He pressed a light kiss to your forehead.
Somehow, junior prom with Keonho felt romantic despite the tons of awkward teenagers crammed into a gym with old 2000s slow music playing in the background. Your parents had loved him when he came to pick you up for the dance, calling him the ‘perfect gentleman’, and a ‘lovely boyfriend’. It just boosted his ego more.
You inhaled. The scent of his cologne was floral and sweet.
“Do I?” You teased.
He kissed you again, this time on the corner of your lips.
“You're like the sodium to my chloride.”
You made a face. “You're so corny, my god.”
“It's true, isn't it?”
Something in the air shifted. Your hands, which were resting on Keonho's neck, found their way to his hair. His hands tightened their grip on your waist as he leaned in.
And it felt like the December art show all over again.
As he deepened the kiss, you kissed him back.
He was your action, you were his equal and opposite reaction. Which sounded corny as shit.
germansingergirl
pixelskylines
tangentwithtanner
kianamaiart
origamiaround
yousharknotpass
discoholicmusic
